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cloudtransprncy · 4 months ago

Text

Purr

Wonyoung X Male Reader | 5700 words Tags: Hookup, backshots, manhandling, rough, hot as fuck, WAP

White ears, pink ribbons, and an invitation to find out what this kitty does behind closed doors.

The house is packed. Bodies everywhere. Bass so heavy it makes your drink ripple in its plastic cup. Some frat's Halloween party where the costumes get lazier and the drinks stronger as the night stretches on. You've forgotten whose place this even is. Friend of a friend of a roommate, maybe.

You lost your friends about an hour ago—last saw them heading toward the keg in the kitchen, now they're ghosts in the digital ether, not answering texts. So you've been wandering, drink in hand, caught in the limbo of being alone in a crowded room.

You adjust your half-assed cowboy hat—the only real evidence of your last-minute costume besides the checkered shirt and boots you already owned.

Four drinks in and the world has that pleasant blur around the edges, like someone's applied a subtle filter to reality.

That's when you see her.

She's leaning against a metal railing at the edge of the makeshift dance floor, surrounded by three equally stunning friends. They're all laughing at something on someone's phone, heads bent together in that conspiratorial way that creates an invisible force field. One gloved hand wrapped around the bannister, posed in a way that seems both accidental and perfectly calculated. White cat ears with pink ribbons perched on dark hair that falls straight down her back. Her makeup is precise—eyeliner sharp enough to cut, blush high on her cheekbones, lips glossed pink. There's something distinct about her features—delicate but arresting, wide eyes that seem to absorb everything while revealing nothing.

Her outfit is simple but effective. White halter top. Pink satin skirt. Thigh-high black boots. Pink gloves past her elbows. Her body creates a silhouette that doesn't seem entirely real, like she was drawn rather than born.

She watches the crowd with this expression—not quite boredom, not quite amusement—like she's mentally captioning everyone's photos with comments they'd never want to read.

Then her eyes catch yours.

And they stay there.

You drain your drink. It's more for something to do with your hands than courage, but it serves both purposes. As you watch, a group of guys in basketball jerseys approach her circle. There's some back and forth, laughter, and then her friends are peeling away, following the guys toward the kitchen. She stays behind, waving them off with a dismissive flick of her gloved hand.

Perfect timing. You push through the crowd toward her, bumping shoulders with strangers who've already forgotten you exist before you've passed them.

Her eyes track you the whole way. She doesn't pretend she wasn't looking. When you reach her, she straightens slightly. The movement is subtle but deliberate, like everything else about her seems to be.

"And what exactly are you supposed to be?" You gesture vaguely at her outfit.

She blinks slowly, a half-second too long to be natural. "I'm a slutty cat," she says, voice softer than expected but somehow cutting through the music. "Can't you tell?"

You look at her again, taking your time now that you have permission. "I see the ears. But I don't know if that explains"—your eyes move down deliberately—"everything else."

She doesn't react to your gaze the way most would. No embarrassed laugh, no looking away. If anything, she seems to catalog your reaction, filing it away for later reference.

"And you're... what? A cowboy?" She reaches up, adjusting your hat with one gloved finger, letting it linger just long enough to make a point. "A little basic, don't you think?"

"Last minute," you admit. "Not all of us plan our slutty animal costumes weeks in advance."

She laughs—genuinely, you think. It sounds different than the practiced social laugh most people deploy at parties. "Maybe you need to get closer to appreciate the details," she says, voice dropping into something more private.

You step in. Close enough to notice things. The expensive perfume that probably costs more than your monthly coffee budget. The tiny rhinestones at the corners of her eyes that catch the light when she blinks. The almost imperceptible chip in her nail polish on her left index finger—the only flaw in an otherwise flawless presentation.

"I don't even know your name, cat girl."

"Wonyoung," she offers, gaze alternating between your eyes and mouth with scientific precision.

"Wonyoung," you repeat. "I'm—"

"Doesn't matter," she interrupts, something playful but challenging in her expression. "Tonight's not about names."

The directness catches you off guard in a way that makes your pulse quicken. You place your hand on the railing beside her hip, close but not touching. A question.

"No? What's tonight about then?"

She considers you, teeth briefly catching her bottom lip in a gesture that seems both calculated and unconscious.

"Alright, cowboy. Dream date vibes—go," she says, leaning in with playful curiosity in her eyes.

You grin casually. "Oh you know... some Boba, then some backshots."

Her eyes widen before she erupts into genuine laughter, head thrown back. "Oh wow! Honestly, I respect it." She leans in teasingly. "But I don't think you're hot enough to be saying shit like that."

"Oh, so you are checking me out?" You raise an eyebrow, amused.

She tries to suppress a smile, gives a playful scoff. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Too late—you already laughed." You smirk, stepping closer.

"It was a pity laugh," she says, biting her lip, playfully defensive. "I felt bad."

"Nah, you're a bad liar. I'm definitely your type."

There's a beat. The music pulses between you, bass dropping on some remix everyone will forget by morning. She glances down, then back up, eyes mischievous.

"Alright, fine. You're halfway to my type."

"What's the other half?" you ask.

Her voice drops lower, as she traces her fingers lightly down your arm. "Someone who can handle me."

"I can," you say, voice low, matching her energy.

She smiles, fingers tangling with yours, pulling you closer. "Let's see if you're all talk, then. My place is 10 minutes from here, and you saw my roommates leave with some guys so..."

The bass drops. The crowd surges. Bodies push and her body presses against yours for a moment. Something clicks into place. Simple chemistry. Complex consequences.

Her eyes widen slightly, then narrow with purpose. You've both just recognized something neither of you has named yet.

You look at her—really look at her—and wonder briefly about the reality that exists beyond this moment. The classes she attends. The coffee she drinks in the morning. The books on her nightstand. All the ordinary things that make up a life outside of this charged exchange.

But tonight isn't about that. Tonight is about following the electric current between two bodies and seeing where it leads.

"Lead the way," you say.

...

You don't even remember the Uber ride.

Just fragments. Her thigh against yours. Her mouth hot on your neck. "God, I want you," whispered against your ear, not caring if the driver heard. Her gloved fingers slipping under your shirt, tracing your stomach, then lower. Her climbing halfway onto your lap, skirt riding up, while the driver pretended not to notice.

"God, I can't wait to get you alone," she'd breathed against your mouth, her tongue sliding against yours again, tasting like cherry and tequila and bad decisions you'd never regret.

All you know is that now you're in her bedroom, and Wonyoung is on her knees on the edge of her mattress, those glossy lips stretched around your cock while you stand before her.

Her room is a trip—glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across the ceiling, walls plastered with posters and polaroids, fairy lights strung around her bed frame casting everything in a soft pink glow. A Hello Kitty plushie stares at you from the pillow. The contrast between the cutesy bedroom and what she's doing to you right now is fucking with your head in the best way.

"Holy fuck," you breathe, watching her take you deeper.

The cat ears are still perched on her head, though slightly askew now. Her pink gloves are soaked with spit, one hand wrapped around what she can't fit in her mouth, the other cupping and squeezing your balls. The satin fabric against your skin feels unreal—slick but with just enough friction to make your knees weak.

Spit drips down her chin, pooling on her white top. Her lipgloss is destroyed, smeared across her lips and your cock. She pulls back, just enough to swirl her tongue around the head before taking you deep again, making a show of it.

"Get on the bed," she says, pulling off with a wet pop, voice raspy in a way that makes your dick throb. "I'm not done with you."

You climb onto her pastel sheets, pushing aside a few stuffed animals. She's on you immediately, shoving you back against the pillows, her body lithe but surprisingly strong for someone so small. The way your hands practically span her entire waist is a heady reminder of how delicate she is compared to you.

"Stay still," she orders, straddling your thighs, then lowering her mouth back to your cock. Your hands find her shoulders, feeling how narrow they are beneath your palms, how fragile her collarbones seem under your fingers.

She takes you deeper this time, relaxing her throat around you. The wet heat of her mouth is almost too much. You reach for her head, but she grabs your wrists, pinning them to the bed on either side of your hips. The look she gives you from under her lashes is pure power—this tiny girl somehow in complete control despite her size.

"Fuck, you're strong," you murmur, testing her grip and finding yourself genuinely restrained.

She pulls off just long enough to say, "Don't underestimate me just because I'm small," before sinking back down, taking you impossibly deep for her size. The contrast of her petite frame handling all of you makes your head spin.

"Fuck, your mouth," you groan, watching her cheeks hollow as she sucks harder.

She pulls off completely with a wet gasp, a thick strand of saliva connecting her lips to your cock. She takes a deep breath, then deliberately lets a string of spit fall from her mouth onto your shaft, using it to stroke you with one gloved hand while maintaining eye contact. The sight alone nearly makes you cum.

"You like it messy?" she asks, her voice husky, already knowing the answer.

Before you can respond, she swallows you down again, taking you impossibly deep in one fluid motion. Her throat constricts around you as she holds there for several seconds, nose pressed against your pelvis, before pulling back with a desperate inhale. Saliva runs down your length in rivulets now, soaking into the sheets beneath you, dripping down to coat your balls.

She establishes a rhythm that's driving you insane—deep, gurgling strokes with her mouth while her gloved hand follows, twisting slightly on the upstroke. Her other hand massages your balls, now slick with her spit. The wet sounds are obscene, sloppy and loud in the quiet bedroom.

"Wait," you gasp, feeling the pressure building, "I'm getting close."

She doesn't slow down. Instead, she somehow intensifies her efforts, one hand working your shaft in perfect sync with her mouth, the other pressing firmly behind your balls in a way that makes your vision blur. Your muscles tense, toes curling against the sheets as you fight the building pressure. You want this to last, but her technique is unreal.

She pulls off suddenly with a gasping inhale, strands of spit connecting her mouth to your cock in a spider web pattern. Without missing a beat, her gloved hand maintains the rhythm, now twisting on each upstroke, her thumb circling the sensitive spot just under the head.

"Not yet," she says, her voice raw and husky. "I want to play with you longer."

She looks up at you through mascara-smudged lashes, face flushed, hair clinging to her sweat-dampened skin, and you've never seen anything more erotic in your life. Her lips are puffy and red, glistening with a mixture of spit and pre-cum. She licks them deliberately before taking another deep breath and swallowing you down again.

This time she does something with her throat—a controlled swallowing motion while you're deep inside—that has you seeing stars. Your hips buck involuntarily, but she takes it, accommodating your thrust with practiced ease. Her nose presses against your pelvis as she holds you there, throat contracting rhythmically around your head. The pressure and heat are unreal.

She keeps you on edge like this—bringing you close with intense deep-throating, then backing off to focus on your shaft with her hands or gently sucking just the tip—for what feels like an eternity. Your breathing is ragged, sweat beading on your forehead as you struggle to hold back. Your hands fist in her hair, not guiding anymore but just holding on for dear life.

The sheets beneath you are soaked with her saliva, your thighs slick and shiny in the dim light. She seems to revel in the mess, deliberately letting spit run down your length, using it as lubrication for her gloved hands. The wet, sloppy sounds of her mouth and hands working in tandem fill the room, punctuated by her gasping breaths and your strangled moans.

Just when you think you can't take anymore, when the teasing edge has become almost painful, she takes you deep again, her throat working around you with purpose.

"Fuck, now I'm really gonna cum," you warn, your voice strained and desperate.

This time, she doesn't back off. Instead, she looks up at you with determination in her eyes, maintaining that crucial eye contact as she takes you deeper than before. One hand grips the base of your shaft firmly, the other massages your balls with precise pressure. She swallows deliberately around the head of your cock, her tongue pressed flat against the underside, hitting that perfect spot.

You lose it, your release hitting the back of her throat in hot, heavy pulses. There's so much that some escapes the corners of her mouth despite her best efforts to swallow it all. She doesn't stop or slow down, continuing to work you with her mouth and hands through your orgasm, extending the pleasure to almost unbearable levels.

Her throat works visibly as she gulps down your release, making obscene swallowing sounds that only intensify your pleasure. Her eyes water from the effort, mascara beginning to run in faint streaks down her flushed cheeks, but she never breaks eye contact. There's a look of triumph in her gaze, a satisfaction at reducing you to this trembling, groaning mess beneath her.

When your orgasm finally subsides and you're twitching with oversensitivity, she slowly, deliberately pulls away. Thick strings of spit and cum stretch between her lips and your cock, forming an obscene web that breaks and falls across her chin and neck. Her hand continues to stroke you gently, milking the last few drops from you.

She sits back on her heels, breath coming in heavy pants, lips dramatically swollen, chin and chest glistening with a mixture of saliva and the cum that escaped her mouth. Her cat ears are somehow still hanging on, though now sitting at a rakish angle on her disheveled hair. The gloves that once were pristine pink satin are now darkened with wetness in places, sticky and slick.

"Holy fuck," you breathe, genuinely stunned by what just happened. Your cock is still hard, barely softened by the intense orgasm.

She notices, a knowing smirk spreading across her messy face as she wipes her chin with the back of her hand. "Told you I wasn't done with you yet," she says, her voice absolutely wrecked in the sexiest possible way, rough and raspy from the workout her throat just got.

She reaches behind her, unzipping her white halter top and pulling it over her head. Her breasts are small but perfect, nipples pink and hard in the cool air. The cat ears wobble but stay in place.

"You're so fucking hot," you tell her, reaching for her waist.

She stretches, arms extending above her head, back arching in a way that's distinctly feline. Her small breasts lift with the motion, nipples hardening in the cool air. Her eyes hold a challenge as she slowly moves toward you.

"I want your mouth on me," she says, her voice husky with need.

Instead of letting her climb over you, you suddenly sit up, grabbing her by the waist. She gasps in surprise as you flip your positions, pushing her down onto the mattress with firm hands. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating at your show of strength.

"Is that what you want?" you ask, your voice low as you hover over her. Your hands easily pin her wrists above her head, one of yours enough to hold both of hers. "Tell me again."

"Yes," she breathes, arching into you despite being restrained. "Please."

You release her wrists and move down her body, deliberately taking your time. Your hands slide along her sides, feeling how tiny she is beneath you. When you reach her thighs, you push them apart without gentleness, making space for your shoulders. She moans at the manhandling, her head falling back against the pillows.

You hook your fingers into her thong, pulling it to the side rather than removing it. The first thing that hits you is her scent—musky and sweet with a hint of sweat from dancing all night, but undeniably arousing. There's a faint trace of her perfume mixed with the raw smell of her arousal that makes your mouth water.

"Fuck, you smell good," you tell her, your breath hot against her inner thigh.

She's already wet, her folds glistening in the dim light. You study her for a moment—she's pink and swollen, clearly aroused. She's shaved but you can see and feel the slight roughness of hair starting to grow back. The texture is oddly intimate, more real than porn-perfect smoothness, the slight stubble creating friction against your fingers as you trace her outer lips.

You start slowly, just running your tongue along her seam, tasting her properly. She's tangy and sweet, with a hint of salt from the night's exertions. The flavor is addictive, making you groan against her. Her hips buck at the vibration, seeking more contact.

"Oh fuck," she gasps when you finally circle her clit with your tongue. Her hands find your hair, fingers tangling in it but not directing, just holding on.

You explore her with your tongue, discovering which motions make her thighs tremble, which spots make her breath catch. You alternate between broad, flat strokes and focused attention on her clit, learning what she responds to best.

"Please," she whimpers after a few minutes of this teasing. "I need more."

You slide one finger inside her while continuing to work with your tongue. She's incredibly tight, her inner walls gripping your digit eagerly. The contrast between your larger hand and her small body is stark—one finger feels substantial inside her.

"More," she urges, lifting her hips toward your face.

You add a second finger, feeling her stretch around the intrusion. You curl them upward, searching for that spot that will drive her wild. When you find it, her reaction is immediate and dramatic—her back arches off the bed, a strangled cry escaping her lips.

"There," she gasps, her hands now gripping the sheets beside her head. "Right fucking there."

She's watching you now, propped up slightly on her elbows, her gaze heavy-lidded but intense. The sight of you between her legs seems to turn her on almost as much as what you're doing to her. When your eyes meet, she bites her lip, a flush spreading across her chest.

You maintain eye contact as you suck her clit gently while stroking that spot inside her. Her breathing quickens, her stomach muscles visibly tensing with each curl of your fingers. Her wetness increases, running down your palm and wrist.

"Don't stop," she pleads, one hand reaching down to touch your shoulder, nails digging into your skin. "I'm getting close."

You increase the pressure of your tongue, maintaining a steady rhythm as her breathing becomes more erratic. You can feel her inner walls beginning to flutter around your fingers—the first signs of her approaching orgasm.

She reaches down with her free hand, spreading herself wider for you, giving you better access. The gesture is incredibly erotic—her taking an active role in her pleasure while still letting you control the pace.

"Just like that," she encourages, voice tight with building tension. "Don't change anything, please, I'm so close."

Her thighs start to tremble, her hips making small, involuntary movements against your face. You curl your fingers more firmly against that spot, sucking her clit with slightly more pressure, and that's what pushes her over the edge.

You feel her start to tense, her thighs trembling on either side of your head. The inner walls of her pussy clench rhythmically around your fingers as her breathing becomes shallow and rapid. You maintain your rhythm, not changing a thing as her orgasm builds.

"Right there, right there," she chants, her voice tight and desperate. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna—"

She cuts herself off with a sharp gasp as her body goes rigid, suspended on the edge for several breathless seconds. Then she shatters, her back arching dramatically off the bed, thighs clamping around your head with surprising strength. Her release floods your hand and chin, her wetness increasing dramatically as she comes undone.

"Don't stop, don't stop," she begs as waves of pleasure roll through her. Her hands fist in the sheets, knuckles white with tension. Her stomach muscles contract visibly with each pulse, her entire body shaking with the intensity of her orgasm.

You work her through it, continuing to stroke that spot inside while gently sucking her clit, feeling each aftershock ripple through her slender frame. Her pussy grips your fingers in rhythmic spasms, pulling them deeper as if trying to keep you inside.

Only when she weakly pushes at your forehead, oversensitive and spent, do you finally relent. You plant a soft kiss on her inner thigh before gently withdrawing your fingers, watching her twitch at even that small movement. Your hand and chin are soaked with her arousal, glistening in the dim light.

She collapses back, chest heaving, limbs splayed across the pastel sheets. Her skin is flushed pink from her cheeks down to her chest, a thin sheen of sweat making her glow in the dim light. Her thong is still pushed to the side, her pussy visibly swollen and wet from your attention.

"Holy shit," she breathes, one arm thrown across her eyes. "Give me a second."

But even as she's still recovering, you're already hard again—painfully so. The sight of her completely undone by your mouth and hands has your cock throbbing with need.

Before she can fully catch her breath, you flip her over onto her stomach in one smooth motion. She gasps in surprise but immediately pushes her ass up, instinctively assuming the position. She looks back at you over her shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded but gleaming with renewed interest.

"Harder," she says, her voice still breathless. "You can be rough with me."

You grab a handful of her hair, pulling her head back slightly as you lean down to bite the sensitive junction between her neck and shoulder. She moans, the sound vibrating through her slender frame. Her nails dig into the sheets, bunching the fabric in her fists.

"Yes," she hisses, pushing back against you, her ass rubbing against your hard cock. "Like that."

You trail bites and kisses down her spine, feeling each vertebra under your lips. Your hands grip her narrow waist, fingers easily spanning her sides. The pink skirt is still bunched around her waist, exposing her perfect ass and the thong still pushed to the side.

You grab the thin fabric of her thong and rip it off in one motion. She gasps, then laughs, the sound quickly turning into a moan as you push two fingers back inside her from this new angle.

"Fuck," she breathes, her back arching deeper, presenting herself to you even more. "Your fingers feel so good."

You curl your fingers upward, finding that spot again easily. Her reaction is immediate—her whole body shudders, a string of curses falling from her lips. You add a third finger, stretching her, watching her face twist in pleasure as she looks back at you.

"You're so fucking tight," you tell her, feeling her clench around your fingers. The view from behind is intoxicating—her slender back dipping into a perfect arch, pink skirt still bunched around her waist, her face half-turned so you can see her reactions.

"I want to feel you inside me," she says, voice husky with need, pushing back against your hand. "Now."

You position yourself behind her, one hand on her hip, the other guiding your cock to her entrance. From this angle, you can see how tiny she looks beneath you, her waist narrow enough for your hands to nearly encircle it, her ass perfectly round and invitingly raised.

"You're so fucking wet," you murmur, sliding your length through her folds to coat yourself in her arousal.

"Please," she whimpers, pushing back against you. "I need you inside me."

"Ask nicely," you tease, holding the head of your cock at her entrance but not pushing in.

She looks back at you over her shoulder, eyes narrowed despite her vulnerable position. "Please fuck me," she says, but it sounds more like a demand than a plea. "I need to feel all of you inside me."

You push into her slowly, watching your cock disappear into her inch by inch. Her mouth falls open, a low moan escaping as she's stretched around you. The view is intoxicating—her back arched deeply, her skirt bunched around her waist, her long dark hair spilling across the pastel sheets, and your much larger frame positioned behind her smaller one.

When you're fully seated inside her, you both let out a shaky breath. She feels impossibly tight from this angle, her inner walls gripping you like a vise.

"Fuck, you're deep," she gasps, reaching back to grab your thigh, urging you to move.

You start with slow, shallow thrusts, watching her reactions carefully. Her fingers dig into the sheets, her face half-buried in the pillow but turned enough that you can see her expressions. Each time you push in, her features twist with a mixture of pleasure and sweet strain.

"Harder," she breathes, pushing back to meet your thrusts. "I won't break."

You tighten your grip on her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as you pick up the pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin joins the chorus of her moans and your heavy breathing, filling the dimly lit bedroom. Her cat ears have somehow managed to stay on through everything, wobbling with each thrust.

You lean forward, pressing your chest against her back, one hand sliding around to her throat. You don't squeeze, just apply gentle pressure, feeling her pulse race beneath your palm. Her reaction is immediate—a full-body shudder and a tightening around your cock that nearly makes you lose control.

"Yes," she hisses, reaching back to grab your hip, encouraging you to go harder, deeper. "Fuck me like you mean it."

You pull your hand away from her throat only to deliver a sharp slap to her ass. The sound echoes in the room, followed immediately by her gasping moan. A pink handprint blooms on her pale skin, and you follow it with another slap to the other cheek.

"Again," she demands, her voice rough with desire. "Harder."

You comply, bringing your hand down with more force. She cries out, her inner walls clenching around you in response. The contrast between the delicate curve of her body and the harsh sound of your palm connecting with her skin is intoxicating.

You pull her upright, her back to your chest, your cock still deep inside her. With one hand, you gather her long hair, pulling it aside to expose the slender column of her neck. Your lips find her skin, tasting salt and the lingering sweetness of her perfume as you drag your tongue from the curve of her shoulder up to just behind her ear.

"Oh god," she moans, her head falling back against your shoulder, giving you better access.

You continue exploring her with your mouth—the nape of her neck, the sensitive spot where her shoulder meets her throat, the delicate ridge of her spine. Your free hand slides up her torso to cup one small breast, thumb circling her nipple as you lick a path across her shoulder blade.

She turns her face toward you as much as she can, and you lean in, gathering saliva in your mouth before letting it fall onto her parted lips. Her tongue darts out to catch it, a primal gesture that makes your cock throb inside her.

"Fuck, that's hot," she breathes, her pupils blown wide.

The headboard knocks rhythmically against the wall now as you guide her back down to her hands and knees, but neither of you care about the noise. Her moans get higher, more desperate, her body trembling beneath yours as you drive into her with increasing intensity. You can feel her starting to tighten around you, the first telltale signs of her approaching orgasm.

You reach around her slender body, your hand finding her clit, circling it in time with your thrusts. She cries out, a sharp, broken sound that tells you you've hit exactly the right combination.

"Right there," she gasps, her voice strained. "God, don't stop."

You maintain the rhythm, the pressure, the angle—everything that's working for her. Her inner walls flutter around you, gripping you tighter with each thrust. She's close, so close you can feel it in the way her body tenses beneath yours.

"I'm gonna cum," she warns, her voice breaking on the last word. "Fuck, I'm so close—"

"Look at me," you demand, tugging her hair to turn her face toward you. Her eyes meet yours, glazed with pleasure but focused on you. "I want to see you when you cum."

That does it. She breaks apart beneath you, her body clenching around yours so tightly it almost hurts. A string of curses and broken moans falls from her lips as she comes undone. You can see every emotion cross her face—the initial shock, the overwhelming pleasure, the surrender. Her thighs tremble violently, her entire body quaking with the force of her orgasm.

The visual of her coming apart combined with the rhythmic grip of her body around your cock pushes you right to the edge. You're seconds away from your own release.

She senses it, somehow aware even through her own pleasure. "Wait," she gasps, reaching back to stop your movements. "Not yet."

Before you can react, she's wriggling away from you, turning around to face you. Despite having just experienced an intense orgasm, she moves with surprising agility, pushing you onto your back and straddling your thighs.

"I want you to cover me in your cum," she says, her voice raw and desperate, eyes wild with desire despite her recent release. "All over my face."

She leans down, taking you into her mouth again, tasting herself on your cock. The sight of her—flushed and sweaty from her orgasm, cat ears somehow still clinging to her head, eagerly sucking you after you've been inside her—is almost too much.

That's all it takes. You pull out quickly, one hand stroking yourself as she positions herself, her back against the pillows, cat ears still somehow clinging to her head as she looks up at you eagerly.

Her hands grip your thighs as you stroke yourself once, twice, three times before exploding across her face.

The sight is fucking obscene—ropes of white painting her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, one streak catching on her long lashes. She moans as it hits her, tongue darting out to taste what landed on her lips, eyes never leaving yours. A few drops land on the rhinestone necklace still around her neck, creating an obscene contrast with the delicate jewelry.

It's the most erotic thing you've ever seen in your life.

When you finally roll off her, both of you breathing hard, staring at her ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars, she turns her head toward you with a satisfied smile, your release still glistening on her perfect face.

"So," she says, voice raspy and smug, "convinced about my costume now?"

You laugh, genuinely laugh, turning to face her. "Most convincing costume I've ever seen."

She stretches beside you, body elongating in one fluid motion, arms above her head, back arching slightly off the bed—every movement reminiscent of the animal she's dressed as. The motion causes her breasts to lift, and despite what you just did, you feel a stirring, your cock hardening once again.

She notices, a sly smile spreading across her cum-streaked face. "Careful, cowboy. Look at me like that again and we'll be going for round two before I even clean up."

"Is that supposed to be a deterrent?" you ask, reaching out to trail a finger along her collarbone.

She catches your hand, bringing it to her mouth and placing a kiss on your palm that somehow feels more intimate than everything you've just done.

"First," she says, sitting up and finally removing the cat ears that have somehow survived the entire encounter, "shower. Because as hot as this was—" she gestures to her face, "—I can't have a proper getting-to-know-you conversation with cum in my eyelashes."

You laugh again, surprised by how easy it feels with her despite the circumstances of your meeting.

"Lead the way, slutty cat," you say, and she pulls you up from the bed, toward her bathroom, her naked body as graceful in motion as it was beneath you.

And somehow, you know this night is just the beginning.

#cloudtrnsprncy #cloudtsmut #kpop smut #malereader #wonyoung x reader #wonyoung

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delusionsofgrandeur13 · 7 months ago

Text

shameless

minors. dni.

your roommate, biker!JASON TODD, still hasn’t taken his helmet off.

readers can expect: a helmet wearing jason todd x fem!reader in an undefined relationship. reader in a dress and makeup. use of nicknames like “baby” and “sunshine.” implied consent but not explicitly stated. thigh riding and some dirty talk. minor, minor amounts of fingering.

he’d just gotten home from a ride, the same time you’d gotten back from shopping. you always did the same thing after, so he’d settled himself into a chair to give you and your new clothes an audience. but the mirrored panel he’s watching you through doesn’t give you the same privilege.

you can’t see his eyes, can’t tell if he likes the clothes or not.

he’s been silent the whole time, too. if you didn’t know him better, you’d worry he was mad at you. but you know him well. sometimes you think better than he knows himself. jason just doesn’t talk if he feels like he doesn't need to..or if he’s extremely distracted.

he’s leaning back in the chair, his arms crossed. the motion is making his forearms bulge. the fabric of his flannel straining, already rolled up to his elbows.

your brain is light and fluttery at the idea of his arms holding you close. his hips meeting yours with each thrust. his helmet on.

you’re itching for him to touch you. itching.

you twirl in the new black dress you got, hoping to catch a reaction of some sort.

he tightens his grip on his bicep. shifts in his seat, spreading his legs wider. the fabric around his crotch is definitely more taut than it was when you started.

but he says nothing.

you practically gulp, turning around to go put on the last thing you got.

you come back out in a new red dress. the ruching up the sides pulls the fabric tight against your skin. it ends mid thigh, but you might’ve hiked it up a little higher. might’ve reapplied your lipstick before coming back out. tousled your hair a little bit. who’s to say?

you come a little closer this time, spinning again. you stop, propping a hand onto your hip.

“what do you think?” you turn to the side.

his head tilts. he says nothing.

“okay, well, this was the last thing.” you turn, starting down the hallway.

jason mumbles, the words lost into his helmet. you stop in your tracks. spin back around.

“hm?” you step closer. “did you say something?”

the bulge in jason’s pants is too obvious to ignore now. he shakes his head, beckoning to you, patting his leg.

you have to hold yourself back from practically running to him.

you sit yourself down on a thigh, his hand immediately finding the curve of your ass. electricity runs up your spine. his other hand settles on your upper thigh, slowly inching closer to the junction of your legs. warmth unfurls in your belly at the sensation of the leather of his glove on your bare skin. you lean in, throwing your arms around his neck.

still nothing.

you’re looking at yourself in the mirror covering his eyes. it irks you. you want to see his eyes, the dark slashes of his eyebrows. the corner of your mouth rises as you bring your face in, and plant a lipsticked kiss on the plastic of his visor. jason pinches your waist. his cock twitches behind the thick fabric of his pants. he’s grateful he has his helmet on. it’s hiding his rapidly reddening cheeks.

he recovers, flipping up his tagged visor. just to make a show of rolling his eyes at you. his grip on your thigh tightens as you study the sliver of his face he’s letting you see. a tuft of hair covers his forehead, his telltale white streak cutting through the darker hair, into his right eyebrow.

he looks at you through half-lidded, deep blue eyes, his eyebrows furrowed.

you smile at him, batting your lashes. the itch grows stronger.

he rolls his eyes, again.

“feelin’ feisty today, huh, sunshine?”

you nod, humming in agreement. jason tightens his arms around you, bringing you closer. his eyes narrow, the look in them making the heartbeat between your thighs pound harder. you squeeze your legs together. jason glances down, then scoffs, shaking his head.

“you’re shameless.” he decides.

you nod again, blushing a little as you concede.

he adjusts you, grabbing at the fabric around your hips, pulling it up until it’s bunched around your waist. he pauses when he sees the lace of your underwear covering your sex, his own heart pounding in his ears. he fights the urge to clear his throat, a nervous tic he has that you’d pick up on immediately. he can’t fuck this up. he’s been desperate to touch you since the last time you let him, done nothing but think about the pretty little sounds you’d made. he’s gotta play this just right.

“were these really necessary?” he hooks a finger on the waistband, raising his eyebrow. a giggle bubbles out of your throat as you stand up.

“..my underwear? yeah, i’d say they might be.” it’s your turn to roll your eyes, and you do, before pulling off them off.

jason grabs them from you, wrapping the lacy fabric around his wrist like a bracelet. at your shocked face, he shrugs.

“just for safekeeping, sunshine. i’d say don’t get your panties inna twist about it, but ‘s a little late for that.”

he looks up at you in his helmet, and even though the lower half of his face is covered, you can practically see the cocky smile he’s wearing. you set yourself back onto his leg, straddling his thick thigh. the rough fabric of his riding pants meets the smooth skin of your inner thigh, a wet spot already forming.

“well? show me how bad you want it.” he settles back.

you brace your hands on his shoulders while he folds his own gloved hands on his stomach.

you move your hips, starting a delicious rhythm. the friction makes you moan, feels so good you don’t even realize you’re making a sound. you rock yourself back and forth, back and forth. the movement jostling your tits.

jason’s eyes flicker down, his eyebrows raising. a low groan emanates from his throat. the sound takes you to another level. he reaches up, pulling the front of your dress down. his eyes flare in response, breaking his tense posture to reach up with a gloved hand and palm one.

the worn in leather on the delicate skin of your chest feels like heaven. he pinches a nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. the combined stimulation drives you to move your hips faster, gripping your fingers into the sturdy angles of his shoulders.

your hands on him has his cock aching, no doubt leaking pre all over the front of his underwear. he can’t believe what you’re able to do to him without even trying.

“that’s right, baby.” he takes in how your face changes, pleasure so acute it’s unmistakable on your features.

“use me, just like that.”

you pick up the pace just a little, your toes curling as his eyebrows raise and he nods his encouragement. his big hands sink into the flesh of your tits, kneading them as you move.

“that’s right, you’re so close, keep going—”

it builds up, and up, and up, the waves cresting as your thighs clench around his, your back arches, you throw your head back. jason is humming is approval deep in his throat. he swipes your clit a few times with his leather-clad thumb, drawing out your orgasm, making your thighs tremble.

“needed that bad, huh?”

your face grows hot, and you flip his visor down.

he pushes it up again, rolling his eyes at you as the corners of them crinkle with what you can guess is a smile. jason caresses your thigh with his hand as you slump into his chest. your breathing matches his, and he brushes your hair out of your face.

“i like this dress.”

1K notes · View notes

luvsupa · 9 months ago

Text

I WANT TO HEAR YOU SCREAMMM!

summary: whatever you do, do not fuck mr.ghostface!

tags: ghostface!geto x fem!reader, naoya mention .., set in the 90s and inspired by fear street!!, smut, ōral sex (m and f receiving), knife play, slightly mask kink, humiliation kink, exhibitionism kinda, death, mentions of blood, etc, mdni

w.c: around 3.6k (sorry I got carried away …)

a/n: THANK U GUYS FOR 1.6K WAAAATTTT WE GOIN UPPPPP YEASSS

+ geto in tbis fic looks just like this fanart 🙂‍↕️

kinktober masterlist

you lean against the register, bored out of your mind as you scribble distorted faces on your company’s notepad. working a night shift sucks—especially a closing shift. you huff as the intercom blasts the latest rock song, a weak attempt to liven up the dead atmosphere. lately, the cd shop has been busy with customers buying vinyls, posters, and movies. ugh, it was so annoying having to scan the newest movie, scream. the line was always so long it nearly wrapped around the whole building!

you glance out the glass front doors, scanning the empty, dark streets, genuinely debating whether you should close two hours early since no one is coming. your attention shifts as you hear the bell ring, indicating a customer entering.

ugh.

your smile drops when you see naoya, your annoying coworker who flirts with you in the weirdest ways. he’s always condescending and putting you down until you found out from another coworker that he’s actually attracted to you. he walks toward you, standing in front of the register as if he were a customer. you honestly forgot he was still here after he said he would take a ‘five-minute’ break an hour ago.

“you don’t get paid to draw, now do you?” he says, leaning over to grab the notebook. you let him take it, but he rips the page clean, crumpling it in his fist. gosh, you hated when he acted like the manager. “anyways, I’m clocking out! must suck having to stay for another… two hours!” he laughs, glancing at the clock above. he giggles as he walks behind the counter into the bright red font ‘employees only’ room, leaving you scoffing in annoyance. you waste time fixing the decorations on the register as every minute drags by.

ring!

your heart stops when you hear the company phone ringing. who the hell calls at this hour? you pick up the corded telephone and force yourself into a professional tone.

“thank you for calling cursed tracks, how may I help you?” you say, lazily watching over the store. there’s a long pause, and your brows furrow. is this a prank call?

“hello—”

“what’s your favorite scary movie?”

you burst out laughing, doubling over at the blatant prank call. there’s no way. it’s beyond cringey that you would be a victim of ghostface’s evil scheme. tears roll down your cheeks as you hang up the phone, your laughter still ringing in your ears. but then, you stumble backward, colliding with something solid—no, someone. your laughter halts as you slowly turn your head, gulping hard as your eyes drop in horror. screaming in genuine fear, you see him: ghostface, knife in hand, just like in the movies.

you stumble back into the counter, panic rising as you cry out, cornered in the booth. he drops his hand and bursts into laughter, and your brows furrow in confusion. he lifts his hand to remove the haunting mask, and embarrassment floods over you.

seriously.

“naoya, that wasn’t funny,” you snap, shoving him away as he continues to laugh uncontrollably. “you— you should’ve seen your face! I wish I recorded this— we would’ve been stars!” he wheezes, still amused as you find none of this funny. he continues to mimic your reaction, and you bite your lip to keep from lunging at him.

“stop wearing display costumes, asshole! you’re gonna get us in trouble,” you scold, turning away as he playfully bonks your head with the fake plastic knife. irritation washes over you.

“jeez, naoya— just leave already, you’re ruining my alone time,” you say coldly, clearly annoyed by his antics. you hear his footsteps retreating to the employee room, allowing you to calm down from his stupid joke.

you lean against the counter once again, watching over the store in boredom, your eyes feeling heavy as each minute passes. maybe you should really quit- you’re not getting paid enough for this. you roll your eyes at the ruckus coming from the room behind you—nayoa’s making way too much noise.

bastard, you mentally insult him.

you close your eyes to rest them, feeling exhausted from the long shift when you suddenly sense someone standing behind you. your eyes shoot open, and your heart drops again as you turn around to see nayoa in that damn ghostface costume.

“very fuckin’ funny, naoya,” you scoff, trying to ignore him, but he doesn’t move. he’s breathing heavily under the mask, staying still as if waiting for your reaction. you turn to yell at him, but the words choke in your throat. your eyes drop to the knife he’s gripping in his hand, and it looks too real—dripping with what looks like blood. your breathing quickens as you glance at the fake plastic knife that naoya left on the counter, your eyes twitching in disbelief.

“o-okay, naoya, you’re scaring me.”

“darling, who’s naoya?” the male voice says, distorted through the mask’s speaker. tears rush to your eyes as you see blood seeping from under the employee room door.

you step back, your back hitting the counter, trapping you just like before when nayoa scared you. the male steps closer, tears spilling down your cheeks as fear overwhelms you; you can’t call out for naoya—he’s fucking dead!

without thinking, you attempt to jump over the counter, but before you can touch the ground, you feel yourself being yanked back by strong hands. you squeal at how fast he moves, pinning you against the wall with one hand holding you in place and the other gripping the sharp, bloody knife to your throat. your eyes widen, the blade too close to your artery. if you looked up at the popcorn ceiling. you’d see the end of it—your life flashing before your eyes.

“oh pretty, you were just acting like a big girl,” geto coos, his voice soft yet terrifying. the grip on the knife loosens slightly as he pulls back his head, and your eyes remain shut, fear washing over you.

“y’r sooo fuckin’ nasty, huh,” geto comments, and your brows furrow as you stare at the creepy face behind the mask. he chuckles, and you follow his gaze down—oh fuck. you wish your body wasn’t reacting on its own! you’re grinding your hips against his knee placed between your thighs, your rhythm so subtle you didn’t even realize.

“let’s test how nasty you really get.”

those were the last words that echoed in your head as he had you behind the counter, knees grinding against the freezing floor, your jaw aching from the relentless thrusts. his thick cock slammed into your mouth with brutal force—so deep that you swore you could feel him in your chest, the bulge in your throat visible as he used you mercilessly. both of his hands gripped your head with brutal force, his long fingers tangling in your curly locks as he fucked your face like a filthy fucktoy. his groans, muffled by the infamous ghostface mask, sent shivers down your spine, the hollow black eyes staring soullessly at you as he threw his head back in ecstasy. the obscene sounds of wet gags and sloppy suction filled the store, the mess overwhelming—drool and spit spilled uncontrollably from your mouth, coating his shaft and dripping down your chin, soaking into the front of your work shirt.

your nose repeatedly slammed against his crotch, the rough patch of his pubes tickling against your skin, making you tear up even more. the strain in your jaw was unbearable, his fat cock stretching you wide, each thrust so forceful you thought your jaw might snap. but you kept your grip on his jeans, fingers digging into the fabric as your throat was pounded raw. his heavy black boot was wedged between your legs, you couldn’t stop grinding on him. each roll of your hips against his boot sent delicious friction through your core, and you were drenched, your panties soaked through your pants, sticking to your swollen folds. the slick sounds of your cunt rubbing against his boot mixed with the wet slurps coming from your mouth, each grind making you moan pathetically around his cock.

geto’s head dropped down to watch, eyes behind the hollow mask taking in the sight of you—a filthy, drooling mess on your knees with his cock buried so deep down your throat that a bulge swelled in your neck. drool poured from your lips in thick strings, and your hips moved desperately against his foot, grinding on him like you couldn’t help yourself. but he didn’t let you keep going. his movements stopped abruptly, and with a harsh yank, he pulled your head back off his cock, making you gag and cough, gasping for air. the sound of your desperate choking echoed through the store as strings of spit connected your swollen lips to his twitching tip, your eyes wide with lust and tears. the sight of you, completely ruined in your leggings, face soaked and pussy grinding against his boot, only made him harder, his cock throbbing in front of your face.

“you jus’ can’t help it, can you?” geto growls, his voice thick with cruel amusement as he grinds his boot harder into your cunt, your soaked panties doing nothing to dull the friction. the pressure sends jolts of filthy pleasure up your spine, making you cry out pathetically, your body writhing against him. his grin stretches behind the ghostface mask, those empty black eyes staring down at you, drinking in your desperation.

in a single, brutal motion, he rips you off the ground and slams you onto the counter, CDs clattering to the floor around you. your legs fly up, bent and spread wide, exposing you to him completely. his eyes rake over your body like you’re nothing more than prey. with a harsh tug, he rips your pants off, tossing them carelessly behind him. the moment his gaze lands on the soaked crotch of your panties, your clit twitches in response, your cunt clenching involuntarily, knowing what’s about to come. the fabric is practically see through now, drenched in fear and filthy arousal, and it only makes his smirk widen behind the mask.

your eyes are glossy, chest heaving as your legs stay bent up, thighs trembling with anticipation. you should be terrified, and you are—but the heat pulsing through your core is undeniable. the sight of him towering over you with that eerie mask, black eyes hollow and unfeeling, does something sick to you.

without warning, geto pulls a another knife from behind him, the blade gleaming dangerously in the store light. you gulp hard, a whimper escaping your lips as he waves it inches from your face, the cold steel sending a wave of fear coursing through you, but it only makes your cunt throb harder.

“don’t move,” he whispers darkly, dragging the tip of the knife down your neck, making your skin break out in goosebumps. the blade hovers over your chest, your nipples hardening as he traces your curves. he presses just enough to remind you of its sharpness, enough to let you know he could cut deep at any second. the threat lingers in the air, the thrill of it making your thighs tremble.

he doesn’t hesitate when he reaches your shirt. with a quick flick of his wrist, you hear the rippppp of fabric as the blade slices your work button-up clean open, exposing your bare chest. the sharpness of the knife cutting through the material like paper sends a shiver of fear and arousal down your spine.

“cheap shit,” he sneers, but the way your nipples perk in the cool air has his cock straining even harder. his hand moves lower, the tip of the blade dragging dangerously over your trembling stomach, inching closer and closer to your cunt.

you gasp when he finally reaches your panties, the cold metal resting against the swollen lips of your pussy. “y’know. . .” he trails off, voice thick with lust as he presses the flat of the blade against your clothed clit, the cold, sharp edge making you jerk involuntarily. “never had someone so . . .desperate in their final moments.”

it’s humiliating how your clit twitches at the contact, how your cunt clenches around nothing, soaked and aching for him. he notices, of course, the way your hips twitch toward the blade, and the wetness that’s already beginning to drip down your thighs.

“fuckin’ embarrassing,” he mutters, but his voice is laced with something darker—he’s getting off on this, on how soaked you are for him. the knife slides lower, grazing your inner thigh, just shy of cutting you, the scrape of the blade against your skin sending shivers through your body. you can feel your pulse in your clit, each drag of the cold steel only making you wetter, more desperate.

“this turning you on, baby?” he asks, his voice low and mocking. you can’t even respond, too lost in the filthy heat coursing through you.

with a quick flick of his wrist, the knife slices through your panties, the sharp blade cold against your slick folds. you gasp, your pussy finally exposed, clit twitching as the cool air hits your drenched core. the knife grazes your swollen lips, barely a whisper of pressure, but it’s enough to make you moan, your cunt clenching desperately.

he hums in approval, staring down at your glistening pussy, the wetness dripping from your folds, thighs trembling as you lie there helplessly. geto’s exposed cock twitches painfully at the sight, his eyes narrowing behind the mask as he drinks in how ruined you already are.

“fuckkk,” he mumbles, voice thick with lust. he lets the knife trail up, dragging it over your clit just enough to make you gasp, the cold edge sending waves of agonizing pleasure through you.

you’re fighting the urge to touch yourself, legs trembling with need, but he’s dragging it out, watching you suffer, savoring every filthy, desperate moan that spills from your lips. your cunt clenches again, dripping, aching for more, but all he does is graze the blade over your sensitive skin, keeping you on the edge, waiting for him to finally take what’s his.

without a second thought, geto rips off the ghostface mask, revealing his face in all its sinful glory. his long black hair cascades down his back, a few loose strands framing his face just right, giving him that perfect, messy look. your heart nearly stops at the sight—those silver piercings in his lower lip glint under the lights of the CD store. fuck. your breath catches as you realize just how devastatingly hot he is, a man who could ruin you in every sense of the word.

“f-fuck, mr. ghostface. . .you’re so fucking hot,” you moan, your cunt clenching involuntarily at the sight of him. he smirks, catching your reaction instantly, bringing the blade right back to your dripping cunt, but now it’s different—now you can see every twitch of that gorgeous smirk, every glint in his wicked eyes. nothing is processing in your mind at this point. you’re too far gone, body shaking as he holds all the power over you. he could do anything right now, and you’d let him.

geto leans in, inhaling deeply, letting your scent drive him mad before diving headfirst between your thighs. his lips find your cunt with no warning, devouring you like a fucking beast. his tongue plunges into your soaked hole with reckless abandon, the wet, obscene sounds echoing through the empty store. your back arches violently against the counter, the cold glass windows around the store only barrier between you and the outside world. if anyone walked by and caught sight of this—fuck, you’d be fired in an instant. but the thrill of that thought only makes the heat in your core burn hotter.

your body reacts before your mind can catch up, hands flying to tangle in his thick, soft hair, yanking him closer. he groans deep, the sound vibrating through your clit as you pull his head in tighter. mr. ghostface loves his hair being pulled—check! you think, feeling the way his body reacts to your grip, only making him devour you more ruthlessly.

his nose nudges your clit, adding to the torment as his tongue relentlessly works your insides, the metal ball of his tongue piercing sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. it’s so nasty, so fucking loud as he slurps up your juices, the slick sound echoing around the store. you can’t believe your body is making this much of a mess, slick dripping down your thighs, pooling on the counter beneath you. you’re losing it, completely undone by how he’s devouring you.

geto’s tongue is merciless, and just when you think it can’t get any better, he brings two thick fingers to your entrance, thrusting them in deep. the stretch makes your head spin, his digits spreading you open wide as his tongue continues to work your cunt. he groans low in his throat, the vibrations sending another wave of ecstasy through your core. the sensation of his tongue, his piercing, and his fingers all working together has you seeing stars, your walls clenching around him uncontrollably.

“fuck, look at you,” he growls against your cunt, his voice muffled but still dripping with arrogance as his fingers curl inside you, finding your sweet spot instantly. your eyes roll back, legs shaking uncontrollably as the tension in your belly coils tighter. your grip on his head tightens, forcing him further into you, needing more, more of that perfect, filthy mouth. his lips close around your swollen clit, biting at it just enough to drive you insane, while his fingers pound into you relentlessly.

you catch a glimpse of his face between your thighs, his half-lidded eyes fluttering shut as a moan slips past his pierced lips, his tongue flicking out to lick your slick from the corner of his mouth like he can’t get enough. he’s completely lost in you, ruthlessly making out with your cunt, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. the sight alone nearly pushes you over the edge, your body trembling violently as you feel your orgasm building, heat burning in your stomach, your cunt clenching around his thick fingers.

“listen to how talkative she is,” geto sneers, a wicked smirk stretching across his face. without hesitation, his free hand grabs the store’s telephone, fingers working quickly to connect it to the intercom. before you can process what he’s doing, he presses the microphone right up against your drenched, sloppy cunt.

your eyes go wide in horror as the filthy, wet sloshing of your pussy echoes through the entire store. the slick, obscene sounds of your cunt squelching and dripping around his thick fingers fill the air, amplified by the speakers. every thrust makes it squirt, the embarrassing symphony of your slick coating his fingers making your stomach drop with humiliation. you’re completely exposed, the sound of your body’s desperate reactions bouncing off the store walls, reminding you just how nasty this is.

the wet slaps, the relentless gushing of your cunt, and the squelching noises leave you utterly mortified. It’s so loud, so filthy that if anyone were to walk by, they’d hear everything—and know exactly what a mess you’re making for him. every slick, nasty sound screams your shame, broadcasting to the entire store that you’re getting off to a literal serial killer!

“look at you,” geto chuckles darkly, his voice dripping with arrogance. “so fucking nasty for me. all this for a killer? huh? you like knowing what a filthy slut you are?”

geto throws the telephone, letting it dangle by the cord, before roughly flipping you onto your stomach. your feet barely touch the ground as your chest presses into the counter- bent over, giving you a full view of the empty store. his eyes darken as he takes in your position, biting his lip at the sight of your ass wiggling back, grinding against his hard cock. you can’t help but plead, your voice breathy and desperate.

“please, mr. ghostface, you’ve been sucha tease,” you whine, turning your head to watch him as he toys with his lip piercing, eyes fixed on you like he’s weighing his options. before you can beg again, he makes his choice—sliding his fat, mushroom tip past your dripping entrance. the stretch of his tip slightly burning but- oh it felt so good. your body jerks forward with the slow, agonizing thrust, his thick crownhead teasing innn and outttt of your needy, aching walls. you cry out, wanting—no, needing—more.

desperation overtakes you, and you try to fuck yourself back onto him, but his hand comes down hard, swatting your ass. the sharp sting only makes your pussy clench harder, and you hear him tut in disbelief at how filthy you’ve become for him. “unbelievable how you’re this horny,” he sneers, gripping your hips tighter as if to hold you still.

“if you’re a virgin, just say—ahh,” you taunt- gasping loudly when his fingers wrap around the back of your neck, his grip firm as he pulls you flush against his broad chest. his thick tip remains lodged inside your cunt, teasing you with how little he’s giving, yet how desperately you crave more.

he leans in close, his breath hot on your ear. “i’d love to stay and prove your point,” he purrs, eyes flicking to the front of the store, where the bright blue and red lights of approaching police cars flash in the distance. your mind is too foggy, too consumed with lust to understand what he’s hinting at. “but baby, your little coworker—the one you never bat your pretty lashes at,” he continues, his tone darkening as his grip tightens around your neck, turning your head toward the ‘employee’s only’ door.

that’s when you see it—the large, dark puddle of blood seeping from under the door, your coworker’s lifeless body hidden from view.

“i-i don’t care, i wan’ you,” you plead, tears stinging your eyes as your walls grip his girthy tip, trying to coax more from him. geto chuckles darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. he turns your head back toward the front of the store, where the police cars are getting closer. his hand slips away from your neck, leaving you trembling as he cruelly pulls his cock from your addicting cunt, leaving you empty and desperate as he swiftly tucked it back in his pants.

tears spill from your eyes as you feel him slipping away, denying you what you need. “he’s the one that ruined our fun,” geto says, his voice soft but menacing. “and sadly…” his words trail off, and you freeze as you feel the cold tip of a sharp blade pressing against your neck. you gulp hard, heart pounding as the reality of the situation sets in.

“’m really sorry, baby, but i can’t have you snitching to the police, can i?” he whispers, and with a swift motion, the blade slices cleanly across your throat. blood trickles down in a warm line, your breath catching in your chest as your body collapses to the floor. the cold tiles beneath you feel distant as your vision blurs, the last thing you see is geto standing above you, pouting as he watches the life drain from your body.

1K notes · View notes

sincerelyneo · 1 year ago

Note

will you be reposting the jeno fic you had on your old blog? it was my fave 🥺

here it is <3

fireproof | l.jn

“‘cause no body saves me baby the way you do”

💿now playing: fireproof by one direction

❯ summary: Your brother Jaemin loves throwing parties when your parents aren’t home — but you hate it. In an attempt to escape the loud music and sweaty bodies you try and head out. But there’s no way your brother’s best friend, Jeno, is letting you wander around the streets so late.

❯ pairings: jeno x fem!reader

❯ genre: smut, brother’s best friend, college!au

❯ words: 8.4k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, masturbation, minor mentions of drug use, drinking, marking, slight protective brother jaemin, begging, spanking, mentions of marking, unprotected sex (don't do this!), oral sex (m/f receiving), fingering, reader uses she/her pronouns, jeno fucks his best friend’s little sister.

a/n: i changed the title hehehe

This party fucking sucks.

You’re not even drunk. The vodka is watered down, you're sure of it. Your friends ditched you about half an hour ago — disappearing with some of the guys they had been speaking to and seeing.

"Come to the party with us, they said." You mimic to yourself into your plastic cup. "It'll be fun, they said."

You scoff taking another swig but pull your face at the awful taste that lingers in your mouth. There are better things you could be doing on a Saturday night, you think. You’re almost positive you saw a new show released on Netflix today. Or better yet, you could be reading some sort of erotic novel that would spice up your Saturday night more than this shit.

But the thing is, this party is at your own fucking house.

Your brother is throwing it.

Every time your parents go away for one weekend he can’t help but jump at the opportunity to trash the place. You don't see why he can't just have a few of the boys around, have some beers and then call it a night. But no, that isn't exactly Jaemin’s style.

Of course, he has to invite a bunch of random weirdos that seem to be snorting cocaine off of every surface in this house, and smoking whatever kind of weed they could find. And sure, you’re not impartial to a good night but this... this is not your idea of a good night.

At all.

Sighing, you push through the masses of people, seeing the sweaty bodies that are dry humping one another or eating each other's faces off so much you feel like you’re going to throw up at the sight.

Stopping in your tracks, you reach into the back pocket of your denim jeans to pull out your phone, seeing that it is half-past midnight. If you know Jaemin — and you did — this was only the beginning of the night. The party is definitely far from over.

Fuck sake.

You put your phone back in your pocket and continue to manoeuvre around the bodies in the hallway. Your stomach growls and you think about how you're drinking on an empty stomach. The only thing open at this time is a Mcdonald's but you don't necessarily want to be that person that sits in McDonald's by themselves on a Saturday night.

Still, you head for your front door and try your luck at an escape. As you reach your hand out to grab the door handle you smash headfirst into a body. Well to be more specific a chest. A hard chest.

"Ow, fuck!" You lift your hand up, rubbing your forehead.

"Sorry little Na, didn't see you there." You immediately recognise that voice. The deep slowness in which he talks. It’s the only voice that has a straight hotline to your core.

Yeah, you couldn't ever forget that voice.

You stop rubbing your head and slowly look up, following the lines of his muscled chest that you can see through the tight white t-shirt he's wearing with a pair of denim jeans and converse. Yes you had already checked him out tonight, but you’re only human. And when your eyes meet that sharp jawline, hollowed-out cheekbones and those damming brown eyes, you involuntarily clench your thighs together.

You shun yourself because you know you can’t have him. And that’s the reason why you hate him.

He's your brother’s best friend.

Lee fucking Jeno.

The worst man on this planet. for many reasons like for one he’s insanely hot. Like too hot. Who on this planet even needs to be that hot? But to make it worse he knows he's hot. Girls are always flying off his arm fueling his ego. He's also selfish and arrogant.

But the reason you hate him the most, the reason you despise him so much, and avoid him at all costs is because of the burning need — it's past being a want it's a fucking need — to just devour him. Every part of you screams out whenever he is in the same room.

And you hate it.

You have zero control over your words and actions with him — and he knows it with how much you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of him over the years. Your cheeks tend to grow red without your permission, and oh does he love to point that out.

Ever since your brother brought him home in his first year of high school, they have been inseparable — and you’ve been madly in love.

Well, you’re not in love with the boy. You just, you know, want to rip his clothes off. And let him fuck the living daylights out of you.

"Aw, there they are." He distracts you from your thoughts.

His eyes are burning straight through you. As if he can tell what you’re thinking, how you’re feeling. And right now, you have very infuriating dampness in your panties that wasn't there 30 seconds ago.

"Those rosy cheeks, are they for me, little Na?" You swat his hand away as it attempts to reach up to caress your cheek or some stupid shit like that.

"Stop that Jeno!” You snap at him, getting angry is your default with him.

It the perfect remedy to keep him away from you, so you don't do something stupid like fuck your brother’s best friend

“Please just get out my way.”

"Such a pleasant girl, aren't you?" He winks.

He fucking winks, and your pussy screams in delight. If you were any other girl, you’d be swooning right now. You’d be on your knees begging for it.

Well, you won't be on your knees for him.

Ever.

Especially not tonight.

"Just get out of my way, Jeno,” you push him rather hard.

You knew it wouldn't make him budge if he didn't want it too but he dramatically moved out of your way of the door. You yank it open and dart through onto the front lawn. Halfway down the driveway, a sharp tug on your arm spins you around and you’re faced with Jeno... again.

"Fuck sake, what do you want?" You shake your arm out of his grip but he doesn't let go.

You give up, huffing and dropping your shoulders. The two of you are just staring at each other, so much so that you didn't even realise how close you really were. Your chests are almost touching, there is a hair width between you. And due to your height, if you looked forwards you’d be looking at the bottom of his neck, right where you see him gulp before meeting your eyes again. They seem to burn into yours, suddenly growing intense.

He is the first to look away but he doesn't just look away, no. You watch as his eyes flash down to your lips. Your breath hitches, he sees that and when he looks back to your eyes again, he flashes you a knowing smirk.

Motherfucker.

"Come back inside." He says as he throws his head to the side, signalling to your house.

"No," you all but stomp your foot.

"You're such a fucking brat, you know that right?" He growls, closing that gap so that your chests touch. There’s an electricity running through you, begging for him.

"I'm not a fucking brat, I just don't want to be here at this shitty party!”

You don't break his eye contact, chests still touching. He can sure as hell feel each heavy breath you take and probably every beat of your heart that seems to have sped up since he moved closer.

"Just go inside, go to your room, anything. Just don't fucking leave, your brother would have my balls if I let you go out alone this late at night.”

You roll your eyes at the mention of your brother. You love him, you really do, but hearing the word brother leaves Jeno’s lips reminds you exactly why he’s even here.

It’s not for you — it’s for Jaemin’s sake.

"I don't see why either of you care, you've got plenty of booze and girls to keep you occupied to not even notice me gone,” you stand your ground, trying to tug your arm once again but he still won't let go.

However, he has loosened his grip so it isn't so harsh, but it's still locked around your wrist. In fact, you’re sure you feel him drawing little circles on the inner skin with his thumb and that thought alone has you squirming no matter how much you try to ignore it.

"I think I'd always notice when you're not there," Jeno says under his breath, his face lowering to yours.

If you didn't know better then you’d think he was about to kiss you. But that can't happen. Can it?

Everything but your core is saying no. Your whole body is screaming to open up your mouth and say please. But you ignore it — you always do— and try to keep a brave face. But as he gets so close, too close, your eyes automatically flutter shut.

You expect his lips to graze yours but they don't, instead, you feel his cheek against you , only faintly, as his lips skim your ear lobe.

"I think I'd always notice when you're not there because there won't be some childish little brat moaning about not getting her own way."

Your eyes shoot open as he pulls back, laughing at your flushing cheeks. Your eyes narrow as you finally tug your arm hard enough this time that he has no choice but to release you.

"I do not moan about not getting my own way and I am not childish nor a brat,” you sneer at him.

"Sure,-" he huffs, laughing, crossing his arms over his chest. "Whatever you say."

"Why can’t you just go inside and leave me alone,” you cross your own arms over your chest.

"No can do." He stands there like some sort of bouncer, you look to your right and see the path only a few steps away. He watches you and says a low, demanding, "Don't."

But you do it.

You spin on your heel and run for it. But you only make it two steps before two large arms are wrapped around your waist from behind and you’re being sprung back into a hard chest. Jeno’s one arm sits tightly around your waist, his fingers digging into your hip and you squirm against him. To stop your wriggling, his other hand flies up to grab a hold of your throat, tilting your head back to the rest of his shoulder.

His eyes flash to his hand around your neck and he takes a deep breath that causes his eyes to flutter shut. Then you feel something growing behind you causing your own eyes to grow wide. He leans forward, lips skimming yours barely.

“I said don't." It sounded more like a growl than anything and a small whimper escaped your lips. "Are you going to walk inside or am I going to have to carry you?" He whispers still close to your mouth. If you lifted your head slightly, you’d be kissing.

"I'm not going back inside." You sternly reply, he just laughs and his hold loosens on you.

But he doesn’t free you. Instead he throws you clean over his shoulder in a fireman's lift.

“Put. Me. Down. Jeno." You scream, hitting his back, but he doesn't listen. Carrying on heading back inside your house.

Your cheeks are bright red and you stop your attack on Jeno’s back and decide to clench his shirt in your fists and hide your face in it.

"What's going on here?" You hear Jaemin’s voice and your head flies up.

"Your sister tried to escape," Jeno says laughing, bending down to lower you to the ground.

When he stood back up, you were so close your bodies touched again, your breasts rubbed against his firm chest and your nipples stiffened. His eyes glanced down to them and they darken, then he looks to you again and grabs your shoulders, spinning you around to face your brother. You automatically lifted your arms up and over your breasts to cover the obvious arousal.

"Come on Y/N, you know you can't be walking around aimlessly at night." Jaemin chastises you.

"I'm not a child Jaem," you roll your eyes with a shake of your head.

"So what? Grown ass people still get kidnapped!”

You groan, I'm going to my room."

You push past him and head towards the stairs. You turn around seeing Jeno’s smug face knowing he’s got his own way about you coming back inside.

But you won’t give him the satisfaction. You’ll just sneak out the window and have your perfect escape. He won't know.

Not like he’ll come to check — right?

You spin on your heel as you hear the sound of footsteps following behind you. Jeno’s there, eyes locked on your ass until he sees you looking back down at him and then cocks his head to the side and smiles innocently.

“What are you doing?” You spit.

"Just making sure you actually do go to your room." He flashes his infamous eye smile that has plagued your dreams since you first met him. "And that your windows are locked. Don't want you running away now do we?" he winks at you.

He’s so irritating!

With a huff, you turn around and storm your way up the last couple of stairs, making sure your stomps are extra loud. You can just hear Jeno snickering behind you and that only rattles you even more. When you reach the landing you turn immediately and head to the last door of the hallway and pull it open, stepping inside of your bedroom. You go to slam the door shut but a sneaker covered foot stops in between preventing it.

You immediately roll your eyes and groan.

"Leave me alone Jeno." You groan, leaning up against the door with your back, pushing it.

"Let me check your windows then I'll leave."

"What kind of request is that?” You sigh, running a hand through your hair.

"Just let me."

"No."

The two of you enter a stare off — one you both know he’s going to win. And he does, because you don’t even let two whole minutes pass before you’re huffing out a “Fine.”

He makes his way over to your window, making sure it's locked, then he chuckles, drawing your curtains too. The only thing lightening the room was your bedside lamp that you had an awful habit of leaving on. That, and it was the perfect deterrent to make it look like someone was in there, keeping strangers from having sex on your bed.

“All done?” You ask, breathy.

He smirks, his eyes flashing to your lips again and you swear to god if he does that one more time you’re either going to kick him in the balls or jump on him and kiss him.

You force yourself to take a step back and take a deep breath which makes him laugh.

"Well goodnight little Na, don't go sneaking out because I will know about it." He walks off to the door and before he exits you say,

"And how would you possibly know that?"

He looks over his shoulder, his eyes flash up and down your body, "I just will,” he winks then closes the door behind him.

You huff out and stomp your foot like a child. God you needed to grow a backbone and stop letting that idiot mess with you.

Storming into your bathroom you slam the door shut. You strip off your clothes and turn on the shower. Whilst waiting for it to get up to temperature, you sigh.

"Let me just lock your windows for ya." You pull a face copying him. "Want me to check that for ya?"

Once you’re done in the shower you climb out of it and dry yourself with a towel.

"He's so fucking annoying ugh," you say to yourself as you pull the bathroom door open and saunter into your bedroom naked.

You don't even check to see if anyone was in there, too busy ranting about him. And when you feel the cold draft of your bedroom it makes you realise you had just walked into your unlocked bedroom naked. Immediately, you covered your body remembering the party going on downstairs; but on first glance, it appeared no one was in there. Still you quickly grab your oversized grey t-shirt from the end of your bed, throwing it on over your head, but skipping your underwear.

Your room was fairly simple with white furniture, a wooden floor, soft pink bedding, a few cuddly toys. The bed lies against the far wall, opposite the door and you leave your lamp on to have a little bit of light to help you sleep.

Trying to fall asleep you flip over so your back faces the light. You try a few different sleep scenarios but everything keeps going back to Jeno.

And the way his hand gripped around your neck.

You flip over again, keeping your eyes shut, yet, Jeno just waltzes into your mind continuously. Like he won't leave you alone. You feel so much anger coursing through your blood, yet you have this strange pulling into your core.

You need to give attention to it — so you do. And as soon as you slip your hand under the covers, the fantasies start rolling in. Jeno’s arms around you, grabbing at your waist, your hips, your ass, your breasts.

Your breath hitches.

His tongue in your mouth, along your skin, tracing your neck and stomach, then between your folds lapping at you. Your eyes shoot open as you clench your thighs together and immediately feel the wetness.

It was just too much to ignore. This wasn’t going away. You already knew that.

You just needed some relief and then you’ll be free for the night. Jeno never needs to know and it’s not like you haven’t done this exact same thing before over him.

Your right hand finds your centre first, sliding between the folds and instantly feeling the slick wetness there. Slowly and sensually, you begin moving your fingers in a circular motion. Eyes closing instantly, flashes of Jeno now being played before you.

In your mind, it was no longer your hand but his. Rubbing your clit, sending shivers down your spine and causing a small panting moan to escape you.

Your left hand begins clutching at the sheets and as you feel your nipples peak and rub against the soft material of your shirt, you have no choice but to swiftly move your hand up and under to take hold of your own breasts and squeeze. You moan again as you begin to work your fingers faster over your clit.

Now in your head, Jeno stood before you shirtless. Seeing the ripples in the muscles of his abs, he flexes his arms, making you grow weaker. But you always felt like this whenever you saw him shirtless at the pool, or the beach.

And you couldn't deny how fucking sexy he was — you wouldn’t?”

"What’re you thinking about?"

You pause instantly, back arched, orgasm growing close and eyes squeezed shut. You can't decipher whether that voice was in your head or in real life so you just grow still and relax, trying to pretend it didn’t happen.

Your breathing which was already heavy, grows even more so, this time with panic and worry. You don't want to open your eyes, scared of what you might see because you recognised that voice.

At least, you’re really fucking hoping Jeno’s voice is all in your head, because you’re seconds away from orgasm.

"I asked you a question."

Your eyes fly open. He’s definitely not in your head.

Ripping your hand away from your clit, you pull the other away from your nipple and force yourself into a seated position with your hands splayed behind to hold you up. You scream on instinct, he doesn't so much as flinch as he stands at the end of your bed.

His eyes are dark, head low and looking up at you through his lashes. He has that smirk on his face, and his hands are fidgeting, rolling his fingers against his palm. Your eyes roam his body as your scream continues and you wish you hadn't, only because your scream turned into a moan as you spied his hard erection pushing against his jeans.

You gasp and look back at his face.

"What're you doing Jeno?" You whisper-shout, even though the party downstairs would make it difficult for anyone to hear you anyway.

Still, you didn’t want any party goers walking in on a flustered you in bed with Jeno and his very large, very prominent erection, standing at the base.

Fuck. It's so big. You can tell from how it's breaking at the seams of his jeans to be let free. Your mouth waters at the sheer thought of his dick — wondering what it looks like, how it feels in your hands, in your mouth — how it tastes.

Fuck no. Absolutely not.

You shake your head, trying to rid the thoughts and ignore the fact your core is pulsing right now, begging for one last touch so you can explode into orgasm. You really fucking needed it.

"I asked you what you were thinking about?" He says lowly, and it causes your breathing to still.

“H-how long have you been standing there?" You whimper.

He shrugs, “That doesn't matter, what does matter is-" he moves his head up, looking you dead in the eyes as he cracks his neck and then his fists in each hand. "-What you were thinking about whilst touching yourself? Was it me?"

He smirks again and you stood up, throwing the duvet off of your legs.

"Not a chance," He says sternly. You look at him again, face paling.

"What do you mean, no?" you ask, cocking your head.

"I mean don't you fucking move-" His tongue came out to lap at his bottom lip as his eyes moved down your body, down your legs.

You instantly went to grab the duvet again but he grabbed it first, ripping it from the bed and throwing it across the room. You get down on all fours, crawling to try and get it before him.

"Jeno!" You exclaim, reaching your hand out for it but it was too far away. You look up at him on all fours, and from this angle... God. You gulp.

"Give me my cover."

You try to wash away every fantasy of being in this position before him but you can't ignore the way you need his hard cock, seeping at the tip and begging for you to lick it, to suck it.

Stop. No. Not now.

His hand comes to the side of your face, pushing a piece of your hair behind your ear and you shiver at the touch.

"Lie. Back. On. The. Bed." He commands.

Your eyes flutter shut for a moment and then slowly, you move to follow his command until you are back down on the bed. You keep your legs closed and hands on your stomach.

You weren’t sure why you’re listening to him — obeying him . But something in you, some instinct is just screaming at you to let this play out, see what he wants.

"Touch yourself." He says and you blanch, your eyes growing wide and you sit up again, but one stern look from him has you lying back down again. "Touch yourself and tell me what you think of, how you feel, tell me everything Y/N."

Your name. He never bothers to call you that. Usually emphasising how you’re his best friend’s little sister with the nickname he’d given you. But honestly, you’re thankful for the nickname because hearing your actual name from his lips, all nasally and sensual, sends you spiralling.

It makes you putty in his hands. And as for your hands? Well, they slowly spread your legs wide revealing your soaking wet cunt to him. You keep your eyes pierced on him, watching how his breath hitches, eyes glued to you. The way he automatically grabs his cock through his jeans and squeezes is like a reflex. Closing his eyes only briefly before they're back on you, on your core.

You feel yourself growing red, the heat of embarrassment consuming you whole as you slide your hand down your stomach. As soon as your fingers make contact with your clit, your hips are bucking off of the bed and your back starts to curve. Building up your arousal doesn't take long. You were already half there, teetering on the edge.

Except this time your eyes lock onto Jeno’s for real whilst your fingers are moving, soft moans leaving your lips. You spy his own hand on his cock, he hasn't pulled it free but he moves his hand back and forth over his shaft. You can see the way his arms tense as he moves and watches you.

You throw your head back with another moan. Seeing him stood there isn't enough, you need something more. You need him climbing on top of you, replacing your fingers with his. His hot breath against your neck as he rubs you harder and faster.

"What are you thinking about?"

"You." You say breathily.

"What about me?"

Your eyes shoot open to stare at him, he looks tense and flustered. Just as bad as you. His hand stops moving on his cock and you make a mental note that he might've been close. Too close. And this might be over too soon.

"Your fingers on my clit, rubbing me," you throw your head back as the fantasy flashes again.

"Yes, and what else?" He growls.

"Your mouth." You breathe again.

"My mouth, huh?" He bites and your fantasy continues.

"Yes. Everywhere." You cry out, orgasm seconds away. "Your mouth on me, about to- God, Jeno I'm gonna cum,” your back arches, hips bucking, fingers moving so fast and rough.

"Look at me." Your eyes fly open at the command. "I want you to cum whilst looking at me."

And you do. The sheer dominance radiating off of him is the final straw that has you crashing down.

Your orgasm rips through you as your hips lift so far off the bed. You moved your fingers through your orgasm, riding it out but finally, your hips fell back to the bed and you let out a heavy breath.

Before you could even open your eyes again, you felt two large arms wrap under your thighs gripping your hips, and suddenly you’re yanked to the end of the bed. Your eyes snap open, and your head lifts up as you spy Jeno on his knees at the end of the bed, his mouth centimetres from your dripping pussy.

"J-Jeno,” you mumble, just the sight of him has you moaning.

You’re not sure if getting yourself off in front of him was the moment you both decided to cross the line; but now him manoeuvring between your legs, you knew you definitely had. Regardless, you know now you aren't ever going back to the dynamic you had before.

"I’m gonna make those fantasies come to life baby.”

He doesn't miss a beat. His tongue comes out and swipes a long lick up and through your folds. All common sense leaves your head as you fall back against the bed.

"God, you taste so good. I fucking knew you would."

He’s thought about this? You know you have.

He repeats the motion again, this time focusing on your clit, making sure to run a smooth stripe along it, circling it only slightly, enough to have you wriggling. One of his hands splays over your stomach, holding your hips down.

"I want you to cum on my tongue. I want to taste every drop of you,” you gulp, looking down at him between your thighs. You don't miss the dark pupils in his eyes and that daring look, the one telling you to follow his instructions.

"Jeno, oh my god,” you cry out, your head flying back as his mouth attacks your clit. He sucks it in, flicking his tongue all over in a frenzied motion.

You know he knows all the right ways to make a girl squirm. And you are fucking squirming. All over the fucking bed, you’d be breaking free from him if he didn't have his large veined hand holding your stomach down. Your stomach is now on show. Your t-shirt has risen up to just below your breasts and you see the way his eyes watch the movement as you move about, tits bouncing around.

And as if he can hear your thoughts he says,

"Take your top off."

You do it without question, lifting the hem and throwing it over your head. Now you’re laying there completely naked. His hand that was on your stomach comes up and takes hold of one breast, instantly taking your nipple between his fingers and you hear him, no you feel him, moan into your pussy.

The vibrations cause you to cry out, hands knuckling the bed sheets.

"You're so fucking hot Y/N, God." He murmurs before attacking you again, his mouth working wonders.

And that tongue. You’re so close. You can feel it.

Then you feel as he slides two fingers into you. Jeno curls his fingers inside of you, hitting some sort of sensitive spot, and as soon as his fingers massage that area inside you and his mouth returns to your clit, you explode.

You don't even know if the music downstairs would cover your screams as you fell into ecstasy. His hand on your breast doesn’t move, but the one that had been hooked on your hip moves to splay against your stomach holding you down as he laps at you, riding you through your second orgasm until you couldn’t take it anymore. He pulls his fingers out, then his mouth away from you at just the right time.

You lay there spent. Completely.

Eyes fluttering open. Jeno stood between your legs looking down at you. His cock looked painful in his jeans. You had once felt exhausted and ready to fall asleep but as soon as you saw his erection you shot up in your seat. You immediately fumble with his jeans until his hand comes to your jaw, pulling your head up to look into his eyes. He stares for a moment before blinking, taking a deep breath.

"You don't have to- I didn't do that for you to-"

"I want to. I want this." You nod eagerly,"I want you.”

You lick your lips and it's as if something snaps in him, that moment of care vanishes and he lets go of your chin.

"Well then, suck my cock,” he says, standing there and you do as you’re told.

You unfasten his jeans, pull them down and then his underwear. His large erect cock springs free instantly and without a second thought you take hold of him in your hand. Your hands look tiny against his dick.

You move your hand slowly up and down his cock, and notice how his thighs tense, then his stomach and you follow your eyes up until you meet his face. His head is hung low, eyes dark and hands clenched by his sides. Keeping your eyes on his, you lean forward and spy the precum, flicking your tongue out and taking it in to swallow down with a moan that makes him grunt.

You moved so that your face was closer to his balls, then you stroked your tongue all along his length, and felt the way he flexed beneath your muscle. There’s a cocky smirk covering your face when you move back to the top and suck his tip into your mouth.

"Do you like sucking my cock?" He asks, his hand threading into your hair to start pulling on the roots to yank your head backwards.

"Do you like it when I suck your cock, Jeno?" You flip the question with a smile the power in your hands. You continue working him and he flexes his hand in your hair.

"That's how you wanna play?" He grins at you.

You pretend to think for a moment, "I’m not playing anything." You move your head closer down his length, licking another long stripe hearing how he curses under his breath and thrusts his hips towards you. "I just want to suck your cock."

With that, you take him into your mouth, sliding down until you reach your limit. You can't take him whole, he’s way too big for that, but you take what you can. He coughs and splutters a bunch of inaudible words, but you just pull back up and repeat the motion, continuing to take him back into your throat.

His hand stays threaded in your hair, keeping a rough hold so that you can't pull away — not that you wanted to.

You love every second. Even as you feel him tensing, his hips moving as he thrusts into your mouth. You look up through your lashes to see his head thrown back as he moans out and hisses every so often when you drag your teeth along his cock. You can tell he likes it as the precum coats your tongue. That and the way he doesn't tell you to stop.

"Do. That. Again."

And you do, watching his head fall forwards."Such a pretty sight, my cock filling your mouth. What do you think your brother would think about this?" he smirks and your face falls pale.

You almost stop sucking his dick but he doesn't let you, slamming his hips forwards so his cock hits the back of your throat.

Your brother.

Not a thought you want to think about right now but it is something you needed to consider. This was his best friend. You’d finally gotten the man so forbidden, always out of bounds. The whole time you didn’t know that he wanted you as much as you wanted him.

You moan uncontrollably, and it must send vibrations along his cock as you feel it twitch in your mouth, his thrusts become sloppy and his grip on your hand grows tighter.

"Fuck, Y/N, I'm gonna cum." He grits out. "Are you gonna let me cum in that pretty mouth of yours?"

You look up at him. You can't speak so you try to nod.

"God, you’ve always been the death of me," He thrusts several more times as you slide your tongue all over his length and tip.

You do it a final time as you take him to the back of your throat, gliding your teeth along him which must've been his undoing as you felt the hot steaming cum splatter against the back of your throat.

You pulled him out your mouth slowly. Even as he is softening he is still thick and large. You kitten lick the tip as he hisses, causing him to loosen his grip in your hair and you sit back, making sure to obviously gulp so he knows you swallowed every last drop of him. Leaning forwards, his hand comes to your chin and he moves his mouth so close to your you think he might kiss you but instead he says,

"Good girl."

You hate the way those two words made you clench your thighs together. You thought the two orgasms were enough but no, you’re ready for more. You need more.

He’s quick to remove his shirt, and as he lifts his arms his abs flex. You are point-blank gawking at him standing before you, making him smirk.

That snaps you out of it. Remembering you are sitting here, soaking wet and naked before him. You crawl back on the bed and then realise you have no duvet so you have to pull your knees to your chest and cross your arms over your knees to cover yourself.

He watches you, laughs and then shakes his head. He then moves, shoving off his jeans and underwear the rest of the way off until they both land on the floor.

"Wh-What are you doing?" You ask stuttering, thinking he should actually be getting dressed to leave.

"What do you think I'm doing?" he asks.

Can't he ever just give you a simple answer?

Then you notice how his cock has sprung to life again and his hand moves to touch it. Moving up and down the length as he cracks his neck.

"You're h-hard again?" You stutter, eyes glued to the impressive size of him.

"I'm always hard for you baby." He winks and for once, it didn't make you want to punch him.

"Jeno, we can't." You shake your head.

You’re already way past the line. Sex would destroy the whole scale. Still, the idea of him, his cock inside of you, whispering filthy things in your ear... it isn't something you can ignore.

"You want it." He says point blankly.

You gulp and remain silent. He moves onto the bed, kneeling and then crawls towards you until he is over you. His hair has fallen over his eyes — so fucking hot. "I know you want it, why try to deny it?" He cocks his head to the side, smugly.

"I-I'm not." You fidget.

“Yes, you are." He ducks his head low, burying it in your neck. You feel his warm breath and your heartbeat rackets so loud. "You don't want to want me to fuck you,” His teeth graze your neck, sending you into a panting mess as he sucks and bites.

He then pulls away and laps at the mark you know is there, the one he put there as a reminder tomorrow when you come to your senses that you did this.

"So I’ll ask again. What do you want?" He looks down at you, plump pink lips swollen and wet from his constant licking and biting them.

You’re going to let your brothers best friend fuck you. And you’re going to love every second of it.

Not wasting another moment longer to think, you grab hold of his neck and lift your head whilst pulling him to you to smash your lips together. There’s heat, fire, and explosions of electricity.

Your hands claw at his neck, his back, his sides. Anything to pull him closer. His crotch, his hard cock, grinds against your soaking hole and you groan out whilst continuing to kiss him. Both so desperate for each other. His hands skim down your body, kneading your breasts, your hips. He grabs hold of anywhere and everywhere.

His lips detach from yours, giving you a moment to see how swollen they are before they're attacking your neck. He peppers kisses along your jaw, not sweet kisses but hard and sloppy kisses. Sucking and biting the skin causing your back to arch into his chest, pushing your breasts against him, making him moan. He thrusts his hips forwards, his cock sliding between your folds, hitting against your clit making you quiver.

"Fuck, we really shouldn't be doing this." He continues kissing you down your neck, reaching your collar bones that he also decides to leave marks on.

"Jeno please," you cry out. Both of his hands move to your hips to hold you still.

"Please what baby?" He smirks before moving lower to take one of your nipples into his mouth.

"Fuck Jeno,” you cry out as he flicks his tongue over the bud, biting it harshly so you cry out again then soothing it with a soft warm suck.

"Please what baby?" He repeats.

"Fuck me. Now!”

"And what about your brother?" he brings him up again and you roll your eyes.

"Stop bringing him up," You moan as he takes your other nipple into his mouth, repeating the process.

"He'll kill us if he finds out." he grins.

"Then he can't find out," You pant out of breath as Jeno moves.

His face is so close to yours that your lips are only just touching, his chest is pushed against you and his cock sits lodged between your folds. You try to shift to gain some friction against your clit but his grip holds you still. His eyes flicker across your face then he says,

"I won't tell if you won't?" His lips caress yours in the faintest of movements. You flick your tongue out to wet your lips, but in the process he bites onto your muscle making you wince then moan, "What do you think, huh?”

There’s no room for discussion — your body won’t let you.

"I won't tell if you won't."

He doesn't miss a beat once he gets your approval. His lips are on yours as his hips thrust forwards. His cock thrusting inside of you, tearing you open as you pull your mouth away to cry out.

"Holy fuck."

He stills once inside you, making sure to push as far as possible until his pelvis meets your skin. Your legs wrap around his waist instantly.

"You feel so fucking good." He breaks from your kiss to breathe. "I always knew you would but this-" he looks down to where you are connected and he thrusts further, trying to get deeper but he can't possibly. "-this is better than anything I could've imagined."

"Move, please." You grunt trying to lift your hips to encourage some movement. His eyes fly open, dark and daring.

"Beg me." He smirks and does a tiny thrust, a teasing thrust.

"Fuck off,” you pant, trying to do it yourself but he uses his hips to pin you to the bed.

"Beg." He smiles and cocks his head to one side. "Me."

You hated his arrogance. But fuck, you want him so bad. So badly that you will beg.

"Please fuck me, Jeno." He pulls out of you and you suck in a deep breath.

"Again." He grins now.

You can't bear to look at him but looking down means watching as he holds just the tip inside of me.

"Please. Fuck. Me." You pant, half moaning, begging for him.

He thrusts so hard into you, you wince and moan out in pleasure. He hit so deep inside that you’re sure you’ll bruise.

"Anything for you, Y/N,” he whispers in your ear before sucking and biting on the lobe.

Then he's pulling out and thrusting into you. Again. And again. And again. Harder and harder each time. Faster and faster. You lose your breath, becoming a big ball of pants and moans — just like Jeno.

God, the sounds he makes. You’ve never heard someone so vocal before, but fuck it's hot. The small grunts he makes when he fucks you, the groans when you clench around his cock and feel yourself building. He moves his hands under your ass to lift it, plummeting into you from a new angle, going so much deeper.

"Your pussy is so tight. Fuck,” He says between thrusts, and gritted teeth.

He seems to have found a weak spot right under your ear that has you clenching like mad around his cock. And he loves it.

"How have you just been there in front of me this whole time? How have I stayed away from you?" He seems to be asking himself because he doesn’t press you for a reply.

He removes his lips from your neck and sits back on his heels, his cock still inside of you, slowing his thrusts and he lifts your legs up, moving them over his shoulders. His head moves from side to side, placing a soft kiss on each ankle and for one second. You’re dumbfounded as he looks at you, a daring smirk written across his face.

He wraps his arms around your thighs, locking your legs in a straight position against his chest on either side of his head, and then he begins pounding into you again. However this time, he moves one of his hands to your centre, his thumb moving closer to your clit. You feel how it grazes your nerves. He strums it once. Twice. Three times then you're wriggling around like a mess, back arching off as your orgasm tears through your body and you explode into euphoria. Again.

He rides you through it, fucking you as you clench and squeeze around him. A string of curse words come out of him, you feel him so close but he doesn't cum. He stops stroking your clit as you batted his hand away, you didn't realise you had been clenching the sheets with white knuckles until you relax your hands and feel a cramp in your palm.

Jeno slows his thrusts until he stills inside of you, his chest is moving up and down with each of his heavy breaths. You move your legs off of his shoulders, enjoying the movements as your legs feel strained too.

But as soon as your feet hit the bed, he grabs you and flips you so you land on your stomach. He pulls your hips up and slides into you again.

"Fuck!" You scream as he slams into you unapologetically. One hand holding your hip, the other trails along your back as he begins fucking you from behind. He leans over you, still ploughing, and comes closer to your ear.

"I always wanted to fuck you like this, you are always strutting around showing off, your ass? Do you like teasing me?"

You don't even know what you like right now. Mind too focused on needed Jeno to fuck you any way he pleased.

He grins, then shoves your head back down into the mattress, straightening his back and fucks you harder than you think you’ve ever have been before. You couldn't keep up with the movements, head a complete daze from all of the orgasms that he had given you.

You come to a conscious mind when a hard slap lands on your ass, it makes your pussy throb so he does it again, and again, rubbing over the area and soothing it before doing it again. Each time it makes you clench around him.

"Jeno," you cry out between thrusts.

"Yeah, baby?" His voice sounded so much deeper, which told you he was close. That and the way his thrusts grew random and unstable.

"Want you to cum in me," You moan, clenching the sheets again.

"I'm not wearing a condom," He grits through his teeth.

"I'm on the pill,” you manage to say between heavy breaths. You needed him to cum in you now.

He shakes his head, "Last thing I need is to get my best friend's little sister pregnant." And that was that because he thrust a few more times, then pulls out, and instantly, all over your ass and back you felt a hot liquid splatter about.

As soon as his grip left your hip you fell straight down onto the mattress, and your body was thankful for it. Everything hurt. He'd destroyed you. Fucked you, well and truly. And you couldn't stop the smile on your face.

"I'll go get a cloth." He said through some heavy breaths then climbed off of the bed and went to your bathroom. He emerged a moment later, used the warm cloth to clean up his mess although you notice him take a minute to look at it.

"Admiring your work?" You asked him through a laugh, he looked at you and shook his head chuckling.

"Trust me, if I could take a picture I would,” he wipes it away. Then he returned to the bathroom to throw the cloth in the hamper but as soon as he stood in the doorway of you heard three loud knocks on your bedroom door.

"Y/N? You in there? Have you seen Jeno?"

You shot up in bed, suddenly not tired or spent. Jeno’s eyes grew wide too.

You lifted your finger to your lips and gestured to Jeno to stay in the bathroom. He didn't hesitate as he shuts the door.

Jaemin would fucking kill him and you, without a doubt. Only moments ago you had his best friend’s cum covering your ass.

"One second," you shout, jumping out of bed and grabbing your T-shirt. Then you rush over to the door, paint on your best sleeping face and yawn whilst opening it.

"Oh, you were asleep?" Jaemin stood on the other side, hands braced on either side of the door frame.

You fake another yawn. He looks behind you and you turn too, fearful Jeno was standing there but then you spied your duvet cover on the other side of the room. Jamein frowned and looked back to you.

"I was hot." You shrug.

"Shit sorry," He quickly says. "I just can't find Jeno anywhere.”

"He’s your friend not mine.”

"I don’t understand why you two hate each other," He rolls his eyes and you can't help but scoff at the irony.

Hate wasn’t exactly the word you’d use for the guy that was just 8 inches deep inside of you.

"Well, he's probably off getting high or fucking some girl.”

“Better not be in our parent’s bed again,” he huffs, and your eyes go wide. “Fuck, he better not be doing it in my bed either,” he says to himself.

And with that, he storms away heading for his room. Chuckling, you shut the door and Jeno emerges from the bathroom, a towel now wrapped around his waist and he stands there facing you.

"That was close."

"Too close." You sigh.

He dresses himself as you climb back in bed, getting your duvet back on and covering yourself with it. He walks over to the door and pulls it open, peeking outside to check the coast is clear, then once he does he turns to look over his shoulder at you.

"Our secret?" He says.

"Our secret." You nod and he steps out, not looking back and shuts the door.

You lie back on your bed, head falling into your pillows and laugh.

But then you shake your head processing it all, moving your hand to cover your mouth, looking at the ceiling.

You just fucked your brother’s best friend.

#jeno smut #jeno x reader #nct smut #nct x reader #nct dream smut #nct dream x reader #jeno scenarios #nct scenarios #kpop smut #nct hard hours

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wordsofwhimsy · 2 months ago

Text

❀ꗥ～𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 ～ꗥ❀

❀ꗥ～ Part Three ～ꗥ❀

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x Southern Belle!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, slice-of-life, southern charm still thick as molasses in the middle of a snowstorm, Mark starts tweakin’ a lil’ bit on the low LMAO

Word Count: 2,449

Synopsis: Mark shows up to school early only to be immediately wrecked by you, who’s handing out muffins & heartache. Mark finds himself caught between charm, jealousy, and the slow realization that he is already in waaay too deep.

a/n: thank you for the feedback on the poll but y’all are just as torn on the direction to go with this thing as I am ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i really don’t want to drag this series out too longgg cause i feel like y’all will get sick of her, but there is so much fun potential with them!! so when i do wrap it up i definitely still plan to do random drabbles/blrubs/headcannons. so if you have a particular scenario you want to see played out with these two let me knowww

read part two ❀ꗥ～Here! ～ꗥ❀

The next day, Mark got to first period a full fifteen minutes early.

He wasn’t trying to be extra—he just, y’know, happened to wake up earlier than usual. Showered for an extra minutes. Stared into his closet for even longer.

It was row after row of sweaters.

Gray sweater. Navy sweater. Slightly-different-gray sweater. The exact same maroon one he wore yesterday, and probably twice last week.

“Why do I own so many sweaters,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s not even cold.”

He glanced at the clock. He had exactly twelve minutes to leave the house if he wanted to be on time. But today wasn’t about being on time.

Today was about impressing the southern goddess who fed him homemade pie and called him sugar like it didn’t wreck his entire nervous system.

He yanked the maroon sweater off its hanger and immediately dropped it again. “No. You wore that when you met her. You can’t wear a sweater twice in a row, she’ll think you’re... sweater guy.”

He reached deeper. Somewhere in the back—past the knit graveyard—and he found an old, forgotten denim button-up he hadn’t worn in ages.

“…Okay. Alright.” He held it up, inspecting it like it might bite. “It’s not not cool. It’s fine. You’re fine.”

By the time he was out the door, he was buttoned up, hair freshly styled, smelling faintly like his dad’s aftershave (too much? was it too much?), and on track to arrive at school earlier than any teenager had ever willingly arrived before.

He passed one of the janitors on the way in. The guy looked at him weird.

Mark nodded like a man with a mission. “Big day.”

The janitor grimaced and went back to mopping.

Mark made it to class so early the lights weren’t even fully on yet.

He sat down, tried to play it cool, tapped his pen like he wasn’t losing his mind.

And then—you walked in.

Suddenly the semi-lit classroom felt too bright.

You were wearing another one of those flowy dresses—soft blue this time, with little white daisies scattered all over like a watercolor painting. Your hair was curled again, bouncing around your shoulders, and there was a tiny yellow bow tucked just behind your ear.

You were smiling, too. Big and bright, like it wasn’t still technically dark outside.

Mark forgot what breathing was.

“Good mornin’, sugar!” you chirped, dropping into the desk beside him in a way that almost made the hard plastic seem comfortable. “Ain’t it just the prettiest day?”

Mark looked outside.

It was overcast. Kinda windy. A bird hit the window and flopped off.

“…Yeah,” he croaked. “Gorgeous.”

You opened your notebook with a little hum, pulling out a pen that had a fuzzy pink pom-pom on the end. Different from your rhinestone student pencil from yesterday. Of course you had a whole arsenal of beautiful writing utensils.

Mark stared at it like it held all the answers to the universe.

“I brought peach muffins today,” you said, casual as ever. “Meemaw said I should bring a whole batch with me ‘cause they were too good not to share. I figured I’d bring you one.”

Mark’s felt like a fist had closed around his heart. “I’d die for a muffin.”

You laughed, light and lovely, not even fazed. “Well shoot, I don’t want you dyin’ for one. You just wait ‘til lunch and I’ll hand it over easy, no crime involved.”

Mark stared at you, helpless.

You turned your face to the window with a little sigh, completely unaware you’d just accidentally ruined him for every other girl on planet Earth.

The bell rang.

Mark didn’t even notice.

He was too busy falling deeper in love with the girl who brought sunshine and muffins into first period like it was nothing.

He was still riding the high of being called sugar and getting a personal smile when the classroom started to fill in.

You were already sitting beside him, scribbling little daisies in the margins of your notes and humming to yourself like you were the only one immune to Tuesday energy. You pulled a small zip-lock pouch from your tote and opened it to reveal a cluster of wrapped muffins, all neat and warm and clearly made with care.

“Good morning, sweetheart!” you said brightly—to the teacher.

Mark watched with stars in his eyes as you stood, walked to the front desk, and handed the teacher a muffin with both hands and a smile. “Mama always says nobody should have to start their day without a little somethin’ sweet.”

The teacher blinked, clearly caught off guard, then smiled back. “Well... thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

Mark practically swooned. Look at her, he thought. She’s so thoughtful. She’s so considerate. She’s like a vintage greeting card but better. An actual saint.

You turned around, still holding one more muffin in your hand—and then you walked right past Mark’s desk.

He froze. Wait. No muffin for him?

But then—worse—you stopped beside Brian.

Brian. The kid with glasses thicker than bulletproof glass. The one who wore suspenders without irony. Who once gave a ten-minute speech in class about his favorite graphing calculator.

You handed him a muffin.

“There ya go, sugar,” you said sweetly. “You always look so focused in here—I figure you deserve a treat.”

Brian turned bright red. “Oh! Uh! Thanks! That’s, um—wow. Thank you.”

Mark, from two desks away, silently short-circuited.

Brian?? He liked Brian! Brian was harmless! Brian was also now the luckiest man alive and probably didn’t even know it!!

Mark stared blankly at his own desk. The jealousy was illogical. He knew that. You were just being friendly. It was who you were. That was why he liked you so much.

Still.

He looked down at his empty hands, then at Brian, who was carefully placing his muffin into a Ziploc bag like it was a museum artifact.

Mark was still trying to pretend he didn’t feel weird about the whole Brian Situation™ when you turned back to him with your usual sunny grin—muffin bag in hand.

He straightened in his seat like a dog hearing the treat bag rustle.

“Don’t you worry, darlin’,” you said, tapping the top of the bag like it held gold. “I got your muffin all safe and sound for lunch.”

Mark blinked. “Oh—cool. Thank you.”

“But,” you added, eyes twinkling, “you look like you could use a little somethin’ sweet right now.”

His heart started to race. “I—I mean I—uh—”

You reached into the bottom of the muffin bag, broke off a little piece of golden, peach-flecked heaven, and held it out to him between your fingers.

“Open up.”

Mark’s soul left his body.

He opened his mouth automatically, like he was under some kind of southern-fried spell, and you gently popped the bite in—still smiling, totally casual, like this was just what people did.

The muffin was warm and soft and ridiculous. A spiritual experience.

You went right back to your notes like nothing had happened.

Mark sat there in stunned silence, chewing slowly, eyes wide like a soldier returning from war.

LATER THAT DAY — LUNCH.

Mark was already outside when you arrived—waiting under the tree like a man on a mission, trying to act like he hadn’t sprinted there the second the bell rang.

You showed up, bright as ever, holding that pastel lunchbox like it was the Holy Grail.

“Well hey, handsome,” you greeted, sitting gracefully beside him. “Hope you saved some room. I brought you the biggest one.”

He smiled—more like grinned—more like beamed. “Yeah, totally. Been thinking about it all day. Like… not in a weird way. Just. Y’know.”

You laughed, pulling out your container.

Then, completely oblivious to the emotional avalanche you were about to cause, you added: “Oh! And where’s your little friend? The one from yesterday? I brought extra for him too!” You took another cheerful bite of your muffin and glanced around the courtyard.

Mark froze mid-chew.

“William?” he asked, already knowing where this was going.

You nodded, casual as ever. “Mmhmm. I could’ve sworn he was in line for those lil’ curly fries they serve.” You pulled the spare muffin from your bag, holding it up delicately in its wax paper like it was a peace offering. “Wouldn’t feel right eatin’ this one without givin’ it to him. Poor thing’ll think I forgot about him!”

Mark’s smile was pained. “Oh. Yeah. That’s… thoughtful.”

You grinned, totally oblivious to the internal meltdown you’d just triggered. “I’m pretty sure he’s still in there honey. Go get him!”

He blinked. “What?”

You laughed gently, like he was being shy. “Go on, darlin’! Tell him I saved one just for him. He can come sit with us.”

Mark’s brain:

💔 This was our thing.💔 Our spot.💔 Our tree.💔 Our muffin moment.💔 Our marriage announcement was going to go here.

But all he said was, “…Right. Be right back.”

He stood up slowly, like he was going to the guillotine. “You sure you don’t wanna… I don’t know… surprise him later?”

You laughed again and shook your head. “Now don’t be silly. Ain’t no sense lettin’ this thing go cold!”

He nodded, a broken man. “Right. Of course. Warm muffins. That makes sense.”

You waved him off with a sweet little, “Tell him I said hurry, before I eat it myself!”

As he turned toward the cafeteria, he muttered under his breath, “…I was gonna marry her.”

Mark all but slammed through the cafeteria doors, eyes scanning the room like he was hunting prey.

There. At the far table. William, munching on curly fries like it was just another day, chatting with some guy from math class like the fate of Mark’s entire romantic future wasn’t on the line.

Mark rushed over, practically skidding to a stop in front of him. “Will,” he hissed, out of breath, eyes intense. “Please don’t ruin this.”

William blinked. “Ruin what? What’s happening? Are we being hunted?”

Mark leaned in, voice urgent. “She sent me to come get you. You. Personally. She has a muffin for you.”

William raised both brows. “...Oh. So this is about Muffin Girl.”

Mark looked around, already twitching. “She’s waiting under the tree. Our—my—spot. Please, please, I’m begging you, don’t linger. Just take the muffin, say thank you, maybe one polite compliment on her dress if you have to, and leave.”

William paused, chewing slowly, savoring the moment like it was his own muffin.

“Wow,” he said. “You’re spiraling.”

“I’m in hell,” Mark whispered. “I am in hell and she’s passing out baked goods like this is a church potluck. I need this.”

William popped one last curly fry in his mouth and stood. “Alright, alright. Don’t rupture anything. I’ll be cool.”

“You won’t be,” Mark muttered, following him out. “I know you. You’re gonna make this weird.”

William grinned over his shoulder. “Buddy, you brought me a muffin invitation like it was a golden ticket. This is weird.”

Mark groaned.

You spotted them before they even made it halfway across the lawn.

Mark looked like he was dragging William toward you by the soul. William, on the other hand, looked entirely unbothered—curly fry in one hand, mild mischief in his eyes.

“Well there he is!” you called out, waving that sweet little wave that made Mark’s knees go weak. “I was just about to send a search party.”

William grinned as they approached. “Sorry, ma’am. He tracked me down like a bloodhound. Said I was urgently needed.”

Mark muttered, “I did not say urgently.”

You patted the blanket beside you without hesitation. “Well come on, then! I don’t wanna be handin’ out muffins while they’re all cold and sad.”

Mark shot William a look. One that screamed: Don’t you dare.

William, of course, ignored it completely and sat down like he’d been invited to a five-star brunch. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said, stretching out a little. “Beautiful day, huh?”

Mark stood awkwardly beside the blanket, hovering like he wasn’t sure if this was now a group event or if he should go lay down in traffic.

“It is!” You agreed with another beaming smile before handing William the wrapped muffin “Now these are peach flavored—my favorite,” you said, then added with a wink, “but I’m biased.”

William opened it like a kid on Christmas. “Man, you bake and you’ve got charm? Mark wasn’t kidding.”

Mark snapped his head around so fast it nearly detached. “What.”

William bit into the muffin like it was the last joy on Earth and moaned dramatically. “Holy crap. You trying to kill us with kindness? These are so good!”

You giggled. “Well shoot, if I knew y’all were this easy to impress I’d’ve brought somethin’ fancier!”

Mark finally sat down, a little stiff, very tense, watching William like a hawk. He took a bite of his muffin (a big one), and tried to look normal.

He did not look normal.

William, fully aware, turned to you. “So, how’d you learn to bake like this? You go to some kind of southern baking academy, or is this just genetic perfection?”

You laughed, delighted. “Lord, no! My grandma just taught me when I was little. Said a lady should always know how to whip up a good peach pie and a sharp comeback.”

Mark, halfway through his muffin and very much not chewing like a normal person, tried to chime in. "That's really cool," he said, muffled through a mouthful.

William glanced sideways at him with a smirk that had way too much knowing in it. "Didn’t know you were so into peaches, man."

Mark nearly choked. "I’m not—I mean, I am. I like muffins. Just—these muffins. Or... muffins in general."

You looked between the two of them, brows raised ever so slightly, and let out the softest little laugh. “Y’all city boys sure are funny,” you said, sipping your drink with a smile like this was all just playful nonsense.

Mark practically melted. God, she’s sweet, he thought. She doesn’t even know what she does to people. She’s literally just—

His eyes flicked sideways—and immediately caught William staring straight at him with a smirk that said everything.

Mark’s brain screeched back to reality like a record scratch. He cleared his throat, sat up straighter, took another too-casual bite of muffin.

“Anyway,” he said quickly, “uh… yeah. School’s wild, right?”

William didn’t say anything. Just took another bite of his own muffin, eyes full of judgment and joy.

read part four ❀ꗥ～ Here! ～ꗥ❀

#invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson fanfic

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 1 year ago

Note

ok, i know it’s not may any more, but could we please have more mer au. ghost preferably, i just want to shake him around in a bag like that one little girl from finding nemo.

hands you a carnival prize plastic bag with a goldfish-sized mer Ghost inside. feed him twice a day. plastic shipwreck not included. he might look lonely but don't let him convince you to put your fingers in the bowl :)

take the first half of this thing too:

36 / 1k / shark mer Ghost tolerating remora mer reader

...

Ghost doesn’t look back at you as you swim meekly after him. You have to whip your smaller tail twice as fast just to keep up, and you're getting winded already. He makes it look so easy to glide through the water.

"What now?" he mutters.

"Nothing. I didn't say anything."

“You’re thinking it.”

"I was just--" A huge yawn overtakes your reply. You sink in the water for a moment, scrunching your eyes closed, before huffing and darting after him again. "--Just going this way, too."

He knows you've been following behind him since dusk. You should’ve given up some time ago, but you never learn. He slows imperceptibly, just long enough for your catatonic ass to catch up, and then veers to the side so that you--rubbing your eyes with sleep--bump into him. You rest your hand against his tail instinctively and stick to him with the suction pads on your palm.

Satisfied having you in tow, he speeds back up. "You’re not a very good liar, sweetheart."

You mumble under your breath and hand-climb up his back until you're nestled between his shoulder blades instead.

Lazy little thing. Pain in his ass.

Despite grumbling, he does nothing to dislodge you from your spot. You seem to be having a difficult day, and he’s primed to make it worse. You’re the perfect target. When he has the energy--like now, at night--bullying you is his small pleasure of choice.

Then again, he can feel the way you’re pressing up against him, small and clingy and cute as hell. It takes all his willpower not to roll over and stow you against his chest instead.

You remain blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil. You’re more concerned about the emptiness in your stomach.

"You're going hunting, right?" you mumble against his shoulder.

“Trying to,” he says.

You’ve been tagging along on hunts for days, but you haven’t managed to snag any good scraps in a long while. But maybe tonight, when it’s just you and Ghost. "Mkay."

He keeps waiting for you to get in the way and then pout when he inevitably brushes you off. Instead, you’re silent. It’s bugging him.

Then, scanning the coral, he catches sight of a perfectly tasty-looking snapper. He puts your attitude out of his mind and instead tenses up to begin his hunt. You’re with him, so why worry. Watch and learn.

You peer past his shoulder curiously to see him work. His back muscles tense and shift as his eyes track every one of the fish’s movements. Then he bolts forward faster than the fish can dart away. It whips around in reflexive panic right as he snatches it in one fluid movement.

You watch over his shoulder as he kills it with a practical snap of the spine and begins to disassemble the creature piece by piece, eating the flesh and letting the bones and fins fall to the ocean floor below.

His focus is intense: attention trained on the task, his fingers work as precisely to strip flesh from bone as his jaw works on shredding the pieces of snapper he tears off into his mouth. The muscles in his shoulders ripple beneath your coiled-up body. As always, he moves with efficiency and a certain brutal grace, never wasting a single movement. It's the lethal behavior of a predator, yes, but falling into the repetitive, methodical habit seems to satisfy him.

You unfasten yourself from his back while he's absorbed in his task. The bones and bits of uneaten flesh sinking to seafloor have your interest. You swim after them.

“Don’t go far,” he warns after you. He’s not worried. There’s nowhere you could venture out here that he couldn’t find you within minutes.

You collect the scraps and eat what you can--mostly skin and fins, and they leave you feeling almost as hungry, but you're used to it. Ghost needs the food more than you do, anyway. You glide lazily over the sea floor to comb the sand with your fingers in hopes of finding another snack. Maybe a snail. A crab if you're lucky.

The search leads you to the edge of a long sandbar. It’s about a thousand minnow-lengths at its widest, and there are various shells and bits of debris scattered across the surface. You start to prowl the sandy floor for food, fingers stirring up soft sand into the water.

Ghost’s voice calls out somewhere behind you, but your exhausted brain isn't as reactive as it should be. If you could just find one or two more bites to eat, you think. You tug what looks like a crab carapace out of the sand, but it's just a strawberry-colored plastic bottle. You keep searching. Keep finding nothing of value. You come across a pile of barnacles, shards of coral, small rocks, a stray fishing lure you gnaw on just to be sure...

But no, nothing worth eating.

Your stomach rumbles again. You’re too tired and unfocused. Your movements are slow and clumsy, your senses dulled. You barely hear a sound until a hand comes down on your tail from behind and grabs you.

You jerk and dart away in surprise.

Your movement wrenches a sound from Ghost--a gruff huff of annoyance as he lunges after you. You're fast, but not fast enough. He catches your tail again immediately, dragging you back into his control.

"Idiot," he scolds. "I told you not to go far. If I had been a predator, you'd be dead meat right now."

You relax into his grip instantly. "Oh. Yeah."

He looks at you in that unamused way that says of course I was right. He looks you over with a critical eye. Your eyes are half-open and your muscles are slack. You must be exhausted.

He turns and heads for home with you still in hand. "Right, then."

You see what's happening and wriggle in his grip, hunger gnawing at you again. "Wait, aren't you hunting?"

"No." He's quick and harsh with his response. He doesn't appreciate unnecessary questions. "You're going home. Hunting can wait."

…

[part 1] / part 2

more mer au / more Ghost / masterlist tag

1K notes · View notes

octaneink · 27 days ago

Text

Smooth

Will Lenney x Female!Reader

Summary: Will and the reader enjoy their vacation time while Will sends death glances to flirty divers. (He trusts you. He just doesn’t trust them.) Warnings: None! Notes: Part two of Super trouper, based on this ask! Sorry this took so long! Work's been busy, and I wasn't sure if this made sense or was cute.

Salt-stiffened linen flaps against a terracotta wall, stirred by a breeze that smells of iodine and dried thyme. The Tyrrhenian Sea sprawls beyond the balcony, sun still low enough to cast long shadows across the glinting water. A lizard skitters over the railing, pauses, flicks its tongue at the soft clatter of wheels on cobblestones below.

Clack-clack-clack.

The sound grates, rhythmic, familiar. Will’s suitcase rolls behind him, obedient as a hound, while yours lists sideways, its left wheel sheared clean off by Heathrow’s baggage handlers. You’d watched him at the carousel earlier—back rigid, eyes tracking the conveyor belt like a hawk—as he hefted his own suitcase first, then plucked yours from the belt with a grunt, fingers snagging the handle seconds before it lurched past. The broken wheel clattered out moments later, rolling three feeble rotations before collapsing. Will had gone very still, your luggage dangling from his grip.

He put down the luggage and kelt down to inspect the luggage.

A quiet slump of his shoulders, fingers tracing the cracked plastic. “They’ve butchered it,” he’d murmured, more to himself than you. An attendant had flitted over, already rehearsing the ‘not liable for cosmetic damage’ spiel, but Will cut her off with a weary sigh. “It’s not cosmetic. The wheel’s structural. Look.”

From his crouched position, he tilted the suitcase to show the mangled axle, then pulled up a pre-departure photo on his phone—your luggage pristine on the bedroom floor, wheels intact. “We’ve got a two-week trip. How’s this meant to hold up?” His voice stayed calm, but his thumb tapped the screen edge, restless. “I’d like to file a report. Properly.”

You’d hovered, torn between embarrassment and a flicker of guilt as he filled out the form in meticulous block letters, the attendant’s resolve wilting under his quiet persistence. “Like I said sir, the best we can do is a partial refund,” she’d conceded finally, avoiding his gaze. “And we can try this?” She produced a roll of duct tape, neon green and already peeling at the edge.

Will stared at it.

Blinked.

“That’s not—”

But she was already crouching, wrapping the tape around the fractured wheel hub in haphazard loops, her name tag jangling with the effort. The tape buckled instantly, adhesive gumming the broken plastic into a lopsided clump. Will’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing, watching as the wheel tilted sideways.

“There!” She stood, dusting her hands with the flourish of a magician completing a trick. “Good as new, yes?”

You bit your tongue, staring at the duct-tape monstrosity. “It’s creative,” you offered, voice thin.

Will’s smile was a rictus grin, knuckles whitening on the suitcase handle. “A masterpiece. Tate Modern should put it behind glass.”

The attendant beamed at you, mistaking politeness for praise. “The refund will process in five business days,” she chirped, tapping her tablet. “We appreciate your patience as a valued customer.”

“Thanks,” you said, too quickly, already tugging Will’s sleeve. “Let’s just—”

“A flamethrower could have done a better job,” Will muttered under his breath, low enough for only you to hear.

You stepped in front of him, blocking his glare. “Thank you.”

She nodded, oblivious, already turning to the next passenger. “Prego! Please enjoy our wonderful country!”

The duct tape emitted a gummy whine as Will dragged the suitcase away, the wheel lurching like a spavined horse. You fell into step beside him, cheeks hot. “That was subtle.”

“Subtlety’s overrated.” he grumbled, tight-lipped, and wheeled the crippled bag away and his own without another word.

Fingers worried the frayed cuff of your hoodie, cheeks burning. “Sorry,” you mumbled, “This is. it’s my mess.”

Will halted mid-stride. When you dared glance up, his stern mask had slipped—just a boy with flushed ears and a too-stiff spine. “Your mess? You silly goose.” His thumb brushed your wrist, calloused and warm. “Love, the only crime here is that abomination they call a baggage system.” A beat. “And your taste in luggage. Christ, it’s neon pink.”

“It’s coral.”

“Same difference.”

Now the suitcase lurches sideways, its duct-taped wheel catching on a cobblestone seam. You curse, wrestling it back into line, but it drifts again. Will halts ahead, shoulders tensing as the screech of plastic-on-stone grates through the heat.

Without a word, he turns, swaps your mangled luggage for his own, and resumes walking. The good wheels glide smoothly over the path, his stride unbroken. When you arch a brow, he shrugs, adjusting his grip on the broken handle. “You’re terrible at steering.”

The hotel courtyard swallows you whole—whitewashed walls, lemon trees sagging with fruit, a plunge pool glowing turquoise in the shade. Will holds the gate open, fingertips brushing the small of your back as you pass. His touch lingers, warm even through the hoodie.

“Honeysuckle,” he mutters, inhaling. “And chlorine. They over-sanitised the pool.”

You bite back a laugh. “How can you tell that?”

Will narrows his eyes, a mock-offended glance cast sideways as he lets the gate swing shut behind you. “Because my nose works,” he replies flatly, but the corner of his mouth twitches.

You hum thoughtfully, stepping aside as a bellboy zips past with a rickety luggage cart. “No, I’m serious. Do you have, like, a secret certification for pool chemicals?” You pantomime swirling a glass, sniffing dramatically. “Mm. Chlorine. With notes of crushed penny tile.”

That gets a sound out of him, not quite a laugh, but close. A low huff through his nose, fond and exasperated. “You’re impossible.”

You flash a grin over your shoulder. “You knew that when you booked, non-refundable.”

Will only shakes his head, but there’s a softness there now, something settling in the lines around his eyes. He reaches for your bag again without comment, knuckles brushing yours as you walk through the arched entryway into the cool hush of the hotel lobby.

The clerk at the front desk greets you with a too-bright smile, but Will handles the check-in, passport ready, reservation number memorised, a pen already uncapped before she slides the form across the counter. She’d barely had time to finish her practiced welcome before Will is sliding the paperwork back across the counter, already signed.

She flips through the documents with a nod of approval, tapping something into her screen with the precision of a seasoned concierge. “You’re in room 304,” she says warm. “Top floor, corner unit. Sea view and balcony, as requested.”

Will gives a small, satisfied nod. Of course, he requested it.

She slides two sleek, sand-colored key cards toward you. “Breakfast is served from seven to ten each morning in the veranda lounge—just past the lemon grove. You also have two complimentary spa treatments to use during your stay, and access to our private beach club, a short walk down the cliff path. You’ll find towels and umbrellas already set up by the lifeguard.”

You glance at Will. “Did you book the massages already?”

He raises a brow. “I figured I’d let you pick the day. Thoughtful, right?”

You stifle a grin, pocketing your key. “Look at you. Relaxed and democratic.”

Giulia smiles politely, clearly used to couples like you, mild bickering worn soft with familiarity. “If you’d like to schedule anything—dinners, boat tours, vineyard visits—just let me know. Or we can arrange it through the room phone.”

Will nod again, already tucking the map she offers into his folder of printouts. “Thank you,” he says, that clipped politeness that almost sounds like a compliment. “We’ll get settled.”

She beams. “Buona vacanza.”

You follow Will across the terracotta tiles and into the lift, the old metal grate clanking shut behind you. It groans to life, the glass back offering a slow, rising glimpse of the courtyard below. The scent of citrus and salt intensifies the higher you go, riding the shaft of warm air that sneaks through the cracks.

On the third floor, the hallway is hushed and cool, with thick stone walls and arching ceilings that echo faintly underfoot. Will leads the way, key card already in hand, stopping in front of a carved wooden door with a brass number plate.

The room greets you with a rush of light and quiet. Vaulted ceilings curve overhead, white and seamless like the inside of a shell. Muslin curtains framing the tall French doors, stirred by a breeze that smells of rosemary, sand, and sun-warmed salt. The tiled floor is cool underfoot, handmade and uneven, the colour of dried clay. Two chairs, wicker-framed and sun-bleached, are set beside a low table bearing a ceramic bowl of fresh figs. A ceiling fan spins lazily above the bed, which is wide and dressed in crisp white linen.

But it’s the view that stops you. You step out onto the balcony, elbows resting on the warm stone balustrade. Below, the Tyrrhenian Sea stretches vast and glittering, fractured into sapphire and teal by the light. A rocky cove curves away to the right, ringed with pale sand and lapped by small waves. Farther down the hill, narrow switchback roads wind through bursts of oleander and cypress trees, their shadows sharp against the earth.

Inside, you hear the faint click of zips, the rustle of folded cotton. When you turn, Will is methodically unpacking your bags with the same care he applies to boarding passes and security bins. He’s already tucked your shoes under the bench by the door, rolled your shirts into neat cylinders, and zipped your toiletries into the bathroom caddy without a word.

He crosses the room to the wardrobe, sliding open a painted door to reveal a built-in safe. Without prompting, he gathers your passports, wallet, spare cash, and the extra travel card—each one stacked precisely in his palm—and locks them away. He glances back at you, not for approval, but in quiet confirmation. Of course, he’d remember. You didn’t even ask.

Then, from the depths of his own case, a toothbrush, a razor placed beside a contact lens case, a bottle of hand sanitiser fitted snugly against his cologne. He smooths a wrinkle from the bedspread with the side of his hand, then pauses—almost sheepishly—and pulls out a battered box of Yorkshire Gold.

He sets it on the night stand beside a single Toblerone. “For emergencies,” he mutters, not quite meeting your eye.

You smile, fingers brushing the box. “You packed the good stuff.”

“I always do.” He says it too casually, but his ears flush faintly pink.

You don’t hover. He’s in his rhythm now, methodical and focused, and you know better than to disrupt the quiet ritual of his unpacking. Instead, you drift to the balcony, the muslin curtain brushing against your legs as you slip outside.

The sun is higher now, gilding the sea in bright ribbons that shimmer as far as you can see. You rest your forearms on the warm stone balustrade, your shirt tugs up your back in the breeze. Below, the cove curves gently into the shoreline, its sand pale and untouched, waves folding in soft and deliberate.

You let your thoughts slow. The only sound is the hush of the surf and the occasional chirp of birds darting through the trees.

Then, quiet footsteps behind you, and the subtle shift of weight as Will steps in close. His arms wrap around your waist without a word, slow and certain, palms splayed over your stomach. He leans into you, resting some of his weight against your back like he needs the contact just as much as you do.

You feel his breath first, warm against your skin, and then the press of his mouth at the crook of your neck, a kiss. Only then does he let his chin settle on your shoulder, his stubble brushing lightly against your collarbone.

“Low tide at six,” he murmurs, voice low near your ear. He nods toward the cove below. “We could look for sea glass.”

A pause. Then, softer, “If you want.”

You smile, the words sinking in—if you want. Coming from Will, it feels like a small surrender. He doesn’t do unstructured. He plans everything down to the minute, has probably had this whole trip mapped out since before your passports were renewed. And still, he offered.

Your fingers slide over his at your waist, giving a small squeeze. “Hmm,” you murmur, leaning back into him. “Yeah, I want to. But we can do it later. I know you’ve got every second of this trip scheduled, down to our bathroom breaks.”

Will snorts, lips brushing your shoulder. “Not every second,” he grumbles, mock-offended. “It’s a perfectly reasonable balance of cultural immersion and rest.”

You laugh. “So, overbooked with a nap squeezed in.”

He hums noncommittally. “Wednesday morning,” he says. “The museum doesn’t open till ten, and the tide’s low around seven. We’ll go then. Beat the sun.”

You glance over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “You already worked it in?”

He tries to play it off with a shrug, but the corners of his mouth betray him. “I might’ve pencilled in a sea glass window. Just in case you said yes.”

You grin. “God, you’re such a nerd.”

He presses another kiss just below your ear. “And yet, here you are.” Giving you one last kiss, he walked into the room, rummaged around and called your name. Turning around, he hands you a bottle of sunscreen without a word.

You look at the label. It’s your brand, the kind with the matte finish that doesn’t make you feel like a buttered croissant. You nod in approval and utter a thank you and then squeeze some into your palm.

“I’m not letting you get sunburnt on day one,” he mutters, watching you apply it like you might cut corners. “And don’t even think about wearing that black top.”

“It’s linen,” you protest.

“It’s black linen. You’ll bake like a pastry. Wear the one with the buttons. The white one.”

You squint at him. “Did you plan my clothes too?”

Will doesn’t answer, but when you glance over, the white top is already laid out, neatly smoothed and folded. You sigh, smile despite yourself, and duck into the bathroom to change. When you come out, dressed and lotioned to his standards, he gives you a quick once-over and nods. “Perfect. Hat’s in your tote. Water bottle’s full. Let’s go.”

Nuraghe stones bake under a merciless sun, their ancient honeycombs casting knife-edge shadows across the dry grass. The heat clings to everything rocks, sandals, the nape of your neck, rising in ripples from the gravel path. Will’s voice hums beside you, reading the faded information plaque out loud.

“Bronze Age. Dry-stone masonry. Strategic sight lines for tribal warfare.” He squints at the last line, nose wrinkling. “Bit reductive, isn’t it? Reducing three millennia of culture to ‘they were good at spotting enemies’.”

You drift away from his voice, lured by the woeful maaah of a goat picking its way down the scrub-choked slope. It’s a shaggy, sun-bleached thing, all knobby knees nibbling at a thorn bush without a thought behind its eyes. You raise your camera, framing its ragged silhouette against the impossible blue of the sea. The shutter clicks—

“Oi.”

Gravel crunches in front of you. Will’s hand closes around your elbow, thumb skating over the sensitive skin of your inner arm. “Stay close,” he murmurs, pulling you back from the crumbling edge. His palm is warm and slightly tacky with sunscreen. “The path’s unstable.”

You glance at the fissured stones, then up at him. “What, no helmet? Safety harness?”

“No helmet.” His mouth twitches, fighting a smile. “But only because you’d refuse to wear it.” He tugs you toward shade. “And before you gloat—I do have a first-aid kit. And—”

“—industrial-strength bandages?” You interrupt, bumping his shoulder.

“Obviously.” He pulls out the sunscreen. “Arms. Now.”

You groan. “Will, I just—”

“You’re meant to re-apply the sunscreen every two hours. Plus, I’m pretty sure that the lotion sweats off on the hike up.” He squirts cool lotion onto his palm.

His touch is methodical. Up your forearm, over your shoulder, down the exposed strip of your spine. You shiver.

“See?” he murmurs, breath warm at your ear. “Quick and easy.”

“Hmm. Debatable.” You lean into his hands.

He huffs, thumb brushing your shoulder blade. “You’re welcome.” His gaze flicks past you to the goat, now perched on a boulder. “Your accomplice is eyeing the ‘unstable path’ sign.”

“He’ll be fine. Braver than you with your bandages.”

“He’s got four legs and a death wish.” Will’s sunscreen-slick hand slides down to lace with yours. “Like someone else I know.”

You squeeze. “Admit it. You’re jealous he’s off the itinerary.”

“Devastated.” He kisses your temple, a quick peck. “Now move. Lemon granita in about an hour. And he’s” a nod at the goat, now nibbling a discarded map, “not on the guest list.”

Two days later, after another morning of ruins, espresso, and Will arguing with the GPS, you both return to the hotel sun-drenched and dust-covered. The lemon trees in the courtyard sag heavier than before, their scent headier in the late afternoon warmth. A breeze stirs the muslin curtains as you enter the room, and Will immediately begins his ritual—shoes lined up, water bottles refilled, receipts sorted.

You peel off your sandals and stretch. “I vote for collapsing.”

Will arches a brow. “You’ll thank me later when we don’t have to guess which bag has what.”

You toss him a grin and wander toward the bathroom. “Fine. But collapsing is still on the agenda.”

By the time you’ve showered, the light outside has turned syrupy gold. The air is thick with the scent of salt and thyme drifting up from the coast. Will’s already changed linen shirt, open over his swim trunks, wristwatch still on, because, of course it is.

“We going somewhere?” you ask, towel-drying your hair.

“Beach. Just below the hotel.” He nods toward the balcony. “It’ll be quiet. Low tide.”

You pause, glancing past the fluttering curtain to the glittering curve of pale sand below. “Was this in the itinerary?”

He shrugs, casual. “Call it unscheduled decompression.”

You dress in your favourite old swimsuit—the black triangle one with fraying ties that’s probably more nostalgia than structurally safe. When you step out, Will’s eyes catch on you, then dart quickly away.

“I thought you packed the white one,” he says without looking.

“I did.” You tug on one of his loose linen shirt. “But this one’s got personality.”

“Mmm. So does a cracked buoy.” But there’s no heat in it. Just the barest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Minutes later, you’re descending the narrow, pine-lined path from the back of the hotel, beach bag slung between you. The sea glows a soft, blinding gold, and the beach is nearly empty—just a couple reading under an umbrella and a dog nosing at driftwood.

Will sets up camp, umbrella at a wind-smart angle, towels laid edge-to-edge with no sand trapped beneath, Kindle powered on to a biography you’ve already teased him about. He settles beneath the tree, long limbs stretching out in the shade.

You drop your bag and tug the shirt over your head. His eyes flick up—pause—then very clearly drop lower, lingering just a beat too long on your chest. You catch the flicker of heat before he yanks his gaze away, suddenly deeply absorbed in the paper bag of grapes you picked up together at the morning market. Crunchy, plump, and green. Your favourite.

“Twice now,” you tease, stepping out of your sandals. “You stared in the hotel room, too.”

Will doesn’t look up. “I did not stare.”

“You did,” you hum, sliding the neoprene shoes onto your feet. “And I didn’t mind then, either.”

"I was being subtle." he huffs, cheeks flushing pink as he pops a grape into his mouth.

You lean down, brush a kiss to his cheek—then, impulsively, to his lips. "You’re cute when you lie."

His hand catches your wrist as you start to pull back, fingers tightening gently, anchoring you in place. For a beat, neither of you moves—the world narrowing to the press of his palm against your thigh, the salt-sting of breeze on your cheeks. Then he shifts, still seated in the sand, and his free hand slides up to cradle the curve of your hip.

The kiss starts slow.

A deliberate tilt of his chin, the soft drag of his lower lip against yours—then deepens with a quiet urgency. His mouth coaxes yours open, not with demand, but with a patient, searching heat that melts your spine. Salt and the faint sweetness of grapes linger on his tongue. Your balance wavers, one hand flying to his shoulder, fingers digging into the sun-warmed cotton of his shirt. He smiles against your mouth, a low amused hum vibrating in his throat as he feels you sway.

This is the surrender you teased him about in the past. The way his thumb strokes the hollow behind your knee, the hitch in his breath when you bite his lip. The sea wind whips around you, tangling your hair with his, but beneath it all is the steady thrum of his pulse where your palm rests against his neck. He kisses like he plans—thoroughly, with deadly focus—mapping the seam of your lips, the ridge of your teeth, and the soft gasp you can’t swallow.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to rest his forehead against yours. His eyelashes brush your skin as he blinks, thumb drifts across your pulse point once, then falls away.

"Sunscreen first," he says, voice lower now, rougher. He tosses you the tube without looking. "Shoulders. Neck. Don’t skip the back of your knees."

You raise an eyebrow. “Very romantic.”

“I contain multitudes,” he says, smiling, but it’s softer now. Less of a tease, the kiss still clinging between you.

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest lingers as you apply the sunscreen quickly, then grab your mask and flippers. “Alright, I’m going in.”

“You’ve got about forty-five minutes,” he calls after you, plucking a grape from the bunch. “Before I start filing a missing person’s report with the coast guard.”

“I’ll try to survive,” you say, grabbing your snorkel gear and heading to the waterline.

You don’t look back. The warm grit gives way to damp, packed sand as you reach the water’s edge. Squatting, you yank the neoprene flippers over your heels—awkward, stiff, sealing your feet like a second skin. Next, the goggles: you spit into the lenses, rub the film clear with your thumb (an old diver’s trick your dad taught you), then strap the elastic band over your hair. The snorkel clicks into the mask’s bracket, its mouthpiece faintly tasting of silicone.

“Try not to drown!” Will calls, louder now over the surf’s hiss.

You turn just enough to see him—a silhouette against the towel, knees drawn up, watching. You raise a middle finger, grinning when he barks a laugh.

Beneath the surface, the world softens and blurs into a dreamlike palette of blues and greens. Sunlight filters through the water in flickering shafts, illuminating swaying forests of seagrass. Tiny bubbles rise in lazy trails as you glide over craggy rocks and scattered shells.

Colourful fish dart between the waving fronds — vivid damselfish shimmering like liquid sapphire, silver mullets flickering by in schools, and a curious wrasse that pauses to inspect you before darting away.

As you explore, your eyes catch delicate shapes resting on the sand—beautiful shells, smooth and unoccupied, their spiral curves and pearly interiors gleaming in the filtered light. Carefully, you scoop a few up, mindful they hold no creatures. You pause over one in particular—ridged pink, iridescent inside, like something out of a dream. With no pouch on hand, you tuck it into the cup of your bikini top, nestled securely against your skin. A little treasure to bring back.

Above, the surface ripples gently, catching the golden afternoon sun. The distant sound of gulls and waves mingles with your own steady breathing, a private escape in the beautiful waters.

Then—a flicker in your peripheral vision. Someone is beside you.

You turn, kicking gently, and a hand waves into your line of sight, fingers splayed in the water. You surface slowly, spitting the mouthpiece free as you push the goggles to your forehead, blinking salt from your lashes that drip down from the goggles.

“Scusa,” a voice calls, not too loud.

A man treads water a few feet away—sun-browned, salt curls plastered to his forehead, grin quick and bright. He nods toward your foot, where your flipper strap has come loose, the heel slipping with each kick.

“Permesso?” he asks, gesturing.

You nod, a little surprised, and float still while he dips briefly beneath the surface. His fingers brush your calf as he secures the buckle, tightening it with practiced ease. The touch is light but assured, the briefest pause before he lets go.

He surfaces again, shaking water from his face. “Va meglio adesso,” he says, then studies you a second longer before switching languages. “You speak English?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Thanks.”

“Thought so,” he replies easily. “Strap was slipping. Dangerous. You’d lose a fin.” His eyes linger just a beat longer, his smile edging into something playful. “Would be a shame to lose you to the current. Beautiful girls make very poor flotation devices.”

You open your mouth to respond—something dry, maybe—but then his gaze lifts over your shoulder. His smile flickers. “Ah.”

You turn slightly, following his line of sight.

Will. Standing ankle-deep at the shoreline, towel slung over one shoulder, hand shading his eyes as he watches. He’s too far to hear anything, but the set of his jaw is familiar. Calm. Not angry—just locked in.

The man clears his throat, his smile easing into something friendlier, more platonic. “Boyfriend?” he asks, with a quick nod toward the beach.

You nod.

“Right,” he says, backing up a stroke. “Lucky guy.” His grin softens. “Be careful, okay? The current tugs harder the farther out you go.”

“Got it. Thanks again.”

He salutes you lazily, then kicks off into the open water without another word.

You float a moment longer, then lift your hand above the surface and flash Will a thumbs-up.

He nods once, slow and satisfied, then turns and walks back toward the pine-shaded patch where your towels wait.

You sink below again, letting the quiet take you. The sea folds around you like silk. You drift over pale sand and swaying grass, the occasional dart of a fish slipping past your fingers. Your eyes scan the seabed, finally catching the curved gleam of something nestled between stones.

A flat, fan-shaped scallop shell, sun-bleached on one side and warm orange on the other, like it’s been kissed by fire. You turn it over in your palm, admiring the delicate ridges and faint lines like fingerprint whorls. It’s beautiful, untouched.

Carefully, you lift it to your chest with a quick glance around, the new shell slips easily into the other cup, the curve of it cool against your skin. No pouch, no problem. You adjust the top slightly and smile to yourself. Will’s going to roll his eyes so hard when you pull these out later.

You turn toward the shore, legs already moving in an easy, practised kick. The water resists gently, like it doesn’t want to let you go. Pale sand slopes upward beneath you, sunlight warping across the seabed in soft golden ripples.

As the water shallows, you slow your strokes and rise to the surface. With both hands, you pull the goggles up from your eyes, pushing them onto your forehead, and then work the snorkel free from your mouth. The quiet hush of the underwater world slips away, replaced by the rhythmic rush of waves and the distant caw of gulls overhead. You hold the gear loosely in one hand, letting seawater drip from your fingertips.

With a small hop, you plant your feet on the sandy bottom. Waves lap gently at your thighs, then knees. You bend to unstrap your flippers one by one, lifting your feet carefully before stepping forward, flippers in hand, making your way to the shore.

Will’s already waiting. He stands just at the water’s edge, towel in hand, bare feet half-buried in warm sand. His curls are messier now, salt-stiff and wind-tossed, and he squints slightly in the sun as he watches you approach.

“Towel?” he offers, already unfolding it.

“Perfect,” you say, letting him drape it over your shoulders. It’s sun-warmed and smells faintly of his sunscreen.

As you adjust the towel around you, a small shiver runs through you. The breeze hits your damp skin, raising goosebumps across your arms.

Will notices. “Cold?” he asks, already reaching for the snorkel gear in your hands.

You nod, and he gently takes the flippers, goggles, and snorkel from you. “I’ll carry these. You focus on not freezing. I can always provide emergency cuddles on the beach.”

You huff a laugh, tugging the towel tighter. “That might actually be necessary.”

He tugs the corners snug again, then leans back a little to study you. “How was it?”

You smile, heart still thudding softly in your chest. “Peaceful. Gorgeous. There’s this whole underwater meadow out there. Grass swaying like it’s dancing.”

He arches a brow. “Any wild sea creatures I need to go interrogate?”

“Just one.” You nudge him lightly with your shoulder. “Fixed my flipper and tried flirting while you were giving your best death glare from the shore.”

His mouth twitches. “Wasn’t glaring.”

“Hmm. You scared him off just fine.”

“Good.” He bends to kiss your temple, a hand resting low on your back. “Don’t want to share you with charmers and rogue currents.”

You glance down at your chest and pat it lightly. “Well, I did find a few treasures.”

Will’s brows lift. “Oh?”

You smirk. “You’ll see later. Not beach-appropriate to reveal them now.”

He groans, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You are a menace.”

“A charming one,” you say, bumping him again as you both begin the short walk back toward your spot beneath the pines, his arm steady around you, towel and gear in tow.

#willne x reader #willne x fem!reader #will lenney x fem!reader #will lenney x reader

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ilariyalavorowrites · 30 days ago

Text

Bright Lights (Chapter 3)

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, Hurt/Comfort, post-divorce healing, Pitt Fest is a warning of its own, medical inaccuracies.

Pairings: Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Word count: 5,410 words

Universe: The Pitt

Reader gender: Female

Tagged: @questionably-intelligent69 , @dizzybee03 , @virgomillie , @mrsjosephmazzello , @sus-styles , @moonshooter , @hagarsays @that-sarcastic-writer , @ddrawers96 , @pear-1206 , @nerdgirljen , @penbridgertonn & @emma8895eb

Part 3 of 4

Previous | Next

6:30pm

As time ticks on, second by second, minute by minute. Frankie can’t help but worry. The uncomfortable plastic of the cheap hospital cafeteria chair digging into her thighs served as a reminder. A reminder of what she had experienced. Pitt Fest had been an incalculable disaster. The whistle of flying bullets had been hard to shut out, as she continued to relive each decision and choice she made. With each passing moment, more found their way here. Family members, friends and the like always with the same burning questions; Are their loved one’s safe? Are they counted amongst the wounded or had they been the unlucky ones?

Frankie couldn’t leave, not yet. She couldn’t return to House 42 empty-handed and without the small sliver of information on the whereabouts of her missing friend and colleague. Guilt gnawed away at her. No-one gets left behind but in less than a second, someone did. The click of heels against the linoleum tiles caught her attention, dragging her out of her depressive thoughts; Frankie lifted her gaze to see two figures approaching where they all waited.

The sight of two staff members had been enough to silence the chatter; all eyes had fallen upon these two women ready to listen as a younger woman approached them. Frankie wasn’t close enough to hear her words but still watched on, noting the pile of papers in their hands. The interaction was brief, but the young woman’s body language spoke volumes, worry and panic overpowering all other emotions, as she was the same boat as all the rest that gathered all around.

Her eyes tracked them as they crossed into the centre of the cafeteria, where they could be heard easily by everyone.

“Hello? Can I have your attention, please? My name is Kiara Alfaro. I’m an emergency-department social worker.” Frankie was almost certain that she had seen her before; she had never found an opportunity to meet the resident day shift social worker. She only really knew her night shift colleague; he was a right scream but had spoken highly of Kiara praising her calm nature and how she could get almost anyone to open up to her.

“This is Lupe Perez, one of our ward clerks.” As she continued to speak, Kiara introduced her colleague, the ward clerks were all hardworking, taking the brunt of the frustration of the waiting patients. Each word was loudly and clearly projected to ensure that they were understood by all who listened on.

“I know you all want information about your friends and family. In order to help you, we have a QR Code you can scan for our patient-identification website.” This was the beginning of the next stage with handling the mass casualty.

“Cell phones are down, but you can log onto the hospital guest WI-FI. That information is on these papers we’ll distribute around the room.” It was understandable that phone lines would be jammed up, with the sheer number of people trying to reach out to their loved ones. Frankie’s phone had already logged into the Wi-Fi network as soon as she had entered the hospital grounds. This was a good sign; it would give people something to focus on.

“Once you log on, send us the name and birth date of whomever you’re concerned about.” She quickly tried to recall the necessary information; did she know her friend’s exact date of birth? The day and month were easy, but the year that might take a moment. As she thought back to her friend’s last birthday, how old had she been? With access to the Internet, she could shoot a message to Captain Valentino, who had direct access to the personnel files, but that would be a last resort.

“If you could tell us what they were wearing, upload photos, pictures of tattoos, piercings, anything to help identify would be useful.” Frankie had been the unofficial photographer of the tent; she had been the one to step up and take more than a few photographs and selfies through the day. Mostly for Instagram and her own personal collection, but a few for the Department to show their involvement as part of the PR and the monthly newsletter; not that many people actually opened that email when it dropped into their inbox. The next one might be an exception.

Frankie had been the one to take her to her first tattoo appointment, so she had photos of it. It had been a special moment since she knew the meaning behind the chosen design. Jake had been the one to help her shape into reality. He had drawn it for her, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to be there as he had class on the date that had been chosen. Frankie couldn’t help but wonder at the sweet relationship that her friend had with the young man. She had wished that she had something when she had grown up.

“If we get a match, we’ll let you know. We’re setting up phone chargers, water, snacks. And if anyone needs to change clothes, we’ve got paper scrubs coming.” Her hands had been covered in blood, that had long since dried, but it didn’t seem overly important to find a bathroom and wash it away as she made her way to the Cafeteria.

“Give us some time. We’re doing everything we can to help get you the information you need.” Frankie took a second before moving, as a crowd formed around the two tables where the papers had been placed. As she took a seat once more, with the newly acquired document, she began to follow the instructions. Her fingers danced across her phone keyboard as a WhatsApp message popped up on her screen. Another swiftly followed; House 42 was reaching out.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------7pm

“Fuck” The very word was stuck on repeat; Dana could not let Robby see this. Not now, when his attention needed to remain focused. The house of cards could not fall apart at this most crucial of junctions. As more patients flooded into the department, as much as worry was seeping through the cracks in her armour, Dana could not let Robby see the bloodied garment.

The split second decision had to be made, as she placed the jacket and thoughts of its owner aside. Using the moment of a patient being transferred up to surgery as a barrier to try to hide how shameful she felt. She watched where it landed, in the corner of an empty bay. Not that it won’t be unoccupied for long. Her tricky mind conjured countless scenarios, imagining the almost listless ways a mass casualty event could injure someone. Hope was a thin thread that she placed her bets on; Dana knew her. They punched, kicked and spit at her on the job, but still she had kept coming back for more.

She couldn’t say the same anymore; it was getting harder to reflect on the good times, without the awful moments overpowering the rest. Today was the latest in a long line of violence that had pushed over the edge into thoughts of if she was going to come back. If this was all really worth it. There wasn’t even enough time to take a breath between incoming patients. Once the panic subsided, Dana could ponder what came next only after they had attended to all critically unwell patients.

With the stream of gurneys and wheelchairs, the patients had blurred without the coloured wristbands to identify them. Dana wandered would she had missed Robby’s ex-wife in the crush? She had been a close friend in another life. She couldn’t recall the last time that she had met up for coffee and a catch up. Aside from a few brief moments at Central, before another call come in over the airwaves, summoning back to work.

Dana tried to think back to the last time that they had been in the same room. Silence had reigned for months. Robby might not have shouted from the rooftops, but Dana had seen the more subtle signs. Firstly, it had been the ring protector falling by the wayside, then his wedding band vanished from his golden chain, but finally it had been the growing closeness between himself and Heather. It might have a brief few months, but a bond had formed. It had its share of ups and downs, but the damage wasn’t as visible.

The tether had fizzled away; it had been what they both had needed in the moment. Passing affection and physical attraction hadn’t been enough to develop into a more permanent and lasting connection. Princess and Perlah had noted the changes. Quick gossip followed, its impact lessened only by awareness that one relationship ended to begin another.

Black lines that hadn’t been there before floated up to the surface of Dana’s thoughts. A tattoo? She had never questioned the fresh addition, wondering which design had you chosen? Robby had a few, but you had been a blank canvas.

With her thoughts misaligned, Dana needed to stay calm in the storm’s eye. This was what the department required her to be, even in the hours past the end of her shift. The one who led them through the push, over the edge, straight into no-man’s-land. As the mask slipped back into place, she couldn’t help but frown at the sight of the few heavily armed SWAT teams roaming around the halls. They hadn’t been there a few minutes ago?

This abrupt development put her further on guard. This was far from good news.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------The department was rushed off its feet as soon as one patient would be taken up to surgery or the ICU floor, two additional patients had taken their place. It was never ending; Frank Langdon and Cassie McKay were working in a familiar rhythm formed in the past two years that they had worked solidly side by side. In that time, they had gotten used to the speed that each other worked at, but they had also gotten to know one another on a more professional basis, but tidbits of their personal lives would slip through the gaps now and then. McKay’s centred more around her son Harrison, whereas Langdon tended to ebb and flow with the emotional state of his marriage.

Frank was more aware of the fallout of Robby’s marriage, but Cassie had only met the ex-wife in passing. The connection to Dr Robinavitch fell at the wayside; to McKay, she was just another paramedic who preferred to work nights. On the rare occasion that Cassie was rotated in to cover a night shift, this had been where they crossed paths for the first time. She had seemed nice enough, quiet, but there had been an underlying playfulness that came to the surface whenever Dr Abbot was around.

There was a story, a history between the pair of them, not that anyone dared to comment on the exact nature of their connection when she had brought it up. It wasn’t worth antagonising Abbot, so Cassie let it go. Never given it much thought, as it had been nearly eight months since her last night shift, Frank hadn’t been as lucky. His last night was less than a week prior; it had been far from an easy shift to boot.

Cassie watched as the next patient was wheeled in, an unconscious female, dressed in what looked like the standard issue trousers worn by paramedics, topped with a once white shirt coated in dirt and blood. Paramedics had been at the Festival in an official capacity, yet her patient seemed familiar, but many crew passed through those doors on a nearly hourly basis.

“Shit, you know who that is, right?” The sound of Langdon’s voice floated in as he made his way over whilst McKay was midway through her assessment. Cassie shook her head as she continued on, focused on carrying out the basic steps of a complete neurological exam considering her presentation. “Should I?”

“That’s Robby’s ex-wife” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

7:30pm

Frustration was bubbling up within Trinity swiftly returned to the yellow zone. With no attending trailing behind, they were on their own. This was not the outcome that she had been hoping for when she had gone searching for an attending.

“I tried. No attendings available,” she announced as she approached Dr Mel King, who remained at the patient’s bedside, still working on the unconscious man. Trinity moved through, trying to find her next interesting case, whilst keeping an eye out for any available attending.

“Okay,” she muttered to herself, as she surveyed each patient that she passed by; nothing immediately stood out. One gurney caught her eye; as she made her approach, Trinity slipped on a fresh pair of sterile gloves ready to make her assessment.

“All right” As Trinity slipped effortlessly into doctor mode, as her gaze dropped to the open wounds upon the young man’s legs that Nurse Donnie was cleaning with large pieces of gauze.

“Okay, those look pretty superficial.” Santos commented as she took in what she could see; the wounds on his leg might be large but were shallow.

“Might’ve been fragments from a ricochet off the ground.” Donnie replied, as he had been the one tending to the wounds; she listened to his assessment as her mind turned over the information as she worked out the possible next steps.

“Lost a lot of blood, but you’re gonna be okay, bro.” As she carefully lifted up the heavily stained remains of what once had been a trouser leg to inspect the wound for herself. The ease of his interaction spoke of a familiarity with her patient that she had not noticed until this point. Did Donnie know this young man? Trinity was left wondering the possibilities as her mind raced.

“It’s not bad. Just put me back in the wheelchair.” The young man answered; this was not even an option as Santos knew what the outcome might be if they allowed their patient to get out of the bed before his legs were bandaged up. She could not risk his wounds opening further and him bleeding out.

“No, no, stay in bed with your leg up.” She said, before continuing on speaking as she cautioned him bluntly. “We don’t want you oozing to death.” As she left the bedside to see what the other doctors had landed as Javedi helped move another gurney through the department into the yellow zone.

“Samira, what you got?” Trinity loudly asked; waiting patiently for Dr Mohan to answer.

“Opiate OD needs observation after Narcan.” For Santos, that was far too pedestrian, too ordinary and, to put it plainly, boring. Not for her. This was what came with festivals; drugs and overdoses were a dime a dozen but there were more interesting patients than this. There was nothing to learn, no interesting procedures to practise or carry out solo. “Ugh, boring. No, thank you.” Trinity swiftly replied before moving on as she turned her back and walked back toward Mel.

“Mel, how’s Ganja Grayson?” She called out, inquiring about the status of the patient with a newly christened nickname. The man was a true hippie as she walked the few meters back over to the bay.

“Um, we can put him in pink whilst he waits for ICU.” She listened to the words of her senior doctor, as the man’s condition had continued to worsen since falling unconscious; without the typical methods of investigations available, there was little they could actually do in the here and now. He needed a CT scan, but it would be hours before he could be sent up for one.

“Okay. One second.” Santos curiously watched on as Whitaker moved closer to the patient with a probe that had been plugged into his phone. Yet Samira beat her to the punch, speaking first. “What are you doing?”

“I’m checking the retina.” Trinity patiently watched the back-and-forth exchange, as it seemed that Huckleberry was chasing a cause. He was thinking creatively to find a solution to help Mr Grayson.

“For detachment?” Samira continued on, adding a potential diagnosis to the pile, but Whitaker responded with his own reasoning. As he used the phone screen to measure the distance from one end of the optic nerve to the other. With the swipe of a finger on a touchscreen. “For Intracranial pressure by measuring the optic nerve sheath, which is—holy shit—10 millimeters” He quickly pulled away with the news of this recent development.

What Huckleberry had uncovered was wild. As Victoria Javedi spoke up, running through the encyclopaedic amount of medical knowledge that was rushing through her mind, much like they all did with each fresh case.

“What’s normal? 5?” She asked, knowing the answer from the countless neurology seminar and skills labs that they had all attended whilst studying. As they memorised a plethora of textbooks with case studies and long lists of symptoms and treatments outlined in great detail.

“Yeah, 5” Whitaker replied, as the answer unfolded, as Mel was the one to offer up what was the most likely conclusion. “It’s an Intracranial bleed. ”One had they all had swiftly come to with the discovery of the expansion of his optic nerve, it was practically doubled in size! This was becoming a wildly more interesting case than the OD.

“The pressure’s been building up.” Trinity had turned her to listen as Mel continued on with her explanation of Mr Grayson’s condition. “There’s no blown pupil.”

“Yeah, not yet. Trinity replied, knowing that as soon as the pressure reached a critical level, then his pupil would likely blow. But if he keeps bleeding in his skull, he’s going to die.” This was not the moment to sugar coat what was going to occur if they just stood around and did nothing. This man was inching closer and closer to the edge with every passing second.

“Yeah, he needs a one-inch, uh, burr hole in his—with a cranial drill.” Mel spoke through what was needed, stuttering over words as she started to move away from the patient. “I’m just gonna see if neurosurgery’s here.”

“We don’t have time to wait for Neuro.” Trinity watched as Dr Samira Mohan stepped up to the plate, taking over the case. Santos might have a rough around the edge approach to medicine, her bedside manner might need tweaking, but she did not wish to risk her internship on her very first day. For intern to attempt burr holes without the supervision of an attending that was a Grey’s Anatomy level of madness that would quickly hand a one-way ticket to the psych ward. No, thank you. However, she was more than happy to assist if Mohan was taking the lead.

Mohan had rushed off to collect the supplies that she needed, returning the bay once she had what was required to start the procedure. “I got Betadine and a 10cc syringe.” Announcing each step as she continued on. Whitaker had been the one to speak up, asking a basic but necessary question. His tone wavering as he worked through his jumbled up thoughts. “Should we intubate, hyperventilate?”

“Mannitol decreases ICP.” Victoria answered; Trinity was still mentally referring to her as Crash. The nickname was not going anywhere fast. Once she had handed one, she rarely would change it unless continually pushed too. She would count on one hand the number of times that she had altered one of her famous nicknames. Javedi’s reply was factually accurate, as Trinity recalled the effects of Mannitol on the intercranial pressure and the outcome of this situation if the drug was delivered.

However, before anyone could blink; Samira had picked up an IO drill and made her first burr hole, drilling into the side of Mr Grayson’s head to relieve the pressure.

“Holy shit! What the hell?” All at once, the three of them responded in tandem in equal parts shock and horror at what they had just witnessed. An unconventional use of an IO drill to carry out a neurological procedure to administer burr holes and reduce the built up intercranial pressure. This day couldn’t get any wilder. Samira had proven to be more resourceful and more impressive than Trinity’s earlier impression; she wasn’t as stiff as she had initially appeared to be.

“Relieving Intracranial pressure so he doesn’t die.” Samira replied as used the first 10cc syringe, drawing back as Whitaker cut in with his next question. “With an IO drill?” Samira shrugged back, this was the best option that was to hand. Trinity chose this moment to speak up; now that she wouldn’t the first one to attempt such a out of left field procedure, there was no way that she wouldn’t let the opportunity slid by. “That’s sick. I get the next one.”

“Long as it’s not on me.” Trinity wanted to burst out laughing at the patient in the next bay’s words, as normally there wouldn’t be the chance for this kind of interaction. His words might still be more slurred as he slowly recovered from the effects of the overdose, but the meaning was crystal clear.

“What the fuck?” Dr Emery Walsh exclaimed as she leaned over to see Dr Mohan seated at the patient’s side, already performing the procedure. Mohan had caught her gaze briefly before returning to continuing to drain blood. “Draining the ICH with an EZ-IO.” The atmosphere grew tense in the presence of Dr Walsh, the no nonsense trauma surgeon.

“40 cc’s out so far.” Confused by the sight of the unsupervised unconventional procedure being carried out, night shift charge nurse Bridget approached Mohan for an explanation. “Like she said, what the fuck?”

“There was a case report in the 2022 Journal of Emergency Medicine.” Trinity focused on her task of preparing for the intubation, still heard most of Mohan’s explanation. “Patient survive?” The back and forth was not important as she continued on as Samira confidentially spoke through her reasoning for her actions. “Went home neurologically intact.”

Whitaker squeezed his way, with the screen showing the most recent data from the scan. “The optic sheath is back to normal.”

This was all good news as Victoria noticed that Mr Grayson had began to move. “Starting purposely movements.” Santos slid up with the intubation tube, prepared, ready to step in.

“Ready to intubate.” She announced as Mel then added in her orders as they proceeded forward. “Propofol, Rock, and Mannitol.” There was a rush that came when completing a successful procedure for the first time; she might’ve had a minor role, but still it was still such a head rush.

“I’ll let neurosurgery know. We’ll get him up ASAP.” Emery Walsh was clearly unimpressed with their reckless abandon with the rules, with the standard of care, but she would inform neurosurgery of this latest development as this patient moved further up the list. As she began to walk away, Walsh reach her walkie talkie ready to reach out to Neurosurgery primary lead.

“Incredible save.” Those words, as soon as they were spoken, caused her to turn her head and mutter in response.. “If he lives.” Trinity had made quick of work of inserting the intubation tube and working it past the vocal cords in the moments that followed as they got Mr Grayson ready to head up for surgery.

“I’m in.” She declared, as Whitaker bagged the end and check to see if everything was in the right place. “Uh, end-tidal looks good.” Everything was coming up as a success, as a win. The nursing staff stepped in, ready to get the last jobs ticked off; this was where they stepped off the case.

“Okay, OR team can take it from here.” Bridget said as she effortlessly moved around the head of the bed, mentally running through the checklist that was required before any patient headed up to the OR.

“We need to check on the others.” Mel added as she moved away; Trinity added her two cents in the mix, never missing a beat, as she used a nickname before heading back towards her patient with the leg wound. Knowing the effect that it had on Victoria, knowing that it rubbed her up the wrong way. “I should get back to Pink. Stay Strong Crash.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------Trinity turned her head, noting Mel across the way, standing in front of where some supplies sat on top of a movable station. As she checked with Mel on her thoughts as her patient’s bandage was now sodden, heavy as he had bled through the layers that Donnie had wrapped tightly round. “He bled through his Kerlix.”

It was almost as if she could see the cog turning as Mel shuttered over the words as she considered, then rejected, the possibilities until she landed the right option. “Um…elastic—elastic pressure dressing-yep.”

“Okay, got it.” She nodded and got to work retrieving her correct type of bandage from the tray with the bandages that sat neatly on top of the station. Plucking exactly what was required to re-bandage the small holes on his lower leg.

“All right. Got a better bandage, and we’re gonna elevate your leg.” Trinity announced as she made her way back over to where her patient was still laying. She places the supplies on the bed, picking up the scissors and begins cutting off the blood soaked old one.

“Do you know what’s happening with my girlfriend? Her name is Leah. She was shot in the chest.” She can understand the worry in his voice, as it trembles when he mentions her name. However, all incoming patients had been assigned a number. Names were not a necessity during a mass casualty event and his girlfriend would have been rushed off to the Red zone if she sustained a gunshot wound to the chest.

“I’m sorry. We have a ton of patients, and they are only marked by numbers.” Santos tried her best to be as sympathetic as possible as she continued on with her explanation. Her eyes darting between his and the wound as she worked on.

“Robby and Dana were working on her—they were doing CPR.” Now this piece of information that he had freely offered caught her attention. Much like the bloody paramedic jacket had, her mind still would wander back to the name stitched into the fabric. She wanted to chase that hypothetic thread till it was completely unravelled.

“How do you know Robby and Dana?” Santos was curious to find out as she asked, to know more about the people that she would be working alongside for the duration of this rotation.

“Robby and my mom were together for a couple of years, and I would—I would come, and I’d hang out here.” This was the definition of a juicy gossip; Dr Robinavitch seemed like a closed book. With no way to breakthrough that thick protective shell, that doubled as his professional mask. There was more to the man than just the doctor. She noticed his face twist as pain washed over him, as she disinfected and cleaned the wound site.

“Well, I’m sure if they’re helping her, then she’s in great hands.” Her words only meant to reassure his deepening worry. Even with the knowledge gained from this single shift, their combined strength was evident, a force to be reckoned with. “Can you check for me, please?” It was hard not to feel sorry for him; considering all that he had in this one day. “Sure, Of course. Just after I finish this.” She nodded as she agreed to help him out with one small task.

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

8pm

The florescent lights, albeit harsh under normal conditions, were a drop in the ocean on his list of concerns. Dr Jack Abbot, sharp-eyed, thrived in these conditions. A mass casualty was similar enough to working under the threat of a war zone.

This was where he did his best work, where his skills were truly put to the test. He could not ignore the call to action that came over the airwaves, as he listened to his police scanner that sat at his side as he had wound down for the day. All in the knowledge of what this day meant to Robby, an anniversary that no-one who worked through the heights of the pandemic would ever simply put aside. It was locked away, compartmentalised with all the other bad days. Each under lock and key, he was chipping away one at a time with his therapist.

Holding true to his promise to her, his wife and the memory of their life together. The ring on his finger was well-loved, but time had worn away the last restoration. A trip to the jeweller would be scheduled tomorrow, in between shifts. Each wave of new patients, of scared victims, drew him further into his element. With a cool and level head, Jack worked seamlessly with the tight team within the Red zone. Each was a cog in a machine fighting to save each patient from the jaws of death. Mourning each loss in the few seconds between that patient and the next being wheeled in.

Each would be remembered long after this voluntary shift had concluded. His gaze was trained upon his next patient; despite that, it would wander over to Robby now and then. His demeanour had shifted, there was anger that usually lingered far beneath the surface bubbling up. He was burst soon rather than later, but Jake and his fatally injured girlfriend had become the linchpin.

As soon as he had noticed that gurney being pushed through the doors, Jack had clocked the heartbreak upon the kid’s face, knowing that it would be mirrored on Robby’s. He had fought tooth and nail to keep her alive; it was a fruitless, uphill battle. One that he could never get in front of, as the wound to heart was just too severe. He had seen many in the heart of battle, presenting much the same way Jack knew what the outcome would be.

With all the time in the world, there still would be slim chances of coming back from a shot to the heart. Each new unit of blood was a cause of concern; two had been the agreed upon limit, but Robby had quickly reached for another and then the next. That limit had been reached and doubled. He could glean the depths of desperation as clear as day as Robby clutched at every available straw. Holding on the vaguest string of hope, fighting for Leah, for Jake.

There was no happy ending, not this go around. No last-minute miracle solution would be found, this was bare bones reality, not some half-baked medical dramas that his wife had loved, the ones which he sat through season after season for each smile, the laughter and tears that she had circled through. Whilst he pointed out the medical mistakes and inaccuracies. She had once joked that she could turn into a drinking game and be easily under the table by the halfway mark of a single episode. God, he missed her.

His mind would wander in the moments between the screams, but never for long enough for Jack to vanish into the what-ifs. He needed to be in the here and now as the darkness crept closer. It was where he felt most comfortable, out of the light of day. Away from his most painful memories, as they always returned.

The same could be said about Robby; had his own heartbreak manifested as he tirelessly worked on Leah? Had he envisioned his ex-wife beneath his blooded gloved finger tips as he fought to get the girl’s heart to beat once again. Had her image flickered, replacing the young woman for less than a second before switching back. He might hesitate for a split second if she had been wheeled into his care, but thankfully she hadn’t.

Heading up to Neuro ICU

The familiar vocal tones of Dr Frank Langdon could be heard as he moved his latest patient up to the Neuro section of the ICU floor up on the level six. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack caught a sight of the gurney as he made his way back into the heart of the red zone; No, it couldn’t be her lying there. Jack was in no position to chase after Langdon as he disappeared into the elevator shaft.

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

If anyone wishes to tagged in any of the Pitt x Reader content, please reply or message me

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mcyt-couture-zine · 1 month ago

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To celebrate the up coming release of the MCYT Couture Zine, the mods have organized an event week for everyone to participate in!

Each day corresponds with a different aspect of fashion! Any fan content is welcomed. Please use #MCZFashionWeek25 to tag your posts (we will not be tracking the tag).

Fabrics — Explore different fabrics types, learn how the weave could affect luster or the stiffness of the fabric. Silk, linen, fleece, leather await you!

Accessories — Anything that you can add on to tie together your desired look; ranging from shoes, jewelry, purses, canes, belts, and everything else you use to make a statement.

Needlework — The eye of detail; bold embroidery, delicate beadwork, intricate lace, thick knits.

Tailoring — Half of what makes fashion so eye catching is tailoring; the cut of the collar, where the sleeves fall to on the arm, how the fabric sits against the body. Each detail matters.

Patterns — From the wax prints of West Africa to the silk dying of East Asia and the modern tie dying practices of America the world is filled with so much color and design!

Alternative Materials/Mediums — Go avant garde! Play around with what you can push the limits of fashion to become. Cardboard, metal, plastic are a good place to start.

#mcyt #zines #qsmp #hermitcraft #dsmp #empires smp #mcytblrsource #mczfashionweek25

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crystalflygeo · 1 year ago

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Virgin-killer Sweater ft Zhongli + fem!reader

cw/tags: Riding, fingering, handjob, tit play, dirty talk, praise kink, teasing, inappropriate use (or is it?) of the virgin killer sweater//jk

notes: Hi hello I hope this breaks my dry spell happy 2024 I didn't expect to write this at all but @ainescribe (<3) tested my horny braincell by giving me this prompt and wHEW it got good

You blinked in surprise at the item that dropped out of the small plastic bag onto the bed as you were organizing the closet. Thick light blue wool greeting your eyes as you picked it and stared at it confused until it clicked. It was some stupid thing a friend had prank gifted you some years ago, you were surprised to find it bundled up in a corner after all these years a so-called ‘virgin-killer sweater’. It used to be all the rage, but you swore you could never wear something so… revealing, at all.

Yet you kept it.

You bite your lip and sneak a glance at the mirror.

You’re older now, your body a bit more… ahem… shapely. And enjoyed indulging in some sexy clothing once in a while, if only for the confidence boost and the look on your dear husband’s face.

Hm, what would he think of this? Your cheeks warm up a little, it’s so silly.

With a slow hum you stand up and shrug off your current lounge shirt, unclasping your bra and kicking off your shorts before sliding the wooly article over your head, shivering at how it feels over your bare skin. The material is thick and warm, soft yet admittedly a little ticklish.

“There is no way this is meant to be worn with nothing under…” You mumble blushing a little as you struggle to adjust it. The openings at the sides are impossibly deep and no matter how much you tug and pull at the bottom it either dips way too low on your lower back or reaches too high on your thighs.

Maybe it’s a little… short on you?

You stare at the mirror from different angles and twirl around, it’s fuzzy at the neck and front the front it looks kind of cute but everything is else is… well…

You huff a little embarrassed. Well, you suppose it could be nice if matched with another top, using it like a vest or something… maybe with a backless top or lace just so some of the skin still showed thro-

The sound of the apartment opening caught you attention and immediately made you heart speed up.

“Darling, I’m home.”

Oh, no!

No no no no no no-

“J-Just a moment!” You scramble for your clothes while trying to take off the atrocious garment when you slip over some other clothes and items scattered around in your cleaning spree.

The loud thump and your following yelp coming from the room was surely enough to gather even the neighbor’s attention.

You hear quick footsteps and then Zhongli appears at the bedroom’s door, eyes wide in worry before stopping dead in his tracks.

Squealing you struggle between sitting up and trying to cover your crotch and your butt with the offending piece of clothing.

“T-This is not-! Wait! D-Don’t look!”

A flush spreads over your face as you try to curl up into a ball in embarrassment. Zhongli’s golden eyes study you for a few tense moments before he quickly reacts, coming to help you up.

“Are you hurt?”

“N-No, I’m fine…”

He regards your outfit with fascination and you shrink under the intense gaze. Zhongli is observant, he doesn’t merely stare, he evaluates… appraises things with those mesmerizing golden eyes.

“What is that?”

“A sweater… sort of.” You mumble, still uncomfortably pulling at the hem and the bottom and feeling it dip lower than intended at your butt, again.

“It’s very unique.”

“it’s stupid.” You puff out mortified, picking up your shorts from the corner of the bed.

“Wait-” Zhongli’s hand stops yours and you feel goosebumps rise along your naked shoulders. “Let me see you, please…”

You gulp and feel your heart thump in your ears, buzzing with some sort of giddy nervous excitement.

You’re being ridiculous, it’s not like he hasn't seen you in less… or nothing at all.

You push the thought away standing back a few steps, the deep cuts down the sides granting him a glorious peek of sideboob. You nervously fidget with the hems.

“I-I think it’s a little sma-”

“Let me see the back...”

Oh. That deep tender sound. It was not a demand but a plea, a hint of sensual hunger under the calm stillness of his voice, soft and humming like he does when he holds you close.

You turn and brush your hair out of the way, straightening up as you had in front of the mirror, showing off the low low cut at the back, the hem of your panties peeking through.

“it’s…” You start.

“Tantalizing…” He hums.

You can see his Adam’s apple bob and his eyes darken just so, and your lips part with a soft sound.

“You look gorgeous, my dear.”

Your skin breaks into goosebumps again. “I-It’s embarrassing.” You insist, yet any other complaint dies in your lips with a squeak as Zhongli’s palms runs over your exposed shoulder blades, large and warm, and you feel his breath on your ear, a soft sigh.

You whine when he drags his knuckles along your spine, savoring the dip and arch of your back, caressing the tender skin, tracing the edges of the fabric along the swell of your butt and dipping lower to fondle it.

“Zhongli…” You whimper breathlessly.

“Shh… I got you.” Zhongli soothes you with a low croon, nuzzling into the slope between your covered neck and onto your shoulder. The skin there is hot and he nibbles at it gently. “I could just eat you up.”

“You could…” You mumble, the anticipation boils between your legs.

“I think I might.” He replies low, words heated at the shell of your ear before he nips there too, his hands sliding back up the smooth skin of your naked back, fingers teasing at the edges of your breasts before slipping under the knitted garment and cupping them. You gasp.

Your nipples are already hard, little peaks against the wool, so sensitive as they rub the soft material while Zhongli massages and plays with your chest. “Hnnng… ah!” slender fingers take one of the little buds between them, pinching and tweaking just enough that your back arches and your mouth opens in a silent moan.

“So, so beautiful…” He kisses the top of your spine, teasing there with his teeth.

“S-Stop teasi-oh Oh!” A chill runs down your body as he unexpectedly licks a stripe along your back and then you hear him chuckle against your skin, it makes your heart jump.

His hands never stop caressing your breasts, and he cups both before giving them a squeeze. Zhongli tilts forward pressing against you and you can feel a certain hardness against your ass. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes… feels good- hah.” You pant, eyes fluttering closed. “Mmm… Li… more please.”

Oh, how he loves seeing you like this, face flushed and eyes half lidded in bliss. He rubs his thumb against your pebbled nipple and then pinches it again making you gasp and squirm. Your hips buck and rub back unconsciously, seeking fiction.

“Come here.” He kisses your cheek and sits at the edge of the bed, gently stringing you along. “Take off your panties, let me help you darling.” His hands roam your thighs and pull the hem of the sweater just a little, hunching it at your hips. You’re too horny to care at this point and brace your hands on Zhongli’s broad shoulders as he slips your underwear down your knees, you gingerly step out of them and sink into his lap with practiced ease.

Your lips meet in a kiss as you circle his neck with your arms, immediately licking into his mouth and moaning as he adjusts your position, cupping your ass and accompanying the soft sway of your hips as you grind against his bulge. Zhongli groans on your mouth.

The slight coldness in your naked back makes for such a contrast against the hot wetness between your legs, the sweater’s fabric rubbing on your chest as you move, further stimulating as he continues to devour you, just as he said.

His hands move to your thighs, tracing patterns that have your legs quaking and tensing before his fingers dips lower below the cotton and brush your heated pussy. You break the kiss with a mewl.

“Ah… f-fuck… wait-”

He traces those sinful fingers along your folds, poking and prodding, smearing your wetness and finding your entrance. You kiss him fiercely again, combing your fingers on his hair pulling him closer and tilting your head.

It’s needy, it’s desperate, it’s…

He sinks the tips of his fingers inside you and you muffle another sound, shifting and grinding on his lap again. He works you open slowly, sinful fingers following the pace of your kiss becoming more and more daring. Oh, his pants have to go. Now.

Fumbling hands work his belt open and struggle for a few moments with his pants, enough so two of his fingers sink down to the knuckle. You whine and he chuckles, both gasping as your lips separate again.

“Let me- fuck, please-” You paw at Zhongli’s crotch incessantly, worked up. Finally, that perfect thick cock springs free, leaking slightly at the tip and gods your mouth waters.

“So impatient.” He grunts as you trace a finger along his length, thumb rubbing at the tip collecting the bead of precum there and wiping it on your tongue before you can even think, the musky tart taste makes you burn with want.

You notice how his length is trapped between your bodies, pressed against your navel and rubbing on the dumb sweater… and a wicked idea comes to mind. You smirk.

You wrap your hand around Zhongli’s cock, pumping slowly and firmly, and once you feel him resume the movement of his fingers inside you, you start canting your hips again, purposefully making it so the thick wool of your attire strokes against his sensitive shaft, adding another layer of stimulation.

“You- hah…” His words dissolve into a moan as you bite your lip and try to keep up the pace, it’s clumsy but the sounds you pull from him and the way his fingers stretch and pump you is so delicious, feels so good…

In no time your breath quickens. You pump your hand faster. More and more. Hot, so hot, so good. Your eyes fluttering shut, concentrating on the feelings. Your mind slow and hazy, just chasing that delicious pleasure. Only you two exist at this moment.

“Li, I’m… I-I’m…”

His thumb brushes against your clit and you come undone with a sharp cry, a quick and hard orgasm wracking your body and you keen and cry out, vision going blank.

His cock throbs in your palm, hot and hard and you gulp, moving a little sluggish to rise on trembling knees “More please, want you, need you…” You whisper and pull the sweater up to your waist. He helps you get it out of the way and then sink down on him, inch by inch filling you way more than his fingers did.

He hums and tips his head forward to rest his forehead against yours, basking in the closeness for a moment. “Are you ready?” Your eyes meet and you nod.

He leans down to kiss as his hands slide to your hips for support. You love the way Zhongli kisses you when he’s inside you. He tastes like sweet decadent tea, like hunger, passionate, unyielding, insatiable hunger.

He lets out a low growl as you lift and drop your hips against him, that thick cock molding your insides and rubbing all the right spots. You feel his fingers tightening their grip around you as you pick up the pace, grabbing his shoulders for support as you ride him. Your kiss dissolving to fleeting pecks as you pant and moan against each other’s lips.

His hips move under you, matching your rhythm as he rolls them in time with your hips. Heavy lidded eyes take in your figure writhing on his lap before he leans forward with a wicked thought of getting even at you and he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, wetting the fabric as he mouths and sucks at the little peak. You let out a high-pitched whine and claw at his back.

“So close, so close, please please please…” You babble as that sweet climax builds closer and closer.

Your thighs quiver and Zhongli takes over, planting his feet on the ground and beginning to thrust in earnestly. You sob and arch your back, clinging to his shoulders as he slams into you chasing his pleasure.

“So beautiful… your little sounds… your skin…” He hisses, his breath coming in hard gasps. “Come for me. Come, come, come, come-”

You arch your back and keen as your orgasm washes over you, shuddering on his hold as it drags this time. You feel a pulse and then a flood of sticky warmth inside you as he cums, groaning low and resting his head against the valley between your breasts. Your body melts against his as you both rest there, catching your breaths.

You nuzzle at his hair as you come down from your high, pressing a fond kiss to the top of his head. In turn, his arms surround you and hug you closer, sighing into your chest with contentment.

“Hm… want to accompany me for a shower, my love?” He asks as you pull back a little to stare at him, his hands cup your face.

You test your legs as you try to stand up but your knees wobble and there’s a tingling feeling still simmering on your skin. “You’ll have to carry me.” You decide, plopping back on his lap.

He chuckles, deep and precious as he kisses your nose. “Anything for you.”

“Hmm, you know Li… I think I’ll keep it.” You smile mischievously as your hand brushes the wool at your neck.

#crys writes #zhongli smut #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #fem!reader #lmao the start is so cliche I feel//HIT #OH THIS FELT SO GOOD TO WRITE #dgchjvbdshvbs tit play my beloved//HIT #to think this is what started it

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ladyrosemone · 4 months ago

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Smile

At first, when I see you cry, yeah, it makes me smile, yeah, it makes me smile. - Lily Allen.

Using Google Translate here! Sorry it took me so long! College got heavy and blocked all my imagination, but I'm back and hopefully more often!

Tags: @tsuniio, @simpingpandas, @dakotali, @softycheol, @cristy-101.

"Are you sure it's here?"

They all thought about it, Tim said it; the road in the batmobile was silent, each vigilante thinking about the possibilities of the call, who had made it and how they had done it, how they had passed under their noses and cornered them in their own territory.

Alfred couldn't help this time, he was as in the dark as the heroes themselves, Barbara didn't find any useful information besides the contract that was already half empty, Stephenie and Duke were looking from outside for some extra clue at the crime scene and Cassandra protected the mansion in her absence. The rest of them are guided by the little they found, and they found that there is something waiting in that abandoned house.

The surroundings fade with each passing kilometer; the buildings are replaced by mountains of garbage, which were reduced to empty sand and salty winds. Jason travels beside them on his motorcycle, alert for any surprise attack, intrigued by the location they are heading to; Why on the outskirts of Gotham? Why a house half-collapsed? Why only now after months of anonymity? Why, why, why?

Dusk falls when they reach their destination; desolate but peaceful, the low tide sings to them like sirens and the seagulls shout ignored warnings to the wind. The car's engine turns off and the motorcycle parks beside them.

They all go downstairs and look suspiciously at the rotten wooden door, the broken windows covered with black plastic bags and the moldy walls outside. Batman (as usual) was the first to enter with his guard up, he tried to push the door gently but with the slightest touch it fell to the ground breaking into pieces.

"Well, we already announced our arrival" even Dick's joking whisper did little to calm the tense atmosphere; they split up to inspect the few rooms the shack has, a kitchen with a small living room right there, two bedrooms and a patio that looked out onto the beach.

They all looked empty, few pieces of furniture with tattered or torn clothing and just an old bed, it seems like homeless people spend their nights here or come to get high, they bet that one or two crimes happened between the walls based on the dried blood stains on...well, all the floors.

"This is a waste of time" Robin complains, kicking a rock "We tear this place down, maybe we'll find something or get rid of it, either is better than this"

"We should search everything first" Batman orders.

"It's not that big of a deal" Jason snorts, slamming a kitchen cabinet shut; it's broken "We already did and there's just trash"

"There's something we're not seeing" Tim was (after Bruce) the most eager to discover the identity of this 'Savior', the figure behind the advantage and difficulties in the underworld of Gotham, where not even the bat goes down. This house was the key to discover it, had sent them here for a reason, there is always a reason in his tracks and he will not leave until he discovers it "It must be around here but we can't see it"

Jason tries to turn on the lights, obviously it doesn't work and the evening light runs out, not that there was too much coming in through the covered windows; the reddish tone of the Sun hits the broken parts of the lining hitting the black and damp walls, A cracked path stands out from the old paint, linear and somewhat wobbly throughout the hallway to the end where, on the far wall, a broken mirror hangs. Tim realizes this as he feels the walls, his fingers brush the mark and follows it like a hypnotized person until he reaches the mirror; there are rusty pieces scattered on the floor, others still hang from the mirror.

With his metal rod he feels the bottom, it sounds hollow, there is definitely something behind. He removes the glass, and behind one is a handle that, unlike literally everything else, doesn't look rusty, I could even say it's brand new.

Batman took his place, in case something is waiting for them, he won't let his son take the first hit.

The five of them walk in silence down a hallway warmly lit by lamps, the stairs lined with black velvet muffling their footsteps and the walls painted an exquisite wine red are decorated with paintings of robins. One by one, until they reach a closed door, the paintings reflect more and more of these flocking birds perched on an oak tree, the last painting however, has something different from the others.

Above the painting is a black spray-painted shield, the shield of the bat.

A soft humming noise passes through the door, imperceptible to other people, loud and clear to them. Cautiously they open the door; the first thing that greets them is a room empty of furniture or windows, illuminated by a whitish light among the dark tones.

But it is not entirely empty, not with the seated figure with his back to them, humming and painting on a canvas unaware of their presence.

But is it?

"I thought they'd get here sooner" you say calmly, as if you were talking to an old acquaintance. Maybe that's how it is "You took your time"

"No more riddles" Batman -Bruce- cuts him off with a slash "Give yourself up, it's over"

"Did it?" You laugh at that, the dramatic manner he usually uses with his victims "You still underestimate me if you think that"

"You sound pretty confident for someone who's surrounded" Red Hood mocks, playing with the handle of his gun, waiting for an opportunity, a reason, whatever.

"What shade of red is your helmet?" You ask boredly "I'm not sure if it's scarlet or carmine red" You hear the draw of a gun "I guess we're about to find out"

Dick grabs his arm, stopping him, pointing his head to the corners of the room where there are small surveillance cameras. Below them an ejection device is pointed at them, probably a heavily loaded gun.

"I didn't bring you two together to fight" You begin to speak, tracing the outline of the wings "The Penguin is usually a good customer, he doesn't cause trouble and pays for his purchases, but lately he's forgotten his place and he's bothering me"

"What do we care about that?" Robin bellows, his hand ready to pull out his trusty Katana.

"Your research is stuck, isn't it?" You say, and his lack of response makes you smile "I have the piece you're missing, and you can send a message for me, it's a win-win"

"Why would I accept?" Batman questions, always suspicious.

"My principles are clear and my values sacred, I am governed by loyalty and honesty, it is the key to any successful business" your businesses are turbulent and unethical, most, if not all, threaten human life or profit from it. But you are not cruel, they are there by choice, you only care for your people animals enough to stay where you are. Batman takes a step closer to you "No no no" you sing, pointing at the camera.

Wisely he pauses.

“Now, shall we agree on terms?” You laugh, painting the leaves of the tree a nice shade of green. Reluctantly, and knowing they were at a disadvantage this time, Batman grunts, a growl of approval probably.

"One second" Nightwing interrupts "What assures us that you'll keep your end of the bargain?"

"The Penguin is ruining a good deal for me in one of my biggest districts" you explain calmly, though there may be a bit of irritation in your tone "I'm doing my best to stop him, but the runt bastard knows how to play this game, so I'll cheat a little and use you two"

"That's not honest" he sneers, countering what you said about your values "Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty" is all you say; the truth is you use what suits you, so what? "Are you going to interrupt me again?"

It seems like you are, but you ignore him.

"I give you locations, plans, and agents to arrest him, what you do with him afterwards doesn't matter much to me, just leave him conscious, in exchange for that I want you to spend time with me"

"What?"

Your painting is finished; Nine robins and a bat in the middle of them, perched on a tree branch, trapped in a golden cage.

Then you turn around and the air freezes, because they recognize you; the first is bewildered, the second is scared, the third understands, the fourth denies it, and the one leading them takes off his mask revealing a delicious shock and panic at the sight of you.

"Hello Bruce, long time, don't you think?" You smile, turning to look at him; two drops of water, two almost perfect reflections, past and present face him suddenly.

And you won the battle.

#batboy!reader #batfam x batsis #batfam x reader #yandere x reader #abandoned reader #batbros x reader #batfamily x reader #batsis!reader #dc x reader #yandere batfam

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bl00dyfaiiry · 3 months ago

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Yandere Circus clown x F!reader

Tags: HEAVY non con, abduction, obsession, Reader is 18+, begging, fingering, isolating, clowns, violence, toxic behavior, hide n seek.

People have fears. Heights, spiders, worms—you name it, sometimes I'm wondering if I'm really that childish to be scared at literally a person with costume and makeup, but whenever I hear those giggling, honking and those clowny noise, I can't help but feel shiver in my spine and that paranoia eating me like a quick sand.

It's a sunny day outside, my family decided to go to the new circus that just opened in our town. My family knows it—that ever since I'm a child I have that constant fear of clowns yet they ignored my protest about not wanting to go, too eager to help me fight my fears.

The tent is a bright red color, the smell of popcorn and cotton candy wafting through the air, mixing with the distant sounds of carnival music and the occasional roar of a wild animal. My heart is racing as we walk through the crowd, the anticipation of the horrors that may await me behind every corner is almost unbearable.

The moment we enter the circus, a clown named Sphere approaches us with a smile so wide and eyes so bright that it seems like a mask painted on his face. His hair is a wild mess of colors, and his outfit is a patchwork of patterns that make me feel dizzy just looking at it. He extends a hand with a balloon in it, "Welcome to the show!" he says, his voice a forced cheerfulness that makes my skin crawl.

My family exchanges glances, but then my little brother, Timmy, runs over to him, eyes sparkling with excitement. "Can I have a balloon?" he asks, and Sphere laughs, a sound that is both jovial and eerie. He ties the balloon around Timmy's wrist, the plastic stretching and creaking. I can't help but feel a sense of dread as I watch them interact.

As we walk deeper into the circus, the lights dim and the music gets louder, the smells becoming a cacophony of animal scents, grease, and the faint metallic tang of fear. The clowns perform their acts with a disturbing level of precision, their smiles never wavering as they juggle, tumble, and ride bicycles. I keep my eyes on the ground, trying to avoid any accidental contact with their piercing gazes.

But no matter where I look, Sphere seems to be there. His eyes are always on me, tracking my movements with an intensity that makes my palms sweat. He laughs a little too loudly at his own jokes, his teeth sharp and unnaturally white against the stark red of his mouth. I feel his stare like a physical weight, and I can't shake the feeling that he's watching me, studying me.

During the intermission, I manage to slip away from my family to the bathroom, desperately needing a moment of solace. As I wash my hands, the water cold against my skin, I hear the telltale sound of a balloon squeaking against the floor. I turn to see Sphere leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his smile still plastered on his face. "You seem to be enjoying the show," he says, his voice a whisper that sends chills down my spine.

I force a smile, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's... interesting," I reply, hoping he doesn't notice the tremble in my voice. His eyes narrow slightly, and for a second, the cheerful mask slips, revealing something darker beneath.

"Just interesting?" he asks, taking a step closer. The way he says it is almost a challenge, and I can see the glimmer of something sinister in his gaze. I take a step back, my hand reaching for the bathroom door handle. "I would have thought you'd enjoy it more, Y/N."

My heart skips a beat at the sound of my name on his lips. "How do you know my name?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. He laughs, a sound that's more of a chilling cackle than a cheerful giggle. "Oh, I know all about you," he says, leaning in so close that I can feel his hot breath on my face. "Every little detail that makes you who you are."

Suddenly, his hand snatches mine, pulling me towards a hidden corner behind the bathroom stalls. The plastic of the balloon still tied to my wrist scrapes against the wall, leaving a trail of paint on the metal. Panic sets in as I realize I'm trapped, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Sphere, let go!" I try to sound firm, but fear laces every syllable. He just smiles wider, his grip tightening. "You're so much more fun when you're scared, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice a chilling caress against my ear.

He starts to pull me through the twisting back corridors of the circus tent, the fabric walls billowing around us with every step. The music and laughter from the main show seem distant now, replaced by the thud of my racing heart and the scraping of my shoes against the floor. I try to resist, to pull away, but his strength is surprising, like a coiled spring beneath the floppy exterior.

As we weave through the shadows, the clowns' dressing room comes into view. The neon lights flicker, casting jagged shadows across the garish makeup and costumes hanging from hooks. The smell of greasepaint and sweat fills the air, thick and suffocating. "Where are you taking me?" I demand, but Sphere just giggles in response, the sound sending a shiver down my spine.

He stops abruptly, spinning me around to face him. His smile widens, the makeup around his mouth cracking as he leans in close, his breath hot and sweet with a hint of something rotten. "Just a little game, Y/N," he whispers, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling light. "You see, I've noticed how much you've been avoiding me today. It's making me feel a bit... neglected."

My stomach turns as I realize the full extent of his obsession. "Look, I'm sorry," I stammer, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. "I just don't like clowns, that's all."

But Sphere seems unfazed by my protests. "Oh, but I like you," he says, his grip on my hand tightening to the point of pain. "A lot." His smile twists into something that's more of a snarl than a smile. "And when I like something, I don't let it go so easily."

Before I can react, he yanks me into the dressing room and locks the door behind us with a final, echoing click. The room is a cluttered mess of oversized shoes, colorful wigs, and garish outfits. The walls are plastered with newspaper clippings and photos of past performances, all with Sphere's face at the center, his grin growing wider and more disturbing in each one.

He releases my hand and starts to circle me, his eyes never leaving mine. The floorboards creak under his weight as he steps closer, his movements deliberate and predatory. "You know, Y/N," he says, his voice low and dangerous, "I think you're playing hard to get."

I swallow hard, my eyes darting around the room for any escape route. The walls seem to close in around me, the clown paraphernalia watching with a silent, malevolent glee. "I'm not playing games," I reply, trying to sound firm despite the tremor in my voice.

Sphere stops his pacing, tilting his head to the side as if considering my words. "No?" He asks, his smile never faltering. "Well, then, let's make it interesting." In a flash, he snatches a rubber chicken from a nearby chair and tosses it into the air, catching it with ease. His eyes gleam with a sick excitement that sends a bolt of terror through my veins.

With a swift pivot on his oversized shoe, he lunges at me, the chicken held out like a weapon. I scream and stumble backward, tripping over a pile of oversized shoes. As I fall, my hand knocks over a rack of props, sending a cascade of plastic horns and confetti into the air. The sudden burst of noise and color only seems to fuel his manic energy. He starts to chase me around the small, cramped space, the rubber chicken slapping against his palm with a wet, meaty sound.

My heart thunders in my chest, the walls closing in with every step he takes. The room is a maze of clothing racks and trunks, each corner a potential dead end. I can feel his eyes on me, the unblinking stare of a predator. I dodge behind a rack of sequined outfits, hoping the fabric will shield me from his view, but his laughter echoes through the room, telling me he's closer than I think.

The rubber chicken hits the floor with a wet smack, bouncing away as he reaches for me. His fingers graze my arm, leaving trails of cold greasepaint. The chuckling turns to a full-blown cackle as he pulls me out into the open. "Why so shy?" he coos, his grin now a twisted, malicious thing. "Don't you want to play with me?"

I stumble backward, my feet entangled in a mess of fabric and props. His eyes gleam with a madness that sends ice down my spine. The cheerful exterior has crumbled away to reveal a creature of obsession and darkness. His pupils are dilated, and the makeup around his eyes has started to run, creating a grotesque contrast against the stark white of his face.

He removed his wig, revealing a mop of wavy short white hair, and his true face emerged from beneath the layers of makeup. Despite the madness dancing in his eyes, there was something eerily attractive about him. The sharp angles of his cheekbones and the curve of his smile made him look like a fallen angel. But the way his eyes burned into me, the hunger in his gaze, was anything but heavenly.

"I know what you're thinking," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You're wondering why I'm doing this." He stepped closer, his breath hot and sour. "It's simple, really. You see, I noticed you talking to that acrobat earlier." His smile grew colder, his eyes darker. "I don't like it when people I care about talk to other people."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. "What? I don't even know you," I protested weakly, trying to scuttle away from him.

But Sphere was already lost in his own delusion. "You think I didn't see?" he spat, his eyes wild with rage. He grabbed a handful of my shirt and yanked me closer, his grip like a vice. "You think you can just flirt with him while I'm here, watching you?" His knuckles turned white with the effort of holding back his anger, and the room grew colder with his fury.

"I wasn't flirting!" I insisted, the panic rising in my voice. The clown's smile grew more twisted, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Liar," he hissed, and then, without warning, he slapped me hard across the face. The shock of the impact sent stars dancing in my vision, and I tasted blood on my tongue.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I stared at him, trying to understand what had happened. The pain was a stark reminder of the reality of my situation. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

Sphere's grip on my shirt loosened, his expression flickering with confusion. He took a step back, his smile fading into something more human. "What did you say?" His voice was softer now, less menacing.

I swallowed the metallic taste of fear and repeated, "I said I'm sorry." The words felt foreign in my mouth, but I knew I had to play along if I wanted to survive. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

Sphere's eyes searched mine, the rage slowly draining from his expression, replaced by a flicker of doubt. He let go of my shirt, his hand hovering in the air as if he wasn't quite sure where to put it. "You... you're not lying?" he asked, his voice unsure.

I shook my head, keeping my eyes on his, my voice steady despite the tremble in my chest. "I swear. I wasn't flirting. I was just asking for directions to the concession stand."

Sphere's expression softened slightly, his grip on the rubber chicken loosening. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort of controlling his emotions. "Directions?" he repeated, his voice a whisper.

I nodded, taking a cautious step towards him. "Yes," I said, my voice shaking. "I just wanted to get some popcorn for Timmy. That's all."

Sphere's gaze searched my face, looking for any sign of deceit. His eyes narrowed, but the doubt remained. "Why would you do that?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and hurt. "Why would you ignore me?"

I took another step closer, placing my trembling hand on his arm. "I didn't ignore you," I whispered, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. "I just didn't know you liked me that way." His expression softened, and I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I could get through to him.

He leaned in, his breath hot against my cheek. "But I do like you, Y/N," he murmured, his voice thick with longing. "I've liked you since the first time I saw you." His hand slid from my arm to my waist, his touch sending a shiver through my body. "I want to make you happy."

I knew I had to tread carefully. "I know," I said, trying to keep my voice soft and soothing. "And I appreciate it, Sphere. But I don't think this is the right way."

He looked at me, his eyes searching, and for a moment, I thought I saw a glimmer of sanity behind the madness. His hand on my waist tightened, but his gaze remained on my face, as if trying to read my thoughts. "What's the right way?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

I took a deep breath, my heart racing. "Maybe we could talk," I suggested, trying to keep my voice calm and even. "Get to know each other without the... the games." His eyes searched mine, his smile slipping away as he considered my words.

Sphere nodded slowly, his hand moving from my waist to the small of my back, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. "You're right," he murmured. "Let's talk." He guided me over to a chair in the corner of the room, the plush velvet upholstery a stark contrast to the cold steel frame.

He sat down, pulling me onto his lap, his arms wrapping around me like a vice. "Why are you so scared of me, Y/N?" His voice was a mix of innocence and something darker, a hint of the madness still lurking beneath the surface. "I just want to make you smile."

My heart raced as his hand began to trace circles on my back, the fabric of my shirt growing damp with my sweat. His breath was warm against my neck, sending goosebumps down my spine. "I know you're scared," he whispered, "but you don't have to be. I'll take care of you." His words were a seductive promise, a dangerous lure that I knew I couldn't trust.

Sphere leaned in closer, his nose brushing against my ear as his hand slid up my side, the fabric of his costume brushing against my bare skin. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a sweet, deadly caress. "Don't you want to be with someone who sees that?" I could feel his breath hitch as his hand moved up to cup my face, tilting it so that I was forced to look into his eyes.

My heart hammered in my chest as his thumb traced the line of my jaw, his eyes searching mine for any sign of consent. His touch was both terrifying and oddly comforting, the warmth of his skin grounding me in the chaos of the moment. But the fear remained, a cold knot in my stomach that grew tighter with every beat of my heart. "Please," I whispered, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. "Let's just talk."

Sphere's smile grew a little wider, his eyes never leaving mine as his hand slid down to my waist, his fingers digging in slightly. "We are talking," he murmured, his breath warm and tickling against my neck. His other hand reached up to tug gently on a lock of my hair. "Don't you want to feel what it's like to be truly alive?"

I could feel the heat of his body against me, the firmness of his thighs beneath my legs. His fingers began to trace patterns on my skin, moving higher, closer to my chest. "You're so tense," he said, his voice a purr. "Let me help you relax." His hand moved up to my shoulder, his thumb brushing against the bare skin of my neck.

My breath hitched as his other hand slid down to my thigh, his fingertips skimming over the fabric of my shorts. "Sphere," I whispered, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. "Please don't." But his grip only tightened, his eyes never leaving mine. He leaned in closer, his breath warm and sweet, a stark contrast to the cold fear coiling in my stomach.

"You're so soft," he murmured, his hand moving higher, dangerously close to the hem of my shorts. His thumb traced the sensitive skin just below my ear, sending shivers down my spine. I couldn't help but lean into his touch, even as the voice in the back of my mind screamed for me to run.

"Relax," he whispered, his breath hot against my neck. "Let me show you how much fun we can have together." His hand slid further up my thigh, the fabric of his costume brushing against my skin, making me shiver. I tried to push away the feeling of revulsion, focusing instead on the warmth of his touch, the gentle way he was speaking to me.

"Sphere, I-" I began, but his mouth was suddenly on mine, cutting off my protests with a kiss that was surprisingly gentle. His tongue slid against my lips, coaxing them open. I couldn't help but respond, my body betraying me as I leaned into the kiss, his flavor a mix of candy and something darker, something that made my stomach twist.

His hands moved with a possessive hunger, one sliding up to cup the back of my head, the other continuing its slow, torturous journey up my thigh. I moaned into the kiss, the sound muffled by his mouth. He took this as an invitation, his hand moving higher, his touch growing bolder, more demanding.

The fabric of my shorts was no barrier to his seeking fingers, and before I could fully process what was happening, he had slid them underneath, his palm cupping my intimate flesh. I gasped, my body responding despite my mind's frantic protests. His grip tightened, his thumb beginning to stroke in a slow, deliberate rhythm that made my vision swim.

Sphere's other hand tangled in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my neck. He kissed along the sensitive skin, his teeth nipping gently, sending waves of pleasure and fear crashing through me. His touch was a storm of sensations, a mix of pain and pleasure that made me feel alive and terrified all at once.

His hand continued to move under my shorts, his fingers teasing and exploring with a possessive hunger that made me whimper. I tried to push his hand away, my body responding despite my mind's screaming protests. But he was too strong, too determined.

With a sudden jerk, he yanked the fabric aside, exposing me completely to his gaze. His eyes widened with excitement, and his touch grew rougher, more insistent. "You're so wet for me," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Do you like it when I do this?"

I whimpered, torn between the horror of the situation and the unwanted arousal his touch elicited. I tried to push his hand away, but his grip was unyielding. "Sphere, stop," I managed to say, my voice shaking. But he was beyond listening, beyond reason.

His thumb pressed harder against my clit, sending jolts of pleasure through me that I despised feeling. "You like it," he murmured, his voice a mix of satisfaction and triumph. "You can't hide from me, Y/N." His free hand reached up to grab a fistful of my hair, tilting my head back even further. He kissed me again, his teeth sinking into my bottom lip, drawing a gasp from me that he took full advantage of, deepening the kiss, his tongue invading my mouth.

The sound of his clown shoes squeaking against the floor filled the room, a twisted soundtrack to the horror playing out before me. His hand worked faster now, his fingers sliding inside me with an ease that made me feel sick. I tried to pull away, but his grip on my hair tightened, keeping me in place.

"You're mine," he murmured against my neck, his breath hot and ragged. "Mine to do with as I please." His words were a cold slap in the face, bringing the reality of my situation crashing down on me like a ton of bricks.

I struggled against him, my fear turning to anger and desperation. "No," I gritted out, pushing against his chest. "Let go of me."

But Sphere was lost in his own twisted fantasy. His hand moved faster, his breath coming in short, panting bursts against my neck. "You're so tight," he whispered, his voice a dark caress. "So warm, so wet."

I squirmed in his lap, trying to break free of his iron grip. His fingers moved in a relentless rhythm, each stroke sending a bolt of unwanted pleasure through my body. "Please," I whimpered, the word barely escaping the vice of his mouth.

Sphere's eyes searched mine, his smile never wavering. He leaned back, his gaze raking over me with a possessive hunger that made me feel like a toy in his hands. "Say it," he murmured, his thumb still stroking my sensitive flesh. "Tell me you want this."

I bit my lip, the fear and arousal warring within me. His touch was wrong, but my body responded regardless, betraying me with every shiver and gasp. "I-I don't know," I managed to say, my voice trembling.

Sphere's smile grew a little softer, his eyes searching mine for any sign of willingness. "Shh," he murmured, his thumb circling my clit with a gentle pressure that made my eyes roll back in my head. "Just tell me you want this, Y/N. Just say it." His voice was a seductive whisper, his eyes filled with a desperate need for my validation.

I swallowed hard, the fear giving way to a strange mix of emotions. His touch was wrong, but the pleasure was undeniable, a siren's song that I didn't want to resist. His hand moved in a slow, steady rhythm, coaxing a response from my body that I couldn't suppress. "I... I don't know," I whispered again, my voice barely audible.

Sphere leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. "Say it," he urged, his voice a soft growl. "Say you want me." His thumb pressed down harder, and I couldn't help the whimper that escaped my lips. My body tensed, my breathing shallow and fast.

I stared into his eyes, the madness in them now a frenzied need for my acceptance. His hand moved in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, each stroke sending waves of conflicting emotions crashing through me. I didn't know if I wanted this, but I knew I didn't want to fight anymore. His grip on my hair loosened, his hand moving to cup my cheek instead, his thumb stroking my skin with a gentle tenderness that was at odds with the harshness of his earlier touch.

"Say it," he murmured, his breath hot and sweet, his eyes searching my face for any sign of submission. "Tell me you want me." His voice was a whisper of hope, a plea wrapped in the guise of a demand. The room spun around me, the clown's twisted world becoming my own, the line between fear and desire blurring into a haze of confusion.

My breath hitched as his thumb continued its torturous dance, the pleasure building in a crescendo that I couldn't ignore. "I..." I began, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't know what I want." Sphere's smile grew a fraction wider, his eyes lighting up with a dark triumph.

He leaned in closer, his nose brushing against my cheek as his hand slid down to cup my chin. "Tell me you want this," he urged, his voice a seductive purr. "Let me make you happy." His hand moved from my chin to the back of my neck, his grip firm but not painful. His thumb brushed against my bottom lip, a silent request for entrance.

And with a tremble of defeat, I parted my lips, giving him the response he craved. "I... I want you," I whispered, the words barely more than a breath. His smile grew wider, his eyes alight with a dark victory. Without a moment's hesitation, he claimed my mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue plunging deep. His hand slid from my neck to my chest, his fingers deftly unhooking my bra.

The cool air of the dressing room hit my bare skin as he yanked the garment away, leaving me exposed to his hungry gaze. He pulled back, his eyes roaming over my breasts with a greed that sent a shiver down my spine. "So beautiful," he murmured, his voice a hoarse whisper. His hand slid up to cup one, his thumb flicking over the sensitive nipple.

Before I could process the sensation, Sphere was standing, lifting me with him, his hands never leaving my body. He laid me down on the chair, his eyes never leaving mine, the madness in them now mixed with something primal, something untamed. His costume was a mess of colors and fabric around us, a stark contrast to the cold, calculating look in his eyes.

He knelt between my legs, pushing them apart with a force that was surprisingly gentle, given his earlier aggression. His hand slid from my neck to my chest, cupping my breast in a firm grip that sent a jolt of pleasure through me despite the situation. His thumb circled my nipple, teasing it to a hard peak, while his other hand slid back down to my thigh, his fingers tracing the wetness that coated my skin.

Sphere's eyes never left mine, his smile a twisted mockery of the cheerful facade he had worn earlier. He leaned down, his mouth closing around my nipple, his tongue flicking and teasing the sensitive flesh. I couldn't help the moan that escaped me, my body responding to his touch despite the fear that still held me captive. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin, a hint of pain that only served to heighten the pleasure.

His hand slid down to my center, his fingers pushing aside the fabric of my shorts and underwear. I felt his thumb slide over my clit, the pressure building, the anticipation of what was to come making me squirm. He looked up at me, his eyes wild with need, his smile a twisted mockery of the gentle lover he had once pretended to be. "You're mine now," he murmured, his voice a mix of triumph and insanity.

And then he was over me, his clown costume a blur of colors and the smell of greasepaint and sweat. He shoved my shorts and underwear down to my ankles, leaving me bare and vulnerable. His own costume was pushed aside, revealing his arousal, long and thick, standing at attention as he positioned himself between my legs. The room spun around me, the clown's laughter echoing in my ears as I stared up at him, my heart racing with a mix of fear and a twisted excitement that I didn't want to acknowledge.

With a single, brutal thrust, he filled me, his cock stretching me in a way that brought tears to my eyes. I bit back a scream, my nails digging into the chair's velvet armrests. His eyes never left mine, his smile never wavering as he began to move, his hips a blur as he fucked me with a ferocity that was both terrifying and exhilarating. The pain was a stark reminder of the reality of the situation, but the pleasure that followed was like nothing I had ever felt before.

Sphere's movements grew more erratic, his breathing ragged as he claimed my body with an intensity that was almost animalistic. I could feel every inch of him, his girth stretching me to the point of pain, his length hitting deep within me in a way that had me crying out with each thrust. His eyes searched mine, the madness in them now a wild, primal hunger that seemed to devour everything in its path.

The pain grew with every stroke, each thrust hitting a spot that had me seeing stars. My cries grew louder, my body shaking with the effort of holding on to my sanity. I could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks, my nails digging deep into the chair's armrests. And yet, amidst the pain, there was a twisted pleasure that grew with every beat of my racing heart.

Sphere's rhythm grew erratic, his movements more frenzied as he approached his peak. His eyes remained locked on mine, the madness in them swirling like a vortex, threatening to pull me under. And then, with a final, powerful thrust, he came inside me, his eyes rolling back in his head as he released a guttural growl. The sensation sent me over the edge as well, my body spasming around his, my own climax ripping through me like a tornado, leaving me gasping for air.

As the aftershocks of pleasure subsided, the pain grew more pronounced, the reality of what had just happened crashing down on me like a ton of bricks. I tried to push him off, my voice a hoarse whisper of protest, but he was too heavy, his weight pinning me to the chair.

Sphere's eyes rolled back in his head, a low moan escaping his lips as he collapsed against me, his chest heaving with the effort of his climax. For a brief moment, the madness receded, and I saw a glimpse of something almost human, something vulnerable. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by a cold, calculating stare that sent a shiver down my spine.

He leaned in closer, his mouth hovering just above mine. "You're mine," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Mine to do with as I please." His hand slid up to my neck, his thumb pressing against my pulse, a silent reminder of his power over me. I tried to push him away, my strength drained from the intensity of what had just transpired, but his grip was unyielding.

With a sudden, brutal force, he pushed his hand over my mouth, stifling my screams as he climbed off the chair. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, a sinister grin playing at his lips as he moved to tie it around my eyes. The fabric was cold and rough against my skin, the darkness enveloping me like a second layer of fear.

"Sleep, Y/N"

My vision turns black, the handkerchief tight around my eyes, the fabric scratchy against my skin. I can feel Sphere's breath against my neck, his grip on my wrists tightening as he secures them behind my back. My heart races, the reality of what's happening setting in, my fear turning into a cold, hard knot in my stomach.

He stands me up, his hand guiding me to the center of the room. The floor feels cold and unforgiving beneath my bare feet, a stark contrast to the warmth of the chair. His voice is a low murmur in my ear, the words lost in the cacophony of my panic-filled thoughts.

Sphere's hand moves from my waist to the back of my neck, his grip firm and unyielding. I feel his other hand lift, the air around me charged with the anticipation of impact. And then, with a swift, brutal motion, he slams the palm of his hand against the side of my head, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot.

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A/N: part two? ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ ⁠ᴥ⁠•̥⁠`⁠ʔ

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