#like damn getting tagged by/having a pOST MADE ABOUT ME by/getting an ask from one of my favourite author is. absolutely. something. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jj-one · 2 months ago

Text

EPISODE 1: HELP! MY HOT GIRLFRIEND CAUGHT ME CRYING AFTER GIVING HEAD! (NOT CLICKBAIT)

this is smut, do not interact if under 18

jisung thought tutoring the hottest girl on campus would ruin his GPA— not his pants. one month later, he’s somehow getting called ‘pretty’ mid-thrust and offering you pocky as a post-orgasm snack.

pairing: nerd!han jisung x popular!f!reader, established relationship genre/tags: college au, smut, fluff, jisung is a loser with a capital L, humor sprinkled in bc i’m unserious asf, lots of references to anime and other dumb stuff, lowkey perv!jisung, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), piv, protected s*x, kinda subby!jisung but he’s still a whore lol words: 5.4k (wasn’t expecting it to be this long… guess i yap too much)

[ note. ] — i had to make another nerd!ji fic bc i literally cannot stop thinking about him 😣 feel free to read my other fic for more context since it’s set in the same universe but i wanted to make a smut ver so here we areeee <33 also, i will be making more parts eventually, hence why it’s labeled as ‘episode 1’ so stay tuned for more !

cross posted to AO3

Jisung thought for sure that was going to die a virgin. Not in a sad, self-loathing kind of way, but more in a “yeah, that checks out,” kind of way. The type of peaceful resignation one might have while unplugging a broken router for the eighth time before crying into a bowl of instant ramen. Because guys like him— guys who quoted Dragon Ball Z unironically, who panicked when girls sat next to them in lecture halls, who built custom keyboards for fun and screamed at League. They didn’t date girls like you.

And they most definitely didn’t sleep with girls like you.

Still, that didn’t keep him from fantasizing. Constantly, shamelessly, unhingedly.

He’d never known what it felt like to have warm walls wrapped around his cock. Never heard those broken whines girls in hentai would make— unless he counted the ones he accidentally let out when he edged himself too long. His hand was simply never enough, no matter how many times he convinced himself he could “recreate the pressure.”

The bottle of lotion and box of tissues on his nightstand weren’t even hidden anymore— they sat like holy relics beside his gaming PC, ready for immediate access the second he closed League and opened incognito mode.

Porn never fully satisfied his craving though, he always wanted more. Even the best JAV compilation or doujinshi fan dub couldn’t compare to the real sickness consuming his brain: you.

You, with the glossy Instagram that he scrolled through like it was the damn Louvre. You, wearing micro bikinis in pool selfies with captions like ‘hot girl summer’ while he rots in bed, sweating and crying at the curvature of your ass.

You, biting your glittery, gel pen in class, leaning across the desk to ask for help, accidentally flashing a glimpse of cleavage so dangerous it made him pause mid-equation like he got hit with a stun grenade. Stalking your Instagram, seeing you in the tiniest baby tees and mini skirts. It was the perfect gooner material.

He’d stroke himself under the covers while biting a t-shirt to keep quiet, muttering your name between gasps like he was summoning a spirit. Fantasies playing out in his head that ranged from soft and romantic— like kissing you breathless during office hours— to completely feral, like bending you over his anime pillow while you called him “pretty boy” and ruined his life.

It didn’t help that you flirted with him now.

That you asked him to tutor you.

That you sat so close during study sessions he could sense your perfume from a mile away and taste the salt from the fries you always stole off his plate.

You laughed at his jokes, called him cute, even once said he had “nice hands,” and he nearly evaporated on the spot. Had to excuse himself to the bathroom with a boner and a prayer.

Every night ended the same. Him, fisting his cock in pathetic desperation at the thought of your pussy swallowing him whole, whispering ‘please’ like a man on the verge of religious enlightenment.

And every night, after he came all over his own stomach, out of breath and guilt-ridden, he’d sigh dramatically and say,

“I’m going to die alone. I know it. I’ll be the guy with the Zero Two body pillow and the unopened condom pack from 2017 that he keeps in case of a miracle.”

He did not, under any circumstances, expect you to be that miracle.

Never in a million years did he think he’d actually have a chance, let alone be dating you. You were just too perfect. The literal girl of his dreams.

Popular. Gorgeous. Cool in the kind of way that made any and everyone want to be around you without knowing why. You had that magnetic charm about you, an easily contagious laugh, a confident stride when you walk, and that dangerous habit of licking your lip gloss mid-sentence like you were in a CW drama.

And yet, somehow, here he was, currently horizontal on his bed, shirtless, breathless, with you on top of him wearing his oversized Bleach t-shirt and not much else, grinning like you’d just won first place in a science fair and a dance battle.

“Are you glitching?” You asked, poking his cheek. “Do I need to unplug you and plug you back in?”

“I- uh- w-what? No- yes? No.” He stuttered like every word had just magically left his vocabulary, he was definitely malfunctioning.

You laughed, head dropping onto his bare chest as he laid stiff as a board, arms hovering midair like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you even now. Even after dating you for a whole month.

“A month,” he whispered, still stunned by the timeline. “That’s like… thirty days of you voluntarily being seen with me.”

“Thirty one,” you corrected, lifting your head to smirk down at him. “Don’t forget the bonus day where you kissed me in front of the vending machine and the entire basketball team clapped.”

“I thought I was going to throw up.”

“You looked like you did throw up.”

Jisung covered his face with both hands and groaned.

God, he still didn’t know how this happened. When you had asked him to tutor you in stats, he assumed you were just kidding— or high. But you weren’t. You’d actually shown up. You’d flirted, sat on his lap one time when all the seats were taken at the library, and then acted like it was no big deal while his soul left his body.

And now here you were. Straddling him. Teasing him. Literally wearing his t-shirt with the anime print on it and calling him “baby” in the kind of voice that should be illegal.

“You’re so tense, Sungie,” you murmur, lightly dragging your fingers down his chest. “I know you like it when I touch you. You make these cute little gasps like a baby bird.”

“I-I don’t sound like a baby bird,” he mumbled, absolutely sounding like a baby bird.

You leaned down, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Chirp.”

Jisung squeaked.

You lost it, giggling into his neck while he covered his blushy face with a pillow. “Oh my god, stopp- why are you like this- why did you choose me,”

“Because you’re smart, and sweet, and you get all flustered when I call you hot. And because,” you sat up again, hips rolling ever so slightly and watching his pupils blow wide as you rocked against his clothed erect, “you say things like ‘This is just like my fanfic’ under your breath and then deny it.”

He groaned at the sudden friction, arms falling limp at his sides. “You heard that?”

“Babe, I hear everything. Like right now, I can hear how bad you want me to ride you.” You bit your lip, feeling your wetness growing at a rapid pace as you continuously grind on him.

Jisung whimpered. “Okay. I- this is really happening, right? This isn’t like, some kind of VR dream or like a… cursed hentai plotline where I wake up and you’re actually a sentient toaster?”

You blinked. “What the hell kind of anime are you watching?”

He slapped a hand over his eyes. “Nevermind, pretend I didn’t say that..”

You kissed him then. Slowly. Tenderly. Like you had all the time in the world and like you couldn’t believe your luck either. Because yeah, you were the cool girl, but Jisung was the first guy who actually listened when you talked. Who remembered your favorite boba order. Who’d stayed up until 3 am tutoring you and still walked you to your dorm with sleepy, nerdy affection twinkling in his eyes.

So yeah, you were gonna roast him forever— but you were also gonna ruin him tonight.

“Hey, baby,” you whispered, reaching down to tug his sweatpants lower.

Jisung was in the midst of catching his breath like he’d just run a marathon. “Y-yeah?”

“After I make you cum, will you tell me all about the sentient toaster anime?”

“…Maybe.”

“Okay,” Jisung panted, curling into your side like a baby koala clinging to its mother, “that was better than every hentai I’ve ever seen.”

You snorted into his shoulder. “High praise coming from the man who owns a $300 body pillow.”

“She was limited edition!” He quickly defends himself.

You playfully roll your eyes, kissing his flushed cheek. “So are you, Sungie. So are you.”

And yeah, Jisung still thought he was going to die a virgin once upon a time.

But now, wrapped in your arms with kiss marks littering his neck and your laughter still echoing in his ears— he was just really, really glad that he’s been proven wrong.

The moment you straddled Jisung and kissed him again, something shifted in the room.

And not just him having an outer-body experience for the sixth time in an hour.

You pulled back from his lips to look around, and the first thing you said was, “Okay, I have to say it- your room is the most aggressively virgin-coded space I’ve ever been in.”

“I told you not to look too closely!” He whined, burying his face into your neck as you giggled and craned to inspect the chaos surrounding you.

“Let’s see…” you started ticking things off on your imaginary list. “Anime wall scrolls? Check. Neon RGB light strips that make your room look like a gaming dungeon? Check. Is that Hatsune Miku in a glass case next to middle school spelling bee trophies?”

He groaned. “They’re collector’s items—”

“You were runner-up in 8th grade and you framed it.”

“I peaked early, okay?!”

You laughed so hard you fell forward onto his chest. “I love you.”

He froze. “Wh-what?”

You blinked. “I said I love you.”

He looked like you’d just offered him a lifetime supply of ramen and also stabbed him in the heart.

“…I love you too,” he whispered, barely getting it out before he hid under the covers.

You tugged the blanket back down just enough to see his red face. “Hey. Don’t hide. I wanna see you. Look so pretty when you blush.”

“PRETTY?!” He yelped.

You nodded in confirmation, brushing hair off his forehead. “Mmhm. Prettiest boy I’ve ever seen. Especially like this- messy hair, pink cheeks, all breathless under me…”

He made the most broken noise you’d ever heard.

His hands gripped your hips like he didn’t know what to do with them, like he was trying not to crush you or himself with how desperate he felt. His eyes were dark now, glazed and locked onto your every move as you slowly ground against the bulge in his sweats.

“This is real, right?” He meant to ask that in his head but blurted it out instead, voice slightly cracking. “This is really happening?”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Feels pretty real to me, baby.”

At this point Jisung was spiraling.

Not just emotionally. No, that happened daily.

This was a full-system shutdown.

You’d tugged your shirt off without warning and smiled down at him like it was the most casual thing in the world, and now his hands were hovering awkwardly mid-air like he wasn’t sure if he had permission to touch you or if he was being Punk’d by the gods of horny delusion.

Your skin. Your smile. Your fucking tits.

And worse— worse— as your fingers brushed through his messy brown locks and your thighs shifted over his hips, his brain suddenly screamed,

‘I can’t believe I’m about to get pussy before Jeongin.’

Jeongin, his slightly cooler, slightly taller, still-a-virgin roommate who had three rotating Discord kittens and a suspicious amount of cologne but somehow still never scored.

Jeongin, who walked around shirtless after push-up sessions and said things like “it’s not rizz, it’s charisma” unironically. Jeongin, who once said “I want my first time to be passionate and respectful” but also accidentally downloaded a virus trying to pirate a hentai dating sim.

Jisung had always assumed if one of them was gonna make it out of virginhood first, it’d be the guy with the Uzumaki clan symbol tattooed on his ribs and a social life.

But no.

It was him. Han Jisung. The guy who owned a limited-edition anime titty mousepad and squeaked like a kettle when a girl touched his arm. And now? You were grinding up against him slowly, teasingly, and he was barely clinging to reality.

“Y/n,” he whimpered, clutching your waist like you’d float away. “Can I- can I eat you out? Pleasepleaseplease.”

You blinked rapidly.

“…You wanna—?”

“So bad,” he choked. “I think about it all the time. Like in class. And when I watch those ‘how to’ videos online. Like, the diagram ones, not the porn ones, though I watched those too- but like educationally! For science!”

You stared blankly.

He was sweating.

“Okay,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You’re really cute when you beg, y’know that?”

He nearly ascended.

You barely had time to giggle before he flipped you gently onto your back, hair falling into his eyes as he ducked down between your thighs like a man on a mission from God. His hands trembled as he slid your shorts down, breath hitching at the sight of your soaked panties.

“Oh my god,” he breathed out. “It’s real.”

You snorted. “What were you expecting? A hologram?”

“I don’t know!” He cried. “I was starting to believe you were some kind of high-level succubus sent to punish virgins.”

You cupped his flushed face. “Wouldn’t be the worst punishment.”

And then he locks in— eyes meeting yours as he sticks his tongue out, licking a long, fat stripe across your clothed slit. Soft. Slow. As if he was trying to memorize you with his tongue, the heat of it makes you jolt. He’s not just tasting you— he’s learning you, tracing intricate patterns with his tongue like he’s trying to decode you one flick at a time. Every motion is precise yet hungry, like he’s writing a love letter in Morse code directly to your pussy. His glasses slipping adorably down the bridge of his nose, solely focused on pleasing you.

You gasped at the feel of him against you, the pressure of his mouth sent heat curling low in your belly, it was torture. Too much and not enough. You needed to feel him without the barrier of soaked lace clinging to your folds, and he must’ve read your mind, because he groaned like he was the one being denied. He kissed your pussy like he was thanking it, mouthing over your clothed core before dragging open-mouthed kisses across your inner thighs, leaving your skin slick with spit and bites to your inner thighs. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, everything about him felt so warm.

His teeth grazed you— playful, hungry— and your hips twitched as he whispered something nasty under his breath, half to himself, half to your cunt. By the time he slid your panties down, your thighs were trembling, tossing the flimsy fabric aside carelessly, like he didn’t care where they landed, only that they were gone. Then he buried his face between your legs like you’d been starving him for his entire life.

His tongue slipped between your folds, hot and greedy, lapping up everything you gave him like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. He flicked up and down with obscene precision, wet, messy, relentless— his nose bumping your clit as he moaned deep in his throat, like he needed this, like the taste of you could make or break him. You were soaked, legs shaking, lips parted in a silent cry, and all he did was keep eating like he was trying to crawl inside you with his tongue.

You were loving the way it feels, every bit of you being hit with electricity. Your fingers tangled in his hair the second his mouth met your pussy, gripping tight, yanking just enough to make him groan into you like he was grateful for the pain. He never slowed down. If anything, it made him hungrier, tongue flattening against your slit before flicking up again, sloppy and fast and fucking filthy.

“God- fuck, you’re so messy,” you gasped, thighs twitching around his head. “You like that? Being my dirty little mouth toy?”

He moaned. Moaned. Into your pussy.

Nodding obediently, even as you tugged harder, grinding him closer. His glasses were long gone, hair disheveled, chin dripping with spit and slick as he slurred out something unintelligible against your clit. His tongue working overtime like he was trying to spell your name in cursive with every flick.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled, words caught in his throat. “I could live here.”

You threw your head back with a laugh— and then a sharp gasp as he got bolder, messier, more desperate. His hands kept you spread, his tongue curling and licking and worshipping like this was the only chance he’d ever get. He was sure that he’d jizz his pants just from giving you head— sure it’s pathetic, maybe even tragic. But he couldn’t help it. You were just too hot, too perfect, too fucking unreal, and the taste of you on his tongue, the feel of your thighs squeezing around his head, it was better than anything his fist or filthy imagination had ever given him.

Your fingers remain tangled in his hair, holding onto him for anchorage. He looked up at you with glassy, pleading eyes, the lower half of his face glistening with your arousal and rosy cheeks. “Tell me I’m doing okay? Please? I read five articles about this. I practiced on a peach.”

You gasped. “You practiced on what?!”

“Nevermind. Just- keep calling me pretty. I swear I’ll die happy right here.”

You tugged his head back down, voice ragged and ruined.

“Then make me cum, pretty boy.”

And he did.

Like a man with something to prove.

Like a nerdy little virgin who had just found his true calling.

Your eyes closed shut at the feeling, falling apart at the seams. Every stroke of his tongue making your insides tighten. You suddenly couldn’t remember how breathing worked, all you saw were flashes of white invading your vision, cumming so hard that you almost saw stars. You cried out, high and broken, hands grasping at his head as you came hard against his mouth.

Jisung moaned through it— loud and messy— tongue never letting up, licking you through every twitch, every gasp, every last jolt of overstimulation until you were tugging at his hair for dear life and gasping for air. Only then did he pull back, lips shiny, eyes half-lidded, face absolutely drenched, and smiling like he just beat the final boss of his entire life.

Somewhere in the past twenty minutes between Jisung nuzzling your thighs like a man starved and moaning like he was the one cumming, you had apparently blacked out, transcended the mortal plane, and been reborn as a puddle of girl.

Now, you lay sprawled across his unmade bed, fully clothed from the waist up and violently ruined from the waist down, chest heaving, eyes wet and glassy, one sock half-off your foot like a casualty of war.

And Jisung?

Jisung was cuddled up beside you like the world’s horniest golden retriever, chin resting on your shoulder, looking so smug and soft it was almost offensive.

You could still feel the ghost of his tongue between your legs.

“You sure you’ve never done this before?” You croaked out, blinking up at the ceiling like it had answers.

Jisung tilted his head innocently. “What, that? Nah. I just… researched. A lot. And I… uh, practiced on a fruit.”

You turned your head slowly. “Was it the peach again?”

“…It might’ve also been a mango. For tongue agility. But I named it after you, so it was romantic!”

You tried to snort, but it came out as a wheeze. “I can’t feel my legs, Jisung.”

He beamed. “Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Still taking it as one.”

He leaned in and kissed your cheek, then your nose, then your forehead like he hadn’t just destroyed your entire nervous system with his mouth.

“I feel like I just unlocked a secret side quest,” he victoriously cheered. “‘Satisfy hot girlfriend until she sees God.’ Bonus XP for oral stamina. Am I your favorite now?”

You blinked at him, still fighting for air. “I don’t even know my name right now. You’ve ruined me.”

Jisung squeaked and tucked his face into your neck, practically vibrating with joy. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“You should. I saw the afterlife. It was just a video game buffering screen.”

He laughed, then rolled onto his back with a dramatic sigh. “I can’t believe this is real. You’re real. Your thighs are real. I had a girlfriend and head privileges all in the same night. I feel like I need to call my mom.”

“Please don’t.”

“Too late. She deserves to know her son peaked.”

You smacked him lightly with the nearest pillow, still grasping for air, still dazed.

And then he smiled at you— so big, so genuine, so sickeningly in love that your tired heart clenched.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat, y’know,” he mumbled, brushing hair from your face. “Just say the word.”

You looked at him, the boy with anime figures on his shelf, lotion still on his desk, and love in his eyes, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Next time,” you whispered, “I’m returning the favor.”

Mindlessly reaching into his sweats, the second your hand wrapped around his length, you froze.

“…Jisung.”

“H-huh?”

You gave a blank expression. Looking down. Looking back up.

“This is- you’re.. how is this even—?”

“I DON’T KNOW,” he cried. “IT DOESN’T EVEN MAKE SENSE, I’M ONLY 5’7!”

You stared at him like he just told you he had a second life as a Marvel superhero.

“Oh my god, I just assumed you’d be, like—”

“Average?!” He gasped, scandalized.

“No! I just- I mean- look at you! You’re this cute little nerd with anime socks and a keyboard with cat ears.. how are you packing all this?!”

You were in utter disbelief, there’s no way your sweet, stammering little boyfriend had been walking around with a dick that big and had no idea what kind of weapon he was carrying. Just raw, untapped dick potential— XL stats on a man who still apologizes when his knees crack too loud. Poor baby had been lugging around a whole third leg, and didn’t even know the first thing to do with it ;(

He simply shook his head, fully tomato red now, flailing beneath you like he was about to spontaneously combust. He watched you like he was afraid to blink. You pumped him once, slowly, watching him shiver under your touch. His lips parted. His back arched. You hadn’t even gotten started and he already looked completely ruined.

“Can I ride you?” You asked sweetly.

He nodded so fast his head could nearly fell off. “Yes. Yes, oh my god, yes- please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” You cocked your eyebrow.

“I’ll uninstall League right now if you ask me to—”

You giggled as you rolled the condom down over him, letting his hands greedily grab at your thighs. He was panting, forehead glistening with a sheen of sweat, like his brain was overheating just from the anticipation.

Then you finally lowered yourself, sinking down onto him, gradually, feeling the way you take him so easily from being soaking wet. Jisung mumbles something illegible under his breath as your cunt swallows his cock whole. It didn’t take long for you to reach the end of him since you were already so ready for him, staying in the same position to feel all of him inside you. His cock was splitting you open so nicely, it felt like you were in utter paradise.

And he made the sound.

Like his soul physically left his body, floated into the air, and gave you a salute on the way out.

“F-fuck.. you’re tight, I can’t—” he clutched your waist, eyes fluttering. “I’m gonna die. This is it. This is how I go.” He desperately bucks into you, wanting to feel more movement from you.

You move your hips to match his rhythm as you gain your balance, pressing both hands on his shoulder blades. You bounce slightly up and down on his cock, feeling your walls being filled up by every inch of him. You shifted from grinding on him real slow to picking up your pace indefinitely. Jisung threw his head back against the pillow from the pleasure, the sound of his balls hitting against your ass with the combination of it jiggling as you rode him like a bunny was enough to make him want to burst on the spot.

You leaned down and give him a chaste kiss. “Best way to go, huh?”

He nods vehemently. “Please don’t stop. Ever. I’ll cancel my Crunchyroll subscription for you. I’ll stop buying figurines. I’ll even delete my Genshin account.”

“Okay, now you’re being dramatic.”

He groaned helplessly as you continuously rode him like your life depended on it, breath hitching with every drag of your hips. He was so sensitive, so overwhelmed with it all that he couldn’t stop moaning into your mouth, mumbling broken, incoherent things like, “You feel soso good,” and “I can’t believe I get to have this,” and “Am I still breathing? No? Cool.”

You kissed down his jaw, showing no signs of stopping. You knew this was going to be one of those moments you’d both play on loop in your heads for a long, long time. “Still pretty, baby.”

He pants out. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You simply keep moaning as you kept bouncing on his cock, he was thrusting back into you, going even deeper. Your eyes reaching the back of your skull from the way he was hitting all the right spots. It wouldn’t take long before you started screaming his name and showering him with endless compliments.

“You’re so fucking pretty, Ji.” You were a broken record at this point, nothing but your whines and his grunts filling the room. You felt tense, your clit was throbbing, the pressure build up making you dizzy. Jisung couldn’t keep his eyes off you for a second, the way your tits bounced through your shirt, the way your long acrylics dug into his skin, he wasn’t even sure how he was still alive.

This was better than any of those fake scenarios that he’d absentmindedly create in his head, better than finally beating a level that he’d get stuck on for hours. He was in pure heaven, and he felt his high approaching any minute.

“I-I think ’m gonna cum,” he desperately choked out, rocking into you like a dog in heat.

Jisung was wrecked beneath you. Hands fisting into the sheets, mouth agape, his eyes rolling back every time you sank down fully and clenched around him.

“Fuck, please- please, I-I can’t,” he whimpered, voice shaky, flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. His stomach tightening with every motion, trying so hard not to lose it.

You leaned forward and cupped his face, riding him a little harder, the slap of skin soft but steady. “You said you could take it, baby,” you whispered, voice syrup-sweet. “You begged for this.”

“I know, I- just- pleaseplease can I cum?” he panted, nearly on the verge of tears. His voice was raw, wrecked, like every second you didn’t let him was a cruel punishment. “’m so close, I’m- I’ll be good, I swear, just let me.. please—”

You seal his lips with yours, just to quiet the begging, grinning against his mouth as his hands fumbled for your hips again. He moaned into the kiss, his hips twitching helplessly under yours.

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you beg,” you airly chuckled, pulling back just enough to look down at him. His eyes were wild, glazed over, the pretty sounds he made were like music to your ears.

“Th-thank you,” he sobbed, the gratitude in his voice borderline ridiculous. “’m gonna- I’m- oh my god—”

And with that, he finally let go. Releasing every last drop of his seed into the condom, muscles tensing up, gripping you like you were his only tether to reality. He looked down to see your arousal creating a white, creamy ring around the base of his thick cock, almost about to cum again just from the mere sight alone. Your legs felt like jello, you were weightless, collapsing onto his sweaty, sticky chest as you try to catch your breath, brain all foggy in your post-coital daze.

You didn’t expect him to cry.

Okay— not, like, full sobbing. But a little misty-eyed? A little “what did I do to deserve this?” A sparkle in his gaze as you lay draped across his chest, both of you blissed out and glowing in the soft, RGB-lit afterglow?

Yeah.

He was trying so hard not to sniffle.

“You okay, baby?” You murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the curve of his jaw.

Jisung nodded, eyes wide and glassy. “I just… I thought my first time would be like, awkward. Or disappointing. Or I’d accidentally sneeze into someone’s mouth and get banned from touching boobs forever.”

You laughed against his skin. “Definitely didn’t happen.”

“No,” he grins, wrapping his arms tighter around you, “this was better than anything I could’ve ever imagined in my head. Better than my first SSR pull in Genshin. Better than when I tried the seasonal spicy chicken ramen and lived.”

You tilted your head up to meet his eyes. “That’s a pretty long list of victories to beat.”

“You’re the only victory that matters.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned playfully, “who is this smooth man and what has he done with my sweaty, anime-obsessed virgin boyfriend?”

He huffed, burying his face into your hair. “He’s still sweaty and obsessed with anime. He just… also happens to be madly in love with you.”

You smiled into his chest.

“Also,” he added, completely deadpan, “I think I saw the shadow realm.”

You snorted. “When?”

“When you said I was pretty and grabbed my—” His voice cracked. He covered his face with his hands. “Oh my god, I can’t say it. My ancestors are watching.”

You giggled, shifting to lay next to him and intertwining your fingers with his.

And for a while, it was just quiet. Safe. His hand slowly brushing over your side. Your heartbeat syncing with his. The faint whir of his PC fan still spinning in the corner because, of course, he never actually shut it down.

Then he jolted upright suddenly, as if he remembered something urgent.

“Wait.”

You blinked up at him, amused. “What?”

He slid off the bed, naked except for one, singular sock and scurried to his cluttered desk. You watched, dazed and curious, as he fumbled with drawers and cracked open a cabinet that definitely shouldn’t have had food in it.

Finally, he turned around triumphantly. Holding out a white, rectangular box.

“Pocky.”

You stared. “…Seriously?”

“I always imagined I’d give my girlfriend Pocky after her first time with me,” he said solemnly. “Like a weird little anime reward.”

You sat up and grinned. “You are a weird little anime reward.”

He climbed back into bed beside you and opened the box, pulling out one, white chocolate-dipped stick and offering it with both hands like it was a sacred gift.

You bit it gently from his fingers.

“Mmm. You’re such a good boy,” you purred with a playful smile, “giving me snacks after ruining me.”

He short-circuited. Almost choking on his own Pocky. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I hope so.”

You kissed his cheek, then his nose, and then— just to mess with him— you whispered, “Still thinking about how big you are, by the way.”

Jisung made a noise so high-pitched it could only be heard by dogs. He flopped face down into the sheets, flailing helplessly while you laughed and straddled his back.

“You have to stop saying things like that,” he muffled into the pillow.

“Why?” You asked sweetly, brushing his hair back. “You’re my pretty boy. I’m just appreciating what’s mine.”

He peeked up at you, still pink, still glowing.

“…Promise you’re mine too?”

You leaned down and pressed your lips against his, soft and slow.

“Always.”

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz smut #han jisung smut #han jisung x reader #stray kids smut #skz imagines #skz scenarios #han jisung imagines #han jisung scenarios #skz fluff #han jisung fluff #han smut #han x reader #han jisung x you #skz fic #skz fanfic #han jisung oneshot #stray kids oneshot

6K notes · View notes

whosmariaaa · 5 months ago

Text

— part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 !

college! sukuna spend that same night in his bed, searching for your instagram. your account was a hard find. it took him 60 minutes of his life to even find one of your friends, who had coincidentally tagged you in their recent photo dump. in that same photo dump was a cute picture of you and your friend. you were glowing, a pretty smile on your face, and sukuna immediately took a screenshot to save for himself.

then, he went to your account. you hadn’t posted a single thing, and your profile picture was black. he had spend 30 minutes searching for basically nothing. but, he still followed you.

the notification “r.sukuna is now following you” popped up on your screen around 1 AM. how the hell did this guy find you? you were genuinely confused.

you didn’t have any classes with him the next day, so you came up to him at lunch. not caring about the girl placed in his lap, kissing his neck. sukuna looked awfully disinterested in her.

“did you do your part of the project?” you asked suspiciously. he turned his head to you, and rudely pushed the girl off before getting on his feet. the girl looked at him in shock, and then shot you a glare, as if you stole her man. that girl could definitely have him, for all you care.

“nah, but you don’t mind, do you?” sukuna replied condescendingly, “besides, it’s only due in three weeks.”

you simply sighed. you can not with this man. he was purposely getting on every single one of your nerves. “it’s due in three weeks because it’s a big project half our grade, you massive dick,” you scowled. a stupid smirk made a way on his face.

“so? you’re smart, right? you’ll figure it out,” he responded.

his comment somehow doubled your irritation. “you’re either helping with this, or i’m asking the professor to kick you out. take a pick,” you hissed back. then, his smirk disappeared ever so slightly.

“you’re really a fucking bitch about this, y/n,” sukuna huffed. he broadened his shoulders slightly, narrowing his eyes in irritation. you rolled your eyes back at him, “go cry about it. take a fucking pick.”

he watched you a for a few moments in silence as he straightened his back slightly, seeming even taller. he looked threatening, sure, but you were too pissed off to care.

“…fine, but don’t expect me give a shit about it,” he decided. another beat of silence, of the both of you glaring at each other. you decided now would be a good time to mention him suddenly following you, since the silence was getting a little too intense for your liking.

“oh yeah, why did you follow me on instagram? how’d you even find me?” you asked.

his smirk returned, and he raised his eyebrows in amusement. “just came across your account. am i not allowed to, sweetheart?” he taunted. he spend an hour looking for it, but you didn’t need to know that. you just scoffed, “weirdo.” and then walked off, making sure to shove him with your shoulder.

sukuna stared at you until you left through the doors of the cafeteria. the girl that was in his lap before, got up from her seat. “who was that?” she asked in irritation. he returned his eyes to her, but then a disgusted scowl added to his expression.

“mind your own fucking business, you bitch. and why don’t you get the fuck out of here while you’re at it?” he snarled. the girl flinched slightly at his harsh words, but then muttered something under her breath before getting up and leaving.

“damn, what crawled up your ass and died?” toji asked. sukuna stared at him, his expression dangerous.

“i think he’s still down bad for that girl. what was her name? y/n?” gojo laughed, “y’know what, if you don’t get with her, i will,” he added tauntingly. for some reason, him saying that made sukuna even more pissed off than before. why the hell was he suddenly in his business? you were off-limits, he had made that very clear before.

“watch your fucking mouth, gojo. i won’t hesitate to make an end to your pathetic life,” sukuna threatened.

“man, you’re pussy whipped. what’d she do to make you all in love like this?” gojo teased. sukuna just scoffed and sat down again, ignoring his infuriating friends while in thought.

yeah, what did you even do?

──★˙🍓̟!! hi guys, i’m so sorry i’m still figuring out tumblr, but maybe in the future i’ll be doing a taglist!! ☺️ and @elizabeth-von-winken-universe in my inbox, yes i’ll definitely be doing more parts for sukuna, thank you sm!!! and for the other person in my inbox, i love you to death may God bless u too and keep u and ur family safe💗

2K notes · View notes

azulpitlane · 6 months ago

Text

we can't be friends l fc43

summary: after a drunk hookup with your best friend, franco, you find out he has a girlfriend, leaving you alone and pregnant

song inspo: ₊‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊‧₊

masterlist part two

yourusername

liked by francolapinto, yourbff and 12,424 others

yourusername summers almost gone :(

tagged yourbff, francolapinto

view all comments

user franco being on this three times🤨

user prettiest girl

francolapinto THE LAST PHOTO??

yourusername your mom just showed it to me last night and we laughed for like 5 mins

francolapinto te odio😐

yourusername 😘

user i am once again asking for you two to admit youre in love with each other

user chat why is nobody freaking out? this feels like a soft launch

user noooo they've been best friends since they were kids, they always post like this

user man i wish this was a soft launch, they need to get together already

user drop the photo franco was taking omg

user childhood bffs to lovers trope about to go crazyy

yourusername posted stories

seen by francolapinto and 34,249 others

user winning the idgaf war ily

user wheres franco?

user i can finally call u my favorite wag!!

user we know ur dating franco just hard launch already😩

user we better see you at the australia gp!!!

f1gossip

45,352 likes

f1gossip Looks like we were wrong about Franco dating his best friend, Y/n Y/l/n. He was spotted leaving the Australian GP holding hands with another woman and according to sources closer to him, he's been seeing this woman for a few weeks now.

view all commments

user please say sike rn

user NOOOOOOOOOO

user franco you had ONE JOB

user he really made f1twt freak out over nothing

user wait a damn minute- if they've been dating for weeks, does that mean he cheated on her with y/n????

user honestly i support that.

user or maybe y/n and franco really are just friends🤷‍♀️ they never confirmed anything

user y/n deserves better bye

user whys this making me mad, i need to touch grass i fear

yourusername posted a story

seen by francolapinto and 14,204 others

f1gossip

10,329 likes

f1gossip Following rumors about a love triangle with best friend, Franco Colapinto, Y/n has removed followers and gone private on all social medias.

Franco and his family were removed as followers as well.

view all comments

user so this basically confirms the rumors, franco is a two timer.

user she also blocked franco😭 shes no longer tagged on any of his posts

user how did we go from thinking they were dating to this...

user removing his family is crazyyyy considering she grew up with them but you do you girl

user i was one of the followers removed💔

user girl we were all removed, im gonna miss her💔

user imagine dropping your lifelong best friend for some random 30 year old woman i-

user poor girl, seems like she just wants to be left alone

f1gossip yup. this is probably our last post about her! the franco and y/n lore was fun while it lasted

🔒yourusername

liked by yourbff and 419 others

yourusername one last night in argentina🩵

view all comments

yourbff posting yourself drinking out of a wine glass then the next slide being a baby announcement is hilarious

yourusername OMG IT WAS JUST SPARKLING WATER I SWEAR!!

user STOP IM GONNA MISS U SO BAD

user wdym my favorite blonde and brunette duo are leaving me🥲

yourmom ya te extraño♥️ i already miss you

yourusername mamiii te visitare todo el tiempo🥹 ill visit you all the time

user this baby is gonna have the coolest mom ever <3

user motherhood already looks good on u baby

notes: i hit my image limit so ill end it here ig. also i just realized it sounds like im giving the reader a lesbian arc towards the end omg didnt mean to do that. anddd as always this is not proofread lol

#franco colapinto x reader #f1 x reader #franco colapinto #franco colapinto smau #fc43 x reader #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto fanfic #franco colapinto x you #f1 fanfic #fc43 #franco colapinto fluff

2K notes · View notes

vivwritesfics · 2 months ago

Text

"My Girlfriend Made It"

Its simple, really. Lando is wearing something his girlfriend made for him. (more of a blurb, rly)

In recent times, Lando Norris had become somewhat of a fashion guy on the grid. He dressed well, at the very least (looked absolutely smashing at the most).

But today was different.

Lando normally pulled off nice jeans and some kind of sweater-y type thing. But not today. The nice jeans were still there, he wore his usual necklace and sunglasses.

But his jumper.

What the fuck was his jumper?

Well, everybody knew what his jumper was. It was his helmet design on another medium. On a wooly, fuzzy medium.

It stayed on his body just long enough to end up on the F1 Instagram account (he had a mental note to ask the admin to tag the brand that had created it, he just hadn't gotten around to it yet), before he changed into his team kit. As nice as his jumper was, he was roasting.

But he laid it on the little sofa in his drivers room with so much care, like he thought it was going to unravel in his hands.

As soon as his new jumper was safely put away, he pulled his phone from his pocket and checked it.

my love 💖

YOU WORE IT!

Lando grinned as he typed out his reply. For the first time in a while, the woman he loved couldn't come to the grand prix with him. She was busy, her career was taking off, just as his was.

He was so damn proud of her.

It had taken so long, so many years of hard work. So many nights of her working through her tiredness until her work came sloppy and she started over again after a couple hours nap. Lando was beside her through it all, watching as she grew her brand, grew her business.

lan 🎀💕🎀💕

gonna get the instagram tagged

my love 💖

better talk about the brand in interviews 😤

Before this, Lando had nothing to do with promoting her brand. He did help, taking pictures of her work (the boyfriend on photographer duty, of course), moral support while she posted it. He helped her pick the colours of her work sometimes, and it either ended up gorgeous or fucking hideous.

The Lando jumper (not for sale, just something special she had made for the man she loved), was a labour of love. It took so much time, so much trial and error, but she was so proud of it.

Lando didn't have to wear it. She wasn't forcing him to wear it with the goal of promoting her brand; he was simply wearing it because he loved her, because he loved it.

He knew her text wasn't serious. Her serious texts never had emojis, were more than one sentence, and had punctuation. He didn't have to talk about her crochet and knit brand, but he was going to.

(It was inevitable that he was going to get asked about the jumper. It was bright and loud and it looked fantastic. He was going to get asked about it).

Five words. Five simple words. He'd been talking about the race weekend ahead, about their chances on track. But then those five little words were uttered.

"Tell us about the jumper."

There was a glint in his eye as he leaned in close to the microphone. "My girlfriend made it for me."

But that wasn't it. He kept talking, kept telling the world about her brand. Y/Nknitcro. The brand of Y/Ndoesart. He promoted the shit out of it, promoted the shit out of the little shop she'd had since they met, promoted the shit out of her social medias, promoted the shit for the brand she had ready to drop.

He was so damn proud of her, and he wanted the world to know it.

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris x you #ln4 #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader #lando norris fic

648 notes · View notes

casssmalefantasy · 2 months ago

Note

some hurt/comfort reader isn't a public figure so they keep their relationship private but it gets leaked and reader start receiving hate comments, paige feels guilty but reader says it's okay and she knew the risks when they stated dating

WE KNEW THE RISK - PAIGE BUECKERS X OC

I synopsis: your relationship wasn’t supposed to be anyone else’s business. not yet. not like this. but when the internet finds out you’re dating paige, the comments start rolling in—loud, cruel, and impossible to ignore.

I warnings: emotional distress, social media harassment, anxiety, crying, soft angst with comfort, established relationship, private relationship leaked

I word count: 1.4k

l author's note: thank you for the request 😋😋

──────────────────────

the thing is—you knew this could happen.

from the moment paige leaned against that sticky bar counter on campus last fall and asked for your number, that small warning bell went off in your chest. a whisper.

you know who she is. do you really want to do this?

but then she smiled like she already liked you, like your name was a secret she wanted to keep. and she was funny, and gentle, and warm in a way you weren’t used to. so you said yes.

and now here you are, four and a half months in, wearing her oversized uconn hoodie with your knees tucked to your chest in her bed, scrolling through comments that feel like they’re being carved into your skin.

“she’s not even cute wtf”

“paige bueckers dating a nobody is the most unrealistic thing i’ve ever seen”

“she’s using her. just watch.”

“this is why i don’t stan athletes. one taste of clout and they fumble.”

you shouldn’t have kept looking. you told yourself you wouldn’t.

you made your account private. muted everything. turned your phone face down.

but it’s still there.

in your chest. under your skin. like a weight you can’t push out.

—

it started earlier that day. aubrey posted a harmless video on her story—a day off energy, loud and messy and chaotic. but in the corner, you and paige were on the couch, barely visible, her hand on your thigh, your head resting against her chest.

someone screen recorded. zoomed in. posted it to twitter with “wait a damn minute…”

from there, it spread like wildfire. tiktok comments, message requests, people dissecting your instagram, tagging you, talking about how you look, how you dress, how you don’t seem like paige’s type.

you stayed silent.

you tried to act fine.

but your hands started shaking around 3pm.

and by the time she got home from practice, you were already in her bed—hood up, eyes wet, trying not to sob too loud into the hoodie that still smelled like her.

you hear the door open.

“baby?”

her voice is tired. not distant—just worn out.

you stiffen. don’t answer. maybe if you stay still, she’ll think you’re asleep.

but she knows you. she always knows.

the door clicks shut. her footsteps cross the room.

“hey,” she says, gentler now. “you okay?”

you don’t move.

a second later, the mattress dips beside you.

her hand finds your back—faint pressure, slow circles. “talk to me.”

you inhale. then turn.

your eyes meet hers. hers widen the second she sees your face.

“oh.” her hand freezes. “oh, baby. what happened?”

your voice breaks. “i—i made it private. i tried to stop it. i thought—”

you can’t even finish the sentence. your jaw clenches and your shoulders start shaking again.

paige slides in closer, wrapping her arm around your waist and pulling you against her chest. “what happened?” she asks again, quieter this time. “who did this?”

you hesitate. then, reluctantly, you reach for your phone.

you don’t say anything. you just tilt the screen toward her and let it speak.

her eyes flick over the messages. the comments. the zoomed-in screenshots of you two. the circle drawn around your face like you’re something to dissect. a few tweets with thousands of likes. one with your name trending underneath it.

“what the fuck,” she says under her breath. “what the actual fuck.”

you pull your phone back. your hands are shaking again. “it’s not just twitter. it’s everywhere.”

paige is quiet.

you don’t look at her.

instead, you say it before she can.

“i should’ve expected this.”

she flinches.

“this was gonna happen eventually,” you add, voice thinner now. “we knew the risk.”

she doesn’t say anything. not right away. not until you finally lift your head and glance at her.

she’s staring down at the bed. her jaw’s tight. her brows pulled together.

“…you really think you deserved this?”

your throat stings. “no. i just…”

you exhale, shaky. “i didn’t think it would hurt this bad. and i didn’t think you would feel bad about it.”

her eyes snap to yours.

you regret saying it. you don’t mean it like that.

but the truth is—it’s been sitting in your chest all day. not just the pain of the comments, but the guilt of knowing paige was never supposed to feel responsible for any of it.

and now, looking at her face, you know she does.

“…you think this is your fault,” you whisper.

she swallows. “it is my fault. you didn’t ask for any of this. i should’ve been more careful, i should’ve—”

her voice cracks, and she looks away, blinking fast.

you hate that this is what’s breaking her.

“paige.”

she shakes her head. “they’re attacking you because of me. i brought you into this. and now people who don’t even know you, are acting like they get to pick apart your face and your life just because—what? you love me?”

you don’t even think. you just move.

climb into her lap, arms around her neck, tucking your face into the side of hers.

she exhales like she’s been holding her breath for hours.

“this isn’t your fault,” you whisper. “you didn’t post that video. you didn’t make them say those things. and i don’t regret being with you. i’d do it again. even if i knew it would end like this.”

she tightens her arms around you. presses her lips to your temple.

“you shouldn’t have to say that,” she murmurs. “you shouldn’t have to defend us.”

you nod against her shoulder. “i know.”

she breathes in. slow. then again. her hands slide under your hoodie and settle at your waist.

“i just hate that this is the first time people found out about us,” she says quietly. “not because i’m embarrassed. but because i wanted it to be us. on our terms. not some grainy screenshot of you on my lap.”

you let out a laugh. it’s small and watery and real.

she pulls back just enough to look at you. tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“i hate that this hurt you,” she whispers.

you kiss her shoulder. “you didn’t hurt me.”

“but i hate that they did. and i can’t stop it.”

you don’t have an answer to that.

so you just rest your head against her again and let the silence speak for both of you.

you fall asleep like that. curled up in her lap, your tears dried into her hoodie, her arms wrapped around you like a promise.

she waits until your breathing evens out. until your hands go still. until your body settles.

then, slowly, carefully, she reaches for her phone.

she scrolls past the noise. the chaos. the speculation.

and she opens her camera roll.

there’s a picture from last month. one she never posted.

you’re sitting at a restaurant, chin in your hand, smiling at her like she’s the only person in the world who matters. the lighting’s warm. your eyes are soft.

it’s one of her favorite pictures of you.

she makes a quick photo dump. nothing flashy. some food, game flicks, a selfie from a photo shoot.

and then, at the end, the photo of you.

she hits post. watches it go up. watches the comments roll in again.

some good. some bad. but none of them know you the way she does.

then she opens twitter. types slow. deletes. tries again.

“nobody who sends hate to the people i love is a fan of me. period.”

she stares at it for a second.

then hits send.

when she finally puts her phone down and turns the light off, she wraps herself around you again.

and in the dark, she whispers it into your hair like a prayer.

“we’ll be okay.”

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #ncaa women’s basketball #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x black!reader #wlw #dallas wings #wnba x reader #wnba

613 notes · View notes

reidswrld · 6 months ago

Text

me & you together song.

❛ i’ve been in love with her for ages, and i can’t seem to get it right. ❜

spencer reid x reader.

summary: you’ve always assumed spencer reid’s love language was acts of service. flowers left at your desk. notes written only to you. every tuesday, he gave you your favorite bagel from downtown. you knew he was like this with the rest of the team, too. you didn’t sweat it. you were focused on your job, and your job only. but when multiple instances occur over the course of a case, it’s hard to ignore both of your feelings for each other.

tags: grumpy fem!character x sunshine!spencer reid, friends to lovers, everyone knows but them, the bau literally bets when they’ll get together, no use of y/n, afab character, found family if you squint hard enough, spencer’s obsessed with her but won’t admit it to the public (the public is morgan), based on me & you together song by the 1975 btw, i wrote this while eating a doritos loco taco

word count: 2k

notes: i asked my best friends to give me a character and a trope. happy first post!

When you first landed the job as an agent at the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, you first told yourself not to get too attached. This was a job, after all. A career. A high risk one, that could end in fatalities and wounds that might never heal, cuts that will always bleed for the rest of eternity. Once you made it clear to yourself that you were to be civil with your coworkers —close enough to be friendly, but not enough to go out for drinks on Saturday nights— and most important of all, do your job, and do it damn well, you poured yourself a glass of wine and watched the rest of the season of the sitcom you’ve been meaning to finish.

However, with all of the ups and downs your job gave you, it could not have allowed for you to expect the boisterous chaos that were your coworkers. They welcomed you in not only with open arms, but open minds. They respected your boundaries, your ideas, everything about you. Your attempt at remaining just civil became useless after months, but looking back, how could you have tried any longer? Penelope gave you a big kiss on the cheek every week, exclaiming that she loved your outfits and needed to go shopping with you right that minute. Morgan ruffled your hair whenever he brought you coffee (despite your incessant dismay that now you needed to brush it again). Hotch, though not a fan of public displays, would murmur a reassuring, you’re doing well every time he returned a file back to you. And then there was Reid.

Spencer Reid.

Well, what was there to say about him?

Over time, you’ve assumed that his love language must be acts of service. He brought you a bagel every week, sometimes more, from your favorite bagel shop downtown. Every Tuesday, a poppy seed bagel with extra plain cream cheese, extra toasted, cut in half so you could eat the middle dollop of cream cheese first. He made you mugs of tea whenever it grew past five pm because you told him that you had trouble falling asleep once months ago. Sometimes, small bouquets of wild grown flowers were left on your desk. At first, you thought it was Penelope being extra kind to you, or even Morgan playing a small joke on you. Both denied, but still giggled as you walked away. Whatever that meant. Behind your back, they secretly slipped each other five dollar bills.

You were sure he did the same for the rest of his coworkers, too. You’ve seen him refill coffee pots whenever Emily mentioned starting a new brew, and work extra hard on his reports in his free time to make sure Hotch or JJ didn’t stay too late. You were on the same page, anyway. Friends. Civil. It didn’t matter.

You huffed as you walked into the BAU, which was deemed more of a half jog, half marathon sprint. You hadn’t bothered to check the weather before leaving, and on the walk from the subway station to the office, it had started downpouring. The sudden drops of cold from the sky had caused you to drop your half empty cup of coffee, and you had forgotten to grab the breakfast you made yourself the night before in the fridge. Not even Harry Styles’ album blaring in your ears could have stopped you from turning the morning around. You grumbled simple good morning’s to everyone as you shook off your coat. Expecting to see your desk surrounded with papers that you were too tired to file in their intended drawers yesterday, you instead found a clean one; the papers were stashed in their designated places (in alphabetical order), the pens were compiled in the pouch you bought at Daiso years ago and cherished, even the trash under your desk was taken out. The only thing left to be seen on the wooden desk was a small brown bag that smelled of heaven and happiness and a folded piece of paper. You reached inside to find your usual poppy seed bagel the same as it always was. To make your Tuesday better. For you, always, the note read. You didn’t need to decipher whose scribbles those belonged to. You forgot it was Tuesday.

“Where’s my bagel, lover boy?” Morgan’s voice boomed as the man sat on top of your desk, snatching the bag with a grin. Spencer only swiftly passed by the desk with ease, choosing to make eye contact with the carpet.

“Good morning, Dr. Reid. Happy Tuesday.” Spencer’s eyes divert to yours quickly. He only nods, responding with the same greeting. Happy Tuesday, honey.

Morgan’s laugh carried throughout the room, swinging his legs as he spoke. “You two make me sick, that’s for sure. Can I have some of your bagel?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You furrowed your brow in annoyance, which only made Morgan smile widely.

“Do you need to get your glasses checked again? You know, there’s an optometrist across the street—”

As you started to speak, Hotch walked from his office, announcing a new case and to meet in the room immediately. You got up swiftly, grabbing your bagel from Morgan’s hands with a muttered asshole falling from your lips. It only made Morgan cackle loudly. You remind yourself to write a psych evaluation on Morgan after the case is over with.

On the first day of the case, you realized it was going to be a more difficult one than usual. You didn’t panic. You never do. The second day, you worked harder than ever only to see little to no result. You continued not to sleep. It was like clockwork. Work, coffee, repeat. After three days, the case was far from settled. In fact, it seemed to only be getting worse with no ending in sight. Everyone was continuing to work in hopes that they would be home for the weekend. The fourth day, though, seemed to be the worst. The killer was getting more spontaneous with their kills, and the team seemed to keep showing up minutes after the kill had occurred. You were running on little to no sleep and were getting more frustrated with each move the killer made in silence. Near the end of the day, as you stared aimlessly at the wall in front of you, hoping it would make some sort of answer appear in front of your eyes, Hotch put a hand on your shoulder, You jumped slightly, trance be gone, when he told you to get back to the hotel immediately.

Immediately, you persisted. “I’m fine. I’ve almost got something. I’m sure of something.”

“I’m not asking you.”

“Hotch—”

“I’m ordering you, not only as your boss, but mostly as your friend. Your dark circles are getting concerning.” You tried to budge once more, but as Hotch gave one of his stern glares, you knew you were done with work for the day. “I’ll get someone to drive you back. Wait here.”

Within seconds, Spencer appeared, replacing the previous figure of Hotch. Gently tapping your shoulder, he signaled for you to get up. With a flick of a wrist and a soft grin, he spun around a set of keys around his fingers. “Hotch is letting me drive.”

You smiled. “Don’t want Morgan to ‘vibe it?’”

“His definition of ‘vibing it’ is just turning on the sirens when he doesn’t want to stop at a red light.” You walked side by side to the car. Your shoulders brushed ever so slightly due to Spencer’s hands in his pockets, but you didn’t mind. You welcomed the warmth.

“Your definition is turning the volume up to 13 and calling it loud.”

“I would like to be able to hear when I’m old, thank you very much. Any decibel over eighty and poof. Hearing. Out the window.”

“I really don’t think playing Queen at any volume above 13 will kill you, Spence.”

“You never know, honey.” Spencer opened the door for you, ushering you in before closing the door and getting in on the driver’s side. He pulled a cassette tape from his bag and pushed it in the radio; it started to softly play Queen while Spencer messed with the volume, setting it at 13 before driving away. It made a soft smile appear on your lips as your head leaned against the cool glass. Between the constant, soothing movement of the car or the way Spencer’s lips mouthed the lyrics of Good Old Fashioned Boy, it was hard to tell when the lines blurred and sleep drifted you away. The only thing you recognized before falling asleep were the unmistakable words that left Spencer’s mouth.

“Good night, honey. Love you.”

You woke up with a start the next morning. You had no idea how you got back into your hotel room, or how you were wearing your favorite sports shirt that you find comfort in sleeping in all of these years, though your mind directed each question back to the same person, of course. Your mind wandered to the night before; it was the most relaxed you had been all week, even if it was just the simple act of driving with Spencer. You had done it before in past cases —even driven him back to his hotel at times— but this time felt different. Maybe it was the words that left his mouth.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” Spencer suddenly walked in, holding bags in his arms. He set them down on the table, pulling out various assortments of breakfast foods and handing them to you. “No bagel shops around here, but I did find some good pancakes if you want to eat now.”

“Spence.” You suddenly sat up straight, as if a revelation hit you.

“What? No pancakes? It came with hashbrowns, too.”

“Spencer.” You emphasized, getting him to look at you.

“Yeah?”

“Why do you do all of this for me?”

“What?” His head cocked to the side, not understanding.

“Why do you… I mean… you go out of your way to do things for me. Unnecessary things. I need to know why.”

“Unnecessary…?”

“You… you leave me flowers that are like, hand picked from a garden or the forest, or something not from the city. You clean my desk for me when I’ve left it too messy. You make me my favorite tea when I’m at the office too late. You write me notes that are alluding but you won’t say what. I mean, Spence, you get me my favorite bagel every Tuesday. Why?”

His face suddenly turned serious as he sat next to you on the bed. “You want to know why?” He repeated.

“I know you do these things for the rest of our team, but I just, I just don’t get it.”

“Because I’m in love with you.” Spencer stared at you. “I’ve been in love with you. I think I’ll always be at least a little in love with you, if I’m being honest. I thought you’d catch on by now.”

“…What?”

“Yeah, honey. I thought I was pretty obvious.”

“So you meant what you said last night, then?” You said softly.

“I didn’t mean for you to hear that. Really. I would’ve said it better if I had known you were awake.”

“But I did.” Your face grew closer to his. “And I’m not upset about it. Because I’m in love with you, too.”

Just as your lips began to brush, Spencer began to smile. “You know what day it is, honey? It’s our day.”

You smiled, too. “Happy Tuesday.”

You both tried to be subtle about it for the rest of the case. Weeks had passed by without the team knowing, but one slip up of a kiss on the cheek from Spencer on a Tuesday morning had led to an entire office full of chaos (and a meeting on workplace romance and consent from Hotch). You two didn’t mind, though. It was bound to happen. Until Penelope turned to Morgan and yelled at him to cough up the fifty dollars he owed her, of course.

Happy Tuesday.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #lots of fluff #x reader #fanfiction #found family #grumpy sunshine

947 notes · View notes

lotus-n-l0ve · 24 days ago

Text

CHAPTER 3

— Onychinus Leader!Sylus Qin X Mother! Female Reader

She Ran To Protect Their Child. He Built A Kingdom To Bring Them Home.・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

*⁠.⁠✧ SYNOPSIS : She was the daughter of his enemy. He was the king of a criminal empire. They fell in love, but when she found out she was pregnant, she vanished-fearing the life their child would inherit. Seven years later, Sylus finds her. And he's not here for revenge. He's here to take back what's his.

*⁠.⁠✧ WARNINGS & TAGS : Dad! Sylus, mom!reader, mafia, rivalry, second chance, secret baby, exes, time skip, past lovers, alternate universe, break in, angst, fluff, romance, love, mature language, stalking, threats, run away! y/n, mentions of pregnancy, blood, gore, dark romance, lovers to strangers, enemies to lovers, their daughter Elea, kiss, break in 9.2k words.

*⁠.⁠✧ LOTUS NOTE : Took me so long to write this chapter. Assignments burnt me out tbh 😭 Tumblr did it again. Posted without my consent. Honestly, I don't have the time to copy paste, organize and edit again so this chapter is shorter than the previous one 😮‍💨

*⁠.⁠✧— NAVIGATION // LOVE & DEEPSPACE MASTERLIST

➥ KISSED IN POISON : THE SERIES

➥ CHAPTER 1 // CHAPTER 2 // CHAPTER 3 // CHAPTER 4 // CHAPTER 5 // CHAPTER 6

➥ Heart Divider's By @/cafekitsune

DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE. MINORS DNI, IF YOU DO THEN IT'S YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY.・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

[PRESENT TIME, LINKON CITY]

Sylus is a dog. A mad dog. It all started this morning.

He moved in — or rather, invaded — in that flashy black car of his, the engine purring loud enough to turn every head on your street. He didn’t even pretend to be subtle. No, Sylus Qin made damn sure every nosy neighbour, every early jogger, and every curtain-twitcher knew exactly who he was.

He leaned one arm on the open car door, sunglasses perched low on his nose, lips curled in that smug, territorial grin of his as he caught Mrs. Young from next door peeking through her blinds. He didn’t just unload his bags — he practically marked his territory right there on your front lawn.

You hissed under your breath, arms crossed tight over your chest, “Sylus, can you not announce it to the entire postal code?”

He just tilted his head, mouth brushing the shell of your ear.

“Sweetheart, let them know now — so they don’t get any funny ideas later.”

You could only roll your eyes. You have met five drama queens in your whole life — Sylus was four of them. The fifth one was Rafayel, Elea's arts teacher, who’d probably be next on Sylus’s hit list if he so much as smiled Elea's way again.

Ignoring your annoyance, Sylus took out a large trolley bag out of the dickie. Wanna guess the colour? The same soft pink as the Tulips he gave Elea. Of course, your that mad dog of a man — ruthless, possessive, all shadows and knives — was dragging a pastel pink suitcase up your front steps like it was just another day in paradise.

Sylus left the suitcase by the sofa, giving it a dismissive kick into place before his eyes swept over the living room — like he was already hunting for something. He pivoted back to you, brows lifted, mouth quirking in faint annoyance.

“Where’s my baby?” He asked, voice all soft and dangerous like he was about to rip the walls apart if she didn’t appear in the next breath.

“Elea already left for school.” You said, arms crossing as you braced for the dramatics.

Sylus’s eyes narrowed behind those stupidly expensive sunglasses, his head tipping to one side, “What? Elea’s school starts at 8:30. It’s barely seven.”

You blinked. Did he really memorize her entire schedule? A sigh slipped past your lips before you could swallow it down. Why am I even surprised…

“They’re doing a field day today.” You explained, flicking his forehead lightly as you stepped past him, “So she went early with the teachers.”

Sylus’s head snapped back to you so fast you almost heard something crack.

“What? Why didn’t you tell me before?” His voice dropped into that deep, accusing rumble — like you’d hidden classified intel from him instead of, you know, letting his child go play tug-of-war with her friends.

“I didn’t even get to see my baby off.” He added, his hand sweeping through his hair like the drama king he was.

You swear you could see the faintest ghost of a pout trying to form on his mouth — a pout. Sylus Qin, the infamous leader of Onychinus, the entire underworld flinched to stood in front of — looking like he was about to sulk because his daughter left before he got here.

You raised both brows at him, arms folded, “She’ll be back in a few hours, mad dog.”

Sylus’s scowl only deepened, his mouth pulling tight like he was two seconds away from tearing the front door clean off its hinges and sprinting down the street after the kindergarten bus.

“That’s not the point.” He bit out, pacing a slow, restless line behind the couch, “She cried so much last night. You know that, right? I wanted to stay so bad — if not for that rat.”

You blinked at him, folding your arms, eyebrows shooting up, “Rat?”

“Nothing.” He said, voice clipped. Then, just like that, he cut his eyes to you — and the switch flipped, all that snarling protective edge slipping into something smug, dangerous, annoyingly charming.

“Anyway.” He drawled, stepping closer, crowding your space like he always did when he wanted to win an argument by sheer proximity, “What's for breakfast?”

You blinked up at him, “Excuse me?”

Sylus’s eyes glinted — that wolfish tilt of his lips said he was already three steps ahead of whatever protest you were about to make. He leaned in, one arm braced on the back of the couch behind you, boxing you in like he owned the air you were breathing.

“Breakfast.” He repeated, voice low and warm, like he was making you an indecent offer instead of a perfectly normal question, “You know — the meal a devoted wife makes for her hardworking man?”

You snorted, “Devoted wife? In what twisted fantasy are you living, Sylus?”

He just hummed, nose brushing your temple, “The one where you feed me before I starve to death in your kitchen. Or… are you offering something else to keep me full?”

You swatted at his chest — but he caught your wrist midair, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles, eyes glinting mischief and heat all at once.

You jabbed a finger into his chest, voice dripping with exasperated sweetness.

“I’m not your wife, Sylus. The only reason I’m putting up with you is Elea. Remember that.”

His eyes glinted, the corner of his mouth twitching like you’d just handed him his favourite toy, “Mmm. Sure, sweetheart. You are not my wife. Yet.”

Before you could fire back, he dipped in closer — so close you could feel the smug laughter rumble through his chest as he nipped your earlobe.

“Lucky for me, Elea wants me here forever. So… better start practising that ‘husband’ word.”

You shoved him away with a huff, but your pulse was already traitorously fast. Sylus just laughed, backing you up toward the kitchen like a big, smug shadow you’d never shake.

“Now, come on.” He teased, brushing past you to fling your fridge open like he owned it, “Be a good fake wife and feed your starving man, hm?”

You crossed your arms tighter, jabbing your chin toward the kitchen, “The kitchen is right there, Sylus. Go make it yourself. I have work to get to.”

His grin widened — that slow, dangerous curl that always made your stomach flip even when you wanted to smack him. He cocked his head, leaning just close enough for you to smell that infuriating cologne.

“Oh? So heartless. Sending the poor man who moved mountains just to be with his family to starve on his first morning?” He clicked his tongue, mock disappointment dripping from every word.

You just raised your brows, “You moved a trolley bag. Congratulations, Hercules.”

He laughed, low and warm, then reached past you like he might cage you against the counter — but at the last second, he plucked a mug off the shelf instead.

“Fine. But next time, sweetheart, I expect pancakes. Or I’ll eat you instead.”

You smacked his arm with a dishtowel, ignoring the way your heart was hammering, “Get out of my way, Sylus.”

“Try and make me.” His grin was pure devil.

It was hard — getting Sylus off your back. Like trying to shake off a big, smug, six-foot-two barnacle with a criminal empire and an ego the size of Linkon City. But in the end, you managed to slip out the door, leaving him with nothing but his pastel-pink suitcase and a fridge he was perfectly capable of raiding himself.

You had bigger things to handle today anyway. Like convincing the Hunter’s Association to let you work from home for a while — because like hell you were going to leave Elea alone with that mad dog unsupervised. Not yet. Not when you still didn’t know exactly what went on inside that thick skull of his, behind that easy grin and those predator eyes.

Sylus Qin could play house all he wanted — but you weren’t stupid enough to forget who he really was and what went down seven years ago. And no matter how many pink suitcases he dragged through your door, you’d be damned if you let your guard down completely. Not when you had Elea to protect. Nothing was worth risking Elea.

Asshole.

A word you’d proudly dedicate to your boss. That man knew exactly how to dig under your skin, flick every last nerve raw, and then sit back and watch you twitch for his own amusement. He hadn’t even bothered to look up from his paperwork when you stepped into his office that morning.

You’d tried — you really had — to explain it calmly. The need to work from home for a few weeks. You’d laid it out like a rational adult: your daughter’s daycare was closing for renovations, so you needed to be remote for a while.

Your boss, though? He’d barely glanced up from his precious stack of files.

“Work from home? What for? So you can slack off in your pyjamas all day? I know your type.”

Your type.

You’d almost vaulted over his desk right then and there.

Instead, you bit down so hard on your tongue you tasted copper while he shooed you out with some half-baked lecture about “discipline” and “face-to-face accountability.” Before you could say something that would definitely get you fired, you turned on your heel and stormed out of that office like your shoes were on fire.

The door slammed behind you.

“Asshole.” You muttered under your breath, “May every cup of coffee he ever drinks be lukewarm for the rest of his miserable life. May his ancestors rise from their graves just to smack him upside the—”

“Whoa, whoa — who died?”

You skidded to a halt, nearly crashing into a familiar figure just outside the strategy wing. Jenna. Leader of UNICORNS — the Hunter’s Association’s fiercest elite unit. Perfect posture and that signature half-smile that said she’d heard every last word.

“Jenna…” You breathed out like a prayer, then scowled, “My boss is a—”

“Asshole?” She arched an eyebrow, “That's old news. Tell me something new.”

You deflated, shoulders sagging, “I just… I asked to work from home for a bit. Elea’s daycare is closed for renovations, so I needed to stay home. He shot me down so fast I nearly—”

“He did what?” Jenna’s tone went razor-sharp, “You’ve been carrying this branch for how long? No infractions, overtime banked for weeks, and he won't grant you one short WFH stint?”

Your mouth popped open, “Well… yeah. That’s exactly it.”

She gave you that feral smile that had made rogue wanderers cry for mercy more than once, “Consider it done. You’re remote for two weeks — minimum. If your boss has a problem, he can take it up with me.”

Relief — thick and grateful — bloomed under your ribs, “You’re an—”

“Don’t say angel.” Jenna cut in, rolling her eyes, “I’m no angel. I’m a hunter. Now get out of here before he drags you back into his bullshit.”

You ran back to your desk like the boss's office was on fire — which, in your head, it practically was. You didn’t even bother glancing back at your boss’s door, half-expecting him to come stomping after you with another “face-to-face accountability” sermon.

You fumbled for your phone with half-numb fingers, silently praying Sylus hadn’t turned your living room into his new throne room yet. Just then, the screen lit up with the one number you hadn’t even bothered saving.

Sylus.

You stared at it for half a second, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, before you swiped to answer.

“Hello?”

His voice came through warm, velvet-dark and smug enough to crawl straight under your skin.

“Sweetheart. When is my sweetheart coming home?”

“Elea will be back by 5 o'clock. Her school bus will drop her off.”

“Good to know.” He cut in smoothly, his tone dipping into that playful, dangerous rumble that made you want to strangle him and melt for him all at once, “But I’m not asking about my baby. I’m asking about my sweetheart. When will she be home?”

Your breath hitched. You hated that it hitched, “Sylus…”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

You shut your eyes, fighting the heat in your cheeks, “Stop.”

He chuckled — low, pleased, like he could hear every bit of your resolve slipping through the line.

“Can’t. I missed you. Now tell me — should I come pick you up? Or will you come running back to me on your own before I turn your living room into a bird's nest?”

You pressed your thumb to your temple, squeezing your eyes shut for a beat. Focus. Do not fall for this. Not again.

“I won’t be back until three.” You said finally, trying to keep your voice flat, unaffected. But of course, he caught the slip — that faint waver when you said back — and you could practically hear his grin stretch wider through the line.

He hummed low, the sound brushing heat across your skin despite the bitter morning air, “Mmm. Three. That’s so far away, sweetheart. How am I going to survive till then?”

You forced a dry laugh, biting back the dangerous flutter in your chest. Don’t give him an inch.

“You’ll survive just fine. Try using that big, terrifying brain for something other than—” You bit your tongue before the rest could slip out like a secret.

“Other than what, sweetheart?” He purred, his voice a warm, lazy curl around your pulse, “Go on. Be honest. You know how I love your honesty.”

Your eyes snapped open, gaze darting around the parking lot like he might somehow be leaning against your car door — sunglasses low, smile sharp enough to cut you open.

“Other than driving me insane,” You snapped, yanking your bag higher on your shoulder, “Try washing the dishes. Or, I don’t know — folding your own damn laundry for once. Did you even unpack yet?”

He gave a soft, mocking gasp, “You wound me. First, you abandon me, and now you insult me?”

“Abandon—?” You sputtered, throat tightening, “I didn’t—”

The silence on the line felt like a bruise spreading under your ribs. You almost forgot how sharp his words could be when he wanted to remind you who you were — who he was.

“That’s not—” You began, but the words died on your tongue.

What would you even say? I did what I had to do? You deserved it? None of it would matter. None of it would change that look in his eyes when he first found you again — part hunger, part accusation, part something you were too afraid to name.

“Anyway.” He said suddenly, tone shifting so fast you nearly stumbled. That bright, taunting sweetness was back in a heartbeat, smoothing over the crackling static between you, “You’ll be back at three. I’ll be waiting.”

“Sylus—”

He laughed — soft and pleased — and you could almost see that wolfish grin behind your eyelids.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll keep the house nice and warm for you.”

The line clicked dead. You stared at your phone like it might bite you — your heartbeat a traitorous drum in your ears.

[8 YEARS & 7 MONTHS AGO, CHANSIA CITY]

You’d long since lost count of how many nights you’d sneaked out of that cage you called home. Before, your destination had always been the library — its warm, hushed corners where no one could find you — or the tiny market two blocks away where you’d linger over fresh bread and cheap flowers, pretending, just for a moment, that you belonged to yourself.

But now? Now you had somewhere else to go. Somewhere that felt like hope stitched into four walls.

A cozy little apartment, right across from the library — the one Sylus bought just for you. A place you could run to in the dead of night, curl up safe in his arms, and pretend the world outside didn’t exist for a few stolen hours.

He called it your escape zone — like it was a secret between just the two of you. Sometimes, you’d slip in to find him already there, stretched out on the gray sofa with his shirt half-undone, papers scattered across the coffee table like fallen leaves. He’d glance up, that lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, and just like that, every piece of you that felt frayed would knit itself back together.

But there were rare nights — precious ones — when you got there first. Nights when you could greet him at the door with a shy smile — a hug that lingered a beat too long, a kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth just to see his eyes darken like a storm rolling in.

Tonight was one of those nights.

You’d stopped by the little market two blocks down, basket swinging from your wrist, pockets stuffed with whatever your coins could buy — eggs, fresh bread, a handful of tulips bruised at the edges but beautiful all the same. You wanted to surprise him. Do something small. Something normal. Something that made you feel like this fragile thing between you could really be yours to keep.

By the time you got to the apartment, your fingers were numb from the chill. You juggled the grocery bag on your hip as you slipped the key into the lock — heart fluttering when you found the lights still off. He wasn’t here yet. Perfect.

You padded inside, kicking off your shoes. The room smelled like him — warm leather and aftershave and that faint metallic tang you could never quite place. You pushed that thought away, humming under your breath as you unpacked your little treasures: the greens, the eggs, a tiny jar of honey.

He’d stocked the fridge with everything you could possibly need, of course. Top-shelf wine, expensive cheeses, organic herbs. But you’d gone out anyway — just to feel normal, just to feel like you could still do something for him.

You’d even splurged — spent the last of your coins on a small bouquet of white roses, each bloom so pale they looked carved from moonlight. Tiny sprays of baby’s breath nestled between the petals — fragile and fleeting. White roses always reminded you of Sylus — on the surface, all restrained grace and cold beauty, but you knew better: every soft petal hid thorns sharp enough to draw blood. Just like him — a promise of devotion that could protect you… or ruin you, if you weren’t careful.

You’d changed into one of Sylus’s sweaters — a big, warm, black thing that hung off one shoulder and smelled just like him. The sleeves draped halfway over your hands as you moved around the kitchen, humming along to the quiet music playing off your phone.

The lasagna bubbled away in the oven, filling the air with warmth and garlic and the kind of comfort you could never find in that cold house you called home. You were just mixing the side salad, swaying a little in time with the music, when you heard it — the faint click and rattle of the front doorknob.

You nearly knocked over the salt shaker in your rush to wipe your hands on a dish towel. Your feet carried you to the entryway before you could even think.

And there he was. Sylus, standing in the open doorway like he’d stepped out of one of your midnight dreams — coat hanging loose, hair tousled from the wind, eyes finding you the second he crossed the threshold.

You didn’t wait. You launched yourself at him, arms looping around his neck so fast you heard his low laugh rumble against your ear. His hands caught you easily, one braced under your thighs as you wrapped your legs around his waist like you’d done this a thousand times — like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He murmured, voice muffled as he pressed his nose into your hair, “Missed me that much, huh?”

You mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like shut up but he just chuckled, walking you back inside without ever putting you down. The door thunked shut behind him, sealing you back into this small world that belonged to nobody but the two of you.

His hand slipped up under the hem of his own sweater — your sweater now — fingers brushing your bare waist like he was reminding himself you were really here, warm and soft in his arms. He carried you the few steps to the wall by the hallway, your back pressing against the cool plaster.

“Say it.” He murmured, voice dark silk as his breath fanned your cheek.

“Say what?” You breathed, pretending not to know, but your fingers were already tugging at the hair at his nape, urging him closer.

“That you missed me.”

You let out a soft huff — half a laugh, half a curse — and rolled your eyes just to be difficult, “Shut up—”

“Not good enough.”

And then he kissed you.

Not soft. Not sweet. He kissed you like he was starving for you — like he’d tear the world apart with his teeth just to taste you again. Your back thudded harder into the wall when he pressed closer, hips slotting against yours like they were carved to fit there.

You gasped against his mouth and he swallowed it whole, lips dragging down to your jaw, your neck, biting just enough to make you whimper before he surged back up to claim your mouth again.

It was messy. Desperate. All teeth and tangled tongues and the faint, sweet taste of the honey you’d dipped your finger in just before he arrived. One of your hands fisted in his coat, the other scrabbling at the hem of his shirt like you needed more skin, now.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless — your lips swollen, his mouth pink and glistening like sin. His thumb brushed your cheek, eyes so dark they were nearly black in the low light.

“Fuck, sweetheart…” He rasped, forehead pressing to yours, “Keep looking at me like that, and I'm not letting you leave tonight.”

A soft laugh bubbled up in your throat, breathless and a little shaky as your fingertips traced the line of his jaw.

“Good.” You whispered, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth, “Because I wasn’t planning on leaving.”

He stilled — you felt it, the way his whole body went taut, that carefully leashed wolf under his skin going deadly quiet. His eyes flicked over your face like he was trying to memorize every word, every twitch of your smile.

“What?” His voice was low, cautious, like he was afraid to break whatever spell you’d just woven.

You ducked your head, the heat in your cheeks warming you more than the oven in the kitchen.

“My father’s out of town for the week.” You murmured, fingers playing with the soft hair at the nape of his neck, “And my brother couldn’t care less where I am — or if I’m even alive, really.”

You felt him tense again, a dangerous glint flashing behind his eyes at the mention of your family. But you pressed a finger to his lips before he could snarl something you’d both regret.

“If — if — anyone bothers to wonder where I am, Sara will cover for me. She always does.”

A grin — wicked and boyish and entirely Sylus — broke across his lips. He nipped at your fingertip, catching it between his teeth before pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“So…” He drawled, leaning in, nose brushing yours, “what you’re telling me is… you’re all mine tonight.”

Your laugh turned into a soft gasp when he pressed you tighter against the wall, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs.

“And tomorrow.” You breathed, kissing the tip of his nose, “And the day after that.”

A low rumble of approval vibrated in his chest, “Careful, sweetheart. Keep saying things like that and I’ll keep you here forever.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, giggling into the fabric of his coat, your laughter muffled against the scent of him — leather, musk, and that sharp edge that was all Sylus. For one perfect second, the rest of the world felt like it didn’t exist at all.

You pulled back just enough to press your lips to the corner of his mouth, your fingers tracing the collar of his shirt.

“Go freshen up.” You murmured, brushing a bit of imaginary lint from his chest, “Dinner will be ready soon… and I got you something.”

His brows arched, amusement flickering in those crimson eyes as they flitted to the grocery bag still half-unpacked on the counter.

“Something for me?” He echoed, the grin curling slow and dangerous over his mouth. He leaned in, the tip of his nose brushing yours again — a gentle tease that made your stomach flip, “You’ll spoil me, kitten.”

You huffed, giving him a playful shove on the chest that didn’t budge him an inch, “Spoil you? Hardly. Now go — before you charm me into forgetting the lasagna and burning it to ash.”

He chuckled — a low, pleased rumble in his chest that you felt more than heard — before pressing one last, soft kiss to your temple.

“Yes, ma’am.” He murmured, voice dropping into that smooth, obedient lilt that made your heart stutter, “Don’t take too long, hmm? I don’t like waiting for my rewards.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin as you watched him saunter off toward the small bathroom down the hall, peeling off his coat and tossing it carelessly over the back of a chair.

You turned back to the kitchen, a soft hum slipping past your lips as you checked the oven. A little longer — just enough time to set the table, light the cheap candle you’d snagged from the market, and tuck the small bouquet of white roses into a jar on the counter.

Something normal. Something yours. Something that felt like hope.

[PRESENT TIME, LINKON CITY]

It was already half past three by the time you were driving home. God knew what kind of tantrum Sylus would throw when you got back. Sylus — you still couldn’t figure him out. To an outsider, he looked like the perfect husband and father. And while you didn’t disagree with the father part — not when it came to Elea — husband? That was another story altogether.

Sylus was your whole world once. You never doubted he would have set the world ablaze for you — made it rain in the middle of the Sahara if you’d only asked. Back then, every soft touch, every stolen night in that little apartment, every promise whispered against your lips made you believe he was your Prince Charming. The kind you read about in secret under your blanket — the kind who’d love you so fiercely nothing could touch you.

But that was the lie you clung to when you didn’t know better. Because at the end of the day, you were nothing but a pawn to him. Just his enemy’s daughter — a pretty piece on his chessboard, a means to an end, while he was your whole life. It was stupid. So stupid — but you’d loved him with every bruised piece of your heart, even when it cost you everything.

The blood, the fear, the betrayal — you’d paid for every moment you let yourself believe that fairytale. You couldn’t afford to do that again. Not now. Not when you had more to lose than just your own heart.

Because Sylus Qin was still the same man underneath all those soft words and easy smiles. A cold-blooded mob leader, ruthless and unrepentant — willing to break the world and you right along with it if it got him what he wanted.

And you’d be damned if you let yourself fall for that sweet poison twice.

You let out a slow, shaky breath and forced your hands to steady on the wheel. Just keep driving. Get home.

But the hairs at the back of your neck wouldn’t lie flat. A flicker in the mirror made your pulse spike. A dark car — unfamiliar, a little too close, keeping just enough distance to look innocent.

You told yourself you were being paranoid. Sylus’s shadow always had a way of crawling up your spine — seeing threats where there were none. Still… you needed to be sure.

You turned off your usual route, taking a winding back road through an old neighborhood. No reason for anyone to follow you there — not unless they were actually following you. You checked the mirror again. There it was — still behind you. Tight in your lane, slowing when you slowed.

Your heart drummed hard against your ribs. You took another random turn — then another. The car stayed with you like a ghost, its headlights a cold promise in the rearview.

But just as your skin started to crawl for real — just when you reached for your phone, thumb hovering over Jenna’s name — the car suddenly veered off down a side street. Gone. You forced out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. Maybe you really were imagining things. Or maybe you’d just gotten lucky.

You barely managed a shaky exhale, fingers still clenched white-knuckled around the wheel, when your phone lit up again — that same unsaved number that made your pulse skip for an entirely different reason. Sylus. Of course.

Your thumb hovered over the screen. You could almost picture him now — that careless grin carved across his mouth like a threat and a promise all at once. He always called at the worst possible time — like he could smell the crack in your armor through the line.

You answered on the second ring, voice rough at the edges, “What now, Sylus?”

He didn’t bother with a greeting. Just that one word, careful and too knowing, “You sound… wrong. What happened?”

Your fingers tightened around the wheel. Damn him for hearing it in your voice — the panic, the suspicion you were still trying to swallow down.

“Nothing. Just… traffic.” You forced a scoff into your tone, “Why? Don’t pretend to care. What is it, Sylus? I'm driving.”

Silence pulsed on the line. You pictured that glint in his eyes — the one that always made you feel like he was peeling your ribs open, looking for the parts of you that still belonged to him.

Then, like a switch flicked, his voice dipped into that sickeningly warm purr that always made your traitor heart skip.

“Mmm. If you say so.” You heard a crayon roll across the floor, “You know, I was thinking… maybe I should pick up my little angel today. Give you a break, sweetheart.”

A bitter laugh slipped out before you could stop it, “Don’t start. You’re not on her school’s pick-up list. And you won’t be. Not yet.”

He let out a soft, dramatic sigh — you hated how you could hear the smile behind it.

“So cruel. You’d keep me away from my baby girl? I’m here, moving to a whole new city — for you. For her.”

You bit down on the ugly knot in your throat. You hated him — you wanted to hate him. And yet some treacherous warmth still prickled under your ribs, stupid and soft.

“Don’t act like this is for me.” You snapped, cutting him off, “This is for Elea. It’s always for Elea.”

A pause. Then that dangerous, lazy laugh that made your skin crawl and ache at the same time.

“Of course, sweetheart. For Elea.” He drawled, “Drive safe. Wouldn’t want you getting all worked up when I’m not there to calm you down.”

You hung up before he could say more, jamming your thumb against the screen so hard it almost cracked. You wanted to hate him. God, you needed to. But your stupid heart…It never listened.

By the time dusk draped itself over the house like a velvet blanket, you were just bone-tired. Whatever tension lingered from the afternoon was buried under Elea’s chatter, the soft clink of plates, and the strange domestic calm that settled around the dinner table.

Sylus had insisted on helping you finish up dinner — if you could call leaning against the counter, watching you with that infuriating half-smile helping. But you’d let it be. For Elea’s sake.

Now the three of you sat together like the world hadn’t ended seven years ago. Like he hadn’t broken you so thoroughly that you still found splinters in your chest every time he smiled at you like this — warm, doting, and too close.

Elea kicked her tiny feet under the table, swinging them as she stuffed another spoonful of mashed potatoes into her mouth. Her pink tulip hair clip bobbed with every bite. You’d just taken a sip of your water, finally letting your shoulders relax for the first time that day.

That was your first mistake.

“Mommy?” Elea piped up, voice all sugar and bedtime sleepiness. She dropped her spoon and pressed her little hands together like she was about to make a wish.

“Hmm? Slow down, baby. You’ll choke.” You leaned over to wipe her mouth, but she caught your wrist in her tiny grip.

“When can I sleep with you and daddy?”

You choked — the water hit the wrong pipe and you coughed so hard you saw stars. Sylus, the bastard, didn’t even hide his grin. You could feel his eyes slide over to you, slow and deliberate, like a hand slipping up your bare spine.

“Lea,” You croaked, pressing your napkin to your lips, “What… what do you mean, sweetheart?”

Sylus leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, watching you struggle like it was his favorite sport. He tilted his head toward Elea, voice so soft you wanted to smack him.

“Yeah, baby. Tell mommy what you mean.” He was smirking. You could hear it. Feel it.

Elea beamed, “Back at school, Becky says she sleeps with her mommy and daddy in their big bed all the time. I want that too! I wanna sleep with my mommy and daddy.”

You opened your mouth, closed it, then glared at Sylus like you could set him on fire with your eyeballs alone. He just raised his brows at you, like he’d been handed a gift.

“See?” He murmured, reaching out to tap his fingertip under Elea’s chin, “Our little angel wants what she wants. You gonna say no to her, sweetheart?”

Your throat burned from the coughing, “Elea, baby, our bed isn’t… it’s just…”

Your daughter’s lower lip wobbled, eyes huge and watery, “Please? Pretty please? We can all cuddle! And daddy can tell stories — the scary ones with the dragons.”

You shot Sylus a look. Don’t you dare encourage this. But he only shrugged, eyes glinting like a wolf who’d found a hole in the fence.

“Well, mommy?” He asked, voice velvet-smooth as he leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm, “You heard her. Are you really gonna break her little heart?”

Your whole chest squeezed — with exasperation, fear, and that dangerous warmth that came crawling back every time he did this. You hated how easily he slipped into that empty space beside you. How he made you want things you’d already lost.

You drew a shaky breath, looking at Elea’s bright, pleading eyes.

“Fine.” You sighed, pushing your plate away, “But just tonight. One night.”

Elea squealed, clapping her hands together, “Yay! Best day ever!”

Sylus’s smug grin didn’t fade for the rest of dinner. Every so often, he’d brush his knee against yours under the table — so fleeting you almost thought you imagined it.

It was bedtime now — or at least, that sweet pocket of quiet right before it. The house was calm, the dishes done, the soft patter of the shower running in the background. Sylus had disappeared into the washroom ten minutes ago to clean up, and you were half-tempted to lock the door behind him just to buy yourself some peace.

You sat cross-legged on the bed, Elea giggling in your lap as you helped her wiggle into her favorite bunny pajamas. The tiny ones with the floppy ears on the hood that made her look like an escapee from a fairytale.

Your mind, traitorous as ever, drifted to Sylus — that sly fox. You could feel him seeping into every corner of your life again. His crisp shirts now hung on your side of the closet, his toothbrush sat snug in the washroom container right between yours and Elea’s, his phone rested on the nightstand like it had every right to be there.

You huffed out a half-laugh, brushing Elea’s hair away from her forehead

“Your daddy is so annoying, you know that?” You whispered conspiratorially.

Elea just blinked at you with those big eyes — Sylus’s eyes — and beamed, nodding far too enthusiastically for your liking.

“Daddy not annoying.” She echoed, then broke into a fit of giggles when you poked her belly.

Outside the bathroom door, you heard the shower shut off, pipes rattling as the water drained away. You sighed, pressing a soft kiss to Elea’s temple. Maybe you were doomed. Maybe you’d always be doomed when it came to him.

But for now — for tonight — you could pretend it was just this: bunny pajamas, bedtime giggles, and your little family stitched together under one roof. Just for now.

The bathroom door creaked open just as you finished smoothing Elea’s bunny hood over her wild hair. You didn’t have to look up to know Sylus was standing there — you could feel his smug heat from halfway across the room. You forced yourself to look. Big mistake.

“Liking the view, sweetie?” His voice came lazy, all velvet and amusement, like he could read every thought racing through your head.

He’d come out only wearing a pair of gray trousers, droplets of water still sliding down the slope of his collarbone, disappearing beneath the faint trail of hair at his abdomen. His hair was damp, dark strands sticking to his forehead, and he raked a hand through it like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You scoffed, a little too sharp to hide the sudden burn in your cheeks.

“Your shirt’s right there. Use it.” You gestured to where his shirt was resting comfortably — the shirt he’d smugly unpacked and arranged in your closet, like he belonged there.

He didn’t bother. Of course he didn’t. He padded closer instead, like a big, lazy cat with claws hidden behind that soft grin. Elea squealed when she saw him, throwing her arms out.

“Daddy, story! Bunny story!”

“Oh? You want Daddy to tell you a bedtime story?” Sylus purred, sinking down onto the left side of the bed, ignoring the way you tried to scoot back just an inch. He swooped Elea right onto his chest.

“Yes!” Elea bounced excitedly, tugging at his damp hair, “Mommy too!”

Your eye twitched. God! You wanted to just throw out of the window. Is falling from the second floor enough to kill a man?

Elea was already snuggling into his chest, bunny ears flopping over his forearm. Sylus cleared his throat dramatically, brushing a kiss to her hair — and then shot you a sly look that promised you were in for it.

“Once upon a time…” He began, voice deep and rich, “There was a clever little bunny who liked to sneak into a big bad wolf’s house every night. She’d tiptoe past all the other hunters and curl up right in his den, where it was warmest.”

Your jaw dropped, “Sylus—!”

It was the same damn story he’d told you that night you’d woken up crying from a nightmare, voice trembling when you’d asked him for a bedtime story to calm you down. You didn’t need to be a genius to know exactly where that tale came from — or who the big bad wolf was.

“But the wolf…” Sylus continued smoothly, ignoring your glare, “…oh, he loved his little bunny so much that he let her nibble on his tail whenever she wanted. And when the hunters tried to take her away, the big bad wolf swore he’d tear the whole forest down to bring her home.”

Elea let out a dreamy little sigh, oblivious to the heat creeping up your neck.

“Bunny happy?” She asked sleepily.

Sylus’s eyes flicked to yours, smirk curling devilishly, “Very happy, princess. Because the wolf always takes care of what’s his. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

You made a strangled noise, throwing a pillow at him — which he caught one-handed, never missing a beat as he dipped down to brush his lips over Elea’s brow.

“If you don’t stop—” You hissed.

“Or what?” He tipped his head, the wolf grin sharp and beautiful, “You’ll chop my hands off? Then how would I hold you at night?”

He leaned in like he might actually kiss you next, your breath tangling with his. Elea giggled sleepily between you, completely unaware she’d just given him every excuse in the world to lay his claim bare.

You jabbed a finger at his temple, “If you try anything funny, Sylus Qin, I swear to God I will chop your hands off in your sleep for real.”

He looked at you, all faux-wounded innocence, eyes glittering with something that made your spine tingle.

“You wound me, sweetheart. I’m just telling our little bunny a bedtime story. What could possibly be funny about that?”

You narrowed your eyes, “Everything. Especially when it’s you.”

You hadn’t meant to sleep so deeply. Or so… peacefully.

But for the first time in years, there were no shadows clawing at your dreams. No waking up with your pulse thrumming like you’d been chased through every nightmare you swore you’d buried. Just warmth — a steady heartbeat under your ear, the slow rise and fall of someone breathing who wasn’t going to vanish when you opened your eyes.

When the soft, sleepy fog finally lifted, the first thing you heard was Elea’s giggle — the sweet, bubbling sound of a child with no idea she was sitting in the middle of a loaded minefield of secrets and half-healed wounds.

You cracked one eye open. Sunlight spilled through the half-drawn curtains, dust motes drifting in the glow like tiny fireflies. And there she was — your daughter perched by Sylus’s head on the pillow, tiny fingers scrolling your phone, showing him something with an excited squeal every few seconds.

And Sylus? That bastard looked unfairly good in the morning light — hair mussed from sleep, shirt collar rumpled, one arm draped possessively around your waist like it belonged there. Like you belonged there. He was half-listening to Elea’s chatter, his eyes flicking to you with that slow, dangerous smile when he felt you stir.

You realized — really realized — that your cheek was pressed against his chest. That your leg was thrown over his hip like you’d done this a thousand times. That his thumb was stroking lazy circles over your back, grounding you in a way that made your throat tighten.

You jolted back so fast you nearly knocked yourself off the bed.

“Mommy!” Elea giggled, completely oblivious, the phone still clutched in her tiny hands, “Look! Look at the picture I took!”

There, crystal clear on your screen, was a photo: you curled up against Sylus’s bare chest like you’d never left — hair spilled all over his collarbone, your lips parted on a drool-damp patch of his skin. His arm locked tight around your back, his face buried in your hair, that infuriating smug smile half-there even in sleep.

You could practically feel the heat crawling up your neck — so high it stung behind your eyes.

“Elea…” You rasped, reaching for the phone, but Sylus was faster. He plucked it from her hands, his grin the definition of sin at dawn.

“Mmm, look at that.” He drawled, like he’d been waiting his whole life to gloat, “Don’t we look perfect, sweetie?”

You snatched for the phone again, “Delete it. Now.”

His free hand — the one that had been tracing circles on your spine all night — came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb grazing your cheek like he owned you.

“I’m thinking we frame it.” He murmured, low enough that Elea couldn’t hear the dangerous purr in his voice, “Perfect for the nightstand, don’t you think?”

You hissed, smacking his chest, “Sylus Qin, I'm gonna kil—”

But your threat crumbled when Elea giggled again, snuggling into your side and resting her tiny head on your arm.

“You looked so pretty, Mommy. Don’t be mad.”

And just like that — you were ruined all over again.

That one night didn’t stay just one night.

Every night after that, somehow, impossibly, the three of you ended up tangled together in the same bed — Elea snuggled like a little starfish in the middle, Sylus draped around you both like he’d decided this time he wasn’t letting go.

You told yourself it was just for Elea. She wanted it — and what were you supposed to do? Break your daughter’s heart just to protect your own?

So you lay there, night after night, wrapped in the warmth of him — the way he’d bury his nose in your hair when he thought you were asleep, how his hand always found your waist under the blankets like his body just knew where yours was.

You told yourself you could handle it. That you were above it. That you wouldn’t let your heart get dragged back into the place you’d bled so hard to crawl out of.

But every morning, you’d wake up in his arms. And every morning, your resolve would crack a little more.

Tonight, you jolted awake to the sharp crack of glass shattering downstairs. For one dizzy heartbeat, you couldn’t tell if you were dreaming — but then you felt Sylus shift beside you, his arm tightening protectively around your waist as his eyes flicked to the door, all warmth gone, replaced by that ice-cold focus you remembered too well.

He didn’t say a word at first — just raised his free hand, and with that quiet flex of power that always made your breath catch, a sleek black gun seemed to melt into existence from the shadows under the bed. His evol — you’d seen it enough times to know he could pull blades and bullets from thin air like a magician conjuring death.

“Stay with Elea.” He whispered, voice low and deadly calm, eyes hard on yours, “I’ll handle this.”

You bristled immediately, “Like hell you will. I know this house better than you do. I'll get this done within minutes."

“Sweetheart, no—”

“No, Sylus.” You were already slipping out of bed, bare feet hitting the cool floor, “I’m not playing with my daughter's life.”

His jaw twitched — frustration, fear, and that deep, resigned fondness that always carved itself through his mask, “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, well, you married me, didn’t you?” You shot back, crossing to the closet.

You punched in the code on the hidden locker panel and pulled out the cold, familiar weight of your own pistol. His lips curled faintly, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss you or drag you back to bed and chain you there.

He grunted, flicked the safety on his gun, “Stay close. If I say run, you run.”

“We'll see.” You fired back. He didn’t argue this time. He knew better.

Sylus slipped out into the hallway. You paused only long enough to lock the bedroom door behind you, pressing your palm to the scanner until the reinforced bolts slid into place with a heavy thunk. No one was getting to Elea tonight. Not even a s-level wonderer.

Step by careful step, you and Sylus padded down the staircase, the shadows swallowing you both like ghosts. The faintest noise drifted up from the kitchen — voices — hushed, sharp whispers and the clatter of something falling.

You stopped at the last landing. Sylus shifted forward just enough to peek around the corner — and without even thinking, his arm went out, pushing you gently behind him, a living shield between you and any threat. Some things never changed.

You leaned around his shoulder, gun raised. And what you saw nearly made you bark out a laugh that would’ve gotten you both killed if the situation had been even remotely real.

In the soft glow of the kitchen pendant light stood Luke and Kierran — two very familiar boys — both still fully suited up in their tactical black uniforms, masks perched on their faces like a pair of overgrown crows. Luke was waving a half-eaten carrot like a sword, while Kierran was hurling slices of tomato at him across the counter. Veggies littered the floor like battlefield shrapnel.

And on the kitchen island, between the scattered chaos, sat a single slice of leftover chocolate pastry — the clear source of their vicious quarrel.

“You literally shoved a whole pizza down your throat not even an hour ago, you donkey! I saw it first!” Kierran hissed.

“You ate the last one last week!” Luke shot back, flicking a slice of bell pepper at Kierran’s mask, “You owe me, you traitorous trash crow!”

Sylus let out a low growl that did absolutely nothing to hide the disbelief in his eyes. He lowered his gun with a soft click, then gave you a look that was equal parts are “you seeing this shit?” and “I swear to God I will murder them both”.

Sylus didn’t even bother to lower his gun all the way. He just stalked forward like a predator, boots silent on the kitchen tiles until he was right behind them — then smack, he cuffed Luke upside the head with a flat palm. Kierran got the same treatment a second later, yelping when Sylus’s hand collided with the back of his skull.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” Sylus hissed, voice low and dangerous in that way that usually made grown men piss themselves.

Luke spun around, mask askew, mouth dropping open like a scolded puppy, “Boss—”

Kierran popped his head up from behind the fridge door, clutching the pastry plate to his chest like a puppy with a bone, “It’s not what it looks like!”

“Oh, really?” Sylus’s tone went razor sharp, “Because it looks like you broke into my house, trashed my kitchen, and—” His eyes flicked to the pastry, “—stole my daughter's dessert.”

Luke puffed out his cheeks, offended, “We didn’t steal it, we— we liberated it.”

Kierran nodded so earnestly you almost choked on a laugh.

“Yeah! And anyway, we missed her!” He jabbed a thumb in your direction without shame, eyes wide behind the mask, “We haven’t seen her in years! And you said we couldn’t drop by! You said we’d freak her out!”

“You did freak me out.” You muttered, lowering your gun with a sigh.

Luke perked up, bright eyes peeking over his mask, “But you missed us, didn’t you, miss boss?”

“Don’t call me that. What do you think you were doing — breaking into my house in the middle of the night?” Your voice was firm, but you felt your lips twitch. God. You really had missed them — these two reckless idiots who’d wormed their way under your skin back then.

Kierran sniffed, clutching the pastry slice like it was a shield, “But we wanted to meet our precious niece too! Boss won’t let us— he’s so stingy!”

Luke nodded, scowling at Sylus, who looked one heartbeat away from committing an actual murder, “Yeah! All we want is a little peek at our niece and maybe a hug from miss boss. Is that so unreasonable?”

You pressed your palm over your face, torn between relief, exasperation, and that sharp ache in your chest that said these idiots used to feel like family, “You’re lucky I’m not shooting you both.”

Luke’s eyes went wide and shimmering — pure puppy dog eyes, “You wouldn’t! You love us.”

Kierran leaned around him, poking your shoulder with a gloved finger, “Say you missed us, miss boss. Or we’ll keep coming back. Every. Night.”

Sylus pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, teeth grinding, but there was a ghost of something softer in his eyes when he glanced at you — because he saw it too. The part of you that was relieved they were still the same. Still your two annoying little shadows.

You let out a long, exhausted sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Alright. You two man-children — listen up. You want to see Elea? You come back tomorrow. In broad daylight. Like normal uncles. And you knock. You knock like civilized people — no more of this—” You waved a hand at the flour-dusted floor and the busted vegetable bag, “—ninja break-in bullshit.”

Kierran's whole face lit up behind the mask, eyes going wide like a puppy given permission to come back inside, “So we can meet her?! Really?!”

Luke squealed — actually squealed — hugging the pastry plate tighter, “You’re the best, miss boss! The best!”

Sylus glowered at them both, looking like he might snap their necks just for the principle, “If you wake her up—”

But Luke and Kierran ignored him, already shuffling to the door — which they’d apparently unlocked on their way in. They were still bickering about who got to hold Elea first when Luke shot you one last puppy-eyed grin.

“Love you, Miss Bunny! You’re prettier than ever— oh, and this is ours now—” He gestured to the half-melted chocolate pastry still clutched in Kierran’s hand.

“Hey—!” Sylus snapped, but the front door swung shut behind them before he could finish.

Silence fell, broken only by your sharp exhale. You leveled a dagger glare at Sylus — who, to his credit, looked only mildly murderous but also… faintly amused. That did it. Your hand flew up, finger jabbing his chest.

“I’m going to kill you.”

Sylus blinked, head tilting with mock innocence, “Me? What did I do?”

“Oh, don’t you dare—!” You snapped, poking him again, “You — you and your damn pet wolves — you’re dragging Elea into this world of yours. Slowly. Do you realize how dangerous—”

Before you could finish, Sylus leaned in with that devil-may-care grin, “You’ll have to catch me first, sweetheart.”

You barely had time to let out a strangled growl before he spun on his heel — all six feet of smug mafia prince bolting around the kitchen island like a grown man-child.

“Sylus Qin, I swear to God—!” You tore after him, but you were half laughing now, frustration mixing with exasperation and that stupid flutter in your chest that always, always made you forgive him too easily.

It lasted all of five minutes — both of you circling the couch, your threats turning into breathless curses while Sylus just laughed and danced out of reach. In the end, you dropped onto the couch, chest heaving, too tired to keep the anger burning. Your eyes fluttered shut, every bit of you sinking into the cushions.

“I hate you.” You mumbled into your sleeve, voice already slurring with sleep.

Sylus’s chuckle rolled over you like warm honey. He knelt down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple — his shadow falling over you like a shield.

“I know, sweetheart. I hate you too.”

You felt his arms slide under your knees and shoulders, the effortless way he scooped you up like you weighed nothing at all. Your head lolled against his chest as he carried you up the stairs — back to the bedroom, back to the warmth you told yourself you didn’t need.

Maybe you really did hate him. Or maybe… You just hated that you still loved him this much.

LIKED IT? THEN PLEASE LEAVE A LIKE, REBLOG & COMMENT. IT WOULD MEAN A LOT AND FOLLOW ME FOR MORE LIKE THESE. THANK YOU ♡

#kissed in poison : the series #lotus writes #lads sylus #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x y/n #lads x reader #lads x you #lads x non!mc reader

468 notes · View notes

81astriss · 1 month ago

Text

just let me be close to you | alex albon (2)

singer!reader x alex albon

fc: lyn lapid, lily muni he, others on pinterest

when the internet notices some similarities between you and alex, they decide to take matters into their own hands and pull a nassie ;)

a/n: part 2 !!! i really enjoyed making part 1 so i made this almost immediately after posting the first one hehehehehehe HOPE U ENJOYY 🫶

playlist | part 1

⎯

now playing: Buttons - Lyn Lapid alex_albon song so good i had to buy you dinner _ynln 🔥🔥 liked by lando, charles_leclerc, _ynln, and others

view all comments...

_ynln i was peer pressured into this

alex_albon but you had fun, right? ↳ _ynln yeah...!!! 😬😬 _ynln KIDDING it was nice we actually have a lot more in common than i thought

lando is this what i think it is liked by creator

charles_leclerc wow mate i was not familiar with your game

user1 MISSION SUCCESS????????

user2 THIS COUNTS AS A DATE RIGHT

georgerussell63 Damn, someone stole my bitch 💔

_ynln im returning him ↳ georgerussell63 No take backsies

⎯

tagged: alex_albon now playing: BMF - SZA _ynln thank you all so much for the love on "Buttons" !!! ❤️ i appreciate each and every single one of you (special thanks to alex for paying for dinner heh) liked by laufey, tatemcrae, alex_albon, and others

view all comments...

alex_albon why are all your pics of me eating

_ynln cause you ATE 🔥🔥🙏😈 ↳ alex_albon are you calling me a big back ↳ _ynln you ask so many questions

user1 young and fine and dark and handsome

lewishamilton Cute dog. What's his name?

_ynln ...nico user2 nico rosberg still haunting lewis' narrative i see 😭

laufey i take it you've figured out how to talk to him?

_ynln i have w rizz

tatemcrae we're almost there lando

user3 bmf by sza? y/n you aint slick

⎯

tagged: carlossainz55, alex_albon, williamsracing _ynln IMOLA !!!!!!!!!!!!!! thank you sososososo much for inviting me alex_albon congrats on P5 liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, alex_albon, and others

view all comments...

alex_albon i see you had fun with carlos

_ynln YUPPP it was so nice to see my fav driver again !! and you ig. ↳ alex_albon "i feel like you're just here for the zipline" 😐 ↳ carlossainz55 Don't be jealous, alex

user1 i fear this is the closest we'll ever get to a tour 🥀

user2 "y/n is gonna tour soon!" i say as they drag me into a white padded room

scuderiaferrari bro

user3 first carlos and now y/n HASJDKAJHKJWHS

user4 ferrari should hire y/n as their strategist if they want her support back LMAO

user5 what would she do 😭 ↳ charles_leclerc anything is better than what we have rn. _ynln we have a job offer for you liked by lewishamilton

lando always great seeing you in the paddock

_ynln im still genuinely scared of you but nice seeing you too ↳ oscarpiastri it's okay you get used to him

⎯

tagged: alex_albon, tatemcrae, laufey, radvxz _ynln MAYhem liked by alex_albon, laufey, tatemcrae, and others

view all comments...

laufey i live for your inconsistent monthly dumps liked by creator

user1 look who made it in the may dump!

user2 just say y'all are tgt atp no need to hide it

user23 bro i wish

tatemcrae THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TOURRRR

_ynln you were AMAZING babe

alex_albon where the FUCK did you get that last pic

_ynln secret ( georgerussell63 )

user3 who are you and what have you done to y/n where is the red

user4 the only red we got is a SHOE.

user5 nico is adorable!!!

_ynln he has an ig now 😈 _nicoln alex influenced me to make one

↳ albon_pets alex_albon will nico be joining our family?

alex_albon george i swear ↳ _nicoln alex_albon cmon i need a dad 👹👹

lando alex where's your may dump

alex_albon mate i don't do dumps

⎯

now playing: Risk - Gracie Abrams alex_albon MAY i be yours liked by lando, georgerussell63, _ynln, and others

view all comments...

lando I DONT DO DUMPS MY ASS

_ynln thanks for the support on buttons! the 19 kids in my basement are eating well

alex_albon how'd it go from 17 kids to 19 ↳ _ynln don't worry about it 😊

user1 RISK BY GRACIE?

user2 "i think that it's sweet, yeah, i think that you're sweet" user3 hes DOWN BAD

user4 y/n is a huge gracie fan mate you ain't slick

user5 the day they actually reveal they're together is the day i can pass away peacefully

user6 answering on behalf of y/n, yes i will be yours ❤️

⎯

The time was 2:53am. Alex was exhausted from training and yet, here he is just laying in bed staring into the void, with nothing on his mind. Actually no scratch that, he had one thing on his mind. You.

Until few months ago you were just some random girl who happened to be a singer until you both posted something with similar captions. Sure, the internet tried to force your interactions but something about you two just felt... natural.

He couldn't stop thinking about all the times you hung out. About how whenever it was time to say goodbye, he would try to drag it out as long as he could, just so you'd stay a little longer. There were also the times you hugged just a little longer than normal, the times you touched when there was no need to and the way the sparks lingered on his skin whenever you'd let go. It consumed him and it was getting harder and harder to hide it.

He reached for his phone, hesitated for a bit, then opened your contact.

⎯

tagged: _ynln now playing: From The Start - Laufey alex_albon what's cookin good lookin liked by _ynln, lando, georgerussell63, and others

view all comments...

📌 _ynln 🙌🙌 liked by creator

lando ABOUT DAMN TIME liked by georgerussell63, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and others

tatemcrae our job here is done

lando pleasure working with you

user1 MISSION SUCCESS

user2 yall can have nassie i'll have alexyn

georgerussell63 FUCKING FINALLY

user3 MAMA Y PAPAAAAAA

albon_pets welcome to the fam _nicoln

_nicoln thanks 👍

user4 the cheer i just cheered

carlossainz55 have i been demoted as favorite driver

_ynln ofc not. never let your boyfriend stop you from finding your husband ↳ alex_albon ??????

laufey thats my bff!!!! and you're there too ig

alex_albon omg laufey noticed ↳ laufey how can i not? she yaps about you nonstop ↳ alex_albon is that so ↳ _ynln SHUSH

n1ckwilkins nice job man

⎯

tagged: alex_albon now playing: Ever Seen - beabadoobee _ynln i used to have hoop dreams until i found out there were other ways to score 😈🙏🔥🏀⛹️🔥🔥 liked by alex_albon, tatemcrae, lando, and others

view all comments...

📌 alex_albon lebron lebron lebron james liked by creator

tatemcrae so sweet i got diabetes

user1 caption is so unserious

lando looking forward to seeing you in the paddock more often

_ynln looking forward to terrorizing ferrari's strategists so i can go back to supporting that team ↳ user2 THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE ↳ charles_leclerc job position is still open btw liked by lewishamilton

user3 OUR POSTER BOY

_ynln omg goddamnit i should've used that song instead

radvxz hard launching to my song i see

laufey its the least she can do to pay us back for all the times she yapped abt him nonstop _ynln STOP EXPOSING ME

user4 he has the prettiest eyes she's ever seen 🥹🥹🥹

user5 THE CUTEST :(

_nicoln i'm no longer fatherless lets gooooo

user6 we will miss your red era 💔

_ynln me too 😞 this is what i get for letting a man infect my color scheme

cassiesbookss still not on this side of the internet but i'm so glad this worked out for you !! 🫶 liked by creator

⎯

tagged: _ynln, alex_albon now playing: poster boy - Lyn Lapid sei4strii so glad y'all saw my vision 😋😋 liked by tatemcrae, lando, and others

view all comments...

tatemcrae we thank you for your service

lando couldn't have done it without you

user1 the internet has done it again 🙌

user2 can't wait for our next project

user3 thank you tate, lando, and sei4strii we all say in unison

⎯ end

sorry if the ending was a bit underwhelming :( i didn't know how to end it actually xd regardless, i hope you liked reading as much as i had fun writing it !! please lmk how i can improve my future smaus, fanfics, and others thank youuu <3

♡ xine

#f1 x reader #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #smau #f1 smau #alex albon #alexander albon #alex albon x reader #aa23 #aa23 x reader #fem!reader #lando norris #george russell #tate mcrae #carlos sainz #lyn lapid

411 notes · View notes

munsonsmixtapes · 2 months ago

Text

The Prophecy

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

After recommending a movie to you, Steve invited you you over to watch it with him and to his surprise, you agree.

This has been sitting in my drafts for a while and I have no idea why I never posted it.

Based on “The Prophecy” by Taylor Swift because that song is Steve.

Steve would be the first to admit that his sex life is nothing but vanilla. He’s always on top and always so sweet and gentle. But now he’s starting to wonder if that’s the problem. If that’s the reason why women don’t seem to want anything more than a one night stand.

He doesn’t get it. He used to be King Steve and now he can’t even get a call back? What the fuck is that about? He goes on a date almost every night and still somehow the only action he gets is with his hand.

The “you suck” side of Robin’s board is so full that she had to get another one and what started as a harmless joke has now made Steve start to think badly about himself. He used to have so much confidence and now it’s withering away bit by bit with each rejection.

He thinks all hope is lost until you walk in to Family Video. You’re all smiles as you ask him for a suggestion and he’s convinced it’s all a prank. It’s going too well if he’s being honest. You’re laughing at his jokes and genuinely seem interested in what he’s recommending. He’s now wondering if Robin put you up to this so he’d stop complaining to her about being single.

He decides it doesn’t matter and that he’s going to play along because you’re pretty and now he’s following you around the store like a lost puppy, holding a large stack of tapes that you’ve handed to him. Normally, he hates when people treat him like he’s their personal shopper but he’s going to let you do whatever you damn well please. You might as well tell him to jump because he’ll ask how high.

“Is this one any good?” You ask, holding up a tape to him and he audibly gasps. He didn’t think anyone hadn’t seen the movie so the fact that you haven’t is genuinely shocking to him.

“You’ve never seen the Princess Bride?” He’s acting like he just witnessed you commit a crime. Sure, you’ve heard of the movie and listened to people rave about it, but there’s something about it that turns you off.

“No,” you shake your head and Steve plucks the VHS from your hand and heads over to the counter with you following him.

“I can’t allow that. You’ve gotta watch it. It’s one of the best movies of all time. So, I’m renting it to you.”

“Well, maybe we can watch it together.” Are you…flirting? He hasn’t been flirted with in so long that he’s having a hard time telling whether it’s that or you’re just being friendly.

“Y-yeah. I’ve got whole movie theater in my basement. We can watch it there.” That’s become his make out spot when everyone found out about skull rock, but this time, he just wants to watch a movie with you.

“It’s a date,” you glance at his name tag to get his name. “Steve. Can I call you, Stevie?”

“You can call me anything you want.” He internally cringes at his words, but you seem so into it that he can’t possibly take them back.

“Well, I’m y/n, but you can call me anything you want.” The line completely goes over his head as all he can focus on is your name. He’s heard so much about you and now that he can put a face to a name, he finally understands.

You’re new to Hawkins and it’s clear that you’re the talk of the town as everyone seems to want a chance to either be you or under you. And he can see why. You’re sweet and very easy on the eyes. You’re probably the most stunning woman he’s ever seen and you’re flirting with him? He’s wondering if this is some sort of cruel prank.

You set your purse on the counter then pull out a notebook and pen from it before setting them both on the counter in front of him. “Here, write down your address and I’ll write down my number and you can call me whenever you’re available.”

He’s scribbling down his information so quickly that he’s afraid you can’t read it. But you read over the words without a word then scribble down your number before ripping off the piece and handing it to him. You then put your things back into your purse before pulling out some cash to pay for your rental.

“Oh, he’s always available. How does tonight sound?” Robin has inserted herself into the conversation and Steve really wishes she hadn’t. He can get a date all by himself thank you very much.

“Stop helping me,” he whispers to her and he really hopes you can’t hear him.

“Tonight is perfect,” you smile and Steve swears he’s already in love with you. “Call me when you get off?”

“Oh, he’ll be getting off, alright,” Robin says under her breath and Steve is quick to elbow her in the stomach.

“Seriously, stop,” he turns to her to give her a glare and you honestly just find their whole dynamic to be funny, like siblings. Steve slides the VHS across the counter to you along with your change and as soon as you’re gone, he’s going to let Robin have it.

They’re so engrossed in their conversation that they haven’t even noticed that you’ve left your purse. The bright pink thing is sitting there in front of them they’re not even aware, too caught up in their silly conversation.

“I’m helping you get laid and this is how you repay me?” She asks, leaning against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t need your help,” he tells her as he heads over to the cart of returns to put them away and Robin follows.

“Clearly you do. Or else I wouldn’t have had to step in.”

“I was fine. I’ve still got it.” He honestly doesn’t know how he even got a date with you since he almost always flounders now. Maybe this will be the one that finally sticks.

“Good for you, dingus, you scored a date with the hottest woman in town. Maybe this time I’ll actually be able to put a tally in the “you rule” column.”

Robin knows that it’s a cruel joke to make when he’s so sensitive about the whole thing, but she can’t figure out why. Even thought hasn’t been and will never be attracted to him, she totally understands the appeal. He’s sweet and funny and much more intelligent than people give him credit for. She doesn’t know why he can’t seem to find someone to settle down with when that’s really all he wants.

She knows he’s not as happy as he lets on, that he’s much more lonely than he tells people he is. That he always goes out with his friends or is over at her house because his is far too big to be alone in.

That’s why he’s always got a girl in his bed so he won’t be going to sleep alone, but that’s how he always wakes up as they always leave him before he’s awake.

It’s not fair, she thinks. That everyone has seemed to have found his person but not him. He’s such a fucking catch so it just doesn’t make sense. She’s really hoping that maybe you’ll be the one.

“Fuck off,” he shoves her away with a laugh. He’s being a good sport about the whole thing, at least that’s what everyone thinks. No one knows that sometimes he’ll go home and have a good cry in the shower because of how alone he feels. And he feels so fucking pathetic for it, but it's the only way he knows how to cope.

The bell above the door jingles, signaling that a customer has entered the store. Steve and Robin turn to see Dustin carrying a stack of VHS tapes he's going to return. He's got a bright smile on his face as usual as he makes his way over to the counter where Steve meets him.

“Everyone’s coming over tonight to watch Star Wars if you guys wanna join,” Dustin says as Steve returns the movies to the system.

“I’ll be there, but Steve has a date,” Robin replies, patting Steve on the shoulder in a congratulatory manner.

“Right, with your hand, a sock, and a bottle of lotion, just like every night?” Dustin is wearing a knowing look and Robin is grimacing in disgust while Steve’s cheeks turn bright pink.

“No,” Steve glares. “With a girl. We’re going to watch the Princess Bride.”

“What’s her name?” He’s asking in a way that makes it seem like he doesn’t believe Steve, but he does. Dustin just likes to give him shit any chance he gets.

“Y/n.” Steve’s tone is smug and Dustin scoffs in response because now he really doesn’t believe him. There’s no fucking way that he scored a date with you of all people. Maybe back in his “King Steve” days, but definitely not now.

“Y/n as in y/n l/n? No way dude. She’s way out of your league.” Dustin is laughing now as if he’s just heard the most funny joke.

“Gee, thanks, Henderson.” Steve grabs the tapes now that he’s put them back in the system, then turns his back, heading for the break room because it’s time for his thirty. He doesn’t have time for this.

He can hear the two of them still yapping as he closes the door. He reaches for his punch card, punching that he’s on his break then grabs his lunchbox from the fridge before sitting down at the table with a sigh.

“She gave him her number and everything. And let me tell you, she’s even hotter than they say.” Robin had never seen you in person until tonight and she totally understands why everyone is head over heels for you.

“Don’t believe me?” She asks, eyeing the purse on the counter that you had apparently left.

“This could be anybody’s,” Dustin glares at her just as you enter the store again. All of the air is sucked out of his lungs as he’s come to the realization that you are in fact real.

“Totally forgot my purse,” you tell Robin with a little laugh as you grab the thing from the counter, slinging it over your shoulder. You then turn in Dustin’s direction, staring at him with your signature bright smile. “And who might you be?” You ask, and Dustin’s mouth goes bone dry as he looks up at you. You really are hotter than they say.

“D-“ he clears his throat before trying to introduce himself again. “Dustin.”

“Dustin,” you repeat and his name sounds so angelic coming from your mouth. “That’s cute. Well, it was nice to meet you Dustin and I'll see you, Rob,” you wave at her from over your shoulder like you’re old friends and yeah, she’s going to be thinking about that for a very long time.

You flee the store yet again and Dustin’s eyes are following you as Robin opens a magazine, staring down at the page to hide her blushing cheeks. He’s trying to figure out how he can become four years older while Robin is crossing her fingers that you’re also into girls.

They both know it’s pathetic, especially since you’re going out with Steve tonight, but they can’t help it. There’s just something about you that draws people to you, like they’re all sailors being lured to their deaths and damn if that isn’t a good way to go.

It’s the way you carry yourself, as if you don’t have a care in the world. And you don’t. You just go around with all of that confidence and maybe that’s why everyone either envies or wants you. You never pay attention to that, though.

None of them truly know you and they don’t care to either. You’re just something pretty to look at, someone who will look good on their arm, but the second they get you into bed or even hang out with you with everyone watching, they’ll leave you in the drop of a hat. Because really, all they want is for you to make them look good.

But Steve? He actually treated you like a person. He wasn’t falling all over you, just genuinely trying to help you find a movie. You’re not usually one to randomly ask someone out, in fact, the whole thing made you super nervous. But he was so eager to agree and that made you feel like your usual self again.

You've heard a lot about Steve. You know his reputation and how he's very popular with the ladies, so you're surprised that he's available on a Saturday night. You figured that someone else would have already snatched him up and put a ring on it. You're both about that age now so it's honestly surprising that he's single. How has no woman in Hawkins come to their senses and married this man? You suppose you should be grateful since you're the lucky woman he's invited over tonight.

Steve exits the break room as soon as his break is over still thinking about you and how he still can't believe how you actually asked him out. The prettiest girl in Hawkins. Maybe he really does still have game.

He makes his way over to Robin feeling more confident than he has a long time. She's scribbling something down in a notebook and he lets out a deep sigh. He was really hoping that she would have gotten bored of that stupid game by now. But apparently not.

As always, his love life has just become a joke to everyone. Because it's just so funny that poor Stevie can't get a date. He'll die alone while everyone else will end up with someone. That's just his fate, he thinks.

The rest of the night goes by so slowly. It's almost painful for Steve to look at the clock, watching the minutes tick by at a glacial pace. He has never been so eager to go home, actually wanting to be there for the first time in a long time.

He's so close to asking Robin to close up for him because he just realized he doesn't have anything to eat or drink besides shitty beer and a pizza that's been in his freezer since he was a kid. But he decides that he'll just hurry to the store on his way home because he's already had her close for him more times than he can count.

"Would it offend you if I picked out your outfit for tonight? Because no offense, Steve, but this,” Robin refers to his outfit. "Is just not going to cut it.”

“Gee, thanks, Rob.” He's already nervous enough and doesn't need Robin making him second guess what he's going to wear even though he was already going to anyway.

“I'm just saying, would it kill you to switch it up every once in a while?”

“Are you of all people seriously trying to give me fashion advice right now?”

“What's that supposed to mean?” She crosses her arms over her chest as she leans against the counter, fixing Steve with a glare. He doesn't actually mean it, he just suddenly feels a lot of pressure about tonight and he's taking it out on her.

"Nothing, I'm just nervous, alright?" He runs a hand through his hair and just by the look on his face, she can see that he's telling the truth.

"Thought you didn't get nervous." She's smiling smugly now and Steve really doesn't appreciate it.

He ignores her and rounds the counter, making his way over to the door, turning the sign to signify that the store is now closed. He's now counting the minutes until he's able to go home, actively watching the hands on his watch tick, tick, tick by.

"I haven't done this in a while, alright?" He asks as he locks the door. "I'm a little rusty."

"A little?” She scoffs and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Alright a lot.”

“You need to relax. It’s just a date.” But it’s not, not to Steve. He thinks this could actually be something and he hopes he doesn’t blow it this time.

“So are you getting out of here or what?”

“What?” The question genuinely catches him off guard. He didn’t think she’d actually want to close for him since she’s done it so many times in the past.

“I can hold down the fort. Go get the girl, Steve.” He smiles widely, before pressing a kiss to Robin's cheek before hurrying out the door to his car. For once, he actually thinks he has a chance and he’s totally going to take it.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x y/n

458 notes · View notes

writing-mlm · 5 months ago

Note

Just found this account, and I absolutely love it!! You've probably gotten tons of asks now from the post about requests closed while needing ideas. I'd love to see a Bruce wayne x reader who's trans and is getting ready for a gala with him?? Feel free to ignore it for now if needed! Love your work <3

Summary: Bruce gets distracted by his husband while getting ready for a gala Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Ftm!Reader Word Count: 0.8k Tags/Warning: married Bruce Wayne, reader is mentioned to have top surgery scars but no physical description past that, Whipped Bruce Wayne, suggestive, a lot of touching A/n: to get out of this writers rut i’m probably gonna churn out about five 0.5-2k fics within a week and hiiii anon thank you :3 this was gonna be more of a get ready but i didn’t do that obviously lol

Bruce watches you from the bed, his eyes tracing along your exposed skin as if he was some pubescent high schooler. Perhaps they were right about the no shoulders showing rule because he swears he’s drawn to it. You don’t even notice his staring; perhaps you do, but you’re so used to it that you don’t make it known. Bruce remembers when he first started doing that, watching you get dressed, how bashful you’d been back then and he’s glad you’re a lot more comfortable with it. With him.

He stands from the lush bed and stalks over to you, his steps purposefully soft and nearly silent so you don’t notice him until you feel the warmth from behind you. He makes slow work of wrapping his hands across your stomach, his fingers gliding across your skin like he was skimming a page and kisses your left shoulder before looking at you through the mirror.

You’re busy rubbing lotion onto your arms, but you welcome his presence by leaning into his touch and a small smile graces your face. He figures he should make himself useful rather than just standing there so he takes some lotion and starts to put it on your chest. Bruce watches as his fingers trace over your scars and then inhale your scent again while you scratch the side of his head as a thank you. His hands wander lower, running over your happy trail and you swear if you let him he would’ve worked on undoing your belt, too.

“You’re a dog,” You muse, looking at him through the mirror. He just smiles and leans more into your neck. The feeling of his nose dragging along your neck makes you smile and you mess with his still unkempt hair. His hands raise from your stomach and instead circle around to your hips, keeping you from moving away from him.

Not that you were going to.

“You look magnificent,” He justifies his actions into your skin. The vibrations tickle you as they travel across your neck and you roll your head back onto his shoulder. “Are you sure we can’t miss the gala? It wouldn’t be the first one we did,” You’re unsure if he means for less than good reasons or if he means for when you go out in your suits and save the city. It’s probably both, all things considered.

“Bruce,” You laugh, picking your head up. “It’s in the manor, how can you possibly skip that?” He shrugs but he definitely has a plan already made. You can tell because he has that twinkle in his eye and you doubt he goes anywhere without having an excuse to leave quickly. Plus he’s Batman, you don’t think he’s been unprepared since his time with those damn Tibetan Monks.

Rather than responding, Bruce instead looks at you in the mirror, his eyes on your face while your eyes travel from his face down to his hands as he grips your hips before spinning you around. Your hands find their natural spot on his biceps while his hands travel to hold your ass, dipping you down to persuade you. When it doesn’t, he starts leaving small kitten kisses across your chest, all the while maintaining eye contact with you.

“No, Bruce,” You urged through a laugh. “It’s a charity gala and you invited the League.”

“The League,” He huffs. “They’ll be fine without me— I’m a part-timer and I’ve already written the check for the charity. But,” He stands tall and puts his fist on his hips dramatically. “I think that there’ll be a domestic matter we’ll need to attend to halfway through. My dear, amazing, wonderful husband simply couldn’t bear to be around the annoying Oliver Queen.” He gives you a look and you mess with the scars on his arm.

“Maybe,” You hum. “Or we can deal with it now, get it out of your system.”

“I do see the value in your option, but I think for maximum efficiency we should go with both options,” He nods, picking you up in one motion. Laughing, you hold onto his neck while he walks over to the bed, already kissing your neck.

Bruce places you softly on the bed before he lowers himself to his knees while you’re threading your fingers through his hair. Unfortunately, the door opens as he places your legs over his shoulders and you rise to your elbows, seeing a tired-looking Alfred. He rolls his eyes, clearly having expected this to be the reason the hosts of the gala had yet to make their appearance.

“Sorry, Alfred,” You wince while Bruce looks up from his spot between your legs.

“You haven’t forgotten to knock, have you?” Bruce muses and Alfred rolls his eyes.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before with the two of you. But do hurry, Master Bruce, Master (Y/n). Your guests are waiting,"

#x male reader #x reader #bruce wayne x male reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x y/n #batman x reader #batman x male reader #bruce wayne x ftm reader #ftm reader #x ftm reader #dc x reader #dc x male reader

540 notes · View notes

fuji-sen · 10 months ago

Text

the 'evil imposter' just wants to be a baker!

hello little sprouts! Just recently remembered my love(?) or interest with the sagau concepts!

ɞ﹒₊˚ This is partially inspired by the manhwa "A Divorced Evil Lady Bakes Cakes!" ɞ﹒₊˚ Imposter AU's, there is a bit angst in the first three nations but you'll be fineeeee, hopefully. ɞ﹒₊˚ Female!Reader x Selective!Various

divider used is made by @saradika-graphics

[NAME'S] RECIPE AND INGREDIENTS BOOK!

nobody's allowed to touch >:0, especially you damn acolytes, stop trying to kill me! If found please return to [Name] [Lastname], definitely not the creator nor the imposter!

Prologue; The Foodie turned Imposter?!

When a foodie from the real world gets sucked into one of their comfort games, popular hoyoverse game's middle child Genshin Impact, it's not all fun and playtime as one would have expected. Finding out you share a face with the most divine God and Mother of the world, the creator, you are forced to fight for the right to live, so that you can eat and cook for another day!

Part 1: Sunsettia Part 2: Sweet Flowers Part 3: Mint Tea Part 4: hilichurl style stew > 4.5 special: adventures of a pyro slime Part 5: Burning Pinecones Part 6: Ginisang Ampalaya Part 7: Dawn Winery's Grapevine + Fruity Skewers Part 8: Buttery Mamon Part 9: Benny's Adventure Team + Wolfhooks POLL: Pyro Slime Name (Closed) LINK Part 10: A stew called denial Part 11: Conspiring over a meal Part 12: Poisonous Devotion

˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—

Volume 1; TBA

Chapter 1: The start of [Name]'s Recipes!

more coming soon. . .

ɞ﹒₊˚ Taglist! If you want to be added to the taglist, you can comment here or in the LATEST chapter! This is so that its easier for me to compare which comment is old or new, or those who have or haven't been added yet. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Also, please don't ask to be add in the taglist through my personal messages if possible. If it looks like im ignoring you guys in the comments about being added, im really not (╥ᆺ╥；), it's just I hold off on adding you or replying on your comments until I'm nearly done with the new chapters. I started avoiding chatting or entertaining messages especially from those that don't follow me, because I don't wanna get hacked or smth like that..

taglist:

@fantasyhopperhea @rhoswen-drake @cchiiwinkle @aman3kkun @coffee-or-hot-cocoa @bunniotomia @esthelily

@earth-to-name @fandomfan-102 @kh1ffy @jiyeons-closet @dragontammerz / @mercy-not-merci @aryuunachigiri @randomnatics @alexx197197 @keirennyx @vianitry @game-savvy @laviniadraws @altumsomnum @ghostlysyntaxed @kangyeonie @resident-cryptid @floofeh-purpi @allmightycucumber @wolfiafuntime @ofalexis @jiaoqiuthefoxian @is-it-night-or-day @lilacoaks @brainemptynothoughts @blackstar-gazer @existing-apparently @ohnoivefallen @yae-yu127 @creativecupcake @crazydreamcat @mysstical-siren @ijustwannabeheldbro @inaaya1inaaya @eyeless-kun @theautisticduck @depressivecomforts @alexizzp @payayay @exams-will-make-me-cry @austisticfreak @honey-everythingisonfire @junebuggz @time-shardz @pix-stuff @n0tmentallystable @charming-mage @luns-exlipse @thedevioussmirk @mayythammyy @marsilis @koifishpoond @haruskrd @fh-seere @valeriele3 @lover-girl009 @akira3na @alexthealien019 @yunespace @imboredjackass @celesteelysia @syuiko

If you are not tagged successfully that means tumblr thinks you are a bot (because you don't have posts, or much interaction), you have been shadowbanned, or your visibility is set to prevent you from being tagged.

check here for more info.

I recommend checking your visibility or post and reblog a couple of times to fix the issue, if you don't know if you're shadowbanned check if you have the message function, if not you probably are. and also to follow me incase the tags don't work.

#fuji-sen works #fuji sen everything #sagau #genshin impact #self aware genshin #genshin sagau #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin x you #reader insert #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact sagau #genshin impact x you #fuji-sen navigation #fuji-sen foodie!Reader

961 notes · View notes

xxchumanixx · 1 year ago

Note

Hii, can you write one with reader that is Tim’s rookie, she is really flirty and an extrovert with him, but one day she sets him up, like Lucy did. He gets upset because he feels like she led him on and then he starts a full on love confession because she is the one he wants. And then smut, very sweet with her kinda dom but both of them are switch

Lead me on

Tim Bradford x rookie!reader

Warnings/Tags: 18+, mdni!, smut, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), slight fingering, fluff, angst, hurt

Word count: 4.545

Authors note: Hello love, thanks for the request! Really liked the idea, and I hope you'll like how I wrote it. Im glad to find my way back to writing your requests and I hope that I'll be a bit quicker with posting again!

Now, enjoy!

Tim had noticed that you were lost in thought, for the third time this shift.

He'd seen you chew on your bottom lip, worrying about you drawing crimson, so hard you'd bitten down on the soft cushion.

It made him wonder what had you so deeply thinking, as he bit on his own lip.

"Everything okay?" he breached the silence, only then noticing how heavy it had been weighing in the air between you. Looking up from the dark display of your phone, you nodded.

"I'm just thinking about something, nothing important." you tried to soothe his worry, sending him a small smile that was meant to reassure him.

He cocked a brow, reading you like an open book. "Don't lie to me, boot."

You hated the nickname, instead wanting him to call you different names - very different ones.

Swallowing, you looked back down. You had to at least test it, see how he'd react. So you gathered all your nerves, reminding yourself, that you wanted to do this as a prank.

It was meant to be funny, after all.

"You said I could be open with you." you began, fumbling with your phone in your hands. He nodded, motioning for you to continue, as you hesitated.

"I have feelings for you."

The shop skidded to a stop on the empty street, as he suddenly slammed the breaks, the seat belt holding you firmly in place. Shock was clear as day on his face, as he looked at you, before he gathered himself enough to park at the sidewalk.

You had to be out of your damn mind, he thought, his heart - unbeknownst to him - matching the racing of yours.

The sudden movement when he stopped the car again, almost had you laughing despite everything, ruining the prank. But the shock on his face, made you swallow.

Maybe he wouldn't find it as funny as you would do. At least you hoped you would at the end of the day.

"Wait-" he asked of you, his tongue brushing over his lower lip in uneasiness. He didn't know how to react properly, you had hit him like a truck with your confession.

"Y/N-" he began, taking a deep breath, as he tried to make sense of the situation, get a hold of it. "Look, you're a beautiful woman - really you are. But you're my rookie, a-and-" he had to stop himself, biting his lip.

This had to be a bad joke.

You did the same, your lip hurting as you bit down to stop yourself from laughing, teeth almost drawing blood. Even if you actually had feelings for him, the moment he would find out you're pranking him, would still be priceless.

The silence grew tense, as the playfulness of the situation slowly faded, though.

Maybe you shouldn't have done this.

He swallowed, you heard it. "Tim-" "Y/N-" you interrupted each other, both closing your mouths.

"I'll go first." you decided before he was able to speak up again, taking a shaky breath. "It was a prank - or at least it was supposed to be one. It should have been funny, but it wasn't. I'm sorry."

He inhaled sharply, as he abruptly turned his head away from you.

That was not how you expected him to react.

Swallowing, you kneaded your hands, the phone tugged away under your thigh. Were you supposed to say something?

Before you could, though, he turned back around sharply, gaze hardened as he fumed silently, with his tongue nudging against the inside of his cheek.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he then suddenly snapped, causing you to flinch in your seat.

Yeah, you had definitely crossed a line there.

He inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself in case he would miss when the radio turned on - failing miserably.

"What do you mean you wanted to prank me? Telling me that you have feelings for me, practically running me over like a bus with your confession! What did you think you were doing? What did you expect?"

You were taken aback by his sudden outburst, not sure how to react. Or how to make up for it, if you'd get out of this alive in the first place.

"I-I-" you stuttered, looking down on your fidgeting hands. "I didn't mean to upset you like that, really. I thought you'd find it funny."

His brows twitched, as did his mouth. He felt like you'd just ran him over again with that damn bus.

"But it isn't." he stated, gaze fixed on you. "It isn't funny. For a moment I thought you'd mean what you said. But then you tell me it's a prank."

He almost sounded hurt, somehow.

Turning away from him, you bit on your cheek, the flesh already raw from all the biting. It was a nervous habit of yours, one you weren't able to get rid of.

Your cheeks burned, most likely turning a deep shade of red.

Honestly, you had expected a lot, but not this.

Lucy had told you how he reacted when she did it - okay, maybe it wasn't original to copy her prank, but she told you how funny it was, so you thought what could go wrong?

A lot, apparently.

But why did he react so differently now?

You were a mere inch away from leaving the car, quitting your job. It was so embarrassing, and you were sure you'd never recover from this.

The silence grew more tense the more time passed, as neither of you knew what to say.

Would he report you? Get you fired? He had your fate in his hands, after all.

"I'm sorry." you pressed out through clenched teeth, trying to not burst into tears. The fact that he reacted that way, made you even more insecure about your feelings for him.

If he'd react like this, getting angry at you, when you'd tell him honestly, you didn't know what you would do.

He forced the car to move again, angrily shifting it into drive, before you drove down the quiet street.

He didn't even react to you trying to apologize.

Breathing in shakily, you looked out at the street, straightening your posture. You had to be attentive. If you'd miss anything, it surely wouldn't help his sour mood.

For a while it was quiet, and for the first time since you drove with Tim, you were happy about your shift ending soon, as the sun settled.

When he parked the car in the garage, you hastily climbed out, opening the trunk to gather the bags and guns. He stayed in his seat, only leaving the car when you closed the trunk again.

Without sparing him another glance, you walked to the output, handing Jerry the items with a forced smile.

The old man didn't know what happened, so you tried to be as calm as possible.

Walking to the locker room, you hurried to get changed, stuffing your things into your backpack, before you slung it over your shoulder.

You didn't wait for Lucy, as you'd normally would when your shifts ended at the same time, instead walking straight towards the exit.

How would the following day get? Would he stay angry at you? Would he ask to be replaced as your TO?

You desperately hoped not, even if you'd never be able to look into his eyes again.

Wiping at your eyes, you put the backpack on the passenger's seat, slamming the door shut, before walking around the car to get inside.

"Y/N!" you heard someone call out your name, panicking as you realized it was Tim, who'd been standing at his truck, now walking towards you.

You hadn't seen him before in the darkness of the parking lot.

It was out of instinct, that you climbed inside the car, starting it, before you hastily moved out of the parking lot.

He knew you'd heard him, your eyes had found his after he'd called out to you. That you were ignoring him now, driving past him, as he stood speechless where your car had been parked, caused his heart to crack.

Had he scared you off?

He was sure he'd upset you, there was no denying it, but that you simply ignored him and chose to flee instead, made him feel all the more insecure.

His heartbeat felt cold in his chest, as he gripped the straps of his backpack tighter.

He had to follow you.

And so he did.

After a few turns, you saw his headlights behind you - his car familiar enough to recognize them. Groaning, you tried to concentrate on the street, ignoring him for the moment, as your heart picked up its pace and your hands began to sweat.

When you eventually parked in your driveway, he parked right behind you, effectively blocking your car, so there was no way for you to escape him again.

Or better yet, flee again.

Now angry, you got out of your car, walking straight towards him as he did the same.

"What do you want?" you asked, frustration seeping out of your pores. "I want to talk." he gave back just as evenly frustrated, stopping a few feet away from you. "I wanted to talk back at the parking lot, but you just drove away."

Your cheeks grew uncomfortably hot, gaze shifting from Tim to the ground beneath him. It seemed so ridiculous to you now, the way you chose to flee instead of letting him confront you.

He would have either way.

A humorless chuckle left you, followed by another. "And now?" you wanted to know, looking back up at him with crossed arms. "Do you want me to tell you I'm sorry? I already did. It was just a stupid prank, I don't even know why you followed me or what you wanna talk about."

Your self defenses flickered to life, not sure what he wanted to hear from you.

His jaw ticked, teeth gritting.

"Did you do it on purpose?" he asked, shaking his head as a look you weren't able to place passed over his features. "Did you lead me on?"

Your brows knitted together in confusion, not fully understanding him. "What do you mean, leading you on?"

He huffed, taking a small step closer, causing you to swallow at the nerves bubbling up inside you, trying to fight them.

"I mean the constant flirting, the way you talk to me." he started to explain, taking another step closer. "The way your hand would brush mine, a simple touch so irrelevant, yet so important. The way you made me-"

He cut himself off, the sentence being left hanging in the air. But you wanted to know the rest of it, wanted to know why he was saying these things.

"Made you what?" you demanded to know, head tilting as your brows furrowed even more.

The light on your porch went out, engulfing you in darkness, but with a flick of your hand it came back to life, illuminating his features in the golden hue again.

Illuminating how painfully handsome he was.

Instead of answering your question, he decided otherwise.

"I believed you, when you told me you have feelings for me." he began, swallowing, as one of his hands balled into a fist at his side. "I believed you and I hoped for it to be true. But then you tell me it's a prank - I-"

He cut himself off again, shaking his head in disappointment, as his eyes looked away. He bit his lip, tearing at the soft cushion so hard, it almost ripped.

Meanwhile, your heart seemed to have caught on fire. You didn't quite get what he wanted to say, yet, but your body grew warmer, the more he spoke.

He ignited the smallest flame of hope inside you. It licked at your heartstrings dangerously, threatening to burn you at any moment.

"I got defensive, pushing you away." he eventually continued, looking back up. The fire in his eyes seemed diminished, their light faded.

"I was angry - to be honest I still am. I wanted to wait for your training to be over, before I- Before I would ask you out on a date."

Your breath hitched in your throat, body involuntarily taking a step back, as the force of his words hit you, setting the small flame ablaze. It momentarily knocked the air out of your lungs, the blood pumping loudly in your ears.

You must have misheard him - that was the only explanation.

He had planned to ask you out on a date?

Tears welled up in your eyes, a horrible realization settling in your stomach, quickly drowning the growing flame: you had scared him off, hurt his feelings.

It was a feeling you didn't like - not at all.

You wanted to say something, but he was faster.

"All this time I thought your flirts and the things you did were intentional, had a meaning. But now I know, that I was wrong. All you did was lead me on, making me believe that you felt the same way, but I was wrong."

"Tim-" you dared to speak up, interrupting him as you took a step back towards him. The words got stuck in your throat, though.

Would he even believe you?

He shook his head, biting his cheek, drawing blood. But he didn't even flinch at the sting it brought, instead breathing it in, to distract him from the turmoil of feelings raging inside him.

"I was so excited, because I was happy that your training is over soon." he continued, breathing in through his nose deeply, as his voice shook the slightest bit. "I was excited, because the waiting would have finally been over. But - again - I was wrong. I have feelings for you, and you decided to make my heart leap out of my chest, just so you could crush it all in the same breath."

You felt like he'd slapped you across the face. His words sent a chill down your spine, knowing that he wouldn't easily forgive you, if he even would in the first place.

"Made you what?" you rasped out, choking on your tears as you demanded an answer for your earlier question. He tensed, swallowing, before he finally answered.

"Made me fall in love with you."

One of the tears spilled, followed by another and another. Eyes closing, your head hang low. His confession was what you had hoped to hear for the last months, almost a year, yet it crushed you, groping at you with iron claws.

One stupid prank had ruined everything.

Eyes opening again, you lifted them, meeting his. His gaze was glued to you, even when you hadn't been looking at him. He seemed like he demanded an answer, yet fearing what it would be.

"You are in love with me?" you choked out, hands trembling. Your heart nearly stumbled, having trouble to believe him, but he nodded.

"I'm in love with you, too." you confessed, even though it might have been too late now. "Have been for almost a year now."

Something flashed through his eyes, the light of your porch going out again, before he brought it back to life with a wave if his arm.

Suddenly, he was way closer than before, having used the moment of distraction.

"Say it again." he breathed out, hope making his eyes glitter. "I'm in love with you." you repeated, relishing in the way it made his eyes flutter closed briefly. "Again." he whispered, hands finding yours.

"I'm in love with you, Tim Bradford."

He inhaled sharply, his grip on your hands tightening. "Why did you prank me?" he wanted to know, reigniting the guilt inside you. Sighing, you looked down.

"It was Lucy's idea." you admitted, biting your tear stained lip, tasting the salt. "She told me about how she did it last year, so I thought I could test the waters with it. But you reacted so badly, that I decided to leave it as a prank, not telling you the real intention I had."

"I wanted to be the first." he spoke, tugging at your hands slightly, pulling you closer, as your eyes found their way back to his. "I wanted to ask you out on a date, tell you how I feel. I wanted it to be something special."

Swallowing, you nodded. Your eyes flickered to his lips, his breath on your own.

"Then make it something special." you said, voice husky.

You didn't have to tell him twice, as his lips found yours in an eager kiss. You inhaled him, as you kissed him back. Your hands entangled from his, finding his neck instead. His own grabbed your waist, tugging you closer.

The wood scraped against your back, as he pushed you against the front door of your house, demanding entrance with his tongue.

You greedily let him in, fumbling for your keys, as you did so, coming up with nothing.

His fingers impatiently brushed your pants pocked, eliciting a hushed giggle from you, as he fumbled for your keys.

"God damn it." he grumbled, braking apart from you, as he didn't find them either. Your brows furrowed, as he jogged to your car, ripping the door open and retrieving the key.

In your hurry to get to him, you had left it in the ignition.

Brushing the hair out of your face, you huffed as he held it up, locking your car, before he stepped around you, opening the door to let you both in.

The intensity of the situation was thick, palpable, as he closed the door behind you, not wasting any time to pull you back to him, his lips back on yours.

He blindly walked you backwards into the open living, kitchen and dining area. Your hips hit the dining table, causing the few things on it to rattle and shake. His hands gripped your thighs, helping you to sit on it.

Yours found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upwards, as he did the same with yours. Your arms tangled, causing you to break apart.

His eyes narrowed, as he tugged at your shirt meaningfully, but you were too stubborn to let him go first, as you tugged as well.

You stared each other in the eyes, both too stubborn and dominant to give in. His head dipped down, lips finding your neck. He began to suck, causing your eyes to flutter closed, as you momentarily lost focus.

He used the distraction to remove your hands, tugging the shirt over your head.

You huffed breathlessly, realizing how he had distracted you to go first. He chuckled, sending you a smirk that sent sparks down to your core, making your legs weak.

Removing his shirt as well, you let it fall to the floor, before his lips found your neck again, kissing downwards and over the swell of your breasts, as he pushed you down on the table.

Your breathing faltered, as one of his large hands cupped one of your breasts through the fabric of your bra. His thumb brushed over the covered nipple, making you shiver at the distant sensation.

Suppressing a moan, you pushed up on your elbows, as he unfastened your bra, throwing it on the floor, as his mouth attached to one of the hardened peaks.

His tongue swirled around it, tearing a gasp from you, the pleasure sent straight to your core.

Grabbing his shoulder, you pushed him back. He looked at you with confusion, tilting his head, but you continued pushing, until he was sitting down on the chair beside him, as realization struck him.

Chuckling in amusement, he adjusted so he was sitting more comfortably, eagerly reaching for you as you straddled his lap.

Your hands found his bare chest, tracing over the muscles that contracted underneath your fingertips at the touch. His hands found your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh.

His breathing hitched, as you rolled against his covered erection with your jeans clad core. His grip on you tightened, most likely leaving marks.

He guided you, as you did it again, softly moaning at the bit of friction it gave you. Pushing down as you did it over and over again, he tried to increase the pressure, his hard-on painfully straining against the fabric of his pants.

He liked your dominant nature, often having imagined what you’d act like in a situation like this, with unholy thoughts filtering through his mind.

"Fuck." Tim muttered, hazy from the friction, yet unsatisfied. He tried to regain the upper hand, but you wouldn't let him. Chuckling into his ear, you teased the shell of it with your tongue, his hard-on rocking into you, as he shuddered in response.

Fuck, you were dominant, but so was he.

Letting you continue your movement, he tugged at the button on your jeans, opening it, before he grabbed your ass harshly, causing you to moan into his ear, and he temporarily lost focus at the heavenly sound.

He took you with him as he stood, causing you to yelp slightly in surprise, as he put you back on the table, pushing you down on it, so you were lying on it.

He didn't have the patience to move to another room or surface, as he unzipped your pants, tugging them down your legs along with your panties.

Gasping as the cold air hit your wet cunt, you watched him strip his remaining clothes as well.

He was gorgeous, for all he was worth. Shaped in just the right way, no matter which part of his body.

His lips found yours, as he leaned over you, his fingers parting your folds to collect some of your arousal, before he used it to rub your clit in delicate circles.

You moaned at the feeling, arching into him, as one of his fingers slipped inside you, soon followed by a second, pumping in and out of you, preparing you for his cock, eliciting beautiful sounds from you in which he bathed.

He watched your face as it contorted, teetering on the brink of your first orgasm. Just as you almost made it over the edge, he removed his fingers, using the remaining liquid on them to stroke his cock, aligning it with your entrance.

You fell down the cliff, but on the wrong side, as the build up tension slowly subsided again, leaving you deeply unsatisfied.

He teased you, brushing through your folds with the tip, barely pushing inside. It made you see stars, as you desperately pleaded for more - a stark contrast to the dominance you had emitted only moments ago.

He liked the sound of that even more.

Your pleas were fulfilled, as he suddenly pushed inside, stretching you deliciously. He slowly inched forward, groaning at how tight you gripped him.

You believed to burst, when he filled you to the brim, his hips meeting yours in a chaste kiss, as the tip of his cock lightly brushed your cervix. You moaned, not having expected him to be this big.

His lips attached to your neck, sucking, kissing and nipping, as he waited for your go, hips rutting into you the slightest bit, as he had struggle to compose himself, now that he was finally buried inside your heat.

Your fingertips brushed his nipple and he jerked forward, eyes meeting yours, as you grinned up at him. Shaking his head, he took it as his signal to finally move.

He slid out of your dripping cunt slowly, before he pushed back inside with a snap of his hips, causing you to choke on a breath, gasping afterwards.

His lips parted in a strangled moan, at the way you clenched around him, dragging him closer to the edge with each thrust. He pulled back out, but you clenched down on him on purpose, causing him to rut right back inside you, before he even had a chance to really pull out.

He shook his head at you, laughing quietly, as he smirked down at you.

Two can play this game.

His lips found your nipple, your back arching as he sucked it into his mouth, all the while slowly rocking in and out of you. The pace was brutally soft, teasing you to the brink of tears, as his tongue flicked over the hardened peak.

"Tim..." you breathed out desperately, heels digging into his back to make him move faster. He smirked against your nipple, but complied, as he picked up the pace.

Soon he was pounding into you, the tip of his cock brushing that spongy spot that made you moan his name with each thrust, believing to see stars. You were a panting and moaning mess under him, fully subjected to him.

He groaned and moaned into your ear, as he chased your releases, trying to hold back until you would be coming. His pace was relentless, as he fucked into you, the objects on the table soon tipping over, but neither of you cared.

"I'm close." you announced out of breath, though gasping, as he hit that one spot again. His lips found yours, as his fingers ghosted down your body and to where you were connected, parting your folds to find your clit.

He rubbed circles on it and you cried out, coming hard on his cock. Clenching down on him, you made it even harder for him to move, dragging him over the edge with you, as he moaned your name in bliss.

His warmth filled you up, as he stilled, harshly breathing as he tried to calm his racing heart. Yours seemed like it would never stop racing, lung desperately burning for air.

"Wow." you breathed, still feeling a bit dizzy. He smiled down at you, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from your face.

"Yeah."

You fell silent for a moment, as his eyes searched yours for any sign of regret. But he found none.

"I want you." he admitted, clearing his throat as he shifted his weight on top of you. "I want to go on a date with you."

His words caused you to smile up at him, the happiness spreading through you as you still glowed from your high.

He believed he'd never seen anything this beautiful before.

"I want that too." you admitted, nodding. "I want to go out with you, even if we have to hide for the rest of my training."

His face fell slightly, only then remembering your current situation, before he nodded as well, pecking your lips. "I'm willing to hide with you." he spoke, his hips connecting with yours again as he rocked forward, earning a gasp from you.

He chuckled, lips brushing over your cheek.

"And then, when your training is over and you're officially a p2, we won't have to hide anymore." he continued, kissing down your jaw and to your neck, butterflies erupting in your stomach.

"I will tell everyone that you're mine."

Your body shivered pleasantly at his words, sighing in bliss. "I like that idea."

"Good, 'cause now you'll never get rid of me again." he promised you, looking back up into your eyes.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Tag List

@newobsessionweekly @laheysfilm

@rookietrek @augustvandyne

#the rookie #the rookie imagine #the rookie x reader #the rookie x u #tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford imagine #imagine #tim bradford smut

1K notes · View notes

vingtetunmars · 2 months ago

Text

Silver Springs

Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Summary: Years after Corroded Coffin's rise to fame, the band's frontwoman and Eddie Munson — once lovers, now estranged — find their past echoing through every lyric and chord. After a bitter fallout tore them apart, a chance reunion at a music awards gala rekindles old wounds.

Epilogue

Tags: Lovers to Strangers to ???, angst, hurt/maybe comfort, possible second chances, Eddie's a bit of an ass but dw he regretted it, she'll follow him down till the sound of her voice will haunt him. No mentions of Y/N.

A/N: I was showering when Silver Spring came to shuffle, and I just had to barf it all out before I go down a spiral. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 3k

masterlist

1984

You were always louder than the amps.

Not in volume, necessarily, but in presence. In grit. In the way you stared down a crowd with that crooked little smirk before you opened your mouth and sang like the world had done you wrong and you were going to make damn sure it listened. You were all spitfire and heartbreak, leather and chipped black polish, and Eddie Munson thought you were the most electrifying thing to ever walk into his life.

He met you during an open mic night at some dingy bar in Hawkins — before Corroded Coffin was anything more than a few boys dreaming out loud. You stepped onto the stage like it was a throne, borrowed guitar slung over your shoulder, and sang something raw, throat-shaking, and holy.

You didn’t even look at him that night.

He looked at you like a revelation.

He said it first — because of course he did. Three beers in and high off your shared first rehearsal, sweaty and wild in Gareth’s garage with your voices cracking and your fingers bleeding.

“You know you’re trouble, right?” he said, lying on the floor, hair a mess, arm slung over his eyes.

You tilted your head, curled your lip into a grin.

“Only if you get too close.”

He got close.

You didn’t fall in love all at once. It was louder than that. Messier. A series of late-night drives in his van where you argued about song lyrics and made out between takes. Sharing old Walkmans and trading off headphones. Whispering melodies into each other’s mouths when sleep wouldn’t come.

“I love you,” he murmured into your hair one night, quiet as a secret, scared like it might jinx something.

“Took you long enough,” you whispered back, but your fingers were in his curls and your cheek was pressed to his chest, listening to the way his heart kicked.

Sometimes you’d be backstage, just before the lights hit, his hand squeezing yours. He didn’t need to say it every time — the way he looked at you said enough. Like you were the beat that kept time. Like you were the reason any of this felt real.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he'd ask, teeth flashing, eyes gleaming.

“Always,” you’d grin, adjusting the mic. “Don’t fuck up the solo this time.”

He never did. Not when you were singing.

You were chaos and stardust, he used to say. A storm in black eyeliner. The voice of Corroded Coffin, the girl who stood shoulder to shoulder with him in every photo and never flinched when the spotlight got hot.

It was good. It was so good.

And maybe that’s why it still lingers, even now — like the ringing in your ears after a show, like smoke on your clothes, like a song you wrote together that you can’t bear to listen to anymore.

But you’re not there yet.

Not quite.

Right now, it's still the early days. Fingers tangled in guitar strings. Eyes locked over crowded bars. Two kids in love, chasing noise and fire and fame, and thinking it would always be enough.

“I’m gonna marry you one day,” he whispered, voice hoarse from screaming and weed and maybe too much wanting.

“You better,” you breathed, and kissed him so hard your teeth knocked.

2003

Eddie Munson hadn’t thought about the band in weeks.

Not in the way he used to, anyway. Not with urgency, not with that gnawing need to make noise until the world listened. These days, it was contracts and appearances and the occasional reunion show when the money was good enough and the nostalgia ran deep.

Corroded Coffin had been something. Sold-out tours. Magazine covers. A platinum record that still hung on the wall in his home studio, half-covered by dust and a denim jacket he hadn’t worn in a decade. There was a time when they couldn’t walk down the Sunset Strip without someone yelling their names.

But that was a long time ago. And you? You’d been gone even longer.

He didn’t know where you were now — not exactly. He knew the cities. The setlists. The way your solo career took off like a lit fuse, how critics called you “a voice made of gasoline and god,” how the world found in you what he already knew. What he used to have.

Eddie didn’t listen to the radio much anymore. Too risky.

But the van was on its last legs, and the aux cable had finally died for good, so he was stuck with FM, flipping through static and commercials as he took the long drive up the coast. Maybe to clear his head. Maybe to escape it.

He was halfway through a sharp turn, Pacific glittering to the left, when it happened.

That voice.

Your voice.

Soft at first. Just a breath. Then a note — long and low, curling at the edges like smoke.

He gripped the wheel tighter.

He almost swerved.

It was that song. The one from your third solo album. The one the public picked apart like vultures, trying to find which lyric meant him. They never needed to guess. He knew. He always knew.

Because you wrote it the way you lived: no filter, no mercy.

He turned the volume down, but not off.

It was masochism, maybe. Or maybe it was penance.

You sounded older. Not in a bad way. Just… lived-in. Weathered. Like someone who’d survived the kind of love that scars.

And god, did he miss you.

Not just the you who kissed him backstage, or finished his sentences in interviews. He missed the fighter in you. The fire-eyed, foul-mouthed girl who spit lyrics like knives and made every stage feel like the center of the goddamn universe.

You’d burned so brightly. He should’ve gone blind.

Instead, he let you leave.

And now you haunted him in every melody, every lonely drive, every radio signal strong enough to carry your voice across the coast like a curse.”

He pulled over.

Parked at the edge of a lookout, engine ticking, chest tight.

He let the last notes play out. Let the silence settle.

You were still following him. Maybe always would.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t reach to turn the dial.

1998

It started with a song.

Like most things between you and Eddie.

Rehearsal had already gone long. Too many late nights. Too many new eyes on the band. The label breathing down their necks, looking for the next hit. The tour looming. The air thick with pressure. Eddie’s knee bounced restlessly on the amp he was sitting on, fingers tapping out a rhythm even though they’d been playing for hours.

You were standing at the center of the room, boots planted, mic cord coiled like a whip around your wrist.

“You’re flatting it again,” he muttered, not looking up.

You stared at him. “No, I’m not. I changed the phrasing — it’s intentional.”

“Well, it sounds off. The chorus loses punch. The whole hook feels—” He waved a hand vaguely. “—detached.”

You blinked. “It’s supposed to hurt, Eddie. Not everything has to be a punch. Sometimes people just bleed.”

Gareth, Jeff, and Doug exchanged glances, silent.

Eddie stood up. “You’re too in your head about this one. It’s a single. Not a therapy session.”

That was the first blow.

You flinched like he’d slapped you. “Is that what you think this is? Just me being sad with a guitar?”

“I think you’ve been turning every verse into a fucking diary entry,” he snapped, jaw tight. “And it’s getting old.”

Your breath caught.

“Oh, right. God forbid I actually feel something,” you spat. “Sorry I can’t be a caricature of your perfect riot girl fantasy anymore.”

It was personal now. Everyone knew it. They always danced around it, pretended the tension in the studio was just artistic friction. But the truth was—it hadn’t been just music for a long time.

You stepped closer, voice low. “You want a puppet, Eddie? Someone who’ll smile for the cameras and sing your lyrics and shut up when you take all the credit?”

His eyes snapped to yours. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Twist this into some goddamn betrayal.”

You scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who said I was nothing without this band.”

Eddie’s face darkened.

“That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you meant.” Your voice cracked then — barely. Just enough. “You don’t think I see it? How you’ve been freezing me out since LA? How every time I bring in a song it’s suddenly not 'Coffin enough'?”

“Because it’s not!” he shouted, finally exploding. “It’s you! It’s all you, all the time — it’s not a band anymore, it’s a goddamn solo project featuring the rest of us! And maybe—maybe that’s all you ever wanted.”

Silence.

Even the amps seemed to hum nervously.

You stared at him, eyes wide and stung. And then you laughed. But there was no joy in it.

“I begged you to work on that song with me,” you said, quiet. “I waited for hours while you got high in the parking lot. I covered for you when you forgot lyrics on stage. I believed in you when no one else gave a shit about this band, Eddie.”

He didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

“And all this time,” you went on, breath shaking, “you were just waiting for the moment I got too big for you.”

The silence stretched. Jeff shifted awkwardly, but no one spoke.

Finally, you nodded to yourself. Like the final note had hit.

You unwound the mic cord from your wrist, set it down gently on the amp beside you.

“Okay,” you said. No dramatics. No tears. Just finality.

You turned, grabbed your jacket, and walked.

Gareth started to move — maybe to call after you. Maybe to stop you.

But Eddie didn’t.

He didn’t say a word.

Not then.

They played one last show together.

Not officially — not that anyone knew it at the time — but everyone felt it.

The venue was packed, lights low and golden, the air thick with heat and screaming fans. But backstage, no one was screaming. No one was even speaking. Except for Gareth, maybe, trying to crack a joke that didn’t land.

You wouldn’t look at him.

Eddie kept his guitar in his lap, fingers picking a riff he didn’t even realize he was playing. The setlist hadn’t changed. The songs were the same ones they always played. But something else was loaded in the air, like stormclouds hiding just behind the amps.

And when they got to that song — the one you wrote about him, for him, against him — the audience felt it.

Every note. Every glance. Every sharp intake of breath.

It started with your voice — steady but biting, like you had something clenched in your teeth. You didn’t sing to the crowd. You sang at him. Your eyes found his, once, and didn’t flinch. The way your mouth wrapped around every lyric was more like a warning than a performance.

And when it came time for his part — the backup line that was never meant to be loud — he stepped forward into the mic.

He didn’t harmonize. He fought.

They weren’t singing anymore. They were shouting in tune.

Like every word was a dagger, every verse a memory dragged back from the grave.

It wasn’t just heartbreak. It was defiance. It was betrayal. It was two people who still loved each other in ways that hurt too much to hold.

And everyone saw it.

Even now, fans talk about that night like it was folklore. They say you could feel the stage crack under the weight of them. That it wasn’t music — it was a breakup set to distortion. That her voice had never sounded so sharp. That his never sounded so wounded. That you could watch their history bleed through every lyric, every gaze that almost met and then didn’t.

After the final chord rang out, she left the stage first.

No wave. No bow.

Just gone.

And the next morning, you were too.

Eddie would never forget the sound of your boots echoing down the hallway, or how you didn’t even take your leather jacket.

That performance would be the last time they stood side by side.

And the world wouldn’t stop replaying it.

2004

You didn’t want to be here.

The makeup, the flashbulbs, the champagne that tasted like coins. You hadn’t walked a red carpet in four years — not since the last album, not since you decided your voice didn’t need a face to haunt people. But your team insisted. A legacy award. A lifetime achievement thing. You weren’t even forty, but they called you iconic now, which usually meant still alive, but no longer a threat.

The dress was black. Sleek. Simple. You never liked frills. Your eyeliner was heavier than usual, a silent act of defiance. You stayed near the edge of the crowd during the afterparty, cradling a whiskey neat in one hand, eyes drifting between velvet curtains and industry ghosts.

That’s when he showed up.

One of those golden boys — platinum records, model exes, cheekbones sharp enough to slice through ego. He sauntered over like he’d won something.

“Didn’t think you were real,” he said, offering a smile like it was a business card. “Thought you were some kind of myth.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, unimpressed. “Disappointed?”

He laughed. A little too loud. Definitely a little drunk.

“Nah. You’re better than the stories.” He leaned in slightly. “But I gotta ask—what’s it take to get a legend like you to come out of hiding?”

You took a sip of your drink, slow. Let the silence stretch. He wasn’t used to that.

“A good reason,” you said flatly. “This barely qualified.”

His grin faltered for a second. Not enough to make him quit — just enough to make him recalibrate. He leaned against the wall beside you like he belonged there.

“You know, I used to have posters of you in my room,” he added, fishing for a reaction. “You were kind of my first heartbreak.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s unfortunate. You should pick better crushes.”

“I don’t know,” he said, trying for charming. “I’ve always had a thing for complicated.”

You tilted your head, something colder sliding into your expression. “Then you’d love my discography. It’s full of people who wanted the fantasy, not the fallout.”

His smile cracked then, just a little. You looked away, eyes drifting to the ceiling like you could ignore the glitter and the chatter and the weight of everything this place used to mean.

“Sorry,” he said, quieter now. “Didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”

You shook your head. “You didn’t.”

You just weren’t interested.

Because in the corners of your mind — even now, years and lifetimes and lovers later — there was still him.

The boy who played guitar like he was exorcising demons. The man who let you walk away because neither of you knew how to hold on without breaking everything else. The ghost you carried in every song, every verse that ended in silence instead of resolution.

And no amount of charm from a stranger could scrape that out of your chest.

“I should go,” you said, already walking away.

You didn’t look back.

And you thought of him.

Still.

Always.

You were across the room before he even realized what gravity felt like again.

Eddie hadn’t expected to see you tonight. He hadn’t even known you’d be here — nobody ever knew with you. You didn’t do red carpets anymore. No late-night talk shows. No surprise features or industry dinners. you voice stayed, sure — in soundtracks and charts and in his fucking head — but you youself? you had vanished from the public eye like a magician pulling off one last trick.

But there you were.

A black dress. A sharp line of eyeliner. Whiskey in your hand and that same steel in your posture, like no one could touch you unless you let them. Everyone else in the room blurred into wallpaper the moment you entered.

And god, you looked like something he used to pray for. Still did, sometimes, by accident.

He found himself walking toward you before he had time to second guess it.

When you looked up and saw him, your eyes didn’t widen. No gasp. No drama. Just a stillness — like something old settling into place.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” he said, once he was close enough to speak without an audience.

You sipped your drink. “Didn’t think you’d still remember me.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “You wrote yourself into every radio. Kinda hard to forget.”

You tilted your head slightly. “That’s not what I meant.”

He nodded. “I know.”

A beat passed. The air between them felt almost too full to breathe.

“I heard your speech,” he added. “It was… good.”

“You mean short.”

He shrugged. “Poetic.”

You cracked a faint smile. That old kind — the one that didn’t show up in press photos or magazine spreads, the one only a few people in the world ever earned.

“It’s weird,” you said after a moment, softer now. “Being here. Letting people look at me again.”

“They never stopped,” Eddie said. “They just didn’t know where to look.”

You glanced around the room — not knowing how to react — then back at him.

“You still write?”

“Bits and pieces. Mostly for other people now.”

“That’s a shame,” she said. “You were always better when it was yours.”

“You still sing like you’re trying to save your own soul,” he said, and she looked away — like it hit too close.

You glanced at him then — really looked. Like you’d just remembered how.

“You hurt me,” you said. No venom. Just the truth.

“I know,” he said again. Softer. “I hurt me too.”

That surprised you — just a flicker in your eyes, like a memory resurfacing.

“I didn’t stop you,” he continued. “That’s what I’ve been stuck on for years. You walked, and I just… let you.”

You didn’t say anything.

So he kept going.

“I thought if I said something, if I begged you to stay, it would’ve made it worse. Like admitting how much I needed you would break what little we had left.”

“Maybe it would’ve,” you whispered. “But at least it would’ve been honest.”

He nodded, jaw tense.

“Do you regret it?” you asked suddenly.

“All the time,” he said without hesitation. “But not the music. Never the music.”

That made you smile. Barely. But it was there.

“I never said I was sorry,” he said quietly. “Back then.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I did.” He looked at you, honest and wrecked. “I should’ve said something. Anything. I should’ve stopped you.”

your jaw clenched slightly. “I don’t know if I would’ve let you.”

“Maybe not,” he agreed. “But I still should’ve tried.”

Something in your face cracked then — just a flicker. Not pain, not anger. Just recognition. Like a ghost brushing your shoulder and whispering, you’re not the only one who remembers.

They stood there for a moment, years layered between them like sediment.

The gala hummed around them — clinking glasses, polite laughter, a distant jazz band trying its best.

Finally, you said, “I don’t know what this is.”

“Me neither.”

“But it doesn’t feel like nothing.”

He smiled. Not the stage kind. The old kind.

“No,” he said. “It never did.”

you finished the last sip of you drink, then set the glass down on a tray.

And before you turned away, before you left him standing in the hum of chandeliers and chance, you said—

“Maybe we start with a conversation.”

And he nodded, heart catching in his throat.

“I’d like that.”

A beginning. Again.

Maybe.

Epilogue

#kar's fics ☆#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fics #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things #eddie munson angst

216 notes · View notes