#yes to each their own. but i hate that i have to pretend to like them bc everyone else does. i dont! im just not into it! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

horchatakoo · 2 months ago

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IN HIS MERCY | JUNGKOOK FF PT.2

description: who would have thought that you, the queen bee of the school, would be a crying mess beneath the very boy you bullied?

It’s not your fault he fucks you too good… right?

warnings: nsfw, consensual non-consent, yandere jungkook, mean dom jungkook, big d!ck jk, cum dump yn, dumbification, blackmailing, manipulation, drugging

You slowly wake from your deep slumber, an agonizing headache throbbing in your skull. Instinctively, your hand reaches up to cradle your head, as if it could ease the pain. Your eyes remain shut, the lingering ache making it difficult to open them, and your vision is blurred—probably from sleeping for too long.

Something feels off.

The soft silk sheets against your skin, the plush, oversized mattress, and the faint, familiar scent of a man’s cologne mixing with the cool air—none of it belongs to you. It’s nothing like the small, sweaty bedroom you fell asleep in.

Panic surges through you. You jolt upright, eyes flying open, heart pounding as you take in your surroundings.

No.

You’re not home.

You’re in his room.

"Ah, you’re finally awake. Morning, princess."

Jungkook’s voice was warm, almost teasing, as he stepped into the room, a smile playing on his lips. He had opened the door just in time—as if he had been waiting for this exact moment.

Your throat felt dry. "Jung… wh—"

"You slept for so long, baby. You must be hungry." His tone was soft, affectionate. Too affectionate. "Here, I cooked for you."

Your thoughts were scattered, sluggish. You wanted to ask—how did you get here? How long have you been here?

But before you could even form the words, Jungkook was already moving. He set a tray of food onto your lap, completely dismissing your questions as if he hadn’t heard them at all.

"Jungkook…" Your voice was barely above a whisper.

He hummed, tilting his head. "Mhm? Yes, baby?"

He was acting sweet. But that was what terrified you the most.

A single tear threatened to fall onto your cheeks but you tried holding it in.

This isn’t normal.

He isn’t normal.

The man standing in front of you—the one smiling, feeding you, pretending like this was perfectly okay—was nothing like the Jungkook you knew at school.

A single tear slipped down your cheek. Then another. And another.

Before you could stop it, they fell freely, streaking your skin, your chest tightening with each passing second.

And then, with a shaky breath, you finally mustered the courage to say the one thing you had wanted to ask since you woke up.

"J-Jungkook… I wanna go home."

Your voice cracked mid-sentence, fragile, pleading—begging for mercy. Begging for him to take you back, to undo everything, to make things go back to normal.

To before all of this.

Jungkook’s expression didn’t falter. If anything, his gaze softened.

"Shhh…" He reached forward, cupping your wet cheek, thumb swiping away a tear. His voice was calm, gentle—too gentle. "Baby, don’t cry. I hate it when you’re like this."

His fingers trailed down to your jaw, tilting your face up toward him. His next words were almost painful.

"All I did was treat you right."

Then, he smiled.

A soft, sweet, twisted smile.

"This is your home now. Don’t you like it?"

And at that moment, you knew.

It was over.

There was no way Jungkook would ever let you go again. If anything, you were trapped.

And that realization crushed you.

A broken sob escaped your lips, followed by another, until you were crying freely, your breath hitching, hiccups shaking your body. You had lost.

But don’t worry—Jungkook was right there.

Strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest, cradling your trembling form. He shushed you gently, fingers stroking your hair in mock comfort, his lips curling into a sinister smile against your temple.

"It’s okay… it’s okay, baby. You’re gonna learn to love it here soon."

His voice was soothing, convincing, like he truly believed his own words.

"I even bought you new expensive dresses. You like that, don’t you?"

His hand trailed down your back, rubbing slow, possessive circles.

"You can be all pretty and dolled up just for me. Just like the good old days, when you were the queen bee."

As if those words should make it better. As if you’re like a kid that can be bought with a few dresses.

But… isn’t this what you always wanted?

A taste of wealth

Something that you have been pretending to have ever since,

and now? Jungkook was handing it to you on a silver platter in exchange of your freedom.

After a minute of sobbing into his chest, your cries slowly faded into quiet sniffles. Your body felt heavy, drained, your mind too exhausted to keep fighting.

You didn’t want to be close to him. Didn’t want to need him.

But right now? He was the only comfort you had.

And Jungkook loved it.

His fingers traced slow, lazy patterns down your back, feeling the way you melted—just slightly—against him.

So cute.

A minute ago, you had been babbling nonsense about wanting to go home, about escaping.

And now?

Now, you were seeking him out. Holding onto him.

But Jungkook knew better.

This won’t last.

You would come back to your senses. The moment your emotions settled, you would go back to being difficult. Stubborn. Fighting him.

So he had to fix that.

Had to take matters into his own hands.

Had to condition you… to train you.

To be his perfect little doll.

All pretty and compliant just for him.

Then, as if nothing happened, he leans back and tilts your chin up.

"Feeling better, baby?"

Knowing better than to resist, you nod weakly.

Jungkook grins, his eyes glinting with something unreadable.

"Good girl. Then let’s get some food in you, yeah?"

He reaches for the breakfast tray he had set on the bedside table, carefully placing it in front of you.

"I made this just for you," he says, his voice soft, affectionate.

On the plate, there’s warm rice, eggs, and crispy bacon. A glass of milk sits beside it.

It looks… normal.

You hesitate for a moment, staring at the food, wondering if it might be laced with poison.

Jungkook catches the doubt in your eyes and chuckles.

"What? You think I’d poison my pretty little princess?"

He picks up a slice of bacon and bites into it himself, chewing slowly.

"See? It’s safe, baby. Now eat."

You swallow hard, yet you choose to follow his orders, forcing yourself to pick up the spoon. You need the energy. You need to stay strong if you’re ever going to find a way out of this.

So you eat.

Feeling hungry, you manage to finish the meal, washing it down with the full glass of milk.

Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook simply watches, smiling and humming in satisfaction as you unknowingly drink the milk laced with drugs—ones meant to boost your arousal and keep you dumb.

“Your training starts now, baby”

“Come here, princess”

Jungkook calls you casually while he’s busy scrolling one of the papers he has to sign for the company.

His parents had recently just decided to transfer the company in his name, seeing how Jungkook’s temper and psychotic behavior has been improving - or so they thought.

Hearing him calling you, you did not hesitate but to happily crawl toward him, just like how he trained you.

The cold floor stings against your palms, the weight of the collar around your neck a constant, inescapable reminder of who you belong to.

The thin straps of your pink lingerie barely cover anything—your breasts threaten to spill free with every movement, and the fabric only hides what Jungkook allows to be hidden.

But the worst part?

The aching stretch of the plugs in both your holes.

Each slow, deliberate movement is humiliating. Each crawl toward him is a silent admission—you’re already broken.

Jungkook had fucked you full this morning.

Had plugged his cum inside you, his voice a low, mocking purr as he tilted your chin up and whispered;

“Don’t waste it, princess. Good pets keep their master’s cum inside.”

Now, as you finally reach him, Jungkook leans back in his chair, watching.

Amused. Satisfied. Completely in control.

"Good girl."

Then—he spreads his legs.

And pats his thigh.

"Now, sit."

You climb onto his lap, straddling him, your core pressing directly against his already hardened bulge.

Even through the fabric, you can feel him.

Thick. Hard. Waiting.

You can’t help yourself but naturally grind in him, but you were stopped with a slap in your right butt cheek

“Did I tell you to do that? So fucking horny can’t even control yourself”

Jungkook scolded you, which made you sob, “‘M, sorry daddy, Y/n just wanna rub”

Jungkook smirks at how pathetic you look. It has only been three days and you’re already broken.

“Really? Then you should ask for permission first, you’re a good girl aren't you?”

You nod, agreeing that you really are a good girl as you started begging him “D-daddy… Can Y/N hump?”

“Are sure that’s what you only want, princess?” Jungkook asked as he started rubbing circles on your

“Want daddy inside, feels so empty!”

Jungkook chuckles at your desperation, as he mocks you “Is that so, but you already have a plug to keep you full”

Jungkook loves you this way. He thinks you’re perfectly made for this - for him.

“Nooo… want daddy’s cock” You cried in desperation as you unconsciously buckled your hips, following the rhythm of his thumb.

“Really? Then prove it.”

You blink up at him, confused. “H-how?”

His fingers ghost over your collar, tugging it slightly.

“If you want it so badly, you’re going to work for it, princess. Show me how much you need it.” Jungkook suggested as he caressed your cheek

Without thinking, you slip off his lap, dropping to your knees on the cold tile floor. The impact stings, but you don’t care.

Your hands move frantically, fingers trembling as you unbuckle his belt, tugging down his boxers with urgency.

And then—

You’re met with the sight of his cock, thick, hard, and with a bit of precum spilling in his slit.

You drag your tongue along his length, pressing soft kitten licks against the tip, savoring the salty taste of his precum.

It smears onto your lips, glistening like gloss.

You hum in satisfaction—you love this. Love teasing him. It’s like licking ice cream, slow and indulgent, just the way you like it.

But before you can continue, a deep groan rumbles from his chest.

Suddenly, his fingers tighten in your hair, yanking you forward.

Your gasp is cut short as he forces your mouth down his shaft, making you take him in one swift motion.

Before, you would have been choking and crying, struggling to take him.

But now? Your throat has adjusted.

It’s as if it’s been reshaped just for him.

“Ohh fuck princess, you’re so good. Throat so fucking tight and warm, just like your pussy”

You wanted to say something, but you chose to stay focused, bobbing your head with determination, desperate to satisfy him.

But it wasn’t enough.

Jungkook’s grip tightened in your hair, and before you could react, he thrust his hips forward, forcing himself deeper.

You choked slightly, your throat tightening around him as he let out a low, satisfied groan.

“So, so good, yeah? Always ready to be used.”

And just like that, he pulled out of your mouth, before shooting his cum on your face.

“Thank you daddy,” you said, always grateful with everything he gives you as you collect the cum smeared on your face and licked it up.

"Bend over the desk. I’m going to refill you," Jungkook instructed.

You obeyed immediately.

Pressing your chest against the cool surface of his wooden desk, you arched your back, ass up, waiting.

Jungkook let out a low hum of approval as he reached down, peeling away the sheer lace fabric you’d been wearing all day.

Slowly, he pulled out the plug from your core, making you hiss at the discomfort.

The sudden emptiness sent a shiver through you.

And just like that—your hole was left gaping, clenching around nothing, as his leftover cum trickled down your inner thigh.

He chose to leave the buttplug in place, already planning to train you for anal—maybe tomorrow, or maybe even tonight.

“Ahh… jungkookie, pleasee”

“Shhh doll, I’ll enter you now” And just like that he inserted his thick shaft into you without prep, knowing your gonna take him so well

“Ohhh fuck… so good doll. Pussy so perfect for my cock” He praised as he continued ramming you core, while you’re just there taking it all.

"Shit, I’ve fucked you twice today, and you’re still so tight," Jungkook groaned, his fingers digging into your hips as he thrust deeper.

Your walls clenched around him, desperate, needy, perfectly trained to take him.

A whimper escaped your lips, your body trembling beneath him. "Ahh… ugh, I wanna cum, Gookie, please?"

Your voice was wrecked, broken, dripping with desperation.

Jungkook chuckled darkly, slowing his pace just to hear you whine.

"Already begging, princess? Tsk. So fucking pathetic. Hold it in, let’s come together”

The idea that the servants—or anyone in the house—might hear you? Long forgotten.

Your only focus was him. His cock. The way he was ruining you.

With a few more deep, relentless thrusts, Jungkook cummed inside you, his grip on your hips tightening as he filled you to the brim.

At the same moment, pleasure crashed over you, your body convulsing as you squirted around him.

Your legs trembled violently, the overwhelming sensation leaving you too weak to hold yourself up.

If not for Jungkook’s firm grip on your hips, you would have collapsed completely.

"Tsk. Look at you," he murmured, smirking down at your wrecked, shaking form. "Can’t even stand without me."

You felt exhausted again, your body limp and spent.

Fortunately, Jungkook placed you gently onto his office chair, his touch surprisingly gentle as he grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat off your flushed skin.

But before you could fully relax, you felt it.

The familiar stretch as he plugged your core again, sealing everything inside.

Your breath hitched, but you were too tired to protest.

It didn’t matter. In a few weeks, you’d probably be pregnant with the amount of intercourse the two of you had.

Jungkook moved toward one of the cabinets, pulling out a large hoodie.

One of his.

He slipped it over your head, letting the soft fabric swallow your exhausted, smaller frame.

You were already fighting off sleep, eyelids heavy, body sinking deeper into the chair.

Then his voice broke through the haze.

“Hey, baby. Rest now, okay? Mom and Dad are gonna visit later.”

Your eyes fluttered open.

"M-Mom?" Your voice came out groggy, confused.

Jungkook chuckled, kneeling beside you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Yeah, my parents. You’re gonna meet them for dinner. Would you like that?"

You hesitated.

"Okay…" You nodded slowly, still unsure.

But the thought of meeting Jungkook’s parents sent an unexpected flutter through your chest.

Him introducing you to them…

As what?

As his girlfriend?

Right…

“Who’s this?” Jungkook’s father asked, eyeing you intensely.

His presence alone made it clear—he didn’t like you here. He didn’t welcome you.

The four of you sat at the long dining table, Jungkook beside you, his hand firmly clasped around yours beneath the table.

You sat stiffly, dressed in one of the expensive outfits he had bought for you—an elegant white draped dress, flowing over your figure. Your hair was left untied, cascading naturally over your shoulders.

Jungkook, unbothered, swirled the wine in his glass before taking a slow sip.

“You’re scaring her, Dad. That’s not how you should treat my guest.”

“Y-yes, honey… Look at this lovely girl, you should at least smile at her,” Mrs. Jeon added quickly, offering you a kind smile, attempting to ease the rising tension.

But you just sat there, uncertain, frozen.

You wanted nothing more than to leave, to go back to your room. His parents—especially his father—didn’t seem like good people.

“Smile? God knows where Jungkook got this girl from and what antics he pulled this time.”

Mr. Jeon’s tone was laced with disdain.

He knew his son too well.

He knew this wasn’t normal.

And it deeply concerned him.

They thought that, after all this time, Jungkook had changed. That he had gotten better.

But instead—he had only gotten worse.

Jungkook’s grip on your hand tightened.

His gaze turned sharp as he stared down his father.

“I don’t like you talking to my fiancée like that, Dad.”

The room fell silent.

Mrs. Jeon’s eyes widened, startled yet pleasantly surprised.

“Fiancée? Oh my…” She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest, visibly delighted.

Jungkook only smirked.

“Yeah. She’s family now. So please, treat her well.”

Your cheeks burned.

You hadn’t expected that. You hadn’t even known he had planned something like this.

And yet…

Your heart skipped a beat.

Somehow, you felt happy.

Jungkook was claiming you—officially, permanently.

You weren’t just his toy anymore.

You were his.

Completely.

Mr. Jeon, however, remained silent.

He knew better than to protest against his psychotic son.

Instead, he turned to you, studying your face.

The way you smiled at Jungkook.

The way your eyes sparkled at the idea of being his fiancée.

And it disturbed him.

You were just like him.

Twisted. Warped. Sick in the head.

And yet, for you, there was nothing better.

Nothing better than being Jungkook’s fiancée.

Than becoming his wife.

Your old life—the memories of school, of being the queen bee—had long faded into nothing.

But that’s fine…

Jaehyun and the others had forgotten you too, as if you had been nothing more than a passing superstar, once admired, now completely irrelevant.

All that mattered now was Jungkook.

Now, and forever, your only focus would be him.

Building the family he wanted.

The future he had already decided for you both.

-the end-

#bts fanfic #yandere #smut #bts #yandere jungkook #bts yandere #bts oneshot #bts smut #jungkook #jungkook x reader #yande.re #bts fanfction #fanfic

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vanteguccir · 1 year ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤWISDOM TEETH * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Y/N faces the terrifying experience of having four wisdom teeth removed. With her boyfriend, Matt, and his brothers by her side, Y/N goes through moments of anxiety, laughter, and confusion under the influence of anesthesia.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　mentions of blood, pain, surgery, dentist, anesthesia.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The sun shone high in the sky as Y/N and Matt got into the car, ready to face the journey to the dentist's office.

"You're going to be okay, honey." Matt said as he arranged himself in the driver's seat, casting a quick glance of genuine concern in his girlfriend's direction, who spent the entire morning glued to himself, exposing her fear into emotions and complaints.

Y/N smiled small, buckling her seatbelt and moving her body above the upholstered so she found a comfortable position, trying to shake off the bad thoughts about the surgery.

"I hope so, but I can't promise I won't put on a little show in there." The girl joked, trying to relax the atmosphere, resting her hands on her thighs so that her slightly sweaty palms were in contact with the fabric of her jeans.

"I doubt you're the worst patient they've ever seen." The boy laughed as he started the car, turning his head to his right and sending her a wink.

Nick and Chris quickly settled into the middle seats of the car, each of them with a reassuring smile on their face. Nick held the camera firmly in his hands, lowering his gaze to the screen and changing a few settings.

They were like brothers to Y/N, and their presence there was comforting for her.

“Ready for the adventure, Y/N?” Chris asked with a mischievous smile, rubbing the palm of his hands before leaning his body forward and placing his upper body on the car console so that he could see the girl's reaction more closely, placing his right hand on the back of her seat to stabilize himself.

A loud curse from Nick was heard, the boy complaining that Chris was blocking the camera's view before forcefully pulling him back against his own seat.

"If by adventurous you mean a terrifying one, then yes." The girl sighed, ignoring their bickering while pretending to be excited before closing her eyes tightly, pressing the bridge of her nose with the index finger and thumb of her right hand, trying to relieve some of the tension there.

During the first few minutes of the trip, Y/N tried to remain calm, but anxiety began to seep into her chest, leaving a metallic taste in her mouth. She looked at the clock on the car dashboard and saw that there were still twenty minutes until they arrived at the office, even though it seemed like they had already been inside the car for hours.

"Matt, I changed my mind. Can we go home?" Y/N interrupted Chris's yapping from the backseat, her voice trembling slightly as her hands balled into fists above her thighs, a result of her nervousness.

Matt glanced at her quickly before returning his attention to the road ahead, taking his right hand off the steering wheel briefly and moving it towards his girl, reaching blindly for her own, intertwining their fingers and giving hers a firm and comforting squeeze.

"You're kidding, right? We're already halfway there, my love. Look, it's going to be okay. I promise." The brunette murmured gently, trying to calm her nerves as he kept his attention on the road, frowning slightly in concentration.

"I know, it's just... I hate dentists so much, and I don't know if I want to take anesthesia." The girl admitted, shrugging her shoulders as she forced a small smile, squeezing Matt's hand back.

"Don't worry, girl, we'll be in the room with you the entire time." Nick said from the backseat, his voice sounding comforting, interrupting whatever negative thoughts Y/N's mind was creating at that moment, earning a weak nod in response.

The minutes dragged by slowly as the car made its way down the road. Y/N tried to distract herself by looking out the window, but the sight of buildings and businesses quickly passing by only increased her agitation.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do with your wisdom teeth after they're removed?" Chris asked suddenly, interrupting the tense silence as he kept his eyes fixed on the scenery outside the vehicle.

Y/N blinked, surprised by the sudden question.

"Well, I thought I'd ask the doctor to keep them for me. Maybe I could make a necklace-" The girl interrupted her own sentence, widening her eyes and turning her torso to her left side abruptly, gripping the side of her own seat with her right hand so that she could look at the back and the driver's seat at the same time. "No, wait, I can put it under my pillow, right?" The volume of her voice rose quickly, sudden excitement dripping into her words.

"Pillow? Why would-"

"For the tooth fairy, obviously! I'm going to remove four wisdom teeth. Do you know how much money I could make from that? I don't, but I know it's a lot!" She rambled, breaking into a big smile as her eyes went from Matt to Nick and Chris and back again.

"It's 40 dollars, Y/N." Nick responded in an amused tone, turning to Chris and letting out a silent laugh. The youngest shrugged, leaning over the space between one seat and another and taking the camera from Nick's hands.

"They can't give your teeth back, honey. When they take them out, your teeth turn to dust." Matt said as if he was speaking to a child, a hidden smile growing on his face as he kept his eyes straight ahead, raising them momentarily to the rearview mirror and casting an amused glance at Nick, who was already looking back at him, knowing he was joking.

"No! Babe, don't say that. Are you serious?" Y/N screamed, her eyes widening comically before tears began to well up in her eyes, shining against the sunlight, her mouth forming an involuntary pout.

"Oh no, don't cry. If you cry, I'll cry, too." Nick noticed her tearful expression, closing his eyes tightly and bringing the palm of his hands to his own, rubbing his blue orbs harshly, trying to shake off his own emotions.

"Oh no, Nick, don't you dare cry-" Chris's voice was interrupted by a loud sob coming from Y/N, which tore from her throat, tears escaping her eyes without permission.

Her ears quickly caught the loud laughter of Matt and Chris, and Nick's sniffles, while her boyfriend squeezed her hand tightly, trying to convey support and reassurance even though he was laughing at her sensitive state.

As they got closer to the office, Y/N's heart started to beat faster. She felt a mixture of fear and excitement bubbling inside her and knew that soon she would be facing the inevitable.

"I think I'm having a panic attack." The girl murmured, her voice muffled by the crying she had minutes before as her nose sniffled repeatedly.

"No, you're not." Matt said amused, rolling his eyes playfully before squeezing Y/N's hand one last time, slowly releasing it and taking his back to the wheel so that he could concentrate on entering the building's parking lot, parking the car in one of the free spaces closest to the main entrance.

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves as she exited the vehicle with the help of her boyfriend. She knew she had a long road ahead, but with Matt and the triplets by her side, she felt like she could face the situation she had put off for so many weeks. And so, with one last sigh, she entered the office.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Y/N was already in the dental chair, nervously looking up at the white ceiling as the doctor prepared everything around her. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest as her hands sweated nervously. Matt caressed her right shoulder firmly and carefully, conveying the silent support she needed so much at that moment.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" Matt asked, tilting his head down so he could look better at her.

"Of course I am." She responded, swallowing hard, trying to force a smile while focusing her eyes on his, though her voice betrayed her anxiety.

Nick and Chris were a little further away, on her right side and close to the large wall of windows, their expressions a mixture of concern and unsuccessful attempts to hide their laughter. The fact that Nick knew what the feeling and procedure was like made him more amused by her present and future state.

As the doctor began moving equipment, Y/N watched curiously. She extended her right arm, allowing one of the nurses to attach the blood pressure and heart rate monitor to the correct location, feeling a shiver run down her spine. This was getting very real very fast.

"I feel like an astronaut about to take off." Y/N teased, biting her bottom lip lightly, trying to ease the tension out of herself.

"Well, at least there's no zero gravity to deal with." Nick chuckled softly, zooming the camera to the surrounding equipment before looking at the girl, offering her a reassuring smile.

Chris let out a laugh at his response, it echoing through the office and bringing a bit of lightness to the tense environment.

"I hate that sound. It reminds me of Grey's Anatomy, exactly when a patient is about to die." The girl said suddenly, pointing with her chin at the machine where the sounds of her heart were coming from.

"Hey, don't say that." Matt warned amid laughter, shaking his head while still caressing her shoulder, squeezing the area gently to relieve her muscle tension.

As the doctor began to prepare the IV, Y/N felt a wave of panic pass through her body. She looked at the thin tube with wide eyes and an expression of horror, watching him take off the cover and connect the wire to the syringe with the anesthesia.

"Matt." She muttered in a shaky voice, her lips trembling again as she clenched her right hand into a fist, accidentally letting the heart rate meter slip out.

"Hey, pretty girl, I'm right here. I won't leave your side, I promise. When you wake up, we can get ice cream from that ice cream shop you love, huh?" Matt curved his spine slightly so that his face was close to hers, holding her chin with his free hand and pulling it towards him, looking deep into his girl's eyes.

Chris quickly moved forward, taking her best friend's right hand gently and arranging the meter back into its correct place.

The doctor finished preparing the IV and approached Y/N with it, extending the girl's left arm gently and cleaning the injection site. Y/N forced herself to keep her eyes fixed on the blue ones she loved, Matt quickly acting to cover the exposed side of her head with the palm of his free hand, creating a covering over her eyes.

The girl her breath as the doctor inserted the needle into her vein, feeling it enter centimeter by centimeter, but to her surprise, it didn't hurt as much as she expected.

"It's not that bad." The girl murmured seconds after feeling the needle not moving anymore, feeling a little relieved, blinking repeatedly in an attempt to keep the tears away.

"See? You're doing so good, my love. My brave girl." Matt smiled big, tilting his face forward and kissing her forehead gently.

As the anesthesia began to take effect, Y/N felt a tingling sensation spread throughout her body. She blinked a few times, trying to get used to the strange sensation and regain her vision, which was becoming slightly blurred.

"When did the ceiling start dancing?" Y/N asked, interrupting what Nick was reporting to the camera, her eyes fixed on the ceiling that seemed to be moving erratically.

Matt laughed softly, his hand - still on his girlfriend's shoulder - shook slightly from the action, being followed by Chris and Nick, their laughter filling the office.

"I think the anesthesia is taking effect." Chris watched in amusement, crossing his arms and approaching, his voice sounding a little distant to the girl's ears.

Y/N laughed, feeling lighter than ever, blinking slowly.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I think I'm really enjoying it." She said groggily, her voice sounding sleepy as she gave in to the anesthesia.

"Baby-" Matt began, his speech being interrupted by his own laughter, his index and thumb fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in disbelief. "What's your word, love?"

But the answer didn't come, his girlfriend having given herself over to a deep anesthesia-induced sleep.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Y/N blinked her eyes slowly, trying to focus her vision as the haze of sleep began to dissipate. She felt groggy and disoriented, but a sense of relief washed over her body when she understood that the surgery was over. She blinked a few times, trying to take in her surroundings.

“Hi, Y/N, how are you feeling?” Nick asked in a calm tone, leaning closer to her with a gentle smile, giving space for the camera in Chris' hands to capture the moment.

Y/N turned her head towards him, blinking slowly, her mind still clouded trying to assimilate that it was Nick there with her.

"As if I'd been run over by an elephant." She murmured, her voice sounding strangely loud to her own ears, shaking her head from side to side as fast as she could, trying to stay conscious.

Matt entered the room again, having gone away for some minutes to talk to the doctor about post-surgical care, his serious face lighting up when he noticed Y/N already awake.

"Look who's back! Are you okay, sweetheart?" The boy asked, extending out his hand and reaching for hers, holding it tenderly and firmly, stroking the back of her palm with his thumb.

"I-" As soon as Y/N opened her mouth to speak, one of the gauze that sealed the right side of her mouth above her gums escaped her lips. Her eyes instantly widened, a loud sound of surprise echoing through the room. "Oh no, my tongue fell out."

"Your-" Chris began, his own laughter interrupting his sentence.

Matt turned to the camera, laughing loudly as he closed his eyes tightly, keeping his hand on his girlfriend's shoulder, trying to hide his own reaction from her.

"That's not your tongue, baby." The brunette said while still laughing, shaking his head.

"It is! They made my tongue fall out and removed my cheeks." The girl fumed, rolling her eyes nervously as she tried to cross her arms, the loud alarm sound echoing from the heart rate meter machine abruptly interrupting her action.

"Y/N, you can't take out the meter." Nick warned in a firm tone, arranging the small equipment back on her finger with his free hand.

"I'm sweating, I need to take this off. It's making me overheat." The girl spoke again, ignoring the demanding tone Nick was using, waving her arm with the IV in the air, silently indicating that she was talking about her hoodie.

"But you love wearing hoodie, pretty." Matt murmured, frowning as he leaned over her upper body, lowering her arm gently.

"Not this one! I like yours. Mine is a piece of shit." Y/N exclaimed as if it was obvious, rolling her eyes again.

The sound of Nick's loud laughter echoed off the walls of the small room, as Matt stared at her in disbelief, widening his eyes and taking them from his girl to the camera and back again.

"Here, baby." The boy sighted, taking his hand off Y/N's shoulder momentarily so that he could pull his own hoodie up, passing the piece over his arms before arranging it on the correct side, leaving his own upper body covered only by a white t-shirt. "You can have mine."

Matt stretched the hoodie over Y/N's upper body, keeping it over her own hoodie, knowing he wouldn't be able to take it off due to the IV.

"Thank you, kind sir." Y/N genuinely thanked him, opening a big and childlike smile. "Oh no, take this one off and put yours on me, Matty." She spoke again seconds later after noticing that her boyfriend's hoodie was just resting on her body.

“No way, Y/N, you have the IV.” Chris answered for Matt, briefly pointing to his best friend's left arm.

"What... Wow, what is this? Am I a toy or something?" The girl's tone came out louder than expected, her eyes widening comically as she raised her arm again, seeming to remember just at that moment the small thread that connected the needle to the anesthesia.

"It's the IV, my love. It's harmless, I promise. Does it hurt?" Matt explains gently, leaning into her slightly and squeezing her shoulder gently, drawing her attention back to him.

"No... Are they gonna fix my tongue?" Y/N returned to the first subject in a matter of seconds, lowering her gaze and focusing on the piece of blood red gauze above, now, Matt's hoodie.

"That's not your tongue, Y/N. It's just gauze. Put it back." Nick spoke this time, zooming in on the camera to catch his best friend's next reaction.

"I can't do it. There's an electrical wire connected to me." The girl remembered, rolling her eyes and raising her IV-covered arm, focusing her eyes there for a few seconds.

"Then ask your boyfriend."

"I have a boyfriend?!" Y/N turned her face towards the triplets abruptly, her eyes filling with tears within seconds as her lips trembled comically, even though she herself had been calling Matt "baby" this entire time.

"Of course you do, sweet girl. I'm right here. Remember? I'm your boyfriend, Matt." Matt quickly responded, his tone coming out as gentle as never before. He crouched on the floor, resting on his bent knees so that he was at eye level with her, giving her a genuine smile.

"Oh my God, that's awesome! You're so pretty. How did I manage to win you?" Y/N asked excitedly, raising her right hand and bringing it to her supposed boyfriend's face, cupping his right cheek lightly, feeling the skin heat up beneath her fingers.

A sound of surprise escaped Matt's lips as the heart rate monitor preacher almost stabbed into his eye, a low chuckle following soon after.

"You didn't have to win me, I was the one that had to win you, babe." The boy declared, leaning closer to her and sealing the tip of her nose for long seconds, pulling away in time to see her close her eyes and wrinkle her nose cutely. "We'll go home soon, okay? I love you, sweetheart. You were so brave."

"You love me?" Y/N exclaimed again, the tears that had been in her eyes until that moment finally spilling over and rolling down her cheeks, leaving a wet, red trail behind, her skin reacting instantly to the intense emotions.

"I do, my love. I love you very much."

Nick and Chris watched the scene with eyes full of amusement, the camera capturing every second of the couple's interaction and the muffled laughs that the two emitted behind the lens.

"So, are you comfortable on that "chair"?" Chris asked suddenly, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

Y/N snapped her head towards the youngest, opening her mouth slightly and processing his question for a few seconds.

"Yeah." The girl nodded slowly, removing her right hand from Matt's face and feeling the upholstery of the chair beneath her.

"Is it better than my gaming chair?" Nick asked then, smiling behind the camera, briefly remembering the times his best friend found refuge in his room and the two spent hours talking while she sat comfortably in his gaming chair.

"Do you have a chair?" She asked with wide eyes, tilting her head up to see Nick better, slightly pushing Matt to the side with her free hand, earning a laugh from Chris when he saw his brother almost fall completely onto the cold floor.

"Yeah, you have one, too! And so does Matt."

"I have a chair? For myself?" Her lips formed an involuntary pout, her eyes filling with tears again, the previous ones having stopped flowing only seconds before, her emotions acting on their own.

"Of course you do, baby! You study on it and play video games on my computer on it, too." Matt stated, nodding quickly as he returned to his previous position. "Now, do you remember who I am?"

Y/N turned her gaze back to Matt again, her orbs traveling over every detail of his face, her lower lip trembling slightly as her heart clenched tightly inside her chest. He was so beautiful.

"My baby, my baby-" A sob interrupted her speech, tears escaping her eyes like waterfalls. "You're my baby. I love you s-so much. You're- You're so p-pretty!"

"Yeah, sweet girl! Well done, I'm your baby, and I love you way more." The brunette replied in a bashful tone, pouting as he watched her cry like a little kid over something so simple, his own eyes welling with tears.

"You two are unbelievable." Chris shook his head, crossing his arms and looking into the camera lens with a look of "do you believe this?"

"Matty." The girl called again a few seconds later, ignoring the youngest of the triplets, closing her eyes tightly to wipe away the tears stuck in her eyelashes, her nose sniffling repeatedly. She took a deep breath and sticked her swollen tongue out of her mouth, trying to lick the tears that rested on her upper lip, even without feeling absolutely anything in the region. "I think my mouth is on its period..."

"Oh my God, baby, what?"

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bunnygirllover45 · 9 months ago

Text

— The shape of love. ﹑◌﹒WARNINGS﹕Kidnapping, implied punishment, ugly jealousy, some descriptions of body harm ( just wounds or bruises, and it doesn't get too graphic), lots, and lots of deranged ramblings, it gets very dark at times. This is narrated from the POV of the Yandere, you can read this as a 'letter' of sorts.

♱ ✧ ⤷ Word count: 997 (felt lazy and I didn't reach 1k lmao.)

There you go again, looking at me with the same eyes as always.

I don’t know how many times I’ve repeated moments like this inside my head since the last time. It's been a while since I've been this close to you.

The trembling of your body lets me know that your excitement is as big as mine, is your body perhaps unable to contain all those bubbling feelings?

I grab your legs, my hands softly pressing against the flesh, feeling it under mine —so soft and delicate, for a moment I thought that maybe if I pushed my fingers inside of it I could spread it like a cloud made of cotton— when I pressed I could fee the shape of your bones underneath just a little, the sensation made my own body tremble.

It’s a shame you’re still shy to my touch, even if it’s something simple like a small caress or a kiss on the cheek you’re always trying to push away from me, I would love if you to cling onto me more when I do it or have you begging silently to do something more. I know you wouldn’t tell me with words, you’re not good with them.

Now that I think about it, I’ve never heard you say my name since I brought you here, no?

I should tell you what it is now so you could say it between sighs and I could engrave the sound on the back of my brain forever — those sweet sounds could captivate me forever.

I wonder if you’d say my name with a kind voice, or you’ll just talk to me with the same indifference and fear that’s so characteristic of you. I do admit that is kind of endearing, wild animals were always more interesting than domesticated ones thanks to their hostility, it makes me want to approach them, stick my hand, and see if they’ll bite me, or would just run away and hide in a corner.

I wouldn’t mind if you bit me, I would love to bite you as well in fact, I would wear that mark proudly and I would make sure you do it as well, we could bite our fingers and pretend the marks are our wedding rings, a testament of our love engraved on our skin.

Hahaha — I’m rambling again, please don’t get nervous, you know I usually get lost in my thoughts when I’m here with you, especially when my hands are idly dragging across your skin — nails and all — leaving red marks behind.

I’m just tracing small invisible circles on your skin and you’re already getting goosebumps, I think that when I touch you delicately like this is when you fear it the most, right? I’m always keeping the momentum, you’ll never know when I can dig my nails into your skin or grab you and never let go.

I press a simple kiss on the skin of your heel, dragging my lips across the length of your leg, what a celestial feeling, there’s nothing in this world that could compare to this mere sensation. You’re trembling again, that makes me smile.

Sometimes when night falls and there are no more thoughts left to think inside my head my mind begins to wander off the path, usually it doesn’t lead me anywhere in particular, but since some time ago I’ve had this constant thought; there are other —people— that had touched you like this before?

I would like to think that I’m the only one who had the privilege to enjoy all of you, that no other mark of fingers or teeth that doesn’t have the shape of mine has been on your skin.

Thinking like that makes sleeping easier for me.

I’m thankful that right now you can’t speak to me, because if I made you that question and you responded to me that yes, other people had marked you like I did, I think I would had the impulse to tear apart each part of you that has been tainted by them.

Not because I hate you, on the contrary, I just think I couldn’t live with the idea. That you belonged to someone else even if it was just for a moment, what am I saying? I don’t even like the idea of you belonging to yourself.

But if I were to do that, I think I’d like to go to extremes no other people could; kiss your open wounds or taste your blood, that would be romantic, don’t you think?

I press my face against your thighs while I keep dragging my nails up and down your legs, I sigh again, tilting my head slightly to take a better look at you, I can see myself reflected in your own eyes now, how romantic, just like in the movies you like to watch.

I like the me I see in your eyes, I like the idea that it belongs to you alone, the idea of you keeping each small expression I make just for you, each blink would be like a small photograph you take of me and keep inside your head, aaaalll yours.

My mother used to tell me that love is only true if you can see it reflected in the one you love,

From your red cheeks — was I too rough last night?

Your bruised knees — If you would just learn how to sit properly at the table already, it would make our meals more easy.

Your beautiful hands — You should stop trying to take off your handcuffs.

Your shining eyes — Is that a small tear I see? Maybe I should reach it and lick it, I wouldn’t like to go to waste.

Yes, I think for the first time something she said made sense, now that I took a better look at you, I don’t think there’s any better proof of this —

You’re the truest, most beautiful form of ‘love’.

#male yandere #yandere boy #yandere oc #yandere #original character #original art #chrona... writes stuff?#johann the bastard #the wording or style of writing might be weird #since this is a translated text #I didn't originally write it in english #my apologies;;

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cloudyluun · 2 months ago

Text

Ruin me, Love me, Lose me| fratboy&playboy!harry

Summary: You hate Harry Styles. Or at least, you really, really want to. He’s the frat house king, the campus playboy, the smug asshole who always has a girl (or three) in his bed. You swear you’ll never be one of them.

And then one night, you kiss him.

And then another night, you sleep with him.

And then suddenly, you’re tangled in his sheets, in his arms, in his world, telling yourself it means nothing.

Until it does.

Wordt Count: 5k

A/N: Ah, yes. Another classic case of let’s make this as toxic as possible but pretend it’s fine because the tension is hot. This was supposed to be a slow burn, and then my brain said, “What if they suffered immediately instead?” Anyway, enjoy the angst, the mess, and the self-inflicted emotional damage. Love you, mean it. 💔 Based on this request!

Warnings:

Smut (18+ only)

Toxic relationships

Angst (like, a lot)

Jealousy & possessiveness

Alcohol use

Slight degradation & rough moments

Heartbreak (sorry in advance)

Some emotional whiplash

Questionable life choices

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The party is suffocating.

It reeks of stale beer, sweat, and something obnoxiously expensive, probably the cologne of some guy who thinks dousing himself in Tom Ford will make up for his complete lack of personality. Bodies are packed together like sardines, moving in drunken waves, grinding against each other to the bass-heavy music blasting from the speakers.

You feel completely out of place.

And honestly? You couldn’t give less of a fuck.

The only reason you’re here is because your best friend practically dragged you. Come on, she had pleaded, hands clasped together like she was making a sacred vow. You never go out, you never have fun, and I swear to God, if you don’t start acting like a college student at least once, I’m going to lose my mind.

So, against your better judgment, you let her shove you into a dress and apply a little makeup, hyping you up like this was going to be some life-changing experience. Spoiler alert: it’s not. It’s exactly what you expected: obnoxiously loud, unbearably sweaty, and full of people who are so wrapped up in their own egos that they wouldn’t notice if the house caught fire.

You’ve only been here for an hour, and you already want to leave.

You retreat to the kitchen, seeking some kind of escape. It’s quieter here, if only marginally. The countertops are littered with half-empty cups and sticky spills that no one will bother cleaning up. A couple is making out against the fridge like they’re in a fucking movie, completely unbothered by the fact that people are walking around them.

And then there’s him.

Harry Styles.

You don’t have to look directly at him to know he’s there, you feel his presence before you even see him. It’s like the air shifts when he walks into a room, demanding attention without even trying. He’s exactly the kind of guy you can’t stand: arrogant, entitled, and so used to getting his way that he probably doesn’t even remember the last time someone told him no.

Everyone here worships him.

It’s disgusting.

You finally glance up, and there he is, standing just a few feet away, leaning lazily against the counter like he owns the place. He’s wearing all black—ripped jeans, an unbuttoned shirt that shows off just enough tattoos to make girls swoon, and a smirk that tells you he knows exactly how good he looks.

His eyes flicker toward you, and in an instant, you know exactly what’s coming.

“Y’look like you hate it here, sweetheart.”

His voice is smooth, like whiskey on ice, laced with just enough amusement to let you know he finds this entertaining.

You exhale sharply, unimpressed. “That’s because I do.”

Instead of being deterred, his smirk deepens, like he finds your resistance amusing. He steps closer—not enough to be invasive, but enough to make it clear that he’s testing you, waiting to see how you’ll react.

“Then why are you here?” he asks, cocking his head slightly.

You don’t take the bait.

Instead, you roll your eyes, brushing past him with a dry, “Because some of us actually care about our friends.”

You expect that to be the end of it. Guys like Harry don’t waste time on girls who aren’t immediately fawning over them. He could have any girl in this house—hell, most of them would kill for the chance.

But he doesn’t let it go.

He follows.

And when you turn to glance back at him, you find his green eyes locked onto you like a predator stalking its prey.

It’s a look you’ve seen before—the kind that says he’s intrigued, that you’ve just become a challenge.

And you know, without a doubt, that Harry Styles never walks away from a challenge.

You should have seen it coming.

From that night on, it becomes a game to him—one you never agreed to play.

He makes it his personal mission to get under your skin, to test your patience at every opportunity. It’s not obvious at first, just small things that could almost be coincidental. A glance held for a second too long. A smirk thrown your way when you pass each other on campus. An overheard comment about some girl he hooked up with the night before, loud enough that he knows you’ll hear.

You don’t care.

(You do.)

But you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

The second run-in happens at another party, because of course it does.

This time, you arrive more prepared—mentally, at least. You’ve made peace with the fact that these events are unavoidable, that your best friend will always drag you to them, that the college social scene is a relentless cycle of alcohol-fueled chaos. You can survive a couple of hours. You’ll drink just enough to take the edge off, then find a way to slip out before midnight.

It’s a decent plan.

Until you see him.

He’s lounging on the frat house couch like it’s a fucking throne, an arm draped lazily over the backrest, legs spread wide in a way that’s both infuriating and devastatingly attractive. He’s surrounded by girls—of course he is—all of them leaning in, waiting for his attention, laughing too loudly at things he hasn’t even said.

You roll your eyes and turn away.

You don’t care.

(You do.)

You tell yourself you’re imagining it, but you can feel his eyes on you as you move through the party, can sense the smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t call you over, doesn’t make a scene—he doesn’t have to. The air shifts when he’s near, gravity bending in his favor.

And then, just when you think you’ve escaped unscathed—

“Y’keep lookin’ at me, sweetheart.”

The words send a sharp, unwelcome shiver down your spine.

You scoff before you even turn around, willing yourself to appear unaffected. “As if.”

His grin deepens, slow and lazy, like he enjoys watching you squirm.

You hate that it works.

You hate that the sharp cut of his jawline and the teasing glint in his eyes make your stomach twist in ways that aren’t entirely rooted in hatred.

You refuse to play his game.

You take a step back, ready to leave, but before you can—

His hand catches your wrist.

It’s not forceful, just firm enough to make you pause.

And then he leans in.

Close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, close enough that his voice drops into something dark and slow, something meant only for you.

“You sure about that?”

The scent of whiskey and expensive cologne wraps around you like a noose, tightening around your resolve.

You rip yourself away from him, but it’s too late.

Your body has already betrayed you.

And it will again.

Another night. Another party.

By now, you should have learned your lesson. But somehow, you always end up here—another crowded house, another room filled with drunken laughter and cheap beer, another encounter with him.

It’s inevitable.

You don’t even know how it starts this time. It’s not some grand moment, not some life-altering realization. It’s just him—pushing, teasing, testing. Like he always does.

You’re in the kitchen again, arms crossed, a drink in your hand that you’ve barely touched. You’ve been avoiding him for most of the night, keeping your distance, but it doesn’t matter. He finds you anyway.

He always does.

“Y’gonna keep ignoring me all night?”

You don’t even look up. “That was the plan.”

A low chuckle, the kind that makes your stomach clench. “M’not that easy to ignore, sweetheart.”

Unfortunately, he’s right.

You take a slow sip of your drink, willing yourself to remain unaffected. “Try me.”

And that’s all it takes. That single challenge.

His eyes spark with something dark and dangerous. His smirk sharpens. And then—

“You act like you hate me,” he murmurs, stepping in closer, “but we both know that’s not true.”

Your fingers tighten around your glass.

“It is.”

“Liar.”

You finally look up at him, glaring. “Go to hell, Harry.”

He grins, cocky and infuriating. “Take me there yourself.”

And then—

It happens.

Fast.

Too fast.

One second, you’re standing there, glaring at him. The next, his lips are on yours.

There’s no hesitation, no slow build-up, no moment to think. Just heat.

His hands are in your hair, fingers tangling, tugging. Your back meets the nearest wall, the cold surface a shocking contrast to the fire raging between you.

It’s rough. Desperate.

You should stop.

You should.

But his body is pressed against yours, and you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything except feel.

Your fingers find their way to the hem of his shirt, gripping it like a lifeline. His hands slide down, tracing over your hips, pulling you in like he can’t get close enough.

And maybe he can’t.

Maybe you can’t.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His lips are swollen, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.

“Tell me you don’t want me,” he says, voice low, wrecked. “And I’ll stop.”

Your lips part.

To say what?

To tell the truth?

But before you can, before you even know what you want to say—

Your hands fist in his shirt.

And you crash into him all over again.

You pull away first, gasping for breath, your chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven movements. Reality slams into you like a freight train, but Harry doesn’t move. He watches you, his pupils blown, lips parted, his breath warm as it ghosts over your face. His hands are still on you—one firm at your waist, the other curled loosely around the nape of your neck. Holding you in place.

Like he’s afraid you’ll run.

Like he knows you want to.

A smirk tugs at his mouth, something smug and knowing. “Told you,” he murmurs, his voice rough, dark, like he’s just swallowed gravel. “You don’t hate me.”

You should.

You should hate him. You should push him away, put an ocean of space between you before this turns into something irreversible. Something you can’t take back.

But your body betrays you before your mind can catch up.

Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt instead of letting go. Your legs feel weak, but you’re not sure if it’s from the adrenaline or the way he’s looking at you. His green eyes flicker in the dim lighting, unreadable, but there’s something behind them—something waiting, something burning.

Something dangerous.

“This is a mistake,” you whisper, the words shaky, uncertain. You don’t even know if you believe them.

His thumb drags along your jaw, featherlight, and his lips barely, barely graze yours when he speaks. “Maybe.”

That single word is enough to send your stomach into freefall. Maybe. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe this is the worst idea you’ve ever had. Maybe you’re going to regret this the second the sun comes up.

Or maybe you won’t.

Maybe you’ll regret it more if you stop now.

Maybe that’s what terrifies you the most.

Your body makes the decision for you.

His fingers slide down your wrist, tracing the delicate skin there before his hand finds yours, fingers lacing together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like they belong there.

And you let him take you.

The party behind you becomes a distant blur—flashes of neon lights, the thud of bass vibrating through the floor, drunken laughter echoing from downstairs. It all feels like it’s happening in another universe, detached from this moment. From him. From you.

Each step up the stairs feels heavier than the last, weighted with unspoken words, with history, with everything you’ve been pretending isn’t still there. The heat of his palm against yours sends sparks up your spine, and you squeeze your thighs together, ignoring the ache building in your stomach.

You don’t stop.

Not when you reach the landing.

Not when he leads you down the darkened hallway, past closed doors, past muffled voices, past all the chances you could have taken to turn back.

And not when he pushes open a door, guiding you inside.

Then—

The door clicks shut behind you.

The world disappears.

The second the lock turns, something inside you snaps.

There’s no hesitation this time. No second-guessing. No thinking. Just feeling.

Then he’s on you.

His mouth crashes into yours, rough and insistent, swallowing the gasp that slips from your lips. The kiss is nothing like the ones you’ve shared in the past—those were controlled, careful, measured. This? This is raw. Hungry. Starving.

His hands find your waist, gripping hard, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the way his chest heaves, the way his heartbeat slams against your own. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging sharply, and he groans into your mouth, his grip tightening, like he’s trying to pull you even closer, like he wants to crawl inside you.

You barely have time to process before your back hits the wall.

You gasp at the contact, but he doesn’t let up. His lips trail down your jaw, hot and desperate, and when his teeth graze the sensitive spot beneath your ear, a sharp whimper escapes before you can stop it.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His hands roam, sliding down your sides, gripping at your thighs, hitching them around his waist like he can’t stand the thought of any space between you.

You don’t think.

You move.

Your hands push his jacket off his shoulders, and he shrugs out of it without breaking contact. Your fingers fumble at the buttons of his shirt, but he beats you to it, ripping it open in one swift motion, buttons scattering to the floor.

Then his skin is against yours, and it sends a shockwave through your entire body.

Heat pools low in your stomach, a coil winding tighter and tighter with every brush of his hands, every press of his lips, every ragged breath against your skin.

Clothes disappear—hurried, impatient.

Your dress slips down your shoulders, pooling at your feet. His belt clinks as he unfastens it, the sound cutting through the heavy air like a gunshot.

You don’t stop him.

You don’t want to.

His hands grip your thighs again, lifting you effortlessly, and your legs tighten around him. You can feel him—hard, straining against the fabric still separating you.

There’s a pause, just for a second.

A breath.

His forehead presses against yours, his lips barely touching, his fingers digging into your skin like he’s trying to ground himself. His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“Tell me to stop.”

You don’t.

Instead, you kiss him again.

And there’s no turning back now.

His body presses against yours, firm and unrelenting, as he walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. He doesn’t let go. His hands are still gripping your thighs, still holding you against him like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

Then he lowers you onto the bed.

The world tilts, and the air thickens as he leans over you, his weight bracing against his arms, caging you beneath him. His eyes flicker across your face—like he’s memorizing every inch, every breath, every little way you react to him. His fingers trace up your side, slow and teasing, and the way you shudder makes his lips twitch.

“Still think this is a mistake?” he taunts, voice low and rough as his lips brush against your collarbone.

Your breath hitches, but you don’t answer. You don’t have to. The way your fingers clutch at his back, the way your hips shift beneath him, the way your body is already arching into his touch—it’s all the answer he needs.

He smirks against your skin. “That’s what I thought.”

Then he stops talking.

Because there’s nothing left to say.

It’s messy. Desperate. The kind of passion that comes from months of unresolved tension, from too much history, from too many things left unsaid.

He kisses you like he’s trying to claim you. Like he’s trying to burn himself into your skin. Like if he kisses you hard enough, you’ll never be able to forget this—forget him.

His hands are everywhere. Exploring. Learning. Worshipping.

Every brush of his lips, every drag of his fingers, every slow roll of his hips is deliberate, pulling you apart piece by piece. He takes his time, but not too much time—because patience is a luxury neither of you have tonight.

You feel like you’re unraveling beneath him.

He notices.

He thrives on it.

His mouth moves lower, teeth grazing, tongue soothing. His fingers leave fire in their wake as they trail down your body, mapping out every inch, every soft curve, every sharp gasp he pulls from your lips.

It’s intoxicating, the way he touches you—like he already knows what you need before you do.

He whispers your name against your skin, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

Your hands are greedy, desperate as they roam over him—his shoulders, his chest, the firm muscles in his back. You want to touch all of him. Feel all of him.

And he lets you.

He lets you pull him closer, lets you tangle your legs around his, lets you drag your nails down his spine, leaving behind faint, red lines that he’ll wear like battle scars tomorrow.

The room is filled with nothing but heavy breathing, quiet moans, the rustle of sheets, the sound of skin against skin.

And when it finally happens—when he finally, finally gives you what you both need—it steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s not slow. It’s not soft. It’s not sweet.

It’s raw.

It’s rough, desperate, punishing. It’s weeks of tension snapping all at once, a storm breaking, waves crashing, a fire finally given the air it needs to burn.

His name falls from your lips like a prayer, like a curse, like something you were never supposed to say out loud.

He groans, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged. His fingers lace with yours, pinning your hands above your head. His body moves against yours in perfect rhythm—pushing, pulling, giving, taking.

It’s the kind of night that changes things.

The kind you won’t be able to take back.

The kind that leaves its mark.

And then—

Stillness.

Silence.

Just the sound of your breathing, heavy and uneven, filling the space between you.

His body is still pressed against yours, warm and solid and grounding. The weight of what just happened settles in, thick and undeniable.

You should get up.

You should leave.

But you don’t.

Instead, you stay.

Just for a little longer.

But "a little longer" turns into something else entirely.

Because it doesn’t stop at one night.

It should have. You tell yourself that over and over again. That night—the way his hands fit so perfectly against your skin, the way he pulled you apart and put you back together, the way his mouth made you forget your own name—it should have been enough. A single mistake. A one-time thing.

But it isn’t.

It’s never just once.

It happens again. And again. And again.

It’s always late. Always secret.

Always a text, a glance across the room, a lingering touch when no one is watching. Always a whispered come here against the shell of your ear, a door clicking shut behind you, a tangle of limbs in the dark.

It’s never soft. Never sweet.

It’s fast, desperate, all-consuming.

It’s hands fisting sheets, breathless moans swallowed into pillows. His body pressed against yours, heavy and unrelenting, holding you down, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

And he knows what he’s doing to you.

He’s filthy, cocky, teasing—he draws it out just to make you beg.

“Knew you’d be so fuckin�� sweet for me, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, voice rough, wicked, smug.

His rings feel cold against your burning skin as his fingers trail down your stomach, between your thighs, spreading you open like a secret. Like something meant only for him.

You bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound.

He chuckles, dark and knowing.

“This what you hate me for? Hm?” His lips brush against your jaw, down your throat, his breath hot and taunting. “’Cause I make you come harder than anyone else ever could?”

You hate him.

(You don’t.)

You hate that he’s right. That he knows he’s right. That he’s so good at this—at ruining you, at making you fall apart over and over again until you can’t think straight, until all you know is him. His name. His touch. His body moving against yours.

And every time, you tell yourself it’s the last.

That this is it. That you’re done.

That this means nothing.

And every time, you end up back in his bed.

But then you see him with someone else.

It’s late, the party is loud, and the music thrums through your body, drowning out everything else. You’re just stepping out for air when you spot him across the street. A girl is clinging to his arm, laughing at something he’s said, and his hand is low on her back as he leads her toward a car.

He doesn’t even look at you.

Doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t falter. Doesn’t even pretend to care that you’re standing right there, watching him disappear into the night with someone else.

And it shouldn’t hurt.

Because you knew he wasn’t yours. You never asked him to be. Never wanted him to be.

Right?

So why does it feel like the ground just cracked open beneath you? Why does it feel like something inside you just snapped?

You go back inside, down a drink, let someone else pull you onto the dance floor. You lose yourself in the crowd, in the music, in the way someone’s hands settle on your waist—too light, too unfamiliar.

It doesn’t work.

Because when he finds you later, when he corners you in a dark hallway, there’s still fire burning in your chest, in your throat, in the way your hands clench at your sides.

He smirks, like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just walk out of here with someone else a few hours ago. Like he knew you’d still be here.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His voice is low, amused. “Jealous?”

The word makes you snap.

“You’re disgusting.”

His smirk widens, but there’s something behind his eyes now—something sharper, more dangerous.

“Funny,” he murmurs, stepping closer, eyes dark, predatory. “Wasn’t what y’said last night.”

He reaches for you, fingers curling around your wrist, but you yank yourself away like he burns.

“We’re done.” Your voice is ice, your eyes colder.

And his smirk falters.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for you to see something else flicker across his face—confusion, disbelief, something dangerously close to panic.

Then it’s gone.

And he laughs. Soft. Low. Infuriating.

“That’s cute,” he drawls, tilting his head. “Think y’can just walk away from me.”

You meet his gaze head-on, jaw clenched, shoulders squared.

“Watch me.”

Then you turn.

And this time—this time—you don’t look back.

Weeks pass.

You don’t speak.

Not a word. Not a text. Not even a glance when you’re in the same room.

And it’s fine.

It has to be.

You throw yourself into distractions—work, friends, nights out where the music is too loud and the drinks burn too much. You let other people flirt with you. Let hands that aren’t his touch you. Let lips that don’t taste like him press against yours in dimly lit corners.

You pretend you don’t miss him.

(You do.)

But you tell yourself this is better. Cleaner. Easier.

Until you start hearing things.

He’s been drinking more.

Fighting more.

Losing his temper over nothing.

You overhear his name in conversations, whispered between mutual friends. You see his face in the back of a blurry Instagram story, bottle in hand, eyes dark and unfocused.

And you tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

You tell yourself he’s not your problem anymore.

Until he shows up at your door.

It’s late. Too late for him to be here.

The knock is sharp, impatient. Like he already knows you’re home. Like he already knows you’re going to answer.

You shouldn’t.

You hesitate, fingers hovering over the handle, breath caught somewhere in your throat.

And then—

“Just let me in.”

His voice is quiet. Rough.

You open the door.

And he looks wrecked.

Tired. Haunted. Something’s different.

There’s none of the usual arrogance, none of the teasing smirk, none of the sharp-edged confidence that he wears like armor.

Just him.

His hands shoved deep into his pockets, his jaw tight, his eyes heavy-lidded and unreadable as they drag over you like he’s trying to convince himself you’re real.

Your throat tightens. “Harry—”

“I know,” he cuts you off, shaking his head. “I know, just—”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. His eyes flicker over your face again, and for a second—just a second—you swear you see something crack.

And then he looks at you like that.

Like you’re his last fucking breath.

Like if you tell him to leave, it’ll break him.

And you cave.

You step aside.

You let him in.

And maybe that should be enough.

Maybe the way he holds you like you’re something fragile, the way his breath stutters when you touch him, the way his lips tremble against yours—that should be enough.

But it’s not.

Because fear is still there. Lurking. Poisoning everything it touches.

And you should’ve known.

You should’ve known that no matter how much he wants this, no matter how much he means it in the moment—

He’s still him.

And you’re still you.

And happy endings don’t exist for people like you.

So of course, he fucks up again.

Not with another girl. Not with whispered names and lipstick stains and the kind of betrayal that you could at least understand.

No.

This time, he betrays you with his own fear.

It happens fast. A conversation that turns into an argument, an argument that turns into something worse.

Maybe it starts because you ask too much. Maybe it starts because he’s never learned how to let himself have something good.

But all you know is that suddenly—he’s cold.

Detached.

Suddenly, his walls are back up.

“I don’t do relationships,” he says.

Flat. Emotionless.

Like none of it meant anything.

Like you don’t mean anything.

And it hits you harder than any slap ever could.

You flinch, like you’ve been physically wounded, like he’s just driven a knife between your ribs and twisted it.

Your voice shakes. “Then why did you tell me you loved me?”

Silence.

His jaw clenches.

But he doesn’t answer.

And that’s the worst part.

Not the fight. Not the distance.

The silence.

The fact that he has nothing to say.

And that’s when you know.

That’s when you realize—

This is it.

This is the moment he chooses to let you go.

You shake your head, chest heaving, eyes burning, throat closing up around the words you don’t know how to say.

“You don’t get to do this to me.”

But he already has.

And this time, you don’t give him the chance to stop you.

You walk out.

You don’t look back.

And he lets you.

Weeks pass.

You try to move on.

You tell yourself that you’re better off. That you should hate him. That you do hate him.

But then, one night—he shows up.

At your dorm.

At your fucking door, looking like he hasn’t slept, looking like he’s been through hell and back.

His hands are shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, his jaw is tense, his eyes are desperate.

And you—

You want to slam the door in his face.

You want to tell him that he doesn’t get to do this.

That he doesn’t get to come back.

But you don’t.

Because you need to hear what he has to say.

So you glare at him, arms crossed tightly over your chest, forcing your voice to stay steady. “What do you want, Harry?”

He exhales sharply. “I lied.”

Your stomach twists.

You swallow. “About what?”

He hesitates. Shifts his weight. But then—he steps closer.

“About not doing relationships.”

And suddenly, the air is too thick, too heavy.

Your head shakes. Your throat tightens. “You don’t get to do this to me.”

“I know.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “I know, I just—” He sighs, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I was scared, okay? I didn’t know how to—”

A pause. A beat of silence.

He looks at you, eyes searching, pleading.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Your lips part. But you don’t say anything.

Because after everything—after all of it—how do you know?

How do you know if this time will be different?

So you stare at him, pulse hammering in your throat, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

And then—

“So prove it.”

The challenge hangs between you.

And for the first time in his life—

He doesn’t run.

He doesn’t push you away.

He doesn’t fuck it up.

Instead, he nods.

And he does. --

It’s not instant.

There’s no cinematic moment, no dramatic declaration in the rain, no sudden, sweeping realization that makes everything fall into place.

It’s slow. It’s awkward. It’s frustrating.

But it’s real.

The first time you see him after that night at your dorm, it’s different. He’s different.

He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease. Doesn’t act like he already has you figured out.

Instead, he waits.

You’re the one who has to break the silence.

“You really think you can change?”

His jaw clenches, hands flexing like he wants to reach for you but knows he doesn’t have the right to.

“I know I can.”

And for the first time, you almost believe him.

It starts with the little things.

Like how he texts first. Every morning. Every night. Even when there’s nothing to say. Even when it’s just, Hey, eat something. Or, Are you sleeping? Or, I know you’re still awake, don’t lie.

Like how he shows up. Actually shows up.

Not just for the easy moments. Not just for the nights when he’s desperate for you.

But for the moments when you’re exhausted, when you’re in a bad mood, when you’re not the version of yourself that’s easy to love.

And he stays anyway.

The first time you test him, it’s almost accidental.

He calls, asks if you want to come over.

And for the first time, you tell him no.

A few months ago, that would’ve been the end of it.

A few months ago, he would’ve gone out, found someone else, let his frustration morph into recklessness.

But this time, he just exhales. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

A pause.

Then, softly— “Yeah, baby. That’s okay.”

And that’s when you realize—this isn’t the same boy who let you walk away.

He’s trying.

For the first time in his life, he’s trying.

It takes time.

Weeks. Months.

You make him work for it.

Because love shouldn’t be easy—not after everything.

Not after the hurt, the late nights spent waiting for him to choose you, the months wasted pretending it was nothing.

He should prove it.

And he does.

The first time he holds your hand in public, it’s instinctive. Thoughtless.

You’re walking down the street, talking about something unimportant, when suddenly—his fingers brush against yours.

And instead of pulling away, he just…takes your hand.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like he’s not even thinking about it.

Like he’s not the same man who once made you feel like a secret.

You don’t say anything.

But you don’t let go, either.

And neither does he.

One night, he’s driving you home when he suddenly pulls over.

You blink at him. “Uh. What are we doing?”

His fingers drum against the steering wheel. He won’t look at you.

“D’you know the last time I did this?”

You frown. “Did what?”

“Took you home.” He swallows, finally turning to face you. “Last time, I let you walk away.”

Your stomach twists. You remember. Of course, you remember.

He inhales sharply. “Not this time.”

And then, he says it.

“I love you.”

Not because he’s scared. Not because he thinks you’re slipping away.

Just because he does.

And for the first time, you don’t have to question if he means it.

Because this time, he’s not running.

This time, he stays.

And this time—so do you.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

current taglist:

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@mema10

@angelbabyyy99

@iloveharrystyles04

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@imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa

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#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff

678 notes · View notes

ynbabe · 5 months ago

Note

would you write an smau with yuki or Oscar with an ex racer male reader who hangs out around the paddock a lot, maybe there could be a scene where yuki/oscar gets asked in an interview about rumors about who he’s dating and reader’s reaction gives it away?

Chose Oscar for this one cause I'm gonna make the reader similar to a certain someone hehhehe

Also let’s all pretend this isn’t like 9 months later okay 😭😭

lando.jpg

lando.jpg he's such an airport dad (he still has my passport...)

username is that oscar?? in the last pic???

lando.jpg yes @/y/n/l/nofficial did a lil therapy session

lando.jpg father

y/n/l/nofficial do NOT call me that lando.jpg Daddy y/n/l/nofficial NO-

username the comments 💀

username lando just replaced Carlos with another older Spanish man- We see u pookie we'd fall Y/n too

oscarpiastri the one time I'm featured and I'm drunk and crying? I'm calling my father @/charlesleclerc

lando.jpg you're lucky thats all thats featured lando.jpg are you sure thats the daddy you wanna call? lando.jpg deleted comment

username HELLO??? WHAT IS GOING ON???

y/n/l/nofficial

y/n/l/nofficial he stole my bike so I stole his look🥰

username I need someone to look at me the way Oscar looks at Y/n

username that hoodie looks a lil too snug bbg do u have something to tell us??

username fr like Y/n is BUILT no way that’s his hoodie

username that’s Oscars for sure

mclarenf1 driver swap?

username YES pls get y/n back just for one race guys pls i beg landonorris I agree Oscars mean to me Y/n’s nice 🥰 oscarpiastri I’m sorry I didn’t laugh at your knock-knock joke 🙄

You laughed as you saw all the comments under your post, knowing you were joining the McLaren garage for the Austrian GP.

--------------------------------

You cheered as Oscar got P2 screaming with everyone else. Jumping and screaming with mechanics that used to be yours.

Everyone had thought you’d hate the boy replacing you, how you’d force everyone to side with you over him, poisoning Lando’s and the teams mind against him. They couldn’t be more wrong.

You grabbed the younger man’s fireproofs collar, pushing him to the wall.

“Y/n?” “P2 baby,”

You smiled looking down at him, giving up on being professional and placing your lips on his, trying to hold back knowing the man was tired but you simply couldn’t, tasting the sweet champagne from his tongue, you pushed one knee in between his separating them.

He gasped, arching his back away from the thin motorhome wall, grabbing a fist full of your hair, making you moan, his other hand reaching to the buckle of your belt.

You separated to breath, both panting, sweaty and blushing, resting our foreheads together.

“You think we’ve got time?” You asked, placing a soft kiss at the corner of his lips, feeling them lift up into a smile.

Just as the boy was about to speak, there was loud knocking on the door, shaking the wall next to it, “No monkey business guys,” a British voice yelled laced with a teasing tone, “Osco needs to be able to walk to the interview room,” he cackled making the other men groan.

“Shut up, Cabron, go annoy Carlos or something,” you yelled, resting your head on Oscars.

“Damn you sound just like him, I must have gotten confused,” he squeaked like a dolphin making Oscar cringe at the insinuation, pushing you away.

He pulled the door open, making the other boy falling in, “Disgusting Lando, never say that again,” he whined making the older papaya clad boy laugh again.

“It’s giving enemies to lovers, 100k words-”

“GET OFF AO3,”

“GET OFF Y/N, YOUR FRICKING LIPS ARE SWOLLEN!” He yelled pointing at his own lips, making Oscar cover his, both looking at you and back at each other, making you realise your unbuckled belt with the reddened lips didn’t look very innocent.

“Ewwwwwww!” Lando groaned, running out the room, “be at the press room in 5 minutes you disgusting rabbits, oh my god,” he cried as he sped down the hallway.

Oscar looked at you, cheeks tinted pink in embarrassment, making you smile back at him, suddenly shifting to a smirk, “well, we do have 5 minutes,” you winked, making him groan and look away.

“Shut up, y/n,” he rolled his eyes and began walking out, with you hot on his heels.

You quickly caught up to him, pulling him into you by his waist while you walked side by side with him, lips to his ears, “oh, it’s y/n now? I remember something like- please, oh god, please don’t stop, ahh,” you moaned quietly, leaning back to normal and walking away, leaving a stunned Oscar behind.

“Come on, Osco, you’re getting late,” you called, smiling to yourself for causing such a reaction from the usually calm and collected man.

You had followed him to where the duo was being interviewed, cameras had been set up by the pr team, and a small section at the side for Zak, Andrea and the race engineers incase there were any questions for the team. You saw an extra chair and made your way to sit next to the boss man himself, quite happy to get to reconnect with your old boss.

The interviewer asked questions after questions with Lando being the leading man as usual, your boyfriend being the more reserved between the duo.

You took a sip of water, keeping the bottle in your hand, lost in the conversation between you and the others but heard Oscar being singled out.

“So our podium sitter here, Mr. Piastri!” The interviewer hyped up, making Oscar smile and nod, “let’s move away from the race and focus on your relationships,” he cooed trying to elicit a response but McLaren media training was a beast so all he got was a small laugh from both boys.

Lando took the lead once again, “I’m just happy it’s not me for once,” he laughed.

“Ooh,” the interviewer gasped, turning the older man at the side, “talking about relationships, rather rumours, I believe we’ve got the F1 heart throb, Y/n L/n here,” the camera panned to you, mid conversation with your former boss who nudged you, bringing your attention to the camera to which you waved at, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. The man called you over, obviously happy that he could get more out of the interview.

You wanted to refuse but couldn’t, walking up to the table and finding no space as both boys had chairs, you placed your arm around Oscar, shaking his shoulder as you slightly pulled him to make space for you. You smiled at the interviewer, keeping your hand on Oscars waist, holding on to the boy so he didn’t fall of.

“Oscar, you good there?” The man asked eliciting a nervous laugh and a seagull screech from Lando.

You laughed along, pushing and pulling him back into you, his hands finding his way to your thighs to stable himself , “Oski’s about to fall,” you wriggled your brows.

“So onto all the rumours,” the man continued, oblivious to what was happening behind the table, “now the two men besides you have had plenty of rumours themselves,” which was a nice way of putting ‘WE SAW HIM KISSING A MAN’ in a pc way, “but we’ve got some sources telling us you’re in a steady relationship, anyone we’d know Oscar?” You brought the water bottle to your lips, waiting for Oscar’s answer, missing the way he’d looked at you.

Unfortunately the interviewer and camera had not, “Why are we looking at y/n?” WHAT- you chocked on the water, spilling it all over your white shirt, pushing Oscar off the chair whom pulled you and Lando down with him.

“We’re okay!” Lando screamed, one hand raised.

“IM NOT” you groaned having broken Oscar's fall.

You'd though (hoped) nothing would come of the interview, but boy were you wrong, because the edits, oh god the edits. You almost had tears in your eyes at how creative some were and actual tears about how dirty the others were.

The sound bite of you and Oscar groaning after falling had been used to hell and back and every single driver had to keep reminding you of it. Especially Lando who kept sending you thrist edits to the point you were concerned about his fyp.

But the worst part was all the speculation. And all any interviewer would ask you or Oscar would be about the rumours. You were fine with it, having dealt with stuff like this all your career but the defeated look on Oscar's face after an amazing race only to be asked a very inappropriate question about the two of you had you wanting to punch people.

After a long, long, talk with Mark and both your respective PR teams, you knew the best option would be to come out with it on your own. So you did exactly that.

y/n.jpg

y/n.jpg well since y’all got your fucking degrees and know every fucking thing 🙄

lando.jpg the duality of man ft y/n l/n and oscar piastri

oscarpiastri woooooooooooooooow suddenly everyone has a jpg

y/n.jpg hey I wanted to do this on my main but someone kept whining about pr 🫵

oscarpiastri that’s it your sleeping on the couch

lando.jpg damn idts old man y/n’s back can take that 😩

y/n.jpg I’M 25!!!

627 notes · View notes

luv-lock · 2 months ago

Note

Thinking about what the invincible variants were thinking when they see the mainstream alien!reader... Now think about what the variants talking about their respective alien!reader when they were stuck in the wasteland dimension (⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠)

Oh, this is good. Imagine all the different Invincible variants stuck in that wasteland dimension, looking at each other, realizing just how different their relationships with their respective alien readers are. Some of them probably think they got the best version. Others? Yeah… not so much. For the sake of it let's pretend main Mark is there too.

When They See the Mainstream Alien Reader

The first thing they all notice? She’s normal. Well, as normal as a Qu can be. She’s protective, strong, and yeah, a little terrifying when it comes to keeping Mark safe, but she’s not trying to conquer planets, not committing genocide, and definitely not treating Mark like a glorified blood bag or a means to an end. She actually cares about him.

Sinister Mark? He’s looking at her like she’s an alien in a way he’s never seen before. “Wait, she doesn’t eat people?” He doesn’t get it. How is she not constantly dripping in blood? How does she not rule over something? More importantly, how does this Mark have all his limbs intact?

Viltrumite Mark? He just stares because, honestly, he can’t even imagine a version of his wife who isn’t sick and frail. His version can barely keep her eyes open half the time, and here’s this one, standing beside her Mark, fully awake and looking healthy. He hates how much that pisses him off.

Mohawk Mark? He just laughs. “Oh, so you actually like her? That’s cute.” His Y/n only cares about herself, so the idea of one actually prioritizing Mark is just hilarious to him. He calls it pathetic, but deep down, he wonders what it’s like to have a partner who gives a shit.

When They Talk About Their Own Alien Readers

Eventually, when they’re stuck in the wasteland long enough, they start talking. And the more they talk, the more they realize… some of them are in absolute hell.

Normal Mark (Mainstream)

"So, uh… you guys don’t have this? Y’know, a wife who actually cares about you?"

He’s confused. How did he get the best version of her? Why are all their relationships so weird? His Y/n follows him everywhere, sure, but she doesn’t treat him like shit, doesn’t use him, and she’s a great mom.

The more he listens to them, the more he realizes just how insane their versions are.

He starts feeling lucky. Really lucky.

Sinister Mark

"Yeah, no, I don’t want yours. I like mine just the way she is."

He adores his version. Is it toxic? Absolutely. Do they kill together? Yes. Do they sometimes eat people together? Also yes.

He doesn’t understand how anyone could be satisfied with a Qu who isn’t a complete monster.

He’s also lowkey judging Viltrumite Mark. “Dude, you have her locked up? She’s your prisoner? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Viltrumite Mark

"You wouldn’t understand. She’s fragile. She needs me."

He acts like he’s got everything under control, but the more he listens to how alive everyone else’s versions are, the more he starts questioning things.

He convinces himself that his Y/n being weak is a good thing. That it makes her special.

But there’s a part of him that wonders what it would be like to have a version of her that wasn’t always sick, that didn’t need to be locked away.

Mohawk Mark

"Bro, mine’s just in it for the sex. She doesn’t even remember my name half the time."

He thinks it’s hilarious. Everyone else is talking about how they have some kind of relationship with their Y/n, meanwhile, he’s just out here dealing with the most selfish version possible.

He doesn’t care, though. He enjoys himself. He gets what he wants, and so does she.

But after hearing everyone else talk, a small part of him wonders what it would be like to actually have a real connection. Not just physical, but actual affection. He’d never admit it, though.

How the Conversation Ends

By the end of it, Normal Mark is sitting there like, "Damn. I really won, huh?" Meanwhile, Viltrumite Mark is trying to convince himself he’s happy, Sinister Mark is fully convinced he has the best version of all time, and Mohawk Mark is just vibing, pretending he’s fine.

Honestly, if they ever got out of that wasteland, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them started questioning their entire existence.

#mark grayson x reader #yandere mark grayson #🐰.ask #🐇.alien reader

533 notes · View notes

bueckersstuff · 2 months ago

Text

Part I - Part II

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

The email arrives at exactly 2:37 PM.

Subject: UConn Alumni Reunion – Invitation

From: UConn Alumni Association

To all our dearest alumni,

We are excited to invite you to the University of Connecticut 5-Year Alumni Reunion! Join us for an evening of celebration, reconnecting with old classmates, and reminiscing about unforgettable moments at UConn.

Date: June 11, 2030

Time: 7:00 PM

Venue: The Ritz - Carlton Rooftop Lounge

We look forward to seeing you there!

Best,

UConn Alumni Association

You stare at the email, your cursor hovering over the RSVP button.

It’s been years since you’ve thought about UConn, at least in any way that mattered. You moved on, built a life separate from your college years, and left behind the people who came with it.

Most of them, anyway.

But now, the memories start creeping back in.

Paige Bueckers.

And Jordan Hawkins, your ex - boyfriend.

You exhale sharply, leaning back in your chair. You weren’t on the basketball team, but you still spent way too much time around it. Dating Jordan meant late-night games, post-season parties, and always feeling like you were on the outside of something bigger than you.

And then there was Paige.

She was never just some athlete to you. You grew up together—neighbors, forced into each other’s lives by your parents’ friendship. You were never quite friends, but you weren’t strangers either. There were always moments where it almost felt like you could be close.

Then, college happened.

Then, that night happened.

Paige, drunk and reckless, kissing you at a party like it meant something. Then waking up the next day and acting like it never did.

She never talked about it. Never gave you a reason. And you? You let her pretend, let the space grow until whatever you had between you just wasn’t anymore.

And now? Now you have to see her. And Jordan.

You click RSVP: Yes before you can think too hard about it.

The reunion venue is a high-end rooftop bar, packed with familiar faces. You step inside, scanning the room, nerves twisting in your stomach.

You don’t even get a chance to settle before—

"Well, well. Look who decided to show up."

You recognize the voice immediately.

Jordan Hawkins is leaning against the bar, looking obnoxiously good, surrounded by a few former teammates. He smirks, eyes dragging over you like he’s trying to figure out why you’re here.

"Didn’t think reunions were your thing," he says smoothly.

"Didn’t think they were yours either," you fire back.

He chuckles, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Still single?”

Your stomach tightens. You hate that question. The way it sounds too casual, too knowing. You hesitate for a second too long, and Jordan’s smirk deepens.

And then, as if the universe wants to make this night worse—

You see her.

Paige.

She’s near the balcony, caught mid-laugh with a former teammate. She looks exactly the same, like time hasn’t touched her—confident, magnetic, like she still owns every room she walks into.

Your breath catches, just for a second.

Jordan’s watching you watch her, and his smirk shifts into something sharper. “Huh,” he muses. “That’s interesting.”

You don’t give him a chance to keep going.

Because the next thing you know, you’re moving across the room, straight to Paige. You grab her wrist, and she startles, turning toward you.

"Go with it," you whisper, just before you pull her in and kiss her.

She freezes.

Then—her hands grip your waist, and just as quickly, she kisses you back.

Paige's lips are soft. Too soft for something this impulsive, this reckless.

For a second—a dangerous, heart-stopping second—she doesn’t pull away. Her hands tighten on your waist, her body molding into yours like this is something natural. Something practiced.

Like she’s done this before.

Like she remembers.

Then she makes a noise—low, almost like a startled hum—and you feel her start to tense. You know the moment’s slipping, spiraling toward what the hell was that? and why are you kissing me in the middle of a reunion?

So you do what any sane, rational person would do.

You double down.

You pull back just enough to keep up the act but not enough to give her space to question it. Your fingers slide to the nape of her neck, your body leaning into hers as you tilt your head, plastering on an easy smirk.

"You’re supposed to kiss me like you mean it, babe," you murmur just loud enough for Jordan to hear.

Paige’s breath hitches. Her fingers twitch against your waist.

Then, instead of pushing you off like you half-expect, she looks at you. Really looks at you. Like she’s trying to see through the lie, trying to figure out why you’re doing this.

You don’t give her the chance.

You turn, still close enough that Paige’s body heat lingers against yours, and meet Jordan’s gaze head-on.

"Sorry, what were you saying?" you ask, feigning innocence.

Jordan’s expression is unreadable for a moment. Then he huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

"Well, damn," he says, swirling the ice in his glass. "Guess that answers my question."

Paige shifts beside you, exhaling like she’s just processed what’s happening. You can feel the tension in her body, the way she’s suddenly hyperaware of how close you are.

Then, just when you think she might blow your cover—

She plays along.

Paige slides an arm around your waist, casual, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. "You always did like to talk too much, Hawkins."

It’s so Paige. That cocky, confident, just-this-side-of-teasing tone that makes people hang on her every word. And it works.

Jordan raises his hands in surrender, a smirk playing at his lips. "Didn’t realize you two were a thing now. My bad."

You feel Paige glance at you, waiting for you to correct him. To end whatever this is before it spirals.

But you’re not ready for that yet.

So instead, you tighten your grip on her, just enough to make it convincing. "Guess there’s a lot you don’t know."

Jordan watches you for a beat longer. Then he lets out another amused chuckle, like he’s still processing the bullshit you just fed him. "Noted. Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it."

And with that, he walks off, disappearing into the crowd.

The second he’s gone, Paige pulls back, her fingers untangling from your waist like she’s been burned.

"What the hell was that?" she hisses, her voice low but sharp.

You rub the back of your neck, shifting awkwardly. "I panicked."

Paige blinks. "So your solution was to kiss me?"

You exhale, crossing your arms. "Look, my ex was being an ass, and I just… I needed to shut him up."

Paige stares at you like you’ve grown a second head. "And that required me pretending to be your girlfriend?"

You shrug. "Well, it worked, didn’t it?"

Paige drags a hand down her face, muttering something under her breath. Then she levels you with a look, her blue eyes sharp and assessing. "Tell me this isn’t just a one-time thing."

You hesitate.

Paige catches it immediately. "Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me."

You glance around, lowering your voice. "Jordan’s gonna be watching me all night, and I—" You exhale. "I don’t want him thinking I lost. That I’m still—"

Still hung up on the past. Still figuring out why Paige’s lips felt like a memory you’ve been trying to bury.

Paige crosses her arms, watching you carefully. "So what? You want me to keep this up all night?"

You nod. "Just for tonight. Just until the reunion’s over."

She should say no. You know she should.

But then she looks at you—really looks at you—and something flickers in her expression. Something you can’t quite name.

Then she sighs, tilting her head back like she already regrets this.

"You owe me," she mutters. But you hear the yes hidden in the words.

Paige agrees, but she doesn’t look happy about it.

You don’t blame her.

You’re not sure what’s worse—the fact that you just roped her into this mess, or the fact that some sick part of you likes that she said yes.

"You owe me," she mutters again, stepping back just enough to put distance between you.

"I know," you say, even though you have no idea how to make it up to her.

Paige sighs, runs a hand through her hair, then levels you with a look. "Rules."

You blink. "Rules?"

"If we’re doing this, we need ground rules."

Of course, Paige would make this feel like a damn contract negotiation.

You cross your arms, tilting your head. "Alright, lay ‘em on me."

Paige holds up a finger.

"One: no getting too handsy. We need to make it believable, but I don’t need you feeling me up just because you can."

Your mouth opens, then closes. "That’s rich coming from the one who grabbed my waist first."

Paige’s eyes narrow. "That was for the act."

You smirk. "Uh-huh. Sure."

She exhales sharply, moving on. "Two: no weird couple pet names."

"What, no ‘babe’? No ‘sweetheart’?" you tease, watching the way her jaw tightens.

"I will end this right now," she warns.

You hold up your hands in surrender, biting back a grin. "Fine, fine. No pet names. What else?"

Paige hesitates. You watch her throat bob as she swallows, something flickering in her expression before she sets her jaw.

"Three: this is just for tonight. After this, we go back to normal."

You don’t know why that one stings.

Maybe because nothing has been normal with Paige for years.

Maybe because you don’t even know what normal with her looks like anymore.

But you shove that thought down and nod. "Deal."

Paige nods once, like she’s trying to convince herself this is fine. Like she didn’t just agree to one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had.

And then, as if the universe wants to remind you just how much worse this can get—

"Holy shit," a voice cuts through the crowd.

You barely have time to react before someone barrels into Paige, clapping a hand on her shoulder.

"No way," Aaliyah Edwards grins, looking between you two. "Since when are you guys a thing?"

Your stomach drops.

Aaliyah is one of Paige’s closest friends, her old UConn teammate, and someone who absolutely does not let things go.

Worse?

Jordan Hawkins is close enough to hear every word.

Your stomach tightens as you see him pause mid-conversation, glancing over with a raised brow.

Paige feels it too.

Because before you can even process what’s happening, she shifts closer—so close you can feel the warmth of her against your side.

And then, just as smoothly, she slides her hand into yours.

"A while now," Paige says effortlessly, giving your fingers a quick squeeze. "Guess we just kept it quiet."

Your brain short-circuits.

Because she sounds so convincing. Because her hand in yours feels too damn natural. Because Jordan is still watching, and you can feel the weight of his stare like a challenge.

So you do the only thing you can do.

You squeeze Paige’s hand back, force a smirk, and say, "Yeah, we just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it."

Aaliyah’s eyes go wide. "No way. I knew something was up back in college, but damn. So you finally—"

She gestures vaguely, like finally means something specific.

Paige hums, tilting her head at you. "Oops. Too late for that now, huh?"

Her eyes gleam—like she’s enjoying this. Like she’s waiting to see if you’ll flinch.

Oh, you hate her for being good at this.

But maybe you hate yourself more for playing right into it.

Aaliyah is still staring at you both like she just caught a rare species in the wild.

"I mean, damn," she whistles. "You two really had us fooled. Thought y’all just tolerated each other."

Paige laughs—an easy, practiced sound—but her grip on your hand tightens. "Guess we just played it cool."

Cool. Right. Because this is so normal.

You risk a glance at Jordan. He’s still watching, expression unreadable. He doesn’t look jealous, exactly, but there’s something calculating in the way he lifts his glass, studying you over the rim.

A test.

Paige must see it too because she makes the next move before you can.

"Babe," she says smoothly, and your body stiffens at the word. "Wanna get some air?"

She’s giving you an out. An escape before Aaliyah asks too many questions, before Jordan picks apart whatever mess you’ve just created.

And you should take it. You should.

But instead—because you’re an idiot—you lean into the lie.

"No rush," you say, smiling up at her. "I kinda like showing you off."

Paige’s breath hitches. It’s barely noticeable, just the smallest change in her expression, but you see it.

Aaliyah lets out a bark of laughter. "Damn, so that’s how it is? You two are one of those couples?"

"What can I say?" you tease, squeezing Paige’s hand just to be an ass. "She’s cute when she blushes."

Paige glares at you. Glares. But she can’t back out now—not with Aaliyah eating this up, not with Jordan still listening.

So instead of snapping at you like you know she wants to, she tilts her head, eyes flashing.

"Oh, I’m cute?" she muses. "That’s funny, coming from the one who panicked and kissed me first."

Your smirk falters.

Aaliyah’s jaw drops. "Wait—what?"

Oh. Oh.

You forgot. You forgot that Paige fights fire with fire.

You force a casual shrug, even as your pulse spikes. "I had to shut Jordan up somehow."

"Uh-huh," Paige hums, gaze knowing.

Aaliyah looks between you two like she’s witnessing something she shouldn’t be seeing.

"You know," she says slowly, "this is really funny considering—"

Paige kicks her.

Aaliyah yells.

"What the fuck, P?" she groans, rubbing her shin.

"Nothing," Paige says too quickly, giving you the fakest smile you’ve ever seen. "It’s nothing."

Nothing.

Right.

So why is she still gripping your hand like a lifeline?

Why does her pulse jump every time your thumb brushes hers?

Why does she look at you like she’s still remembering a different night—one where she was drunk, reckless, and kissing you like she meant it?

You don’t get to ask.

Because Jordan finally moves.

He sets his glass down, claps a hand on Aaliyah’s shoulder in passing, then turns to you and Paige with that easy, unreadable smirk.

"Congrats, you two," he says, voice smooth as ever. "Wish you nothing but the best."

He’s lying. You know he is.

But you still smile.

"Appreciate it, Hawkins," Paige says before you can.

She doesn’t look at him. She looks at you.

Like she’s daring you to say something.

Like she’s waiting to see if you’ll finally break.

You don’t break.

Not in front of Jordan. Not in front of Aaliyah. Not while every damn person in this room seems to be looking just a little too long, listening just a little too hard.

But the second Jordan walks away, the second Aaliyah turns to flag down another drink, you yank your hand from Paige’s grip like it burns.

"What the hell was that?" you hiss under your breath.

Paige barely reacts. She just tilts her head, feigning innocence. "What? You wanted to sell it. I sold it."

You stare at her.

Because that was not just selling it. That was something else—something sharper, something she threw right at your chest just to watch you stumble.

"You didn’t have to bring up—" You stop yourself. Swallow. Look around like maybe someone else can explain why she’s doing this.

Paige watches you. Her expression gives nothing away.

Then, softer, "Didn’t I?"

It hangs between you for too long.

And you hate that it’s her who looks away first.

"I need a drink," you mutter, already turning.

"Yeah, you do," Paige mumbles, following.

You don’t comment on that.

Because suddenly this whole thing feels less like a favor and more like a trap.

—

The bar is packed, but you shove your way through, Paige on your heels.

"Tequila," you say to the bartender.

"Make it two," Paige adds.

You don’t even argue. Maybe she outgrew her obsession with Dirty Shirleys. You just grip the edge of the counter, exhaling slowly as you try to make sense of this.

"So, what’s the plan?" Paige asks after a moment, arms crossed as she leans beside you.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, how far are we taking this?" She gestures vaguely. "Are we just holding hands and blushing or am I supposed to dip you on the dance floor?"

You roll your eyes. "Jesus, P."

"No, really," she presses, and now there’s that edge again. "How convincing do you need me to be?"

The question makes your stomach twist.

Because you know she’s just pushing your buttons. You know this is just Paige being difficult.

But for a split second—just a breath—you can still feel the way she kissed you that night. The way her hands tangled in your hair. The way she pulled you in like she meant it, like she—

The bartender slams down your shots.

You take yours immediately, swallowing hard.

Paige watches.

Then she takes hers too, slow and measured, like she’s got all the time in the world.

She wipes the corner of her mouth with her thumb, then raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing," you mutter.

Because fuck her for being so good at this.

And fuck you for the way your pulse won’t settle.

The night stretches on.

Paige keeps to her word—playing the part well enough that people start murmuring about it.

A hand at your waist. A whisper at your ear. A casual brush of fingers down your arm.

It’s fake. It’s all fake.

But she’s looking at you like she’s waiting for you to crack.

And you hate that you just might.

You don’t crack.

Not when Paige’s hand lingers on your back as she leans in to say something.

Not when Aaliyah smirks knowingly every time she catches you two standing too close.

Not even when Jordan keeps throwing glances your way, eyes unreadable, like he’s picking apart the lie thread by thread.

You don’t crack.

But you come so damn close.

"You’re enjoying this too much," you mutter as Paige tugs you onto the dance floor.

She grins, all teeth and recklessness. "You’re the one who asked me to play pretend, babe."

You ignore the pet name.

Ignore the way your skin burns where her fingers ghost over your hip.

Ignore the fact that, for a second, just a second, it feels like you’re back in college. Like there’s no unfinished history, no unanswered questions, no drunken mistakes you still don’t understand.

Just you and her and the kind of heat that ruins things.

But you snap out of it when Paige spins you suddenly, pulling you flush against her.

"You’re pushing it," you grit out, ignoring the way the air shifts between you.

"You sure?" Paige tilts her head, pretending to think. "Because Jordan’s watching."

Your stomach twists.

You don’t have to look to know she’s right.

But it’s not just Jordan anymore.

Aaliyah’s watching too, eyes sharp with something unreadable. A few old teammates glance over, whispering. Even the bartender keeps sneaking glances.

And Paige sees it.

She sees it and smirks like she’s won something.

Like she’s waiting for you to flinch.

So you do the only thing you can.

You don’t flinch.

You move closer.

You let your hand drag down her arm, fingers brushing over her wrist before locking together.

You feel her inhale, just barely.

You smirk right back. "Your move, Bueckers."

Paige doesn’t pull away.

She doesn’t let go.

She just holds your gaze like she’s trying to figure something out—like she’s searching for the part of you that still remembers what it felt like when she kissed you that night.

And for the first time tonight, she doesn’t have a comeback.

—

"Alright, what the fuck is going on?"

Aaliyah’s voice cuts through the tension the second you step off the dance floor.

You turn, forcing your expression into something casual. "What do you mean?"

She snorts. "Don’t play dumb. You two are acting like you’re five seconds from eloping."

"It’s called being a good girlfriend," Paige says easily.

Aaliyah rolls her eyes. "Right. Because this isn’t at all the same energy as that night in college—"

Paige steps on her foot.

"Ow—bitch—"

"What night in college?" you ask, heart slamming against your ribs.

Aaliyah pauses, eyes flicking between you and Paige.

Paige looks murderous.

And suddenly, you’re dying to know.

"Li," Paige says warningly.

"Oh, no," you say, stepping closer. "She’s already started. Might as well finish."

Aaliyah hesitates. Then she smirks.

"You really never told her?" she asks Paige, eyes gleaming.

Paige clenches her jaw.

"Told me what?" you demand.

Silence.

Then Paige exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair.

"Not here," she mutters.

"Not here?" you echo, heat rising in your chest. "What the hell does that mean, Paige?"

Paige doesn’t answer.

She just grabs your wrist and tugs you away from the crowd before Aaliyah can dig herself a deeper grave.

You don’t fight it.

Not because you trust her.

But because you need to know.

—

The hallway is quieter, but not empty.

You don’t care.

Paige finally lets go of your wrist and you spin to face her, crossing your arms. "Talk."

She exhales, tilting her head back against the wall. "It’s nothing."

"Bullshit."

She huffs a laugh. "I forgot how stubborn you are."

"And I forgot how frustrating you are," you snap. "Paige, just tell me what the hell Aaliyah was talking about. What didn’t you tell me?"

She shifts her weight, biting her lip like she’s debating if this is worth admitting.

"That night," she says finally, voice quieter. "At the party."

Your stomach tightens.

"What about it?"

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she looks at you—really looks at you—like she’s picking her words carefully.

And that’s when you realize.

She’s been keeping something from you for years.

Your pulse spikes.

"Paige," you press. "Tell me."

She sighs. Runs a hand through her hair. Looks anywhere but at you.

"I wasn’t that drunk," she admits.

Silence.

The kind that hurts.

The kind that knocks the wind out of you.

"What?" you whisper.

She exhales slowly. "I wasn’t that drunk. That night. When I kissed you."

You blink. Your brain stutters, replays her words over and over like they don’t make sense.

Because they don’t make sense.

Because for years—years—you let yourself believe it was a mistake. That she was just wasted, reckless, caught up in the moment.

But now—

"You’re lying," you say, shaking your head. "You have to be lying."

She looks at you then, and something in her gaze makes your stomach drop.

"I’m not."

Your breath shudders.

Because if she wasn’t that drunk—if she knew what she was doing—then that means—

"You kissed me sober?" Your voice is barely there.

Paige swallows.

"Sober enough."

A bitter laugh escapes you. "Wow."

She winces. "Look—"

"No. You look," you cut in, stepping closer. "Do you know what that did to me, Paige? Do you know how many times I replayed that night, trying to figure out what it meant?"

"I—"

"And then you just acted like it never happened."

She flinches. "I know."

"Do you?" you press, voice sharp. "Because it sure as hell didn’t seem like it when you—"

"I know," she snaps, running a hand down her face. "Why do you think I stayed away?"

That shuts you up.

She stayed away.

She chose to stay away.

Your chest tightens.

"So that’s it?" you ask, voice hollow. "You kissed me, regretted it, and thought avoiding me was the answer?"

She exhales, looking exhausted. "I didn’t regret kissing you."

Your breath catches.

She looks at you then—really looks at you—and you feel like you might drown under the weight of it.

"I regretted what came after," she says.

"What came after?" Your voice is sharp, demanding, but you’re barely keeping it together.

Paige shifts, running a hand through her hair like she hates this—like she hates that she’s saying anything at all.

"Everything," she mutters.

"Be specific, Bueckers."

She exhales sharply, looking away.

"I kissed you, and it—" She stops. Swallows. Then shakes her head. "It meant something. And that scared the shit out of me."

Your heart slams against your ribs.

"You don’t get to say that now," you whisper.

She laughs—bitter and humorless. "Yeah? Well, I am."

You stare at her, trying to make sense of this, trying to force the pieces to fit when they never did before.

"You ignored me," you say, voice unsteady. "You kissed me, realized it meant something, and instead of talking to me, you disappeared."

Paige clenches her jaw, eyes flashing. "What the hell was I supposed to do?"

"Anything but that!"

"I wasn’t ready!" she snaps, frustration bleeding into every syllable. "I—" She stops herself again, biting her lip, breathing hard like she’s fighting every instinct to keep this locked away.

"You weren’t ready?" you echo, stunned. "And you think I was? You think I didn’t spend months wondering what the fuck I did wrong?"

Paige exhales, pressing her fingers to her temples. "You didn’t do anything wrong."

"Then why did you leave me?"

Silence.

And that’s the real question, isn’t it?

Because she did leave.

She chose to put distance between you.

And you never got to ask why.

Paige hesitates.

Then—so quiet you almost don’t hear it:

"Because I wanted you too much."

Your stomach drops.

Paige looks at you, eyes guarded but raw.

"I wanted you, and I knew I couldn't have you, so I—" She swallows. "I did the only thing I knew how to do. I ran."

You feel like the ground has been yanked from under you.

Because this is the first time she’s admitted it.

That she wanted you.

That she felt something.

And all at once, the years of distance, the unfinished tension, the unspoken words— It all makes sense.

Your throat tightens.

"Paige."

Her name feels like something fragile in your mouth.

She shakes her head, like she already regrets saying anything at all.

"Forget it," she mutters.

"Forget it?" you echo, stunned. "Paige, you can’t just drop that on me and expect me to—"

"I have to," she says, voice strained.

Your chest aches.

Because you see it now.

She’s still scared.

Still running.

"You have to?" you repeat, voice shaking with something too sharp to swallow. "You have to forget it?"

Paige exhales hard, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes like she can physically push the words back in. "This is exactly why I didn’t want to say anything."

"Yeah?" You let out a humorless laugh. "Because then you’d actually have to deal with it?"

Her jaw clenches. "Because it doesn’t change anything."

You take a step closer. She doesn’t move away.

"It changes everything," you say, voice lower now, rougher.

She shakes her head. "No, it doesn’t."

"Paige—"

"You have a whole ex-boyfriend in that room," she interrupts, voice tight, like she’s trying to push you away with words alone. "We haven’t talked about this for years. And I—" She stops herself, shaking her head. "I can’t do this right now."

"Right. Of course," you snap. "Because that’s what you do, right? You can’t do this, so you just don’t."

She flinches.

Good.

Because she’s not the only one who gets to feel something tonight.

"You wanted me," you say, making sure the words land. "And instead of doing something about it, instead of talking to me, you just—" You exhale sharply, shaking your head. "You ran."

Paige stares at you, something breaking in her gaze. "You think I don’t know that?"

"Then why?"

Silence.

A heavy, suffocating silence.

Her hands clench into fists. Her throat works around words she won’t say.

And then—

"Because if I let myself have you, I don’t think I’d ever be able to let go."

The words hit you like a fist to the ribs.

Because that—that—is the most honest thing she’s ever said to you.

Your breath shudders. "Paige—"

"Don’t," she whispers.

She looks at you like she’s barely holding herself together.

Like if you say one more word, she’ll break.

And maybe that’s what you want.

Maybe you want her to crack the way she’s cracked you open.

Maybe you want her to finally stop running.

Your voice is quieter when you say, "If you didn’t want to let go, then why did you?"

Paige looks at you like she’s standing on the edge of something, like if she steps forward, she’ll lose control of everything she’s tried so hard to hold back.

You should let it go.

You should walk away.

But you can’t.

She exhales sharply, hands braced on her hips, staring at the floor like she can find the answer there instead of in you.

For a second, you think she won’t respond.

And then—

"Because I didn’t think I could have you."

Something shifts.

Your stomach tightens. "What?"

She shakes her head like she hates saying this out loud. "You had a boyfriend."

The words hit you like a slap to the face.

"What does—" you start, but Paige cuts you off.

"I kissed you, and for one second, I thought—" She stops, swallows. "I hoped it meant something to you. But then I remembered who you were dating, and I—" She exhales sharply. "I didn’t know if you even could feel the same way about me."

Your heart pounds in your chest.

"So you ran?" you whisper.

She looks at you, eyes burning.

"I ran because it hurt," she admits. "Because if I stayed—if I let myself want you—it would’ve destroyed me if you never wanted me back."

The air feels too thick, the walls too close.

Because this—this changes everything.

"Paige."

Her name barely leaves your lips before she’s shaking her head.

"Don’t," she whispers, voice cracking. "Because if you say something right now, I might actually believe you."

Your chest aches.

"What if I want you to?"

Her breath catches.

Paige stares at you like she didn’t hear you right.

Like she can’t have heard you right.

Her breath is uneven, her hands flexing at her sides like she doesn’t know what to do with them.

"What?" she says, barely above a whisper.

You swallow hard. You can’t take it back now.

"What if I want you to believe me?"

Her throat works around a response, but nothing comes out. She just shakes her head, taking a step back.

Not running.

Not yet.

But close.

"Don’t do this," she mutters.

"Do what?" you push.

"Say things you don’t mean."

Your jaw tightens. "You really think I don’t mean it?"

She exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over her face. "I don’t know, alright?" She looks up, frustrated, eyes burning into yours. "You never—I never—" She stops herself, dragging a hand through her hair. "I spent years convincing myself that I didn’t have a chance with you. That I was stupid for wanting something that was never even an option."

You let out a bitter laugh. "And whose fault was that?"

Paige blinks, caught off guard.

"You never asked me, Paige," you say, voice steadier now, sharper. "You never asked if I wanted you back. You just assumed I didn't."

Her jaw clenches. "You had a boyfriend."

You take a deep breath.

"And do you even know why we broke up?"

Paige stills.

You let that sit for a second before continuing, voice quieter now. "Jordan doesn’t even know. That’s why he’s still so hung up on me—because even he doesn’t understand."

Her brows furrow slightly, like she’s trying to piece together a puzzle she didn’t know existed.

"I broke up with him a week after that kiss," you admit. "After thinking about it day and night until I wasn’t even sure of myself anymore."

Paige stares at you, breath caught in her throat.

She doesn’t say anything.

Because she can’t.

Because now she knows.

Because now she realizes she spent years running from something that was never chasing her in the first place—because it was standing still, waiting for her.

The air between you is suffocating.

You should say something else, push further, make her admit something, anything.

But suddenly, a door swings open down the hall, and the sound of voices spills into the space between you.

The moment shatters.

Paige takes a step back. Her jaw locks into place, her hands finding the pockets of her blazer like she’s holding herself together with sheer force of will.

And just like that, it’s over.

Not forever.

Not really.

But for tonight.

She clears her throat. "We should go back inside."

You hesitate, wanting to hold on to whatever this just was.

But you don’t.

You nod.

And you follow her back into the noise, into the crowd— Into whatever comes next.

The rest of the night is a blur.

You and Paige return to the party, slipping back into the noise and conversation like nothing happened.

Like the air between you isn’t charged with something heavy and unspoken.

But it is.

You feel it every time Paige glances your way, every time your arms brush when you stand too close, every time her jaw clenches like she’s biting down words she won’t let out.

Aaliyah notices.

She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes flick between the two of you with something close to suspicion.

Jordan, on the other hand, doesn’t notice anything. He’s too busy trying to find excuses to talk to you, to hover near you, to remind you of what you once had.

Paige watches from across the room, fingers tight around her drink, expression unreadable.

You wonder if she’s thinking about what you said.

You wonder if she’s thinking about the kiss, about the fact that you broke up with Jordan because of her.

You wonder if she regrets running.

Or if she still wants to.

By the time the night winds down, you’re exhausted—not just from the party, but from everything else.

From the weight of knowing.

From the way Paige hasn’t said a word about it since.

She’s still standing near the bar when you grab your coat.

You hesitate.

She looks at you.

Something flickers in her gaze—something raw, something real.

For a second, you think she’s going to say something.

For a second, you hope she will.

But then Aaliyah calls her name, and just like that, the moment is gone.

You leave without saying goodbye.

528 notes · View notes

jarofstyles · 4 months ago

Text

Dirty Little Secret

Hello love bugs… This is something different I’m trying! He is not exactly a good person. Neither is she, exactly, but especially him. There’s a power imbalance and some cheating (with Y/N, not on)

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WC- 4.4k

Warnings- unfair power imbalance, mean dom h, humiliation, degrading, d/s dynamics, infidelity, he’s a dick, really not a great person

If anyone asked someone to describe Harry Styles, they’d say he was up and coming- the one to look out for. A man with family values, a pretty wife, a tendency to donate to anyone who needs it. He went to charity galas, he gave people time off who needed it, he had the best possible healthcare plans, he had two rescue cats at home and sponsored planting 1000 trees every summer.

But they didn’t know what he really got up to. Who he really was. That he was the furthest thing from a doting husband that his wife liked him to appear to be.

He used to be. Until Y/N walked into his life.

Harry sat at his desk, going through some important paperwork with a frown- completely ignoring the fact that his secretary was currently on her knees between his legs, her head bobbing up and down as she sucked his dick. He occasionally would let out a soft grunt or groan, but would quickly go back to his work, not even sparing her a glance.

A low grumble rumbled in his throat as he continued to ignore her, though he could feel his cock swelling with each sloppy suck. He knew exactly what Y/N was doing - testing his control, seeking attention. But he'd learned her games well. No praise, no touch, nothing to make her think she was getting away with her bratty fucking behavior. His fingers drummed absently on the papers, keeping his eyes fixed on the documents rather than the head bobbing in his lap.

She could feel her frustration growing as he continued to ignore her, his attention fully devoted to his work instead of her. She sucked harder, trying to elicit some kind of reaction, but he remained stoic, his face contorted in thought as he read through the papers. She even tried to add a little teeth, hoping he would finally look at her, scold her, anything. But he just grunted softly, jaw clenching just a tad and shifted a bit in his chair, still not sparing her a glance.

It was torture.

Her muffled whimper of frustration only made the corners of his mouth twitch slightly as he continued to concentrate on his paperwork, pretending not to notice her growing desperation for his attention. He knew how much she craved his focus, his praise, his command. And that was precisely why he denied her, maintaining his stoic facade in the face of her increasingly vigorous efforts to get him to crack. The occasional shiver that ran through him at the feel of her lips and tongue was his only concession to the pleasure she was trying so hard to provoke.

Just as she was about to give up and crawl away in defeat to go pout at her own desk, his phone suddenly rang, piercing the tense silence of the office. Harry's gaze flickered to the device on his desk before he picked up, his voice crisp and businesslike as he answered. "Styles." Y/N's head paused mid-suck, her ears perking up as she strained to listen in on the conversation, hoping against hope that it would be something that would distract him from ignoring her.

"Yes, I'm aware of the delay with the project. I don't care what excuses you have, I want it sorted out by end of the day." His voice was cold, commanding, brooking no argument. She hated how her cunt clenched at the dominant tone, her frustration momentarily forgotten as a different kind of heat pooled between her legs. She remained still, lips wrapped around his thick shaft, listening intently to his one-sided conversation. "Yeah, well- I really don’t give a fuck about what’s going on right now. Get it done like I’m paying you to fucking do. And if I hear that you've off fucking around on my dime again, you're fired. Got it?"

As he finished his stern lecture, his hand grasped the back of her head with little warning, pushing her down firmly until her nose was buried in the thatch of pubic hair above his dick and he was fully lodged in her throat. He held her there for a long moment, his cock throbbing in the wet, hot confines of her tight little throat as he continued to flip through his papers with the other hand, acting as if her presence wasn't rattling his concentration in the slightest. He really should gamble, with the poker face he had. Finally, he released her with a slight grunt, leaving her gasping and sputtering.

He gazed down at her face in his lap, her teary eyes, the spit webbed from her lips to his cock. "Was that so difficult, sweetheart?" His tone dripped with sarcasm. "I thought you wanted my full attention. S’why you acted like a little fucking brat before, isn’t it?." He tapped a finger lightly against her pursed, slicked lips. "Perhaps next time you'll think twice before trying to manipulate me with your... methods." His eyebrows arched as he glanced towards where her mouth had just been before returning his gaze to the documents before him ."Now, be a good girl and let me work in peace. If you're going to be on your knees, make yourself useful.”

His finger moved from her face to move across the papers, though the slight tightness in his jaw betrayed the effect her wet mouth had on him as she kissed over the shaft. Trying to make it up to him, obviously. "Though I must say, the lack of eye rolls and attitude when your mouth is full is quite an improvement. You should try it more often."

Of course she was. Y/N knew what he liked by now but had wanted a bit more attention- and she had known how to get it. Eagerly, she continued to suck his cock, determined to prove herself and earn his praise the right way. Her head bobbed up and down, saliva dripping from her lips as she worked his thick cock, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head. She could feel his fingers tapping against her cheek occasionally, a silent reminder to keep going, to be good and quiet while he worked. She relaxed her throat, letting him sink deeper, her nose buried in his pubic hair on her own attempt as she struggled to take him all the way down.

He grit his teeth, trying to focus on the papers in front of him as she gagged herself on his dick. Her throat constricting around him felt incredible, but he refused to let her see the effect she was having on him. His hand tightened around the pen, knuckles white as he fought to maintain his composure. A low, barely audible groan escaped him as she swallowed around him, the vibrations shooting straight to his balls. Fuck, she was good at this. Too good.

His breathing grew heavier as she expertly worked his prick with her mouth, the tight suction threatening his carefully maintained control. She knew exactly what she was doing. His free hand unconsciously gripped the edge of his desk, fingers twitching slightly. The little brat might make him actually lose focus if she kept this up. He tried to focus on the numbers in front of him, but his vision kept blurring at the sensation of her tongue. Such a fucking talented mouth for such a brat…

She started to get sloppier, drool dripping down her chin as she sucked him with less control. More desperation to please a man she should realistically be far away from, but too addicted to stop. The wet, messy sounds filled the room, punctuated only by her occasional gagging and the soft, muffled moans around his dick. Her hair was a mess, strands sticking to her face and neck with the mess she had made, but she didn't care. All she cared about was making him proud, making him see that even if she was a brat, she knew how to suck his cock like a good girl.

The man let out a shuddering breath, finally tossing the papers aside as her relentless sucking threatened to unravel him completely- so he broke. "Fuck, just like that." He muttered, his hand gripping her hair roughly in his fingers to urge her on. "Such a talented little cockslut, aren't you?" The irony wasn't lost on him - they were both playing their roles in this twisted game of power and pleasure, each using the other for their own needs. He knew he was just as guilty as she was, cheating on his wife with his secretary. Playing these games when he knew better. But it felt too good to stop. He’d never felt more alive.

His wife barely paid him mind. Their marriage had fizzled, leaving him lonely and frustrated- and when an overly eager Y/N had come in, spending hours a day in close contact with him, it felt inevitable. She was beautiful, she was sweet. Listened to commands without a hitch (most of the time.) As wrong as it may be, as soon as he got the hint that his cute little secretary with her soft doe eyes and cunning smile had wanted his cock- he readily gave it to her. Y/N let him do what he needed, happily taking whatever he handed to her. Dealing with her bratting out was something he liked more than he’d verbally admit. Getting her to this point, desperate for his approval, he thrived off of it.

He thrived off the power dynamic, the way she would look at him with those pretty, pleading eyes, seeking his approval after she'd been a brat and she wanted him to forgive her- have mercy. He loved reducing her to a whimpering, drooling mess, desperate for his touch, his praise, his attention.

His wife was a shell, a ghost in their marriage. A facade of perfection upheld by false pleasantries at the shops, or at the galas she only went to for the sake of keeping up her own appearance.

Y/N was alive, vibrant, always present. Eager to learn and work, even when it wasn’t a sexual thing. She was full of life and possibilities he hadn’t been exposed to before and he felt an itch to give them to her.

She might be a brat, but she was his brat.

“Little whore. So precious.” He whispered in a condescending coo. “Sucking off your boss. Desperate for my cock, mm?” Gathering her hair in his hand, he gave in to her need for attention to help her take his cock in her throat again. His second favorite place to be. “What is it you want now? Mm? What’s got you acting like a brat?” He looked down at her, his expression a mixture of heat and amusement. "What is it that y’want, you precious little slut? You've been throwing yourself at me all day, acting like a spoiled brat. And now you're on your knees, choking on my dick like it's the only thing that can satisfy you." He tightened his grip on her hair, using it to guide her head up as he spoke. "So tell me, what's got you so desperate for my attention?"

“You said I couldn’t come on the trip. I want to go.” She pouted, breathing deep through her nose as she tried to catch her breath. He listened to her request, his expression unreadable for a moment before a slow, smug smile spread across his face. "The business trip, huh? Y’want to come with me so bad that you turned into a brat in the middle of the work day?" He chuckled, a low, mocking sound. "And why should I bring you along, hm? What could a little thing like you possibly offer me on a trip like that?" He leaned back in his chair, still holding her hair tightly. "M’not running a fucking daycare, sweetheart."

"Please, Harry... I'll be good, I promise. I just... I wanna be with you." She whined, her voice taking on a pathetic, pleading tone. It was clear she was desperate, willing to do anything to get her way. He considered her for a moment, his grip on her hair loosening slightly as he thought. "And what about when I have meetings? When I'm busy with clients? You're just gonna sit in the hotel room all alone n’pout?"

“No! I can come and- and take notes. Get coffee. You know I can do that sorta stuff. I want to be there.” She protested, eyes pleading up at him.

"Oh, you want to be there... as what? My secretary? Or my little office whore?" He smirked at her, knowing his crude words would have her cheeks flushing. "Just what exactly are you volunteering for here, hm? Taking notes... or taking care of all my other needs?" His free hand slid down to grip her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "Be honest with yourself - which d’you think you would you be better at?" His voice dropped to a husky whisper. Her honeyed eyes looked so pretty with residual tears, desperation in them. It was his favorite look on her face.

“Let’s be honest, sweetheart. If you come with me, you're not just my secretary. You'll be my personal assistant, my travel companion, and... whatever else I might need you for." His thumb pressed against her lower lip, holding it still as he spoke. "So, are you up for the challenge? Willing to be at my beck and call, day and night, for the entire trip?" He leaned forward, his eyes boring into hers. "Because if you are, I might just consider letting you tag along."

Y/N felt fuzzy, nodding her head. It was actually exactly what she would want to do. Something in her most base and primal self wanted to please him. Make him happy. She liked when he was mean, when he used her, when he praised her. It was something she’d felt since she started but every time he would show her attention, even if she knew deep down it was wrong for so many reasons, she loved every bit of his attention.

"Good girl." He praised, releasing her chin and giving her hair a gentle tug. "You'll be my little shadow for the entire trip, doing whatever I say, whenever I say it." He stood up, pulling her to her feet and wrapping an arm around her waist. "And if you're good, I might even take you to a nice dinner. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?" He murmured, already looking forward to having her by his side. Craving some intimacy, even in this way, he wanted to at least do something nice for the girl he was about to bend over his desk. She was a real good girl, despite her misbehaving.

He spun her around and bent her over the desk, pressing her face down against the cool wood as he hiked her skirt up. "Now, since you took my cock down your throat and kept quiet while I was on the phone, I think you deserve a little... reward." He unbuckled his belt, the metal jingling loudly in the quiet office. "M’going to fuck you right here, right now. And you're going to take it like the good girl that you try to be, understand?" He pressed his wet against her ass, grinding slowly. "Say yes, sir."

“Yes, Sir.” She swallowed thickly, feeling him lift up her skirt to bunch it around her waist. This was the desired outcome. Getting to go with him, taking up all his attention. Arching her back, she pressed her ass into him. The surge to test limits came back, her tiny smirk concealed by the position. “Will your wife be angry, sir? that another woman is coming on a trip with you?” She taunted, trying to keep her voice sugary sweet though she knew it would trigger him.

He chuckled darkly, running a hand possessively over her exposed ass cheeks before giving it a harsh slap. Ignoring her gasp, he did it again and smeared the precum dripping from his tip over the hot flesh.. "You want me to tell you how unhappy she'll be? Maybe about how she hasn't touched me in months? Or how I stopped caring about her being distant when a cute little secretary came in and started to bend over backward to keep me happy?" He yanked down her panties roughly, leaving them around her thighs. "She doesn't care about me anymore than I care about her." he growled, lining himself up at her entrance. There was something so illicit about it, the fucked up nature of fucking her raw that made him even more worked up than he’d expected. He knew he was digging himself a deeper grave, simply trusting she was telling the truth about birth control… but if she was, and he got her knocked up, maybe he’d have the balls to actually file.

"S’that what you want to hear, sweetheart?" He teased, pushing just the tip of his cock in before pulling back out, loving how she squirmed. "That I don't give a fuck about her anymore? That all I think about is this tight little pussy?" Each time he plunged just the head inside, he'd drag it out slowly, watching her split open and back together again. "Answer me." He ordered sternly, his hand coming down with another sharp smack on her ass.

“Y-Yes.” She managed to gasp out, feeling the tip pop back inside to make her legs weak. “I like it. I like knowing.” It was an understatement. Completely. She loved knowing he was picking her. It was completely the opposite of how she’d ever imagined herself to be but she couldn’t lie to herself and say she didn’t love being chosen.

“Thatta girl. Wasn’t so hard to admit, was it?" he grunted, pushing his entire length inside her in one hard thrust. She let out a loud yelp as he buried himself deep, his balls slapping against her soaked pussy as he wasted very little time taking what he wanted. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he pulled her head back as he started to fuck her hard and fast, his thick cock pounding into her over and over. "You like knowing I don't care about my wife, huh? That all I think about is your tight little cunt?" He grunted, his thrusts becoming even more brutal.

She let out a high-pitched moan, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the edge of the desk. "Y-yes, sir! I love it!" She panted, arching her back to take him deeper. "I love knowing I'm the one who gets to have you like this. The only one who gets to feel your big, thick cock inside me." She was so loud, so wanton, not caring if anyone outside the office heard her getting fucked by her boss. She really needed to shut the fuck up, but something about his dick made her mind melt. The same way it melted all her morals away.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her up to stand arched against him, lips brushing against her ear. "Yeah… y’like being my little secretary.? Being the woman who gets to go on trips with me, sit in on my meetings, sleep in my hotel bed?" He growled, his hot breath fanning over her face as he looked down at her. "You love it, don't you? Being my girl in everything but name?"

"God, yes!" Y/N cried out, practically vibrating with pleasure as he hit all the right spots inside her. "I love every second of it. Being yours, belonging to you completely..." Her words dissolved into a breathless moan as he shifted the angle of his hips, sending jolts of ecstasy through her body. "I'll do anything for you, sir. Anything you want. Just please, don't stop fucking me like this..."

He loved how easily she fell into the role, how eagerly she begged and whimpered for his attention.

He could feel her pussy clenching tightly around his cock, the wet heat enveloping him as he pistoned in and out of her. Her juices were coating his shaft, dripping down onto the floor, marking the expensive carpet with the evidence of their sin yet again. He knew he should feel guilty, fucking his secretary on his desk in the middle of the workday, but all he could focus on was the way she moved beneath him, the little gasps and moans that slipped past her lips as he used her for his pleasure.

He gripped her throat with one hand, his fingers wrapping tightly around her neck as he bent her forward, folding them both in half over the desk again. With his other hand, he reached under her to grab her hip, using it to pull her back onto his thrusting cock in long, hard strokes. She struggled to breathe with his hand around her throat, her eyes bulging as he fucked her mercilessly, the desk creaking and shaking with the force of his movements.

"You're my whore. Don’t think I don’t know how much you need my cock. Drooling over it while you’re supposed t’be organizing… s’just too good, mm?." He growled against her ear, his thrusts becoming more harsh. His hand around her throat began to squeeze rhythmically with each thrust, cutting off her air just long enough to make her panic and clench tighter around him. "No one fucks you like I do, does they?" His voice was practically a snarl as he drove into her. "Takes you like this, claims you completely? You love being my convenient little office whore, don't you?"

Her eyes rolled back in her head, her body trembling as he choked her and fucked her thoroughly. Letting out every little bit of frustration on her poor, swollen pussy. She was completely at his mercy, unable to breathe, unable to move, only able to take his cock as he gave it to her- and she loved it. Harry had introduced her to this, a type of fuck she didn’t know possible- and now she was utterly obsessed. The room was filled with the sound of their brutal fucking, the desk scraping against the floor, her muffled moans, and his grunts of pleasure.

“Sending me home with my cock covered in you, your lipstick on my collar. Don’t give a fuck if she sees. I’ve got better pussy here.” He laughed cruelly, slipping his hand up to place two fingers into her mouth. Her cunt clenched at his words, making him click his tongue. “You love it.”

She didn’t want to love it. She knew she had never invisioned this, but it felt too good to stop. Harry was too good to her, felt too incredible, gave her all the perks she wanted… It was the worse thing to be in her eyes, the mistress, but she wanted it more than she cared about anything else. It was hard to think logically when his dick hit the spot that made her gush all over him.

"Ah, sweetheart. Yes you do." He taunted, his fingers shoved in her mouth to muffle her moans. "You never thought you'd be on your knees for your boss, choking on his dick, spread open on his desk while he pounds into you like a toy." He leaned down, his hot breath fanning over her ear. "But you do love it, don't you? You love being my dirty secret."

The pathetic little nod sent satisfaction through his veins. He knew she loved it, but even single time she confirmed it only amplified his own need for more. "That's my good girl," he praised, his pace never faltering. "Whining because you know I'm right. You're my dirty little secret, my pretty whore, and you fucking love it." He bit down gently on her earlobe, making her squirm. "And the best part? You know I'm going to keep fucking you like this, no matter what happens.”

Y/N’s eyes rolled back, almost drooling around his fingers. She’d need to do her makeup all over again after this. Harry made a mess out of her every time, but especially today. The confirmation made her cunt try to suck him in deeper. The proclamation that he wasn’t going to stop, that she was going to keep getting it? It felt like she had won.

"No matter if I get caught, no matter if my wife suspects, no matter if everyone in the office knows we're fucking like rabbits behind closed doors," he snarled, his hands roaming possessively over her body as he continued to pound into her. "Because you're the best I’ve ever fucked, and I can't get enough of you." He leaned down, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And you know what the really fucked up part is, sweetheart?" He whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. "I think you'd stay even if it meant keeping this a secret forever, even if it meant never being able to be with you in public, you'd still be my little office whore, wouldn't you?" He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers, looking for any sign of denial or hesitation- he knew he wouldn't find any. She was his, completely and utterly.

Nodding frantically, her lips parted to try and speak, but all that came out was a strangled whimper. He was right, she would stay, she would be his dirty little secret forever if that's what it took to be with him. She needed him too much to ever leave, no matter how wrong it was.

Y/N would take everything he gave him.

And Harry would take whatever he could, because he liked her more than he cared to admit.

#jarofstyles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles fanfictions #Harry smut #harry fanfic #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fic

673 notes · View notes

parkerslatte · 3 months ago

Text

Future Promises

Dae-ho x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: violence. blood and injury. murder. character death (not reader).

Summary: When a fight breaks out in the bathroom, Y/N gets caught in the middle of it. When the eliminated players are announced, Dae-ho panics.

Requested: Yes

Squid Game Masterlist

The divide in the room was clear. Each side equal in terms of numbers yet Y/N could feel the murderous gazes from the ‘O’ side of the room. While others around her talked to one another, trying to ease some of the tension, Y/N sat on her own. She wasn’t too far away from the rest of the group but she was far enough away to be able to breathe.

For the entire duration of her time in the games, she didn’t have a single change to calm her body down. Even when she slept she was always on high alert. Taking a step away from everyone was what was best for her right now– especially when she needed to prepare to defend herself if it came to that. Y/N didn’t miss the way each player had received a glass bottle and a metal fork with their meal when they hadn’t before. Her fork was securely concealed in her jacket.

Y/N rested her head on the cool tile wall and sighed. The room seemed much larger now compared to when she had woken up only days ago– though to her it seemed like weeks. There were only one hundred players left out of four hundred and fifty six and somehow Y/N was one of them. Though she might not have been if it wasn’t for one particular person.

Kang Dae-ho was someone Y/N never thought she would see in these games. They weren’t exactly friends before the games, only worked at the same part-time job. But seeing him was like a breath of fresh air. If it wasn’t for him, Y/N was sure that she would have been killed during the mingle game. The whole time, he had kept her hand firmly clasped in his. When the final round called for two players, he didn’t hesitate to pull her along to a room, pushing her in first before himself. The fear Y/N had felt during that game– if Dae-ho hadn’t been by her side she would have froze up and never left that rotating platform.

“Y/N,” a familiar voice called to her before she felt the warm and comforting presence sitting beside her. “What are you doing over here on your own?”

Y/N opened her eyes, not realising she had closed them. “I needed to step away for a bit.”

Dae-ho’s thigh pressed against hers. “Tell me next time. I didn’t know where you went.”

Y/N turned to him and offered him a small tight lipped smile. “I’m okay.”

Dae-ho didn’t return her smile, already knowing that it wasn’t genuine. From where his hands were resting in his lap, Y/N watched as they twitched– hesitantly decided if they should reach out to her. Taking the initiative, Y/N held her hand out. A small flash of surprise appeared on Dae-ho’s face before he gently held her hand in his, linking their fingers together.

The corner of Y/N’s lips tugged up in a smile as she rested her head against the cool tile wall. “I don’t think I’ve told you but I’m glad you’re here. Well, not here exactly– but here with me. Seeing someone I recognised made me feel…safer. So thank you.”

Dae-ho’s gaze was fixated on their clasped hands. “Don’t thank me. Honestly seeing you here made me feel safer even though I hate that you are trapped here too.”

“We both made a stupid choice by phoning that number,” Y/N said. “When we get out of here, let’s not phone any strange numbers in the future.”

A quiet laugh emitted from Dae-ho and caused Y/N to smile. “Agreed.”

A silence washed over them but it was comfortable and if Y/N closed her eyes, she could pretend that they were in the break room at their shitty job. Instead of bidding goodbye at the end of the day like she usually did, she would take the risk and ask him for dinner. Finally doing what her friend had demanded of her when she first started the job and asking her attractive coworker out.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Y/N said, standing to her feet, her hand slipping out of Dae-ho’s.

“I’ll go with you,” Dae-ho offered, quickly standing with her.

“To the women’s bathroom?” Y/N asked, a soft chuckle leaving her lips.

For a short moment, Dae-ho seemed embarrassed but it quickly seemed to fade. “I’ll keep watch outside.”

A small genuine smile tugged at her lips as she rested her hands on his biceps. “I’ll be fine. You don’t need to protect me, you’ve done that enough already.”

“I’m sorry,” a woman a little older than Y/N said. Y/N glanced at the woman’s number. Player 91. “I overheard you going to the bathroom. We could go together, safety in numbers. I noticed some other women go there not too long ago.”

Y/N turned her attention back to Dae-ho. “See, I’ll be fine.”

There seemed to be nothing that could convince Dae-ho but the moment she leant up and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek all rational thoughts swimming through his mind seemed to evaporate. Y/N laughed and gently trailed her hands down his arms to his hands, offering him a comforting squeeze. “I’ll be fine.”

Slowly, Dae-ho nodded. “Be safe.”

As she took a step back from Dae-ho, he held onto her hands until she was too far to comfortably hold onto them. Y/N allowed her hands to slip from his but the moment his warmth fell away, she craved it once more. Y/N pushed her hands into the pockets of her jacket and offered Dae-ho one final parting smile before following the woman to the bathroom.

***

Y/N watched as the water dripped from her chin back into the sink as she sighed. She could only hope that not everyone was bright enough to realise they could freely harm anyone that opposes their vote and in the morning they would be able to vote and return home.

“So you voted to return home?” a woman said, approaching Y/N.

Y/N didn’t bother to look at the woman as she answered. “Clearly, and anyone with a few brain cells would realise that is the best option for everyone here.”

The woman hummed. “Didn’t you vote to continue the games during the first vote?”

“I did,” Y/N answered. “It was a selfish decision and I regret it.”

“What changed your mind?” the woman questioned.

“After nearly dying during the second game, I realised that risking my life for money isn’t worth it,” Y/N said, her grip tightening on the skin as Dae-ho’s face flushed in her mind.

During the six-legged pentathlon, their small group of five was already decided until Jun-hee came along asking to join their team. The moment she found out the younger girl was pregnant, Y/N didn’t hesitate to join another team.

Dae-ho insisted that he should be the one who left but Y/N refused and found another team, she was one of the first to complete it with one second to spare. For hours she had sat on her bed watching the door waiting for Dae-ho to enter, her anxiety rising when he never entered. When he finally did, Y/N’s heart rate still refused to drop. From then she realised that no matter how much money she would get if she continued to play, it wasn’t worth nearly losing Dae-ho and the other friends she had made. But just the thought of losing Dae-ho sent Y/N into a panic she didn’t see coming.

“So those who died during those games didn’t matter to you? Only your life matters?” the woman said, continuing to pester Y/N.

Finally Y/N turned and faced the woman. “Realistically those people would have died anyway. If I wasn’t in these games then nothing would change, someone else would be here in my place and everything would turn out exactly the same.” Y/N glanced at the blue patch on the woman’s jacket. “Seems like you don’t seem to care if people die or not considering you are too fucking selfish and you want more money.”

“Careful how you speak to me,” the woman said. “Once all of you who voted to leave are gone, us who voted to stay will each have over 800 million won each.” Slowly, the woman raised her hand, a silver fork shining in the dim lighting. The fork was pressed against Y/N’s neck as she looked at the woman standing before her. Despite the situation, Y/N didn’t feel intimidated by the women at all, she was shorter and was physically weaker than Y/N.

“I’m only going to say this once,” the woman said, lowering her voice. “Change your vote, continue the games. If you do, I will make sure you get through to the end and get your share of the money.”

No matter how hard she tried, Y/N failed to contain the laughter that slipped past her lips. “I’d believe it if you weren’t threatening me right now. How am I meant to believe you won’t backstab me in the next game?”

The fork was pressed deeper against her neck and Y/N winced. “You need to trust me,” the woman said.

“Trust a woman who is one movement away from plunging a damn fork into my neck? I think I’ll naively believe that someone will come to their senses and change their vote by morning,” Y/N replied. “Now take that fork away from my neck.”

“Or what?” the woman asked, an unhinged smile spreading across her face.

“The group that voted to stay are currently outnumbered in this bathroom, five to nine. If you fight, you’ll be overpowered,” Y/N answered as the two other women who voted to stay slowly walked up to join the quiet altercation.

“You’ll never win,” the woman said, the fork leaving Y/N’s neck. “We may be outnumbered but you have more elders on yours, one punch to the head and they’ll be out cold.”

As Y/N glanced around at the other women in the bathroom, she noticed that most of them were older and looked as if they could not handle themselves in a fight. Y/N sighed. “Do you really care about getting a bit of extra money? If we vote to leave now we still each get a large amount of money. What if you die in the next game? Your last thoughts will be ‘why didn’t I leave when I had the chance?’”

“You don’t know a thing about me!” the woman exclaimed.

Y/N rolled her eyes and turned back to the sink. “I know that you’re an idiot if you chose to stay in this hellhole.”

The woman didn’t respond verbally. Instead she gripped the back of Y/N’s jacket, yanking her away from the sink. As Y/N stumbled on her feet, the woman sent a punch to her jaw, knocking off her balance completely.

The moment Y/N’s back hit the floor, hell broke loose as people began fighting one another. It was just as the woman said, there were a lot more women who were physically weaker on Y/N’s side. Almost immediately Y/N watched as a few of them had already hit the floor, a pool of blood forming below them. Y/N didn’t take long to get back to her feet. Y/N wasn’t a particular skilled fighter, she had learnt basic self defense and had never had a reason to use it. Just as Y/N thought, the woman was physically weaker than Y/N as she easily overpowered the woman, gripping tightly onto her hair.

“Just vote to leave!” Y/N yelled. “How stupid can fifty people be?”

The woman struggled to get out of Y/N’s grip. “I’ll vote to leave when all of you are dead!” she snapped.

Y/N held tightly onto the woman’s hair as she threw her down on the floor. Before Y/N could think, she grabbed the fork concealed in her pocket and jammed it into the woman’s shoulder. The woman’s eyes widened as she cried out in pain. Y/N yanked the fork out and stood to her feet. There were still others fighting around her yet all she could do was stare down at the woman on the floor. Y/N hadn’t killed her, only injured her, yet she still felt the guilt of that weigh heavily on her shoulders.

Before Y/N could even think about moving there was a force that sent her to the ground and she scrambled to get away before a force was pressed upon her body and she was harshly turned on her back. A more muscular woman sent a punch to her face before Y/N even had the chance to block it. With her vision blurry, Y/N failed to see the fork slamming down at full force towards her.

***

Dae-ho sat looking in the direction where Y/N had left with the other woman to go to the bathroom anxiously shaking his leg. There was something clawing inside of him that told him that something bad was going to happen. Of course he had noticed the forks everyone had been given and Gi-hun had only solidified Dae-ho’s beliefs that it wasn’t unintentional.

Y/N had been gone for a while and it took Jung-bae forcing Dae-ho to remain seated instead of storming after her.

“I never asked,” Jung-bae spoke, noticing that Dae-ho became considerably more anxious, “how do you know Y/N?”

“We work together,” Dae-ho answered, not tearing his eyes from where she had disappeared. “It’s a shitty part time job but that's all that would hire me. I don’t know why she is still there– she has so much potential.”

Jung-bae hummed. “It seems as if you admire Y/N a lot.”

“I do,” Dae-ho said with no hesitation. “Before now, we only ever spoke at work, but she was always so nice and friendly to me. I watched her interact with customers too and she always greets them with a smile and tries to make them smile. Afterwards I would always find her in the break room exhausted but she would always sit and talk to me if I was on my break. Once she shared that she wished to become an artist but her parents told her that it wasn’t a sustainable career so she gave up.”

“It sounds like a lot more than admiration you have for her,” Jung-bae teased.

Dae-ho quickly shook his head. “No, it's not anything like what you’re thinking of.”

“How about I ask Y/N when she comes back?” Jung-bae suggested.

“No!” Dae-ho exclaimed, causing Jung-bae to laugh. Dae-ho sighed. “Okay, maybe it is like that.”

“The following players have been eliminated,” the cheerful voice sounded throughout the room.

Dae-ho’s heart instantly dropped to the floor as he looked at Jung-bae, fear coursing through his veins.

“Player 201. Player 449. Player 091–”

“That’s the player who went with Y/N,” Dae-ho said, fear evident in his tone.

The players entered the room one by one and Dae-ho’s heart rate increased. From the looks of things, it wasn’t only the women who had gotten into a fight in the bathroom as the men walked out too, blood covering each and every one of them. The cheerful voice continued to list the numbers of the players who had been eliminated and Dae-ho’s fear rose after each and every one. He should have somehow gone with her to make sure that she was okay.

The voice stopped listing off the eliminated players just as Y/N stepped into the room, the guard closing the door behind her. Blood covered her neck and stained her jacket. Smeared blood covered her hands too as she slowly stepped further into the room shaken up.

“Count your players!”

The room immediately broke into chaos as each side counted their players and how many each side lost. Dae-ho didn’t care as he ran over to Y/N.

“Are you okay? What happened?” He asked, looking at the injury on her neck.

“They attacked us,” Y/N muttered. “I didn’t want to hurt them but I did.”

Slowly, Dae-ho reached forward until he held his hands in front of hers. Without thought, she held onto them tightly as if grounding herself.

“They attacked you first, you were only defending yourself,” Dae-ho reassured.

Y/N slowly looked up at him. “I know but–”

“But nothing,” Dae-ho said, slowly pulling Y/N closer to where the rest of the group were standing.

Y/N nodded, squeezing his hands once more. “Can we sit down somewhere?”

Dae-ho gently guided her over to where Gi-hun and the others were sitting as someone counted how many of the whole group there was. Dae-ho gestured for Y/N to sit down first before he sat down next to her, his arm wrapping protectively around her waist, her body leaning closer to him.

“What happened to your neck?” Dae-ho questioned looking at the long scratches down the back of her neck that ventured under her collar.

“It happened just before the guards came in to break up the fight,” Y/N muttered, her hand seeking out Dae-ho’s. “If they didn’t come in that second, I’m sure that woman would have finished me off.”

Dae-ho noticed the distant look in her eyes and squeezed her hand to snap her out of it. “Hey, I know it’s hard but try not to think about that right now.”

“What else is there to think about?” Y/N replied, her voice sounding exhausted.

Dae-ho shrugged, his thumb gliding across her knuckles. “Our job?”

“I nearly died and your response is to talk about our shitty job?” Y/N said.

“You’re talking about it though,” Dae-ho muttered. “And I was going to ask you, what will you do when you get out of here? You can’t stay in that job for the rest of your life.”

“Pay off my debts,” Y/N answered. “After that, I honestly don’t know.”

“You wanted to become an artist, why don’t you start there?” Dae-ho suggested.

Y/N looked at him, disbelief clear in her eyes. “You remember that conversation?”

“Of course,” Dae-ho replied. Y/N looked at him– really looked at him. The look immediately made Dae-ho heat up under his collar.

“I didn’t think anyone really listened when I talked about what I am passionate about,” Y/N admitted.

“I listened,” Dae-ho replied.

“Why have we never spoken outside of work?” Y/N asked.

“Probably because we both hate our job and pretend that it doesn’t exist once our shift is over,” Dae-ho replied.

A soft huff of laughter left Y/N and Dae-ho couldn’t stop the way his heart lifted at the sound.

“That is true,” she said. “How about when we get out of here, we change that? This definitely isn’t the place or time to say this, but I have liked spending time with you and you have honestly saved me so many times and made this whole thing even the slightest bit bearable. So when we get out of here, why don’t we go for dinner? I’ll pay, it’s the least I can do.”

A wide grin formed on Dae-ho’s face as he nodded. “That would be nice.”

Y/N gave him a smile in return before she rested her head on his shoulder, relaxing her body into his side. The gentle grip he had on her waist tightened as he pulled her closer to his body. While Gi-hun spoke to the group in a hushed tone, Dae-ho only remained half listening as he held onto Y/N. A new sense of survival overcame him– he would get him and Y/N out no matter what.

#squid game dae ho x reader #kang dae ho x reader #dae ho squid game #squid game dae ho #dae ho x reader #kang dae ho #dae ho #squid game x y/n #squid game #squid game x reader

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seawitchkaraoke · 5 days ago

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Another thing I noticed while watching the grand complication job: when Sophie originally goes on her "you've no idea what fuse you just lit" rant, talking about how Parker and Astrid hate each other and how Parker might kill Astrid and all that.... her tone of voice is exactly the same as when she yells about the bad guy having taken "the safety off the gun" and how "it takes all his control not to kill someone" when they pretend that Eliot got drugged during the boxing match in the Tap Out Job.

Like. It's so similar, it made me pause the episode and go hmmm Sophie do be exaggerating the truth for the grift, methinks.

And, yes. Of course she was. She's using the truth (they hate each other, Parker is legitimately dangerous and willing to kill ppl, Sophie is upset about Bligh setting them against each other like that) to disguise the bigger truth (they love Sophie more than they hate each other, Parker hasn't been the person who runs off to solve problems on her own for a long time, she hasn't even stabbed anyone with a fork recently)

And that performance by Sophie is really important in both scenes! She scares the mark enough so the guy in the Tap Out Job doesn't take time to check for a pulse himself before running off and Bligh believes her plan is working, doesn't question the "you need to back off" "no you" confrontation between Astrid and Parker, believes (at least for a moment) the possibility that Astrid killed Parker and gets generally unbalanced enough to make the mistakes that let them save Sophie in the end.

(and I believe that "you need to back off" argument was absolutely a performance at least on Parker's side as well. Bc it makes absolutely no sense as a conclusion. Clearly if the bad guy threatens to kill Sophie either way, you need to team up. But she knows they're being watched and she also knows Tara is on route so she performs and stalls for time)

#leverage #leverage redemption #leverage spoilers #the grand complication job #the tap out job #sophie devereaux #parker leverage

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anantaru · 2 years ago

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DAY 30 — hate sex

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — wriothesley, ayato, scaramouche, alhaitham

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, hate fucking, mild choking, they're assholes, exhibitionism, fingering, lots of teasing & they're meanies

𖧡 — WRIOTHESLEY

"i don't, fuck— even know if i told you this," you whine out through a clenched jaw, your trembling frame luxuriating in the feeling of wriothesley's thick cock rubbing against your spongy spots as the spreading warmth of his body fuses inside of your own.

nevertheless, you continue your taunting— truthfully, there was nothing better other than uttering out words that you knew, would drive him absolutely crazy, "but i really fucking hate you."

amusement swiftly settles on the duke's face when he notices something happening in front of his eyes, in spite of himself, he can see it plain as day.

that your sweet, angel face, combined with those lewd sounds and your pain in the ass, as well as bratty attitude, would ultimately make him lose his mind beyond salivation— right now, his face reminded of someone who was on the brink of leaning into this, the thought of stepping your relationship up and breaking free of this, occasional hook up scene between two people clearly harboring distaste for each other.

yet, instead of melting into those hidden emotions, wriothesley then, leaves one hand to fall against the headboard before jerking his hips back into you, this time much harder and in attempt to conceal the fact that you've evidently turned him on with your attitude, fuck, he'd never get tired of hearing you.

"oh, don't worry sweetheart," wriothesley grins, your body trembling when you hear him, and as always, he senses how you shiver under his large weight, your chest rising and falling when he wraps one hand around your throat, lightly, while the other remained on the headboard to steady himself and to not suddenly suffocate you with his figure.

"the feeling is very mutual," he winks, the only thing that seemed appropriate to you personally in this situation, was to punch him, especially due to that stupid, handsome, dumb smirk on his face. (you didn't punch him)

"oh fuck you," you spat angrily before feeling how he softly draws his fingers into your throat, mesmerized when you swallow the assembled saliva down and make him sense your pulse underneath his palm, ugh, it's so hot— and you're impossibly sensitive, constantly fluttering your hole around his girth, always so cutely reactive and moaning when his cock twitches through your walls.

your mess of a body was shaking, quivering and jerking up when he teases you once more, proudly showcasing his strength on your throat while never stopping the aching drags of his erection that was making your face twist in pleasure.

𖧡 — AYATO

ayato thinks you owe him, in fact, he believes you owe him a lot more than you're currently giving him— aside from that, the most unfortunate fact was that he secretly liked having you close to him, pretending that it's a way of paying him back for whatever reason, more so share your sweet company and yes, of course, it's a bit of a predicament taking into consideration that he literally cannot stand your guts and neither can you force yourself to like his.

it's a bit embarrassing and you're barely being able to grasp on how much you you were capable to hate another person, yet the second you hear his voice, it's a horrible sound, one that you eagerly wanted to choke right out of him.

well, if only ayato wouldn't be so adapt with your body— remembering every part of you, didn't matter to him if it's been a week or a month, he remembers and targets the spots he knew had to be taken care of.

because the yashiro commissioner knows how to fuck you, please you and make you sob out uncontrollably— you have clearly had the opportunity to experience it yourself and even now, while pressed down against his work desk, with both legs tightly shut around his waist, you almost forget about all the deep-rooted hatred that was growing inside of your heart.

every dip and curve, his hand would find when he drags his cock through your walls with each whimper of his name littering across his ear shells, his sensitive tip repeatedly pushing in and out of your soaked walls that the constant pressure of penetration was making your head spin, your shaking frame twitching under him as he curves ever so wonderfully into your warm cunt.

it's too good, too delicious to pass up on when you forget all circumstances and focus on the hate induced thrusts of his pelvis rutting against yours— both minds being drunk of lust and that sensual taste of sex and euphoria lingering across the room, your pussy convulsing as his lips melt against your own, shushing all your worries.

𖧡 — SCARAMOUCHE

"look at that," scaramouche grinned down on you, excited from head to toe, his ego downright overflowing when his tip pushes and presses into your warm, pulsing spots as he stares down on where your bodies connected.

his cock was slipping in an embarrassingly easy pace that it's quite shameful now that you think back on it, well, almost— at least scaramouche knew what places to target in order to make your spine curve and quiver when he leans his weight over your body to split your cunt a little better as he bucks backward, driving the intruding force of his length deeper with one hand steady on your shoulder.

you wrap your hands around his neck and pull him into a warm, passionate kiss before he sloppily groans into your mouth, his tongue lapping across your own when repeated thrusts power through the tight ring of your hole, his pelvis continuously kicking against you and forcing your spine to bend into his chest, "hah, i can barely move," he smirks, "you're too tight— embarrassing," he drawls, your walls fluttering as he leans his sweaty forehead over your own.

"seems like you missed me," scaramouche urges, hovering on top of you with a toothy smile, despite that leaning in for more, his fastened breathing close to your flustered cheeks as he grinds his cock deeper, finer and better— a small, little shade of pink manifesting across his face, everything about it was so sensual, so exposed.

without a doubt, whenever you would cross paths it would always end in the same story playing on repeat, almost like a broken record— and despite the fact that you weren't fond of him, or, scrap that, despite the fact that you hated him, a lot, you did like it, like him, kind of— most definitely when he fucks you like he hates you, because he does, but kisses you like you're in possession of the most delicious and softest lips.

or, digging a little deeper, when he, sometimes, wraps his arm around your waist when he accidentally falls asleep right beside you, hiding his fatigued face against your neck, leaning into your touch as he intertwines one hand with yours to stroke his thumb over your knuckles.

𖧡 — ALHAITHAM

it's a hard punch in your gut when alhaitham first stated that he didn't like you, nope, wasn't a fan of yours at all— and the way he phrased it infuriated you the most, it was so arrogant, detached and almost like he wanted you to know and feel bad.

it's not like you were forcing him to like you or anything, but the fact that he thought it was appropriate to tell you out of the blue while disregarding any negative emotions such confession could cause— to say it made you loathe him, detest his being with every vein in your body, was an understatement, truly.

but now, suddenly it's anomalous, like the first bite out of a warm home-made pastry you have never tried before.

then, a sudden wave of pleasure hits you, strong enough that you whimper when he first places both hands on your figure, when you find yourself pressed against a cold wall, a new sensation that was laced in thrill and excitement lusting up from deep inside, aflame and alive through your flesh like liquid fire in your veins.

your bodies were moving while concealed beneath the darkness with the scribe's hand long since stored under your panties and rubbing slow, precise circles on your clit— and the thought of doing something so sinful in the midst of the night, not to mention outside, was almost enough to turn you on entirely, drench his palm with your slick when the boiling heat inside of you changes its shape, manifesting into something exceptional.

"that— that doesn't change anything!" you argue, scowling as you lean your head against his chest, "you're still a snob."

"huh, what?" alhaitham huffs in between a relatively normal breathing, as if he didn't just fuck two fingers into your hole and was the single reason for your legs turning to jelly, wantonly destroying your stability, "i think you don't know what that word means," he mutters before rolling his eyes at you.

archons, you're so annoying, alhaitham could honestly tell you those exact words over and over again until he'd get a headache— and it fucks him up, you do, you never fail to irritate him but also make him intrigued. ugh, it fucks him up so dearly and you destroy his rational thoughts, he wanted to do nothing more other than distance himself from you if only you wouldn't be so damn addicting, and soft, or reactive when he prods one finger against your hole.

awakening at the touch, your desire for him flares anew as you buck your hips forward, driving his finger deeper, his digit spilling right into you when you greet him with a broken cry, your hips rolling and needful for more— alhaitham's eyes never averting their gaze from you, your hips searching and clinging on his body, a slight tremble reaching your spine when you hold your gaze on him, all now feeling in different way.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #ayato smut #ayato x reader #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham smut #genshin x you #kinktober #genshin impact x you #genshin drabbles

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aewon · 5 months ago

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all night, in love — YJW

pairing- jungwon x fmr genre: fluff, e2l, fake dating ⚠️: kissing, cursing, slight slight very tiny angst (practically nonexistent) wc: 3k

You hate Yang Jungwon, and he hates you too.

The reason? You ACCIDENTALLY tripped him in front of his crush in 9th grade. You never knew someone could hold such a grudge for something that wasn’t on purpose.

Ever since that day, Jungwon has made it his life mission to make you miserable.

He doesn’t do anything physical, he just makes annoying, mean jabs at you whenever he can, which you don’t hesitate to fire back.

What you never expected was for him to come up to you, asking for a favor.

“A favor? Why would I ever want to help you?” You scoff at his audacity, turning away from him on the bench you’re currently occupying.

He doesn’t go away, instead sitting next to you on the other side, facing you.

“Please, I’ll do anything!” When you look at him, he’s pouting, something that’s never been directed toward you.

He almost looks…cute?

“Anything?” You ask, not concealing the smirk gracing your face.

“… As long as it’s nothing super crazy, yes.”

You ponder for a moment, what could you possibly need from Yang Jungwon.

“I’ll help you, but I’m not telling you what you’re doing until after we’re done! So what exactly is it that you need?”

Jungwon suddenly looks away from you, biting his lip as if he’s afraid to say it.

“Well? We don’t have all day.”

He looks down at the ground, twiddling his thumbs before finally speaking, “I need you to date me.”

You almost spit out the sip of coffee you just took.

“What?”

“Look, you know Yoona, right?”

You nod, having met the girl before in science class.

“I have a huge crush on her but she never notices any of my attempts to talk to her or engage so I figured if I’m dating someone, that’ll make her notice. Everyone knows we don’t like each other so it’ll make a huge spectacle.”

Your eyebrows furrow at his rhetoric.

“Everyone knows we don’t like each other, so they’ll definitely believe we just started dating? That makes no sense, Jungwon. Come on, you’re smarter than that.”

“We can say it was all a ruse! We just didn’t want people knowing how much we like each other so we pretended to have a fued instead.”

“Still doesn’t make sense. Our friends and peers aren’t stupid, they’ll see right through us.”

“Not if we’re convincing! We’re talking right now, right? Not arguing. We’ll just tell everyone we decided to come clean. Please do this for me, you know I’d never bother you with something like this otherwise.”

That is true, and although you can’t ever imagine yourself liking someone like Jungwon, it’s fake.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

Jungwon, for the first time, gives you a genuine smile. One that’s not devolving into a sneer or fake.

“So, what do we do now?” He asks.

“Do you have any boundaries you don’t want crossed?”

He shakes his head, “I want this to be believable.”

Without warning, you tug him forward by his shirt, planting your lips on his.

You don’t open your eyes to see if he’s shocked or not, but soon you feel his lips moving with yours.

His large hand travels to cup the side of your face.

You don’t know how long you’re kissing for, or rather making out at this point, but you’re interrupted by the bell ringing.

As you pull away, Jungwon looks as if he’s in a daze.

Your eyes look around the courtyard and multiple people are staring at you, looking away quickly when they realize they’ve been caught.

“Bye boyfriend, I’ll see you later.” You wink, getting up from the bench and leaving to go to class.

The end of the school day comes quicker than not, and you wait outside for your friend Ningning so you can drive her home.

A hand comes to rest on your waist, and you turn to find Jungwon standing beside you.

“I figured I’d get your number now so none of our friends suspect us.”

You nod, taking his phone and putting your number in, texting yourself quickly.

You save his number in your own phone as “wonnie ❤️” while he saves yours as “babe 🩷.”

“You drive Ningning to school right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I’ll start driving the both of you, just text me your address and I’ll pick you up first tomorrow.”

“Sounds good, we should also figure out some kind of timeline for this relationship. When do we wanna say this started?”

Jungwon ponders for a moment, “A few months ago? Not too specific but not suspicious either. We could say after a while the dislike toward one another became tired and we decided to be friends which then developed into a relationship.”

“And why did we hide it?”

“Because we were embarrassed.” He shrugs and you nod along.

“Sounds good, we can figure out details later.”

Out in the parking lot, his group of friends are all staring at you. “I should get home,” Jungwon says, “we’re all hanging at my place and I know they’re dying to ask me about us.”

“Call me tonight?”

He nods, wrapping you up in a hug, pulling away to kiss your lips.

You can’t help but like the feeling of his lips on yours, or maybe it’s because you haven’t felt the kiss of someone in so long.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re obsessed with my lips. You like kissing me.” Jungwon smirks at your reddening cheeks.

“Please, it’s just been a while. The feeling is nice is all,” you respond, pushing him lightly.

He raises his hands in surrender before walking away, toward his friends whose eyes are on him like a hawk.

“What the actual fuck is going on!” You hear Ningning from a mile away as she quickly approaches you, “Why the hell did I have to find out from Minji that you and Jungwon are dating?”

“I’ll explain in the car.”

Ningning doesn’t hesitate to ask a million and one questions about your newfound relationship, and you answer to the best of your abilities without making too many plot holes.

You tell her about the new arrangement with Jungwon picking you both up which she agrees to easily.

After dropping her off, you make your way home to relax and de-stress.

You shower before changing into more comfortable clothes.

Your parents won’t be home for a while so you sit on the couch, watching Netflix with an after school snack.

You must’ve fallen asleep on the couch because when you open your eyes, you’re in your room and not on the couch.

You check for your phone, finding it on the nightstand beside you.

The time reads 8:00pm and you sigh. Now you’ll be up all night.

Your phone begins to ring, Jungwon’s name popping up.

“Hello,” you say, grogginess evident in your voice.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, I just woke up. I fell asleep after school, my dad must’ve moved me from the couch to my bed.”

“Okay, good. Did Ningning bombard you with questions? Because my friends did.”

“She absolutely did. I stuck with our plan and tried to avoid any personal questions.”

“Speaking of, I figured we should learn more about each other if we’re gonna make this work.”

You agree and begin asking each other questions.

Favorite color, hobbies, family info, things that a couple should know about one another.

You learn that you and Jungwon actually have a lot in common. You both love action movies, dogs, cats, food of course among other things.

It feels very normal talking to him like this, and not arguing or making jabs at each other.

It feels like you’ve been on the phone forever, checking the time as it reads 10:00pm.

“We’ve been on the phone for 2 hours. It’s crazy how quickly time passes.”

You hum, feeling yourself start to get tired again.

“Are you sleepy?” Jungwon asks, and you hum once more.

“Then we should cut this call here, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The only response Jungwon gets is your quiet breathing on the other end, knowing you’ve fallen asleep.

He smiles on his end, ending the call before going to sleep himself.

The next morning, Jungwon texts you that he’ll be there to pick you up at 7:15, then you’ll swing by Ningning’s.

You get ready quietly, deciding to dress up a bit.

When Jungwon arrives, you get in the passenger's side of his car, wishing him good morning.

“Morning,” he says before kissing your cheek.

You smile, side eyeing him slightly, “You know you don’t have to kiss me when we’re not around others.”

You see his cheeks flush pink, “I know, but I figured it’s better to be as natural as possible.”

“Ah, okay. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you just like kissing me,” you say, throwing his words from yesterday back at him.

“Pft!”

You playfully argue all the way to Ningning’s house.

When she gets in the car, she greets you and Jungwon like this is a normal occurrence.

You talk with Ningning the rest of the way to school, with Jungwon chiming in every once in a while.

When you arrive, Ningning leaves first, needing to see a teacher before class.

You and Jungwon get out, and he takes your hand in his larger one while he carries both your bag and his.

“Who knew you were such a sweetheart?” You laugh as he glares at you halfheartedly.

The cafeteria is where students wait for class to start if they’re at school early, so you and Jungwon find a quiet corner to occupy.

His friends come in and make their way to you.

They all greet you, albeit hesitantly as if this is all still one big prank.

You realize you’ve never taken the time to get to know any of them either, just associating them with Jungwon.

They’re actually very funny, making you laugh freely.

When the bell rings, everyone disperses.

Jungwon kisses you goodbye before handing you your bag and making his way to class while you do the same.

In class, you’re just doing self work, but people still talk quietly.

“Hey, Y/N,” a voice says from beside you.

You look up to see Yoona, the girl Jungwon was talking about.

“Hey Yoona, what’s up?” You whisper, trying not to draw any attention.

“I just wanted to ask you… since when have you and Jungwon been dating?”

She’s asking, that must mean she’s at least somewhat interested, right? This could be good for Jungwon.

“A few months. We just didn’t tell anyone cause we were kinda embarrassed.”

“Ah, I see. Good for you.”

You thank her and she goes back to her work while you do the same.

During lunch, which you unfortunately don’t share with Jungwon, you text him about Yoona.

“That’s cool, our plan must be working 😈,” he responds.

You eat with Ningning, gossiping as you always do.

Later on, Ningning texts you to tell you she won’t need a ride home. She has a project to work on with a classmate so they’re going to her house.

That leaves you and Jungwon alone in his car at the end of the day.

“Do you wanna come over?” He asks.

“Sure.”

The drive to his home is quiet, but he stops at the coffee shop to get you both something.

Your large caramel macchiato is delicious and you promise to pay Jungwon back but he dismisses you with a wave of his hand.

“Nothing’s too much for my girl.”

You don’t know why your heart beats so fast when he says that.

Arriving at his home, you leave your backpack in his car. He invites you inside and a white ball of fluff greets you eagerly.

It’s a dog and it sniffs you before jumping on your legs.

“This is Maeum,” Jungwon says, picking up the dog. “He likes meeting new people.”

“Hi Maeum!” You take the dog into your arms and he nuzzles into you immediately.

After he’s been put down, Jungwon takes you to his room.

“Do you wanna watch a movie?” He asks, and you agree.

He lets you choose and you pick a recently released action film.

As you lay on his bed, Jungwon puts his arm around you, pulling you close.

The sunlight from outside shines into the room, illuminating it in a beautiful glow.

As Jungwon seems to be entirely grossed in the movie, you take the opportunity to look at him.

His dark hair is fluffy, his bangs laying on his forehead.

His jaw is sharp even as he’s relaxed and his eyes are big and wide, watching the screen intently.

You admire his face, his nose is long and big, something you’ve always found attractive.

His lips are plump and so, so kissable as you already know.

You can’t help it, you take his face into your hand, turning it towards you.

“What?” He asks, staring into your eyes.

You lean forward, connecting your lips with his.

He responds immediately, pressing harder.

You move before you even realize it, swinging your leg over his lap to straddle him.

You’re making out eagerly, running your hands through his hair while his hands travel down your back to eventually rest on your thighs.

His tongue meets yours as it gets hotter inside the room.

You don’t know how long you spend there, your body pressed against his.

By the time you separate, both your lips and his are red and swollen.

Jungwon’s eyes are narrowed as they stare at you.

“What?”

“You must really like me or something,” he says, giggling as you hit his chest before moving to get off him.

“No,” he stops you, “stay here.”

You end up laying on top of him.

It’s quiet and he’s playing with your hair, gently, trying not to disturb you.

Time passes and before you know it, it’s 8:00 pm.

“I have to go home,” you tell Jungwon, who whines in protest.

“Don’t want you to go.”

“I know, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jungwon concedes, and you both get up so he can drive you home.

The drive is quick and he’s bidding you goodbye, not before giving you a kiss.

After doing your night routine, you lay in bed, thoughts full of Jungwon.

It’s only been two days since your plan started but you feel different.

You feel happier, happier than you already were.

Is it because of Jungwon? You feel like the answer is obvious but you’re too afraid to admit it.

The next couple of days follow the same routine. You and Jungwon meet in the morning and hang out after school.

He takes you out for ice cream and coffee, takes you to the local park to have a picnic and more.

This fake relationship starts to feel more and more real everyday.

“Heeseung is hosting a party tomorrow, do you wanna go?” Jungwon asks, watching the tv while you pay attention to your phone.

You look up, “Sure.”

Jungwon hums in acknowledgment, his arm coming to wrap around your shoulders.

You unknowingly lean into his chest.

The next day, Saturday, you do nothing until it’s time to get ready for the party.

You find a pretty dress in your closet, one that’s not too revealing but just enough.

You text Jungwon a picture.

y/n: what do you think :p

wonnie ❤️: you look beautiful 🥰 i’ll be there in 5

In the car, you and Jungwon agree to stick together and send a text if you get separated.

The party is already thriving by the time you arrive.

You and Jungwon hold hands, walking through and greeting people.

You find the other guys in the kitchen, pouring drinks.

They greet you cheerfully, handing you a drink of something. You don’t know what it is, but it tastes good so you don’t complain.

You and Jungwon make your way to the dance floor, where your bodies are pressed against one another tightly.

After some time, you excuse yourself to the bathroom.

“Do you want me to come with you? I’ll stand outside?” Jungwon asks but you shake your head.

“I’ll be fine.”

Heeseung directs you to the bathroom upstairs.

You pass by people on your way there.

The light isn’t on and you knock, no one answers.

Once you deem it safe, you enter.

You lock the door and do your business.

After washing your hands, you make your way back downstairs.

Before you re-enter the living room, you hear two voices that sound familiar.

You choose to ignore it, wanting to find Jungwon.

You search for him for 5 minutes before giving up.

Making your way to the backyard, it’s empty, to your relief.

You sit on the outside table, breathing in the fresh air.

“Hey, I was looking for you,” Jungwon says from behind you.

“I was looking for you too but I got impatient after 5 minutes.” You laugh as he takes a seat beside you.

“Yoona came up to me,” he says.

“Oh? What’d she have to say?”

Jungwon takes a deep breath in, “She confessed to me.”

Oh.

“Oh? That’s…great, no? This is what you wanted. That means we can end this whole thing and—”

“I rejected her,” Jungwon says firmly.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, “But the whole plan was to get her to fall for you, I don’t understand?”

“I rejected her because I realized that I really like you. I know it’s only been a couple of days but you’re nothing like I thought you were. We feuded because I was being petty. I never took the time to really get to know you. You’re…amazing, to put it lightly. You’re smart and kind, funny, we have so much in common and at this point I don’t see myself with anyone except you.”

You reel in Jungwon’s confession. Here you thought he was going to break everything off.

“Jungwon, I like you too, a lot.”

He lets out a breath you didn’t realize he was holding, “You do?”

“Yeah, I’ve realized how sweet and kind you are. The thought of you being with Yoona made me crazy but I didn’t want to get hurt by rejection.”

“Well you don’t have to worry. You have me, no matter what.”

He kisses you, fiery and passionately.

The next day as you walk hand in hand with Jungwon around town, you think you’ve hit the jackpot.

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ticifics · 4 months ago

Text

Consequences

Remus Lupin x f!reader

Summary: Remus had never hated himself more. He leaned against the wall of an empty corridor, his fists clenched at his sides, trembling. He wanted to scream, but he felt like it would be pointless. Screaming wouldn’t erase what he had done. It wouldn’t relieve the fact that he had hurt you in a way that never be fixed.

Warnings: angst

A/N: HEY, did you just stumble upon this? This is a continuation of another fic, so I advise you to read Sweet Lies first <33. And yes, @dearmy-diary, you convinced me to write this, so I hope you can enjoy it! More notes at the end of the post.

"I wish things were different," you finally said, your voice so low that you could barely hear it yourself. "But they’re not. Please, just... go away."

Remus felt the weight of your words like a punch to the stomach, leaving him breathless. He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He didn’t have the right. He simply nodded, his legs moving automatically, as if each step away from you was a punishment he deserved.

He walked far enough to be out of your sight, but not far enough to ignore your silhouette in the distance. The way you collapsed onto the bench, hugging your knees as if that could shield you from the pain. He knew it couldn’t. He knew you were broken—and he knew it was his fault.

Remus had never hated himself more.

He leaned against the wall of an empty corridor, his fists clenched at his sides, trembling. He wanted to scream, but he felt like it would be pointless. Screaming wouldn’t erase what he had done. It wouldn’t relieve the fact that he had hurt you in a way that never be fixed.

The days dragged on. Every time he walked down a hallway, every time he saw you from afar, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched, it felt as though he was the cause of every inch of that pain. He wanted to approach, to beg for forgiveness, but the weight of his own shame held him back. He knew he didn’t have the right.

The common room, once a place of comfort, now felt claustrophobic. He avoided James and Sirius’s gaze, and even Peter seemed uncomfortable with the silence that hung between them. Remus knew Lily was aware of everything too. She was always the first to notice when something was wrong, and this time was no different.

She confronted him on a Sunday, late in the afternoon. They were in the library, a place she knew he couldn’t avoid. Remus was hiding between the shelves, pretending to read a book whose title he didn’t even know. When Lily appeared before him, eyes narrowed and arms crossed, he felt his stomach churn.

"So this is it?" she said, her voice low but filled with accusation. "You really did this? You went along with this... this ridiculous bet?"

Remus didn’t answer right away. He looked down, unable to meet the disappointment evident on her face.

"It wasn’t supposed to end like this," he murmured, but the apology sounded weak even to him.

Lily let out a bitter laugh. "It wasn’t supposed to end like this? Remus, do you realize what you did? You played with her feelings. You hurt someone who trusted you. And why? Because James wanted a date with me? How could you agree to something so... so cruel?"

"I didn’t think it would..." Remus began, but the words died in his throat when he saw the tears in Lily’s eyes.

"Exactly. You didn’t think," she snapped. "And now she’s hurt. And you think an apology is going to fix that? Because it won’t, Remus. You made a choice, and it cost you. I can’t believe you went along with this!" Her words were like a whip, and he didn’t even try to defend himself.

"Lily, I—"

"No!" she interrupted, her face red with frustration. "You don’t have an excuse!" She paused, her voice shaking. "She trusted you. You know how hard it was for her to open up to someone, and you just... destroyed that! Why? To help James? To be part of some stupid joke?"

"I wish things were different," he whispered, more to himself than to Lily. "I didn’t want to hurt her. I never did."

Lily shook her head, incredulous. "You know that James and I broke up, right?"

Remus looked up, surprised. "What?"

"He thought it would make me happy," she continued, her voice heavy with bitterness. "But how could I be happy knowing he manipulated you all into hurting someone else? How could I look at him and not see that? James has a lot of flaws, but this time, he crossed the line. And you..." She paused, taking a deep breath. "You were the last person I expected to agree to this. I’m disappointed in you, Remus."

Her words hit him like a punch. He felt the weight of his own guilt multiply, suffocating him. "Lily, I’m sorry," he said, finally raising his eyes to hers. "I know nothing I say can fix this, but... I really am sorry."

She shook her head, her expression softening just slightly. "You don’t owe me an apology, Remus. And, honestly, an apology wouldn’t be enough for her."

He knew Lily was right. There were no words, no gestures that could erase the damage he had caused. But that didn’t stop him from desperately wishing things were different.

Remus spent the following days wrapped in a fog of regret. His attempts to focus on classes or the obligations of daily life seemed futile. Each hallway he crossed, each room he entered, his eyes stubbornly searched for you, even though he knew he shouldn’t.

You were there, always present, but different. He noticed the way you moved, the way you spoke to others. There was a lighter weight on your shoulders, as if the world had, in some way, decided to ease your burden, even if only momentarily. But there was also something missing: the spark of enthusiasm that once lit up your eyes when you looked at him. Remus knew it was his fault. He had destroyed that.

It was on a quiet afternoon that he heard it. He wasn’t looking for it, but the sound reached him anyway, cutting through the courtyard like a sharp arrow. Your laugh. A light, melodious laugh, so full of life that it made his heart tighten in his chest. He froze in the middle of the path, the sound reverberating in his ears. For a brief moment, he thought about turning around and walking away. Maybe it would be better that way. But something inside him forced him to look for the source of that sound.

His eyes found you easily. You were sitting on one of the stone benches in the courtyard, sunlight playing in your hair. And you weren’t alone.

Next to you, leaning toward you, was Artemis Scamander. He had a serene smile on his face, his eyes glowing with a warmth that was hard to ignore. Remus knew who he was—a talented and kind Hufflepuff, known for his impeccable character. The kind of person who seemed to never make mistakes, the opposite of Remus.

Artemis said something Remus couldn’t hear, but whatever it was, it made you laugh again. A laugh so genuine, so carefree, that it hurt. Remus’s chest seemed to tighten with almost unbearable force. He wanted to turn away, to flee, but his feet were rooted to the ground, forcing him to watch as Artemis tilted his head and gently pushed a lock of hair from your face, with a reverence that almost seemed sacred.

Remus swallowed hard. He didn’t have the right to feel what he was feeling, he knew that. But he couldn’t help it. The pain of seeing you like this—happy, but not because of him—was overwhelming. You looked so free, so at peace beside Artemis.

He realized, with cruel clarity, that he had lost his chance. He was no longer the reason behind your smile, nor the cause of your laughter. Someone else was filling the space he had left empty. And you were moving on.

As he watched you and Artemis together, Remus felt something break inside him. It was as if he were watching a window close, locking him out forever. He couldn’t blame you. You deserved this—deserved happiness, affection, someone who wouldn’t hurt you. But knowing that didn’t make the pain any less unbearable.

Finally, he found the strength to move. He turned and left the courtyard, each step heavier than the last. Your laugh continued to echo in his mind, a cruel reminder of what he had lost. And as he walked, alone with his thoughts and regrets, a single truth resonated in his heart: he would never again be the reason for your happiness.

A/N: yeeeeeees, I shamelessly decided to make the first appearance of an OC - I really hope to be able to make a proper fic for him soon. Anyway, THANK YOU SO MUCH for your precious time reading this <3333

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