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irisinluv · 11 months ago

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Isekaied as the Yandere Villain!? Pt 2

Part one

It was almost 2 minutes before I realized I was still dragging the crown prince behind me. I quickly dropped his hand and looked at him, not able to hide the embarrassment on my face. Listen- I’m committed to the bit. I WILL be the crazy jealous fiancé. But… I’m still human ok. I just dragged a full grown man down several halls and a flight of stairs while I spaced out thinking about how I’m gonna buy my cat premium wet food once I get back home to her.

It’s fine, I’m not flustered at spacing out about my cat, my characters just flustered because she’s been holding the hand of the man she’s obsessed with, that’s all!

“Well…. Did you still want to dine and take that walk?”

I expected him to scold me for my mistreatment of Cressida, grow irritated from me dragging him along like this. Instead, he chuckles and threads his arm in mine, and begins escorting me down the hall.

“Absolutely, have you dined outside by the roses yet? There’s this lovely pavilion that I am eager to hear your thoughts on.”

And that’s how I found myself under an impressive array of roses, all trained up and around a cozy dining area, creating a canopy of green and pink over an intimate tea table. The food was equally impressive, I had to keep reminding myself that the other me is used to this lavish lifestyle, to not gawk at the fancy tiny sandwiches and deserts.

“Well? Is everything to your liking? ”

I’m going off script here, how am I supposed to know how the villainess would react to a romantic scene like this?? If my “evil crazy” side isn’t supposed to be directed at him, and she’s usually kinda distant and unsure around him…. That means I should probably respond pretty curtly, polite, yet not really engaging. But…. I’ve already messed that up…. I guess I can be more genuine when it’s the two of us like this. He can think that this version of me is the facade, that I’m pretending to be pleasant, and then will start to see what a jerk “I” truly am when Cressida’s around. Besides…. I almost feel bad for the villainess. She really just seems like she was shy. Who knows- maybe, if given the opportunity, she really would have opened up more. It’s clear she loved the prince, and just didn’t know how to show it. So, with that thought, I made up my mind.

“It’s breathtaking! Roses are my favorite flower, and I’ve never seen so many kinds in bloom at once…. Plus the food and company leave little to be desired.”

There you go- slip in some subtle flirting! I’m not quite sure what time period this is supposed to be, but I get the impression flirting as bit more high class here, and I think I can have some fun with that.

“I’m glad, to be honest I was a bit flustered asking you to dine with me… you caught me quite off guard today, but in a good way.” He reaches his hand across the table and places it on my own, “I’d like to do this more often, you and I. I feel like the confines of our current arrangement have left us practically strangers, despite being engaged for several months already. I’m enjoying just being companionable with you, even if it’s just existing comfortably in the same room.”

Ohhhh, I know I’m the villain in this story but I can’t help but root for him- what a sweetheart! It’s so obvious he’s been lonely, I can’t wait for him and Cressida to fall in love and have a couple of kids that they’ll spoil rotten. And in the meantime…. Maybe I do have a bit of evil in me, because I’m going to selfishly enjoy this handsome man treating me to lunches under roses and reading in cozy libraries while I can.

“I know exactly how you feel your highness. Now, you mentioned a walk?”

We spent the afternoon laughing and chatting, and it felt nice to chat without worrying too much about my role. He asked me about that book I picked out earlier, and listened attentively as I caught him up with where I’m at in the plot. In turn, I asked about what papers he’s been signing, documents he’s been drafting, etc.

The only thing I had to do was send glares to any young ladies we passed, settling my hand on his arm possessively, and I saw their eyes widen and faces disappear behind fans as they whisper to one another. I can picture this illustrated in a manhwa- the nasty princess sinking her claws into the gullible prince… hopefully all these ladies will start gossiping and we can really cement this evil persona of mine now that Cressida’s here.

When we returned to our separate apartments, I explored my rooms a bit until servants came to get me ready for dinner, and I slipped back into the frigid bitch persona. The servant girls dressed me in a slightly stuffy gown, but I had to admit, I looked gorgeous. I sat stiff and straight as they did my hair, forcing myself to be the very picture of cold indifference. I then dismissively thanked them for their help, then sat there awkwardly as they stared at me like I was crazy.

Ohhhh shit…. The original story hadn’t prepared me for this. My character was a villain, yes, but a side character for the most part! How was she supposed to act towards her servants? I went over what I knew- the novel showed the villainess alone quite often, usually obsessing over Eric and plotting/stalking. It showed her with Eric, and how distant and awkward their relationship was when together. And then of course the numerous scenes with Cressida where the Villainess did all sorts of heinous things to the sweet girl. But… it never depicted her with servants, or even any friends or other nobles. Just… Eric and Cressida. Was other me not actually a bitch all the time? Am I being unnecessarily rude right now? Oh god I’m such an idiot.

The story is told through Cressida’s point of view- of course there’s more depth to my own character than I initially thought! The Villianess must be a misunderstood introvert! Unsure of how to act around her crush, she’s fiercely insecure and jealous of this new girl who doesn’t struggle the same way she does. When she notices the prince slipping from her grasp, she acts out against Cressida because she can’t bear to lose Eric!

As someone’s who’s worked minimum wage jobs and struggled with social anxiety most of my life, I try to be nice to the people just working to survive, but here I am acting like these poor women are the dirt beneath my shoe…. Ok. Um. Well they’re still standing there in shock, I can fix this….

“You really did a lovely job… my hair has never looked so gorgeous, you’re truly talented! And I think the prince will be very pleased with this choice of ribbon!”

There- I was nicer, and I brought it back to Eric, so I’m still the lovesick fiancé whose entire world is waiting for her in the dining room. I frowned as the servants scuttled out of the room with hurried excuses, all of them looking like they were about to faint. Damn it… I can’t believe I misread the relationship between us. I probably just ruined their night by being uncharacteristically rude. I’ve gotta learn their names next time…. Maybe ask them to help me eat some fancy pastries as an apology…?

I didn’t know it, but while I was lamenting how wrong I was about the Villainess’ character, the servants were all gossiping to the others about what had just transpired.

“You’re telling me she said THANK YOU!?”

“Yes!!! And then you should have seen how nervous she got! She just rambled, blurting out such a sweet compliment, and she even tied it back to the prince!”

“I had no idea how precious she was… I can’t believe I never realized she’s just shy! In a new place, all alone aside from her new fiancé…. Who I gather she’s got a bit of a crush on! Poor dear.”

“Ohh our sweet girl, I’m sure it must be hard bonding with the prince, when all you do is sit yards apart and hardly speak …”

“Well I may have some news about that… and it’s no wonder she was a bit flustered today, because I saw the two of them in the gardens today! They were both nothing but smiles- absolutely smitten with one another!”

“Such a lovely girl, and we never knew it all this time!”

Apparently, I had it backwards. The real villainess truly was a 2D, basic character. She was insecure and possessive over the prince, bullying Cressida half to remind her who Eric belonged to, half for the fun of it. But she didn’t let on to anyone about the true depth of her love for him. She didn’t gossip to her handmaid, didn’t ask the servants which dress he would like better. Simply acted as if they did not exist, hardly saying a word to them.

While I thought my blunt “thank you” was colder than they were used to, and then tried to smooth things over…. It was more words than they’d heard from me in the whole time I’d lived in the palace. They lapped it up and declared me their own shy little dove after that.

When I arrived to dinner, I realized why daily dinners weren’t exactly a bonding activity for the villainess and Eric. The table was massive, and only held two chairs, one at either end. It felt so…. Cold?

Eric had beat me there, and quickly stood up from his seat, waiting until I sat and a servant pushed in my chair to retake his own seat. He smiled at me and said,

“Good evening, princess.”

He had to project his voice slightly. It wasn’t like he was shouting or being loud, it was just the manner of speaking you use when talking to an elderly relative, clearer, and enunciating better so they could hear you.

I replied back, projecting my voice similarly, and found the conversation was, in fact, more awkward than it had been earlier. We ate our food mostly in silence, occasionally one of us would say something and the other would stop moving their utensils on their plate, listening closer as they ask,

“What’s that?”

By the time dinner was over and we each went to bed, I felt drained. I could have just been louder I suppose- but it’s so hard to keep up a conversation like that. I know we get along- we had chatted all afternoon after all. But some part of me realized it’s probably good to keep a bit of distance between us, even if I’ve rewritten things to be a bit chummier between the two of us. Cressida needs to swoop in and steal him from me… and my job is still to leave that room for her to do so.

It’s hard trying to be someone else, yet also making sure you lead the plot in the right direction- it’s exhausting! I feel like both director and actress!

It’s with this in mind that I launch myself into the softest bed I’d ever felt, and passed out. My first day as princess consort, the Yandere fiancé, complete.

While I was getting acquainted with my feather bed, Eric was speaking with the head waitstaff.

“Yes, tomorrow, would you mind adjusting the seating situation? I’d like for the princess consort and I to be closer together from now on. Yes, and ask my assistant to arrange my schedules like so, I’ve detailed it here. Thank you.”

At the same time, Cressida was recounting her run in with the prince and I to her handmaiden as she finishing unpacking and settling into her family’s guest apartments. Which, unbeknownst to me… was right across the hall.

Series discontinued- sorry my loves. Ik y’all wanted more but the good news is that I’ve seen several really talented authors picking up this idea and executing it wayyyy better than my sporadic mood writing ever could.

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comically-callous · 11 months ago

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Can I request headcanons for Kurt, Remy, Logan, and Wade finding out that his gn s/o has never dated anyone else before him please?

X-Men requests YAYYYYY YAY YAY YAY YAY!!!!!!!! 🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃

Wade, Logan, Remy, and Kurt with a s/o who hasn’t dated anyone other than them!! <3

Warnings!: cursing ig, reader is referred to as pretty (I consider that gender neutral, but wanted to put it here just in case), and that’s it!

A/n: Want them all ngl 😞 If it wasn’t already clear, I’m delighted to have my first X-Men request. And I also really like this prompt (definitely not because I can relate to it. Haha, shut up). Also, requests: OPEN 💜

Wade:

He straight up thinks you’re lying when you first tell him. He even laughs because he’s convinced you’re just messing with him.

But, then he realizes you’re not laughing and he’s like “Oh, shit. Really?”

He’ll apologize for laughing and probably say some shit like “Sorry, I just didn’t realize a smoke show like you was capable of being single”

And he means it. He was fully under the impression that you’d been on more than a few dates because you’re HOT

Definitely teases you about it. “Is that why your hands were so sweaty on our first date?”

Don’t be afraid to (playfully) smack him.

Despite all of the teasing, he makes sure to let you know that it doesn’t bother him. In fact, he thinks it’s cute

He’ll say that you’re “new to dating” even if the two of you have been dating for years

Starts calling you a rookie. And he ends up saying it so much that it just becomes one of the many pet names he has for you

And, yeah. When you’re not around he’s probably giggling and kicking his feet over how he’s your first boyfriend 🤭

Logan:

When you first tell him, he just looks at you for a second, not saying anything before going “You’re serious?”

“And you decided I’d be a good first pick?” He says it like he’s teasing, but, in reality, it does confuse him a bit.

Like, wouldn’t you want someone sweet and kind for your first relationship? Not a grumpy, old guy with knife hands???

Nonetheless, he’s grateful (and even honored) to be given the title of your first boyfriend

He doesn’t make a huge deal out of it. He’ll occasionally bring it up, maybe ask a question or two about it. But, it doesn’t really change anything about your relationship.

Or, at least, that’s what you think for a while.

One night, he returns from a long mission and he crawls into bed next to you, and you think he’s just gonna immediately go to sleep like he does every time he comes back from a mission. But, then he mumbles something.

“I wish I’d had someone like you as my first.”

And before you can even process it, he’s asleep.

You ask him about it in the morning and he says he doesn’t remember saying it. You can decide whether or not you think he’s lying.

Remy:

You tell him that you want to tell him something, and he can tell you’re nervous about it.

“What’s got you so nervous, chère? You know Gambit don’t judge nobody. ‘Specially not you.”

And you confess to him that you’ve never dated anyone and he’s like. “Oh. That’s it?”

He doesn’t mean to sound apathetic. He was just expecting something bad.

He asks you to clarify what you mean by “not dating anyone before him” because he thinks he somehow misunderstood you

“You telling me no one ever tried to get with a pretty thing like you?” And then he smirks. “Or were you just ignorin’ all of ‘em till Gambit came round?”

He also teases you about it from time to time. Makes little comments about how he’s your first.

But, it’s just because he loves it.

He often thinks about how he’s the only guy who’s gotten to take you on dates and do all this romantic stuff with you

“Don’t no one else know what they missing out on….”

Kurt:

He doesn’t even try to hide his surprise. He can’t.

“I’m really your first? But, how? You are so beautiful!” He’s just upfront with why he thinks it’s absurd.

He needs to hear it a few more times before he finally accepts it. And that’s when he starts getting giddy.

“I am your first lover?” He grins. “I like that, I think.”

And now everyone has to know. Sorry.

He will gladly go around and tell people that he’s your “first love” (as he likes to say). Is it usually embarrassing for you? Yes. But, it’s Kurt. So, it’s okay.

So, yeah. You definitely don’t have to worry about whether or not he minds it.

Of course, now he has to ask a bunch of questions about it too.

“So, was the first date you’ve ever had with me?” If you say yes, he smiles before asking. “Was it good?” Like he doesn’t already know the answer.

He’s just over the moon that he was the first person that you really fell in love with. And he wants you and everyone around you to know how happy he is with you.

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grimmsbride · 4 months ago

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dirty mind …. ! ₊ཾִ ᖫྀ ⁣⁣.

mohawk!mark, full-masked!mark, shiesty!mark, & reader ╲ your boyfriend is a little perv <3

𖥔 ࣪˖ author’s notes⠀⎯ really on the mark is a little perv train (i mean look at the lotion and tissues in his room ) so of course his variants are gonna be similar if not ten times worst. decided i may write headcanons inbetween work days cause i only ever rlly write fics on my day off— but i don’t wanna starve y’all. i’ll make more of these soon probably i need to sleep tho 🫶🏾🫶🏾

MOHAWK!MARK

- keeps sexy pictures of you as your contact info. consensual, naughty pics of course— he’s not that odd.

- however one day you had his phone to check something and happened upon his call log by accident. of course you were a frequent caller, your lips curling into a smile at the little ‘headache’ contact name he had chosen for you.

- but on further inspection you saw.. what you believed to be, was you on your knees, breasts pressed up against the damp thin tshirt you wore. along with this comprising position was mark’s hand holding your cheeks gently, your lips slick and face a complete mess; eyeliner dripping, eyes teary, the whole nine yards.

- you immediately recognized this photo, nearly tearing your blankets in half as you jumped out of your bed. without much thought you were barging into the bathroom where your lover showered, the man giving you a confused glance though not entirely apposed to your presence.

- “change my contact photo!” you huffed, gripping the phone tight and showcasing it. you watched in absolute disbelief as mark slowly grinned, not at all phased by you finding his dirty little secret.

- “nope.”

- “nope! mark, how old are y— that’s not the issue. change it now! what if someone saw this?!”

- his eyes rolled slowly, “no one touches my phone except you. c’mon it’s a hot picture, lighten up!”

- you didn’t bother in confirming or denying it, eyes squinted at your man who was practically struggling not to laugh at your dismay. a few silent seconds passed before he groaned a bit, a wet hand reaching out towards you.

- “i’ll change it right now, right infront of you.”

- “and use a tasteful picture?”

- “yeah, yeah.”

- you waited a moment before stepping closer, extending his phone— only for a tight grip to come upon your wrist. you scrambled, immediately knowing what he was going to do.

- “mark, n—“

- magically — curtesy of viltrumite speed — mark tossed his phone onto the pile of dirty clothes on the bathroom floor while simultaneously pulling you ( fully clothed mind you ) into the shower with him. you practically shrieked, fighting at the arms that wrapped tightly around you, trying to ignore the mischievous laughter escaping him.

- “you keep falling for that.”

- “you’re such a dick! i’m all wet now, mark!”

- the man would snort, peeling back to glance down at you. “hasn’t been the first time, definitely won’t be the last.” his fingers rose to pluck at the soaked shirt you wore, slowly peeling it off you.

- “now let’s get you out of these clothes, i would hate for you to catch a cold.”

- you would have to badger him later. and since mohawk!mark isn’t a total dick, he will change it to something a little less compromising…

FULL MASK! MARK

- while i don’t believe full mask!mark is timid or anything, when it comes to you he’s a little less ‘aggressive’ (for lack of a better word) when compared to the other variants.

- but that doesn’t mean he’s not just as freaky. meaning.. the man is prone to stealing your panties.

- like the doting boyfriend he was, mark was doing your laundry one day, simply moving the clothes to and from the basket to the washer— easy peasy, no need to fuss.

- except he happened upon a pair of your panties. dark blue, lacey, with such thin material he questioned if it even fully covered you.

- for whatever reason the man got so fixated on that pair, clutching it in his hand for what seemed like thirty minutes before shoving it into his pocket.

- that day, he mulled over it while you were gone, a million thoughts running through his head everytime he shoved his hand into his pocket, feeling the fabric glide across his fingers.

- should he put it back? why did he keep it? how disgusting can you be to take your girlfriend’s dirty underwear?

- but.. all that seemed to cease when mark pulled it from his pocket once again, feeling way to hot the moment his fingers dragged right against the crotch.

- he felt dirty, perverted, everything in between but that didn’t stop him from pressing the fabric against his nose. the man couldn’t help but notice your smell immediately, basically groaning right into the panties as if the single sniff left him high.

- from that point on mark began to steal your panties, always so eager to do laundry just for this reason.. and when he had some time to himself mark would spend it sniffing, licking, even dragging the fabric along his length..

- a true pervert, right to the bone.

- of course, he wasn’t subtle and of course you found out quickly, but you decided to let him have his fun. albeit a little low on underwear, you truly didn’t mind his freakiness.

- until one day the two of you were both home, cooped up in during house chores together; mixed in with a little kissing and groping, it was a good day after all

- you were busy shoving a new load of laundry into the washer whilst mark emptied the dryer, him humming along to the little conversation you had going.

- in the middle of it your hand suddenly grabbed those same blue panties, a fake look of surprise capturing your features.

- “oh, i should probably set these to the side for you.”

- mark hummed for a moment still focused on doing his part until his eyes turned, gaze settling on you— heart dropping the moment he noticed what was in your hand.

- “wh—what?..”

- you gave a sweet smile, shutting the washer close and setting the panties ontop of it.

- “i put it to the side for you. you’re welcome.” you leaned over to stamp a kiss to his cheek, walking off to finish some other task.

- leaving a completely red mark who began to stammer, clearly embarrassed, practically trampling over himself to chase after you.

- that night he makes quick work of apologizing over and over again, not at all convinced by your pretty grins and little “its okay”s.

SHIESTY! MARK

- a groper and humper. even at the worst fucking times.

- will go to sleep with his hands under your shirt, a palm full of your breasts. not even in a he wants to play with them way but in a— that’s the only way he sleeps well way.

- if you wear nightgowns around the house mark is quick to grip your ass, even spank it a little bit just to hear you whine in annoyance.

- do not bend over in his presence, ever. not unless you want strong arms to tug at your hips and for him to hump you like some dog in heat.

- will even add over exaggerated moans and groans just to fuck with you

- “oh yeah, just like that.. feels so good!”

- “mark, get off me!”

- this doesn’t stop just cause the two of you are in public, it may even increase tenfold — outside of the sight of children of course — because mark knows no one will step to him.. cocky bastard.

- imagine grocery shopping and he’s all like “babe can you hand me that” something that’s magically on the bottom shelf. you think nothing of it, trying to be a good girlfriend, you know, and bend to grab it.

- it was a trap. obviously. because like glue mark is slipping behind you, arms tight, and giving you a few pumps.

- you kick up a small fuss, slapping at his hands and throughly embarrassed by his behavior.

- to his credit most times the aisle is empty when this happens, but the one time it wasn’t, instead of stopping; mark winks at the poor guy that passed by.

- to say you were pissed was an understatement, mark spent the rest of that day groveling for you to forgive him.

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traveler-at-heart · 6 months ago

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Sister, wife?

Summary: The team mistakes you for Natasha's sister when you first meet.

Request by @lynattyx

Loki again.

Thor seemed more annoyed than anyone else, but that was only logical. He had spent centuries putting up with his brother.

“Hey, don’t sweat it. Siblings can be a pain” Natasha tried to comfort him, while he looked ready to release a storm over Loki outsmarting him and escaping.

“Speaking from experience, Red?” Stark asked with a curious stare.

“Got a sister” Natasha shrugged her shoulders, looking out the window of the Quinjet as if she hadn’t said anything interesting.

“Really? What’s her name?” Steve said, intrigued.

“I won’t tell you, because if I say it three times you’ll summon her. That’s a reference from…”

“Yeah, I got it” Steve nodded. “I didn’t really like that Beetlejuice”

“That’s because you hate fun” Tony said, stepping forward. “Alright, we have a signal. Anyone up for a cigar? Loki’s close to Cuba”

—

“Lay low. That’s pretty much all you can do now” Maria said with a somber tone over the comms.

Loki had gone a little too far this time, almost getting half of Havana blown up.

Needless to say, the US wasn’t happy with the diplomatic mess the Avengers had created. Maybe that was Loki’s plan all along; make it impossible for them to go after him with the American government on their backs.

Well, he got what he wished for.

“I don’t suppose we can go to the Compound, then” Tony mumbled. “Barton, Red? Any ideas?”

“Coordinates are set. We’ll be there in a few hours. Try to get some sleep. All of you”

No one was in the mood to ask questions. If Natasha said it was a safe place, then they’d take her word for it and be done with the matter.

“You sure about this?” Clint said, looking at her from the copilot seat.

“Yeah. She’ll just give me a hard time for not telling her in advance. You know how she likes to have everything extra clean when there are guests”

“How did you manage to score such a gal?” he joked and Natasha glared at him.

“Hey, I’m a catch. My mac and cheese is delicious”

“Whatever you say, Tasha”

—

The Quinjet landed, and the only way you could tell was by the tree branches moving with a sudden gust of wind.

“Hey” Natasha said with a coy smile, going up the steps as the rest of the team got off the jet, looking around curiously.

“Welcome home” you pulled her into a hug. “Should have told me they were coming, and I could have cleaned up a bit”

“I missed you too” she joked against your ear, and as she was about to lean and kiss you, Tony interrupted the moment.

“Hey, Romanoff and Romanoff”

“You must be Tony. I’ve heard a lot about you”

“Have you? Because Natasha here didn’t tell us much about you”

“She was probably worried about you running your mouth” you joked, making him smirk.

“You have heard about me”

As Steve walked in, Natasha waited for Clint to show him something she wanted to fix in the garage.

The house was big and in the middle of a little wooded area.

“You’re gonna have to share rooms. And someone will sleep on the couch” you warned them.

“Not it” Tony said, as you pulled out a pillow and a blanket from the closet.

“I’ll take the couch” Steve offered, which of course he did. “Thank you…”

“Y/N” you nodded, waiting for Tony to follow you.

“Barton? Thor?” he looked around.

“Oh, Clint’s probably scolding Natasha because she didn’t fix the ceiling like he told her to” you laughed. “Thor flew away like thirty seconds after landing. And burned part of my lawn in the process”

“So sorry about that. It’s quite the thing to hang out with these brutes. So, uh, what do you do?”

“I’m a Psychiatrist” you answered, opening the door to the guest room.

“Get to see Natasha a lot?”

“Not as much as I’d like”

“Come by the Compound anytime you like. I’ll send you a pass or shall I just say your name three times?”

“What?” you tilted your head in confusion.

“Nothing. Thanks for letting us crash” he rubbed his neck.

“Sure. Get some rest”

You ran into Clint as he went upstairs, knowing his way around the house.

“She’s outside”

“Is she… is she ok?” you said, sighing. It was one thing to see it in the news, and another one to know she was out there risking her life against literal Gods and aliens.

“Just tired” he assured you. “Seeing you will help. Have a good night”

“You too. Sorry to say you’re sharing a room with Tony”

“Ah, jeez” he groaned, making you laugh.

Steve was lying in the couch, restless. He waved at you shyly as you walked out, knowing Natasha was waiting in the porch.

Honestly? They were a nice bunch.

“Hey” you said, stepping out.

“Hi, detka”

“You ok?” you said, leaning your chin against her shoulder, with your arms around her waist.

“Just tired”

“Funny, that’s exactly what Clint said”

Natasha chuckled at that, squeezing your hands.

“He knows me”

“I know you better”

“Do you, now?” she turned around, quirking up an eyebrow and smiling at you. “So, what do you think I want right now?”

“Cuddles with your wife and then tomorrow morning I think you’ll be in the mood for blueberry pancakes and hot cocoa”

“Damn, you do know me well” she laughed, kissing your temple. “Come on, let’s go to bed”

—

You were up next morning, and unsurprisingly, Steve had already been out and running a good ten miles.

“The rest?” he said after greeting you.

“Clint got up early to fix what Natasha broke trying to fix the other thing that broke, God bless his soul. Tony’s asleep and so is Nat”

“Really? Even Romanoff? She’s up at break of dawn”

“Nah, not when she’s home. Now clean yourself up, breakfast is almost done”

“Yes, Ma’am”

Natasha was the first one down, as your room had a private bathroom. By the sounds from upstairs, you suspected the boys were arguing over who go to use the other restroom first.

“Hear that sound? Children. Ready for all that?” Natasha said.

“Yeah, but ours will be cute. And we’ll make Clint build another bathroom” you said, getting a pancake out of the pan.

“You’re so smart, that’s why I love you”

“Only that?” you said, laughing as you felt her hands go around your waist.

“Among other things”

You turned around to protest, but her lips stopped you from saying anything.

“I did miss this” she said, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss. You moaned against her mouth, forgetting there were more people in the house until you heard Tony slam the door to the bathroom. Natasha went to get some coffee, and you wished she’d kept kissing you.

But the teasing would be endless if they caught you in the middle of it.

“Bathroom's all yours, Cap! Morning, Romanoffs”

“Morning, Tony” you said. “Help yourself to some pancakes and coffee”

“Delicious, thank you”

Steve came down a few minutes later, at the same time Clint walked in, announcing that he had fixed the thing.

“You’re a hero” you said, grateful. “Don’t worry, darling, you’ll get it right next time” you added as Natasha pouted.

“Mean”

“It comes with the territory, doesn’t it?” Tony said. “Including all the hair pulling and slapping and fighting for bras”

“Ah, what?” you said, confused.

“Hey, don’t speak to my wife that way, asshole” Natasha slapped the back of his head, making him choke on his coffee.

“Did you just say wife?” he turned to look between the two of you.

“Yes, Y/N is my wife. Who did you think she was?”

“The maid?” you joked.

“The sister!” Tony looked at Steve for backup.

“Well, to be fair… yeah”

“My sister’s name is Yelena” Natasha said, massaging her temples. “Y/N and I have been married for almost two years now. And I didn’t want you to know because you’ll be insufferable about it”

“Babe, they’ve been good so far” you chuckled, squeezing her hand.

“We can behave, honey boo” Tony said.

“Ok, yeah. I get it now” you rolled your eyes.

“Either way, you’re coming to our party” Tony said, poruing himself more coffee.

“When is it?”

“Whenever we get our hands on that Asgardian bastard”

“Language” you said at the same time as Steve.

“This is gonna be fun” Tony laughed, looking at you over his cup of coffee. “Welcome to the family, Mrs. Romanoff”

#natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x reader

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natalianovnas · 3 months ago

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❛❛ 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒 & 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ❛❛ — 3

꩜ ۫ . SUMMARY :: raised in the heart of the countryside, you, Y/N Langford, has always known the rhythm of ranch life—early mornings on horseback, sun-drenched vineyards, and a quiet kind of freedom carved into the land passed down through generations. however, your father's recent colleague is interesting enough.

꩜ ۫ . GENRE :: country!au, countryside life.

꩜ ۫ . WARNINGS :: beefy!nat, top!nat, gp!nat, sub!reader, fluff included but mostly smut — let's say this chapter's just showing how nasty the two are.

꩜ ۫ . WORDS COUNT :: 4.7k || masterlist

an : i promise im not as freaky as this shot might be 🙈

𖦹 part one 𖦹 part two 𖦹 part three 𖦹 part four 𖦹 part five 𖦹

HORSES & ROMANCE :

— Every Inch Of Dawn

📍 Langford's Estate,

Clare Valley, Southern Australia

You stirred first.

Body aching in pleasant ways. A dull, stretched soreness that reminded you just how intense the night before had been.

Natasha was still asleep, lying on her stomach, one arm under the pillow and the other loosely draped over your waist. The blanket barely covered her, and the sun gave her shoulders a warm glow. Her back moved in slow, steady breaths, muscles relaxed, hair messily tumbling around her face.

She looked peaceful—something you didn’t think she let herself be often.

You let yourself watch her a little longer than you probably should’ve, committing the sight to memory of her here in your bed, your space.

You could still feel her on you—her mouth, her fingers, the way she had whispered your name like it was something sacred.

As you brushed the hair from her face, her lashes fluttered—lips parting into the hint of a smile.

“You watching me sleep?” She mumbled, voice low and scratchy.

“You snore,” You teased.

She opened one eye. “You’re lying.”

“Little bit.”

Natasha stretched, her body warm and heavy against yours. “Gonna put me to work today?”

“Thought about it,” You said, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “You owe me for eating the last of the pie yesterday at the fair.”

“You said I could have it.”

“You used that voice.”

She grinned lazily, then rolled on top of you, pinning you to the bed with nothing but her weight and that wicked smirk. “What voice?”

“That voice where I know I’m about to let you do whatever the hell you want.”

Cockily, she rose a brow. “You mean the one that gets me pie and laid?”

You huffed a chuckle with an eye roll. Honestly.

She kissed you quiet — slow and affectionate, not leading anywhere this time. Just there. Warm. Real.

Neither of you moved right away. There was no panic, no rush to explain, no awkward reaching for clothes. Just a long moment suspended in the quiet.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she said after a while, her fingers brushing lightly along your hip under the sheet.

“I didn’t either,” You replied. “But I’m glad we did.”

Her brow arched faintly. “Yeah?”

You nodded, your voice soft. “Yeah.”

Natasha leaned in, brushing her lips over your bare shoulder—a small kiss, nothing demanding. Just acknowledgment, making you smile.

She exhaled, a shaky breath, and tucked her face against your neck, like she needed the anchor. You held her without speaking.

After a few minutes, her stomach let out a quiet growl.

You laughed softly, pulling back just enough to see her face. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” She muttered, eyes closing again.

“You stay here,” you said. “I’ll make coffee. And eggs if the hens liked me enough yesterday.”

She cracked a sleepy grin. “You’re kind of perfect, you know.”

You kissed her once more—light and lingering—before slipping out of bed, wrapping yourself in a worn flannel shirt. She watched you go, propping herself on one elbow, and thought of how lucky she was right in that moment.

. . .

You made it to the kitchen— barefoot, coffee in hand, standing in there with your hair a mess and your flannel slipping off one shoulder.

You heard her before you saw her—soft steps on the floorboards, followed by that husky voice that always managed to make you feel seen, even when you weren’t looking.

“Looks like the hens didn't appreciate you today.” She commented.

A soft hum, in agreement, came from your lips. “I was thinking toasts would do the drill instead. Help yourself to the coffee.”

“I didn’t come for the coffee.” She murmured.

Her hand slid to your hip, the other brushing the hair from your shoulder. She bent down, lips grazing your neck, slow and deliberate. “I came for you.”

You didn’t stop her.

Didn’t want to.

The mug was forgotten somewhere on the counter as she kissed you — not rushed this time, not needy. Just full. Thorough. Like she was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, the way you tasted first thing in the morning. Her hands found the hem of your flannel, sliding under it, dragging over bare skin with reverence.

Her picking you up with no warning made you gasp in surprise, then smile right after as she attached her lips back on yours —hands dropped over your sides— then it shifted.

Your smile turned into full giggles as she attacked you with kisses. Your lips, eyes, cheeks, neck, jaw—all while your bodies being glued to the other's.

“You always look like this in the morning?” The Russian asked. “Or is it just for me?”

“Depends. I'd do the honor to say that it's just for you.”

With a low hum while nipping your jaw, she added, “Remind me to never underestimate you again in bed.”

You raised a brow. “You underestimated me?”

She tilted her head, eyes gleaming now. “Just a little.”

You laughed softly, but your fingers stayed at her back, moving in slow strokes. “Do you regret it?” The question slipped out quieter than you meant it to.

Natasha stilled. Her eyes searched yours, serious now.

“No,” She said finally. “Not even close.”

You nodded, exhaling. “Good.”

She rested her forehead on yours, the edge of a smile tugging her lips as she pecked your lips repeatedly. “I liked waking up next to you.”

You smiled back, “I liked falling asleep next to you.”

The redhead's hands glided down to your thighs, fingers grazing over them in a soothing motion.

“You're sitting there, hot and all, and I hate to say that I'd have to leave soon.” She sighed. “Got work to do.”

You nodded. “It's alright. I gotta check on Bramble, anyway. But you're not leaving without eating first.”

Of course, she wasn't. One thing she knew about you, your family and the constant time she'd spent with you — was that breakfast is priority here.

“How’s he, by the way?”

“Spooked by the gate slamming a day ago, but calmed down fast. That’s progress.”

“I’ve seen grown men recover slower.”

. . .

(Few days later.)

It had rained the night before, a steady, rhythmic downpour that soaked the soil and cooled the summer air. By morning, the clouds had scattered, leaving the fields glistening under soft light.

The barn on your property stood tall and weathered, its red paint faded by time and sun, and just beyond it, your horse was stuck in the mud. Again.

You stood ankle-deep in it, boots sinking into the thick mess as you muttered curses under your breath.

The rope tugged sharply in your hands as the mare resisted, stubborn as ever. You were halfway to cursing her ancestors when you heard a whistle — low, slow, and unmistakably amused.

Natasha leaned against your fence like she’d been summoned, sleeves rolled up, tank top sticking to her damp skin. She didn’t say anything right away. Just watched you with that crooked grin, arms folded across her chest, muscles flexing as if she wanted to remind you she was built like sin and salvation all at once.

“You look like you’re auditioning for a country song,” The redhead finally spoke up.

You shot her a glare. “Unless you’re offering to help, Romanoff, shut it.”

With deliberate slowness, she climbed over the fence, boots landing in the mud with a satisfying squelch. She came to your side, took the rope without a word, and gave one firm tug.

The mare moved forward with ease. You blinked.

Natasha tossed a smug glance your way. “What? She's got a thing for redheads.”

You snorted, “So does her owner.”

“Well,” She murmured, “Guess we have something in common.”

You looked away, hiding your smile but she saw it anyway.

By the time the two of you got the mare back in the stable, your jeans were a mess, and your hands were streaked with mud. Natasha wiped her palms on her thighs and gave the horse a soft pat before turning to you.

She helped you finish up without being asked — sweeping out the barn, fixing the bent gate hinge, and repairing a broken step on your porch.

The way she worked, methodical and focused, told you she wasn’t new to hard labor. But she never complained. She just moved beside you like it was natural.

Later, while fixing a loose hinge on the chicken coop, you caught her staring again. Not with heat, but with softness. Like she was trying to hold the moment in her palms.

“What?” You asked, hands on your hips.

She stepped closer, slipping behind you, arms wrapping around your waist.

“You’re dangerous,” She murmured into your ear.

“How’s that?”

“Because I could stay here,” The redhead whispered. “And forget who I was before.”

You turned in her arms, meeting her gaze. “Maybe that’s the point.”

. . .

The storm had passed, but the air hadn’t cooled.

It was thick, charged with something heavier than just humidity. You could feel it in the way Natasha looked at you across the dinner table — quiet, unreadable, but her eyes told a different story.

You were barefoot, wearing her flannel — nothing underneath. You’d slipped it on after your shower, thinking she wouldn’t notice.

She noticed.

“Stand up,” She said, voice low.

“Why?”

Natasha tilted her head, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Because I said so. Come on.”

You rose slowly, your heart thudding as her chair scraped back against the floor. The second you reached hsr, she hooked her fingers into the hem of the shirt and lifted it just enough to see your bare skin beneath.

“Fuck,” She muttered, more to herself than to you.

You leaned into her with teasing smile. “Something wrong?”

She chuckled, “Yeah. I’m trying really hard to be a decent woman right now.”

In a swift mouvement, she gripped the back of your thighs and pulled you down on her lap, your bodies slamming together like you’d been craving it all day.

You let out a low gasp as you landed right on her hard cock, her hands were everywhere—gripping, guiding, greedy.

“I dreamt about this,” She murmured against your throat. “Woke up hard and aching and mad because I wasn’t inside you.”

Her hand was already sliding beneath the shirt, finding your heated core. “You’re already wet, baby. You waited for me.”

Her fingers slipped inside your cunt with maddening ease, her palm pressing just right. Your body arched into hers as she whispered filth into your ear, every word soaked in desire and dominance.

“You like being ruined in your own kitchen?” She rasped, her fingers moving relentlessly inside of you. “Want me to fuck you on this counter with your legs wide open like you’re mine?”

“Please,” You gasped, barely holding on.

That did it.

She lifted you with ease, set you on the counter, and yanked the shirt wide open — not caring about buttons, not caring about anything except seeing you sprawled, flushed, trembling for her.

She didn’t waste time and dropped to her knees again, tongue dragging a slow, sinful line up your thigh before she reached your dripping heat, devouring you like she’d been starving.

You broke apart in seconds, hips jerking, hands tangled in her hair, voice lost to the walls and fields and the wide-open night outside.

And even after she stood, breathless and wild-eyed, she didn’t stop. She kissed you deep —claiming you— and lifted you off the counter.

“We’re not done,” She growled, carrying you down the hallway like you weighed nothing. “Not even close.”

Moments later sometime after midnight, the room smelled like sweat and skin and summer rain still lingering on the breeze.

Your legs were tangled with Natasha’s, her hand resting low on your stomach, thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against your bare skin. The sheets were kicked halfway down the bed. Her body was still half on top of you, heavy and warm — grounding.

You could feel the rise and fall of her chest. Steady. Safe.

“I didn’t mean for it to go like that,” She mumbled, lips brushing your temple.

You turned your head, eyes still hazy. “You didn’t like it?”

The redhead huffed a laugh. “I loved it. But I meant… I wasn’t planning on losing my mind the second I saw you in my shirt.”

You smiled. “Then it’s my fault.”

She shifted onto her side, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. “It’s your fault I’ve been walking around all week trying to be respectful, meanwhile thinking about bending you over every fence on this damn property.”

Oh.

You laughed softly while she leaned in again, this time slower, her kiss gentle. Not hungry. Not desperate. Just soft.

“I like how quiet it is here,” She whispered. “But I like you more.”

You tucked your face into her neck, smiling against her skin. “You’re gonna make me fall for you.”

Natasha held you tighter. “Too late. Already fallen.”

. . .

The day hadn't even ended and Natasha's mind was running wild with thoughts of you.

It started with the damn shorts.

You’d worn them on purpose — cut-off denim that barely passed for legal and a tied-up flannel that left very little to the imagination.

You knew exactly what you were doing when you bent over in front of the fence (said fence she'd mentioned just last night), pretending to check the wire right across from where Nat worked, arching your back just enough.

The sun was hot. The sky was cloudless. And you could feel Natasha’s gaze sear into you from halfway across the field.

You'd thought it was a great idea to toy with her today, not even bothering to stop when she was in the presence of your dad.

You were always passing around, teasing, all acting innocent.

You didn’t have to look to know she was staring. You felt it like pressure on your skin.

“You’re really testing me, sweetheart,” Her voice came from behind — low, strained, full of warning, making you smirk.

As you straightened, slow, cocky, to face her, you feigned pure innocence. “I’m just working.”

Natasha didn’t buy it for a second.

The second you turned around, she was there, grabbing your hips, walking you backward until your back hit the wood of the fence with a dull thud. Her breath was hot, heavy, and furious against your cheek.

“You think I didn’t notice?” she growled. “Those shorts, that shirt. Bending over like that. What are you trying to do to me?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Wrong move.

Her hand shot to your throat — not squeezing, just holding. Commanding. The other slipped under the hem of your shorts, fingers pressing into the soft, warm skin of your ass.

“Nat—”

She silenced you with a kiss that left no room for teasing — open-mouthed, tongue, teeth, all hunger and pent-up frustration. She kissed like she was claiming territory, biting at your bottom lip as her fingers pushed past the denim, past your underwear, past your composure.

“You get off on this?” She rasped, voice rough in your ear as you panted, a pleased grin on your lips. “Getting me worked up in the open, where anyone could see?”

“You mentioned taking me over the fence some days ago.” You replied, already breathless, as she fiddled with the zipper of her pants. “I'm just helping your wish to come true.”

She tugged your shorts down just enough, lifting one of your legs to hook around her hip. The fence creaked behind you, the wood rough at your back. But you barely noticed — not with the way she slid her dick inside you in one motion, slow and thick, one hand braced beside your head and the other gripping your thigh tight enough to bruise.

“Fuck,” Natasha groaned, thrusting deep. “So wet. Were you waiting for this?”

You clawed at her shoulders, gasping as each roll of her hips sent heat spiraling through your body.

“For what do you think earlier's show was ?”

She was relentless — thrusting hard enough to shake the boards, grounding you with her strength, her body, her voice.

“You tease me like that again,” She hissed as she pounded hard into you , “and I’ll take you right here every time.”

Her pace quickened, the slap of skin against skin muffled only by your moans and the wind. It was messy. Hot. So damn risky.

And you were addicted.

She pulled out of you and before you could even have time to complain, you were turned around, bent over and her cock was back inside of you.

If it weren't for her hands holding your hips tightly, you would've been face down the grass by now due to your knees that'd almost gave up.

“Fuck, yes, j-just like that..”

You moaned, your hands gripping the border of the fence to anchor yourself. Natasha took you, just like you wanted.

You came with a sob, body trembling as she drove you through it, holding you tight, whispering dirty promises into your ear even as she lost herself in you.

When she finally stilled, still inside you, breathing hard against your neck.

“Think the whole damn field heard us,” She muttered, grinning as she kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the underside of your jaw.

“Serves you right,” You whispered back, teasing. “You’re the one who couldn’t keep it in your pants.”

Her teeth sank lightly into your shoulder, and you yelped.

She laughed. A real, bright, completely unguarded laugh.

But then — a voice cut through the air like a crack of thunder.

“Y/N! You out there, darlin’?”

It was your father.

Natasha’s body locked against yours like stone, her eyes wide. You slapped a hand over your mouth, biting back a curse.

“In the back pasture, fixing the gate!” you shouted, trying to sound casual, like you hadn’t just been railed against a wooden fence by your dad's dangerously hot co-worker.

The Russian, still very much inside you moments ago, looked like she was reconsidering every life decision that had brought her to this exact moment.

Boots crunched in the distance — your father’s. Getting closer.

You shoved at Natasha’s chest. “Go. Go!”

She practically dove into the nearest row of tall grass, tucking herself out of sight behind the shed. You yanked your shorts up in record time, yelping as the zipper caught your sensitive skin.

Your father appeared just over the ridge. “You okay?”

You forced a smile, “Yeah! Gate’s a little stubborn.”

He eyed you. “Your face’s all red.”

“Hot out,” You blurted.

He narrowed his eyes, then shrugged. “Well, come on back soon. We’re firing up the grill.”

“Be right there.”

He turned and walked away with a nod.

You waited until his footsteps were gone before the tall grass rustled — Natasha emerging like a gorgeous fox. Her shirt was unbuttoned, face smug.

“That was close,” She murmured.

You glared at her. “I hate you.”

She smirked, pulling you back into her arms. “No, you don’t.”

She kissed you again — sweet, lazy, full of trouble.

And you let her, even as you muttered, “You owe me so bad.”

“Good,” Nat whispered against your lips. “’Cause I was planning on working up an appetite before dinner anyway.”

. . .

The sun was dipping low, casting the ranch in gold as smoke curled lazily up from the grill. Your dad was manning it like it was a battlefield, spatula in hand, cowboy hat slightly askew.

Your grandmother had set out the side dishes on the porch table, chatting with your aunt while your younger cousins chased each other barefoot across the grass.

And then there was Natasha — washed, changed, and acting like she hadn’t just had you gasping against a fence an hour ago. Her hair was damp from a quick shower, slicked back, revealing cheekbones sharp enough to cut. She wore worn jeans and a black tank top that clung just right, and when she smiled politely at your mom, you could almost believe she was innocent.

Almost.

You were standing beside the lemonade table when she sidled up next to you. Her hand brushed yours — deliberately, slow — and she didn’t look at you when she said, “Still sore?”

You choked on your drink.

Natasha chuckled under her breath and took a sip of her sweet tea like she hadn’t just whispered sin. Your aunt, Diane, turned toward the sound and smiled. “Natasha, how do you like ranch life so far?”

Nat didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve never been more… satisfied.”

Your face burned.

Your dad called everyone over for burgers, and Natasha stepped in like she’d always belonged, passing plates, laughing at your uncle Pete’s jokes, helping your little cousin, Ella, tie her shoelaces. But every time she looked at you— that spark in her eye, the ghost of a smirk— it was a silent, unspoken promise : I’m not done with you yet.

Later, after dishes were cleared and the sky turned indigo, she tugged you by the hand toward the barn with a whispered, “Come on.”

The barn was quiet, cloaked in shadows and the warm hush of summer night.

The soft glow of old fairy lights strung above the rafters cast golden patterns over everything — the hay bales, the tools, the dust motes swirling in still air.

You didn’t even get a word out before Natasha pushed you gently against the barn door and kissed you like she hadn’t had her fill — like the entire day had just been foreplay for this.

Her hands were rough with callouses now, weeks on the ranch had seen to that— and they gripped your sides.

Her mouth moved from yours to your neck, then down, lips dragging across your collarbone with intent.

“Slow down, I'm not going anywhere, you know?” You chuckled.

“Thought about this all through dinner,” She murmured, pulling your shirt up and over your head in one smooth motion. “You, in that tight little tank top. Acting like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing.”

“And you, pretending to be sweet in front of my family. You’re evil.”

She grinned against your stomach. “You liked it.”

She kissed you then — not gentle, but needy. Desperate. All tongue and teeth and hands that couldn’t stay still. Your shirt was yanked up and over your head, tossed somewhere into the shadows, and her mouth was on your collarbone, your chest, biting just enough to make you shiver.

You moaned as her hand slid past the waistband of your underwear, finding heat and slick with a confident ease that made your knees weak.

“F-fuck…”

“I’ve got you,” she said low, her voice pure gravel, pure promise.

She turned you then, guiding you toward the nearest hay bale, and before you could fully process it, you were bent over it, fingers gripping the edge. Her body was flush against yours, and her other hand was already working open her belt, her breath hot against your neck.

“You sure you can stay quiet, sweetheart?” she whispered.

You nodded, barely.

Then she slid her dick into you — slow, sure, deep.

You bit your lip so hard it almost bled, a sharp cry caught in your throat. Her hands gripped your hips, anchoring you to her, guiding the rhythm. She rocked into you, the angle perfect, dragging pleasure through you in waves.

The sounds were obscene — wet, gasping, skin on skin — muffled only slightly by the barn’s thick walls.

She leaned over you, lips brushing your ear. “Still wanna tease me tomorrow? Wear those little shorts again?”

You whimpered, trembling under her.

She grinned, nipping your earlobe. “Didn’t think so.”

Her pace didn’t falter. She thrust deeper, rougher, but gentle, until you were bracing hard against the hay, your body a mess of sensation, clenching around her.

When you came after she did, it hit fast — a quake that left you breathless and shaking. She held you through it, still moving, coaxing every last wave out of you until you collapsed forward with a groan.

Natasha kissed your shoulder, then your neck, slowing down only after she’d chased her own high with a soft, broken growl against your skin.

You both stayed there for a moment — pressed together, panting, tangled up in sweat and heat and everything unsaid.

“Feel better?” You asked with a dazed smile.

She chuckled, pulling you close, her voice a velvet rasp. “You’ve got no idea.”

. . .

You should’ve moved. You knew you should’ve moved — back to the house, to a bed, to the rest of the world waiting outside that old barn. But Natasha’s hand was drawing lazy circles on your lower back, her bare thigh tangled between yours, and you didn’t want to go anywhere.

Her voice broke the quiet, low and satisfied. “How do you always manage to look this good, even after i’ve wrecked you?”

You smirked, eyes fluttering shut as you nuzzled into her collarbone. “Modest this morning, aren’t we?”

She kissed your temple, lips grazing tenderly across your hairline. “I’m not wrong.”

“No,” you whispered, tracing your fingers along the edge of her ribs, “but if you keep talking like that, I’m never getting off this haystack.”

“That’s the plan.”

Natasha shifted, rolling you onto your back again with that effortless strength of hers. She leaned over you, her body warm and solid, her eyes dark but soft. She looked at you like she’d been starving and had finally been fed — but still wanted another bite.

"Slept nice?"

“I don’t think I've ever really slept,” You murmured, your voice low, teasing. “Someone kept me busy.”

Natasha chuckled, low and smug, her hand sliding over your waist, fingertips brushing a bruise she’d left near your hip. “You kept moaning my name like it was the only word you knew. You think I could sleep through that?”

You blushed, but you didn’t pull away—eyes tracing the mess of red hair, the way the morning sun lit her skin in amber. She looked devastatingly good like this — rumpled, content, still hungry in her gaze.

“You’re not sore?” You asked, quirking a brow.

The Russian smirked, “Baby, I can handle a few rounds in the hay.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed, then winced slightly as you moved. “God, we really didn’t stop.”

“Nope.” She stretched a little, groaning, then leaned down and kissed the inside of your thigh. “Not my fault you’re irresistible in denim shorts and mouthy comebacks.”

You tangled your fingers in her hair, tugging her closer. “We should probably go inside before someone finds us out here.”

“I want to see you again,” she said, voice rougher now, “feel you again. Slow this time. We’ve got time now, don’t we?”

Your breath hitched. “I thought you wanted peace and quiet on this farm.”

Her lips ghosted over your throat as she leaned back up. “I’ve got peace. You’re the quiet I like.”

Your heart did something traitorous then — flipped, full, needy. But there wasn’t time to process it, because her mouth was on your chest again, kissing every bruise she left the night before like a silent apology — or maybe a vow.

And then she sank down your body, slow and reverent. No teasing this time. No need. Just the heat of her breath against your thigh, her hands holding you like you were something sacred.

You arched as her tongue found you, already pulsing and tender, but eager for her again. Her name spilled from your mouth like prayer. She licked you slow, deep, thorough — drawing it out, savoring it, like she was determined to memorize every sound you made under her.

You came undone again, this time with a whimper and your fingers tugging tight in her hair. And even as you trembled, even as your vision blurred, she didn’t stop — didn’t let go — only kissed her way back up your body, wrapping herself around you again.

“I could die happy right here,” She whispered into your neck.

“Not yet,” You murmured, dazed. “I’m not done with you.”

She laughed then, low and rough and so turned on. “Then don’t be, baby.”

And the barn stayed quiet — except for the sounds only the two of you made, as the sun climbed higher, and morning became something entirely your own.

➪ next part.

#𓂃 ๋ ࣭ 𔘓 natalianovnas #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha x reader #natasha smut

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ggukivrse · 3 months ago

Text

FALLING FOR YOU | MYG

summary. you and yoongi have been best friends since childhood, and you pride yourselves in knowing everything about each other. well… everything except the quiet, growing warmth neither of you dare to name

pairing: min yoongi x reader

genre: childhood friends to lovers, idiots to lovers (they’re both so oblivious omfg), fluff, angst

word count: 5.5k

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, kissing, lmk if i missed anything!

note: it’s my birthday :> i mentioned this in my wip update, but i’m posting this cuz i feel bad that i’m not able to get the jk fic out in time and wanted to give you guys at least something. i wrote this ages ago and only briefly edited it, so it’s probably not amazing loll. likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are really appreciated!! enjoy reading my angels <3

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The sun is way too hot for a Saturday. It’s one of those summer days where everything feels too bright and too loud — ice cream truck music echoing down the street, kids screaming over who’s “it” in tag, and the cicadas loud in the trees.

You sit on the curb in front of your house, legs stretched out so far that your toes are practically cooking on the asphalt. Your thighs are sticking to the concrete, and the back of your shirt is damp with sweat. You’re a little bit miserable, but not really. Because Yoongi’s next to you.

He’s got his usual half-annoyed, half-bored face on, like he can’t believe he let you talk him into running around the neighbourhood all morning.

His knees are scraped — both of them. One of them is still bleeding a little, but he doesn’t seem to care. You care more than he does. You tried to wipe it earlier with your sleeve, and he just grunted like an old man and told you to stop fussing.

Now, he’s eating a blue raspberry popsicle like it betrayed him. Slow bites. Little scowl.

You glance over at him and then back at your own red one. You’ve already got sticky syrup running down your wrist because you keep forgetting to lick the sides.

Yoongi nudges you with his shoulder. “You’re making a mess.”

“So?” You lick your wrist dramatically. “I’m still eating it.”

“That’s gross.”

“You’re gross.”

He doesn’t argue. Just takes another angry chomp out of his popsicle and kicks a pebble with the tip of his shoe.

There’s a comfortable silence for a bit. Not quiet — nothing’s ever quiet in your neighbourhood — but the kind of silence that feels like its own little bubble. Like you and Yoongi have your own world, just the two of you, sitting on the curb with sticky fingers and banged-up legs.

You glance over at him again. He’s squinting into the sun, his dark hair sticking to his forehead, a little piece of popsicle juice on his chin.

You say it without thinking.

“I’m gonna marry you when I grow up.”

Yoongi freezes.

You blink. You weren’t really planning to say that out loud. It just slipped out of your mouth. But now it’s out there, just floating between you like a bubble that’s either going to pop or land.

He turns to look at you slowly, eyes narrowed like he’s trying to figure out if you’re joking.

You’re not. You shrug like it’s no big deal. “I mean, you’re my best friend. You’re funny. Sometimes. And you always give me your pickle slices when we eat burgers. That’s boyfriend stuff.”

He snorts. It’s a weird, sudden little laugh, like he can’t stop it in time. “You’re so weird.”

“You’re weird too.”

“Yeah, but you’re weirder,” he says, but he’s smiling now, and there’s a faint pink blooming on his ears that you don’t notice at the time. You just smile back like you’ve won something.

“So you’re saying yes?” you press.

“I didn’t say that,” he grumbles, and looks away quickly. “You’re gonna forget, anyway. You’ll probably marry some tall idiot who plays guitar or something.”

You kick at his foot. “Nope. It’s you.”

He sighs like he’s got the weight of the world on his tiny shoulders. Then he turns to you and says, “Fine. But only if you stop stealing the last popsicle.”

You hold up your half-melted red one. “Deal.”

And he bumps your shoulder again — lighter this time — and finishes the rest of his popsicle in one bite like a monster.

You don’t know it yet, but this is the moment that will live in the back of his head forever, long after the popsicles are gone.

You just know the sun’s still too hot, the ground is still too hard, and Yoongi’s still here. Right next to you. Where he always is.

You’re laughing again.

It’s loud — too loud for the classroom, and definitely too loud for whatever dumb joke just came out of Hoseok’s mouth. It's probably not even that funny, but you’re leaning over your desk, face buried in your folded arms, shaking with laughter like it’s the greatest thing you’ve ever heard.

You’re wearing that white top again — the one with the fraying sleeves that you play with when you’re thinking. Your hair’s a little messy from gym. There’s a tiny smudge of ink on your cheekbone.

And Yoongi is staring at you.

He doesn’t mean to. His eyes just find you like they always do. Like it’s a reflex.

You throw your head back and laugh harder, and something happens in his chest. Not a big, dramatic boom or anything. It’s smaller than that. Quieter. A weird little flutter, like his ribs just skipped.

He blinks. Looks down at his notebook. It’s blank.

Focus. Come on.

The teacher’s still talking about sentence structure, and Hoseok’s still trying to make you laugh again, and you’re still glowing in that obnoxious, infuriating way that makes it impossible to think.

Yoongi grips his pencil tighter.

You’re just his best friend.

You’ve always been his best friend.

Since the popsicle days and scraped knees and pinky promises made without thinking. Since birthday parties with too much sugar and movie marathons where you fell asleep on his shoulder and drooled on his hoodie.

You’re his person. That’s it.

Right?

He sneaks another glance at you.

You’re trying to stifle your giggles now, hand covering your mouth, shoulders trembling. And Hoseok looks at you like he’s proud of himself, like he wants to make you laugh again. Yoongi wants to tell him to shut up. Wants to drag you out of this classroom, down the hall, outside, anywhere.

Away from everyone else.

Just so he can have you to himself for a little while. Just so he doesn’t have to share.

He swallows.

What the hell.

This isn’t... this isn’t how it's supposed to feel. He’s supposed to roll his eyes when you get like this, not sit here with his heart doing gymnastics over your smile. He’s supposed to find you annoying when you poke him in the ribs during class or call him "Grumpy Yoongi." But instead, he finds himself hoping you’ll do it again.

He looks down at his notebook again. Still blank.

Great.

He tries to tell himself it’s just a phase. A random glitch in the system. You’re still just you. Still loud and stubborn and kind of a disaster. Still his best friend. That hasn’t changed.

He glances at you again — now you’re doodling little stars on the corner of your worksheet, tongue poking out in concentration — and something in him quietly, undeniably shifts.

He turns back to his paper, presses the pencil down too hard, and curses under his breath.

Because he knows.

Even if he doesn’t want to know yet.

Middle school parties are always weird.

Too many kids crammed into someone’s basement, bad pop music echoing off the walls, the lights dimmed just enough to feel scandalous. Someone's older sibling is “supervising” from upstairs but mostly just stealing snacks and pretending they don’t hear anything.

You’re sitting on the floor with a half-melted cupcake in your lap and Yoongi next to you, shoulder grazing yours every few minutes.

There are about ten of you in the circle. Everyone’s either trying to act too cool or trying too hard. You’re somewhere in between — buzzed on sugar and nerves, pretending you don’t feel weird sitting this close to your best friend.

Truth or Dare starts like it always does: harmless. Embarrassing questions. Dares to do a cartwheel or chug a Capri Sun in under ten seconds. You're mostly laughing, swatting at people’s arms when they try to rope you in.

Until Ari — a classmate of yours — grins at you like she’s plotting something.

“Your turn,” she says, eyes flicking to Yoongi. “Truth or dare?”

You toy with the edge of your sleeve. “Dare.”

Her grin widens.

“I dare you to kiss Yoongi.”

There’s a chorus of gasps and dramatic “ooooh”s. The kid next to him starts laughing. Someone else claps like this is the best thing they’ve seen all night.

Your face burns instantly.

You glance at Yoongi. He’s frozen. Stiff. His hands still on his knees, his mouth slightly open like he was mid-breath when the dare landed.

You laugh it off. “Wow. Okay. Real original.”

“Come on,” Ari says, nudging you. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Yeah, it’s just a dare,” someone adds. “It’s not like you guys haven’t known each other since diapers.”

That doesn’t help. If anything, it makes your stomach twist harder.

You look at Yoongi again. He meets your eyes this time.

And something… flickers.

His expression isn’t teasing. He’s not rolling his eyes or laughing with everyone else. He looks nervous. Careful.

He clears his throat. “Only if you’re okay with it.”

You try to sound casual. “It’s fine. Let’s just get it over with.”

But you can’t stop your heart from racing.

You both shift toward each other, awkwardly, slowly, like two magnets confused about which way they're supposed to go. He’s so close now you can see the way his lashes touch his cheeks, the tiny mole just above his lip, the uncertain way he tilts his head.

Someone counts down, loud and obnoxious. “Three! Two! One!”

You kiss him.

It’s not long. It’s not deep. It’s just a press of lips — barely there, barely breathing.

But it’s soft.

Way softer than you expect.

Yoongi doesn’t move. Doesn’t push forward. Doesn’t pull back. He’s just… there. Warm. Still. His lips are chapped but gentle, and his breath stutters against yours for a half-second before you both pull away like the floor’s about to collapse.

The room explodes. Cheering. Laughing. Someone yells, “They’re in love!”

You grab the cupcake from your lap and toss it at them.

Yoongi stares at the floor. He scratches the back of his neck and mutters something you don’t catch. His ears are red.

You force out a laugh. “You guys are ridiculous.”

But your voice cracks on the end.

He doesn’t meet your eyes for the rest of the game. You pretend not to notice, but you do. You notice everything — how quiet he gets, how he taps his fingers against his knee, how he shifts away from you just a little when someone else sits down on his other side.

And you tell yourself it was nothing.

Just a stupid dare.

Just a game.

----

You’re lying on your stomach on Yoongi’s bed, chin propped on your hands, staring at your phone like it’s a live grenade. The text is typed out already. It’s stupidly short. Two sentences. Fourteen words. You’ve reread it twenty-seven times.

Yoongi’s next to you, sitting cross-legged with his back against the wall. He’s flipping through the songs on your playlist like it’s the most boring job on earth. His thumb pauses on a song you like and skips it.

You glare at him. “Hey. I like that one.”

“Yeah, and I’ve heard it a million times. Get a new personality.”

You kick at his leg. He dodges without looking.

The light in his room is warm, and the windows are cracked open just enough to let in that late-afternoon breeze. You’re both still in your school uniforms, slightly wrinkled from the day. His tie’s loose. Your shoes are off. It feels normal. Comfortable.

But it doesn’t feel easy anymore.

Your phone screen dims. You tap it back on and sigh, loud and dramatic.

“I think I’m gonna send it.”

Yoongi doesn’t look up. “Send what?”

You roll onto your side so you can face him, and your heart kicks like it’s trying to climb out of your chest. “The text. To— uh— Taehyung.”

Now he looks at you. Blankly. Like you just said something in a different language. “Taehyung?”

“Yeah. From science.”

His expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes shifts. Slight. Quick. Like a flicker of static.

“You like Taehyung?” he says flatly.

You nod, even though your stomach doesn’t. “I think so. He’s funny. And he smells nice.”

Yoongi snorts. “You’re so shallow.”

“I never said I wasn’t,” you shoot back, but it’s softer than it should be. You’re trying to keep it light. Playful. Like this doesn’t feel wrong already.

There’s a pause.

Then he shrugs and holds out his hand. “Let me see the text.”

You hand it over without meeting his eyes.

He reads it silently. It’s short, awkward, obviously written by someone pretending not to care too much.

hey, i was wondering if you maybe wanna hang out sometime? no pressure lol

He raises an eyebrow. “You used lol. That’s tragic.”

“I panicked!”

“You sound like a robot. A sad, nervous robot.”

You grab a pillow and smack him with it. “Then fix it, genius!”

He laughs — really laughs — and wrestles the pillow away from you like it’s a life-or-death situation. His fingers brush yours in the process.

You still.

It’s barely a touch. Just a moment. But your body reacts like it always does now; your stomach flips; your face burns. And then the guilt rushes in.

You asked him to help you text another guy.

He doesn’t notice. Or pretends not to. He’s busy editing your message, adding a line about how you liked Taehyung’s project on sustainable energy (you did not). Then he adds a smiley face. The old-school kind, with a colon and a parenthesis.

“There. Now you sound like a dork, but at least a sincere one.”

You take the phone back and read it.

hey, i liked your science project btw. wanna hang out sometime? :)

Your thumb hovers over the send button.

You glance at Yoongi.

He’s staring at the ceiling now, one leg bouncing absentmindedly. He looks bored. Normal. Like this doesn’t matter.

You hit send.

It feels like swallowing a rock.

----

You don’t see him at first.

You’re on the couch, curled into Taehyung like you belong there — knees tucked between his, hand lazily draped over his arm, head thrown back in that kind of laugh you don’t fake. The kind that starts in your chest and takes over your whole body.

Taehyung’s saying something low in your ear, his voice too soft for anyone else to catch. You lean in, partially to hear him better, partially to get closer to him.

Yoongi walks into it like a punch.

He hadn’t planned anything dramatic. He’s holding a plastic bag with snacks — some random things he knows you like — intending to drop by like always. Just show up, sit too close, talk about nothing until the day disappears.

But you’re already laughing. And it’s not at something he said.

He stops halfway into the room.

You still haven’t noticed him.

Taehyung sees first. He looks up and gives a casual, almost smug nod. “Yo, what’s up?”

You turn your head fast, like you’re caught doing something wrong. But your smile doesn't fade. “Hey! You didn’t text me you were coming.”

“I did,” Yoongi says. “Like ten minutes ago.”

You blink. “Oh. Sorry.”

You shift slightly, pulling your legs back, not completely — but just enough that you can pat the spot beside you like nothing’s weird. “Come sit.”

He does. He sits. Of course he does.

He drops the bag on the table and slides into the open space next to you, but it feels exactly like what it is — too late.

The three of you make some awkward, half-hearted small talk. Taehyung says something dumb about your chemistry class and you laugh again — less wild this time, but still bright.

Yoongi forces a smile. It stretches across his face too tight. “Didn’t know this was a thing now.”

“What?” you ask, but your voice has that careful edge to it. You know what he means.

He shrugs, cool and neutral. “You and Taehyung.”

Taehyung answers for you. “It’s not, like, official-official. Yet.”

You laugh under your breath, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear, not looking at Yoongi when you say, “We’re just seeing where it goes.”

Right.

Cool.

Yoongi leans back against the couch and nods like that makes perfect sense. Like it doesn’t feel like someone just hit the mute button on the world around him.

You look happy. And not in a fake, putting-on-a-show kind of way. You’re relaxed. Glowing, even. And Taehyung? He’s just there. Confident. Comfortable. Sitting way too close.

Yoongi swallows it all.

The way your fingers had been resting on Taehyung’s arm like it was nothing. The way you pulled your legs back but didn’t move farther away. The way his name sounds too easy coming out of your mouth.

He laughs dryly at something Taehyung says — he doesn’t even hear what it is.

And he stays. Of course he stays.

Because he’s your best friend.

That’s what he is. That’s what he’s always been.

And if it hurts, if it feels like the room is spinning just slightly off-axis — well.

You don’t need to know that part.

----

You don’t cry right away.

At first, you just laugh. Too loud. Too sharp. The kind of laugh that feels like it has nowhere else to go.

You sit on the edge of your bed, phone still in your hand, screen black now. The last text from Taehyung stares back at you in your head, branded there like it wants to stay.

“I just don’t think this is working anymore.”

No call. No warning. Just a half-hearted paragraph and a stupid, passive “sorry.”

You set your phone down on your nightstand. It slides a little and stops.

You stare at the wall across from you. It’s the one with the old polaroids and dumb notes and a drawing Yoongi made of you in sixth grade that looks like a potato with hair. You don’t blink. You barely breathe.

The first tear slides out before you even notice it. Just leaks out. Quiet. Like your body knew before your brain caught up.

And then you’re crying.

Not pretty, dramatic crying — the ugly, silent kind where your chest hurts more than your heart and you can’t quite breathe right. Your hands shake. You press your face into the pillow to muffle the sound, and it doesn’t help. You feel like you’re sinking through the bed.

It wasn’t even a long relationship. A few months. A few kisses. Some hand-holding and shared playlists and awkward texts. But Taehyung made you feel seen. Liked. Wanted.

And now you feel... disposable.

There’s a knock on your door. Light.

Hesitant.

You don’t answer.

It creaks open anyway. You know the sound of his footsteps before he even speaks.

Yoongi.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands in the doorway, taking you in — all curled up and messy and miserable. Then he crosses the room, slowly, like he doesn’t want to startle you.

“Your mom said you weren’t feeling good,” he says softly.

You turn your head, just enough to look at him. Your eyes are puffy. You’re not even trying to hide it.

His brows draw together instantly. “What happened?”

You open your mouth, and it takes two tries before anything comes out.

“Taehyung dumped me,” you mumble.

It sounds small. Childish. Not even worth the weight in your throat. But the look on Yoongi’s face shifts — his whole posture softens, and before you can stop him, he’s sitting beside you.

He doesn’t ask for permission, just reaches out and pulls you into his arms.

You fall into him without hesitation.

It’s warm there — his hoodie smells like detergent and the faintest trace of cinnamon gum. His chin rests on top of your head. His hands stay still on your back, not moving, not rushing you.

And you just let yourself cry.

Not because of Taehyung, not entirely. Not even because of the rejection. It’s all of it. The hurt, the disappointment, the slow-burning truth that you were hoping for something more than what he gave.

Yoongi holds you like he’s done this before in a dream. Like he knows exactly how to steady you without needing words. Like he feels what you feel.

But he’s quiet. Too quiet.

There’s something in the way his fingers curl into your top, in the way he presses his mouth into your hair and doesn’t move for a long time, like he’s clinging to something he’s not allowed to want.

You don’t say anything.

Neither does he.

Eventually, your breathing slows. You wipe your nose on your sleeve and shift in his arms, suddenly aware of how close he is. How good he smells. How warm he feels. And how badly you wish this was something else.

“Thanks,” you murmur, voice hoarse.

He just nods. “Yeah. Always.”

And you don’t talk about it again.

Not the breakup.

Not the way you cried into his chest.

Not the way his shirt smelled like you for two days after.

----

You’re still his favourite person.

That hasn’t changed.

What has changed is everything else.

He still walks you home when it’s late. Still sends you memes at 2 AM. Still saves the red gummy bears for you and pretends it’s not a thing. But it’s not like it used to be — not the same easy closeness, not the same comfort.

You date people now.

Sometimes you talk about them like they’re no big deal. Other times, your eyes light up in a way that makes something twist deep in his stomach.

He listens. He nods. He laughs when he’s supposed to. But underneath all of it, something grows. Slow and impossible and heavy.

Love is a quiet thing, he’s learned. Sometimes it lives in the silences. Sometimes in the way you pass him a drink before he even asks. Sometimes in the fact that you always take the seat next to him, even when there’s room on the other side.

It’s been building in him for years.

And tonight, it almost spills.

You’re both on his bed, legs stretched out, backs against the wall. It’s late — later than you said you’d stay — but neither of you mention it. A movie plays on his laptop, mostly ignored. Some old favorite you’ve both seen a dozen times.

You’re in a hoodie that doesn’t belong to you — his, probably — and your hair’s a mess and your socks don’t match and you look like home.

He can’t remember what the movie’s about. He hasn’t looked at the screen in a while.

You say something, soft and tired, and laugh at your own joke. Your head drops lightly against his shoulder, and he freezes.

You don’t move.

And he doesn’t either.

You just stay like that — your cheek resting against him, your breath slowing, your body slowly going still. You’re warm. He can feel the shape of you through his top, the weight of your trust in the way you lean into him like it’s nothing.

It’s not nothing.

Not to him.

He looks down at you. Your lashes flutter slightly. Your lips are parted. You smell like your shampoo and something sweeter underneath. And he wants to say it.

He almost does.

The words rise in his throat like a wave, a whisper, a fragile truth he’s carried for too long

But he doesn’t say it.

Because you’re tired. Because the timing’s wrong. Because he’s afraid you’ll look at him with surprise , or worse — pity.

So he sits there, still and aching, while the credits roll and your breathing deepens.

You fall asleep on his shoulder.

And Yoongi memorises everything — how your head fits perfectly into the curve of his neck. How your fingers twitch in your sleep. How you murmur something he can’t quite catch and then go quiet again.

He thinks, If this is all I ever get… maybe it’s enough.

But he knows it’s not.

Not really.

You’re drunk.

Not sloppy or reckless, just that warm, loose kind of drunk where the room spins slightly and everything feels a little softer. Someone's phone is plugged into the speakers, playing something moody and bass-heavy. The lights are low. People you barely know are dancing in the kitchen.

You’re on the couch, legs curled up, red solo cup half-empty in your hand. And Yoongi is beside you, same as always.

Except nothing feels the same anymore.

He’s wearing black jeans and a simple, grey t-shirt, dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. His knee brushes yours every time he shifts. You’ve stopped pretending not to notice.

He says something dry — some sarcastic comment about the guy doing shots off a frisbee — and you laugh too loud. You’re tipsy. You’re floating. But your heart’s not light. It’s buzzing. Loud and tense and full of every little thing you’ve been holding back.

You look at him.

Really look at him.

The way his mouth curves slightly when he talks. The way he never quite meets your eyes when you’re this close. The way he smells like laundry and something distinctly him — faint mint, skin-warm cotton, late-night comfort.

And it hits you all at once.

You want to kiss him.

Not because someone dared you. Not because you're drunk and stupid. Not even because you can’t stop thinking about that first time years ago. But because you mean it. Because you’ve been meaning it for a long time.

You lean in before you can talk yourself out of it.

Soft. Slow. Hesitant.

Your hand brushes his cheek. His eyes widen — just barely — and then your mouth is on his.

And he doesn’t move.

Not at first.

For a second, he kisses you back. Long enough to make your whole body hum.

But then he pulls away.

Not roughly or dramatically. Just enough. Enough to break your heart a little.

“Hey,” he says, voice too gentle. “You’re drunk.”

You blink, confused. Hurt blooming fast behind your ribs.

“So?”

His jaw tenses. He looks away. “I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and wish you hadn’t.”

Your chest goes tight. “You think I didn’t mean it?”

He doesn’t answer.

And that tells you everything.

You pull back slowly. You don’t say another word.

The rest of the night blurs. Someone turns the music up. You make some excuse about needing air. He drives you home without being asked, hands tense on the wheel the whole time. The silence is too loud between you.

You lean your head against the passenger window, pretending to be asleep before he can try to explain.

You don’t want to hear it.

Because you meant it.

And you thought, for a second, maybe he did too.

It’s been weird for weeks.

Not explosive. Just off.

A slow shift. A stretching silence.

You're still around. Still close enough to touch, to laugh at his jokes, to send dumb videos to in the middle of the night. But there’s something behind your smile now. Something guarded. Distant. And he knows it’s his fault.

You kissed him.

And he pulled away.

Not because he didn’t want it — fuck, he wanted it — but because you were drunk, and he was scared, and it felt too real too fast. So he froze. You backed off. And neither of you brought it up again.

But you’ve both been pulling back ever since.

He doesn’t know how to fix it.

You’re in his room now, sitting on the edge of his bed, tapping your foot, eyes on your phone but not really reading. Yoongi’s at his desk pretending to study. The silence has weight. It presses on the back of his neck.

You exhale through your nose. Not loud, but sharp. Tired.

“Do you even want me around anymore?”

The question hits him like a slap.

He turns slowly in his chair. “What?”

You glance at him. “You act like you don’t care anymore. Like I’m just— I don’t know— there.”

He sits back. His jaw tightens. “I’ve just had a lot going on.”

“Yeah?” you say. “Cool. Same.”

Something in your voice snaps.

He straightens up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You stand now, phone forgotten on the bed. Your arms are crossed. “It means I’m tired of pretending everything’s fine when it’s obviously not.”

He doesn’t answer.

“You don’t talk to me like you used to. You barely look at me.”

“I look at you all the time,” he mutters.

You laugh once, the sound sharp and bitter. “Right. When you’re not busy avoiding me.”

He hates this. He hates how defensive he feels, how all the words he wants to say get trapped behind the ones he thinks are safer.

You step closer. Not too close. Just enough for him to feel it. “If you didn’t want me to kiss you, you could’ve just said so. You didn’t have to make it this awkward.”

His throat tightens. “You were drunk.”

“And you made it clear it was a mistake.”

He flinches.

“I get it now,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek. “It was a stupid moment. One I shouldn’t have started.”

His heart is pounding.

You look away like you’re ashamed, like you regret all of it. And maybe you do. Maybe he should’ve let you believe he didn’t feel anything, because that would be easier than this — than hearing you call it a mistake like it meant nothing.

He wants to stop you. Wants to grab your hand, say your name, rewind time.

But he just says, “Yeah. Maybe it was.”

Your mouth opens a little, but you don’t say anything. Just blink, like you’re trying not to show how much that hurt.

Then you grab your phone. “I should go.”

He doesn’t stop you.

You close the door behind you a little too gently, like slamming it would give away too much.

And Yoongi just sits there, staring at the space you left behind, hating every second of the silence that follows.

Because the kiss wasn’t a mistake.

But letting you believe it was? Might be the biggest one he’s ever made.

You haven’t talked since the fight.

No texts. No “are you home?” No memes.

No Yoongi.

It’s only been a few days, but it feels like weeks — like something’s gone missing in the background of your life. Like you keep reaching for something that isn’t there anymore.

You’ve reread the last texts between you two more times than you’ll admit. The tension. The things you said. The thing you didn’t say.

It’s past midnight when your phone buzzes.

Yoongi [12.36 AM]: Are your parents home?

You stare at the screen, heart suddenly in your throat. You don’t know what propels you to reply, but you do.

You [12.37 AM]: no

Less than ten minutes later, you hear the sound of pounding rain outside.

And then — knocking. Hard, fast, urgent.

You open the front door.

Yoongi is standing there, soaked to the bone. Hair plastered to his forehead, hoodie clinging to him, chest rising and falling like he ran here.

You step aside without saying a word, and he walks in like he’s scared you’ll change your mind if he hesitates.

Water drips onto the floor. He’s breathing heavy. His eyes are locked on yours.

And then he starts talking.

“I didn’t mean what I said. That it was a mistake. I didn’t mean any of it. I was scared. I didn’t want to screw up what we have and I—fuck, I already did, didn’t I?”

You don’t move. You just stare. Let him unravel.

“The kiss wasn’t a mistake,” he says, voice breaking just slightly. “Nothing with you has ever been a mistake.”

You open your mouth to say something, but he doesn’t let you.

“I’ve been trying to stay away because I thought maybe you were better off not knowing. But I can’t do it anymore. Not talking to you is— it's fucking unbearable.”

His eyes meet yours.

And then he closes the space between you in two steps.

He kisses you.

For real this time.

Not soft or scared or careful.

It’s soaked and breathless and honest — his hands cradling your face like he’s been waiting years for this exact moment and couldn’t risk wasting another second.

You melt into it. Everything inside you aches with how much you missed him.

He pulls back, eyes searching yours, his thumb still brushing your cheek.

“I love you.”

You blink once.

Then you grin, so wide it almost hurts.

“Took you long enough, asshole.”

He laughs. Breathless. Relieved.

And then you kiss him again.

Not because of a dare.

Not because you're drunk.

Not because you're trying to get over him.

But because you finally don’t have to pretend anymore.

taglist | click here to join: @thegreatdepressionme @golden-loona @kissyfacekoo @cookysstuff @whoa-jo

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classyrbf · 7 months ago

Text

STILL IN LOVE! #12 — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...after still messing around with your ex husband, you began to wonder if you’re still in love with him after finding out about his new girlfriend…only to realize it’s much more complicated than you led on

INFO...ex husband!toji x fem!reader, reader & toji have two kids, megumi is readers bio son, jealousy, smut, angst, arguments, alcohol, drinking problem, family problems, arguing in front of kids, toxic behaviors, crying, mentions of divorce, mentions of jail, blood, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

series masterlist

As soon as you stepped back inside the house you immediately made your way over to the bedroom to grab your phone. Your head was still spinning from what just happened. Your heart was pounding so fast you could hear it in your ears. The thought of Toji going to jail made you anxious, scared. You two finally started off on the right foot, making little progress each day and you didn’t want to tell the kids that their father was in jail. Hell, you didn’t even know how long he’d be in jail for this kind of shit. You didn’t have the money to bail him out, whatever the cost may be. But you had an idea of who might.

Quickly, you called Gojo. The phone rang while you chewed on your bottom lip, leg bouncing up and down nervously while you waited. “Hello?” It was like a weight lifted off of your shoulders upon hearing his voice.

“Gojo, thank god you fucking answered,” you sighed.

“Y/n? Oh no…what’d he do this time? Better be worth you waking me up for,” he yawned.

You let out a soft chuckle before explaining, “he’s in jail, or is gonna end up in jail—”

“Hold up, what?” Gojo jumped up, brows furrowing at your words.

“To make a long story short, my ex boyfriend came over this morning while toji was here, he said some shit toji didn’t like and toji beat the shit outta him. Cops were called and they dragged both of them away and said toji will most likely go to jail,” you explained, biting the inside of your cheek.

“And I’m guessing you need me to bail him out? Yeah?”

“Yes…Gojo, please. Me and Toji…we were doing good and the kids and it’s just—”

“Listen, call Shoko to pick the kids up after school and I’ll be over in a little bit,” he said.

“Thank you.”

Toji sat in the chair, hands laying flat on the desk as he waited in the dingy questioning room. He felt like some big time criminal, considering what happened. He was annoyed, having to go through this whole process over a simple fight. “People are pussies,” he muttered to himself. Nanami should’ve kept his mouth shut, especially about the kids. He should’ve left when you asked him to and instead he kept on going.

All Toji could think about was you, wondering if you were disappointed in him, upset or even at your breaking point with him. He promised he wouldn’t mess up his chance, and yet here is sitting in a police station with the high probability of being put behind bars. He impatiently tapped his foot on the ground, the buzzing sound of the overhead fluorescent lights making his head pound. The slight cut on lip still stung everytime he licked his lips, a faint taste of blood on his tongue.

A knock at the door snapped him from his thoughts, a police officer walking in and flashing a quick, fake smile at Toji. “Alright, Mr…Fushiguro.” The man took a seat across from Toji and it couldn’t help but make his eye twitch.

“When can I leave?” Were the first words that came out of his mouth. “I need to see my wife and kids.”

The officer chuckled, shaking his head. “Not until we get your side of the story. We already questioned Mr. Nanami, and we got your wife’s—ex wife’s side as well, so you’re next. Mind telling me what happened from beginning to end?” The officer clicked the blue pen his had in his hand, flipping the next page in his notepad.

“I woke up, made breakfast for my wife and shortly after she woke up as well. We talked for a little, didn’t even get to sit down and eat before the doorbell rang. She answered it and I looked over to see it was her ex boyfriend at the door,” he mumbles, not once shifting his gaze.

“You say she’s your wife and you say Mr. Nanami is he ex boyfriend. But he says that you two are divorced,” the officer adds.

“We are but we plan on working things out, so she’s my wife.” The officer nods are Toji’s words, scribbling it down on the white paper. “I walk over to the door and stand behind her, and they’re having a conversation about their relationship. She told they broke up—he broke up with her because of me and our relationship. Fair enough. She respected it and realized that maybe me and her should work stuff out because of our kids—”

“So why exactly did he show up?” The officer cocks his head to the side.

“To apologize and get her back. Why else would he be there? She didn’t want to and that’s when shit hit the fan.” Toji shrugged.

“By ‘shit hit the fan’ you mean when started saying nasty comments? Your wife said he began belittling her, talking about your kids and your relationship? Am I correct?” His brows raise, the tip of the pen to his paper.

“She asked him to leave, and he wouldn’t. He was saying stuff about how are relationship wouldn’t last and how I only wanted to keep her around for…sex. Then he brought up my kids, and that’s when I knocked his ass to floor. Sound bout right?” Toji blinked, completely uninterested.

“You say she asked him to leave and he wouldn’t?” The officer glances up at him for a quick second.

“Yeah,” toji responds.

“Just one more question, you don’t live there right?” The officer folded his hands in front of him.

Toji hesitated to answer. He knew if he said no, they’d probably charge him, but he said yeah, he’d be lying but he probably won’t get charged due to fact Nanami was most likely trespassing. “I do. Been living there for about a month.”

“Alright, that’s all I needed to know. Be back in few.” The chair screeched against the floor as the officer stood and walked out the room.

With a roll of Toji’s eyes he let out a scoff. “Fucking pigs.”

You paced back and forth in the living room, nervously biting at your nails, anticipating the moment Gojo knocked on the door. You couldn’t believe this was happening. It was like the universe had placed some kind of curse on you. Was it so hard to have one good day? Apparently so. The sound of knocking pulled you from your thoughts, wasting no time to unlock the door where you were met with Gojo himself, in sweatpants, a hoodie, and his hair disheveled. It was weird not seeing him dress up for once.

“Gojo.” You quickly hugged him.

“Hey, hey.” He hugged back, stepping into your house. “So, what the fuck happened? Did he seriously get arrested?” He shook his head in confusion.

You let out a deep sigh, just the thought of talking about it made you feel tired, annoyed, upset. You weren’t sure what you were. “Yes? I mean, they dragged both of them away, but Toji hit first.” You plopped down on the couch, holding your head in your hands. “He’s most likely going to jail.”

“He is going to jail,” Gojo corrected. “If they find out he doesn’t live here, and that he swung first…jail time!” Gojo sat beside you. “Depends on how much your ex boyfriend is willing to tell.” He glanced at you.

You groaned in annoyance, falling back onto the plush cushions. “Okay, but he was talking about our kids and saying all shit to me and—”

“You think cops give a shit? All they care about is sending whoever to jail. Toji or whatever his name is. And knowing Toji’s record with the police, he’s not making it out of this one.” Gojo reached into his pocket pulling out a piece of candy. “Want some?”

You glared at him, blinking. Was he serious? “Did you seriously bring candy?” You asked, looking at the piece of taffy he held between his fingers.

“Yeah, I had a whole bag of ‘em. Anyway, you want it?” He held it out to you.

“Gojo, can we please focus right now? What if he gets let off without a warning? That’s good right?” Someway somehow you’re hoping that’s the best possible outcome in this situation.

“Well, then excellent. Wait, did he like bash his face in? Or how bad are we talking?” Gojo narrowed his eyes.

“Gojo, I don’t know! For fucks sake!” You rose to your feet, stress levels rising higher. “How do we even know he’s in jail? He’s probably locked up as we speak!” You were panicking and you weren’t exactly why. Gojo said he’d bail him out for you, so coming up with money wasn’t a problem. It’s the fact that you felt like this was entirely your fault. Your relationship with Kento and your relationship with Toji, everything came crashing down. As a grown woman with two kids, you’d think you’d know better and know how to confront your own feelings without getting others involved but apparently that was impossible for you.

Though, it’s not like you expect Kento to show up on your doorstep this morning wanting to take you back. You felt horrible. He was a good man, sweet and kind, and you, you were still stuck on your ex husband and clearly that hurt him. You were sorry for that, you take responsibility that. But that gave him no excuse to bring your kids into this. Everything about this was so fucked up. Even more than before.

“Listen, relax. They’ll allow him some phone calls if they do lock him up. He will most likely call you, and you’ll spill the great news to him! No problem!” Gojo shrugged it off, reaching into his pocket to pull out another piece of taffy.

“It’s been like three hours already.” You huff.

“Then he’s probably locked up,” he casually said, popping the candy into his mouth.

“Can you take this seriously for one second?” You you take a deep breath, finding the inner strength not to yell and cuss Gojo out just because you were extremely overwhelmed.

“I am! Listen, you know he’s been in jail before! He’s fine!” Gojo swatted his hand, brushing off the situation like it was so casual.

“Yeah, with you! When you two got into that stupid ass bar fight and Shoko and Geto called me at three in the fucking morning!” Your nostrils flared, rolling your eyes at the man in front of you.

“No need to dwell on the past—wait, is that—”

“What?” You looked at Gojo, eyes wide.

“Is that your phone?” He stands up.

You run towards your bedroom, nearly tripping over your own feet as the sound of your phone ringing grew louder. “Fuck where is it?” Your eyes scanned over your dresser and nightstand before you standing tearing your blankets off of the bed. Your phone flew to the floor and you quickly grabbed it, seeing it was an unsaved number. Fuck.

“Hello? Toji?” Your voice shook as you spoke. You could hear slight breathing on the other end.

“Baby…”

tag list (closed):

@sweetpo1son @lovebittenbyevans @ryumurin @he4rts444mi @cherrypieyourface @lemonintrovert01 @ladysi0 @avanly @chilichopsticks @tananaxx @akusrider @irlbungee @my-anime-garden @hnm-mika @antiholdinghandsclub @yharnam-prophet @crankyarchives @nnnancyr @kenqki @ebiharachan @dollcest @whoreforjjkmen @yoyio90 @jaegergirl @r0seandth0rns @blankwashed @ittomain1 @3rdmonday @5seos @weird0o0 @1-800-choke-that-ho @s-j320 @viisgrave @mayajadewrites @jhiyoon @fisherman-boat @mochimoee @cheridrwyy @olanii1019 @vi-ola666 @emmaperdoswife @sucrose-fqn @rhyies-pieces @tojislittleprincesss @sashadonat @ruixrei @zara-zara11 @paper--angel @khyok @ilyanadelarosa @zxnxy @esmedelacroix

#—☆classyrbf #jjk #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #toji x reader #toji x reader angst #toji angst #toji fushiguro angst #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x reader angst #toji fanfic #toji fushiguro fanfic #jjk angst #jjk x reader angst #jjk fanfic

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snail-day · 17 days ago

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You’re not sure how you even ended up in this mess or why you deserve to be in this sort of mess. One moment you were having some floor time in the living room, mindlessly stretching and watching your silly little comfort show, and the next - bam. You’re flat on your back with an oof, limbs splayed, trapped beneath your boyfriend’s stupidly thick, muscular thighs, arms pinned above your head as a familiar, cocky smirk looms over you.

“Pay attention,” Suguru sang so softly as you writhed around in his grip, spouting curses as he presses the sweetest kiss to your lips. “Self-defense. For when I’m not around to protect you.”

Which is absolutely ridiculous. Because Suguru is always around. Tracking your location is part of his morning routine (he swears he's going to therapy for his control issues). But now, for whatever deranged reason, he’s decided to play the role of an attacker, and it’s so not fair when he looks like so pretty and sinful.

His dark hair is pulled up into a lazy bun, messy strands falling into his violet eyes as he looms over you. A black compression shirt spans across his broad chest after his run, every inch of muscle displayed like some sick temptation. His sweatpants rolled around his hips. His thighs - god, his thighs - caging you in tightly. You're pretty sure they could crush your head if you asked him nicely.

You swear he’s smirking harder the longer you stare.

“C’mon, baby,” he purrs, voice low and warm as it curls along your spine. Taunting. His broad finger tips tap your thigh once, twice, before pushing your leg into an awkward angle. “What if I was a killer, hm? What would you do?”

You squirm under him, already breathless and completely frustrated by your boyfriend's antics. “I’d scream.”

A lazy grin spreads across his lips. His eyes narrow like he’s savoring your reaction, leaning in until his breath fans across your ear.

“Scream louder,” he whispers, cruel and sweet. “Killers love a chase.”

You freeze, heat flaring under your skin, and, of course, he feels it. He groans a little, delighted, as if it’s your fault for reacting. Then he rolls his hips forward, slow and heavy, pinning you down more firmly, the hardness of the floor digging into your spine, just to watch you squirm.

“Try to escape, sweet girl,” he murmurs into a smug grin. Blowing you a quick kiss before smiling a bit wider. “You’ve got ten seconds before I decide what to do with that cute body of yours.”

He’s joking…Probably?

“Eight seconds,” he sighs, mockingly disappointed with a pout. “You gonna let the big bad man win?”

“You’re insane,” you hiss. Doing anything to get out of his grip, but his thighs press in tighter causing you to gasp when they pinch your sides.

“And you’re pinned,” he grins, pressing a kiss to your collarbone “Wanna try that leg move I showed you a few days ago? Or should I just keep playing the villain, baby?”

Eventually, when you’re panting and flushed and so done with his weird killer roleplay, you throw him the most unamused glare you can muster.

He just laughs or it's more like a giggle.

Like the “hehe” kind. The sound is so soft and boyish, you almost forget he plays the villain roll a little too well.

“Were you scared?” he whispers, lips brushing yours as he pulls you into his lap causing your stomach to flutter. Gently shifting you until you’re straddling him, arms wrapped snugly around your waist. “Did I make my baby all nervous?”

You blink at him, frowning. “Wait. Actually. Are you okay? Why are you so good at pretending to be a serial killer?”

He shrugs. Kisses your cheek a few times, warm little pecks. “Dunno. Just imagined someone touching you without my permission. Got into character.”

He’s definitely a little insane, he’s showering you with kisses, lips brushing over your jaw, your nose, your mouth, murmuring praises between every one.

“Did so good for me.” Kiss

“My brave girl.” Kiss

“Gonna teach you that escape again tomorrow. Gotta keep you safe, baby.” Kiss

And he says it like he means it. Convinced that he has to protect you from the entire world. Like even this little game of pretend wasn’t just about fun, but about preparing you for any threat that wasn’t him. As if he's convinced you'd die without his protection.

So you sigh, melt into his chest, and mutter, “You’re a freak.”

Suguru grins, arms tightening around you, a sweet look in his eyes. “Just protecting my baby girl.”

You almost don't want to ask what he'd be willing to do if someone got their hands on you.

#Suguru has some deranged moments at times #Especially when he's paranoid and running a cult #Utterly convinced that you're going to die at any moment #geto suguru #Geto suguru x reader #Geto suguru #Suguru geto #Suguru geto x reader #Geto x reader #Suguru x reader #Jujutsu kaisen #Jjk #Jjk x reader

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yulin-pop · 4 months ago

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⤷ ✧ 𝐋𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡 𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲

order 89 | one-shot| Jade+Floyd | Fem reader

❀ NOTE: sorry to keep @kkalimarii waiting for this, a bit rushed but I hope my vision was visioning. While I was gone you dropped new art (now I have to go write a fic for it too LOL)

You hesitated before walking through the door, you looked down at yourself before looking back to which Floyd smiles at you.

He leans down to your level, “Are ya scared or something?” You shake your head then you feel a hand on your back.

“You have nothing to be afraid of.” Jade flashes a pristine smile.

“There’s a lot to be afraid of which includes you!”

Jade’s hand pushes you in and the door slams behind you. You held your breath as you walked down the hall.

“Make sure to smile and introduce yourself.” Floyd said, whispering in your ear.

You cry in your head, looking back at the decisions that brought you to a Leech family get together.

“Hey Shrimpy,” Floyd called while wrapping his arms around your shoulders from behind you, “Are you busy this weekend?”

You were startled but you figured Floyd would pop up eventually since you’re in Mostro Lounge, just dining alone. You put down your phone, you knew there was no getting out of a conversation with Floyd. “As far as I know, not at all.” You looked up at him.

“Cool, you’re coming with me then.” Then he walked off. He was unpredictable as always, you couldn’t begin to think what he was going to drag you into. Your calls to him for more context and to come back were useless.

You figured you’ll ask him about it the next time you see him.

The door swung wide open and Floyd slumped down on the chair. “Jade, tell Ma and Pops we have a plus one for this weekend.”

The other twin nodded his head, “I almost let it slip my mind. Who did you decide to invite?”

“I just walked out and saw Shrimpy sitting there so I picked her.” Floyd laughed.

You were pretty much clueless on what event you’d be attending until you got a text from Jade.

Jade

I’ve cleared us to leave campus for this weekend with the Headmage. Rest assured in that regard. Meet us in the mirror room Saturday at 3 PM. Of course, dress in formal attire.

You

Okay

But one little thing

Where are we going?

Jade

Apologies for not informing you sooner

You’ll be joining us for our annual banquet, an important day for our family.

You

What are we celebrating?

Jade

The banquet is to honor the alliance and uphold the relations between families.

You

???

You didn’t know what to think, it seemed like one big joke everyone knew about but you. You knew it was too late to back out. “Do I even have any formal clothes?” You asked yourself out loud, Ace leaned over and skimmed over your texts with Jade.

“What’s happening with you and the twins?” He was just as surprised as you were. You pushed him away from your phone and pulled it close to your chest.

“I don’t even know. Floyd asked if I was busy this weekend and said I’m going somewhere with him. Apparently it’s a family banquet?”

“I’d be scared if I were you. You know what I heard about their family?” He brought you in closer to whisper in your ear. "I hear they’re even more messed up than Octavinelle. The only reason they got so powerful and rich was taking out other families, like literally taking out. Before they were two rival families that were brought together because the son and daughter fell in love. Now the two most influential families fused to become that thing.”

You gasped and covered your mouth before leaning in to ask a question. “So they’re like… aquatic mafia?”

Ace nodded his head in all seriousness.

“And I’m gonna meet them this weekend?! I wonder what they’re like in person.” You put your hand on your chin and thought.

Maybe one eye color came from the mom and the other came from the dad. Most likely the twins took after their dad the most in appearance and height. The mom can’t be that tall, probably wears heels to compensate. Maybe she wears fur coats and scarves like the mafia wives do in movies. You couldn’t even begin to think how they would act, given they raised the Leech twins and they’re mafia.

You snapped back from your thoughts and you realized Floyd had his arm around you while Jade put his hand on your shoulder, both slightly shaking you.

You tilted your head up and laid your eyes on a muscular man with sunglasses, you couldn’t see his eyes but you were certain his glare alone would kill a man, there were several notable scars across his face making him even more menacing. His hair was two toned but grey and blue unlike the twins. They seem to have hair more like the tall woman with flawless skin. You could tell she doesn’t need makeup to stand out. When you look closer, her sharp features like her eyes and nose were much more alike to the twins. She was adorned with pearls and gold that you knew couldn’t be fake. Despite her extravagant heels, she still wasn’t as tall as her husband. Her mouth curled into a giant smile.

“Oh this is the girl.” She cooed, “I already know your name.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

She’s beautiful!

“Hello it’s nice to meet you my name is [name]—“ You stuck your hand out for a hand shake but the girl pulled you into a hug.

“You two are almost catching up to me now.” The tallest man went over to the twins and simultaneously ruffled the top of their heads. Floyd reluctantly nodded while Jade smiled awkwardly while greeting him back.

You were about to choke from how hard she was squeezing you, it was like Floyd if he wasn’t holding back— actually if Jade and Floyd were both trying to squeeze you at once is a better way to describe it.

Floyd watched and pouted until Jade put a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “Mom, humans are quite fragile so be cautious with the strength used.” She turned her head and let go of you.

She put her hand against her cheek and smiled, “How silly of me, I’m sorry for that dear. But…” She put her arm around Jade’s neck and brought him into a hug.

Floyd, while trying to fix his hair, was pulled into a hug with the other arm. “I missed your adorable faces. My little boys look so grown!” She cooed.

“I still can’t beat her…”

“I didn’t know you could get any stronger…”

They both remarked in apprehensive voices. Though you were still regaining your breath from her embrace, you thought it was funny how the twins were overpowered by their mom. Though you turned your attention to their father, who you haven’t spoken to yet.

“Hello it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Leech, my name is [Name], thank you for inviting me.” You tried your best to be polite.

Seemingly it worked, “You’re a sweet one, the pleasures all mine. I’ve been wanting to meet you. Besides Azul we hear about you the most.” He was friendlier than he looked. His toothy grin revealed his jagged teeth much like the rest of his family.

You smiled back, “Only good things I hope.”

Once Jade and Floyd escaped from their mother’s embrace, they went up next to you.

“Tell the boys to call home more or text back faster.” Their mom pouted and crossed her arms, “But I guess they forget or are too busy anymore… I’m sure whatever it is, they're doing it related to their education.”

You smiled, they really aren’t aware of their violent tendencies exerted towards their classmates. Though given they’re the ones who raised them it’s likely their fault.

“How are they in class? What sports do you partake in? What foods do you like? Which one do you talk to more? How long did it take until you could tell the two of them apart?” More and more questions bombarded you from the mother alone until her husband came up and gruff yet gentle placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Honey, she can’t understand a word you’re saying.” He softly spoke to her and she covered her mouth in realization. You could make out a smile behind her hand and her husband smiled back gently.

“Apologies for my lack of composure. I’m just happy to hear my boys have friends besides Azul.” She admitted, the twins cranking their heads in response.

“It must be hard for you, poor girl.” Their dad added making their expressions contort.

“Jeez, can’t you lay off for one sec?” Floyd muttered with apprehension before silencing himself. Jade shared a similar attitude but stayed silent. You could tell there was no talking back for them, nobody would talk back to mafia parents after all.

Mrs. Leech grabbed your arms and glided her hands down to yours, “Look at your outfit, dear did no one tell you the color scheme we chose this year?” She fussed for a quick second and turned towards her sons. You couldn’t see her expression but Floyd slouched and Jade avoided her gaze. “No matter, I’m sure we have something that will work. Follow me, we’ll find something.”

She led you away with a brief remark to the rest of her family and left only the men of the family.

“Wearing all white to our banquet it’s like she’s trying to get married to one of y—“

“Don’t get it twisted.”

“It’s not something to be overthought.”

Mr. Leech let out a hard laugh before patting their backs, “It’s lonely without you boys. Your teenage years are precious, so tell me all about it.” He gently moved them.

Jade opened his eyes and spoke up. “All has been adequate. We’ve been sticking by Azul and performing duties as vice housewarden is no chore. I’m happy to have this responsibility.“

Floyd chimed in, “I’ve been focusing on basketball lately, no diff since when you last checked up on us.”

His expression remained unwavered, he leaned in to whisper “Don’t lie, how many fights have you gotten into? Not including each other.”

Father like son and that certainly applies in this situation, but in this case it’s less like fights and more like attacks.

Enough time passed to where Jade began to wonder where you were, Jade and Floyd went off to greet family members. “Hey, Jade, any idea when Shrimpy is coming back?”

“None at all, she’s with Mom after all.” Jade said back then moving to greet other family members. Even realizing Floyd had managed to sneak away.

Floyd skipping out isn’t out of character but he should know better, must’ve gotten bored and went off to find more interesting things.

“Floyd… I told you I still need to change back.” You firmly said but his grip on your wrist only tightened.

He didn’t even look back at you, “Mama wouldn’t let you change out of it, you look too good anyway.” He stated.

You coughed at his words, “What did you say?”

He stopped and looked back at you, “I said my mom wouldn’t let you and you look good in that dress.”

Your eyes flickered between him and his hand at your wrist, you thought too deeply into his words. He’s just saying that as flattery, or as a joke. It’s not something to be taken seriously but you couldn’t deny how warm your face felt.

“Let me introduce you to my family, they all want to know about you, Shrimpy.” He pulled you along again with no resistance on your end. He tugged you along until he felt you stop, he smiled back but realized where the real resistance came from.

Jade gently intertwined his fingers with yours and stood firm. “There you two are, I was feeling so lonely.”

“Jade!” Both you and Floyd called out with different tones.

Floyd, with a tug of his arm, groaned and pulled you closer, “Butt out you prick…”

Jade, with a defiant step, laughed and got closer to you two with the same grip on you, “You need to greet everyone else yourself, don’t be rude. May I add, you look stunning in that dress. It’s a blessing to see you like this.”

You couldn’t react with how your wrist was being crushed by one and the other being squeezed until it was numb, you couldn’t feel either of your hands.

The proud parents of two stood far from the sight but undoubtedly focused. “Hard to believe Floyd has the upper hand in this. I always thought Jade was more of a lady’s type.” The mother of the twins said with a hint of pride and sarcasm.

“That may be true, they may be very different but if you look closer they’re very similar too.”

“Ah, so basically they have the same chances?”

Just as the father opened his mouth to speak, Floyd tugged at you hard enough for you to trip over your own feet only staying off the floor thanks to Jade’s reflexes.

“[Name], are you alright?” Jade said before looking back at Floyd.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you just let go!” Floyd said in response to his glare.

His father then spoke up again, “More or less.”

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech #jade leech x reader #jade leech #tweels #inspired

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moonstruckme · 12 days ago

Note

Hihihi your writing is so good and I was wondering if I could request a wolfstar or poly marauders smut where reader and Remus (& James if poly!marauders) are teasing Sirius

Like I’m imagining a more Sirius centric smut where maybe he was having an off day and was feeling unlovable bc of how he was brought up and you just want him to feel loved and stuff 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Thank you for requesting my angel <3

cw: smut mdni, light teasing, implication that Sirius enjoys roughness and some degradation so it's all in good fun, Remus and reader are giant saps for him

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 443 words

“Baby,” you chide, slipping a hand underneath Sirius’ head. “You’re gonna tear your hair out.”

“That’s okay.” He’s panting, gasping, a teary-eyed mess. He looks beautiful. “That’s actuallythat’s—oh, fuck—”

Remus clicks his tongue from behind you. You can practically feel the satisfaction emanating from his voice as he fucks into Sirius with two long, indolent fingers. “Such foul language,” he says. “Where have those posh manners gone?”

Sirius lets out another moan in response, and you can’t help but make a similar sound as his cock twitches inside you. His eyes lock on yours as you lean forward, bracing your elbows by his shoulders. Dark, vast pupils at the eye of a swirling grey storm. He pleads silently for a kiss, and you oblige him.

“I don’t—don’t know,” Sirius answers Remus’ question into your mouth. You begin gently working the hair out from beneath his shoulders to secure it with a hair tie above his head, because you really do like your boyfriend’s hair, and with how much Sirius enjoys getting thrown around it’s suffering some rough treatment. “Probably to the same place as my blood loyalty.”

“Just throw out the baby with the bathwater, then,” Remus teases. Sirius seems like he might respond, but then Remus does something which sends a high, beggy sound rising from Sirius’ throat and makes him dig his fingernails into the flesh of your backside.

“That’s alright,” Remus goes on insouciantly. “I like you better this way.”

“Me too.” You glance over your shoulder, trying to match Remus’ pace with your own movements. Sirius rewards you by moaning loudly and pulling you closer to latch onto your throat like a leech. “Much better.” Your voice grows breathy, between the feel of Sirius inside you and his mouth on your skin. “I like you better loud, too. You sound so pretty.”

Remus kisses the small of your back, a silent bit of praise for treating your boyfriend so well. “He looks so pretty, too, doesn’t he?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but you hum your agreement anyway. Thread your fingers into the hair at Sirius’ nape, watching them disappear into the pitch black. Sirius seems lost for words. His kisses have become open-mouthed and messy moving down the slope of your neck, his breaths hot and fast.

“Almost there?” you ask.

“Fuck.” Sirius sounds absolutely miserable, though you know he’s anything but. “Fuck, yeah, I—I’m—”

“Good.” Remus’ murmur cuts him off. “It’s alright, love, we want you to.” You brush your lips across the tattoo of the moon phases across Sirius’ collarbones, kissing the full moon just as Remus says the words sure to undo him. “You deserve this.”

420 notes · View notes

leriexoxo · 4 months ago

Text

KISSING 101

Bff! Seungmin x Reader

Tags: smut, first kiss, first time, unprotected sex (i cant help it), lots of kissing, seduction, feelings realization, bestfriends to lovers

Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: It was supposed to be a kissing lesson , just a friend helping his best friend out. What you didn’t know was that no one else’s kisses could be like seungmins, and that automatically switched everything up…

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Min, I’m serious. I don’t wanna mess this up.”

You sat on the floor, legs crossed, back pressed against the side of your bed as you stared at him—Kim Seungmin, resident menace, relationship cynic, and unfortunately, your best friend.

He was sprawled across your mattress, long legs hanging off the edge, hoodie half-rumpled from how many times he’d rolled his eyes and flopped around like you were torturing him with this whole conversation.

“You really want me to teach you how to kiss,” he said flatly, his voice dipped in disbelief. “Like, actually kiss. Lips. Tongue. That whole deal.”

“Yes.” You hesitated. “I just… I don’t wanna screw it up. He’s cute, and I’m nervous, and if I freeze or, I dunno, bite his nose or something—”

Seungmin snorted. “Bite his nose?”

“I panic!”

He sighed, sitting up, arms resting over his knees. For a moment, he just looked at you—long enough that you started to regret even asking. Then he rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, “This is so weird.”

“I know,” you groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “You don’t have to—”

“—But I will,” he cut in.

You blinked. “Wait, really?”

“I mean, yeah. I’m not gonna let you bomb your first kiss on some random guy who probably wears too much cologne and says ‘vibe check’ unironically.”

A soft laugh escaped you, but your chest was tight. This was Seungmin. Your ride or die. And now you were asking him to kiss you like you were… anyone else.

“Okay,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Seungmin shifted, sliding off the bed to sit in front of you. It was quiet—too quiet—until he cleared his throat and gave you the most serious look you’d ever seen on his face.

“I’m not gonna make this a thing,” he said, like a warning. “We’re not making it weird, alright?”

“Right. Not weird. Totally educational.”

He raised a brow. “Kissing 101 with Professor Kim.”

You laughed nervously, and he didn’t. He was watching you again, eyes flicking down to your mouth for just a second—barely long enough to catch.

“Okay, first—breathe.” His voice had dropped an octave. “You’re tense.”

“I’m literally about to kiss you, of course I’m tense!”

“Fair,” he murmured. Then he leaned in, slow and deliberate. “So I’m gonna go in—just a little. You don’t have to do anything yet. Just follow my lead.”

Your heart was in your throat as he tilted his head, his hand coming up to cup your jaw gently. His touch was careful. Measured. You could feel the heat of him, the scent of his cologne—clean, warm, familiar.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered, so soft you barely heard it.

And then… his lips brushed yours.

It wasn’t a kiss—not fully. Just a featherlight press. Testing. Patient.

He pulled back the tiniest bit, eyes scanning your face.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded, breath shaky.

This time, he closed the distance fully. His mouth met yours, firmer now, and you felt his fingers flex slightly at your jaw. The kiss was slow, almost too slow—each second stretched like he was making sure you absorbed every movement, every shift of his lips against yours.

When your mouth parted slightly, unsure, he made a soft sound in his throat and tilted your face a little more.

“Good,” he whispered against you. “Relax your lips—don’t overthink. Just feel it.”

You mirrored him instinctively, letting your lips follow the rhythm he set—soft, exploratory, unhurried.

Your hands had somehow found their way to his hoodie, clutching it lightly. You didn’t even realize until he broke the kiss, just a few centimeters away, his breath brushing your lips.

“That,” he said, voice husky and quiet, “was your first real kiss.”

You blinked, dazed, still holding onto him.

He let his hand fall away and cleared his throat like he was resetting his entire soul.

“Next lesson’s gonna be about tongue,” he added, glancing away like he wasn’t dying inside. “If you don’t chicken out.”

But neither of you moved.

Neither of you said the part out loud—that something had shifted, cracked open just a little.

But it hung there.

Between you.

Heavy and undeniable.

⸻

You didn’t talk about it.

Not that night, not the next morning, not even after he left your place with a dumb excuse like “I have to go reorganize my playlists.” You both pretended it hadn’t happened—even though it definitely had. Even though your lips still tingled, and every time you touched your face, you could feel the ghost of Seungmin’s mouth there.

It was just a kiss.

Just a favor.

Just a lesson.

Totally normal best friend behavior.

Right?

The next few days were… weird.

Seungmin was still Seungmin—still teasing you, still stealing your fries, still sending you TikToks at 3AM. But there was something different now. Like something was sitting between you, invisible but very present. A pause too long. A glance that lingered. A laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

And maybe you were overthinking it.

Or maybe he was doing the exact same thing.

But neither of you brought it up.

You tried. Once. Sort of.

You’d both been hanging out in your room again, him scrolling through his phone while you fidgeted with the edge of your hoodie. You opened your mouth to say something—you didn’t know what—and then he looked at you and said, “You’ve got that face.”

“What face?”

“The face you make when you’re about to overthink yourself into an aneurysm.”

So you shut your mouth.

And the moment passed.

But it didn’t go away.

It settled—simmering quietly under the surface, waiting.

And then—a few days later—you snapped.

It was late. Too late to be texting anyone but Seungmin. You stared at your phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard for a solid minute before you typed:

you up

His response was instant.

Always. What’s up, panic princess?

You chewed your lip. Then:

I want lesson two

You sent it before you could back out.

The typing dots popped up. Disappeared. Popped up again.

And then—

You’re joking

You rolled your eyes.

Dead serious

This time, the dots stayed.

…be at your place in 10

Your heart plummeted. Spiked. Did a triple backflip. You suddenly regretted everything.

You barely had time to throw on something semi-decent before your doorbell buzzed.

And when you opened the door, Seungmin just stood there, hoodie up, face unreadable.

“You really wanna do this?” he asked, voice low.

You swallowed. Nodded.

His jaw tightened—just for a split second.

“Alright,” he said, stepping inside. “Lesson Two. Let’s make it count.”

And for the first time since you’d known him, he sounded nervous.

“Sit.”

Seungmin’s voice was steady, but his hands were shoved into the front pocket of his hoodie like he didn’t trust what they’d do if he let them hang free.

You sat down on your bed, heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. You tucked your legs under you, back straight, trying to look composed even though your stomach was doing somersaults.

Seungmin stayed standing for a second too long. Like he was deciding whether to bolt or go through with it. And then, with a quiet sigh, he moved to sit in front of you again—closer this time. Too close.

He rubbed his hands together like he was warming up for a test. “Okay. So, Lesson Two.”

You nodded, unsure if you were breathing right.

“We’re covering tongue today,” he said flatly, like he was announcing the weather. “Pacing. Pressure. How to read the other person. And, y’know… not slobber all over them.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “Great. Just what I needed. Anti-slobber tactics.”

But he didn’t laugh this time.

His eyes met yours, and something in his expression flickered—like he was feeling it, too, whether he wanted to or not.

“You sure you’re good?” he asked, voice quieter now. “Because once we do this… it’s gonna be hard to pretend it doesn’t mean anything.”

You paused. Swallowed. “I trust you.”

That got him. You saw it in the way he blinked—once, slow. Like your words knocked the wind out of him.

He nodded once. “Okay.”

Then, slowly—so slowly—he leaned in again.

You expected it to be like last time. Soft. Easy.

It wasn’t.

This kiss was different the second it started. Still gentle—but deeper. More sure. His mouth moved against yours with that same maddening control, but this time, there was a thread of tension under it. Strained. Taut. Like he was holding back something.

You felt it when his hand came up again, cupping your cheek with a featherlight touch. His thumb brushed along your jaw as he shifted closer, chest almost brushing yours.

“Open your mouth a little,” he murmured against your lips. “Let me lead, yeah?”

You did as he said, nerves buzzing like live wires.

And then you felt it—his tongue, tentative at first, just a soft flick against yours. Testing. Inviting. He pulled back slightly, giving you space to follow, and when you did, he let out the quietest sound—half a hum, half a sigh—like he hadn’t expected you to match him so easily.

“Good,” he breathed. “You’re a fast learner.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, tongue gliding slowly against yours—exploring, guiding, teaching. You weren’t just kissing—you were listening to him through every movement, mirroring the way he tilted his head, the way he used just the barest hint of pressure, never too much, never too fast.

It was intoxicating.

He broke the kiss gently, but didn’t move away. His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing a little harder now.

“That’s how you kiss with tongue,” he said, voice husky, still close enough to taste his breath. “Controlled. Intentional. Not messy. You listen to the other person.”

You nodded slowly, dazed. “Got it.”

You were still breathless when he pulled away.

Seungmin’s hand lingered against your jaw for just a second longer than necessary, before he finally dropped it like it burned him. He cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair, and shifted back a bit—not far, just enough to pretend like there was still space between you.

“That’s, uh…” His voice cracked slightly. He tried again. “That’s pretty much it for Lesson Two.”

You could feel your heart pounding. Your lips were still tingling. And somewhere deep in your stomach, something uncoiled. Something bold.

You stared at him for a beat, and he avoided your gaze, blinking down at the floor like it had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the room.

And then, softly:

“Can I try?”

He looked up fast.

“What?”

You wet your lips. “Can I try it again? Initiate this time. I want to see if I learned anything. I mean… if that’s okay.”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes—panic? surprise? hope? He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing.

“I—uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly thrown off his axis. “Yeah. I mean. Sure. Yeah. That’s—you can. It’s just a lesson. It’s fine.”

But he didn’t sound fine.

His usual sarcasm was gone, replaced with something unsure, guarded. You could tell—Seungmin was fighting a war in his own head. Trying to stay still. Neutral. Unaffected.

You leaned in slowly, giving him the same caution he’d given you. Testing.

His eyes flickered down to your lips—and this time, they stayed there.

When your mouth brushed his, he inhaled sharply, his body going rigid. But he didn’t stop you.

You kissed him—soft, slow, learning the curve of his mouth, the way he responded when you tilted your head a little, when you brushed your tongue lightly against his.

You felt it—him—tense under your touch. Like he was holding back everything in him not to grab your waist, not to pull you in closer, not to deepen it like he wanted to.

Because this was a lesson, right?

Not a real kiss.

Except it felt real.

Too real.

And when you pulled back, just a little—just enough to breathe—his eyes were still closed, lips parted like he didn’t want it to end.

You whispered, “How’d I do?”

He exhaled shakily. “Dangerously well.”

Your heart skipped.

And then, he opened his eyes, looking right at you.

“This was a mistake,” he said, barely above a whisper.

But he didn’t move away.

Neither did you.

Because even if he said it was a mistake—he wasn’t stopping it.

⸻

You stared at yourself in the mirror.

Lips glossed. Heart pounding. Breath shaky—but this time, not from nerves.

You were thinking about him.

Not your date.

Not the guy waiting for you in the living room with his too-white sneakers and perfectly tousled hair.

You were thinking about Seungmin.

Again.

You shoved the thought away.

This isn’t about him. This is about me. About confidence. About finally doing this.

So you walked out, smile practiced, and let yourself fall into the rhythm of the evening—small talk, laughter, the occasional graze of a hand that should’ve made your stomach flip but… didn’t.

You kept waiting for the click. That moment where your heart would stutter, where your skin would buzz like it had in Seungmin’s room. But it never came.

Still, when the night started winding down, he leaned in, eyes warm and expectant.

And you didn’t pull back.

You let him kiss you.

His lips were soft. His hand found your waist. He moved like he knew what he was doing.

But the second his tongue brushed yours—

Nothing.

No butterflies. No sparks. No breath stolen from your lungs.

Just… static.

You tried to match him. Tried to remember what Seungmin taught you. The rhythm. The pressure. The way he’d murmured “Good. Relax your lips.”

You tried to feel anything.

But it felt like going through the motions of a dance you didn’t want to be performing.

The guy pulled back, smiling. “You’re a really good kisser.”

You blinked. “Oh. Thanks.”

You smiled too, because you were supposed to. Because this was what you’d wanted, wasn’t it?

But inside, your brain was in freefall.

Why didn’t it feel the same?

Why did it feel like I was kissing a stranger when I was trying to recreate something that came from someone I’ve known forever?

You excused yourself shortly after.

And the moment the door shut behind you, you leaned back against it, heart racing for all the wrong reasons.

Because now you knew the truth.

You’d kissed someone else.

But all you could think about was Seungmin.

The way he’d held your face.

The way his breath hitched when you kissed him back.

The way your name had sounded on his lips when he whispered, “Dangerously well.”

And worst of all?

You realized it wasn’t just a lesson.

Not for you.

⸻

You were curled up on the couch, pretending to scroll on your phone while Seungmin half-watched something on TV. Just like old times. Normal. Comfortable.

Except it wasn’t.

Because every time your eyes flicked to his profile, every time you caught a glimpse of his fingers drumming against the couch cushion or the way his lips parted slightly in thought, your chest tightened.

You were trying to be chill. So chill.

But your brain was still stuck on that kiss from two nights ago—and the complete lack of anything it made you feel.

And the one that still haunted you every time you closed your eyes.

Seungmin glanced over suddenly, like he’d caught you staring.

“So,” he said casually, “how’d the date go?”

You stiffened.

He smirked. “You’re making that face again.”

You tried to shrug it off. “It was… fine.”

“Fine?” he teased, raising an eyebrow. “That’s not very convincing. You kissed him, right?”

You looked away, heat rushing up your neck. “Yeah.”

“And?”

You didn’t mean to say it.

But it came out before you could stop yourself.

“It wasn’t the same.”

The smirk disappeared. His face stilled. “What?”

You swallowed. “I mean—it was fine, technically. Good, even. But it felt… off. Like I was doing everything right and still nothing clicked. Like I was kissing him but thinking about—”

You cut yourself off.

Shit.

Silence.

Seungmin just stared at you. Eyes unreadable. Chest rising and falling with something you couldn’t name.

You panicked. Backpedaled. “Can I—can I show you?”

His brows furrowed. “Show me what?”

“How I kissed him. I just—I want to compare, I guess. See if I’m crazy or if it really was that different.”

His whole body went still. You could feel the tension suddenly pulsing off him like heat.

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

And then—quietly—“Okay.”

You moved closer. Slowly. Carefully.

Your heart was thudding so hard it hurt.

You leaned in—soft, hesitant—and kissed him. The way you had the guy on the date.

No passion. Just technical. Controlled.

And still—even like this—your body betrayed you.

Because the second your lips met Seungmin’s again, everything tilted.

Your fingers twitched. Your breath hitched. Your lips parted without thinking, already chasing more, instinct pulling you in like gravity.

Seungmin didn’t move at first. But then—he kissed you back.

Just a little.

Just enough to shatter your nerves.

Because the moment your mouths slid together, it was everything.

Warmth.

Electricity.

The pressure you didn’t know you were holding finally releasing.

You gasped against his mouth, overwhelmed by how different it was. How real. How right.

And that’s when it hit you.

The problem hadn’t been the guy.

It was the connection.

And the only one you wanted it with…

Was him.

You pulled back, breathless, lips parted, eyes wide.

Seungmin stared at you like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

Because now you both knew.

This wasn’t about lessons anymore.

And maybe it never was.

⸻

The silence was deafening.

You were still close enough to feel his breath on your lips, the ghost of the kiss hanging between you like a spark that refused to go out. And Seungmin?

He wasn’t moving.

His jaw was clenched so tight, you could see the tension rippling under his skin. His eyes were locked on yours, dark, stormy, confused as hell. Like he was trying to convince himself this hadn’t just happened. That this wasn’t real.

But it was.

And every second you sat there, not saying a word, the weight of it got heavier.

You could feel it in the way his fingers twitched against his knee. In the way his lips stayed parted like he was still tasting you. In the way his chest rose and fell—too fast, too uneven.

Your breath caught.

You could practically see the war happening behind his eyes.

And then—

He lost.

Without a word, without warning, he reached for you.

His hand slid around the back of your neck and he pulled you in—hard, needy, like he’d been holding back for weeks and couldn’t anymore.

His mouth crashed into yours, nothing like the slow, calculated kisses from before.

This one was different.

Feverish. Starved. Real.

His lips were hot and rough against yours, his tongue sweeping in deep, hungry, taking what he wanted without hesitation. He kissed you like he meant it. Like he’d been dying to. Like he’d thought about this—wanted this—dreamed of this every second since Lesson Two.

His hands weren’t teaching anymore.

They were claiming.

One curled at the base of your neck, the other gripping your waist, dragging you closer, like distance itself was offensive. Your body melted against him without question, instinct kicking in, your hands fisting into the fabric of his shirt as your mouths moved together, in sync, like your bodies had always known each other better than your minds did.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t because he wanted to.

It was because he had to.

His forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged, lips swollen.

You could feel his heart pounding through his chest.

And when he spoke, his voice was hoarse, rough, wrecked.

“That—” he rasped, eyes still closed, “—was not a lesson.”

You nodded, unable to speak. Still dazed. Still burning.

“No more pretending,” he said.

You didn’t even argue.

Because you didn’t want to pretend anymore, either.

⸻

You didn’t talk about it.

Not the kiss.

Not the way Seungmin kissed you like he was on the edge of burning alive.

Not the way you kissed him back like you wanted to be the one to set him on fire.

The next morning, he was already in his kitchen when you came down, acting like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t dragged you into him and kissed you senseless on the couch just hours earlier.

“Want toast?” he asked, like his hands hadn’t been on your waist. On your neck. Like his tongue hadn’t been in your mouth.

You blinked. “Sure.”

He nodded. “Cool.”

And that was it.

He didn’t look at you. Not really. Not for longer than a half-second at a time. But his jaw kept clenching. His fingers were tapping the counter like a metronome ticking faster than the silence could fill.

You pretended you didn’t notice.

You pretended the toast was the most interesting thing in the room.

But you could feel it—his eyes on you when he thought you weren’t looking. Heavy. Hot. Confused.

Days passed like that. Tiptoeing. Dancing around the moment like it wasn’t still echoing in every glance, every brush of your arms when you walked too close.

And then—finally—he cracked.

You came over after he texted you and found him in his room, pacing.

“Can we talk?” he asked, voice tight.

You nodded. Heart pounding.

He didn’t meet your eyes.

“That kiss… it shouldn’t have happened.”

Your throat tightened. “Oh.”

“It just—it got out of hand. That was my bad. I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have—” He broke off, swallowing hard. “We’re best friends. You’re—you’re not supposed to be…”

His eyes finally lifted to yours.

And froze.

You’d been sitting cross-legged on his bed, shorts too short, one of his hoodies swallowing your frame. It should’ve been harmless. Should’ve.

But it wasn’t.

Not to him.

You weren’t doing anything. Just breathing. Just being.

But in that moment, Seungmin saw you differently. Felt you differently.

And something inside him snapped.

He stepped closer.

“You’re not supposed to be…” he repeated, voice lower now. Tighter. “So fucking hot.”

Your breath caught.

His eyes dropped to your lips.

He clenched his fists like he was holding himself back with everything he had. “You’re my best friend. You’re not supposed to look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you whispered.

He stared at you—eyes dark, full of conflict, full of want.

“Like you want me to ruin you.”

Your stomach flipped. Heat bloomed low in your belly.

“I don’t want to want this,” he said, each word shaking loose from his throat like it hurt to admit. “But fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

His eyes dropped lower. “About that kiss. About your lips. About the sounds you ma—”

“Seungmin—”

He stepped closer again. “I can’t unsee it. I keep trying to look at you like before. Like just my best friend.”

His voice cracked.

“But all I see now is someone I want to devour.”

You were quiet for a moment.

Seungmin stood in front of you—shoulders tense, chest heaving, eyes blown wide with everything he didn’t want to feel but couldn’t escape.

He’d just said it. All of it.

Every word you’d been too afraid to speak out loud.

And that power? That admission?

It made something in you shift.

You reached for him—slow, deliberate—and placed your hand gently on his chest. Felt the frantic beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“I’m not trying to ruin us,” you said softly. “I don’t want to lose you.”

His jaw flexed. “Then don’t do this.”

“But I haven’t even done anything,” you whispered.

And you watched him break again.

His eyes shut tight like he was trying to will away the image of you sitting there, loose-limbed and unbothered, voice soft and sinful. Like you weren’t right there, fingertips now trailing slowly down the center of his chest.

“Seungmin,” you said, voice lilting, teasing. “You think I want you to ruin me?”

He opened his eyes—barely.

“Maybe I just wanted to know if it was you feeling it too.”

He swallowed hard, backing up half a step, like distance would protect him.

It wouldn’t.

You followed. Just enough.

“You kissed me first,” you reminded him. “And you kissed me like you meant it.”

“Don’t,” he warned, voice a low growl now.

“Why?” you asked, cocking your head. “Because I liked it?”

His breath hitched. You saw it.

“Because I’ve been replaying it in my head every night since?” You leaned in slightly, just enough for your breath to graze his throat. “Because the date kiss was nothing compared to you?”

“Stop,” he hissed, but his hands had curled into fists at his sides. White-knuckled.

You smiled—just the slightest twitch of your lips.

“You don’t get to say all that and expect me to sit here like it didn’t fuck me up, too.”

Then—because you couldn’t help yourself—you reached up and brushed his hair off his forehead, fingers lingering.

“I’m not going to kiss you again,” you whispered. “Not yet.”

Seungmin exhaled, a sound that was half frustration, half relief, all pain.

“But I’m not going to pretend I don’t want to.”

You stepped back. Just one step.

Watched him chase the space you left behind with his eyes, like he hated the distance and needed it all at once.

“Go back to calling me your best friend if you want,” you said softly, voice like a promise and a threat. “But you and I both know it’s not that simple anymore.”

And with that, you turned.

Left him standing there.

⸻

Seungmin was spiraling.

He didn’t show it, of course. On the outside, he was calm, composed—maybe a little quieter than usual. But nothing out of the ordinary.

Except for the way he couldn’t look at you for more than three seconds without losing his grip on reality.

You were ruining him, and you didn’t even seem to realize it.

Or maybe you did.

You had come to his place to stay the weekend like you usually did, nothing out of the ordinary.

You wore his hoodie again that morning. That stupid, oversized hoodie that always used to mean safe and familiar and best friend.

But now?

Now it was just soft fabric stretched over bare legs he couldn’t stop fucking looking at.

You’d bend to grab something off the floor and he’d have to look away so fast his neck cracked.

He found you in the kitchen that afternoon humming to yourself, licking a little bit of jam off your thumb.

And he had to leave the room.

Just left, no explanation.

Because his brain? His brain didn’t see his best friend anymore.

His brain saw you on your knees in that hoodie with nothing underneath, lips slick and inviting, waiting for him to cross the damn line again.

He barely spoke to you that whole day. You noticed.

That night, you cornered him.

“You’re being weird,” you said, standing in the doorway of his room, arms crossed. “You won’t even look at me.”

“I’m not—” He sighed. “I’m trying to keep my distance.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re dangerous now,” he muttered, finally meeting your gaze.

And the look you gave him?

Sweet. Curious. So fucking inviting.

“I’m not trying to mess with you,” you said softly. “I just… I liked what happened. I liked what you said.”

“That’s the problem.”

Your head tilted.

He groaned, rubbing a hand through his hair like he was seconds away from combusting.

“I used to see you as this untouchable little idiot who couldn’t even flirt without blushing,” he muttered.

You smirked. “And now?”

“Now I look at you and all I can think about is pinning you down and making you forget every single lesson we practiced.”

Your breath hitched. You didn’t expect that.

“Seungmin—”

“I dreamt about you last night,” he said, voice suddenly low. Raw. “And I woke up hard as hell and so fucking pissed off because it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

You stared.

He took a step toward you.

“You think it’s funny to tease me like this?” he said, eyes flashing. “Walking around in my clothes, whispering shit to my face, telling me you think about the kiss, then pulling away like you’re not doing anything wrong?”

Your lips parted.

“I’m trying so hard to hold it together, but you’re not helping.”

And then you smiled. Innocent. Sweet.

“I could help.”

That was it.

His self-control?

Gone.

Seungmin grabbed the doorframe over your head, caging you in without even touching you.

His voice was a warning and a plea all at once. “If you’re gonna keep playing with fire…”

You looked up at him, unblinking. “Then what?”

His jaw tightened.

“Then don’t blame me when I finally burn us both.”

—

Sunday night…

It was late.

Too late.

The apartment was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the fridge and the patter of rain outside. You’d both been watching a movie on his laptop in his bedroom, your backs against the headboard, but Seungmin was stiff beside you, arms crossed, eyes locked on the screen like it owed him money.

You didn’t say anything.

Not until you shifted—just enough that your bare thigh brushed his.

You felt him freeze.

“Still trying to keep your distance?” you asked, voice low, teasing.

His jaw flexed. “Don’t start.”

You turned your head, smiling, chin resting on the back of the couch. “What if I want to?”

He didn’t answer.

So you leaned in.

Slowly. Carefully. Eyes never leaving his face.

You were close enough now that you could feel the warmth of his breath, see the way his lashes trembled when your hand ghosted over his wrist.

“Hey, I’m not trying to ruin anything,” you whispered.

“Then stop playing with me.”

“I’m not playing.”

You moved your hand again—this time over his chest, fingers tracing the edge of his collarbone through the soft cotton of his shirt.

Seungmin exhaled sharply.

Your touch dropped lower.

And that was it.

He snapped.

One second you were teasing him, and the next?

You were flat on your back, Seungmin hovering over you, hands on either side of your head, eyes wild with something dark and deep and so far from platonic it made your pulse skyrocket.

“You really want to know what happens if I stop holding back?”

Your breath caught.

He leaned in—so close your noses brushed. “Because I don’t think you understand what you’re asking for.”

You stared up at him, completely still, heart hammering against your ribs.

“I do,” you whispered.

His lips twitched—something between a smirk and a snarl. “No, you don’t.”

Then he kissed you.

Hard.

Nothing gentle. Nothing careful.

This wasn’t a lesson.

This wasn’t even a mistake.

This was everything he’d been dying to do wrapped in heat and teeth and hunger. His mouth crashed into yours like it had been waiting for permission for years. And now that he had it?

He wasn’t stopping.

Your fingers clawed at his shirt, dragging him closer, and he groaned into your mouth—a sound that vibrated through you, dark and needy and possessive.

He shifted, pressing his body against yours, and fuck—he was hard. So hard. You felt it grind against your core, slow and deliberate, and you gasped, breaking the kiss for air.

But Seungmin wasn’t done.

His lips moved to your jaw, your neck, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he growled. “How hard it’s been trying not to touch you, not to taste you—”

You whimpered, and he groaned, rolling his hips against yours again.

“Is this what you wanted?” he rasped. “Me like this?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Seungmin—yes.”

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, thumb brushing your lower lip.

“You’re not just gonna be my best friend anymore,” he whispered. “You’re gonna be mine.”

His thumb was still pressed against your bottom lip, his chest rising and falling like he couldn’t catch his breath.

“I’m yours,” you whispered, voice trembling.

That broke something in him.

He kissed you again—deeper this time, slower, but with the kind of hunger that made your head spin. His tongue slipped past your lips, exploring you like he was learning, memorizing, branding every inch.

You moaned into him, and he felt it—groaned back, like the sound lit something inside him.

His hands slid down your body, pausing at the hem of the hoodie—his hoodie, still hanging off you like a sin. He pulled it up just enough to touch your waist, thumbs skimming your bare skin.

“You wore this just to mess with me, didn’t you?” he murmured against your lips. “Knew what it would do to me?”

You blinked up at him, breathless. “Maybe.”

He huffed a laugh, low and dangerous.

“Yeah. That tracks.”

His hands moved to your thighs, spreading them with a quiet urgency. You felt the weight of his hips press between them, and your whole body arched at the contact.

“Fuck,” he muttered, “you feel too good.”

His lips returned to your neck, dragging down to your collarbone, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark. A claim.

You gasped, nails digging into his back, and he growled against your skin.

“I’ve been patient,” he murmured. “I’ve been trying to be good.”

“But you don’t want to be good right now,” you whispered, daring.

“No,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “Right now I just want to be bad.”

Then—his hand dipped under the hoodie again, sliding over your stomach, up—up—until his fingers brushed the curve of your breast.

You shivered.

“Can I?” he whispered.

You nodded, too breathless to speak.

He slipped his hand beneath your bra, groaning the moment he felt your skin. His thumb brushed over your nipple, slow and deliberate, watching the way you reacted—how your hips lifted, how your lips parted.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmured, eyes flicking down. “God, I barely touched you.”

You tried to speak, but all that came out was a breathy whimper.

He smirked, then leaned down to kiss the swell of your chest, open-mouthed and filthy.

“I want to take my time,” he said, every word pressing into your skin. “Want to learn every part of you. What makes you squirm. What makes you beg.”

You were already there. Already trembling.

His hips ground into yours, slow, delicious friction making your brain go blank.

And then—his voice again. Low. Rough.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered. “Let me be the one who teaches you everything.”

You nodded again, breathless, desperate, eyes wide and wild.

“Seungmin, please.”

His forehead dropped to yours, breathing heavy. “Then don’t stop me now.”

And just like that, his mouth was on you again—kissing, tasting, claiming—

Ready to show you exactly how long he’s wanted this.

Exactly how much he’d held back.

And how there was no going back now.

His lips were on your neck again, tongue dragging slow, reverent patterns while his hands mapped your body like he was memorizing it cell by cell.

You were panting now, arching into him, needing more.

“Still with me?” he murmured against your skin, voice thick and low.

You nodded—barely. “Please.”

That word. That voice.

He kissed you again—this time softer, slower, almost reverent. “Okay, baby. Let me take care of you.”

His fingers dipped beneath your panties—finally—and when he felt how wet you already were, he groaned.

“Fuck. All this for me?”

You whimpered, cheeks flushed, thighs already trembling from just his touch.

“You’re so warm,” he murmured. “So soft. So ready.”

His fingers moved gently at first—testing the waters, dragging through your folds with aching precision, just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Relax,” he whispered. “Just feel me.”

He circled your clit with maddening patience, lips never leaving your neck, and your hips bucked instinctively.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “There you go.”

Then—a finger. Slowly easing inside you. You gasped, back arching, and he kissed your cheek.

“Just one for now,” he soothed. “Gotta get you ready.”

His voice—soothing, tender—was at complete odds with the way his hand was working you open. He curled his finger just right and you moaned, gripping his wrist.

“That feel good, sweetheart?”

You could barely speak, but you nodded, breath caught in your throat.

He added another.

And another.

Soon you were writhing, panting, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in the world. He kissed your lips—slow, deep, filthy—while his fingers fucked you open.

“I want you to remember this,” he breathed. “Every second. Every touch.”

You were soaked now, hips moving against his hand, whimpering his name over and over like a prayer.

And when he pulled his fingers out, you whined at the loss—until you saw the way he licked them clean, eyes locked on yours.

“You taste so good,” he said. “Can’t wait to fuck you and have it all over my cock.”

You shivered.

He reached for his sweats, pulling them down, and your breath caught when he revealed himself.

Thick. Hard. Heavy.

Bigger than you expected.

He noticed your reaction and chuckled, a low, sinful sound.

“I’ll go slow,” he promised. “I’m gonna take my time.”

He lined himself up, pressing the tip against your entrance, and waited.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” you whispered. “Seungmin—please.”

And with one slow, careful thrust, he pushed into you.

Your whole world snapped.

He filled you, inch by inch, your walls stretching around him, and you gasped—full. So full.

He groaned, burying his face in your neck.

“You’re so tight,” he growled. “So fucking perfect.”

He stayed still, letting you adjust, kissing your shoulder, whispering praise into your skin.

And when you finally moved your hips—giving him the okay—he started to thrust.

Slow. Deep.

Each stroke dragging against your most sensitive spot, each one pulling little moans from your lips.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered. “Taking me so well.”

Your hands clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist as he rocked into you, slowly building a rhythm that had your toes curling.

But then—you rolled your hips.

And Seungmin snapped.

“Shit,” he cursed. “You want it harder?”

You nodded, desperate.

He grabbed your thighs, spreading you wider, and slammed into you.

You cried out, stars dancing in your vision as he fucked you—properly fucked you—his grip bruising, his breath ragged.

“This what you wanted?” he growled. “Me ruining you? Making sure no one else gets to touch you like this?”

“Yes,” you whimpered. “Only you—only you.”

He lost it.

His pace turned brutal, hips snapping into yours with every thrust, and all you could do was take it.

He reached between your bodies, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing tight circles until your body clenched.

“Come for me,” he whispered. “Come on, baby. Let me feel it.”

And you did—with a cry of his name, your whole body trembling as you shattered beneath him.

He fucked you through it, chasing his own high, moaning your name like it was salvation.

And when he came—deep inside you, hips pressed hard to yours—you felt it.

All of it.

The heat. The weight. The absolute claim.

You got it.

Let’s take it home—soft, sweet, utterly wrecked but in the best way possible. No more pretending. No more lines.

Just Seungmin and you, tangled in sheets and breath and something dangerously close to love.

⸻

The room was quiet.

The only sound was your breathing—slow, heavy, uneven. The aftershocks still rolled through you in waves, little shivers making your muscles twitch as Seungmin collapsed onto his forearms above you, chest heaving.

You stayed like that for a moment.

Still joined.

Still trembling.

Still barely believing what just happened.

And then his forehead dropped to yours.

“You okay?” he whispered, voice raw. “Did I hurt you?”

Your fingers found his hair, soft and messy and damp with sweat. “No,” you whispered back. “You were perfect.”

He sighed—relief, guilt, and something else all tangled up in one sound.

“I didn’t mean for it to go that far,” he murmured. “Not tonight. I just—once you started touching me like that I—” He broke off, lips brushing your cheek. “I lost it.”

You smiled, turning your head to catch his mouth in a gentle kiss. “I wanted it.”

His eyes flicked open—wide, dark, and full of something he was too scared to name. “Yeah?”

You nodded, thumb brushing along his jaw. “I wanted you.”

His whole body softened.

He kissed you again—slow, warm, with none of the hunger from earlier, just something quiet and vulnerable. When he pulled out, he moved carefully, like you were something precious, something fragile.

And maybe you were.

He cleaned you up without a word, stealing one of his old shirts from the floor and tugging it over your head with the softest smile you’d ever seen on him.

Then he climbed back into bed, pulling you into his arms, tucking you right under his chin like it was instinct. Like you’d always belonged there.

Your fingers traced lazy lines across his chest, your legs tangled with his under the sheets.

It was comfortable.

Safe.

But it was new, too. Raw. And real.

You could feel the way his fingers kept twitching where they rested on your hip, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold you like this now. Like maybe he was still scared he’d crossed a line he couldn’t uncross.

So you whispered, “Seungmin?”

“Yeah?”

You looked up at him. “We’re not pretending this didn’t happen, right?”

He stilled.

Then—slowly—his lips curved.

“No,” he said softly. “We’re not.”

“Good,” you whispered.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. “But I need you to know something.”

Your heart jumped. “What?”

“That wasn’t just sex for me,” he said. “That wasn’t just… helping a friend. That was me giving you everything I’ve been holding back.”

You swallowed hard.

“And I don’t want it to be a one-time thing,” he added. “Not if you don’t.”

You didn’t even hesitate.

“I don’t.”

He exhaled—shaky, like you’d just lifted a thousand-pound weight off his chest.

“Then I guess we’re not just best friends anymore,” he said with a grin.

You smiled. “Guess not.”

He tightened his arm around you, pulling you closer until your head was on his chest, your body curled perfectly into his.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

And you did.

For the first time in forever, you fell asleep with a full heart—warm, safe, his—wrapped up in the arms of the boy who taught you how to kiss, and ended up showing you what love feels like instead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: That was a lot of kissing 😍 also i think its cute how seungmin was her first everything!

If you loved this, give it a like and comment and REBLOG!!

#skz imagines #kim seungmin #han x seungmin #seungmin x reader #seungmin angst #seungmin fluff #seungmin drabbles #seungmin stray kids #seungmin smut #skz seungmin #seungmin #straykids #straykids reactions #stray kids smau #straykids fanfic

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rosemaryhoney27 · 2 months ago

Text

Danny Needs a Girlfriend Part 3

The burger was gone in three bites. Cass was efficient like that.

Danny, still not entirely sure if he was dreaming or just hallucinating due to ghost-core burnout, watched her from the corner of his eye.

“So, uh… just for my own peace of mind,” he began cautiously, “did Dani bribe you into this? Or threaten you? She's very persuasive when she wants to be. Once convinced Vlad to dress up as a clown for a week. I still have the blackmail footage.”

Cass tilted her head, then gave a small shake. “No threats. No bribes.”

Danny blinked. “Wait… you volunteered to come find me?”

Another small nod.

He stared at her, baffled. “Do you know what dating me would even look like?”

Cass shrugged.

“I’m serious! There’s ghost attacks, and people screaming in Latin, and my room’s a disaster, and I talk to dead people sometimes—like, friendly dead people, but still. I’m basically radioactive Spider-Man with extra trauma and a thermos collection.”

Cass took a moment. Then pointed at herself.

“Trained assassin,” she said softly.

Danny paused. “Touché.”

Cass smiled. The kind that barely tugged at the corners of her lips but felt like a full grin.

Then she said, “Ghosts are honest. More than people.”

Danny’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s… yeah. Actually, yeah.”

They sat in silence for a bit. Not awkward. Just quiet. The kind of quiet Danny didn’t get to enjoy often.

Then Cass turned slightly toward him.

“You saved people,” she said. “Alone.”

Danny shrugged, cheeks turning a little pink. “Had to. No one else was going to. And, well… I died for the first time because of my parents' lab accident, so it kind of felt like—my responsibility? You know?”

She nodded slowly.

“I see you,” she said. “I like what I see.”

Danny blinked, dumbfounded. “Wow. You, uh—don’t mess around, do you?”

Cass just shrugged, like duh.

Danny rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m not saying no. You're… kind of amazing. And gorgeous. And scary in a cool way. Just… I don’t want you to think I’m some tragic half-dead boy project.”

“You’re not,” Cass said instantly. “You’re just… Danny.”

He looked at her for a long moment. Then, softly: “You really do see people, huh?”

Cass didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

From the rooftop across the street, Dani was lying on her stomach, binoculars in one hand, Fenton phone in the other.

“Tucker, Tucker, he shared his burger. That’s practically ghost proposal level. And she didn’t even flinch when he mentioned the thermos thing!”

“Dani,” Tucker said, voice dry through the phone, “have you considered giving them privacy?”

“I gave him a girlfriend. He’ll forgive me.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I learned from the best.”

Back on the rooftop, Danny and Cass were now sharing ghost stories. Literally.

“She said she’d haunt my locker if I didn’t return her grandma’s locket,” Danny was saying. “So I tried to give it back, but it turned out she wanted me to keep it as a fashion upgrade. I don’t even wear jewelry. Except for this one time when—”

Cass leaned her head on his shoulder mid-sentence.

Danny froze.

Then melted.

“…Okay. Yeah. I’m not gonna fight this.”

He leaned back against her gently, and for the first time in a while, the world felt… quiet.

Peaceful.

Even with Gotham below and ghosts above, something about this moment just fit.

And in the back of his mind, Danny made a mental note:

Step One: Thank Dani. Step Two: Hide every embarrassing baby photo she tries to show Cass. Step Three: Learn how to make better grilled cheese.

He had a feeling he was going to need it.

Operation: Ghost Bat Romance Status: In Progress. Success Probability: 100%. Next Mission: Convince Batman not to kill him.

#dpxdc #danny fenton #danny phantom #dani phantom #cassandra cain #cass x danny #Cass/danny #dani is a little shit

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couch-potato28 · 1 month ago

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Currently thinking about friends with benefits—Kaiser edition

You wake up in his bed on a Friday morning after another Bastard München win. Sunshine is peeking through the blinds, clothes are scattered all over the floor, and freshly washed sheets wrap around your body loosely.

Kaiser is sleeping on his stomach, arms suffocating a pillow and his blue-tipped hair looks like a mess. You glance to the digital clock on his nightstand.

It’s only 4:31 am.

With a big yawn, you sigh and decide to snuggle back into him.

Before you know it, your eyes shoot open again. Lazily sitting up in one of his old, used jerseys that’s sliding off your shoulders, it takes you a few seconds to realize that—shit, you have work.

Suddenly, the blurry image of your boss sending a message to the team’s group chat last night to be in the office by 8 am sharp comes back. Fuck, you even replied with a smiling emoji.

It’s 7:02.

With the nearest train it would still take at least half an hour to get there but by this time traffic is gonna be crazy.

Panicking, you hurriedly get out of bed, accidentally smacking Kaiser on the back in the process, earning a low groan from him.

You quickly grab your skirt and socks from the floor before opening his closet, and steal a dress shirt of his that probably costs more than your monthly salary.

“What in the world are you doing, Prinzessin?” he mutters, face still buried in his silk pillow as you make a small mess inside the attached bathroom.

Toothbrush in one hand, mascara in the other, you shout, “I’M LATE TO WORK” before spitting into the sink, and brushing out your hair into something other than a bird’s nest.

He takes his sweet time waking up and grabbing his navy blue robe before taking a look at his phone.

Unlike you, being one of the most famous football athletes who just won probably the match of the century last night means no training for the day—or at least not until noon when the press decides to finally wake up too.

Smirking at your disastrous state, he steps into his slippers and presses the remote, the blinds sliding open to flood the room with sunlight as he strolls to the kitchen to grab himself one of his ridiculously expensive bottles of ice-cold mineral water.

By the time he feels hydrated, you stumble out of the bathroom, grabbing your bag and coat on the way out while grumbling about how your phone is hanging on for dear life at 15% battery.

“It was good to see you, Micha!” you tiptoe up to give him a quick peck on his cheek while putting on your shoes. Reaching for the doorknob, he swiftly takes a hold of your wrist, pulling you inside. “I’m already late-“

“Let’s go.” he interrupts, spinning the car keys to his blue sports car, sunglasses already on. “I’m gonna drive.”

You don’t even attempt to argue because he has already interwined your fingers with his, pulling you down to the garage.

It’s strange.

Kaiser showing you some care after the night you had.

Unlike now, usually he’d be sleeping through you getting up, maybe stir a bit when you make breakfast before letting you slip out and gently close the door to his apartment without even saying a causal goodbye.

Yet right now—in his ridiculous robe and one-of-a-kind designer, personalized sunglasses—he’s opening the door to his car, ushering you inside like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

The engine roars as he pulls out from the garage and starts to speed to your office. (you didn’t even know he knew where you worked—)

“Charge your phone” he says, nodding toward the wireless charger in his center console because—obviously he has that too.

“Thanks” you mutter, a sigh of relief leaving your lips before using the car’s mirror to fix your makeup.

Luckily, with him driving, you relax at the thought of getting to the office on time.

The trip is silent, the soft morning light fighting its way through the tinted windows, and the cool breeze of the city makes it easy to almost drift back to sleep for a few minutes before the hectic work begins.

When you arrive to the building, you unbuckle yourself, taking your phone and thanking him again with a soft smile.

He simply gives you a small wave, dismissing your gratefulness.

You watch him drive off before running to the elevator. Digging through your bag for your ID, you expect to pull out the employee card with that awful photo of yours printed on it.

After a few seconds of searching, you finally feel the card at the bottom of the bag as your fingers tighten around it and slip it into your pocket.

As you’re about to close your bag, your fingers brush against another familiar rectangle-shaped object but this time it can’t be your ID.

It’s lighter. Thinner. Black. You flip it over—Michael Kaiser, written in gold, stares right back at you.

You stop breathing for a sec and as if he just sensed it, not long after a text pops up on your phone screen.

Buy yourself breakfast. I’m gonna pick you up after your shift.

(a/n: characters are aged up. My first Kaiser piece guys. don’t know how I feel about it but try to enjoy it. tyy for ur support!! credit to @/cursed-carmine for the dividers)

#blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock kaiser #blue lock michael kaiser #bastard munchen #kaiser bllk #bllk kaiser #bllk michael kaiser #michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser

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e1e4n0r5 · 2 months ago

Text

Their Little Plaything: 2

Part 1

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing: Bullies Cait & Vi x Loner Nerd Reader

Words: 4975

Synopsis: After the surprising turn at the party, your tormenters come back for more.

Warnings: Bullying/mocking, power imbalance, FFF threesome, reader learns to eat kitty, secret filming of sex*, mention of scissoring, mention of masturbation with toy, mention of fisting, no aftercare, powder is seriously suffering here, mention of face slapping, financial imbalance if you squint, strap-on, strap-on referred to as cock, oral sex (all giving & receiving), mild degradation, mild spit play, dirty talk, praise kink, fingering (all giving & receiving), finger sucking, anal play, gag usage

Notes: We've got more of this to come!

Secret filming of sex*: I don't want to spoil the story but I need to disclaim this now: this is not a revenge porn/public humiliation scenario. Those recording do not intend to release the footage or show it to any third parties. It's a toxic behaviour that will be addressed in a future chapter. I do not condone or encourage this behaviour.

Vi and Cait took you home straight away, not even answering Powder’s questions about what the fuck just happened. You were able to tell her you were fine and that you'd text her in the morning, but you were being quickly pulled out of the house and into an Uber.

The hours the three of you spent together in your room were an amazing blur. Your memory got a little spotty at times, just from exhaustion, but what you did remember was fantastic. You'd gotten into your room, which was still a little messy from getting ready with Powder earlier. Vi had been kissing you against your door whilst Cait picked up the mess off your bed and tossed it unceremoniously onto the floor. Looking back at the two of you, she snapped a few photos, before starting to take her costume off.

Vi noticed, only pulling her lips off yours long enough to say, “Leave the boots, Cupcake.”

She just laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”

When Cait was fully undressed, she sat on the edge of your bed, legs open. Vi pulled away from your mouth, not even giving you time to catch your beath, when she pulled you over to Cait, pushing you ungracefully onto your knees.

“You got an idea on how to eat pussy?” Vi asked, pulling your hair back into a low ponytail, holding it in her fist.

You just stared at Cait’s pussy in front of you, your first time seeing one up close. At least, not from porn. She had an immaculately groomed landing strip, the rest of her fully waxed. Her lips were puffy from arousal, her juices visible around her hole.

Vi tugged your hair, pulling your head back to look at her upside down. “I asked a question, slut. You gonna eat her up for us?”

You nodded, your mouth already watering. “Yes! I want to, I really want to!”

Vi smirked, tilting your head back down and pushing you into her girlfriend’s pussy. “Then get to it.”

You’d been eager to get started, and had taken their instructions well. Not too hard, up a bit, suck there, use your tongue. They’d coached you to bringing Cait to her first orgasm of the night, both of them holding your head in place as she came and poured juices over your mouth. You’d licked them up until they released you, some still on your chin. Cait smiled down at you, bending down, and licking her juices off your skin.

Vi took her place on the bed, her jeans already off. Vi wasn’t bare like Cait, instead closely trimmed.

“Your jaw hurting yet, sweetheart?” she challenged, knowing it probably was, not having the practice she and Cait had.

Your jaw was indeed tired, but you refused to let them know that. “No, I’m good, I want to keep going.”

Vi just chuckled. “Well, if your jaw gets sore, use your fingers,” she winked at you.

Behind you, Cait took some more pictures and some short clips of your head in Vi’s lap. At one point, you had swap to your fingers, earning a laugh from Vi.

“Poor baby,” she mewled at you mockingly, squeezing your jaw to massage the ache. You hated that it worked. “Curl your fingers a little. Good girl,” she moaned when you did so.

Cait knelt behind you, starting to unlace the corset Powder had put you in for the party. As it loosened, you moaned in relief. She helped pull your cycle shorts down to your knees, slipping her fingers into your pussy from behind. You moaned again as Vi pulled your head back to her pussy.

“Suck my clit, baby, I’m almost there,” she panted, rocking her hips against you.

When Vi came in your mouth and on your fingers, you licked her clean, savouring her flavour. When she released your head, Cait helped you undress completely.

The next few hours passed in a blur of lips, tongues, and hands. Cait eating you out on your back; Vi bending you over your desk and finger-fucking you from behind; Cait and Vi scissoring on your bed whilst you watched from your desk, using your vibrator on your clit as per their instructions; Cait reverse-cowgirl sitting on your face whilst Vi fucked you with the vibrator, filming a close-up on her phone; Cait carefully showing you how to fist Vi’s pussy.

At some point, you were on the verge of passing out from exhaustion, and they saw themselves out after getting dressed. You wobbled into your bathroom, freshened up, drank a whole glass of water with some aspirin, and curled up in bed.

The next morning, you were jolted awake by incessant knocking on your door. You looked around blearily, your eyes struggling to adapt for a few seconds. You checked the alarm clock on your nightstand: 10:56. Fuck, you’d missed morning class.

“Y/N!”

It was Powder.

“Y/N, open the door,” she called out.

“Hang on,” you tried to speak but your voice broke in your throat. You cleared it a few times as you found your robe, cinching it tight around you. A look in the mirror showed you your awful reflection, hair a mess, makeup from last night still smeared across your face.

Ugh.

Powder kept knocking, not stopping.

“Powder, I’m here, I’m coming! Give me a second!”

You opened the door and were immediately enveloped into a tight bear hug.

“Hey, Pow-”

“Are you alright?” she asked, sounding frantic. She pulled back, cupping your cheeks, staring into your eyes from only inches away.

“Powder, I’m fine,” you assured her. “Head’s a little sore,” Among other things… “but I’m drinking water and took some aspirin last night.”

Powder pushed you back a few steps, closing your door behind her. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Pow, I’m absolutely fine, I promise. Despite how I look. What’s going-?”

“Why are your cheeks pink!” she demanded, touching them softly.

“Oh…” you blushed, remembering Vi and Cait both taking turns lightly slapping your cheeks as they challenged you to finger them both at the same time. “Um…”

“Did they…” she stumbled, her eyes filling with tears. “Did they…Force you?”

You blinked at her, your own eyes filling up at her clear distress. “No! No, sweetheart, I swear! Come here,” you pulled her into a tight hug, rubbing her back.

“It’s just…I couldn’t find you at the party and I noticed they were gone too,” she explained, trembling as she held you. “And then I heard you in the bedroom and when you came out, they rushed you out of there! And I just…” she wept into your shoulder. “I thought they’d done something-”

You shushed her gently, still rubbing her back. “No, Powder, I promise. I’m alright.”

“Then what the shit?” she cried.

You couldn’t help but laugh, which made her laugh.

She pulled back, wiping her eyes, smearing her perfect makeup. “Seriously, though? What the hell happened? How did you end up with them last night?”

You shrugged awkwardly. “I don’t know? I mean…I guess I just wanted it. Wanted them.” You held out a box of tissues to her.

Taking some and dabbing her eyes, she frowned. “After everything they’ve done to you? For two years? Have they even apologised?”

“No. I’m not sure they will. They don’t seem the ‘apology’ kind, but maybe that’s being unfair to them.”

Powder scoffed. “If Vi feels she hasn’t done anything wrong, she won’t apologise.”

She went to sit on your bed but you stopped her.

“No, no! Not on the bed.”

She paused. “Should I ask why not?”

“Just…Haven’t changed the sheets yet,” you blushed.

Powder crossed her arms. “Is your desk chair safe?”

You looked at it, considering. “The chair. Not the desk.”

“Ew. Do you need a Plan B?”

You and Powder hung out for a few hours, after you first changed your sheets. And wiped down your desk. When you deemed the room safe for her to move about in, you took a shower. She sat on the bathroom floor as you did, both of you perfectly comfortable. When she’d glance your way during your chat, she averted her eyes from the finger marks on your hips and thighs and handprints on your ass. She already knew more than she wanted.

Powder left around lunch time, as she had a class at 1. She gave you another hug, telling you she was always there for anything you needed. And she would be more than happy to unleash hell on both Vi and Cait if they didn’t treat you better.

You studied for a while, headphones on low with gentle classical music playing, when your phone pinged. Looking at it, you blinked in surprise. For the first time in your life, you’d been added to a group chat.

Tapping into the chat, you saw it was called “Plaything”, and Cait had added you.

Caitlyn K: Are you free later? Around 8?

Vi Lanes: we’re horny again

Your stomach filled with butterflies, but you knew you had to play it cool.

You: Sure, I’ve not got any plans

Vi Lanes: we guessed that, what else would you be doing

You ignored the sting.

Caitlyn K: We’ll come over to yours at 8. What dorm are you in?

You gave them your dorm room.

You: Why is the chat called Plaything??

Vi Lanes: why do u think

You: Wait… Am I ‘Plaything’??

Caitlyn K: It seemed the most fitting chat name

You: I gotta say, I’m not sure how I feel about that…

Vi Lanes: dont get your panties in a twist. its not that deep

You: You took my panties last night!

Vi Lanes: damn straight we earned them

Caitlyn K: Don’t bother wearing any later, we’ll just take them again

Caitlyn K: And we’re not buying you any more

You: I mean, you could afford it? Your family’s rich

Caitlyn K: Maybe if you’re a good girl for long enough you’ll get a little treat

Vi Lanes: but dont count on it

You: This still feels like you’re being mean to me

Vi Lanes: we’ll fuck this pouting out of you later. c u at 8

Feeling a little upset, you put your phone down. You definitely weren’t getting that apology.

Just after 5, there was a knock on your door. You checked the time on your phone, frowning a little. Was it Vi and Cait? They were early.

Standing up from your desk, you headed over to your door. Looking through the peephole, you saw a young woman you vaguely recognised, but it wasn’t either of your expected visitors.

When you opened the door, the perky brunette standing on the other side smiled at you. Her hair was in a ponytail, half-moon glasses on her nose.

“Hi! Y/N?”

“Yes, hi?”

“Hi, I’m Sky Young, I’m the RA for the dorm.”

You nodded, remembering why her face was familiar; she’d given you the orientation tour around the dorm and campus two years earlier. “Oh yeah, I remember you. Hi.”

“I don’t think we’ve actually spoken since your orientation day?”

“I…” don’t have any friends, “I tend to keep to myself,” you smiled awkwardly.

Sky smiled back. “That’s cool, a lot of people in this dorm do! Um, anyway, I just had to talk to you about something. I’ve been asked to bring a small issue to you. By your neighbours?”

You straightened up, nervous. “Oh my god, what’s happened? What have I done?”

“So, like I said, it’s only a small problem – it’s not a formal complaint, more of a request-”

“What is it?” you asked, panicked. Were you going to get kicked out?!

“It’s…” She trailed off, blushing under her glasses, awkwardly fiddling with her clipboard. “It’s about…Noise.”

“Noise?” you asked, baffled.

“Yeah, it’s a noise issue.”

You stammered, “I don’t understand that? I never play loud music, I always wear my headphones, I-” you looked at her blushing face. Then it dawned on you. The noise. Last night. “Ohhh…”

Sky nodded when she saw you understood. “Yeah…But like I said, it’s not a formal complaint so it’s not a mark on your record; it’s just a request from your neighbours that you…Just…Keep it down a little in the future.”

You stumbled over your words. “I…I…Am mortified. I’m so sorry!” You were almost in tears with your head in your hands.

“No, no, it’s fine. You’re allowed to have whoever you’d like in your room – as long as they’re members of the University – so you’re not doing anything wrong there. You’re not in trouble. People weren’t even super upset, they say you’ve been an excellent dormmate for years, this is the first issue that’s come up. None of them were super annoyed, I swear. Most of them actually seemed…Impressed? Or, like, happy for you? They also said it went on for a really long time,” she lifted an eyebrow quizzically.

You weren’t going to touch that.

“You said ‘people’ – how many people...Heard?”

Sky hummed awkwardly. “Well, I’m not at liberty to say who heard, but I can say it’s quite a few. This floor, floor below, floor above. Yeah, I got a lot of texts this morning.”

You wanted the floor to swallow you whole. “Oh god…”

“Anyway, that’s it. They’d just like you to keep it down in future, please.”

You nodded, your face painfully red. “I will, absolutely! Again, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine,” she laughed gently. “College students tend to be understanding of…Noise issues. You know, everyone’s away from home for the first time, meeting new people. Stuff happens. And like I said, it’s not a formal complaint, just a polite request from your neighbours. One person said, quote, ‘noise cancelling headphones only do so much’.”

“Of course, yes, yes, I promise!”

“Okay, well that’s all I needed to say, so have a nice day,” she smiled, giving you a little wave and heading off down the hall.

You closed the door behind her, hurrying over to your bed, picking up your pillow, and screaming ‘fuck!’ into it out of the sheer embarrassment.

Vi and Cait would have a field day with this.

When they came over that evening, they did. They knocked on your door and you let them in quickly. You looked up and down your hallway, eyes widening in fear when you saw a neighbour a few doors down. He looked at you for a second, then made a point of putting his headphones on, giving you a playful salute.

You blushed furiously, closing your door.

“What’s up?” Vi asked, spinning your desk chair around and sitting herself down, lounging back like a king.

“Yes, why are you so jumpy?” Cait asked, sitting delicately on your bed.

“We have to be quiet,” you explained in a tense whisper.

“Why are you whispering?” Vi asked in a stage whisper, shaking her head in confusion.

“Because-” you caught yourself when you spoke too loudly, “Because there’s been a noise complaint!” you finished in a whisper.

Vi shook her head, pretending not to hear you, “A what?”

“A noise complaint!”

“A what?” she asked again, louder.

“A noise complaint!” you snapped.

They both paused, then laughed. “Wow. Congrats, Y/N, you’re officially a college student. Only took you two years.”

“This isn’t a joke! I could get kicked out.”

Vi shook her head in amusement, spreading her legs as she lounged back in your desk chair. As she did, you noticed a bulge in her jeans. It looked almost like a penis. But you knew Vi didn’t have one…?

“What’s that?” you asked, casting your eyes down to her crotch.

“What?”

“That.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” she blatantly lied with a cocky grin as she stretched her arms behind her head.

You looked at Cait incredulously, but she was only smirking at you as she sat back on your bed. “Yes, you do!” you accused Vi.

“Well, why don’t you take a look for yourself if you’re so curious? See if it’s anything you might like?”

You squinted at her suspiciously, as if she were a lion asking you to put your head in her mouth.

Cait’s foot nudged your butt, pushing you in Vi’s direction. “Go on. Take a look, sweetheart.”

You took a step forward cautiously, standing between Vi’s legs.

“On your knees,” she smirked up at you. She kept eye contact with you as you sunk onto your knees. She nodded her head towards her crotch. “See what you find.”

With hesitant hands, you reached forward and unbuckled her belt, lowered her zipper, and reached inside. You felt something hard. With a confused frown, you pulled it out. It was a dildo. When you pulled on it further, Vi groaned. Looking closer, you realised it was attached to a leather harness around her hips.

“What do you think?” Vi asked, nodding to the purple silicone. It was one of their smallest toys, something to break you in gently. They didn't want to scare you off. About six inches long, not too wide, smooth detail. A starter strap, they called it.

You didn't respond, examining the toy closely, feeling it in your hand. Would it still fit inside you?

“This one has a trick,” Vi smiled. She held up a small remote, clicking a button. The toy in your hand began to vibrate gently, making you gasp as the sensations shot through your hand.

“You like it?” Cait asked from the bed. You were so engrossed in the toy, you didn't even notice her phone in her hand.

You stared at the toy in fascination as Vi clicked through the settings on the remote, gradually getting more intense. The final one before it turned off almost made the bones in your arm rattle.

You nodded. “I think…I think this could be good?”

They both laughed at your rather innocent response.

“Then open your mouth, pretty girl,” Cait coached.

“Wait,” Vi made you pause, “I wanna see those tits first. Top and bra off.”

Cait helped you remove all your clothes, leaving you completely bare as you knelt in front of Vi. When she removed your underwear, Cait made a show of putting them in her jacket pocket.

“We warned you.”

Vi turned your chin back to her. “Open your mouth, sweetheart,” she ordered, holding the base of the toy, angling it towards your mouth. You obeyed, some butterflies in your tummy, letting Cait’s hand on the back of your head push you forward to meet Vi’s cock. “Slide your mouth down it. Good girl,” she praised when you went as far as you could go. Cait held your head there for a second, her other hand holding her phone at the right angle to catch your movements, then she released you.

“Up and down,” Vi coached, one hand stroking your cheek. “That's it, well done.”

“Get her nice and wet, sweetheart,” Cait said softly, “That's what she's going to fuck you with.”

You moaned around the toy in the mouth, already imagining how good this would feel inside you.

When Vi was satisfied the strap was wet enough, and Cait had subtly set up and angled her phone towards the floor between your bed and desk in the holder attached to your headboard – the holder you use to watch streaming in bed – Vi pulled the toy out of your mouth.

“On your back, baby,” she instructed, nudging your backwards. You moved back a little, laying back on the floor.

Cait knelt next to you. “Hold on, Vi, I want a taste first,” she said, bending over you. Vi spread your legs for her girlfriend, who started lapping at your pussy. You moaned, but then remembered the noise complaint, putting your hands over your mouth.

Vi smirked at you. “Oh, right, we have to be quiet. Well then, I probably shouldn’t do this…” She picked up the toy’s remote, switching it on. Cait aimed the toy at your clit, sending vibrations through your button, making you moan again behind your hands.

Cait ran the tip of the toy all over your pussy, tormenting you with it. When she got down to your hole, she ran the tip in circles around your entrance, making your legs quiver. She straightened up, looking down at you, “Are you ready to be fucked for the first time?”

You nodded desperately, moving your hips against the tip of the toy, wanting it inside you.

Cait used her free hand to pull your hands off your mouth. “Don’t be silly, sweetheart. Keep them there,” she instructed, pushing your hands to the floor over your head, opening up your body to the camera you didn’t know was recording.

“Beg for it,” Vi demanded, moving her hips just a fraction of an inch in and out of your already soaked hole.

“Please, Vi.”

“More.”

“Fuck me, please. I-I need it.”

She smirked back at you, bending her head forward a little and slowly dripping some spit onto your hole. You moaned quietly, why was that so arousing? Sliding the tip of the toy through the spit, she looked back at you.

“Beg again.”

“Please, Vi, please fuck me.”

As you begged, she slowly slid the toy inside you, filling you with your very first cock. She started off with shallow thrusts, letting you get used to the sensation of being filled. When you started writhing on the floor, lifting your hips for more, she gave it to you. Sliding in until the base of the toy rested against your pelvis, you trembled at the full feeling and the low vibrations in your pussy.

“Fuck, it feels so good,” you groaned.

“Yeah?” Vi smirked, stroking your thigh as she gave small thrusts. “You like having a toy inside you?” You nodded desperately. “Think you can handle a little harder?” You nodded again, one hand holding your leg to open yourself up for more.

“Little slut,” Cait praised, removing her own clothes. You watched in awe as her body was slowly revealed, gasping when Vi started fucking you harder. When she was fully naked, she bent over you, cupped your cheek, and kissed you deeply. You started to lift your hands to touch her back, but she pinned your arms with one hand. You moaned into her mouth, letting her coach you through a deep, open-mouthed kiss. Your tongues danced together as Vi increased the vibrations a level, making your hips writhe against hers.

Cait eventually pulled back so you could both breathe. Cupping your jaw, she asked, “Did you like it when Vi gave your pussy a little spit?”

You nodded, your body starting to rock against Vi’s thrusts.

“Do you want to try something?”

You gasped at a particularly deep thrust, feeling Vi rub the toy deep, the vibrations hitting your cervix.

“What if I gave you a little spit here?” she asked, pulling your jaw open and pressing her thumb to your tongue.

Your eyes widened, both a little afraid and excited by the thought.

“Hmmm? Would you like to try that?” she asked gently, rubbing the pad of her thumb over your tongue.

“Just a little?” you asked as clearly as you could.

“Just a little,” she assured sweetly, kissing your cheek.

You hesitated, then nodded. She smiled back at you, pulling her head back and hovering over your mouth. You watched in confused arousal as she let a small amount of spit trail from her mouth to your own, landing on your tongue. Cait rubbed her thumb over your tongue, rubbing her spit onto it. You moaned softly, delicately, almost hesitant to admit you liked it.

“Good girl,” Cait bent down and kissed you deeply again, her tongue entwining with yours as Vi increased the vibration again. You keened into Cait’s mouth, your eyes rolling back.

“Don’t cum yet, sweetheart,” Cait commanded.

“It’s too much,” you whined.

Vi raised an eyebrow. “You want me to turn it off then?”

You shook your head. “No! No, please!”

“Then shut up and take it like a good girl,” she threatened.

Cait straightened up. “I need something, sweetheart,” she said. Reaching over, she picked your right hand up. “These fingers, darling,” Cait coached, holding your middle and ring fingers together and lifting them to her mouth. She sucked them, moaning around your fingers, before taking them out and guiding them towards her hole. With a moan, you slipped them inside her, feeling her hot centre envelop your digits. “Fuck, they feel good inside me.”

Your mouth went slack as you watched yourself fuck her, mesmerised by how your fingers moved in and out of her wet centre. Cait moved her hips on your hand, reaching up and cupping her own breasts, rolling her nipples. You wanted to do that for her, but you just couldn’t reach. You did what they had both done to you the night before, and curled your fingers a little inside her. She moaned loudly, not caring if she were heard.

“Fuck, baby, that’s good. Oh, you’re learning,” she complimented, riding your hand.

“Hate to break up the party,” Vi grinned, “but I wanna see this ass bounce.” She pulled out of you, making you whine in protest. She waited for Cait to remove your hand from her pussy, then roughly flipped you onto your knees. Squeezing your ass cheeks, she landed a few spanks, the sounds definitely able to be heard by your neighbours.

Sliding back inside you, the toy hit deeper than before. You moaned long and low as Vi pressed the remote’s button again, twice, then held your hips and fucked you hard and fast.

Cait settled in front of you, coaxing your head towards her dripping pussy. “You remember last night, baby?”

You nodded eagerly, putting your hands under her hips, and diving straight in. She tasted divine, like a luxury wine. You licked up and down her lips, pulling her to your face, like you couldn’t get deep enough inside her.

“Put your tongue in,” she instructed, moving your hair out of your face, rocking her hips onto your mouth. “Fuck, baby.”

Behind you, Vi spanked your cheeks a few more times, then gripped them and held them open. First, she admired how well your pussy handled the toy, a white ring forming at the base of the toy. She couldn’t wait to get a larger size inside you. Then, pursing her lips, she dripped some spit onto your back hole.

You squeaked in surprise, head jolting away from Cait’s pussy. She quickly pulled you back in.

“Don’t be shocked, sweetheart; we’re going to fill that hole soon too.”

You squeaked again when Vi pressed her thumb over your hole, pressing in time with her thrusts.

After a few seconds, she pressed a little harder, popping her first joint inside. “Just a thumb, slut, you can handle that,” Vi said firmly, giving you no room to argue.

Cait urged your attention back on her pussy, tapping your nose a few times to make you concentrate. “Don’t get distracted, baby. You’ll be a good little slut and do as you’re told.”

You nodded obediently, sucking Cait’s clit as Vi fucked your pussy with her toy and kept her thumb in your ass.

“Ready for max setting?” Vi teased, picking up the toy’s remote and clicking all the way to the highest setting. You saw stars for a second when the vibrations hit your cervix, your legs shaking around Vi’s. Your head lifted on its own, a loud moan falling from your lips.

“Sweetheart, you gotta shut the fuck up if you’re so worried about noise complaints,” Vi hissed in your ear, pushing your head forward into Cait’s pussy.

You nodded and whined pitifully, trying to keep quiet as the vibrations sent shockwaves through your cunt, making your toes curl. You licked and sucked on Cait’s clit as she rocked her hips against your face, moaning into her dripping pussy.

When she started panting, she held the back of your head. “Fuck, baby, keep going,” she breathed, riding your face, moaning quietly as her climax washed through her. She leaked juices over your chin and tongue, earning another moan from you as you slurped on her pussy.

“Greedy fucking slut,” Vi teased, pulling you back and up onto your knees when Cait released your head.

You moaned aloud as Vi turned your head to her and ran her tongue over your Cait-covered chin and cheeks, lapping up her girlfriend’s juices.

“Shhh,” Cait shushed you gently as she sat up, picked up your discarded t-shirt and shoved it into your mouth. “You don’t want people to hear you, do you?”

You shook your head weakly, resting back against Vi as the butch wrapped a muscled arm around your waist as she fucked you on your knees.

“Then,” she kissed your tummy, “as Vi said,” she cupped your breasts, feeling their weight in her hands, “you have to shut. The fuck. Up,” she whispered dangerously, giving your nipples a threatening squeeze and pull.

The floodgates crashed open. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you moaned around your t-shirt as your pussy sprayed your release down your thighs and over Vi’s strap.

“Good girl,” Cait praised, cupping your breasts and pressing kisses all over them as you trembled in Vi’s firm grip.

“Fuck,” Vi cursed, holding your hips and fucking you as fast as she could, chasing her own orgasm. From the vibrations in the strap, the feel of your body against hers, and the sight of a naked Cait before you both, her own end hit powerfully and she groaned into your hair as she climaxed.

Cait found the toy’s remote on the floor, turning it off, and you and Vi moaned gratefully.

“Okay,” Vi panted, “you can come to our place from now on.”

@sevikas-whore, @djstinkyfartz, @jinririz, @abbyandcaitlover, @ayuxiru, @bebeluvvv, @youdoyou-andiwilldome

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