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hellinistical · 3 days ago

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in which you're the nude model for an art-collecting Sylus, who is curious about the artistic process, frustrated no one caputures how he sees you, fem.reader, mdni.

tw: pet names. masturbation. sylus watches. wc: 5.74k

A crystal chandelier hung from above, its intricate tiers casting soft, fractured glints over the room’s contents. The furniture was lavish yet somber, every piece carved from dark wood, polished to a gleam, and upholstered in deep hues of midnight blue and black. Ornate gold accents curled in ivy-like patterns along the edges of tables and chairs, catching the faint light.

In one corner, a large canvas rested on an easel, its stark white surface starkly contrasting the shadows around it. The strokes of a paintbrush whispered through the room like secrets being shared.

The artisan Sylus had hired was a picture of silent concentration, his movements precise yet fluid, as though the canvas itself whispered instructions only he could hear. His dark eyes flicked between you and the image taking shape before him, studying every curve, every shadow, with an intensity that made the air feel heavier. The soft strokes of his paintbrush filled the room, each sound deliberate, carrying a sense of reverence for the craft.

Sitting on the edge of a chaise draped in black velvet, the luxurious material soft against your bare skin. A sheet—thin, white, and nearly translucent under the moonlight—was your only covering, clinging to your form in a way that felt both tantalizing and vulnerable. The pose Sylus had requested was anything but modest, and though it made your cheeks flush faintly, the artist’s detached professionalism helped temper the awkwardness.

The moonlight streaming in through the towering windows kissed your skin, making it glow against the deep shadows of the room. Every subtle movement—your breathing, the occasional adjustment of the sheet, the shift of your gaze—seemed amplified in the stillness. The air itself felt charged, as if time held its breath for this moment to unfold.

Sylus reclined in a grand armchair near the far side of the room, his long legs crossed, his sharp features softened only by the faint smirk that played at his lips. A crystal wine glass dangled between his fingers, catching the light like a jewel, its contents dark and rich. His gaze was fixed on you—not with the detached curiosity of the artisan but with something more proprietary, more intrigued. His presence was magnetic, commanding without words, and his silence held the weight of unspoken thoughts.

"Your left arm, miss. Lift it a bit," the artist murmured, his voice low and even, breaking the almost sacred silence. His eyes flicked toward you briefly, assessing, before returning to the canvas with the same calm precision he had exhibited throughout the night.

The simple request made you shift slightly on the chaise, the sheet slipping just enough to expose more of your breast as you adjusted. The movement felt deliberate, every inch of skin bared under the artist’s scrutiny becoming part of his composition. The room seemed to hold its breath as you raised your arm, draping it over the back of the chaise as instructed.

Sylus turned his head toward you, his movements deliberate and unhurried, the sharp angles of his face softened by the faint smile that graced his lips. It was a smile that held both mischief and intrigue, a look that made it impossible to discern where admiration ended and amusement began. The light from the windows gleamed in his eyes, giving them an almost predatory glint.

"A striking composition," he murmured, his voice a rich, low timbre that resonated through the still air. It was a sound that could easily command attention, yet here it felt intimate, as though meant only for you. "Don’t you agree, kitten?"

The question hung in the air, weighted with layers of meaning. His gaze flickered, lingering on the line of your nearly bare breast where the sheet had slipped, the moonlight carving out every subtle curve, the peaks of your nipples. There was something disarming about the way he spoke, his tone both playful and serious, as though he were inviting you into some secret he had yet to share.

The artist didn’t pause in his work, though you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, betraying that even he wasn’t entirely immune to Sylus’s presence. His brush continued its soft strokes, the sound rhythmic and soothing, blending into the charged atmosphere.

You shifted slightly, the faint rustle of the sheet breaking the silence, and met Sylus’s gaze. There was a heat to his expression, tempered by a calculating coolness that left you uncertain of his true intentions. The tension between the three of you felt almost tangible now, the room alive with an energy that seemed to thrum beneath the surface.

"Perhaps," you replied softly, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. "Though I think the artist deserves the credit for that, not me."

Sylus’s smile deepened, his head tilting ever so slightly, as though your response amused him. "Oh, but the canvas is nothing without its muse," he said, lifting his glass in a quiet salute before taking a slow sip. "And you, my dear, are truly one worth painting."

It's quiet again, for just a moment.

Sylus clicked his tongue softly, a sound of contemplation rather than impatience, his gaze flicking back to the canvas. He swirled the wine in his glass absentmindedly, the deep red liquid catching the moonlight like liquid garnet. After a beat, his eyes shifted toward the artist, his expression one of casual command.

"The drape," he said, his voice a low purr that carried easily through the quiet room. He gestured faintly toward the sheet wrapped around you, his fingers barely moving as he spoke. "Perhaps you can take it down?"

The artist paused, his brush hovering above the canvas. His dark eyes darted toward Sylus, then to you, before returning to his work. "If the subject is comfortable," he said cautiously, his tone neutral but his gaze flickering with unspoken questions.

“All the way?” It came out with a foreign nervousness, but you got a nod. All the way.

So with a slow exhale, you nodded back, the movement subtle but enough to signal your consent. The artist, recognizing the shift, approached with a soft swish of his robes. His hands were gentle but deliberate as he reached for the drape, his fingers brushing across your skin as he slowly slid it off. The fabric unfurled, slipping away with a soft rustle, leaving you exposed to the cold touch of the night air and the more unrelenting gaze of Sylus.

There was a subtle shift in the room as the sheet was discarded, the air colder now as it kissed the bare skin of your shoulders, your breasts, your thighs. The artist returned to his easel, his brush resuming its careful strokes, capturing each detail of your form.

Sylus, however, didn’t immediately speak. His eyes, still fixed on you, glistened with something unspoken, something deeper than just admiration for the composition of the moment. He took another sip of wine, the glass held loosely in his hand, his lips curving into a small, satisfied smile.

It wasn’t the first time he had seen you naked—far from it. You had been the subject of the paintings he’d bought countless times before, the air between you thick with desires spoken and unspoken. Those moments had been different—more familiar, more intimate, without the looming weight of expectation. But this… this felt different.

The room, with its heavy shadows and cold moonlight, felt charged in a way it hadn’t before. Sylus’s gaze lingered longer, sharper, as if he were studying you, not just admiring the curve of your body, but absorbing something deeper—something that seemed to pull at the very core of you. The way he watched you now was colder, more assessing, yet still wrapped in that same underlying intrigue.

You could feel the shift in the air, feel the way his eyes didn’t just glance over your skin as before, but carved into it, tracing every inch with the intensity of someone who wasn’t simply enjoying the view—but claiming it, as if you were a work of art he had yet to fully possess. His smile, that quiet, satisfied curve of his lips, held a kind of knowing that unsettled you, despite the familiarity of it all.

There was an unsettling calmness to the way he drank from his glass, every movement deliberate, as though he knew exactly how long he could hold you in this moment, how long he could make you feel exposed, vulnerable, and still expect you to remain calm. There was no rush, no desire to touch you right away. His silence, his steady gaze, was more intimate in a way that made the air heavier, more suffocating.

bared before him, this felt different. This felt like you weren’t just a willing partner, but a subject—a canvas for his deeper curiosity, a part of his game, and you were unsure whether you were winning or losing.

Goosebumps rose on your skin, the sudden chill of the room making every inch of your exposed body feel more vulnerable, more aware. The warmth the drape had provided was gone, and the cool air kissed your skin, making your nipples harden in response. The sensation wasn’t lost on Sylus. You could feel his gaze moving over you, absorbing every detail, and something in the air thickened, carrying the weight of his unspoken thoughts.

He took a slow sip of his wine, his lips curling into a faint, almost predatory smile as he watched you react to the cold. Then, without breaking his gaze, he shifted his attention to the artist.

"I've changed my mind," Sylus said, his voice a smooth drawl, casual yet laced with a subtle command. "Start over."

The artist, still bent over his work, hesitated, his brush pausing mid-air. He glanced up, a brow lifting in silent query as he regarded Sylus. "But sir, we’ve already begun—"

Sylus didn’t even let him finish. "I’ll pay double—no, triple," he said, his voice low and insistent, the words dropping like heavy coins into the silence. "Just do it."

The artist’s hesitation melted away, the promise of such an offer too tempting to ignore. He glanced back at you, his expression unreadable, before setting down his brush. His movements were careful, deliberate, as he began to adjust the canvas slightly, giving you space to move.

You adjusted yourself carefully, the movement slow and deliberate as you turned to face Sylus, your body fully exposed to his gaze. There was a quiet tension in the room, and as you caught his eyes, you let him feast on the sight of you, the weight of his stare making every nerve in your body aware of the vulnerability in the moment.

A playful, teasing smile tugged at the corner of your lips, as you broke the heavy silence with your words. "You have a pose in mind?" you asked, the tone light and joking, an attempt to mask the deeper undercurrent of discomfort that flickered beneath your playful facade.

But Sylus’s smile didn’t falter. There was no humor in his eyes, only a quiet certainty. He leaned forward slightly, setting his wine glass down with an almost imperceptible clink, his gaze flickering over your form once more, taking in the details with the precision of someone who knew exactly what he wanted.

Sylus’s gaze flickered briefly to the artist, and then returned to you, his expression unreadable for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was smooth, calculated, as though he were savoring every word.

"Yes," he replied, the single word carrying an unspoken command. "I want her standing, one foot forward, a slight arch to her back. Her left hand should rest on her hip, just like that—" He gestured with a flick of his fingers, guiding you into the position, his eyes tracing the lines of your body. "And the right arm raised, but not too high. Let the hand hang loosely, fingers extended like you’re reaching for something, but not quite grasping it. Your head tilted just slightly, eyes meeting the artist’s—no, mine. I want the focus on you."

He paused for a moment, taking in the effect of his words, before his lips curled into a half-smile.

"And don’t move," he added, his voice commanding now, an undertone of dark satisfaction threading through his tone. "I want the tension in your body to be alive."

The artist’s brow furrowed briefly, but the offer of triple pay quickly silenced any objections. He nodded, refocusing on his canvas, preparing for the shift in the scene. Sylus remained seated, watching you with that same sharp, patient gaze, every inch of him fully aware of the game he was playing.

You felt the weight of the pose, the challenge of holding it just right, the pressure of both Sylus’s and the artist’s eyes on you.

***

It was some time before the artist finally set his brush down, the silence in the room thick with concentration. Finally, when the last stroke was added and the artist stepped back with a deep exhale, you were free to move. The tension in your body snapped as you lowered your arm, the muscles protesting the sudden shift. You stood, stretching, the relief palpable as you reached above your head, feeling the pull in your shoulders and spine.

Yet Sylus himself seemed completely at ease. As a matter of face, he seemed unfazed by the passage of time. He was calm, almost serene, his attention fixated on the painting leaning against the wall as it dried. His expression was one of quiet satisfaction, but there was something deeper in his eyes, a kind of quiet hunger that lingered as he took in the image before him.

There, captured in oils on stretched animal skin, was you—your body immortalized in vivid detail. Every curve, every line, every inch of your exposed form was perfectly rendered, the colors rich and deep, almost alive under the low light of the room. The moonlight slanted across the canvas, highlighting your body in a way that made the image seem as though it were still in motion, as if the moment Sylus had captured would never truly end.

Your body, perfectly nude, stared back at you from the canvas—more than just a reflection, more than just a piece of art. It was an interpretation of you, crafted by Sylus’s intent, the artist’s skill, and the silence of the room.

You could feel the weight of the gaze upon you—his eyes not just on the painting, but on you, seeing the connection between the two. The moment stretched on, thick with a kind of power. He didn’t speak immediately, but there was a slight, knowing smile tugging at his lips. His fingers toyed with the wine glass in his hand, almost absently.

"You look... perfect," he murmured, his voice still smooth, but with an edge of something darker, something more satisfied. "Captured perfectly. What do you think?"

His eyes flickered back to you, measuring your reaction as if he expected something more, something to acknowledge the work of art that now existed between the two of you.

You stood there, staring at the painting, but in truth, you didn’t know what to think. It felt surreal, this image of you—perfectly captured, immortalized in oils. The canvas seemed to breathe in the dim light, the shadows and highlights playing across it like a mirror of the tension that still lingered in the room. You could still feel Sylus’s eyes on you, but your mind couldn’t settle on any one thought about the painting itself.

Instead, you turned your gaze back to him, meeting his eyes with a question in your heart that had been swirling for some time now. "Why was this important to you?" you asked, curiosity lacing your voice, though there was an undercurrent of something more: a quiet need to understand what had driven him to orchestrate such a scene.

Sylus didn’t immediately respond, his fingers pausing on the glass of wine as he studied you, his gaze unwavering. For a long moment, it felt like the room itself held its breath. His lips curved into that familiar, enigmatic smile, but this time, there was a softness to it, a kind of distance that had always been absent before.

He glanced at the painting, then back at you, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. "Why?" he echoed, as if testing the question on his tongue. "Isn’t it obvious?"

You waited for him to elaborate, but instead, he took another sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving you. The silence between you stretched, thick with an unspoken weight, and you couldn’t help but feel that you weren’t just asking about the painting. You were asking about everything—the game he played, the tension that existed between the two of you, the fascination he seemed to hold.

Finally, he set his glass down, his voice lower, almost contemplative. "Because you’re more than just a person to me," he said, his gaze softening slightly, though there was still a sharp edge to it. "You’re a... presence. Something I want to understand, to capture, in every way." He took a slow step closer, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he added, almost too casually, "And because one should preserve what they cherish, shouldn't they?"

Sylus’s voice, low and deliberate, seemed to echo around the room, weaving itself into the very fabric of the space.

You paused, the implications of his statement sinking in slowly. The way he looked at you—like something to be preserved, something he had every intention of holding onto—sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t the first time he’d made it clear he valued you, but this was different. There was a possessiveness in his tone, a quiet claim, one that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

"Preserve what you cherish," you repeated softly, the words tasting strange in your mouth. You couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he saw when he looked at you—what he truly valued, and if it was you, or the version of you he’d crafted in his mind, captured forever in oil and paint.

You met his gaze again, studying him, trying to discern if he meant the words as something more than just the artist’s admiration. There was a subtle shift in his posture as he watched you, something more predatory, more certain, as if he was waiting for a reaction, for you to acknowledge this deeper layer of his affection, his obsession.

The silence stretched between you, but it was charged, full of unspoken promises and unanswered questions. He hadn't said it outright, but you knew the implication, the undercurrent of possession that ran through his words. Sylus wasn't just capturing your form on canvas—he was capturing you, and perhaps, in a way, he always had been.

“Mr. Sylus?” “I don’t think cherish is the right word.”

Before you could fully process the weight of his words, Sylus was in front of you, closing the distance in two long strides. His movements were swift yet deliberate, as though he had been holding back until this very moment.

His hands came up to cup your face, warm and firm against your skin, tilting your head just so. And then his lips met yours—demanding, yet tender, with a fervor that left no room for doubt. The kiss wasn’t just a meeting of lips; it was an unspoken declaration, a culmination of everything unsaid between you.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the world outside fading into irrelevance as the cold air and ache in your body melted away under his touch. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks, a contrast to the intensity of the kiss, grounding you in a moment that felt both overwhelming and inevitable.

Sylus kissed you like he was sealing something—his claim, his admiration, his need—all of it poured into the way his lips moved against yours. And despite the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you, you found yourself unable to resist, your body responding instinctively to the fire he ignited within you.

When he finally pulled back, it was only slightly, his face still close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. His eyes, now softer but still burning with intensity, searched yours, as if daring you to question what had just transpired.

"Tell me," he murmured, his voice low and rough, "that you didn’t feel that, too."

"Mr. Sylus—" you began, your voice hesitant, unsure of where this sudden shift was leading.

"Just a moment," he interrupted, his tone calm but firm, cutting through the air like a blade.

He stepped back, his hands leaving your face, though the warmth of his touch lingered on your skin. His eyes moved over you, deliberate and unhurried, as if committing every detail of you to memory all over again. Then, just as quickly, his gaze flicked to the portrait leaning against the wall before returning to you.

"The bed," he said simply, his voice carrying the same commanding edge as before.

You blinked, caught off guard. "Pardon?"

"Get on the bed, please," he repeated, his tone soft but leaving no room for argument. There was no malice in his words, no urgency, only a quiet determination that made it clear he wasn’t asking out of whimsy.

The way he stood, the way he watched you, made your breath catch. You weren’t sure if it was the lingering tension from the kiss or the intensity of his gaze, but something about the moment made your heart race. He wasn’t just commanding your presence; he was asking for your trust, for your surrender to whatever vision he had in his mind.

And despite everything—your hesitation, the ache in your muscles, the chill in the air—you found yourself moving toward the bed, drawn by the magnetic pull of his words, of him.

"Have you any idea how many paintings I've collected at this point?" Sylus asked, his voice calm yet layered with something deeper, something sharper.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he didn’t give you the chance. As his hands moved to loosen his tie, slipping it free in one smooth motion, he answered his own question.

"Hundreds," he said, his tone carrying an almost casual air, though his gaze never left you. "Hundreds of models, hundreds of hours. Each one a study in beauty, in form, in fleeting perfection." He let the tie drop onto a nearby chair, his attention entirely on you now.

"But you," he continued, stepping closer, his voice softening in a way that made the words feel intimate, confessional. "I've had dozens made of you—every detail, every angle, every nuance of your being."

You felt your breath hitch as his words washed over you, the weight of them settling heavily in the pit of your stomach.

"And yet," he said, his lips curving into a faint, almost rueful smile, "no one has gotten it right."

The room seemed to close in as he spoke, the air charged with the tension of his admission. He reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch light but electric.

"You’re simply perfect," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper now. "And I will not stop until it’s captured, until it’s immortalized exactly as it should be."

"And I would be a fool," Sylus continued, his voice low and deliberate, "to think that perhaps you do it on purpose, but no..."

His movements were slow, calculated, as he climbed onto the bed, his presence suddenly overwhelming. He loomed over you, his dark eyes searching yours before they dropped to your hand, which he took gently but firmly in his own.

Sylus turned your wrist over, inspecting the delicate lines and curves of your skin with the same intensity he had given the canvas earlier. His thumb brushed over the inside of your wrist, where your pulse beat steadily beneath the surface, and his lips quirked into a faint, knowing smile.

"They miss the finer details," he murmured, almost to himself. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, holding your gaze for a moment before he leaned down.

The warmth of his breath brushed against your skin as his lips ghosted over your wrist, a touch so light it sent shivers down your spine. The sensation was maddening, a deliberate tease that left you frozen in place, caught between anticipation and uncertainty.

"They capture the shape," he whispered, his lips hovering close, "but never the soul. Never this." His words were reverent, his tone almost worshipful, as though he were addressing something sacred.

"Never what?" The words escaped your lips, soft as a baby's breath, barely more than a whisper.

Sylus’s gaze flicked up to meet yours, dark and smoldering, as though your question had stirred something within him. For a moment, he didn’t answer, his thumb still idly tracing patterns along the inside of your wrist, his lips hovering so close to your skin that you could feel their warmth.

"Never you," he finally murmured, his voice low and velvety, thick with conviction. "They capture an imitation, a shadow, a shell of what you are. But the essence of you, the way your light bends in the darkness, the way your skin warms to my touch, the way your soul fills a room without saying a word..."

He paused, as if searching for words worthy of what he wanted to convey, his grip on your wrist tightening ever so slightly.

"They’ll never get that," he continued, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke, sending a shiver racing through you.

"They try," he continues, his lips brushing faintly against your skin as he speaks, "to recreate you. To distill everything that you are into paint and canvas. But how can they? They don’t know the way your pulse quickens." His thumb presses lightly against your wrist, as if to prove his point.

"They don’t know the curve of your lips when you smile, the way your eyes light up when you're defiant, or the softness of your breath when you're still." His other hand comes up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

"They don’t know this," he repeats, his lips finally pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your wrist, as though sealing the moment in time.

"I adore you. I don't think you understand." Sylus's voice is low, the words slipping out with a quiet intensity that sends a shiver through your spine. His red eyes lock onto yours, unblinking, as if trying to pull something from within you—something deeper, something that perhaps even you haven’t fully realized yet.

There’s a sharpness to his gaze now, a hunger that flickers beneath the surface, but it's tempered with something else—something softer, almost tender, as though he’s offering you a truth he’s kept hidden for far too long.

His hand stays on your wrist, his touch gentle yet possessive, as if he’s anchoring you to the moment, to the declaration he’s just made.

"You don’t understand," he repeats, his voice laced with both frustration and affection. "You don’t see how you consume me."

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Every inch of you, every movement, every breath—it's all mine, in a way no one else could ever claim." His words are heady, thick with desire and something deeper—something that feels like it could swallow you whole.

His gaze flickers back to your face, his eyes drinking in every detail. "I adore you," he says again, this time with an almost reverent finality. "You are everything."

His hand moves slowly, almost tentatively, to your throat, wrapping around it lightly. The contact sends a shiver down your spine, a mix of tension and vulnerability that courses through you. For a moment, it feels almost like a threat—powerful, electrifying, and yet, strangely intimate.

The grip is not harsh, not suffocating, but it carries an undeniable presence—like a whisper of danger beneath the surface. And then, just as quickly, he lets it go, releasing the hold with a slow, deliberate motion.

Sylus's eyes search yours, as though he’s looking for something deeper, something that can explain the inexplicable pull between you. His gaze softens slightly, a subtle shift that hints at something beyond the intensity of the moment—perhaps a need to connect in a way that’s almost impossible to articulate.

"I can make you understand," he says, his voice tinged with a mix of challenge and vulnerability, "in ways you’ve never felt before."

"I just don’t understand how they never see this," Sylus murmurs, his lips grazing your wrist as he speaks, the soft touch sending a wave of heat through your body. His voice holds a mix of frustration and admiration, as if the rest of the world has missed something so painfully obvious to him.

The sensation of his lips against your skin lingers for a moment longer than it should, a whisper of warmth that contrasts sharply with the coldness of the room.

Then, slowly, almost reluctantly, he lets go of your arm, letting it fall gently to your thighs. The space between you feels heavier now, filled with the unspoken words hanging in the air, but his gaze never wavers, still locked onto you with an intensity that is both unsettling and magnetic.

You can feel the weight of his attention as he waits, as if he’s daring you to make the next move, to acknowledge the depth of what he’s said and what’s between you. His lips part slightly, as if he’s about to speak again, but for a moment, the silence stretches, thick and taut.

Your mouth goes dry at his confession, your heart pounding in your chest as the weight of his words settles in. Your face flushes, warmth creeping across your skin, and the tips of your fingers tingle with nervous energy. The air between you seems to thicken, charged with a silent tension as his words echo in your mind.

“Adore me, huh?” you ask, your voice slightly unsteady, but a trace of defiance running through it.

“Of course,” he replies, his tone firm yet tinged with something like amusement.

A daring idea blossoms in your mind, and without a second thought, you push yourself up, leaning back on your arms, feeling the strain of your muscles as you shift your position. You bring your foot to Sylus’s chin, gently but firmly tilting his head up, forcing him to meet your gaze.

"Why don’t you paint me then?" you challenge, your voice barely a whisper, but the words are thick with intent. "Paint me how you see me."

Your eyes lock onto his, daring him to follow through, to capture you in a way he’s never been able to before. The room seems to hold its breath, waiting for his next move, for the tension to either break or build to something more.

You hold his gaze, unwavering, knowing that this moment is different—there’s something in the air, in his expression, in the silence, that makes this more than just a game.

Sylus's gaze darkens as he locks eyes with you, his lips curling into a slow, wicked smile. The words that follow are laced with heat and something possessive, a raw honesty that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Show me how.”

Show him how?

He answers before you even thought to ask.

“Touch yourself,”

“Touch myself?” “Yes.”

He sits up, giving you the space to do so. You look at him, incredulous.

“Go on, sweetheart.”

You don’t know how, but you find yourself leaning back against the headboard of the bed.

Touch yourself.

Okay, yeah.

You could do that.

You open your legs, bringing a hand down to your cunt.

His eyes don’t leave your hand, not as you bring it up to your lips, sucking on them, and not as you bring your wet fingers back to your cunt, moving in slow circles.

The cold air was still cold, and you didn’t know where else to look. Not as you dipped your fingers between your lips, not as your head tilted back.

Your free hand went to your breast, rolling the nipple between your fingers. Your cheeks burned, knowing he wouldn’t look away. You close your legs around your wrist, but he clears his throat.

Open them back up.

So you do.

Your clit is sensitve as you play with it, soft breaths turning into quiet pants. Feeling yourself getting wetter, you added a third finger to the mix, beginning to pump them in and out.

This wouldn’t do. You wouldn't be able to get yourself off like this, with him watching.

So you shut your eyes, trying to pretend he wasn’t there. Pinching your clit, you sucked in a breath. Oh, fuck.

Sylus, however, wasn’t doing much better. His pants were tight, cock strained against his underwear. But he wouldn’t do anything. This was all for you.

“Sylus,” it comes out airy, and your fingers just arent enough, “Can’t you help me?” “Help you? Darling, you’re supposed to show me how to paint, not the other way around.”

Damn him.

“I can’t,” “You can. Get on with it.”

You curl your fingers, and oh, your eyes flutter. The hand that was on your tit goes to help the other, your cunt greedy for the attention as your hips start to buck. Pulling your hand out for a brienf moment, you wipe the wetness off on your thighs, feeling your clit throb as you slow the pace down once again.

Your stomach had butterflies. The fact that this man had wanted you in such a way…

It was nice to have a loyal patron.

His red eyes on you, that smooth voice always appreciative, and lord, those hands- that nose- that stupid smirk..

Your toes curl, and you say his name.

So close, so close, so close-

His hand is on your wrist, pulling it up, your high stolen.

“Marvelous.”

Eyes opening, you look at him, chest heaving.

“I, haa, I wasn’t done.” The corners of his lips turn upwards. He brings your fingers to his lips, tasting them. He hums in approval.

“I’ve seen enough. I’ve learned.”

Oh, damn him.

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bumblesimagines · 2 days ago

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The Lions Claws

Request: Yes or No

Summary: When a Lannister visits King's Landing, he ends up finding entertainment in the King's eldest son.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical HOTD warnings, toxic/manipulative behavior, Lannisters being Lannisters, mentions of bruises, cersei would be proud, aegon might feel a lil ooc

~~~

For a capital meant to represent the Crown, King's Landing was incredibly underwhelming. Even the towering Red Keep sitting atop Aegon's Hill proved lacking with its dull red stone and drum towers casting shadows. He'd expected something akin to Highgarden's serene beauty or the formidable and untouchable Storm's End but the Red Keep was dreary at best. The air felt thick and suffocating as if it were eager to be rid of guests with clouds loomed overhead in varying shades of grey, leaving one wondering if there'd be a drizzle or downpour awaiting them the moment they stepped outside.

"A smile wouldn't kill you," Erwin muttered across from him, yet the grimace on his face spoke for his own thoughts. Homesick was one word to describe the heaviness in their chests. "Your mother wouldn't be pleased if she heard you left a sour impression on Her Majesty and the Hand."

"Oh, please." (Y/N) spared his cousin a glance before his eyes returned to peering up at the Red Keep from the window of the carriage. Chilling air flowed inside, opposite of the warm breezes that so often clung to the westerlands he knew well. "All she cares to know is if Tyland's made a fool of himself yet, the poor idiot. She may not say it but I know she fears the dragons will eat him alive."

"I haven't heard of dragons eating lions yet." Erwin's lips quirked up into a grin, showing off his pearly white smile that always made impressionable young ladies swoon.

Once the carriage came to a stop, Erwin's smile disappeared and he straightened up, casting him one last look before the door was opened. He stepped out first, his bronze hair briefly glittering when the sun managed to peek out from behind a drifting cloud as his eyes swiftly swept over the courtiers and servants around. (Y/N) released a soft sigh and followed him out into the chilly air, the bottom of his feet hitting the gravel beneath and moving around the small grains.

The Red Keep was equally as boring up close as it was from afar. In its prime, back when Aegon the Conqueror was still around, it may have been a sight for sore eyes; something that truly struck both awe and fear into the hearts of his enemies. But now, with the tightened hold of the Hightowers, it was bleak. Perhaps its beauty drained with the King's ailing health, forever entwined with the bloodline that'd built it. Perhaps historians and poets were simply sucking up to their rulers.

His eyes naturally glided downward to the pop of color sticking out against the stone. Her Majesty, Queen Alicent Hightower, stood before the grand doors with her children. She was pretty, shockingly youthful, and dressed in a color that clashed with the house she'd married into but was every bit of Hightower. Floor-length, off-the-shoulder, and in a nice shade of green that reminded him of forest leaves during the peak of spring. It allowed for her ivory skin and auburn hair to stick out more. Yet, despite her striking beauty, she was not all he expected. The Hightowers were known for plenty of things, but the woman before him appeared as frail as a withered flower.

"Thirdborn son of Lady and Lord Lannister, Your Majesty, Your Graces." Erwin's words sounded robotic and slightly practiced, the little armor he wore clinking together when he bent at the waist. Poised, proper, and with a hint of authority, Erwin had always been what every knight dreamed of becoming. "(Y/N) Lannister of Casterly Rock."

And so the charade began.

Allowing a smile to grace his features, (Y/N) stepped forward and dipped his head in respect before lifting it to look her in the eye. She stared back at him, the exhaustion in her eyes subtle yet he noticed it immediately. She had many duties now with her husband bedridden. How would she fare, he wondered, when he passed. "Your Majesty, it is an honor to make your acquaintance." He recited the words his mother had ingrained in his head, the memory so clear he could practically see her glowering at him. "I hope my older brother has done House Lannister justice during his time here."

"Ser Tyland has done us a great service as our master of ships." Queen Alicent smiled politely, though the underlying tone in her voice spoke plainly: he was essentially useless without the need for a naval fleet, though most masters of ships were. He imagined Tyland offered bits and pieces of advice now and again during meetings. He'd always been a little wiser than Jason. "I pray the trip here from Casterly Rock wasn't weariful. Your apartments have been arranged already if you wish to rest."

"You are most generous, Your Majesty." It was the bare minimum of a host but good manners and thankful words often went a long way, especially with prideful nobles. However, Queen Alicent hardly seemed keen on compliments, or his presence, for that matter.

"I'm afraid I have pressing matters to attend to but I'm certain the Princes Aegon and Aemond will be pleased to refresh your memory of the castle." Queen Alicent tilted her head toward the three Targaryens lined up beside her, her smile notably falling when she eyed the eldest of the bunch before it returned just as quickly to bid them farewell. Four pairs of violet eyes tracked her movements, one pair with a little more longing than the other.

The eldest, Prince Aegon, stood a little shorter than his lanky brother and he lacked the rigid posture and poise of a young man of his station; his shoulders were lowered and his knees bent slightly, though, from the lazy smirk on his face, it was all purposeful. An attempt to irritate his mother, (Y/N) assumed given the swift exchange between them. Prince Aegon was a curious fellow, (Y/N) decided then and there.

His hair was wavy like his mother's but unkept and messy, matching his disheveled clothes that'd turn any parent red with embarrassment. Pale violet eyes watched him, glinting with hunger, but for violence or affection, (Y/N) hadn't deduced yet. Prince Aegon wanted others to fear him, to feel intimidated by his title, judging by the way his eyes narrowed challengingly. He reminded (Y/N) of the juvenile lions back home, the teenagers torn between proving themselves or running back to their mother's side.

Prince Aemond, on the other hand, was every bit of a royal son. His back remained erect and his shoulders were squared, the height he had over his siblings allowing him to appear as if he were towering over them. His hair was straight and reached past his shoulders, seemingly brushed regularly unlike Prince Aegon's. His singular eye had unease settling in the pit of (Y/N)'s stomach, piercing and scrutinizing as if searching for a flaw or weakness to pounce upon. Gossip and news spread like wildfire across Westeros, so when the King's son lost an eye to his own nephew during a scuffle, the news reached Casterly Rock within a few days. It hardly surprised him Prince Aemond seemed guarded.

Beside Prince Aemond stood Queen Alicent's only daughter and perhaps the most beloved amongst the smallfolk, Princess Helaena. She pointedly stared at the cobbled floor beneath her feet, her lips pressed into a thin line as she shifted her weight from foot to foot with a slight sway. (Y/N) knew her to be of a gentler, almost odd disposition, but her tender-heartedness won over the smallfolk more than her elder sister ever had. She seemed to be a mix of her two brothers with her hair not quite wavy yet not quite straight and her almost slouching stance. A light pink had dusted her round cheeks from the cold and her nose crinkled ever so slightly with each breeze.

Princess Helaena seemed too gentle of a girl to bother and (Y/N) had an inkling Prince Aemond's patience ran thin, which only left the would-be heir as (Y/N)'s form of entertainment for the duration of his stay. His gaze glided over to the prince in question, the corners of his lips threatening to twitch up into a smile. There was nothing more he loved than a lordling (or in this case, a princeling) to toy with. Lannisters were known for playing with their food.

"Your Grace," (Y/N) moved up the steps swiftly, amused at the way Prince Aegon's brows raised and his lips turned downward with a perplexed frown. His hands reached out to smooth his palms over the sleeves of Prince Aegon's coat, his ears picking up the faint sigh from his cousin behind him. Prince Aegon visibly flinched at his touch. "I recall we once played together as children. I hope we can catch up in due time; you must have many stories to tell of your childhood here. You can tell me of the dragons housed in the Dragonpit, and if it interests you, I can tell you of the lions we keep in Casterly Rock."

Prince Aegon blinked, his adams apple bobbing with a harsh swallow. "I-"

"I look forward to it, Your Grace, but I am dreadfully tired." The facade already began to crack. The prince seemed utterly baffled by his sudden attention. His fingers fidgeted at his sides and his posture straightened with uncertainty. "I hope to see you at supper."

With each passing day, it felt as if the Red Keep were trying to suffocate him with boredom. The other courtiers were as predictable as expected, flocking to him with an eagerness to be favored by a Lannister whilst simultaneously hoping to hear anything they could whisper about in the halls. Gossip wasn't new to him; he loved indulging in it back home, often while sprawled out over a couch with his giggling gaggle of friends. But the Red Keep... he simply despised it.

At the very least, the chaos of the Targaryen family kept him from smashing his head into the nearest wall.

Perched on a stone railing overlooking the training yard, (Y/N) watched the lordlings and pages train under the supervision of Ser Criston Cole and other on-looking knights who had little to do. His eyes tracked Prince Aemond's stride, his chin cocked upward and smile challenging, but the only one daring enough to step forward. (Y/N) hadn't cared to figure out whether his confidence was merely a charade to mask the wounds of a child once tormented by his peers or as real as the greed in everyone around them.

He'd concluded the royal children were like bruises, purple and green with hints of yellow, fresh and tender. If he lingered on one for long enough, pressed and prodded with enough force, their pain would be revealed for his eyes to observe. Prince Aemond hid himself well enough through cold stares and calculated words, but the days that'd passed had allowed (Y/N) to view the little boy beneath the young man. Whenever he passed the ladies of the court, he'd adjust his eyepatch and turn his gaze away from them to subtly hide his face from sight. If Prince Aegon bored him, he considered Prince Aemond as his next plaything.

The only one emboldened enough to step out to face the tall prince had been none other than his older brother, though, by the way he staggered and cackled as if everything were one big joke, it could only be assumed he'd had one too many drinks. Prince Aegon's blatant disregard for their training had his brother rolling his eyes, his chest rising and falling with a heavy exhale. His antics were common enough for Ser Criston to stare at him with hardly disguised disappointment, his hands resting on his hips like a father ready to scold his troublesome child.

"If only he were a jester and not a prince." (Y/N) murmured with a quiet sigh. He could bargain for a jester, offer a trade to Her Majesty and the Hand so there'd be no losing side but princes were like the gold in the mines of the westerlands. They had to be shaped and formed, just as any other person, but they had to feel as if everything they did was of their own accord.

A sweet Dornish red swirled around in his mouth, his attention locked on the stumbling prince that by all means should've been heir had it not been for his father's stubbornness. Prince Aegon moved awkwardly in the chest plate and the sword swung clumsily in his hands yet his laughter continued bouncing off the walls. It was childish and carefree, unlike his brother's scowl which deepened by the minute. Prince Aemond spared Ser Criston a glance and then charged at his brother, his movements akin to a fluid dance as swords clashed. Prince Aegon struggled to keep up, too inebriated to focus clearly, thus leading to his loss.

Swiftly, Prince Aemond ended the brief spar by slamming the hilt of his sword into his brother's face, legs leading him backward as Prince Aegon fell onto the gravel with a pained cry. Ser Criston sprang into action, shooting the younger prince a disapproving look over his shoulder before he reached out toward Prince Aegon, his words lost to the wind. The knights closest to them moved to help Prince Aegon onto his feet but once the prince found his footing, he shrugged away their hands and sneered at them. His cheeks, once pink from the many drinks, turned into a deeper shade of red that spread to his ears. Humiliated, though certainly not for the first time.

(Y/N) swung his legs over the railing and slid off it, kicking up hints of dust when he touched the ground. He savored the last few droplets of his wine and set the cup aside with a satisfied sigh. His legs carried him into the hallway and down a set of stairs, his mind still unfamiliar with the castle but he'd memorized the places he wished to visit the most. One being Prince Aegon's bedchambers, which he shared with his sister-wife and down the hall from the shared room of their little children. He lingered by the railings overlooking the inner courtyard until Prince Aegon appeared, his figures disappearing into his bedchambers with a tentative young maester trailing after him.

The guards positioned outside the door allowed him in without so much as a glance, a monotone voice gruffly calling out his name before the doors rattled shut. (Y/N) scanned the bedchambers but found nothing of interest apart from shrouds and other fabrics with embroidered insects and the maid cleaning a wine stain off the floor, so he settled his attention onto the silently fuming prince and the maester attempting to work around his pout.

"What is it?" Prince Aegon questioned, wincing by the end of his sentence which only fueled his anger.

"I saw what happened, Your Grace." (Y/N) spoke gently, crossing the distance without much of a hurry and eyeing the blossoming bruise spreading across his cheek. The hit had cracked open the corner of his lip, leaving it raw and speckled with blood the maester attempted to clean. (Y/N) allowed his hand to brush over Prince Aegon's shoulder in a comforting manner, his other hand dismissing the maester with a flick of his wrist. "I wished to see if you were alright."

"Obviously I'm not." Aegon spat, bristling like a cub and pouring himself a cup of wine to swallow down with a cringe. His cut and cheek no doubt ached from his actions, and (Y/N) withheld the urge to snort. Foolish and impulsive, acting on his emotions without thinking twice about the outcomes. A funny little princeling.

"Bring us some sweets." (Y/N) angled his head toward the maid, her scrubbing absentminded enough to tell him she'd been hoping to eavesdrop on the conversation between two noblemen. She raised her head at him, a red curl slipping free from her loosely thrown-together bun and tapping lightly against her cheek. She stared at him for a minute too long, likely irked by a stranger giving her orders, but she stood up regardless with the stained rag in hand. "Thank you, darling." She paused, her irritation soothing over and her head dipped bashfully.

(Y/N) settled down on the chair beside the prince and picked up the napkin the maester had been using, folding it over his index finger and dabbing lightly at Prince Aegon's lip. His brows, a darker shade than his snowy locks, furrowed again and his lips twitched, threatening to pull into a frown that'd certainly sting.

"Are all westermen as strange as you?"

"Strange is one word for it, I suppose. Most people use 'kind' or 'empathetic', Your Grace." (Y/N) leaned back into the cushion of his seat, withdrawing his hand and setting the napkin aside. His violet hues flickered elsewhere with a hint of guilt and annoyance at his words, his fingers releasing the cup to rest over his thighs in fists.

"Aegon," He said quietly, uncertainty lacing his words. "Call me Aegon."

"Aegon," (Y/N) echoed with a coo, studying the young man before him with hawk eyes. He searched his body, his facial features, for movements and emotions, for any fidgeting or ticks that'd reveal things his voice refused to. "It must be hard having the name of an ancestor as great as Aegon the Conquerer. You must feel pressured."

Aegon scoffed, and just like that, he revealed his pain. It'd been clear for (Y/N) to see since the first day he arrived, but the assumption slowly developed over the passing days; Queen Alicent's weariness at the mere mention of him, the heavy exhales from the Hand, the distaste that crossed the features of those who knew him well when he passed them in the halls. He'd likely been under some pressure as a boy, but he'd fucked up enough times to be properly labeled a disappointment, a bother. He knew it, too. He carried it on his shoulders, masking it by attempting to appear unbothered and lazy.

(Y/N) made no comment on it. Instead, he offered him a smile and caught the footsteps approaching the door. "You're a pretty prince, Aegon. Has anyone ever told you that?" The answer came in the form of two widened eyes staring at him as if he'd grown two heads. It was true, if one squinted past the excessive drinking and snarky words. He had his mother's beauty and the mystique of Targaryens.

The maid shuffled inside with a tray and approached the small round table they sat at, giving them the faintest of smiles as she gingerly set the tray down and began placing plates of sweets on the table. She'd even brought two teacups and a kettle, the faint smell of chamomile tea filling the air when she poured it into the two cups. "That'll be all." (Y/N) said, ensuring his fingers grazed against the back of her hand when she set the teacup in front of him. Her freckled cheeks flushed and she gathered the now empty tray into her hands, sneaking glances over her shoulder as she left.

"I hope you ate before you indulged." (Y/N) ignored the small silver fork resting beside a slice of cake and broke off a piece with his pinched fingers, sticky and clinging to his fingertips. He debated his next movements, considering the possible outcomes and reactions before his unquenchable curiosity won.

Smiling once more, (Y/N) stuck his arm out toward Aegon and held the piece of cake up to his lips. Aegon blinked, eyes flickering wildly between him and his fingers, his brows slowly furrowing. Aegon, too, debated his next movements, his hands unfurling to press his palms into his thighs and adams apple bobbing with a swallow.

When (Y/N) had been a boy, he inquired one of the lion-keepers about how they went about taming beasts. The wrinkled old man had chuckled at his questions, his hand lowering to affectionately pat the top of his head. He'd told him, plainly, that certain beasts could never be tamed, beasts like lions or dragons. But, he'd added with a grin, beasts like humans certainly could. At his young age, (Y/N) found his words to be a riddle he couldn't be bothered to decipher, and so he'd forgotten the question in favor of watching the caged felines.

He learned with age that his words rang true.

To tame any beast, two-legged or not, you had to have a certain amount of patience and keen eyes. A level of trust had to be built, whether through food, water, shelter, or gentle words, that would ease them into being comfortable around your presence. You had to push, and really push, against the boundaries of the beast, threatening to cross the unspoken line until they reacted, favorably or not. Beasts were complicated creatures but the same across all species. And so the princeling before him made up his mind about the crossed boundary.

Tentatively, Aegon closed the space and opened his mouth, his eyes flickering with something familiar, a teasing hunger. His lips closed around his finger, that challenging spark returning and mixing feverishly with the hunger. The tip of his tongue slid along (Y/N)'s finger, collecting crumbs and sticky residue. Honey, he assumed, tugging his finger back with a pop that had the corners of Aegon's mouth lifting. He winced again and unconsciously licked the cut.

"What will your mother say of what happened?" He asked, knowing it'd sour Aegon's mood immediately to bring up the subject of Queen Alicent, but he kept him from shutting down by entertaining him. The same saliva-coated finger broke off another piece of the sweet treat, this time rising to his own mouth. He mimicked Aegon's previous actions, watched the delight and intrigue that briefly sparked across his face. Predictable but still entertaining.

"Nothing," He answered, eyes locked on (Y/N)'s lips and ears twitching with the pop that followed. Aegon slumped back into the chair and dragged his fingers over the bruise, his brows twitching involuntarily when he pressed on it. His shoulders drooped with a heavy, ticked-off sigh, and he reached for one of the tea cups. He brought it to his lips and then hesitated, inhaling the steam and deciding against drinking it.

A hum rumbled in the back of his throat, a tickle in the back of his head eager to test the young man across from him. "Well, I should leave you to rest." He said, curling his hand around a napkin to dry his finger before he stood up.

"Wait!" Aegon blurted out, his chair scraping against the stone floor when he shot up from it, the force nearly making him barrel right into (Y/N)'s chest. Amusement curled around him but he held back the grin to tilt his head at him curiously. Those deprived of attention often sought it out in any way possible, so (Y/N) hardly found himself surprised when Aegon's hand curled around his wrist firmly. "You- You wished to know about the Dragonpit, right?" His tone reeked of desperation.

"That can wait, Your Grace. You've had a rough evening." (Y/N) spoke soothingly, fingertips brushing along Aegon's jaw. They crept upward toward his uninjured cheek, digging into his porcelain skin. He wondered how hard Aegon would break if he pressed hard enough, if he formed cracks or let him shatter. He watched the pale skin redden under his touch, a color that faded slowly.

"I-"

"It's alright, Aegon." (Y/N) assured him, soaking up the hopelessness in his eyes. He leaned forward and ghosted his lips along the bridge of his nose before planting a kiss on the skin between his eyebrows. Aegon practically melted beneath his touch. Such easy prey. "We have plenty of time to catch up."

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dimlylittorch · 2 days ago

Text

this started off as a hurt comfort fic but i changed my mind and it turned into.. manipulation. i am unwell. THIS SHIT IS LIKE 3K+ WORDS BE WARNED.

My Masterlist🌱

Silco x transmasc!reader

small synopsis: he finds the son of an aristocrat in Piltover to be his pawn

He’ll never forget that day. That day on the bridge, when his entire world changed. Ever since then, there’s been a pit inside of his stomach. It churns and twists whenever something that is his is in danger. When something of his is out of his reach.

Grief is a funny thing. It can invoke every kind of human emotion. Anger, sadness.. it tears a person up inside. Leaving scars that will never heal completely. Yes, they fade with time. But sometimes they fester. And wounds get reopened- bringing every single old emotion back in one fell swoop.

Meeting you changed everything he thought he knew. When he thought he’d finally found himself on stable ground, you pulled the world out from under his feet. His heart had grown cold, and he found himself incapable of.. feeling. Feeling anything other than rage, or hate. He had no pity for the weak. Not anymore.

Until he found you.

The day he met you was the day he felt like maybe- just maybe, he could breathe again. A pretty little thing you were. Coming from a good family in Piltover, you were clean and well taken care of, nothing like the people in the Undercity. You were innocent, and completely unaware of the dangers that lied in the Undercity among people like him.

Having packed a small bag, fully intending on exploring some more of the world that your parents kept you so sheltered from, you managed to find yourself near an entrance into the Undercity without even knowing it. Walking through damp alleyways and past the docks, slipping on the occasional patch of worn wood. You had no idea how dangerous it was for you to be out there in the dark.. let alone by yourself.

You found yourself stumbling across run down buildings with holes in the ceiling and ruined infrastructures. One warehouse in particular caught your eye as it seemed relatively stable. You peeked inside through the front entrance before opening the door, it creaking loudly. You take a few steps inside, glancing around at how different it was from the buildings you’d seen your whole life.

“Wow” you whisper to yourself when you look up, a clear view of the moon through one of the holes in the ceiling. Of course, you had no idea Silco was using this place for his own purposes. And you had no idea he was near. Walking through the main area of the building, a small smile creeps along your lips. “Hello!” You call out, hearing a faint echo back, much to your amusement. Silco stood in a dark doorway with his eyes on you, his eye brow quirked with interest. When was the last time he’d heard someone truly laugh?

As you make your way up the large staircase, Silco moves to quietly follow you, curious of your movements. He’d never seen you before.. and you certainly didn’t look like you were from the Undercity. Tripping over debris every now and then, Silco can see the lightness in your movements. You weren’t wary or cautious. Simply exploring like a child would. Once you reach the next floor you see the remnants of old furniture, crouching down and looking at what he would consider trash. He watches with curiosity as you pick up a small item you see on the floor, smiling to yourself as you slip it into your pocket.

Making your way through the run down building, you find a rickety staircase that leads onto the roof. Stepping onto it hesitantly, Silco stays back and watches as you flinch when it creaks and shakes under your weight. Standing still for a moment, you take a breath before heading up the stairs and reaching the roof. Silco hums with amusement as he watches your actions, deciding he might as well follow. He found you intriguing after all. As you settle onto the roof, setting your bag down he slowly follows. But when he hears a sharp creak in the metal, a gasp slips past his lips as he reaches for the roof, the rusted metal staircase starting to collapse.

He saw his life before his eyes- as much as he hated to admit it. The thought of dying to a staircase was embarrassing for a man like him. As he clawed at the wood of the roof, he suddenly felt two hands on one of his arms, and he looked up to see you. The soft face looking back at him, faced riddled with worry.

“Shit- hold on” you say quickly as you tug on him as hard as you can, moving onto your stomach so you can hook your arms under his shoulders, getting a better grip. With a gasp from your lips, he holds onto you out of instinct as he kicks his foot up, using it to push the both of you onto the roof.

When he manages to get onto the roof completely, you roll onto your back, pulling him with you. The both of you breathing heavily, he finds himself in your arms, still holding him. “You okay?” You say softly against his ear before you gently remove your arms from his upper body, leaving him to sit straddled over your hips.

He puts a hand next to your head, using it to sit himself up with a shaky breath as he looks down at you, faces only inches apart. “Fine.” He mutters before he sits himself up further, resting against your hips and thighs. You sit yourself up slightly, hands resting by his knees as you gaze up at him.

“You sure?” You ask softly as your eyes trail over his face, not once flinching from his scars. He looks back at you with a hesitant glance, not used to anyone caring about his wellbeing.

He huffs and moves off of your lap, sitting next to you with a sigh. “I’ve faced worse” he murmurs as he slicks his hair back with his hand.

Sitting up fully, you gently scoot over to be closer to him. You glance over his form, taking in his presence. Fairly tall and slender, but still.. solid. “I’m glad you’re okay.” You say faintly, much to his surprise. He looks over at you, harsh eyes trailing over your form.

“You’re an odd little thing.” He mutters as he looks you over. “And just what were you coming up here for? The scenic view?” He scoffs.

“I’ve just.. never been up here before” you say softly.

“And you got curious?” He muses as he runs his fingers through his hair before standing up and adjusting his not ruffled clothing.

“Mhm” you hum as you stand up with him. Before you can say anything else, a rotted piece of wood breaks under your feet, making you trip forward, grabbing onto him for balance. The force knocks him backwards, making him land on his arse with a huff, you landing on your stomach in his hold. “Christ-“ you gasp when you hit his form and the wood. Gathering yourself for a moment, you look up and meet his sharp gaze. “We have to stop falling into each other like this” you huff with a faint laugh as you sit up slightly, but still leaning over him as you catch your breath.

He sighs when he looks down at you, seeing just how.. soft you truly are. Gentle eyes and a kind smile.. nothing like what he was used to. As you look up at him, your smile widens slightly.

“Hm.. do you have heterochromia? Where your eyes are two different colors?” You question innocently as you sit back and look at him. “They’re really pretty”

He freezes when he hears your words. Pretty. Pretty? Has he ever been called pretty? No. That’s something he would remember. If half of his face wasn’t so scarred it would probably be apparent that he was blushing slightly. Glancing over your facial features, he can’t help but find you amusing. You clearly didn’t know who he was.

“Something like that.” He replies quietly before looking downcast. If only he didn’t have a massive story behind his face. Maybe things would be easier.

Reaching into your bag, you pull out a small brown paper bag and offer it to him. “Are you from the Undercity?” You ask softly. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in Piltover before..”

His eyebrows raise when you offer him the small paper bag, but he begrudgingly takes it, opening it and finding.. cookies. Homemade cookies. He pauses as he thinks about what he’s doing. Sitting on a roof with some topsider idiot trying to make conversation. He should be working towards his dream of Zaun right now. But.. a part of him wanted to stay put. He hated to admit it. But he’s missed being treated like a normal person. And not like a crime lord. Grabbing a cookie with a sigh, he sets the bag down and looks over at you. “Yes, I am. It’s clear you’re from topside..” he mutters as he takes a bite of the cookie.

A small smile quirks at the corner of your lips when you see him take the cookie and take a bite. “My mom made those” you say softly. “Do you like them?”

He huffs a little when he hears you mention your mother. God, how old were you? You seemed in your twenties, maybe.. but there was an innocence about you. The world hadn’t ruined you. Not yet. “It’s.. fine.” He says quietly as he eats the rest of the cookie. He had to stay stoic like always- but in reality he couldn’t remember the last time he had something sweet. It was.. nice. Almost too nice. Sweet enough to give him a toothache. “My compliments to your mother.” He adds faintly.

Your smile widens a bit and you chuckle. “I’ll tell her you said that.” You look at the bag for a moment before gently pushing it towards him. “If you have any friends you want to share with- you can have them. I can always get more.”

God, how innocent could you get? Friends? Him having friends? He almost laughed at the thought. “You truly have no idea who I am?” He questions as he looks up, his gaze meeting your own.

When his eyes meet your own, your heart stutters a little. His gaze was sharp and piercing, nothing like you were used to. In Piltover it was all ‘make sure you maintain polite eye contact- staring is rude,’ but he clearly didn’t follow any stupid rules like you had to. “I’m sorry” you murmur, looking downcast before you look back up at him and offer him your hand. “I suppose I should’ve asked sooner. I’ve been terribly rude.” You could practically feel your mothers words flowing through you- ever forced polite response you ever had to give, rushing back on autopilot. “I’m Y/N, of house L/N.”

His eyebrow quirks when he sees how.. formal you are. He stares at your hand for a moment before sighing and shaking your hand. “Silco.” He says simply before retracting his hand. “And just what does your family do? You seem awfully.. well trained.”

You could help but snort at his words. Well trained? That was a new one. But in reality, it made sense. To society you were nothing more than a dog that knows how to behave. “We’re in the mining industry.” You say with a small smile. “My father manufactures a lot of the machinery that the miners use.”

He hums when he hears your words. Mining? He knew quite a lot about that. Having worked in the mines in his youth.. it’s not something he would go back to willingly. “I take it you don’t work in the mines.” He muses.

“Afraid not.” You hum. “I was attending University.. but I needed a break.”

He scoffs at that, rolling his eyes before he moves to stand up. “There is no time for breaks if you truly wish to accomplish something.” He chastises. “Surely your father has taught you that.”

“I’ve learned not to push myself.” You murmur as you lay back on the roof, gazing up at the sky.

“We aren’t alive just to lie around and relax.” He scoffs as he moves to crouch next to you, his knee by your head as he looks down at you. “You think I got to where I am by taking breaks? By not pushing myself?”

A few moments of silence pass before you sit up, tilting your head up so that your eyes meet his. “And yet.. I don’t even know who you are.”

Before you know it, you feel his hand on your chin, squeezing your cheeks slightly as he lifts your face closer to his. “I’ll have you know, boy.” He whispers dangerously. “I control the Undercity. And everyone in it. So choose your next words wisely.” He seethes as he glares down at you.

A few more beats of quiet- the only noise the occasional creaking of the roof. He watches as your eyes soften, face becoming more relaxed in his hold. Anyone else would’ve been terrified.. but here you were. Gazing up at him.

“Would you like to come home for dinner tomorrow night?”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Pardon?” He questions as he lets go of your face, but not pulling away.

You reach up to rub your chin a little, looking up at him. “Well.. you’re in charge of the Undercity.” You say softly. “And tomorrow we’re hosting a dinner party with other important people.” You murmur. “Would you want to come?”

He stares down at you for a few moments, the cogs turning in his brain. What was this boy’s agenda? He didn’t even know him. But.. the thought appealed to him. Slightly. Being invited to a dinner party in Piltover that is filled with rich bureaucrats, your parents certainly not approving of your choice for a plus one.

“What.. a kind offer.” He says with a small smirk as he stands up, offering his hand to you. Befriending a young aristocrat of Piltover. That could be very helpful with his plans. A little pawn all to himself. “I think it would be rude of me to reject it.”

Reaching up to take his hand, he helps you up as you look at him with a smile on your lips. “I promise it’ll be worth it.” You say sweetly.

He chuckles, slipping his hands into his pockets and looking off into the distance over Piltover. “Oh, I’m sure it will be.”

Your parents were certainly happy when you told them you’d be bringing a plus one. While you were sociable, you haven’t exactly been considered for any marriage unions yet with other young aristocrats- much to your parents dismay. You weren’t exactly the typical marriage candidate anyways. You didn’t have much of an interest in business or politics. You’d much rather do things you enjoy.

While you may seem innocent, you weren’t truly that ditsy. You knew your parents wouldn’t like the person you brought to dinner, but a part of you wanted the discourse. To show your parents you could be doing much worse than you are. But you have been well behaved your whole life, and you’re not doing drugs in a ditch somewhere in the Undercity.

Your mind had a knack for making things seem.. less complicated than they were. Call it a coping mechanism. You didn’t see a scenario where your parents would be incredibly upset that you brought home a man like him. Surely they would be welcoming to someone who has power. That’s what your brain told you, at least. You were sweet and innocent to everyone around you because your brain dumbed things down for you on the daily. Without that? You’d be a walking ball of anxiety. It’s better this way, being the silly little child of an aristocrat who could see the good in everyone.

You had agreed to meet Silco at the main bridge between Piltover and Zaun. When he walks through the evening fog, you smile at him. He was wearing a red button down with nice pants, probably some of the best clothes he had- while you were wearing a white button down with black pants. “You clean up nice.” You chuckle as he walks up to you.

“I try” he muses with a smirk as the two of you set off to your parent’s estate.

As the two of you walked, you can’t help but feel your chest tighten. Were you really about to bring a probably dangerous stranger into your parents home?

“What are you playing at, hm?” Silco hums, making you turn your head to look up at him. When he sees the look on your face, he chuckles. “I know this isn’t just a sweet little invitation. You have a motive.”

A sigh slips past your lips as you both mosey through the foggy streets of Piltover. “I needed a plus one.” You murmur.

“I don’t think I’m the kind of man you bring home to meet your parents.” He muses as he looks down at you.

You huff, rubbing the back of your neck. “Fine- fine.” You sigh. “My parents.. need me to get engaged. And I’m not very fond of the idea. So, I thought if I brought home..” you trail off quietly.

“An Undercity rat like me?” He huffs with a chuckle. “They’d realize they’d rather you single than with me? So if we broke up they’d be grateful?”

A groan slips past your lips as you reach up to rub your face. “Something like that.” You sigh. “Do you mind?”

He laughs faintly at your question. “Do I mind pretending to be the fiancé of a pretty little aristocrat?” He muses. “Not at all. Besides.. I’d rather be here than smoking a cigar in my office like every other night.”

The introduction to your parents was.. interesting.

“Mother, Father!” You say sweetly when you see your parents in the large foyer. They smile sweetly and walk up to you, both of their smiles faltering when they see Silco. “I wanted you to meet someone” you practically beam up at them.

Silco glances down and sees the look on your face, a smirk forming on his lips. You were quite the actor.. it was convincing. He looks at your parents and smirks a little wider at how they try to hold their smiles steady. He knew that look- the disapproving gaze as they examine his facial scars, and his inadequate outfit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He says lightly as he looks between the two of them.

“This is Mr. Silco- my fiancé!” You grin.

Seeing your parents worlds shatter before their eyes was quite funny. Even Silco had to admit that.

“Your- your fiancé?” Your mother asks quickly, trying to keep up her sweet act and temperament.

“Surprising, I know.” Silco chuckles. “I will admit, we did rush into it a little. But we both know we could die tomorrow. Why not celebrate our love today?” He smiles at your parents.

Christ, you thought to yourself. He was quite the actor. Even you would’ve believed that.

“Silco, you said?” Your father asks as he reaches out his hand to Silco. “It’s.. a pleasure.” He murmurs hesitantly.

“Let’s introduce you to some of the business partners” you say sweetly to Silco as you pull on his arm, dragging him with you throughout the large ball room area.

The night went on, introducing Silco to whoever you could, the cringe on your parents faces truly satisfying. Maybe two hours later Silco has made a name for himself, managing to keep up with conversation better than anyone expected. He may be from the Undercity, but he was quick of tongue. Eventually you manage to pull him along with you into an empty library with only a fire burning for light. As you close the door, you sigh contentedly.

“You’re better at this than I expected” you chuckle as you lean against the door.

“In my youth I certainly did talk my way through a few.. obstacles” he smirks as he sips on the glass of champagne he had in his hand. “I never did ask..” he murmurs as he walks to look around the room, glancing at the books on the shelves. “You don’t want to marry?”

A sigh slips past your lips as you walk into the room, sitting on a chair next to the fire. “I’m not the marriage type.” You mutter.

“That much is clear.” He smirks as he sets his glass down, walking over and resting his hands on the arms of your chair, leaning down so his face wasn’t far from your own. “You aren’t quite like the rest of them, hm? No crave for greed.. no desires that need to be sated. Am I right?”

Your eyes meet his for a moment before you lean back in the chair, your eyes shifting to the fire. “Right.” You murmur.

He gently cups your chin, pulling your gaze back to his own. “Such a little thing, you are.” He murmurs as his eyes trace over you. “I see why your parents keep you on a short leash.” He smirks.

“Yeah, well” you sigh. “They want to hand the leash off to someone else. Preferably a young aristocrat.”

“What if I said I could make all of your problems.. go away?” Silco’s voice questions quietly as he pulls your chin closer to his own.

“What do you mean?” You whisper faintly as you gaze up at him.

“What if I took a hold of your leash? Instead of some stupid boy who won’t know what to do with you..” he muses.

You scoff at his words, pushing him off of you and standing up. “I’m not going to be pawned off like an object” you say firmly as you turn your back to him.

He sighs, walking up behind you and speaking near the shell of your ear. “Little one.. you’ll be pawned off either way. Would you rather go to someone who will allow you freedom? Or a stranger?” He questions faintly.

A shaky breath slips past your lips as you process his words. “This is crazy.” You say faintly as you run your fingers through your hair.

“There, there” he coos in your ear. “Think of it this way.. you met a nice man, and invited him to a party. He helped you by pretending to be your fiancé.. and now you return the favor.” He says as he turns you around so you’re facing him again. “It’s truly not that complicated.”

“Favor?” You question. “What could I possibly do for you?”

“I already control Zaun.” He explains as he cups your chin. “It is in my best interest that I have ties to Piltover as well. Ties.. that cannot be broken. Such as a marriage.”

OKAY GUYSSS this is officially the longest thing I’ve written!! Merry late Christmas🥱

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cowboybeepboop · 3 days ago

Note

I seen Twisters almost a month ago and I have so many ideas in my head for Tyler Owens and I thought I would share one of them with you!

I’m obsessed with the thought of riding Tyler in his truck while wearing his cowboy hat🥵

Anyway, I thought I’d share that with you🥰

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem! Reader

Genre: Smut (romantic)

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: Public sex, unprotected sex, p in v.

a/n: This is a quick one, mainly just desperate fucking. I hope y’all enjoy <3 As always, my requests are open, so send any you have my way.

You’ve been dating Tyler for around a year now, only your close friends and family know about the relationship. You both decided to keep things off the internet because you tend to be a private person.

The cab of the truck was filled with the comforting hum of the engine as it sliced through the velvet darkness of the night. Above, a tapestry of stars competed with the occasional streetlight for dominance in the vast sky. Tyler sat in the driver's seat, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other fiddling with the dial of the radio, searching for a tune to match the rhythm of the journey.

His profile was cast in a soft glow, highlighting the contours of his weathered face and the sharp line of his jaw. The air between you was a blend of excitement from the adrenaline-fueled rodeo and the quiet anticipation of what the next day's storm chasing might bring. You bite down on your lip, gazing at him lovingly.

Tyler catches your gaze out of the corner of his eye and glances over at you, a small smirk tugging at his lips. He can tell by your expression that you're studying him, admiring him in the dimly lit cab of the truck. It's a look he's grown fond of seeing.

"What're you lookin' at?" he asks jokingly, his voice gruff but warm. There's a hint of curiosity in his question too, wondering what's on your mind. You reach over, pulling his hat off of his head, placing it on yours.

“You look so handsome in the moonlight..” your tongue flicks out, wetting your bottom lip, fingers tracing small circles into his thigh.

Tyler chuckles, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a half-smile. He casts a quick glance at you wearing his hat, the sight of it lopsided on your head sending a ripple of affection through him. He can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction and possessiveness, seeing you in something that clearly belongs to him.

As you draw small shapes on his thigh with your fingers, he lets out a low hum of pleasure. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel. "Careful darlin'," he mutters, his voice low and thick.

You lean closer to him, pressing a kiss to his jaw, hand moving up his thigh. “Why do I need to be careful?” you murmur, pressing another kiss to his skin.

Tyler lets out a low rumble in his chest, the sound deep and primal. Your soft kisses on his jaw and the way your hand moves up his thigh send a wave of desire through him. He can feel his body reacting to your touch, the familiar hunger stirring inside him.

"Because," he responds, his voice gruff. "You're distracting me. I'm trying to drive. Can't exactly focus on the road with your hands wandering all over the place."

“Then maybe you need to pull over..” you kiss his neck, hand sliding over his crotch, squeezing his length through his jeans.

The feeling of your hand on his crotch, the pressure of your fingers through the fabric of his jeans, has Tyler's mind reeling. He can't help but let out a low, guttural sound, his body responding automatically to the contact.

"Jesus, darlin'," he groans, his knuckles gripping the steering wheel tightly. "You're going to cause an accident if you keep that up."

“Baby,” you whisper into his ear, hands working to undo his belt. “I want you…” you murmur, pulling his erection from his pants.

Your whisper against his ear, combined with the feeling of your hands working on his belt, has Tyler's head spinning. He can barely focus on the road, his mind consumed by the desire you're stirring up inside him.

"Right here? Right now?" he murmurs in disbelief, his voice hoarse. "I'm driving..." But his words are weak, his self-control weakening with every passing moment.

“Pull over, please Ty..” you leave wet opened mouth kisses down his neck, fingers wrapping around his length, slowly stroking him.

Tyler's control snaps. He takes the nearest exit and steers the truck off the highway, the vehicle jolting slightly as he drives onto the gravel shoulder. He slams the vehicle into park, his eyes darkened with a mix of desire and determination.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," he mutters, his voice thick and rough. "You're going to be the death of me, sweetheart."

You bite down on your lip, sliding out of your panties and swiftly unbuckling. You slide onto his lap, kissing him with need and desperation. Tyler's hands find your hips immediately, gripping you tightly as you straddle him. The feeling of your bare skin against his, the desperate press of your lips on his - it's almost too much for him to bear.

He kisses you back just as hungrily, one hand sliding up your back, the other moving down to grip your thigh. "You're so goddamn beautiful," he mutters against your mouth, the tension and need between you palpable.

Your hand slides into his hair, tugging at the roots as you pull his head back softly. kissing his adams apple as your other hand continues to work his cock, thumb sliding over the tip, spreading his precum.

The sound of your name leaves his lips in a choked gasp as you tug on his hair, pulling his head back. The mix of pain and pleasure shooting through him only fuels his desire for you, intensifies every touch, every kiss.

His hips arch into your hand, the sensations sending a wave of need through him. He grips your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your skin. "Fuck," he moans, the word slipping out in a guttural growl.

He lets you keep control, his breath hitching as you line him up with your wet hole. You hover over him, the anticipation a sweet torment, before finally sliding him in slowly. Your moans fill the cabin, mingling with the distant hum of the highway and the erratic throb of his pulse beneath your palms. Tyler's eyes never leave yours, his pupils dilated with a wild mix of lust and adoration.

His hands move to your breasts, kneading them gently as you set a rhythm that rocks the truck ever so slightly. With every inch that you take, every shared gasp and whine, the world fades away. Leaving only the two of you, lost in the cocoon of passion you've created in this stolen moment on the side of the road.

Your movements become more sloppy as you kiss him hungrily, the passion between you burning hotter with every stroke. The need to feel him deep inside you overwhelms any sense of decorum or restraint, your hips moving in a frenzied dance that matches the beating of your heart. Tyler's hands move from your breasts to your hips, guiding your movements, urging you to take him deeper, faster.

His mouth finds your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he tastes the sweetness of your flesh, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. The cab of the truck is filled with the sounds of your muffled cries and the slick sounds of your bodies moving together. The world outside is forgotten, reduced to a mere backdrop for this moment of raw, unbridled intimacy.

The scent of leather and diesel mingles with the heady aroma of your desire, creating a potent cocktail that intoxicates you both. You ride the waves of pleasure that Tyler's touch brings, each peak higher and more intense than the last. His breath is hot against your skin, his kisses urgent and demanding, as if he can't get enough of you, as if he's afraid that this moment will slip away like the dark sky of the night.

As you feel the pressure building within you, your body starts to twitch with the intensity of your approaching climax. Your pussy clenches tightly around Tyler's cock, each contraction sending a bolt of electricity through his body. His own orgasm is close, his hips bucking up to meet your desperate rhythm.

The truck's seat creaks in protest, but you're beyond caring, lost in the symphony of pleasure. Tyler's grip on your hips tightens, his thumbs pressing into your flesh as he guides you, urging you closer to the edge. His breath comes in harsh pants, his eyes never leaving yours, the connection between you stronger than any storm could ever be.

The anticipation is unbearable, your muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. And then, it hits you - the orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, making you scream his name into the night, your body convulsing with the force of it. The sound of your pleasure echoes in the cabin.

Tyler watches you, his own release imminent, feeling a sense of triumph and adoration for the way you respond to him. With one final, deep thrust, he joins you in ecstasy, his cock pulsing inside you, the warmth of his cum filling you.

He breathes heavily, panting as his forehead presses to yours, the heat from your bodies mingling in the confined space of the truck cabin. Your chests rise and fall in sync. Tyler's eyes, glazed with pleasure, slowly come back into focus, and he looks at you with awe and affection, his hands still wrapped around your waist.

The intensity of the moment lingers, your bodies still joined, the aftershocks of your climaxes rippling through you both. "Damn," he whispers, his voice hoarse. "You always know how to make the most of a situation, don't you?" His thumbs stroke gentle circles on your hips, the tender touch in stark contrast to the urgency of your earlier movements.

You lean into him, a soft smile playing on your lips as you catch your breath. "You're not complaining?" you ask, a hint of playfulness in your voice.

Tyler chuckles, shaking his head slightly. "Not a chance in hell," he murmurs, kissing the tip of your nose. "Let's just hope no one drove by and got more of a show than they bargained for."

You giggle, the sound a delightful contrast to the passionate cries that had filled the air moments before. With a final, lingering kiss, you both slowly regain your composure.

Tyler sits back against the seat of his truck, his breathing still ragged and the remnants of his climax still sending aftershocks through his body. He watches you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Jesus, darlin', you're going to be the death of me," he mutters, his voice rough with pleasure.

“Want to go for another round?” you tease, kissing his lips sweetly.

Tyler's eyes darken as you tease him, his lips curving into a lopsided grin. He lets out a soft moan as you press a kiss to his lips, the sweetness of the gesture a stark contrast to the heat of your previous encounter. "You really are a minx, aren't you?" he chuckles, his hands sliding up to cup your face.

"Another round, huh? I'm gonna need a few minutes to recover first," he smirks, his fingers gently tracing along your jawline. You slide off his lap and back into your seat, biting your lip as you pull your panties back under your skirt.

“Let’s go back to the hotel, I want you to be in control this time.” you bring his hand to your thigh, adjusting him back inside his jeans. You press a kiss to his neck, noticing the lipstick marks you left behind.

Tyler's body responds automatically to the feeling of your lips on his neck, a shiver running down his spine. He can't help but chuckle at the sight of the lipstick marks you've left behind - a visible reminder of the passion you've just shared.

His hand slides up your thigh, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin. "You want me to be in control, huh?" he murmurs, a low rumble in his voice. "I like the sound of that, darlin'."

Your eyes light up with desire, “I love it when you take control, you know that..” you smile at him as he pulls back onto the road.

Tyler steals a glance at you, the look in your eye making his heart stutter. He smirks, the corners of his mouth lifting in a cocky half-smile.

"Oh, I know," he chuckles, his hand clenching on the steering wheel. "You like it when I take charge, don't you? When I take what I want from you, when I make you feel good, when I make you mine."

You practically moan at his words, sliding his hand between your thighs. “God, you’re driving me wild Ty..”

Tyler's fingers splay across your thigh, his calloused skin contrasting with the silky smoothness of your skin. He can feel the heat radiating from you, and the sound of your soft moan sends a jolt of desire through him.

"You're not the only one who's feeling wild, darlin'," he mutters, his voice low and sultry. "You've got me all worked up again already."

“Baby…” you whine, your hand wandering back to his lap. Hips grinding against his hand, desperate to feel his fingers against you.

Tyler's breath hitches in his throat as your hand moves back to his lap, your hips grinding against his hand in a desperate plea for more. He can feel the heat and need radiating off you, and it only fuels his own desire.

"Sweetheart," he growls, his voice thick with lust. "You're going to have to wait a bit longer. I'm trying to focus on the road here."

“Can't you touch me?” you bite down on your lips, legs spreading for him. Tyler's eyes dart between you and the road, the sight of your legs spreading for him only fueling the fire inside him. He lets out a low hiss, his fingers clenching around the steering wheel.

"You're pushing your luck, darlin'," he mutters, his voice rough and strained. "But I can't say no when you look like that." his hand slips into your panties, his pointer finger pressing into your clit as he rubs gentle circles into it.

“Fuck,” you gasp, head falling back against the seat. Chest rising and falling as his hand works between your legs, he pulls into the parking lot and removes his hand from between your legs, hastily unbuckling.

Tyler unbuckles his seatbelt and shifts the truck into park with a jerk. His movements are quick and hurried, the urgency of his need for you palpable.

He turns towards you, his eyes dark with desire. "Inside," he grunts, his voice thick and rough. "Now."

His hand grips yours, his fingers lacing with yours as he practically pulls you out of the truck and towards the hotel entrance. You follow close behind, mind clouded with desire as he leads you into your shared room.

Tyler closes the door behind you with a firm thud, the sound of the lock engaging a sign that you are now isolated from the rest of the world, enveloped in your own private world of passion and desire.

He turns to you, his eyes roaming over your body in silent appreciation. The hunger in his gaze is almost tangible, his need for you on the edge of desperation.

"You're so damn beautiful," he mutters, his voice thick with want. "I need you, sweetheart. Right now." you nod in agreement, hands moving to his jeans, pulling them away.

With a fervent need, you both frantically strip away the barriers of clothing that separate you. Buttons pop and fabric whispers as shirts and jeans hit the floor. Tyler's eyes are a fiery green, locked onto yours as you stand before him in nothing but your bra and panties.

He reaches out, his rough hands skimming over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Your breath hitches as he hooks his thumbs into the delicate fabric, unhooking it and letting your bra fall to the floor. His gaze follows the descent, eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of your bare flesh.

"You're so fucking perfect," he murmurs, his voice a low growl that sends a thrill through you. He lifts you with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the bed.

You feel his arousal pressing against you, hot and demanding. As he lays you down, the softness of the mattress envelops you both, the room charged with an electric anticipation.

His hands roam over your body, tracing the curves and valleys with a gentle possessiveness that ignites your skin. Your own hands are equally eager, tugging at his boxers, revealing his hardened length.

The air in the room is thick with lust, a silent symphony of desire that resonates between you. His mouth finds your neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive flesh as his fingers dance over your stomach, teasing the waistband of your panties.

With one swift motion, Tyler hooks his fingers and pulls them down, exposing you to his hungry gaze. He takes a moment to appreciate the view, his eyes lingering on the wetness glistening between your thighs.

"So ready for me," he murmurs, his voice a dark promise. You whimper, arching your back, begging for his touch.

He obliges, his thumb brushing over your clit in slow, torturous circles as his other hand slides up to cup your breast. His touch is firm, his thumb flicking over the peak until it's a hardened pebble.

You moan, your body trembling with each pass. The sensations build, a crescendo of pleasure that threatens to overwhelm you.

And then, without warning, Tyler slides into you, filling you completely. The suddenness of it makes you gasp, your eyes flying open to meet his intense stare. His hips move in a steady rhythm, his eyes never leaving yours as he claims you once again.

Each thrust sends a jolt of pleasure through your body, a silent declaration of his dominance, his need for you. You cling to him, your nails digging into his back, urging him deeper, faster, as the storm outside seems to mirror the tempest within you.

The room was a whirlwind of passion and urgency as Tyler's hips began to move with purposeful strokes, each one designed to hit your g-spot with unerring precision. You moaned with every deep, deliberate thrust, your body arching off the bed in a silent plea for more.

His teeth found your neck, the sensation of his lips sucking and leaving marks on your skin sending a shiver down your spine. The slight pain melded with the exquisite pleasure, creating a symphony of sensation that had you clutching the sheets, desperately trying to hold on to reality.

Each suck of his mouth was matched by the plunge of his cock, the rhythm driving you closer and closer to the edge. His hands held you down, not allowing you to escape the delicious torment as he whispered your name against your skin, his breath hot and ragged in your ear.

You moan Tyler's name, your voice a desperate plea as he continues his relentless rhythm. The sound of your need fills the room, mingling with the muffled thunder of the storm outside. Your nails dig into his back, leaving marks that stand out against his tanned skin, as if to claim him as yours.

Tyler's eyes never leave your face, the intensity in his gaze reflecting the fierce passion that consumes him. His strokes become more urgent, his breaths more ragged, as the storm outside seems to fuel the one raging between your bodies. Each time he hits that spot, you can't help but arch off the bed, a silent cry escaping your lips.

The sound of skin slapping against skin joins the symphony of passion, a rhythmic beat that echoes in time with the rain pounding against the hotel room window. The mattress creaks beneath you, a testament to the strength of your love and the power of your desire.

The room echoes with the crescendo of your moans and the slap of your bodies colliding. Tyler's movements become faster, more ragged. His eyes never leave yours, a silent promise of pleasure that has you on the edge, desperately clinging to the precipice.

Each thrust hits your pleasure spot with a precision that has your toes curling and your back arching off the bed. The anticipation is palpable, your muscles tightening around him as your orgasms build, threatening to shatter you into a million pieces. You can feel him getting closer too, his strokes becoming more erratic, his breath hot and panting against your neck.

The air is charged with tension, the scent of your desire heavy and intoxicating. The storm outside is a mere backdrop to the tumultuous passion that unfolds between you, a crescendo of pleasure that threatens to overwhelm.

And then, with a final, powerful thrust, you both tumble over the edge, your cries mingling with the thunder as your bodies convulse in the throes of climax. The world outside is forgotten as you ride the waves of pleasure, together in this moment of pure, unbridled ecstasy.

With a final, deep groan, Tyler pulls out, his body shuddering with the aftershocks of his climax. He rolls onto the mattress beside you, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you into his embrace.

Your bodies are slick with sweat, your heartbeats syncing as you both come down from the high of your passionate encounter. He presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, his breathing still ragged against your skin.

You turn to face him, a soft smile playing on your lips as you trace the lines of his face with your fingertips. The intensity of the moment has given way to a warm, sated calm, the kind that can only come after sharing something so deeply intimate.

You snuggle closer, feeling the comfort of his strong chest against your back, his steady heartbeat a soothing lullaby in the quiet aftermath of your passion, he pulls the comforter over your bodies. Your eyes drift closed, the gentle stroking of his hand over your stomach lulling you into a peaceful doze.

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justsomerandomfanfic · 18 hours ago

Text

Under The Old Oak Tree - Clark Kent X GN Reader

Title: Under The Old Oak Tree

Clark Kent X GN Reader

(Can be seen as any iteration of Clark Kent/Superman.)

Additional Characters: Clark's parents (Mentioned)

WC: 3,560

Warnings: Can been seen as any iteration of Clark Kent/Superman (just got inspired by the teaser trailer for the new Superman movie), italics, teasing, banter, flirting, mentions of his Superman duties, nervous Clark, brief mention of marriage, confessions, crying (good), very mini angst, and fluff

“Can I open my eyes now?” You asked through a chuckle, your voice lilting with playful impatience. The soft fabric of Clark’s red bandana rested over your eyes, leaving you completely blind to the world around you; however, you could hear the changing of terrain, the other cars on the road, and so on, so that was nice.

The blindfold was his idea, of course - despite being your loving, compassionate, kind, and handsome boyfriend of three years, he didn’t seem to trust you when you said that you would keep your eyes shut the entire ride. He knew that the temptation of opening your eyes would be too much, so blindfold it was.

“Not yet,” Clark replied, his deep, steady voice was laced with a hint of nervousness; that you somehow didn’t pick up - you usually were pretty good at picking up on his emotions but it seemed that the excitement and anticipation were clouding your usual sharp instincts. His fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel, a rhythm that matched the quiet hum of the song playing on the radio. “We’re almost there, I promise.”

“Where is ‘there’ exactly?” You teased, tilting your head in his direction even though you couldn’t see him.

Clark let out a soft laugh, and you could picture the way his lips curled into that warm grin of his. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

You couldn’t help but smile, warmth bubbling in your chest. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little.”

The sound of gravel then slipped away, replaced with what you thought was grass. The truck shifted and rocked gently as it moved. You tried to piece it together but it was no use. And it didn’t matter anyway, in a matter of seconds, you would find out.

The truck came to a stop, and so did your heart for a brief moment. There was a rustling as Clark turned off the engine and unbuckled from his seat. You then felt his presence as he moved over the center console slightly, his movements slow. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine before his lips brushed softly against your skin in a tender kiss to your cheek.

“Clark…” You breathed, your heart sputtering as you turned your head; your hands itching to take off the blindfold.

“Are you ready?” He murmured, his voice low and impossibly gentle.

A smile tugged at your lips as you nodded, “I’ve been ready since you blindfolded me.” You felt his fingers move to the back of your head, his touch careful and precise as to not accidentally tug at your hair as he untied the bandana. The fabric slipped away, and the light began to filter in, soft and golden. You blinked rapidly, your eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness, and when your vision cleared, your breath caught in your throat. “Oh, Clark,” You whispered, your hand coming up to rest over your chest, where you could feel your heart thudding against your palm.

Before you stretched the field where you and Clark had your first date, and it was as breathtaking as you remembered. Rolling grassy hills spread out in every direction, their lush green softened by the warm light of the afternoon. Dotted throughout were wildflowers in shades of yellow, purple, and white, swaying in the gentle breeze.

At the heart of it all stood the giant oak tree, its massive branches stretching out wide, casting shadows across the grass. Its leaves were the most perfect shade of green. It was the same spot where the two of you spent hours talking, sharing stories and laughter as though the world had stopped for you.

You couldn’t help but be swept away by the vivid memories that filled this place. Like the time you had insisted on climbing the tree. You had managed to scramble up a few sturdy branches, laughing as Clark stood below, clearly amused by your determination. As you got to a pretty thick branch to rest on, you had looked down and teased him about being stuck on the ground, but then he simply floated up to meet your gaze, making you roll your eyes jokingly.

Then there was the quiet afternoon when you had both decided that the day was perfect for reading. So, you both sat at the base of the tree, the shade cool. Clark’s head rested in your lap, a paperback novel in his hands. You’d been absentmindedly carding your fingers through his dark curls, marveling at how soft they were while you tried to pay attention to your own book in your free hand. He glanced up at you every so often, his blue eyes full of warmth, and he’d just smile…

And who could forget the picnic where you had fed him strawberries, only for him to lean forward and kiss you, his lips tasting of sweet fruit? Or the time he’d coaxed you into lying on the grass to stargaze when you both stayed at the field a bit longer than usual. His voice was soft as he named constellations, with his hand warm as it held yours, and your cheek nuzzling into the fabric of his flannel.

It had been a while since you had had the time to come to the field. With work and life in general, neither you or Clark really had much time to take the forty minute drive down. As you stared at the beautiful scenery around you, you sighed… You really did miss this place.

You turned to Clark, tears welling up in your eyes at the memories that he had brought back to life. “I can’t believe you brought me here.”

He gave you that smile - the one that made your heart ache in the best way possible, “I know we haven’t had much time lately,” He admitted, his tone tinged with both apology and fondness. Deep down, he knew that around fifty percent of the reason why you hadn’t come to the field was because of his… Superhero duties. And he also knew that if he said it out loud, you would immediately brush it off, telling him he didn’t need to feel guilty. What he did helped people, saved people. You understood. The wait is always worth it, in your opinion. Still, the thought lingered, tugging at the corners of his mind. “But I thought it’d be nice to come back here. It’s been too long, and I didn’t want us to forget how special this place is.”

You didn’t respond, at least not with words. Instead, you smiled at him, your lips curling into something soft and tender as you let out a dreamy sigh. Your gaze lingered on him, drinking in every detail of his face, your heart swelling with such profound love for him.

Clark cleared his throat suddenly, as though he’d just remembered something. “Oh! Wait a second,” He spun on his heel and rushed to the back seat of the truck, opening the door with a bit more urgency than necessary. After a moment of rustling, he straightened up, holding a picnic basket in his hands. He turned to face you, a nervous but undeniably endearingly adorable smile on his face. “I, uh… I thought a picnic might be fun.”

You sighed once more, an overwhelming feeling of gratitude and affection for him rising in your chest. Your Clark… Your beautiful and thoughtful Clark… He was simply the best at planning dates.

Clark reached into the basket and pulled out a picnic blanket, but before he could unfold it, you stepped forward, taking it from him with a soft laugh. You stayed close as you did, the proximity enough to make yours and his heart race. Without thinking, your free hand found its way to his cheek, gently cupping it, your thumb brushing along his soft skin as you searched his eyes.

“This… This is the best surprise, Clark,” You muttered, your voice barely audible as you leaned in to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

The kiss was brief, sweet, but it conveyed everything your heart had been holding - everything words couldn’t express. You pulled back gently, a smile curving on your lips as you met his gaze. Clark’s eyes were soft, his lips slightly parted, as though he was still lingering in the warmth of your lips against his. A faint blush colored his cheeks, and his usual confidence seemed replaced by something tender, almost vulnerable; his gaze never left you.

A short time later, the two of you were at the base of the tree, the blanket spread out beneath the branches. You worked together to set up, arranging the food and drinks with care. A small thermos of iced tea, sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, and a container of fruit. The simple utensils - plastic forks and paper napkins - were set out in an organized fashion. It wasn’t much, but it was perfect, made all the more special by the fact that it was the two of you, here, in this spot where your journey together had begun.

Clark was nervous. Incredibly so. He was surprised you hadn’t noticed the way his breath left his lungs with a slight shake or how his hands fumbled over the simplest of tasks, like unwrapping the sandwiches. He caught himself stumbling over his words more than once, trying to mask it with small smiles or glances your way. But, maybe you did notice. Maybe you didn’t want to say anything. That wasn’t like you, though - you always noticed. When he was nervous, you’d take notice right away, always asking if he was alright or if something was troubling him. So why now, when his heart raced and his nerves felt frayed, hadn’t you asked? Did you really not notice? Or were you simply giving him the space to sort through it himself?

He didn’t know.

But it was making him more nervous, if that was even possible.

You were telling him about your day at work. All about the boring business meeting you had to go to, it was mandatory for some reason, even though it could’ve just been an email. But, when Clark surprised you by picking you up after work really turned the entire day around. “Seeing your face always brightens my day,” You said with a soft laugh, your gaze meeting his.

Clark tried to focus on your words, to give you the attention you deserved, but the weight in his back pocket was impossible to ignore. And it had been for the past three weeks since he bought it. His thoughts kept drifting back to it - the small, velvet box that felt heavier than anything he’d ever lifted. He shifted subtly on the blanket, his fingers twitching as they clenched around the fabric under his hand as he propped himself up.

“Clark?” Your voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, a hint of amusement lacing your tone. “You okay? You’re awfully quiet.”

Oh, who was he kidding? He didn’t have only one weakness. He had Kryptonite and then you. He blinked, realizing he’d been staring at you a little too intently. “Huh? Oh- yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” He replied quickly, the slight waver in his voice betraying him.

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. “You sure about that?” Clark bit his lip, casting his gaze down at his half-eaten sandwich, his brows knitting together. Your amused grin faltered, replaced by a softer expression as concern etched itself into your features. You leaned closer, your hand gently resting on his arm. “Clark,” You said softly, your voice laced with warmth and care. “What’s wrong?”

The subtle weight of your touch and the genuine concern in your eyes made his heart ache. He let out a shaky breath, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket as he tried to find the right words. “It’s… Nothing, really,” He mumbled, but even he knew how unconvincing he sounded.

“Clark,” You pressed gently, your thumb brushing against his arm in a soothing motion. “You can tell me. Whatever it is, I’m here.” He looked up then, his blue eyes meeting yours. For a moment, he was struck silent by the way you looked at him - so full of love and trust. And that only made the weight in his pocket feel heavier. You then tried to lighten the mood, a playful smile tugging at your lips despite the concern still lingering in your eyes. “Come on, Clark, whatever it is, it can’t be worse than the time you told me you were Superman.”

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile almost breaking through his nervous demeanor. “That was pretty bad, wasn’t it?” He murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of fondness and anxiety.

You chuckled, giving his arm a playful squeeze. “Oh, I remember. You sat me down like you were about to confess to a crime or something. ‘It’s a big deal,’ you said. And sure, finding out my boyfriend wears tights under his clothes was a lot to process, but hey, we survived.”

Clark chuckled softly, the sound warm and familiar, easing some of the tension in the air. His chest rose and fell with a deep breath as he nodded, his hand absently smoothing over the blanket. “This… Might be bigger,” He admitted quietly.

Your brow furrowed, and your teasing smile melted into something softer, more reassuring. “Bigger than Superman? Now you’ve definitely got me curious.”

Clark cleared his throat, his eyes dropping from yours as his nerves began to take hold again. He sat up straighter, his posture more rigid, and the soft frown crept back onto his face. You waited patiently, your heart racing in your chest, but you didn’t push him. Whatever he needed to say, you’d let him say it in his own time.

He raised his fist to his mouth, clearing his throat once more before turning his body to face you fully, sitting cross-legged in front of you. His eyes locked onto yours - determined but still nervous. “Y/N,” He started, but then he faltered, huffing in frustration as he shook his head. Raising his hands, he tried again, but halfway through the sentence, he stopped. “Do you remember…” He began anew, his voice a little steadier, “That week we went to visit my parents? We stopped at that little diner about twenty minutes from the farm.”

You tilted your head slightly, nodding with a soft smile. “Of course. How could I forget? Their milkshakes are legendary.”

Clark’s lips twitched into a small, nervous smile. “Right. You ordered two milkshakes for yourself - one chocolate, one strawberry - because you were so confident you could finish them both. But halfway through the second one, you were practically pleading with me to help you finish it because you didn’t want to waste it, and you were getting brainfreeze.”

A laugh bubbled out of you. “Hey, in my defense, they were huge milkshakes. I wasn’t expecting the glass to be a foot tall.”

He chuckled along with you, his eyes softening as he continued. “Yeah, they were pretty tall glasses. But that wasn’t what stuck with me. It was the way the sunlight came through the diner window, hitting your face just right. Your hair had that golden glow to it, and your eyes… They were brighter than anything I’d ever seen.”

Your smile softened, and you could feel the warmth creeping up your cheeks. “Clark…”

He shook his head slightly, pressing on as if he had to get the words out now before his nerves got the better of him. “And then you laughed. Not just a little laugh, but the kind that made everyone else in the diner turn to look at you. You didn’t care, though. You just smiled at me, completely unbothered by the world. And then…” His voice grew quieter, his gaze holding yours as he spoke. “You leaned across the table, stole a fry off my plate, and dipped it into your milkshake…”

Your laugh was softer this time, your eyes glistening as you watched him. “Is this an intervention about stealing your food all the time?”

“No…” Clark smiled warmly, his hand brushing over the blanket as he stared at you. “You were perfect. And in that moment, with the sun on your face and that laugh… I knew.”

You blinked, your mouth slightly open as your breath hitched. “Knew what?” You whispered.

He took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. “That I wanted to marry you.”

You watched with bated breath as Clark shifted, his hand reaching back to pull something from his back pocket. Your heart skipped a beat, and suddenly, you knew. The realization hit you like a wave, and you could feel the telltale sting of tears burning at the back of your eyes. “Clark…” You began, but couldn’t finish as you slowly raised both hands to cover your mouth, your breath catching as the small velvet box appeared in his hand.

Clark’s fingers trembled slightly as he held it, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve been carrying this around for weeks,” He confessed softly, a nervous chuckle escaping him. “Waiting for the perfect moment… But the truth is, every moment with you feels perfect.”

Tears spilled over your cheeks as you shook your head slightly, overwhelmed with emotion. “Oh, Clark…” You managed, your voice muffled behind your hands.

He smiled, his own eyes glistening as he opened the box, revealing the ring nestled inside. The band shimmered with a soft, delicate shine in the light, and at its center was a brilliant stone. “I love you more than anything,” He said, his voice steady despite the emotions coursing through him. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So, Y/N… Will you marry me?”

You took in a shaky breath, blinking rapidly as tears continued to stream down your face. You stared at the ring, then back up at him, your heart racing with disbelief and joy. Suddenly, you surged forward, collapsing into his arms, wrapping your own arms tightly around his neck. The surprise knocked him backward, his back hitting the blanket beneath you both.

You sobbed into his shoulder, barely able to breathe through your emotions. “Yes… Yes!” You cried, repeating it over and over, your fingers weaving into his soft curls, “Yes, Clark!” Clark’s heart swelled at your answer, and he smiled - a huge, bright, beautiful smile that lit up his entire face. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, pulling you closer as if he never wanted to let go. You lifted yourself slightly, staring down at him, your heart full as you gazed into his eyes. “I would love nothing more than to marry you,” You said softly, your voice thick with love. Without another word, you leaned down, capturing his lips in a kiss.

The kiss started gentle, your lips brushed against his, warm and soft. His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you in closer, deepening the kiss. You responded, your fingers continuing their journey through his hair, tugging him even closer. His lips moved against yours with a tenderness and you melted into him, completely lost in the kiss.

As you slowly pulled back, your breaths mingling and your heart racing, you couldn’t help yourself - your hands gently cupped his face, and you pressed soft, joyful kisses all over him. First, you kissed his forehead, lingering for a moment, then moved to the smooth skin of his cheeks, your lips barely grazing his skin before you kissed the tip of his nose.

Clark’s eyes fluttered closed with each kiss, a soft chuckle escaping him when you kissed his nose, before rubbing your nose against his. His hands gently gripped your waist, pulling you closer as he leaned into your touch, his face breaking into a warm, adoring smile. He let out a soft sigh of contentment, clearly overwhelmed by the moment. “You’re incredible,” He whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Eventually, the two of you slowly pulled back, sitting up together. Clark took a deep breath as he reached for the small box that had somehow fallen to the side - which were next to his glasses, which flew off as well - and with careful hands, he slipped the ring onto your finger.

After admiring your ring, wiggling your fingers to watch the gem in the middle sparkle in the sunlight, you looked up at Clark - well, your now fiancé, “Well, guess this means you're officially stuck with me forever, huh?” You teased, grinning playfully.

Clark rolled his eyes lovingly, a soft chuckle escaping him. “You’re the one who’s stuck with me,” He said, his voice warm, yet playful. Then, without another word, he gently took your hand, the one adorned with the ring, and pulled you close; his eyes softened as he leaned in, sealing your lips with his. You let out a soft sigh, your free hand coming up to cup his cheek, and for a moment, you let yourself completely lose yourself in his warmth and love.

And in that moment, there was nothing else - just the two of you, in love, sitting under the giant oak tree.

~~~

Main Masterlist | DC Masterlist

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midnightwritingsessions · 2 days ago

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Cigarettes and conversations

Summary: After having a bad day a stranger comforts you at the bar. This stranger somehow becomes a big part of your life.

Requested

Masterlist

A/n: working the 6 days before Christmas in retail is not for the weak I swear 🥲 I’m sorry for not being active but I should be back now my hours at work are going back down

Sorry it’s quite short!

The pub was buzzing with life, laughter, and music spilling out through the slightly cracked door. Inside, your friends were chatting away, entirely immersed in their conversation. But you couldn’t focus tonight, not with the weight of the day sitting squarely on your shoulders. So here you were, standing just outside in the crisp evening air, your coat pulled tight against the chill. A cigarette dangled from your fingers, glowing faintly in the dim light of the streetlamp. You took a slow drag, trying to let the nicotine calm the storm brewing in your head.

“You alright there, love?” The voice came from a few feet away, startling you slightly. You turned your head and immediately froze. It was him. Louis Tomlinson, standing casually with his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. His blue eyes held a hint of concern, his head tilted just enough to make it clear he was genuinely asking. You blinked, unsure what to say. “Uh… yeah, I’m fine. Just needed a breather” you said while pointing to behind you to the pub. He nodded slowly, his gaze flickering to your cigarette. “Mind if I join you?”. “Sure” you said, your voice coming out more casual than you felt.

Louis stepped closer, pulling out his own pack and lighting up with practiced ease. He leaned against the wall beside you, his movements relaxed but deliberate. For a moment, the two of you smoked in silence, the sound of distant chatter filling the space between. “Long day?” he asked finally, breaking the quiet. You exhaled a puff of smoke, glancing sideways at him. “You could say that”. He chuckled softly. “I could tell. You’ve got that look about you”. “What look?”. “You know” he said, gesturing vaguely with his cigarette. “The ‘I’d rather be anywhere else right now’ look”.

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, and Louis’s lips curved into a small smile. “Am I wrong?” he asked. “No” you admitted, shaking your head. “You’ve got me there”. He gave a small hum of acknowledgment, taking another drag. “Well, at least you’re out here. Better than bottling it all up, yeah?” You nodded, glancing down at your shoes. “What about you? Why are you out here instead of inside with your mates?”

Louis grinned. “Maybe I just had a feeling someone out here could use some company”. The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard, and for the first time that evening, you felt the tension in your chest ease ever so slightly.

Over the next half hour, the two of you chatted about everything and nothing. Louis had a way of drawing you out, his playful banter balancing perfectly with his moments of genuine interest. You found yourself laughing at his quick wit, forgetting for a while why you’d even needed to escape in the first place. When you finally stubbed out your long gone cigarette, Louis did the same, turning to you with a curious look. “So” he said, “you heading back inside?” You hesitated, unsure if you were ready to dive back into the noise and energy of the pub. Louis seemed to pick up on your hesitation, because he added, “Or we could stay out here a bit longer. No pressure”. You smiled, grateful for his understanding. “Let’s stay. It’s quieter”. “Good choice” he said, his eyes twinkling.

That night turned out to be the beginning of something neither of you could have predicted. Over the weeks that followed, you and Louis kept in touch. He started texting you casually little jokes, updates about his day, or random thoughts that made you laugh out loud. Before you knew it, those texts turned into phone calls, and those phone calls turned into plans to meet up. At first, it was just friendly, grabbing coffee, taking a walk in the park, sharing another cigarette outside a different pub. But with each meeting, you couldn’t help but notice the way Louis looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, or the way his voice softened just slightly when he said your name. You hoped that you weren’t imagining these things and that maybe in the not so distant future he might act on whatever it is he’s feeling. Looking back you were now more grateful for the bad day you had, never imagining that it could have lead you to something so special in the future.

#fandom #x reader #x y/n #fluff #louis tomlinson #one direction #x you #midnightwritingsessions #louis tomlinson x reader #one direction x reader #louis tomlinson fluff #louis tomlinson x you #louis tomlinson imagine #louis tomlinson fic #louis tomlinson fanfiction #louis #x y/n fluff #x you fluff

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slytherin-princess-x · 1 day ago

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Slytherinmas day 27

Scars (thanks for the idea @smut-anarchy)

Soft Mattheo riddle x reader

Warnings: just fluff

The soft glow of the setting sun filtered through the window, casting warm shadows across the room. The familiar scent of cigarette smoke mingled with the faint trace of cologne and something uniquely Mattheo—something that felt like home. I nestled deeper into him, my back resting comfortably against his solid frame. Mattheo's grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, and the lack of a shirt left his toned torso on display, the muscles rippling subtly with every movement.His arm was draped around my shoulders, fingers gently rubbing my arm in a soothing rhythm that made me feel safe. I glanced up at him, my heart fluttering at the sight of that lazy grin, cigarette hanging from his lips. There was a certain charm to his nonchalance, the way he didn’t try to impress anyone, yet somehow always managed to.

My gaze fell to the scar that ran down his torso, tracing the line with my fingertips. It started just beneath his ribs and led down to his v-line. He shivered at my touch, and I couldn’t help but smile at the effect I had on him. I looked up to find his brow raised, a mix of amusement and curiosity in his eyes.

“Does it hurt?,” I said quietly, continuing to explore the dips and curves of his abs, as if I were mapping out a treasure map only I could see. Each ridge was like a secret waiting to be uncovered, and I couldn’t resist placing soft kisses along the path my fingers had traced.

He let out a soft chuckle, the kind that made my insides tingle. “Nah, not anymore, love”. I couldn’t stop myself from nibbling at his bicep, feeling the hard muscle beneath my lips. I knew I should probably stop before he told me to, but there was something about the way he looked at me, all innocent and amused, that made me want to keep going.

“Y/N,” he started, the warning laced in his tone. But then he paused, caught in the trap of my gaze. I looked up at him, my eyes wide and innocent, almost pleading. His resolve crumbled, and he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head as he took a drag from his cigarette.

In a playful burst of spontaneity, I bit down gently on his bicep, my teeth grazing his skin just enough to elicit a surprised grunt from him. I looked up, my expression innocent, eyes wide with faux innocence that I knew was a poor disguise for the mischief swirling inside me.

“You’re an odd one, princess,” he said, a grin breaking across his face. The nickname sent a thrill through me, an endearment wrapped in his teasing tone.

“Odd? Me?” I feigned offense, pouting for effect. “I’m just appreciating the art that is Mattheo Riddle.”

“Art?” he echoed, tilting his head. “More like a war zone.”

I laughed, knowing the truth behind his words. He had been through so much, yet here he was, a mix of danger and allure. “Every scar tells your stories,” I said, tracing my fingers along another one, this one curving just under his arm.

“Some stories are better left untold,” he replied, but the grin on his face betrayed him.

“I wanna hear ok your stories, good or bad” I said with a gentle smile, pressing another kiss to his bicep, earning a soft groan from him. I loved these moments, the playful intimacy we shared, the unspoken bond that connected us.

@yootvi @redeemingvillains @littlemadamred @smut-anarchy

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frickingnerd · 3 days ago

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love triangle with 2B & A2

pairing: 2B x gn!reader x A2

tags: friends to enemies to lovers (A2 & reader), co-workers/friends to lovers (2B & reader), rivalry (2B & A2)

2B and A2 are already enemies, due to A2 deserting from yorha, but when the two androids notice that they're both in love with you, things become even more complicated!

A2 had once started out as your co-worker, before deserting. you're one of the few who still remembers how things used to be when you and her were partners, wanting to save the world together!

but when A2 deserted, you got a new partner; 2B. and while you were reluctant to replace A2, you eventually formed a real connection with 2B

A2 already disliked all yorha units, excluding you, but when she saw you with your new partner for the first time, her loathing turned even stronger!

meanwhile, 2B knew all about your history with A2. she was tasked to keep you away from her while you were on earth, but as time passed, that desire became more personal, as she fell in love with you and wanted to keep you away from her biggest rival!

under different circumstances, A2 and 2B maybe could've been friends or find a mutual understanding. but their love for you was what drove a wrench between them and both of them knew this could only end one way; you'd have to choose one of them and abandone the other!

while A2 was the one you missed the most, it was hard to see her. even if you could've had the chance, 2B was always around you, so you couldn't just sneak off and look for A2

the few times you actually got to reunite with your old partner were when she found a moment to steal you away from 2B, during turbulent times. while 2B was busy with the mission, having to take on your work as well, you managed to find a few minutes or hours with A2

A2 makes it very clear how she feels about 2B! she doesn't like her and she tells you to be careful around her. afterall, you don't even know the true nature of 2B…

but 2B often tries to sway you to her side with the same arguments! you might've known A2, but she's a deserter now. can you really claim she's the same girl who was your partner and who you loved? or is that person gone forever…?

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izzy120 · 3 days ago

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Cute but dangerous

First chapter, the meeting

Pairing: Melissa scemmenti x fem y/n

Summary: you just came from your old school to Abbott Elementary to be Melissa’s co-teacher. But she has been being a total bitch for not even half the day to y/n making her angry. So y/n may or may not have pepper sprayed Melissa in the eyes!

Warnings: cussing, more than usual mean Melissa, I think that’s it, tell me if I missed something!

Italian sayings in English

I’m going to kill that kid: “Sto per uccidere quel bambino”

Idiot: Idiota

Kid: Bimbo

Fucking piece of shit: Cazzo di pezzo di merda

Y/n isn’t quite sure how she ended up here. One moment, she was talking to the principal of her old school, and the next, she’s somehow in the halls of Abbott Elementary. Apparently, one of the teachers needed a teaching assistant—or as some like to call it, a “co-teacher.” But let’s be real, that title felt like a stretch. With a resigned sigh, Y/n adjusted the strap of her small bag, which held all the “essentials”: chapstick, makeup wipes, extra shirts (for inevitable kid-related messes), pepper spray, and a pocket knife. You know, the basics.

Pushing through the school doors, she approached the front desk with a polite smile and a flicker of nervousness in her eyes. “Hi, my name’s Y/n, N/y/n. I’m here to see Principal uh, Ava…I think that’s her name?” Y/n giggled awkwardly, already feeling out of place. Forgetting the principal’s name on day one? Great fucking start. She glanced at the two women behind the desk, who were now staring at her like she’d sprouted a second head.

The silence made Y/n shift uncomfortably, her nerves creeping higher. “Did I say something wrong?” she asked, glancing between them. One of the women, dressed head to toe in maroon—a cardigan over a floral blouse, matching slacks, and perfectly styled hair—looked like she could be Y/n’s mom. Well, if her mom exuded the perfect balance of warmth and authority. The second woman, though… oh boy. Strict, sharp, and undeniably intimidating. Y/n felt her cheeks heat up. Oh, this was going to be fun.

“Dear,” the maroon-clad woman said with a motherly smile, snapping Y/n out of her spiral. “I’m guessing you’re the new co-teacher?”

Y/n blinked a few times before nodding quickly. “Yes, ma’am! That’s me!” She accepted the woman’s outstretched hand, shaking it politely.

“I’m Barbara Howard,” the woman introduced herself warmly. “I’m the kindergarten teacher here. And this,” she said, motioning to her work wife, “is Meli—”

“Ms. Schemmenti,” the second woman cut in, crossing her arms and giving Y/n a once-over with a sharp glare.

Barbara sighed and placed a calming hand on her work wife’s shoulder. “Her name is Melissa, dear.”

Y/n nodded, trying not to let the intensity of Melissa’s stare rattle her. “Oh! Wait—are you the person I’m co-teaching with? I got an email about who I’d be assisting, and I think it mentioned you…”

Melissa scoffed and looked away. “Yeah, that’s me. Ava stuck me with two classes this year, so she figured I’d need a little help managing the little eagles.”

Y/n’s face lit up at the nickname. “That’s adorable! Do you give each second-grade class a nickname every year?”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “No, Idiota….Now, come on, let’s get moving, Maddie.”

“That’s not my name… it’s Y/n!” Y/n called after her, rushing to keep up.

Melissa groaned, clearly unimpressed. “If you last more than a month, maybe I’ll remember your name. Until then, Rick.”

Y/n gasped, trailing after her. “That’s not even close! That’s a guy’s name!”

Inside Melissa’s classroom, Y/n was hunched over, panting heavily as she tried to catch her breath. “Wow…hah…you’re a…hah…really fast walker!” she wheezed, still recovering. Melissa shot her a half-smirk, half-frown, clearly trying not to laugh. “Maybe don’t be so slow Bimbo,” Melissa replied dryly before heading to her desk to grab some papers.

Y/n’s exhaustion vanished in an instant as she squealed and rushed over to Melissa. “Is this your desk? Do I get a desk? At my old school, I had the cutest little desk, and I absolutely loved it!” she gushed, smiling proudly. Melissa raised an eyebrow at her. “Yeah, you’ve got a desk.” She walked to the back of the classroom, nudged one of the kids’ desks with her foot, and smirked. “Right here. Happy?”

Y/n wrinkled her nose in disapproval. “Well, I was kind of expecting more of a—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, kid,” Melissa interrupted, walking up to Y/n and pressing a firm finger to her chest. “I’m not your friend. You’ve gotta earn the right to be friendly with me. I won’t remember your name, you’ll call me Ms. Schemmenti, and you’ll sit at that desk with no complaints. This is my classroom, which means my rules. Got it? Capeesh?”

Y/n blinked in shock, a little hurt by the sudden harshness. She opened her mouth to say something but closed it again, unsure of how to respond.

Melissa gave her a quick once-over and added, “Also, you might wanna change before the kids get here. You look like a pink unicorn shit on you.” She turned back to her desk as if the conversation was over.

Y/n glanced at the small desk Melissa had pointed out and dropped her bag onto it with a huff. “I don’t have anything else to wear that isn’t… my style.” She glanced down at her outfit: a light pink, fluffy dress with ruffles on the shoulders and hem, paired with knee-high white socks, pink ballet flats, and a white bag with a gold heart. Sure, it was a lot of pink, but who cared?

Clenching her fists, Y/n huffed. “You know what? I’m not changing.”

Melissa turned back with an arched brow. “What did you just say

Y/n crossed her arms and glared. “I’m not changing! The girls are gonna love this outfit anyway! And you clearly don’t understand fashion styles if you’re judging me for it.”

To drive her point home, Y/n flipped Melissa off. “Fuck you!” she shouted before storming out of the room in a dramatic exit.

Melissa stood there, stunned. But seconds later, Y/n came rushing back in, grabbed her bag with a sheepish look, and bolted out again, leaving Melissa shaking her head in disbelief.

When the second graders finally arrived, Y/n begrudgingly returned to the classroom to help, though she stayed at the back with her arms crossed, clearly sulking. Her glare was locked on Melissa throughout the lesson, earning her the occasional glance from the older woman.

When lunchtime finally rolled around, Y/n eagerly led the kids to the cafeteria and made her way to the teacher’s lounge. She realized too late that she’d forgotten to put her salad in the fridge that morning, thanks to the fight with Melissa. As she opened the door, she spotted Barbara and Melissa already there.

Y/n immediately perked up at the sight of Barbara, grateful for her warmth and kindness—so unlike Melissa, who seemed determined to make her life miserable. Sliding into the seat next to Barbara, Y/n beamed. “Good afternoon, Barbara!”

Barbara smiled warmly. “Good afternoon, Y/n, dear. Have you met the rest of the staff yet?”

Y/n shook her head. “Not really,” she admitted with a small smile.

Barbara chuckled and began pointing out the other teachers. “That’s Janine,” she said, gesturing to a petite woman with a questionable sense of fashion—not that Y/n could judge right now. “And over there are Gregory and Jacob. Oh, and that’s Mr. Johnson. He’s not a teacher; he’s our janitor.”

Barbara continued introducing the rest of the staff as Y/n nodded along, chuckling. “They all seem so nice. Thanks for telling me their names—I would’ve felt so awkward not knowing them.”

Y/n giggled, but her amusement was cut short when Melissa muttered something under her breath. Turning to glare at her, Y/n pouted. “What did you just say?”

Melissa raised an eyebrow, her expression indifferent. “Hmm?”

Y/n scowled and stood up abruptly. “Ugh! You’ve been a total bitch to me since I got here!”

Janine gasped and immediately rushed over, her hands raised nervously. “L-let’s all calm down, please!” she stammered, clearly more anxious than Y/n had been that morning.

Melissa’s glare hardened. “The fuck did you just say to me?”

“I said you’ve been acting like a TOTAL BITCH!” Y/n shot back, her voice rising.

Melissa stood up so fast her chair scraped against the floor. “That’s it!” she snapped, looking like she was about to lunge at Y/n before Barbara quickly intervened, grabbing Melissa by the arm.

“Melissa, do not!” Barbara scolded, forcing her back into her seat. She turned to address Y/n, only to find the younger woman had already stormed out of the lounge.

Barbara sighed heavily and looked back at Melissa, her expression stern. “What have you been doing to that poor girl?”

Melissa scoffed, crossing her arms defensively. “Okay, maybe I’ve been a little bitchy, but why should I be nice? She’s not gonna last a week here anyway!”

Barbara sat down beside her, rubbing the bridge of her nose in frustration. “And she’ll leave even faster if you keep acting like this.”

“Good riddance,” Melissa muttered under her breath, earning a sharp slap on the shoulder from Barbara.

“Apologize to her. Right now.”

Melissa’s arms remained crossed, her glare unwavering. “I’m not fucking doing tha—”

“Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmenti!” Barbara snapped, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Melissa flinched and immediately stood up. “Fine! You didn’t have to use my whole name… sto per uccidere quel bambino,” she grumbled as she stomped out of the room.

Melissa searched the school for Y/n, eventually finding her sitting in the classroom. Rolling her eyes, Melissa walked over quietly, not wanting to make a scene. Without thinking, she placed a hand on Y/n’s shoulder.

Y/n jumped with a startled scream and instinctively sprayed pepper spray directly into Melissa’s face.

Melissa let out a pained yell, clutching at her eyes. “I know I pissed you off, but what the hell is wrong with you?! Why would you do that?!”

Y/n froze, horrified by her own reaction. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

Melissa, still blinded and livid, groaned through gritted teeth. “Cazzo di pezzo di merda!”

It’s not that good, her personality isn’t exact and this is definitely not the best I’ve ever done. But I hope that you guys liked it!

#lesbian #x y/n #melissa schemmenti #barbara howard #teacher crush #love #abbott elementary #school crush #melissa schemmenti x reader

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theressaicon · 3 days ago

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m!Zombie x gn!reader part 2

„Every time you try to say something, it sounds like you're about to throw up."

„Ugh rghh..."

„That's exactly what I'm talking about."

∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×

Despite the terrible cold outside, you wanted to spend time with your "neighbor." He was a good companion. He didn't talk much, but at least he tried.

Of course, there was the option of letting him in your hut, but you still exercised caution. You wanted to be safe... Yet you had no idea how safe you were.

Every night, Yellow would guard your hut like a dog. When he smelled someone with his super sense of smell, he would immediately go after them.

His attacks were easy to be heard. The screams of pain and aggression could be heard a mile away. It most often happened at night. Sometimes you wondered what his profession was before he died. Or was it just instinct? It was hard to say, but when the noise stopped, you knew you were safe again.

Every morning was almost the same. You always exchanged glances with each other. Now you even started to wish him good morning in words. Did he like that? Yes. Did you know how much he appreciated it? No.

You went to greet Mr. Yellow this morning. You ate some old biscuit for breakfast. „Good morning, Mr. Yellow. We've got a lovely day, don't we?" you greeted him. You meant it ironically. It was cloudy as always. The terrible cold gripped your bones and muscles, yet you smiled warmly at Yellow.

He gave you a nod in return. You both stood in silence, each on one side of the fence. Yellow made an exception today; he wasn't looking directly at you, but at the biscuit you were holding in your hand. Of course you noticed this change.

„You wanna taste?" you asked, slowly offering him the biscuit. He was very intelligent, for a zombie, he didn't want to scare you, so he set the slowest pace he could so you wouldn't be scared.

He slipped his fingers through the fence and carefully took the biscuit. Even though you were cold, he felt the warmth of your circulating blood even without touching you. You were fascinated by his caution, he was so gentle. You were impressed.

Yellow examined the biscuit for a moment, then put it in his mouth and began to chew. Then he grimaced and tried to spit it out. He clearly didn't like your breakfast at all. It made you laugh out loud... However you weren't laughing at him, he just awakened new feelings in you that you hadn't felt in a very long time. He was literally falling apart on the outside, but... his behavior... he was so cute. You stopped being too afraid of him.

„I wonder what you eat." you started. "I haven't seen you eat yet. Except for your attempt at my breakfast today." you gave him another warm smile. „DO you even eat? Like- at all?" Yellow quietly made a few sounds: „Egh.. oogh." „Uh-huh, alright." Then he put his forehead on the fence and started again. „Ihg... gouh!" You remained silent, looking at his trembling lips. „I.. gho!" And then it hit you. „Wait.. are saying 'I do'?" and he nods.

You took a few steps back and put your hand over your mouth in shock. „YOU TALK!"

Yellow only blinked a few times. Every time he made a sound, he was trying to talk to you, but you didn't understand him. On the other hand he was glad that you finally noticed. Although you had been taking it as a one-side communication the whole time, which is why you were so surprised that Yellow understood you.

∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×∗×

You started paying much more attention when Yellow "spoke" to you. You were patient with him, which he greatly appreciated. He was aware that it was difficult to understand when he spoke. But he was ghoulish and liked to take advantage of it.

For example:

When you were spending time together at the fence, or when you were doing something at your hut, he would calmly announce something like:

„Yurgh pfrrg-tuh." (You're pretty) Meanwhile you were like „Huh? What was that?" Then he'd bashfully pretend he didn't say anything.

His responses to your questions were starting to improve. He was nodding, shaking his head, and you could see in his eyes that he was thinking about the ways of answering. He sometimes tried to lie, but he was too transparent.

"Have you ever considered... biting me?" You asked, teasingly. Even though he shook his head, you knew he wasn’t telling the truth. Whenever he lied, his eyebrows were lower and closer together. The corners of his lips were pulled apart and his eyes looked almost scared. He could insist on his answers as much as he wanted, but you always saw through him.

It was this truth that Yellow was ashamed of. Yes, you would have been wonderful as prey, but despite his terrible hunger, he preferred to spend time with you. He couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to you. He hated the thought of him hurting you.

You asked him this question one evening. He was sitting with you by the fire, even though he was still on the other side of the fence.

You laughed for a moment at his attempt at a lie, but it didn't last long. His lying eyes shifted to honest ones, he looked at you like if he was looking at a holy image.

Carefully and slowly, he slipped his cold hand through the fence and showed you his opened hand. You were stunned, not knowing what to do at first. You trusted him and decided to place your hand in his palm.

Despite your first touch, Yellow didn't stop looking into your eyes. He loved your warmth, he loved your eyes, he loved... you.

He held your hand as if it was made out of glass. He rested his head against the fence and hummed contentedly. His own half-dead skin began to warm from your touch. For the first time since he became a zombie, he felt like he wanted to sleep.

You were already starting to think of an excuse to invite him closer to you, behind the fence. For so long you had tried to keep both the healthy and the infected apart, and now you would rather let one of them in as close as possible. It wasn't even a question of safety now, you liked Yellow just the way he was. You wouldn't change a thing about him, except for a little less mold and rotting flesh.

#x reader #x y/n #fluff #fanfiction #fanfic #monster x human reader #monster x reader #monster #m!zombie x gn!reader #x gn reader #y/n #x yn #zombie x reader #x human reader #zombie apocalypse #apocalypse

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poorxsouls · 20 hours ago

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𐙚 "Putting the love in Lovecraftian”.

—⟡—

MK ( Qi Xiaotian ) x Eldritch Horror Reader headcanons

TW: spoilers, lovecrafting lore, slight horror elements (nothing too explicit), mentions of trauma (such as nightmares and such), MK being in his monkey form, possible occ, kinda/pretty short, etc..

CW: MK, mentions of JTTW + LMK characters (mainly mentions of Mei, Pigsy, Tang, etc..), Lady bone demon being mentioned.

—⟡—

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

-TBH, he was scared of you for obvious reasons when you two first meet, and he (sorta) still is. Of course, he loves you too much to ever hate you. You often get scolded by him whenever you kill someone tho.. which you calm down a bit, only killing people you see as a threat.

-You live with him, no questions asked. Most of the time, you mostly stay cooped up in his room and greet him with a hug whenever he’s back from hanging out with Mei, working for Pigsy, hanging out with his mentors, and so on. Believe it or not, Teng often entertains you by telling you stories from Chinese mythology which kills time.

-Of course, since you’re a Eldritch horror, you’re way taller than any of the demons MK has to deal with; therefore, you had to shapeshift into smaller forms, but even then you still dump into walls and other stuff. But, it’s not all bad! You actually get to be the big spoon whenever you and MK cuddle, (also a plus if you have multiple arms, human or not) which is adorable!

-You’re very jealous. You trust MK, of course you do, you just don’t trust anyone who talks to him due to him being too good! Therefore, whenever he meets a demon, you often scare the demon away with your looks alone.

-Whenever MK is in a bad place/mood (aka being in his monkey form, having nightmares of lady done demon, and etc), you often comfort him by being affectionate. Most of the time, you run your fingers through his hair/fur while giving his cheek a few pecks.

-When MK introduce his friends and mentors to you, they were pretty scared (expect for maybe Mei and SWK, but even then they were kinda scared by how…. You looked) which is fine, you didn’t take it too seriously. But you eventually warmed up to the team!

-Since you’re super old, MK has to help you lot with modern terms and stuff which lead to him getting you a phone and you always spam him, sending him a lots of “❤️” and “ily”s which never fails to get him smiling.

-Long story short, you’re his hypeman/bodyguard and you two are adorable.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

#x reader #gn reader #lmk x reader #lmk mk #lmk #lego monkie kid x reader #lego monkie kid #mk x reader #mk x y/n #mk x you #qi xiaotian #x y/n #x you #Spotify

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bumblesimagines · 14 hours ago

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Lessons in 'Chemistry'

Request: Yes or No

Summary: After getting stranded on the side of the road, (Y/N) is helped by Sarah Cameron and given a ride home. Weeks later, she asks if he can return the favor in an unexpected way.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical OBX warnings, mentions of drugs and dealing, mentioned/implied classism, sexual content

Idk what possessed me but goodnight

~~~

The moment he crossed the threshold from the hallway into the bedroom, he immediately felt out of place, like a worn-out pair of dirty old boots being set amongst a shiny new pair of Mary Jane's.

He scoped out the room, noting it was much bigger than his bedroom back on the Cut, and felt a hint of uneasiness settle in the pit of his stomach. Everything looked as if it'd come right out of a magazine or a sitcom based around high school, including its inhabitant who slotted into the space like the last piece of a puzzle.

Sarah leaned against her vanity, the table trembling under her weight and almost knocking over some upright lipstick tubes. She hooked her fingers into the back of one of her sneakers and pushed downward until her heel popped out, then casually tossed the shoe aside to be forgotten until she needed it again. She did similarly with the other sneaker, and then her socks, which she threw into the laundry basket a few feet away. She seemed comfortable yet nervous, her fingers fidgeting with her golden bracelet as she turned around to face him.

They weren't friends, hell, they were hardly acquaintances. Though he assumed that was precisely why she'd even approached him in the first place asking him to repay a 'favor'. It hadn't been entirely his fault that his dirt bike had chosen to suddenly stop working and she'd just happened to be driving down the same road, but that act of kindness was typically repaid with a similar favor.

He still wondered if it was all some sort of prank, a test set up by Rafe to test his loyalty or something. But Sarah clashed with her brother enough for him to take Rafe out of the equation.

"So," She exhaled, scooping her hair over one shoulder and toying with the ends of it. "What.. what should we do first?"

(Y/N) needed a drink, or two, or maybe three to process what Sarah was asking of him fully. She'd gone up to him the day prior just as he'd been preparing to drive home from another kook party with his pockets full of cash.

For a moment, when she asked if he was willing to return the favor, he thought she meant hitching a ride back to Tannyhill or scaring the shit out of some jock who wouldn't leave her alone but then she'd given him an almost sheepish smile.

"I... I want you to teach me some things." She'd said, tugging her jacket further over her body to escape the nipping chill of the night. He'd grimaced, expecting her to mean shooting a gun or doing some sort of drug that'd send her spiraling down the same path as Rafe. Instead, she nearly made him and his bike tip over into the grass. "Like... in the bedroom? How to, you know... please? Ugh, that sounds so weird."

"Why?" He'd asked slowly, the word drawled out 'cause it sounded batshit for her to be asking him and not her boyfriend.

"I don't want to embarrass myself with Top. I always hear the guys talking shit or- or complaining." Her cheeks had gone red by then, a combination of the chill and what she was asking of him. He almost felt guilty but then Topper's irritating little face flashed in his mind and he considered telling her to straight up dump the guy.

"Yeah, sure."

He'd been mostly itching to get out of the cold, his tired brain telling him it was just some dumb dare and she'd be texting him some apologies by the time he got home. His phone had vibrated with a message telling him what time he could come over without Rafe around to ask questions that night.

There he stood, half-certain the regret would begin settling in for her in a few minutes and he'd be compensated with some snacks from their walk-in pantry. She tilted her head, though, and he quickly realized that maybe the Camerons were all really fucking weird.

"You do realize this is cheating.. right?" (Y/N) asked with an arch of his brow, maneuvering his leg around the door to push it shut behind him. Maybe they'd sit on the bed and he'd offer her a free therapy session on why kook guys weren't worth stressing over, because no guys who unironically wore polo shirts and khakis together were worth stressing over. She gave a flimsy shrug.

"Yeah," She answered casually, because she was Sarah Cameron and she was known for that sort of thing, before she took a few cautious steps toward him. She looked at him like middle-aged women with nothing better to do looked at banned breeds in shelters, with intrigue and a desire to reach out. "But it's whatever. I'll have other boyfriends."

He was beginning to believe she was using him to get out of the relationship, as a reason why they weren't working out. The most that'd happen to her would be a few nasty looks from Topper, and the least that would happen to him would be a fight. A kook with a bruised ego was a dangerous kook, and he was certain Rafe believed there was a bro code between them. No macking on siblings was always a given, no matter the relationship.

"What do you want to do?" (Y/N) asked, because he wasn't fully sure what she'd meant by 'teaching' her 'things'.

The fancy private school she and the other kooks attended definitely had to have classes where they were taught anatomy, and at the very least had some basic Sex Ed classes. All Kildare County High had was a teen pregnancy epidemic that was treated like cooties because they were all at a higher risk of OD'ing on something and not making it into their twenties. Not that DARE ever swayed anyone.

Sarah smiled, almost bashful, and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I want to kiss you." She answered, stepping closer to him, still slow as if she were dealing with a shelter mutt.

Something coiled around his gut, hot and electric and uncomfortable. He was no prude, he'd lost his virginity as a sophomore two years prior, but to be wanted aloud felt wrong.

His life had been spent learning how to hide, how to blend into the background and be forgotten within the hour. You only had two choices in the Cut: become a ghost floating on by or become a feral dog with bloodied teeth. He'd chosen the former, his brother the latter. To be noticed raised an alarm in his head and sent his senses into overdrive.

"Mm." He made a noise in the back of his throat, his hands furling in the pockets of his worn jacket. The room suddenly felt hot despite the AC blasting cold air into the back of his head and his fingers twitched for something to fiddle with while thought about his next words.

He was starting to wonder if maybe he was a new passion project of hers, though he'd never seen Sarah Cameron care for that sort of thing.

"Why not one of your friends?" He was stalling. He knew he could easily back out, mutter some excuse and offer to do her another favor, but some part of him wanted to stick around. Maybe for the chance at a good time, maybe from dumb curiosity. He just despised the idea of something more forming from it.

(Y/N) could hardly count as a playboy. He'd been with three girls in his long nineteen years of life and he only ever had to look one in the eyes when he attended school. The other two were tourons, the daughters of eager tourists who visited during summer break to bask on their beaches and get a taste of their day-to-day lives. He preferred them over girls he'd grown up with, over girls who lingered and could potentially continue prodding at him.

Sarah's lip jutted out in disgust. "Like Kelce or Benson? They're basically my brothers, it'd be too weird." (Y/N) did not comment on the fact either of those two would jump at the opportunity to do anything with her. He simply nodded as if he understood, as if he had girl friends who were like sisters to him. It'd always been just him and his brother.. and Rafe, he supposed, but Rafe was more like a stray who refused to leave. "Plus, they're friends with Top. I don't trust them not to snitch."

"But you trust me?" (Y/N)'s brows furrowed.

"Yeah," Sarah laughed lightly. "You're not like those other guys Rafe hangs out with." Sleazeballs, she meant.

The one singular time they'd ever had a proper conversation aside from polite small talk had been when she'd given him that ride in her shiny BMW. The car still had that brand-new smell, fresh and light and almost cool but mixed with subtle hints of vanilla and coconut that he often associated with Sarah.

She (unsurprisingly) proved to be a better driver than her brother who believed going the speed limit was optional, and she spent most of the ride chatting with him as if she were catching up with an old friend who'd left for college. It was odd, somewhat endearing but odd.

"Right." He exhaled and rolled his shoulders, his jacket sliding off his shoulders and exposing his upper arms to the cold air. He tugged each arm free from the sleeves and rolled the jacket up before jumping it on a chair pressed up against the wall beside the shelf built into the wall, the faded brown fabric clashing with the floral pattern.

If she was comparing him to Barry and his clients, the bar for trust was in hell. He could count on one hand the number of guys from that group he trusted, and it only included Barry 'cause the same blood ran through their veins.

Most of them were older men; ones with wives who despised them, divorcees with enough bitterness to create generational feuds, deadbeats who rarely remembered their kids ages or birthdays, or hopeless folks who'd long given up on their dreams of the future. (Y/N) pitied them sometimes, before he'd be reminded violence and greed came just as easy as breathing to the hopeless.

Sarah's room was incredibly nice, he noted, though an odd shape from being on the side of the manor. It looked like a hexagon cut in half with its slanted walls, leaving the lower half of it to be decorated with pictures and frames and the upper half to loom over the bed. Sarah must've really liked blue because nearly everything was blue or white. Her lamp, the floral loveseats, the large circular rug, the decorative pillows on her bed that had S and C threaded into them, the curtain. He felt tempted to ask if half the things in her bathroom were blue too.

When he tore his eyes away from a framed picture of different butterflies and their names, he found Sarah standing much closer than before. His first instinct was to flinch, to create distance between them, but his feet kept him rooted in place and rendered him to blink at her in surprise. Sarah's eyes crinkled, amused she'd caught him off guard, and then her hands moved to rest over his cheeks. Her hands were soft and smooth, free from callouses and chaffing because unlike most of the kids in the Cut, her father had ensured she'd never have to work a day in her life if she so desired.

"Can I kiss you?" Sarah asked, voice soft and almost breathless, dripping with anticipation. She cradled his face in a way that was unnatural to him, too gently, too sweet; it made him uncomfortable, it made him want to press pause and savor the moment. Affection was a fleeting thing on the Cut, and most often involved a trade of sorts.

Another threshold, another line he contemplated crossing. Technically, he'd done nothing to warrant the wrath of the kooks yet but kissing their princess would be breaking an unspoken rule between pogues and kooks. The 'war' between them was dumb, he very well acknowledged that, but he still followed the laws of their divided land to avoid conflict. Most kooks knew to leave him alone, his status as the local dealer's baby brother giving him an advantage over others, but kooks weren't particularly known for their intelligence.

"Yeah, sure," He exhaled, his go-to words with Sarah at this point, and she laughed again like windchimes in a summer breeze.

Just as expected, Sarah's lips were soft and plush, suddenly making him self-conscious about how his own lips felt. He applied chapstick a fair amount of times, would that change anything? He wasn't sure but he tried pushing the insecurity away to close his eyes and focus on not making a fool of himself in front of the nicest kook in all of Figure Eight.

His hands clumsy grasped at her waist, exposed by the crop top she wore riding up when she circled her arms around his shoulders. His hands retreated briefly when they touched her skin, worried for a moment that it was going a step too far as if their mouths weren't on each other. He placed them over her waist again more confidently, massaged the skin warm from constant time in the sun, and tried not to focus too heavily on how well he was kissing.

Sarah tilted her head and her button nose rubbed against his, her lips parting slightly and teeth gently digging into his lip. He tentatively opened his mouth, just a bit, and swallowed the muffled giggle the bottle-blonde released. He'd kissed girls before (just the three but enough to keep his brother's teasing to a minimum) but they'd always been rushed kisses, frantic and fast-paced to get to the part they actually wanted to do. Sarah took it slow, exploring his mouth and then pressing against him to encourage him to do the same.

She began moving, her chest bumping into his and forcing him to blindly move along with her until his legs bumped against her bed. They parted when he plopped down on the bed, the comforter rustling and the bed creaking softly with the added weight. He took a moment to catch his breath, to allow his mind to catch up and he peeled his hands off her waist. His lips felt different, likely smeared with the barely noticeable pink lipstick she wore, and his heart had kicked up its pace.

"What exactly-" He swallowed and pressed his palms into the smooth white comforter. "What exactly do you want help with?"

Her arms hugged his shoulders again and the moment their lips met again, she took advantage of their position and proximity by grinding her hips. His hands flew to her waist and a quiet grunt escaped him, his body naturally beginning to fully react to the situation. Her lips curved up into a victorious grin and he began to wonder just how inexperienced she actually was.

It definitely wasn't kissing. If anything, Sarah was an expert at that already with her years of dating boy after boy after boy.

He assumed the 'lessons' would be about heavy-petting or featherlight touches underneath clothes but instead of answering, Sarah smiled at him and dug her knees into the bed as she straddled his thighs. The lingering smell of her scented body lotion invaded his senses while she got comfortable on his lap, light and sweet-smelling enough to nearly make him hungry.

Sarah suddenly pulled away and brushed her fingertips over her bottom lip to wipe away the slick that'd gathered there. Her legs moved, sliding effortlessly along the comforter until her toes met the floorboards and then her knees followed with a soft thump. (Y/N) stared at her long and hard before the switch flicked and realization dawned on him like a wave of cold water.

"Is this okay?" She asked softly, her palms already moving along his thighs and hazelnut eyes peering at him through her dark lashes. She almost reminded him of a siren trying to entice him to make a costly decision, and his body seemed fairly keen on doing just that. Sarah palmed the growing bulge and smiled when he shuddered, her eyes darting back and forth between his crotch and his face.

"Are you sure about this?" He managed to ask without his voice miraculously cracking. His fingers dug into the comforter and crinkled the material but he desperately needed something to grasp onto while his brain struggled to comprehend what he'd gotten himself into. Heat invaded his face, covering his neck and ears before creeping down his spine and torso.

Sarah pressed the pad of her index finger into the button of his jeans and then nodded, her fingers popping the button and slowly dragging down the zipper until it reached its end. He felt clammy and nervous, like a fourteen-year-old seeing an old Playboy magazine for the first time or watching a scene from a film get steamy. It was the type of jittering nerves you got when you were doing something you shouldn't and the risk factor was beginning to set in. It made him a little light-headed.

Sarah's fingers dipping beneath the waistline of his jeans and the band of his briefs snapped him out of his momentary daze, his gaze darting downward in a flicker of confusion before he lifted himself enough for her to begin shimmying the articles of clothing down his legs. He lowered himself down closer to the edge of the bed, inhaling heavily through his nose when the cold air hit his thighs and reminded him he was now exposed in front of Sarah fucking Cameron.

He almost flinched when fingers curled around him and his eyes darted down, his cheeks flushing with heat at the sight of her long fingers slowly dragging over his length. He twitched in her hand, slowly hardening further, and he wished for nothing more than to shove his face into a pillow to avoid being seen by her curious eyes.

All the times he'd been touched by a girl had been quick, swift pumps before he sunk into her through a drunken haze. He wished he had a drink in hand, something that'd fog his brain and halt his instinct to overthink every single little thing. It was difficult to try not to when he had the Princess of Figure Eight with his dick in her hand. And she had the gall to look intrigued, if not delighted.

"Should I take my top off?" Sarah asked breathily, and (Y/N) almost hadn't heard her through the light ringing in his ears when she gave him an experimental squeeze.

His eyes immediately jumped down to the shirt she wore, one he actually thought looked nice. It was a light rose-pink shirt with a darker pink floral pattern that he thought looked rather fancy for a casual everyday party until he stopped to wonder if she'd dressed up a little nicer than usual just for him.

He had no sisters to run questions by, to watch and take notes of what girls purposefully did or didn't do, just an older brother who'd rob anyone if given the chance and whistled at pretty girls on the street occasionally.

He shrugged. "If you want."

Sarah smiled, a little cheekily, and released him to lift her top up and over her head, tossing it aside without a care. He swallowed thickly and her smile turned into a grin, one that blatantly spelled trouble for him. She leaned forward onto her knees, ones that'd likely be red and numb by the time she had her fill of fun, and arched her back slightly.

He tried focusing on her layered necklace, the gold one she frequently wore that had an S charm, but his eyes flickered lower regardless. His grip on the comforter tightened and he twitched again, his misery coming this time in the form of a small watery glob that trickled down from his tip.

Jesus.

A chill shot up his spine when Sarah abruptly leaned forward and dragged her tongue over his tip to collect the pre, his hips involuntarily bucking at the action. She gave a light hum and took him in her hand again, giving him a few experimental pumps that had more pre trickling down his shaft. Her eyes watched him, observing every reaction his body gave her as if it were an actual lesson and she was taking mental notes.

"I-" He made a low noise in the back of his throat and she stopped, blinking up at him with doe eyes like it was all some casual thing and wouldn't have her dad whipping out a shotgun if he walked in on them. He gave a shaky exhale regardless and raised his hand, suppressing the trembles by pressing his fingers together before he spat into his palm.

"Oh." Sarah peeled her fingers from him and brought them to her mouth, licking the mess off them while she watched him with a concreated furrow of her brow. Dangerous, was what she was.

He tried ignoring the sight and gave himself a few pumps, pre mixing with saliva and making him glisten under the sunlight pouring in from the window. Her hand replaced his and he rubbed his palms against his thigh, not daring to dirty the comforter that likely costed more than his mattress back home.

She continued moving her hand, squeezing lightly at times and slowly picked up her pace. Her eyes flickered upward to his face once his pants and quiet noises became noticeable, another spark of victory glowing in her eyes.

A strangled curse fell from his mouth when she leaned forward and wrapped her lips around him, her hands falling to grip his calves and dig half-moons into his skin. (Y/N) had half a mind to gather her bronze hair up with his cleaner hand, loosely holding it in a ponytail as she began attempting to fit him further into her mouth.

Her eyes squeezed shut, driplets of drool escaping from the corners of her mouth. He could tell she made an effort to breathe through her nose through the newfound haze in his head and gave her hair a light tug to coax her into taking a breather.

She leaned back and inhaled, her lips already swollen and slick. Her forehead creased with some frustration, reminding him that stubbornness ran in the family, before she leaned in again, wet warmth enveloping him and forcing another buck from his hips despite his best attempts at remaining still.

She made a small noise, unintentionally sending vibrations right to his gut where a knot slowly began to form and forcing a guttural groan out of him. He practically watched a lightbulb flicker in her head.

Sarah Cameron, as he came to learn, was a quick learner. She scraped him lightly with her teeth every now and again, her watery eyes jumping up to look at him apologetically to which he gave a reassuring nod despite his gaze only focusing on where they were connecting, but she managed to keep it to a minimum. She had little idea what she was attempting to do, likely going off what she'd seen or heard, but she gave it her all and was rewarded with noises he'd never heard from himself before.

It was messy, with an occasional gag or choke or gasp for air when she pulled back, but she kept going with determination he'd certainly never have.

Kook girls were certainly something.

With another curse, another half-stutter of his hips, and another surprised noise from the kneeling blonde, the tightened knot in his gut burst and he spilled in her mouth. Her hand grasped the base again and she pulled back enough to only have the tip ensnared in her mouth, suckling as if she were drinking soda that'd spilled over onto the lid of a cup.

His legs trembled and his back slumped, the AC keeping the sweat from collecting across his temple. He hoped he could shower or at least curl up for a nap somewhere in the manor like a cat who'd strolled in through an open window.

Sarah leaned back and wiped at her mouth, looking like the cat who'd caught the canary with her prideful and even smug smile. She was full of surprises.

He released her hair and took the liberty of slumping back onto the bed, letting out a heavy exhale that left his body deflating into the comforter. His view of the white ceiling was obstructed by her pretty face, lips still glistening and pulled into a small smile.

"Maybe we could.. go all the way sometime?" Sarah asked, strands of her hair tickling the side of his face when she leaned down to kiss the corner of his lips. He blinked.

"Thought this was all for Topper?"

Her nose crinkled with a laugh and her shoulders moved with a shrug. "I used him as an excuse." She revealed, lowering down to lay on top of him and prop her chin on his chest.

"Oh." He should've guessed as much; no girl with any actual interest in her partner gave head to other people. His brother always lamented about his gullibility.

"So?" She tilted her head and batted her lashes. "What do you say?"

"Yeah," He murmured, lips pulling upward. "Sure."

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dimlylittorch · 1 day ago

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i need to write consistently but silco is taking over my brain.

18+ drabble MDNI

My Masterlist🌱

Silco x transmasc!reader

this man.. this man yall. he humiliates you in the best way.

A part of being Silco’s favorite little thing is always being ready to help him relax. I’m talking quickies in alleyways, sucking his dick in closets- whatever this man needs. Time is money, he doesn’t have all day yknow.

One of the most humiliating stunts he’s pulled.. lord. This man definitely used you as a distraction tool. If Marcus is being difficult he has him sent to his office where he walks in and sees you lying on your stomach over his desk. You can hear his gasp of surprise, making you clench around Silco’s cock which was currently buried inside of you. A guard makes him enter the room and Silco tells him to sit down.

Marcus being forced to sit in a chair that’s right by your head, but you keep your gaze averted, hoping he can’t see your face. How embarrassing. Silco decided to keep talking business as usual, a smirk on his lips. Whenever he makes a point about control to Marcus, he rolls his hips against that spongy spot inside of you making you cry out weakly, quickly trying to cover your mouth. When you glance down you can see Marcus is hard, making your face flush even more.

“You see Marcus.. I like to keep my toys close.” Silco smirks, leaning over you and grabbing your chin, forcing you to look up at Marcus. “This little one, for example?” He chuckles as he rolls his hips into you again. “He’s a good boy. And good boy’s get rewarded, hm? Now why don’t you be a good little Enforcer and listen.” Silco purrs into your ear, but you know it’s directed at Marcus.

“I get your point.” Marcus mutters, meeting your eyes for only a moment before looking back up at Silco. To Marcus it may look like you’re being used- but you and Silco both know you enjoy yourself like this. Contrary to popular belief, he does believe in aftercare. Marcus and Silco continue their meeting, Silco standing with his hips against your ass the whole time. If you squirmed at all he’d pull out and push back in, weak whimpers falling from your lips. If you’re too loud he smacks your ass harshly, the sound making Marcus flinch ever so slightly.

Post meeting Marcus leaves the room and you’re left trembling over his desk, ass red as fat tears spilling down your cheeks. Silco leans over you with soft words, gently rubbing your back to comfort you. He snaps his fingers and Sevika walks in with a blanket and towel, dropping it on his desk with a huff. “Beautiful, isn’t he?” Silco muses when he sees Sevika glancing over the state of you.

“He does what he’s supposed to. Marcus agreed to comply.” Sevika mutters before leaving the room.

Silco lets out a faint sigh of relief and pulls you up, slipping out of you and pulling you into his lap on his chair. “Did you hear that?” He says softly against the shell of your ear as he holds you close, grabbing the towel and setting it on his lap under you. “You did such a good job.. making that stupid man so flustered he’s going to behave” he chuckles softly.

struggling to focus for my other writings, i’m trying to work on making them longer! hopefully i’ll have more posted soon. requests are always open!

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antennaed-kenzy · 3 days ago

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Waiting [Michael Kaiser]

❄ Michael Kaiser x f! reader

❄ notes: not proofread,

❄ Day twelve of the Christmas Series.

❄ Extras: Work count 1.6k words The last day of the twelve days of Christmas, along with it being his birthday! Masterlist of series

Being the best can be a burden to carry for some people.

Being the best in the world can be a burden to carry, not being able to see the people you love all the time. Along with a swarm of people wanting to talk to you and take a picture of your face. The paparazzi being around wherever you go. Traveling from place to place and not always seeing what you want to see. Not everyone can simply be the best in the world.

“I miss you, {Y/n}.” A lousy pouty voice spoke through the phone.

The female chuckled sweetly hearing him speak in such a low tone no one else in the world could hear. “I miss you the most, Michael.” {Y/n} set her phone on her vanity, making sure her face was in the frame.

Kaiser flashed a smile her way, making a sweet melody escape her lips. The two lovebirds talked on the phone for a while as the female got ready for the day. Kaiser occasionally mentioned how gorgeous she was in his eyes. As she was getting ready someone called her in the background.

{Y/n} picked her phone off the vanity saying to Kaiser, “Sorry, I have to go dear. Talk to you when I am done for the day.”

“Bye, love you, princess.” He kissed hers through the screen.

Bye, Love you too.” She caught the kiss pushing it against her lips and gave him one in return.

He hangs up the phone dropping it to his side and looking up at the ceiling. He picked his phone back up to look at the time. His reflection on the screen before turning it back on. Realization set in when realized the next time he was going to see his Fiancée was till Christmas.

Throwing his phone on the other side of the bed, right where she sleeps. Kaiser's eyes follow the phone as if she were there with him. Finally getting up from the bed he walked into the bathroom He faced the mirror, his blonde hair, the ends decorated in a fading blue. The color left as she wasn’t there to retouch and color it.

He could ask Ness to recolor his hair, but since {Y/n} touched his hair no one has even been the same. He never wanted anyone else to even touch his hair even if it was grown out and the color was completely gone till she was with him to re-do it.

The male splashed his face with water, as he lifted his face to look in the mirror he saw her products that were left behind. Waiting for her to arrive back home. Water was dripping from his face, taking a towel to wipe it all.

A small crowd of people were waiting outside a studio. All of them were in the world of entertainment ranging from actors, stunt double, filmmakers, directors, and so on. Some were yelling while others drank their coffee waiting for the doors to open. It was the last month of shooting and the people wanted to get today done already.

“Come on!” Someone whined, “I wanna get started.”

{Y/n} and someone else beside her broke through the crowd of workers. She had a megaphone while the plus one was opening the studio. “Time to get to work people. We only have one week left of this movie. Let's make it a great ending!” The crowd of people dispersed as they all went to their respective stops.

{Y/n} was one of the biggest movie directors and Kaiser was on the football prodigies. Both are in completely separate lines of work, yet they fell in love and were soon to be happily married. Though the downsides made it hard for them to sync their schedules together and see each other, they put in the effort toward the relationship; even if it took a while for them to work it out in the beginning.

For them though, the pros outweigh the cons. When they did see each other it was the best time of their lives as they made the most of it. When they had time, {Y/n} would show up to Kaiser games and practices, and Kaiser would show up to {Y/n} filming and the premieres.

“Snap out of it,” A co-worker snapped their fingers in the female's face grabbing her back to reality. “Time to get to work, {Y/n}.”

The [h/c]-haired nodded, “Alright, Pae. Let’s get today done.” A smile creeps on her face looking around to see everyone doing what they are paid to do.

Kaiser had just gotten done with his team's practice. The first thing he does is rush to his phone in the locker room. Turning it on he saw something he hated to see.

1 missed call from “My Princess<3”

“Why didn’t you pick up the first time?” {Y/n} whined at him, her lips pouty

Without making a mistake he calls back his Fiancée.

*Ring Ring**

“You know I was at practice,” He rolled his blue eyes teasingly.

“Yeah, whatever. Probably busy with another woman,” She teased throwing him so shade.

Kaiser looked at her with a straight lip, his eyes rested as he was annoyed at her. “I hate when you do that. You know it’s not true, {Y/n}.”

“I’m kidding.”

The two talk about each other days, complaining about people around them. As Kaiser was taking a shower when he got home, {Y/n} had to point out his blue rose tattoo saying how much she loved it and even missed it more than him at times. He would threaten to remove it to see how she would react, but they both knew that would never happen.

{Y/n} had fallen asleep and Kaiser was doing work while letting her snores make him calm and collected making him tired. When he was done writing in his journal he got in bed, setting the phone beside him where she would sleep to mimic as if she was there with him.

“Good night, love,” He whispered in his phone, shutting his eyes for the night.

Kaiser wanted to see her again, wanted to be with her and hold her again. He didn’t want to wait another hour, but he had to wait for three more days. He has been calling her more recently as football practice was canceled due to the holidays, though he was practicing to wash the time away.

{Y/n} was waiting at the airport three days early from what she told Ksiser. She wanted to surprise him for the holidays, and his birthday. They had finished the movie a little earlier than expected and she had no reason to be in the States anymore. Especially when someone was waiting for her at home.

Getting on the plane she was off back home in Germany. Kaiser sitting on the couch having no idea who will be in his lap in 9 hours.

“Kaiser!” A familiar female voice rang in his ear.

He got up from the dinner table as he just ate supper not so long ago. He consciously walked to the front door in case he was hearing things or it was an intruder. When his crystal blue eyes met a familiar pair of [e/c] ones, he ran toward them like they were calling him, waiting for him.

He lifted the female from the ground, her legs wrapping around his waist pulling him even closer. The touch fills a missing piece.

“I missed you so so so much!” He gave pepper kisses all over her face.

“I missed you so so so so much more!” She returned his kisses.

The two of them hold each other for a while not wanting to let go. They finally were with each other and were going to be with each other for a while. Even if {Y/n} wasn’t busy she would follow her Fiancé to his practices and games, then go to see her movies in theaters if they were still running.

Kaiser finally set her down. “I thought you were supposed to be here on Christmas Eve?”

“Well,” She reached up for his grown-out colorless hair. “I thought you would want to look presentable before Christmas.” She smiled at him, a smile he missed seeing.

The two of them got to the bathroom. {Y/n} cut and re-dyed his hair along with giving it a trim. He was sitting there looking at her concentrated face amazed by her. He fell in love all over again, his heart fluttered for her even if they had been together for years now and were getting married.

They took a shower together when she was done with his hair. Helping him wash out his hair and making sure it looked good. After that, she gave him a facial with her products that were left behind. It seemed she had been waiting to give him the princess treatment since she left. They both missed this, Kaiser wanted to marry her now, put a ring on her finger, and be able to announce they were happily married.

Christmas also was Kaiser's birthday.

“Happy birthday love of my life.” {Y/n} woke up sitting up on the bed. She lifted her leg off the male now on top of him. “Wake up!” Her finger guides over her chest making circles.

“Merry Christmas, Princess.” she sleepy voiced.

“But it's also your birthday!”

She bends down giving him kisses all over his face and neck, peppering him with love. The two of them woke up, presents were around the tree, both for Christmas and his birthday even if he didn’t want to celebrate it.

{Y/n} makes some breakfast for a while as he opens some presents. When they are done eating breakfast they sit around the tree and open some more. For the best gift, they had to take back to the bedroom to play with some new toys.

a/n: I wanted this to be longer, but I was pressed against time and really wanted to bring the world some Kaiser love.

#fanfic #blue lock #bllk #blue lock manga #x y/n #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #mk. oneshots #kaiser fluff #kaiser x reader #kaiser #michael kaiser #bllk kaiser #blue lock kaiser #kaiser michael #bllk manga #blue lock michael kaiser #christmas special

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