#making an excel watch window | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

weixuldo · 11 months ago

Text

Baby Fever

Anakin x f!reader

This is based off of number 2 of this list :)- I havent really delved into kink writing s sorry if this isnt the best haha- think of the reader as a padme- type figure

After seeing you interact with a lost child- Anakin thinks it’s time you had your own baby to look after…

warnings: P in V, smex, ani has a mean breeding kink, multiple orgasms, mentiond of pregnancy

________________

Floods of invigorating politicians and citizens exited the large Coruscant city center after a successful senate meeting. You had just finished pitching a plan that would excel the economy while also protecting labor’s rights.

You smiled as you stood from your podium once the majority of the crowds had exited- the whole public eye thing was a bit new to you.

For the longest time you worked behind the scenes helping other politicians with similar goals; it wasn’t until a few months ago that you, yourself, were appointed as your district’s senator.

You fixed your dress as you exited your booth and headed for the dimly lit corridors of the massive building. Most of the clamor had moved outside into the city square so the halls were mostly empty.

As you turned the corner a small smile found its way onto your face once you saw a familiar figure leaning against a marble pillar. Unmistakable robes and lightsaber clipped to the man’s belt.

“I wasn’t aware Jedi had any interest in politics” you said with a smirk as the man snaked a gloved arm around you before you could pass.

He pressed his face into your hair as he hugged you tighter to his chest, “We don’t, but you know all of my interest belongs to you”.

You sighed as he pressed a passionate kiss to the column of your neck.

“Ani- not here” you almost whimpered.

He quickly twirled you around to face him before holding your face in his hands, “why not?” he asked with a charming smirk- “we should let them all know”.

He glanced out the large windows down at the crowds of excited civilians- from up here they looked no larger than ants running for a sugar jar.

“They all love you, so why can’t I?” Anakin asked with a pout.

You sweetly smiled before placing a tender kiss to his pretty lips, “you can, and you do- you know the ramifications Anakin, you know we ca-“.

Anakin cut you off with another deep kiss before releasing you and playfully slapping your ass.

“Yeah yeah, I know” he huffed, “but they don’t know that”.

You rolled your eyes at your lover’s childish desires before leading him out of the building.

To avoid the spotlight and attention of the crowds, you dawned a hooded cloak before exiting the center.

Anakin followed closely behind; a hand already on his saber just in case. Thankfully being in public with Anakin seemed normal to some degree because you had become such a public figure- Jedi were often tasked with protecting political officials.

So Anakin looked no different than a routine bodyguard.

The crowds were easier to navigate now that you had some practice under your belt. You had almost made it to your reserved speeder when you felt a small tug on the hem of your long dress.

You smiled once you realized the tugging was coming from a small child, probably no older than four.

She looked up at you with wonder as she mustered up the courage to speak to you.

“Senator?” She finally asked.

You nodded with a smile before turning to her. A wide grin settled onto her small face as she looked you up and down.

“Pretty” she giggled.

Anakin stood a few feet behind you, trying to see what was going on over the people standing in the way- he became anxious when you dipped from view.

The Jedi quickly weaved through the remaining people to see you crouched down speaking to a small child. His expression immediately softened as he watched you interact so sweetly with the girl; making exaggerated faces at the child’s comments, pointing out her cute accessories to make her giggle, picking her up to shield her from oncoming pedestrians-

Anakin never really thought about having kids- of course he wanted them someday; he wanted to create life with you and wanted to raise his children with a childhood he never got to have. But it never seemed like the right time.

The two of you had been careful when engaging in those activities to avoid an unexpected surprise when you still hadn’t quite figured out how to navigate your secret relationship.

But each time Anakin fucked you he got closer and closer to giving up on the unspoken rule; he got closer and closer to cumming deep inside of you without any intention of pulling out.

You knew Anakin was a passionate lover but you never considered that your sweet, respectful Jedi lover fantasized about locking you into a mating press while he fucked his children into your fertile womb.

Anakin had no timeline of when he wanted them, but he knew you’d make a great mother no matter how long (or short) he waited.

Though seeing you interact in real time just made him want the fantasy to spring to reality.

_________

“Hello sweetie, where are your parents?” You cooed at the small girl in your arms.

She giggled and shrugged, making you frown.

“Well that’s not good, they’re probably worried about you” you said, scanning the crowd for anyone who held any semblance to the tiny child in your arms.

She, on the other hand, had no interest in finding her guardians- instead she was focused on the shiny tinsel that had been put into your hair prior to your speech. Innocently, she flipped your hood off and began to touch your face as she admired your beauty in childlike wonder.

Before you could react, Anakin was by your side; he gently placed the cloak back over your head to protect you from interested onlookers.

“Ani! You came out of nowhere” you giggled lightheartedly as he guided you off to the side of the still buzzing city square.

“Who’s this?” He asked with a smile as the little girl in your arms hid her face in your shoulder.

“It’s ok baby, he’s a Jedi- he’s very strong and he’s here to protect us” you whispered to the little girl in your arms.

“Jedi?” her green eyes brightened as she became excited at the title.

She continued asking you questions but all Anakin could focus on was how beautiful you looked interacting with such a young child. How natural you looked.

Is this how you would interact with your own children? With his children?

He couldn't help but adjust his pants as he felt them becoming increasingly tighter.

Soon the overexcited child had fallen asleep in your comforting arms; shortly, you began cautiously walking around in hopes to find her parents. The jedi beside you watched as you subconsciously brushed the girl's hair and gently bounced her on your hip.

Before long you finally stumbled across two very worried adults calling for who you could only assume was fast asleep in your arms.

“Oh Maker! There she is!” the woman gasped as she reached for her baby.

The Man she was with breathed out a sigh of relief and quickly joined her as you handed her the sleeping child.

“Thank you so mu- Senator!” the man’s eyes widened once he realized who it was.

“We are so sorry to have troubled you- please forgive us for our carelessness” the woman bowed.

“No, no! It was no trouble at all- you have a beautiful daughter” you smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair away from the girl’s face.

“Thank you, thank you so much. We loved your speech- you are just what this city needs” the mother offered before turning to her husband.

You bowed and met the silent figure watching from the sidelines; “Sorry Ani, we can go now”.

Anakin just nodded silently and trailed you with an uncharacteristically dazed aura.

Once you were in your speeder, Anakin hopped in the driver’s seat and jetted off towards your apartment; his strong jaw clenched as he imagined you full with a child.

He flinched as you placed a tender hand on his tensed thigh, “Ani- are you alright?”.

________________________

A cacophony of moans and groans ricocheted off of the walls of your penthouse bedroom as your lover continuously plunged his cock in and out of your abused hole. He had been at it for two hours already and had already cum once (while you came thrice).

Once you entered your private apartment, all of his carefully crafted will-power snapped and he went feral; the natural urge to breed you, hit him like a bus.

He was all over you; your lips, neck, breasts, cunt- you were his and he was going to make damn sure it stayed that way.

“A-Ani! S-slow down!” you cried as he jetted his thick cock in and out of you.

“S-Sorry baby, C-can’t- I gotta- gotta fill you up” he winced as he fucked you through his own overstimulation.

His heavy balls slapped against your ass and a ring of foam from your combined juices formed at the base of his cock.

He already came inside of you once, what more could he want?

“Baby- t’s too much! You're-spilling all over”.

“N-no, not enough- gotta fuck a baby into you” he grunted against your bruised neck.

His confession had your eyes snapping open, “What?!”.

“Looked too damn good with that baby on your hip- I-I wanna see you with my child on your hip in-instead” he babbled as he pulled you flush against his chest and rutted his desperate hips into yours.

So that's what this was all about.

Admittedly you didn’t mind his desires, deep down you wanted the same thing… you wanted him to reach so deep that he fucked one into you on the spot.

“Oh Fuck Ani- I wan- I want your kids” you admitted ad you raked your long nails down his toned back.

“Shit babe- squeezing me so tight” he whined as he gripped onto your hips with a caging grasp (surely you would be bruised tomorrow).

He slammed his hips flush against yours with intense force as he felt the coil in his stomach begin to snap- this was it, this was the orgasm that was going to give you a child.

He just knew it.

“Ahh c-cumming! Gonna give y-you a child- Shit! i-i ‘m going to fuck my baby into you” he babbled as he felt his hot, thick, warm seed shoot out of his oversensitive tip into your gushing cunt as your own orgasm washed over your like a crest-fallen wave.

“Ani!” you cried as your legs began to shake from the overpowering climax mixed with your exhaustion.

You clawed onto him so hard that you swore you drew blood. Anakin, on the other hand, dove down and captured you into a tight embrace; his mechanical hand making you gasp at the sudden coolness.

His body shook with pleasure and overstimulation as he struggled to rut his hips into you to push the last bit of spend further into you with shaky breaths.

Once you came down from your high, you were so tired that you couldn’t even bother to ask Anakin to clean you up; you half expected him to fall asleep inside of you based on how tired he also looked.

“Gonna make you a mommy- you’ll look s-so good- so round with our child” Anakin mumbled into your neck before slowly turning over so that you were on top of him (his dick still inside).

You hummed in contempt before drifting to sleep as he gently brushed your hair with hsi flesh hand.

“The two of you should get some sleep now- I love you” Anakin whispered before drifting right after you.

You would have giggled at Anakin’s addition of “two” when speaking to you and your hypothetical baby, but as usual your lover was right.

The famed “Jedi perception” was affirmed 9 months later when you cradled not one, but two small bundles of joy. You sat on your couch as you fed your children and Anakin couldn't help but smirk at the scene before him, this is just what he wanted… he couldn’t wait till you could have another one.

***

(a/n: ngl im not crazy big on kids but breeding is hot 🤭🤭 hope this lived up to the idea on the list :0)

4K notes · View notes

aethercoreheart · 3 months ago

Text

rafayel | 9:40 PM

"What's wrong? You've barely touched your pasta."

Rafayel's question comes out in a mumble, his mouth filled with food. You try not to scowl at him, but you feel that your gaze carries a bit of heat. You push the food on your plate around with your fork, and you make a show out of stabbing a piece of gnocchi.

"Nothing," you reply, trying to keep your tone nonchalant. "I'm just not feeling this place."

Rafayel raises an eyebrow at you. "What is it? The food is good, the wine is good. The service is excellent. What's the problem?"

You try to discreetly glance over to the area where the servers are hanging out. They're glancing back at your table, although not so discreetly, some of them giggling behind menus. Throughout the night, they've been checking in on your table constantly, even bringing over free dessert, which Rafayel is currently scoffing down. He's halfway through the tiramisu already, and you had refused a single bite of it. The entire night, the servers had been ignoring you, but had obviously been fawning over your date. You had tried to endure it because Rafayel had recommended the place, but they were starting to get on your last nerve.

Rafayel sees where you're looking and looks over as well. He catches the servers trying to make eye contact with him and he flashes them a smile. You hear them burst into giggles and you feel your eyes roll so hard, they feel like they're going to get stuck at the back of your skull.

"You're entertaining their flirting!" you hiss at Rafayel.

Rafayel looks taken aback for a moment, then you see the glint in his eyes, his lips slowly morphing into a smirk. "Oh? Are you jealous?"

You stab another piece of gnocchi, then slam your fork down. "You know what? I'm going to go wait in the car. Get another drink. Take as long as you want."

You rise from the table, but Rafayel catches your wrist, and tries to pull you back towards him. You glower at him, but don't pull your hand away.

"Okay," he says gently. "Let's leave. I'll just take the rest of this to go."

He glances at the dessert, then at the server's station, then at you.

"On second thought, I'll leave it. I can get something else on the way home."

---

You try to reach for the driver's side door, but Rafayel beats you to it. Actually, he lets you get to it before he pushes in past you and swipes the car keys from your hand.

You stare at him inquisitively.

"What?" he chuckles. "Just because I prefer it when you drive, doesn't mean I actually can't."

You narrow your eyes at him, but then head to the passenger's side door. He rushes past you again, reaching for the door, and opening it for you. You roll your eyes, but can't stop the smile from tugging at the corners of your lips. Rafayel makes his way to the driver's side again, and before you can even buckle your self in, he starts the car and takes off, making you lurch back into your seat.

"Jeez, Rafayel!" you gasp, grasping at the seatbelt. You hurriedly clip yourself in.

"Sorry," he laughs, sheepishly. "Just got excited to drive. I promise, I'm good."

One of your hands grips the handle above the door, and the other is gripping the seatbelt. After a few minutes of driving, you start to relax - it's evident that Rafayel knows what he's doing.

The ride is mostly silent, with the radio softly playing as background noise. You stare out of the window, watching the street lights blur past. Rafayel continues driving, missing the turn he was supposed to take to bring you back home. You turn in your seat and start to protest, but he shushes you.

"I know where I'm going!" he insists. "Just enjoy the ride. We'll be there soon."

---

The car stops at an empty parking lot, facing the shoreline. There are no street lights around - there weren't any for the last few minutes of the drive towards wherever this was - but the entire place is illuminated by the half moon in the sky.

"Where are we?" you ask Rafayel, peering out of your window.

"Stay there," he instructs, getting out of the car. Within a few seconds, he's at your door, pulling it open, his hand extended out to you. You take it, and let him lead you out of the car.

"Come on," he tells you, pulling you along. "I have something to show you."

Both of you head down to the shore, his hand tightly clasped around yours. You make your way to the boardwalk, which extends past where the tide is coming in. Rafayel leads you down, towards the end of the boardwalk, where there is a railing, facing out to the sea. You stop at the railing, watching the moon's reflection rippling on top of the waves.

"Look up," Rafayel whispers, your hand still in his. "Tell me what you see."

You turn your gaze upwards and see a sea of stars, painted across the sky. "I see... the stars?"

"How many?" he asks you.

You shake your head. "Too many to count."

"Yes. That's how many people are going to try to flirt and get my attention while we're together."

You consider tossing Rafayel over the edge of the railing and into the water, but you opt for a dramatic turn and storming back towards the car instead. You're considering leaving him there and just taking the car home without him when he grabs at your wrist again. He pulls you in, and wraps you in an embrace, so tight that you can feel his muscles tensing underneath his jacket. He holds you, one arm wrapped around your waist and the other around your shoulders. His cheek is pressed against yours, and you feel his breath brush against your ear, warm and ticklish. For a few moments, you're both still, locked in this embrace, and you feel his heart pounding against your own chest. Then, he speaks in a gentle whisper.

"And that's also how many times I'm going to reject and ignore them. That's how many times I'm going to choose you. It's you and it's going to be you, over, and over, and over again."

#love and deepspace #lads rafayel #rafayel fluff #rafayel x you #rafayel x mc #rafayel fanfic #rafayel x reader #lads x mc #lads x reader #lads x you #lads fanfic #lads fluff #ae.rafayel

695 notes · View notes

fantasydreamland · 8 months ago

Text

Fun Wife

aegon targaryen x fem lannister reader

Summary: (For the sake of the story Aegon never married Helena) You’re betrothed to the new king who is not too pleased about it. He assumes you’ll turn your nose up at the way he behaves and having a wife will just be a nuisance. He quickly discovers how beautiful and fun his new wife is.

Notes: 18+ ONLY!!! Smuttt, loss of virginity, p in v, public x, getting caught, fingering, oral (f&m), masturbation (m), some fluff, spoilers maybe.

Word count: 4.3k

This is the smuttiest story I’ve written so enjoy lol

masterlist

taglist

“I do not wish to marry.” Aegon says firmly.

The small council meeting had dragged on and everyone, especially his mother, had been pushing for him to marry as soon as possible. Amongst themselves they decided on a bride as if he weren’t even there. He was the king and he should be able to choose when and whom he marries. He did not want to marry some Lannister girl he had never met. And he certainly did not want to marry so soon.

“She is an excellent match Aegon. You must marry.” Alicent insists.

“This is the best way to solidify our relationship with the Lannisters.” Another said.

“I am the king.” Aegon said stomping his foot like a child. “If I do not want to marry right now I should not have to.”

“Yes, Aegon. You are the king.” Alicent says in a calm tone. “And that is why you must marry. You need to produce strong heirs as soon as possible.”

Aegon lets out an obnoxiously loud sigh. He knew his mother was right. He would have to marry but at least he could avoid his wife if he wanted to and just visit her chambers occasionally to try for an heir. He loathed the idea of it all.

**********

A couple weeks later you arrive to kings landing. You were filled with excitement of your wedding, of becoming queen of the seven kingdoms. You had been warned by multiple people of Aegons depravities but it did not phase you. If anything, it made him more intriguing.

Aegon watches from a window waiting for your arrival. He did not want to greet you right away but wanted to see what you looked like. His breath catches when he sees you exit your carriage with your bright blonde hair and beaming smile. He was caught completely off guard. He had obviously hoped you would be attractive, but he never expected you to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

As gorgeous as you were he was still annoyed with concern that you would be uptight and judge him. He did not expect a happy marriage but he could not help but picture the beautiful bright haired children you would make together.

**********

You finally meet at dinner. Aegon could no longer avoid you. He stood from his chair when you entered the room and walked over to greet you.

“Your grace.” You curtsy low. “It is such a pleasure to finally meet you, my king.” You smile brightly at him and hold your hand out to him.

You were even more breathtaking up close. He was surprised by how genuinely happy you seemed to meet him. Your (e/c) eyes sparkled brightly at him making him forget to respond until your eyes darted around awkwardly, your hand lingering in the air.

“Forgive me.” He clears his throat. “The pleasure is all mine, lady Lannister.” He smirks as he kisses your hand and holds eye contact. He swears he could see a flicker of fire behind your eyes.

You give a blushing smile as he lets go of your hand. Everyone begins to sit down to dinner. Alicent sat across from you while your father was beside you, and Aegon sitting on your other side at the head of the table. Alicent made most of the conversation, asking you various questions. Aegon watched you as you talked, seemingly intrigued to learn about you, but he never spoke a word or asked any questions. Alicent found it strange that her usually loud mouthed son was being so quiet.

When supper finishes everyone begins to leave to their chambers for the night.

“Aegon?” Alicent begins, “Why don’t you escort lady Lannister to her chambers.”

“Certainly.” Aegon nodded, the idea exciting him.

You simply smile and take Aegons arm as he leads you down the hall in an oddly comfortable silence, neither of you sure what to say. When you reach the door to your chambers he kisses your hand.

“Goodnight, my betrothed.” Aegon smiles.

“Goodnight, your grace.” You smile back as you curtsy. “I know this was perhaps not how you planned to be wed… but I promise to be a good wife to you, my king.”

Your words touch Aegon and the way your eyes connect you both feel an undeniable spark. He says nothing else but smiles and kisses your cheek before he leaves to his own chambers.

Aegon pleasured himself to the thought of you that night. He never expected to be so infatuated with his new bride to be but you were the definition of perfection. Now he could not wait be wed to you and bed you. The thought of what you looked like under that dress pushes him to the edge as he groans out your name.

**********

The day of the wedding quickly came and you were both filled with excitement. Aegon smiled ear to ear during the entire ceremony. Once you pledge your love to one another you seal the marriage with a kiss.

The moment your lips touch you instantly feel transported to another world where you are the only two people that exist. The only thing that matters in this moment is you and him. Your eyes connect in an intense gaze once your lips part. The cheer of the crowd snaps you out of your daze before Aegon leads you to the feast.

The feast was fun and lively as everyone enjoyed the food and drink. Aegon drank his fill of wine but still asked for your hand to the dance floor. Your drunken bodies pressed together as you danced, causing your heart to race.

“Your cheeks are so red.” Aegon says teasingly as he brushes your cheek with his fingers.

“Oh, yes, well… likely all the wine.” You blush, causing your cheeks to darken even more. “The wine and… you.” You say lowly.

Aegon smirks and places his fingers on your chin, turning your head to the side.

“I quite like the sight of you looking flushed, my queen.” He whispers against your ear causing goosebumps on your skin.

“My king…” You breathe, trying to remember you were not alone but in the middle of the dance floor.

“Hm?” Aegon hums against your skin and lightly kisses your neck.

His eyes meet yours and he also comes to remember how many eyes were on the both of you.

“I want to go to bed.” You say quietly.

“Oh, are you tired?” He says with a hint of disappointment in his tone.

“No.” You whisper, looking at him with fire in your eyes.

His smirk returns and he takes your hand before leading you out of the feast. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat as he led you down the halls to your shared chambers.

You enter the room filled with nerves as you approach the large canopy bed. Aegon comes up behind you and begins kissing your neck, sending shivers down your spine. He wanted to take his time with you but the wine fueled his desperate desire to have you. He had been with many women but he has never wanted anyone this badly.

He begins unlacing your wedding gown while pressing the occasional kiss to your shoulder. You just stand there, letting him have his way with you. Your breath grows heavy as he gently pulls off your gown and it falls to the floor, leaving you only in your thin shift.

You turn to face Aegon and he slowly scans your figure. His eyes linger at your chest before he meets your eyes, staring at you like you were a glass of the finest wine he was about to drink every last drop of.

Aegon pulls off his wedding clothes until he’s left in just his trousers. He captures your lips again and leads you toward the bed. He moves his lips to your neck as he slowly pulls off your shift, leaving you completely bare for him.

“My king…” You whisper as your fingers lightly pull at the hem of his pants.

“Aegon.” He mumbles against your skin.

“Aegon…” You say shyly as your eyes meet again.

“Not so fast, little one.” He moves your hand off his pants. “I need you to be ready for me first.”

You give him a questioning look as he gently pushes you back onto the bed until you’re laying flat. He climbs on top of you and grinds his covered hardness against your bare core, making you whimper. He kisses down your neck before moving down to your breasts where he takes his time licking, sucking, and rubbing your sensitive nipples as you squirm under him.

“Have you ever… touched yourself?” Aegon asks in a whisper.

You nod, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Good.” Aegon smirks.

He kisses down your stomach and settles between your thighs. You groan with anticipation as he kisses and nips at your inner thighs. He stops to watch your face as his fingers lightly graze over your most sensitive area. You gasp as he continues to make slow circles with his fingers.

“Does that feel good, wife?” He says almost arrogantly.

You could only moan in response and he chuckles. He removes his fingers and brings them to his mouth to taste you. Your entire body lights on fire from the sight. Just as you are about to beg for more his mouth is on you. You gasp even louder as your hands find his hair. You had never felt anything like this. It was nothing compared to your own fingers. He slowly slides one finger inside you and you scrunch your eyes from the pressure.

“Does that hurt, my love?” Aegon asks, kissing your knee.

“No.” You breathe. “Don’t stop.”

He smirks and begins to move his finger in and out slowly, causing you to arch your back. He continues expertly working his tongue on you as he slips in a second finger. You yank harder onto his hair as your breath grows heavier. He groans in response and the vibrations against you bring you to the edge. You let out a long moan as you reach your peak.

Aegon strips off his pants and your eyes widen at his size. Before you have time to overthink he lines himself up at your entrance. He asks if you’re ready before slowly sliding into you. Aegon groans loudly from how tightly you clench around him. It takes all of his strength not to start fucking you hard like a common whore. You are so much more special to him, his wife, his queen, his heart.

You breathe heavily through the pain as Aegon moves slowly in and out of you. As soon as the pain begins to fade you crave more of him. You pull him closer against you and whisper for him to go faster. He speeds up slightly but the movement is still agonizingly slow for what you craved. It was agonizing for him too, to be this gentle with you until you were ready.

“Aegon…” You groan in frustration. “Please… just fuck me.”

Aegon does not hesitate before he begins pounding into you. You could tell how much he had been holding back. Moans fill the room as you both get closer to the edge. You wrap your legs around his hips forcing him deeper into you.

“Gods, you are so fucking tight.” Aegon groans in your ear.

His words spur you on and you dig your nails into his back as your second orgasm begins to creep up on you. Aegons thrusts become sloppy as he reaches his own peak. He did not want to finish before you but the feel of you was too overwhelming.

“My love, I think I’m gonna-“ He pants.

“Me too.” You moan.

Your words trigger his release as he thrusts deeply inside you and moans loudly against your neck. This draws out your own orgasm and you finish in sync as you hold him tightly to you.

He remains inside you and your eyes meet.

“I think I am in love with you, (y/n).” He whispers, brushing your golden hair from your face. He never thought he would say that to anyone.

“I think I am in love with you, Aegon.” You smile widely.

Aegon places a kiss to your nose before rolling off of you. He pulls you in close for a cuddle and wraps his arms around you. You sigh peacefully, but as you begin to doze off you feel something poking against your backside.

“I am not finished with you yet.” Aegon whispers in your ear, creating goosebumps on your skin.

**********

You wake the next morning as the sunlight peers through the window. You look up to your handsome new husband peacefully asleep and press a kiss to his chest. He stirs in his sleep and you press another kiss to his stomach as an idea crosses your mind. Your clothes still laid discarded on the floor from last night. The only thing covering his now hardening manhood was a thin sheet. You gently pull the sheet down and reveal him in all his glory. You watch his face as you lightly grasp him with your hand. He quietly moans and squirms under your touch but does not wake.

You continue to watch his unconscious reactions as you place a kiss to his tip, then a lick, then a suck. Finally, you take him fully into your mouth and he groans as he finally wakes up. He looks down at you with surprise in his heavy lidded eyes. You smirk up at him as you continue to work your mouth on him. He threads his fingers through your hair and gently pushes your head further down. The gagging sounds you make quickly pushes him to the edge. You swallow his release as his fingers tighten in your hair and he groans your name.

“You are incredible.” Aegon huffs, still panting.

You giggle at him while you take a sip of wine. The sheet now hung low just barely covering him.

“I am not finished with you yet.” You wink and lean forward to kiss his lips.

Aegon cups your cheek and deepens the kiss as you move to straddle him. You grind against him through the sheet between you. You moan against his mouth when you feel that he’s already hard again.

You quickly pull the sheet down and he gasps into your mouth as your fingers wrap tightly around him. You hold intense eye contact as you slowly slide down onto his cock, watching every face and noise he makes.

You move your hips testing out this new position and Aegon groans and reaches up to grab your breasts. You grind faster along him and you both begin to moan louder. He grabs your ass to aide your movements, his fingers hold on so tightly they were sure to leave bruises.

You get closer and closer to the edge before Aegon sits up slightly and starts pounding into you. He relished at the sight of you above him. Your perfect tits bouncing as your beautiful pleasure etched face let out desperate moans for him, he had never seen a more heavenly sight.

He presses his fingers on your most sensitive spot and you cry out as you come undone for him. He fucks you through your orgasm before quickly finding his own.

You collapse onto the bed beside him, both panting heavily. Aegon turns to you with a boyish grin on his face which you could not help but find adorable.

“You are incredible.” He breathes.

“You said that.” You chuckle and brush his snowy hair from his face.

“I meant it.” He leans up and kisses you.

The kiss was meant to be quick but you pull each other closer again as your tongues dance together. Aegon pulls back with a pained expression.

“I wish I could stay here all day with you.” He says looking at you with pure adoration. “Really I do.”

“I know.” You softly kiss his lips. “But the king has important matters to attend to, I understand.”

He presses a final lingering kiss to your lips before leaving bed and getting ready for the day.

**********

You did not see Aegon for the rest of the day as he attended important matters. By the time he joined you in bed you were fast asleep. He slipped into the sheets quietly before pausing to admire you. The way your hair and milky skin seemed to glow in the moonlight made you look completely ethereal. He watched you as your breath lightly rose and fell. He could not believe how head over heels in love he was in a marriage he had nearly refused.

The next morning Aegon was gone again before you woke. You sigh and get dressed before going out to search for him. You hadn’t had a moment to speak for an entire a day now, and you were also missing him in other ways.

Aegon was alone in the small council room focused on a pile of parchments in front of him. His head shoots up when you knock on the open door and his firm expression quickly softens.

“My love… what are you doing here?” He puts the papers down and stands from his chair.

“I have not seen you since yesterday morning. I simply miss my husband.” You shrug as you walk over to him with a smile.

“I have missed you too wife.” He pulls you in close by the waist and you wrap your arms around his neck.

You press your lips to his and the kiss quickly becomes urgent and wanting. Aegon lifts you up onto the table and kisses you deeper as his tongue dips into your mouth. His hardness pressing against your core makes the need for him unbearable. You begin to pull at the laces of his pants.

“My love wait… we should not do that here.” Aegon murmurs against your lips but makes no attempt to stop you. “The doors are wide open.”

“I don’t care.” You respond in a raspy voice that lights a fire in him.

He kisses you again hard and begins frantically pushing up your skirts. You finish unlacing his ties and release him from his trousers. He wastes no time lining himself up to your entrance and plunges deep inside you causing you to let out a yelp.

“Shh.” Aegon smirks against your neck.

You bite your lip as he quickly pounds into you, legs dangling loosely around his hips. There was no time to ease into things when someone could walk by the open doors at any moment and catch you both in such a state. Although you did not actually want to be caught, the thrill of it made your heart race. You feel your peak coming faster than ever before.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” Aegon rasps in your ear.

“Gods, Aegon I’m-“ His words tip you over the edge, your orgasm overcoming your senses.

He quickly covers your mouth as you cry out against his hand, still alarmingly loud given the location. Your orgasm triggers his own and he grunts into your neck as he comes deep inside you. You quickly come down from the table and fix yourselves as you’re still catching your breath.

Nearly seconds after Aegon tucks himself back into his pants a member of the small council enters the room. Had they come in only a minute ago you would have been caught.

“Your grace, my queen.” They nod to you both. “I had matters to discuss with you, my king.” He glances to you, a silent way of asking you to leave.

“Yes, of course.” You say as you excuse yourself from the room.

You turn back to Aegon as you head to the door and you realize his hair is now a mess from your activities. He gives you his devilishly handsome smirk and you give a smirk back before leaving the room.

**********

You tossed and turned, unable to sleep. It was nearing the hour of the wolf and Aegon had still not returned to bed. You huff as you throw on a robe and go off in search of him. He was not in the small council room where he spent most late nights. You were beginning to worry until you heard his laughter echo down the hall. You followed his loud voice to the throne room where you see him sitting leisurely on the iron throne and drinking with some men.

“Ah! My beautiful wife!” He exclaims when he sees you.

The gentlemen mumble “my queen” to your arrival. You simply look at Aegon unimpressed and cross your arms.

“Uh oh gentleman.” Aegon smirks drunkenly to the other men. “It seems my wife is upset with me. You best give us some privacy.”

The men chuckle at Aegons antics before leaving you alone in the room. Aegon looks to you with a smirk still painted across his face, unphased by the stern look on yours.

“Why do you look so serious, my love?” He says teasingly.

“Do you have any idea how late it is?” You walk towards him sitting on the throne, arms still crossed in front of you.

“I am afraid I simply lost track of time, my darling.” Aegon shrugs as he takes another drink of wine.

You scoff at his response.

“Fine.” You shrug back. “I will just return to bed then… alone.”

You turn to leave the room with annoyance burning through your veins. Aegon quickly stands and grabs your hand. He pulls you to him and wraps his arms around your waist so you could not pull away, although you try briefly.

“You shall not return to bed alone, my darling.” Aegon says as he kisses your neck causing goosebumps along your skin.

“You did not seem to care for me a moment ago… while you drank and laughed with your friends.” You tried to hide the desire laced in your angry tone.

“On the contrary.” Aegon pulls back to look at you. “I was telling them all about my beautiful new queen.”

He begins to kiss your neck again and you could not help but melt into his arms.

“My bold queen.” He kisses your chin. “My kind queen.” He kisses your cheek. “My perfect wife.” Finally, he captures your lips in a passionate kiss.

You do not hesitate to kiss him back, the desire for him burning within you. He parts your lips and when you think he is about to lead you back to your chambers he swiftly picks you up and leads you over to the iron throne.

“What are you doing?” You ask in a panic as Aegon places you down on the throne and gets on his knees in front of you.

“What does it look like I am doing?” He smirks as he pushes the skirts of your robe and nightgown up to your waist.

“Aegon we cannot-“ The words die on your tongue when his tongue is on you.

He quickly gets annoyed with the crown slipping from his head so he yanks it off and places it on you. He smirks at the sight of you, legs spread in front of him, sitting on the iron throne with his crown sitting upon your head. He places a kiss to your knee before diving back into you.

Your hands bury into his white hair as he expertly licks your bundle of nerves. You try not to make too much noise but soft moans pour from your mouth. He slips his fingers inside you and you cry out too loudly before slapping your hand over your mouth.

Suddenly, a rustling of armour pulls you out of your daze and a knight appears before you. You tap on Aegons shoulder rapidly and he stops his actions and looks to the knight.

“I- Please, forgive me your graces...” The knight stammered as he averted his eyes away from where Aegon still sat on his knees in front of you.

“What are you doing here?” Aegon demands.

“Forgive me, your grace. I heard a scream and came to investigate.” The knight responds, his eyes still on the ground awkwardly.

“Well, that is understandable.” Aegons tone softens. “However, in the future if you hear screams of that nature you can assume that is just the queen.” He say arrogantly.

You playfully slap Aegon on the shoulder.

“Yes, your grace... I will not make that mistake again. Forgive me.” The man bows and rushes out of the room still keeping his eyes to the floor.

“Well that was mortifying.” You say as you go to stand, your heart still racing.

Aegon shrugs and firmly holds your hips in place. “Please excuse the minor interruption, my queen.”

He places a quick kiss to your lips before dipping his head back down again. It takes you no time to come undone as he eats you like a man starved and pumps his fingers in and out of you.

“Oh… gods!” You do not bother to hide your moans this time as you reach your peak.

Aegon does not cease his actions until you push him away from overstimulation. He looks at you with his classic boyish grin while his face glistens from your essence. You lean forward and capture his lips again, tasting yourself on his tongue. When you pull back Aegon cups your cheek and looks into your eyes deeply.

“You are the most perfect wife I could have imagined.” He places a kiss to your lips. “A fun wife.” He smirks.

You smile at him and place a kiss to his forehead. He moves to stand before lifting you up and carrying you all the way back to your chambers. You spend the entire night making love. Your heart felt so full with hope of a fun future with your new husband.

—

masterlist

taglist

1K notes · View notes

blueberrybirdsworld · 30 days ago

Text

Plus one 5/9

Summary : When Lando Norris realizes he's the only F1 driver attending the Monaco F1 movie premiere without a girlfriend, he panics and convinces Oscar to help him find a last-minute plus one.

Author note : I get this story idea after the private projection of the F1 movie with all the drivers in Monaco (also can we imagine they weren't wearing their team kit and actually did dress up).

Genre : pure fluff

Serie masterlist

Main masterlist

The second they stepped out of the venue, Lando exhaled.

The Monaco night wrapped around them like a sigh: cool air, soft streetlight glow, the hum of a distant scooter and the faint music still drifting from the rooftop they’d just escaped. He felt his shoulders drop for the first time in hours.

Y/N walked beside him, holding her clutch under one arm as she turned to him with a smile.

“So,” she said, “any cravings?”

“Honestly?” he glanced at her. “Anything that doesn’t require a silver spoon or come with truffle foam.”

She laughed. “Italian?”

“That’s dangerously close to romantic.”

“Lucky us,” she said, eyes sparkling. “I know a place. Not far. Tiny. Looks questionable from the outside. Excellent garlic bread.”

“Sold.”

They strolled through the quiet streets, away from the glitz, through narrower lanes where vines crept over balconies and the air smelled faintly of sea and basil. Five minutes later, she pointed across the street at a little trattoria tucked between a closed bookstore and a florist.

“Here,” she said proudly. “No dress code, but lots of candles. So it still counts as a vibe.”

And it did.

It was dim and warm inside, strung with fairy lights and mismatched chairs. The smell of tomato, oregano, and melted cheese was instant comfort. They were seated near the window with a bottle of water and menus. Perfect.

He leaned forward, grinning across the table. “You know what I still can’t believe?”

Y/N looked up, eyes wide. “What?”

“That you have a crush on me.”

She groaned immediately. “Oh my God.”

“I’m serious!”

“Lando.”

“No, no, no. You said it. I’ve held back all night thinking I’d misread every signal and that you were, like, just being friendly because you’re nice and you felt bad.”

“I am nice,” she muttered, hiding behind her menu.

“And now I find out you’ve had a crush this whole time?” he leaned back dramatically. “I think I’m owed a little compensation.”

She peeked over the menu. “Compensation?”

“For emotional damage.”

“Oh my God,” she said again, half laughing, half dying. “You’re so annoying.”

“You’re blushing,” he grinned.

“I am not.”

“You are! That’s the second time tonight. I’m keeping count.”

Their food arrived: two bowls of pasta, steaming and fragrant, and a little basket of bread placed between them like a peace offering.

Lando twisted his fork into the pasta, then glanced at her curiously. “So, wait. If you had a crush on me… does that mean you actually watch the races?”

She blinked, a bit caught off guard. “I used to. A lot, actually. My dad and I would watch every Sunday. It was our thing.”

He smiled, genuinely touched. “That’s sweet.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I loved it. But once school started getting intense, I stopped keeping up. It just got… hard to make time. Assignments, work, studying. Watching practice sessions and races wasn’t exactly a priority anymore.”

Lando nodded. He knew the feeling: too much to do, too little time to breathe.

“But,” she continued, “when Oscar made it into F1, I started watching again. At first just to see how he was doing, but then I got back really into it last year. And I actually ended up going to a few races. With Lily.”

Lando froze, fork halfway to his mouth. “Wait. You were at some races?”

She laughed. “Yeah. Not many. But a few. One or two last season. One this year. Just in the paddock with Lily, not like, grandstand tickets or anything.”

He put his fork down, looking stunned. “How did I not see you?”

She shrugged, smiling. “I don’t know. You were probably busy being famous.”

“No, but, seriously, which races?”

She thought for a moment. “Silverstone last year. Zandvoort. And I came to Australia this season. So technicly I saw you win 2 times”

He stared at her, floored. “That was you?”

“What was me?”

“I remember Lily had a friend with her that day. But I didn’t even catch your name. I think I said hi and left to change helmets or something.”

Y/N grinned. “See? Missed your moment.”

He sat back, looking betrayed. “Oscar knew you. He could’ve introduced us properly.”

She tilted her head, teasing. “Well… he kind of did eventually.”

“I’m gonna have a word with him later.”

“To be fair,” she added, taking a bite of pasta, “Oscar’s so clueless with this stuff. He probably had no idea I liked you. He’s not exactly a mind reader.”

“Lily definitely told him,” Lando muttered.

Y/N laughed. “Lily absolutely told him. She for sure pressure Oscar to make this happened.”

“And now it all makes sense,” Lando said, shaking his head. “They plotted this.”

“Well,” she said softly, “it worked.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her, tucking her hair behind one ear, eyes shy but warm, cheeks a little flushed from the wine or maybe the teasing.

He smiled.

“Yeah,” he said. “It really did.”

The dinner plates had been cleared, the last sips of wine gone warm in their glasses, and outside the restaurant the streets of Monaco had grown even quieter. The kind of quiet that felt intimate, not empty. A soft hush between tall pastel buildings, with streetlights casting pools of golden light along their path.

They were walking slowly.

Neither of them had said it, but they both knew, neither of them wanted the night to end just yet.

“You cold?” Lando asked, glancing sideways.

Y/N was hugging her arms lightly to her chest. “A little.”

Without hesitation, Lando shrugged out of his jacket and gently placed it over her shoulders, his hands lingering there just a second longer than necessary.

“There,” he said, like it was the most casual thing in the world. “Can’t have you freezing. Would be a bad first date review.”

She smiled, tugging it around herself. It smelled like cologne and fresh air. “Chivalry looks good on you.”

He gave her a mock bow as they turned a corner.

“So,” he said, hands in his pockets now, “you’re staying with Lily and Oscar?”

“For the weekend, yeah. I figured I’d crash there instead of going back and forth.”

“Wait,” he said, hopeful. “Does that mean you’ll be at the race?”

She nodded. “Oscar got me an invite.”

His face lit up like he’d just won a trophy. “Good. I won’t ignore you this time.”

Y/N laughed. “I didn’t think you ignored me last time. You were just... busy being Lando Norris.”

“Well, this time,” he said, bumping her lightly with his shoulder, “if you want, you can hang out on my side of the garage.”

“Oh?”

“You know. The best side.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing. “I’ll think about it.”

He grinned. “Take your time. No pressure. But the snacks are better and my engineers are funnier.”

They kept walking, side by side, shoes clicking against the stone, shoulders brushing now and then. There was something so easy about it. So normal. And yet it felt anything but ordinary.

Y/N glanced at him, the corners of her lips tugging upward.

“I don’t know what this is,” she said quietly. “But it feels... different.”

He looked at her. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Like...safe. Familiar. And new. I’ve never felt like this with someone. Not this fast.”

He stayed quiet, letting her speak.

“It’s like... I already know you,” she said, “but I still want to know everything else, too.”

Lando’s heart tugged at that. Because he felt the same. Like he’d just stumbled into something real without even knowing how much he’d been needing it.

When they reached Lily and Oscar’s building, she paused by the front steps, turning toward him.

He stood a little stiffer suddenly, hands half in his pockets, clearly unsure of what to do now. His eyes flicked to her, then away, then back again.

Y/N noticed. All of it.

To ease the tension, she gently reached for his hand, lacing her fingers with his. Her skin was soft. Warm.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft and honest. “For tonight. It was… great.”

He smiled. “Messy. But great.”

She nodded. “Exactly.”

They looked at each other then. Really looked.

And everything stilled.

The air was thick with something unspoken but loud. He was searching her face like he didn’t want to miss anything. Her eyes dropped to his lips just briefly. And that was all he needed.

He leaned in, slowly, cautiously, giving her every second to back away.

She didn’t.

His forehead gently brushed hers, breath warm between them. Then, with one last glance into her eyes for permission, he kissed her.

Soft at first. Tentative.

Then more.

His hands found her hips, pulling her a little closer, and she leaned in too, her hands resting on his chest. The kiss deepened, gentle but electric, like every word they hadn’t said was spoken between them in that moment. Like they'd been waiting all night, maybe even longer.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless and close, her forehead still rested lightly against his.

“Wow,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he breathed, smiling. “Wow.”

Neither of them moved.

Because maybe this was where something really began.

And neither of them wanted to rush it.

Texts messages

Oscar:

where did you go

Oscar:

I swear if you left me alone with the Sky report guys again I’m gonna lose it

Oscar:

Zak is looking for you

we were supposed to do press pics

he asked me “where’s the other one”

like you’re a lost suitcase

Lando:

I left

Oscar:

no shit

where?

Lando:

taking her on a real date

Oscar:

HER???

Lando:

yes, her

Y/N

Oscar:

you what now, how ???

Lando:

I confessed

she blushed

I teased

we kissed

Oscar:

what do you MEAN you kissed

Lando:

I mean I kissed her

or she kissed me

I don’t really know

we were very close and then it just

happened

Oscar:

I go get a drink

and you go fall in love??

Lando:

seems like it

Oscar:

you actually did it

Lando:

I did

Oscar:

you

the most hopeless man alive

kissed the girl you’ve been panicking over all night

Lando:

I was not panicking

Oscar:

I cannot believe you actually did it

this is huge

I’m proud of you

still mad you let me suffer through Zak’s passive-aggressive “where is Lando” rant

but proud

Lando:

I was having a movie-worthy kiss in front of your building

I had bigger issues

Oscar:

you are the most annoying person I know

but I’m happy for you

you were a lost cause

Lily and I did god’s work

Lando:

oh I know you did

speaking of which…

Lando:

so she admits she had a crush

which Lily apparently knew

which means YOU knew

and still you introduced us, like, only NOW???

Oscar:

👀...

Lando:

I’ve literally cross pass her at races

you’ve literally brought her around

AND NEVER SAID ANYTHING

Oscar:

you weren’t ready

Lando:

I was very ready

Oscar:

you were not emotionaly ready

Lily's words

Lando:

I’m going to yell at you in the garage tomorrow

Oscar:

that’s fair

but worth it?

Lando:

yeah

worth it

Y/N:

LILY !!!!

HE KISS ME

lando norris KISS ME right in front of the door

Lily:

you’re home???

Y/N:

YES

just walked in

I haven't even taken off my shoes

Lily:

wait

start over

kissed where??

Y/N:

ON THE MOUTH

with his hands on my waist

like a real kiss

Lily:

YOU’RE KIDDING ??

Y/N:

I THOUGHT HE WAS GOING TO SAY GOODNIGHT

AND THEN HE JUST

LOOKED AT ME

AND I JUST

DIED

AND THEN HE KISSED ME

AND I DIED AGAIN

Lily:

okay wow calm down tell me everything

start from when you LEFT THE PARTY WITH HIM???

Y/N:

we went to get pasta

like actually just wandered into this tiny restaurant

he was so sweet

he gave me his jacket

we talked the whole way back

and then he walked me to the door

and he looked all nervous

so I held his hand

AND THEN HE KISSED ME

Lily:

I can’t breathe

you actually did it

Y/N:

LILY

HE SAID I COULD COME TO HIS SIDE OF THE GARAGE THIS WEEKEND

“THE BEST SIDE” HE SAID

I THINK I’M IN LOVE

Lily:

you’ve BEEN in love

I’ve known for months

Y/N:

WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME HE FELT SOMETHING TOO

Lily:

because he didn’t

until he met you tonight

and then it was VERY obvious

Oscar and I have had bets about how long it would take

Y/N:

I HATE YOU

I LOVE YOU

I’M GOING TO PASS OUT

Lily:

go to bed

sleep in

you have a boyfriend now

Y/N:

LILY

Lily:

ok fine

“maybe-boyfriend”

but that kiss sounds like a pretty strong maybe

Y/N:

I can still feel his hands on my waist

what do I do with my body???

Lily:

sleep. dream about him. will be here when you wake up

Y/N:

I actually might cry

he was so soft

and funny

and awkward

and perfect

Lily:

yeah

he’s kind of the best

especially for you

Y/N:

okay

shutting up

going to bed

but if I wake up and it was a dream I’m suing you

Lily:

you’ll wake up and he’ll probably have texted you first

Permanent taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1, @adynorris, @curlylando, @rebelliousneferut, @justcharlotte, @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies, @emneedshelp, @lando-505, @yukimaniac, @sashisuslover, @f1norris04, @hi26loveie, @bunnisplayground, @nina481, @reallifemermaidprincess, @cars-and-frogs, @delululeclerc, @txmhxllqnd, @lydia-demarek, @destinyg237, @rhaenyrasversion, @sarascabiosa, @readz4u, @tvdtw4ever, @mynameisangeloflife, @teti-menchon0604, @suns3treading, @op814kitty, @prettyboyroseberg, @willowsnook, @ariesandwolves, @clarksgf, @knivesdoingcartwheels, @pinklemonade34, @fat-meh, @tiaajosephin, @mercrussell

Let me know if you want to be add or removed from the taglist :)

524 notes · View notes

sugarushwriting · 2 months ago

Text

stalker! obsessed! jake sim x f reader

classmate jake being obsessed with you

there is/will be a less um extreme version.

ADULT CONTENT FEATURED read at your own discretion!!!

warning: jake is a nasty nasty boy 😛

you sat peacefully on the plaid blanket beneath you, your head tilting up towards the sun as it warmed your skin. your palm held your place in the book you were reading, as you tried to enjoy more times like this in nature.

well, until you felt a bug crawling on you, “ah!” you yelped and swatted at the bug. arms flinging, book flying, highlighters going every which way.

from a few feet away, a small laugh escaped thick lips from an australian boy who watched on from behind his thick dark sunglasses as he studied from his text book.

he sat at the picnic table of many, in the courtyard of the college campus, opting out of the grass like you and many other students.

you huffed and stood up abruptly, feeling stupid for trying to be one with nature. “stupid bugs.” you understood you were in their territory, but why couldn’t they leave you alone for at least an hour or so, to let you read in peace?

you stuffed your belongings in your bag, dusting off any remaining dirt from your shorts and legs, and walked towards jake.

jake swallowed nervously, quickly ducking his head into his textbook, eyes shielded by the dark frames. he bit his lower lip, hoping you hadn’t caught him. hope you hadn’t been on his trail.

he breathed a sigh of relief as you walked past him as if you had no idea he existed.

“are you just gonna always stare at her like a fucking creep?”

jake shook and jumped with surprise, being startled by his friend’s voice. he looked up seeing jay and sunghoon staring at him with a knowing look.

“i don’t stare at her like a fucking creep.” he mumbled.

“then what do you call that?” sunghoon asked, one hand gripping his backpack strap gesturing between jake and you.

jake shrugged, “she looked cute being startled by the bug.”

jay rolled his eyes. “if you don’t make your move, i will.”

jake scoffed, “please, you’re worse than i am when it comes to girls.”

“youre doubting my abilities to woo a girl, sim.”

“you both suck at wooing girls.” sunghoon chuckled.

“oh shut it sunghoon, you’re no better than us!” jake narrowed his brows. “remember eunjin?”

sunghoon’s lips went into a thin line, jay laughed, jake smirked, and mockingly added, “hawaii? i’m fine, thank you!”

“three, two,—,”

jake took off running, leaving his belongings as sunghoon dropped his bag, taking off after jake.

jay yelled after them, “we have class in ten!”

thankfully, they all were on time for class, alongside their other friend, heeseung. heeseung was also pretty nerdy in ways like them, introverted like sunghoon, but more athletic than the other three. heeseung excelled in almost all sports. jake claimed to excel in all sports, but that was up to debate.

you were already sat in your seat for criminal evidence, an elective for your forensic biology major. the classroom was set up to where there was a projector in the front of the class where the professor stood, and rows of tables that sat up to 4 chairs of students at once. there were 4 columns, each had 4 rows. so all together, the classroom could fit up to 64 students, but the class only has 48 students. (mainly due to drop outs last minute).

the classroom had big windows on one side and on the other side, two main doors for entering the class. you sat in what the professor named, “column 1, row 3, seat 1,” near the window.

jake stared at you as his sunglasses sat on top of his head, his brown eyes shinning. you were staring out the window, paying jake no mind, but then you looked over to jake as he walked side by side next to jay and your eye caught his. he smiled shyly, he quickly looked away, his cheeks and tip of his ears going red. you smirked, and your hand went over your lips to hide it.

jake sim was cute. if not all, most girls on campus had a crush on jake sim. he was handsome, smart, athletic, and funny.

you sighed to yourself. out of all the girls on campus, why you? he’d look at you, think, ‘yeah she’s cute,’ but then he can look at another and go, ‘fuck she’s hot.’ every girl knows there’s a difference and it hurts.

jake and his friend, jay, took their seats behind you, jay directly behind you, jake adjacent. his other two friends, heeseung and sunghoon, sat in the same row as you. sunghoon directly beside you, heeseung next to sunghoon.

the professor tried to keep the front seats open for trouble makers, or to keep her extra supplies for class spread out. sometimes if she played a movie or show, she would sit down her self to watch it with you all.

everytime during class you felt eyes staring at you. you always brushed it off though, you had classmates sitting behind you.

however, it wasn’t your paranoia. jake loved to observe you. your cute habits during class he should say. your eyebrows knitting together when you don’t understand something. the way your face falls when you finally start to realize it. the way you play and twirl your pen when concentrating. it’s cute when you do it. it’s annoying when jay does it.

the way sometimes you will fall asleep resting your cheek in your palm if you’ve worked a late shift at the cafe you work at trying to earn extra cash for some fancy things that catch your eyes.

jake could only think, ‘if you were with him, you would never worry. he would buy all the things you want and more.’

jake didn’t like when you would work extra shifts or late shifts at the cafe, even if it was only a 5 minute walk to your apartment. at 11 pm it’s dark outside and no telling what kind of creeps stalk around at night.

watching. waiting. stalking their next prey.

he felt betrayed (jealous) when you allowed your coworker and supervisor at the cafe, ni-ki, walk you home that night because you had stayed a little later than usual to help him clean the cafe. ni-ki didn’t have class the next day, but you did.

jake saw red when you smiled at the boy, showing your dimples, the boy playing it cool, with a smile, waving you goodnight politely, telling you to sleep soundly.

don’t tell her what to do! jake wanted to scream.

it didn’t matter you didn’t see ni-ki in that way. it didn’t matter what you thought of ni-ki. all that mattered to jake was that you let another man walk you home. that you smiled at another man. gave another man your attention. the only thing stopping him from going overtop and revealing him from the shadows was you didn’t invite ni-ki up to your apartment.

when you and ni-ki departed, jake had two (really three) choices; follow ni-ki or you. he followed you from afar. up to your apartment. since your apartment was older, it didn’t have the automatic locks. you were naive enough to not lock the door either. you dropped your bag, and slipped off your shoes at the front door that night, going straight for the bathroom as you had to pee and wanted to shower the grime off.

jake had slipped in quietly behind you. watching your every move, eyes sparkling with excitement. that night he watched you for the first time, your silhouette outlined by the glass of the shower door.

he couldn’t get out there fast enough.

and he rubbed one out to the thought of you for the hundredth time since he first saw you, however this time, he had a better visual of your body.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

class ended an hour and some minutes later, your mind feeling like jelly and liquid at the same time. when the professor dismissed, you stretched with a sigh, your shirt riding up, jake not missing a single inch of your skin. jay had to elbow him before he started drooling.

“so, are we having our marathon tonight or what?” you heard heeseung say to the boys and you looked over to them with interest.

“what kind of marathon? like walking or running?”

sunghoon laughed and shook his head. “no. since we’re all forensic biologist majors, we like to watch shows or movies centered around it.”

“like bones, criminals minds, csi miami, dexter,”

“do you all actually watch it or crucify it?” you scrunched your nose.

“what’s the difference?” heeseung asked, his bambi eyes looking confused.

you smiled softly. jake frowned seeing how you smiled at his friend. why were you smiling at heeseung like that?

you answered heeseung, “the difference is, if you’re crucifying, you’re not watching to just watch for fun. you’re watching it as if you’re doing homework.”

“why don’t you join us then? make sure we don’t do homework.” jay smiled and you nodded.

“sounds like a plan then. what time should i arrive and what should i wear?”

jake’s pants started to feel tight at the thought of you wearing nothing. showing up in a skimpy pajama outfit. his hands went into his pockets as he chewed on his bottom lip.

“come by 5, and anything that makes you feel comfy. we’ll handle the snacks.” jay smiled with a slight smirk. if jake wasn’t gonna make his move, jay was either going to make jake do it or jay was gonna pounce on you.

and knowing jake and his obsession with you, jake wasn’t letting you go.

jay quickly added you to a new group chat with them 4 titled, “future csi,” and promised to send you the address later.

you smiled to all 4 boys and bounced away with your things, with a smile. should you actually wear something cute and sexy or something comfortable for tonight? suddenly your mind started to over think this. crap!

you whipped out your phone, texting your friend.

to manon-moo: quick im having a movie night with boys should i go cute and sexy pajamas or comfy

from manon-moo: is that even a real question?

to manon-moo: ur right, cute and sexy it is!

from manon-moo: don’t think you’re off the hook yet. we need to unpack the fact you said movie night with boys—as in PLURAL. txt me later for safety babes 😘

your cute and sexy pajamas were creamed color pajamas shorts that had pink hearts on them, and a matching tank top with thin straps. you added an oversized dark hoodie in the meantime and black plain flip flops, to keep it casual and comfy. you quickly grabbed a small tote bag, and added your favorite lip gloss.

at least your pajamas wasn’t your favorite old school shirt and boxer shorts you stole from your male older cousin years ago during a family trip (they were clean).

when the address and pin location was sent in the group chat, you realized it was only a 15 minute walk from your apartment, so you grabbed your headphones and started your journey, enjoying the warmth of the evening sun.

little did you know, jake was right behind you, making sure you got to their house perfectly unscathed. he needed to make sure his girl, his obsession, was okay. he would’ve offered a ride, but knew you would’ve declined and would have said there was no point as it was only a short walk.

but maybe later tonight he can offer that ride. his mind turned and he smirked, laughing to himself. maybe he can offer a ride in more ways than one.

his phone dinged:

from jay p: r u following her??

to jay p: mind your business

to jay p: and yes. need to make sure she gets to us safely. i will walk in a few minutes after her with a good excuse.

soon you arrived to the light blue 2 story house with white shutters, walking up the few steps to knock on the door. their college house was cute. it was in a historic part of downtown like much of the campus so it made sense.

jay opened the door with a smile. “glad you could make it.”

you smiled with a nod. “me too.”

“jake will be here soon, uh he had to, run an errand.”

“okay,” you said and walked into the living room seeing heeseung and sunghoon already setting up the small living room to be cozy for movie night.

plenty of blankets, pillows, 3 pizza boxes, 4 boxes of different flavors of boneless wings, cheesy bread, and different types of drinks.

it didn’t take long for jake to walk through the threshold. he nearly tumbled over himself, too excited to see you, wondering if you already had revealed your pajamas to the boys. he couldn’t help but stare at your ass from behind as you walked.

he wondered if the cotton of your shorts was as soft as they seemed. “sorry, im late, i uh—,”

heeseung and sunghoon stared at the boy wondering what kind of excuse he was going to come up with. jay stood beside you, arms crossed.

you looked at jake worried, as he looked so out of breath, his hair messed up, “jake are you okay? you looked like you ran from something frightening!”

“oh yeah, um,” he swallowed, taking in a deep breath, “whew, got chased by a dog.” he chuckled showing off his smile.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

5 hours.

five.

FIVE freaking hours of the television marathon of different shows and episodes and not once did you think about moving.

you sat comfortably on the couch next to jake, jay on a recliner to your left, sunghoon on the one to jake’s right, heeseung sprawled out on the floor in front of the tv inbetween that and the coffee table.

food gone. drinks nearly empty. stomachs hurting from laughing and the food. minds spinning from talking about different scenarios and guessing. it was fun, and these boys were cool.

jay was unintentionally funny and you couldn’t stop laughing at him.

jake didn’t like it one bit.

jay wasn’t that funny.

you yawned with a stretch. “it’s getting late, i should go.”

“why don’t you sleep over?” jake asked before thinking.

your eyes went wide and jay and heeseungs eyes went wide as well, sunghoon’s body went still.

“are you sure?” you asked not wanting to overstay your welcome. “i don’t want to intrude.”

jake quickly shook his head, “you won’t! you can sleep in my bed, and—,”

“jake will sleep on the couch like a gentleman.” heeseung finished for him.

heeseung stood up from his spot narrowing his eyes at jake. jake was going to offer to sleep on the floor next you like a gentleman, but that wouldn’t be far enough.

after a few seconds of thinking, you nodded, and jake smiled, internally squealing. he would have to make sure he kept those sheets once you were done to keep your smell on them.

thankfully, he changed them when he came home earlier so there were no old come stains in sight on his bed sheets.

jay slept on the first floor, so he said goodnight and went to his room, as sunghoon and heeseung followed you and jake up to jake’s room.

jake turned around, “we don’t need a babysitter.” he frowned.

“we just want to tuck you in.” sunghoon teased, crossing his arms.

“boys that’s sweet, but im fine.” you laughed.

hesseung laughed, sunghoon’s ears going red. “oh, i meant jake.” sunghoon chuckled.

“oh, right.”

“but i can tuck you in, if you want.” jake smirked.

you looked at jake with a smile that could make jake melt, “i’m fine, go to bed,” to playfully pushed his shoulder.

it may have only been a littler after 10 pm, but you all were tired from endless television watching and classes earlier in the day.

“extra toothbrush is under the sink!” jake shouted before being pushed out of the room by heeseung.

before sunghoon shut his door behind him, he caught a glimpse of you taking off your hoodie. the one you kept on all night, keeping him from looking at your delicate and delicious skin.

“cock blockers.” jake huffed, shrugging heeseung off.

“have a normal conversation with her for more than 5 minutes, then maybe we’ll let you try to get in her pants.” heeseung scoffed.

heeseung and sunghoon bid goodnight to jake and went to their separate rooms, shutting their doors behind them.

jake lazily walked down the steps back to the couch in the living room, taking place were you sat all night, your scent still lingering.

jake’s face fell to the side, his nose inhaling your scent deeply, like he’ll never smell you again. before he knew it, he was taking his cock out of his pajama pants, it already stiff and leaking precome.

just the scent of you alone got him hard. he slowly began to use his palm to tease himself, running his thumb over his tip, trying to pretend it was your fingers, your hand, your skin on him.

how you would look so innocent with his thickness in between you. how you would mumble, and moan, and groan, and gasp. you may even giggle, or cry, or whimper. oh he would love to hear you whimper for him.

his hand wrapped tightly around his cock, adding pressure, as he added speed to his strokes, wishing it was your hands around him. wishing it was your pussy around him.

he was getting close to coming. ‘fuck,’ he whispered out your name with a long and low groan turning into a moan. it didn’t take long for ropes of white come to paint his hand and stomach, his free arm over his eyes as he had just came on the couch, shamelessly with you just right upstairs.

he fell asleep soon afterward, still holding his cock, semi-hard.

he next woke up around 4 am, cock hard once again, being startled from a very wet dream about you. fucking you on all fours in the back of his car, windows fogged, in the middle of the mall parking lot as he took you on a shopping spree. that was your thank you to him.

he had to pee, and peeing with a hard on was not the most sought out option. the half bath toilet downstairs was broken, so he had to use the upstairs hallway one. after a painful pee, and being quiet as possible, he finished his pee, and was still hard thanks to you.

maybe he would just peek and check in on you? make sure you know, no monsters have gotten you.

he opened his door slowly and quietly, seeing you laying still, breathing even. you laid on your back, one hand under your head, the other laid across your face, your nose and lips out.

the covers rested comfortably below your chest, jake smiled seeing the dark hoodie laying on one of his chairs beside his desk. you kept it off.

with a deep breath, he looked behind him, then quickly slid in his room, closing the door softly, tiptoeing closer to you.

his breath stuttered in his chest seeing your skin, your beauty, up close. you so still. he always wondered how you looked while sleeping.

he never had the balls or guts to break into your apartment while you slept. he tried it once, got the lock opened, but a neighbor opened her door then he chickened out and never tried again.

you looked so peaceful, innocent. your lips were parted slightly as you slept. he could just imagine your lips wrapped around his cock which was aching for you now.

he reached his fingers up slowly, and pulled the covers back gently, exposing your top, goosebumps rising to your skin, but you didn’t move. jake pulled the covers all the way down to your knees.

your shorts had risen up a bit, now closer to your cunt than before.

jake’s breathing halted for a moment. he could literally come in his pants.

his fingertip of his right hand traced your skin on your thigh up to your stomach, forcing the tank top up to expose your belly. so soft.

his fingertips traced over your curves, over your chest, your body filled with goosebumps, but you didn’t move an inch.

you were in a deep sleep. such a good girl for him.

he kneeled down by the side of his bed slowly, so his nose came close to your thigh. it’s like he could smell you, see a wet spot forming where your cunt met your underwear and shorts. just a taste—,

he was calmly and quickly ripped from you by the back of the neck, you still unfazed and asleep. he didn’t see who interrupted him until he was dragged out of his room by his neck and out in the hallway.

he whipped around to heeseung staring daggers. “what the fuck are you doing man! trying to catch a fucking charge?”

jake scoffed, scratching the back of his neck, “i wasn’t doing anything! i was just looking, i wasn’t going to touch or—,”

“looking is bad enough! while she’s sleeping! what the fuck is wrong with you!” heesung snapped.

on the other side of the door you felt cold, you took the hand off your face, reaching up to grab the blanket jake had slowly slid down your body.

panties wet, and you irked of frustration, maybe next time heeseung wouldn’t be around to interrupt.

uh so yeah wrote this while at work — so definitely not proof read | part two perhaps? 🤔

leave comments, thoughts, replies, reblogs, suggestions, send me messages!!! all of it!! 😚🩷

my inbox is lonely send me ideas 💌

thanks to anon who sent in the request AND sent ideas. hope i cooked something good for you and made you proud (you also said trust me a lot to make something good so a wee bit nervous!!) 💙

636 notes · View notes

cbeargyu · 2 months ago

Note

Hiii if reqs are still open can I ask for a coworker Doyoung finding out you're an onlyfans model....😭✋♥️

miss erotica

summary: you and doyoung are coworkers who maintain a strictly professional relationship… until he accidentally discovers your secret life as a lingerie model on onlyfans. tension builds, desires unravel, and when the truth finally comes out, you make him a filthy little offer he can't refuse.

pairing: coworker ! doyoung x coworker (of model) fem! reader

genre: smut, coworkers to lovers, slow burn tension, light dom!doyoung, lingerie kink, secret double life reveal.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, explicit sexual content, thigh riding, lingerie modeling, unprotected sex, rough sex, oral fixation (male receiving implied), cumshot on stomach/lace lingerie, cumshot on face (briefly mentioned), possessive behavior, light praise/degradation, slight overstimulation, photo taken for onlyfans post, doyoung jerking off alone at the end

wc: 3,6k

notes: omg, incredible request anon, i hope you enjoy it! thank you all for your requests, remember that they’re open, though it might take me some time to get to them due to my schedule🩷

working with doyoung had always been... easy. despite your desks being placed directly in front of each other, just a breath apart, the relationship stayed strictly professional. you weren't sure if it was because he was a workaholic who barely lifted his head from the screen, or if it was simply the nature of two people who lived parallel lives — polite, distant, untouched by anything messy or personal.

you knew the basics. he was single, lived alone, probably married to his job. you weren’t that different either — renting a cozy little apartment not far from the office, sharing your space with your two cats: milo, a silver tabby with a mischievous glint in his eye, and luna, a cream-colored ragdoll with lazy, half-lidded stares. you had exchanged bits of your life over small talk, shallow conversations at best. never more. never deeper.

what you didn’t know, what nobody knew, was that doyoung had a secret obsession — paying for content on onlyfans. not just any content. he was a loyal subscriber to a certain "miss erotica", a woman who never showed her face but showcased her body in ways that blurred the lines between art and temptation. he didn’t tell anyone. how could he? it was his private addiction, the one thing he allowed himself outside the endless deadlines and excel sheets.

then, one morning during a rare group breakfast at the office, the conversation drifted to pets. casual, harmless. you, smiling, pulled out your phone and showed a picture of your cats lounging by your living room window. milo, sprawled like a king, his silver fur shining under the sun; luna, tucked next to him, her cream coat like a spilled glass of milk against the dark wood floor.

"they're beautiful," someone cooed.

doyoung looked at the screen. and froze.

something pricked at the back of his mind. the silver tabby with the green collar... luna's cream fur... it looked familiar. almost too familiar.

he had seen them before.

but not here.

his heart stuttered, his throat going dry. he stayed silent, watching as you scrolled through more pictures, laughing, showing off your babies to the group. you didn't notice the way his eyes stayed glued to your screen, how his mind reeled.

because in one of miss erotica's most memorable posts — a shot of her ass in black lace panties, arching perfectly against a leather chair — there had been a cat in the background. a silver tabby. with the exact same green collar. and another fluff of cream lazing by a window.

doyoung’s stomach twisted.

no, it couldn't be.

he hadn't saved the picture. it had been months ago. it could be a coincidence. right?

he spent the rest of the day distracted, replaying the image in his mind, trying to grasp at details, trying to reason with himself. people had cats. cats could look similar. it didn’t have to be you.

and he almost let it go.

almost.

until summer came.

you traded your usual long-sleeved blouses for casual short-sleeve shirts, your skin kissed golden by the sun, the curve of your arm now exposed to his line of sight. that day, when you leaned across the desk to pass him a file, the hem of your sleeve rode up. doyoung’s eyes — traitorous, hungry — caught something.

a tattoo.

small, delicate.

a slender vine of wildflowers, curling around the back of your arm, the ink fine and dark against your skin.

he stared.

he knew that tattoo.

he had spent hours tracing it with his eyes on his screen, had memorized the way the petals twisted, the slight flaw in one of the leaves. miss erotica had that same tattoo. he had noticed it countless times while she modeled those sinful sets of lingerie — crimson silk, ivory lace, black leather.

doyoung’s heart slammed against his ribs. it wasn’t just a theory anymore. it was you.

he looked up slowly, meeting your eyes across the desk. you gave him a small, polite smile, unaware of the war raging inside him.

he swallowed thickly, his hands curling into fists under the desk.

fuck.

you were miss erotica.

and now, he couldn't unsee it. couldn't pretend he didn't know. every time you bent over slightly to pick up a file, every time you tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, every time you laughed low and sweet — it all layered itself with the filthy, burning images he'd paid to see at 2 a.m.

it was you.

doyoung hadn’t just stumbled across your profile. he had been looking for something — something specific, something that scratched a very particular itch deep inside him. lingerie. but not just anyone posing in cheap lace or overexposed shots. he liked the slow burn, the tease, the art of it. miss erotica was perfect. you had perfected it.

your content wasn’t explicit in the obvious sense. no faces, no messy, desperate angles. it was the suggestion of sin, the elegance of a body wrapped in silken temptation. intricate corsets, delicate garter belts, sheer stockings stretched over soft skin. sometimes, he thought the way you positioned your hands was even sexier than nudity — subtle, knowing. you wore lace like it was a second skin, posed in ways that made his mind work, made him imagine peeling each layer off inch by inch.

he had a thing for thigh-high stockings. for black lace that hugged curves and hinted at forbidden places. and miss erotica — you — had a way of making every single photo feel personal. like you were posing just for him.

he had spent too many nights gripping the sheets in frustration, whispering your name under his breath, not even realizing it. miss erotica. miss erotica. it was stupid how deep it went.

and now...

you were sitting across from him at your shared desks, tapping away on your keyboard, completely unaware that the woman who had made him lose sleep, made him ache with need, was breathing the same office air as him.

it felt wrong.

it felt so good.

he was drowning in it.

the realization clung to him like static electricity. he watched the way your fingers danced across the keys, slender and sure, the same fingers he had imagined curled in the waistband of delicate panties. he watched the way you tilted your head slightly when you read something intently, exposing the soft line of your throat, the same throat he had dreamed of marking.

he couldn't focus.

he couldn’t fucking breathe.

you had no idea.

the days after the realization were torture.

doyoung tried to act normal — professional, polite, like he hadn't spent half the night with your photos burned into his eyelids. but it was impossible. now he noticed everything. the slight sway of your hips when you walked past his desk. the way your fingers sometimes absentmindedly played with the hem of your blouse. the shape of your mouth when you sipped your coffee. it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t fucking fair.

he needed a release. he needed you.

so one evening, as you both packed up your things, the office mostly deserted except for a few lingering coworkers, he cleared his throat and said casually, "hey, y/n... you doing anything tonight?"

you looked up, a little surprised — it was rare for doyoung to initiate anything that wasn’t strictly about work. "not really," you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "why?"

he shrugged, forcing nonchalance. "thought maybe we could grab a drink. just... you know, decompress a bit. long week."

you smiled — a soft, genuine smile he didn’t usually get to see — and nodded. "yeah, sure. that sounds nice."

it was a simple moment.

ordinary.

but his pulse hammered against his ribs like he had just won something forbidden.

the bar he picked wasn’t far from the office. dimly lit, cozy, tucked away enough that no one from work would accidentally stumble in. he watched you under the low lights, the way you peeled off your jacket, revealing more of your arms — more of that tattoo — and he felt his mouth go dry.

you ordered something sweet. he ordered something strong.

conversation started off light. movies, weekend plans, the weather.

but as the drinks flowed, the distance between you seemed to shrink. your laughter got a little looser. your glances lingered a little longer. he leaned in, elbows brushing yours on the tiny table, and he could smell the soft, clean scent of your shampoo. he could imagine burying his face in it, breathing you in as he pressed your body against his.

"so," he said after a pause, voice a little rougher now, "you live alone, right?"

you nodded, swirling the ice in your glass. "yeah. just me and my two little troublemakers."

"the cats," he said, a smile tugging at his mouth.

"mhm." you tilted your head, curious. "you remembered?"

he chuckled lowly. "hard to forget."

especially when those cats had haunted his fucking dreams alongside your lace-clad body.

you leaned in a little closer without realizing it, your knee brushing his under the table.

doyoung’s hand twitched, desperate to touch, desperate to confirm that you were real, that you were here, that he wasn’t losing his goddamn mind.

"you ever feel like people don’t really know you?" you said suddenly, voice soft, almost vulnerable. "like... you have this whole side of you no one even sees?"

you didn’t know what you were doing to him.

or maybe you did.

he set his glass down, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"i think," he said slowly, voice dropping, "some sides are meant for only a few lucky ones to see."

the air between you crackled, thick and heavy.

you swallowed hard, heart beating too fast.

you hadn’t realized how close you had leaned in. how close he was.

or maybe you had.

the space between you buzzed like an invisible wire pulled too tight. every time you shifted, his eyes flickered down, tracing the subtle lines of your body. you were painfully aware of it — of him — of the way his fingers curled against the edge of his glass, the way his jaw tensed whenever your knees brushed under the table.

you sipped your drink slowly, tongue darting out to catch a drop at the corner of your mouth. his gaze followed the movement like a man starved. you could practically feel the heat rolling off his body in thick, stifling waves.

the conversation faltered. it didn’t need words anymore. everything was felt.

"y/n," he said finally, voice low, rough around the edges.

you looked up, heart skipping.

there was something dangerous in his eyes. something that told you he wasn’t going to play pretend anymore.

"those cats of yours," he started, almost casually. "i swear i’ve seen them somewhere else before."

you smiled, slow, almost coy. "yeah?"

he leaned in, his breath brushing your cheek. you could smell the bourbon on him, feel the warmth of it seeping into your skin.

"yeah," he murmured. "in a... very specific place."

a pause. a deliberate, loaded silence.

you set your glass down carefully, the ice clinking sharp in the quiet. "where, doyoung?" you asked, voice sweet, teasing. but your heart was hammering against your ribs, adrenaline and arousal twining together into something electric.

he watched you, pupils blown wide, fingers flexing like he was holding himself back from reaching across the table and dragging you into him.

"onlyfans," he said finally. barely a whisper. a confession.

the word hung between you, scandalous and heavy.

you didn’t flinch. didn’t look away.

instead, you tilted your head, a slow, sinful smile curling your lips.

"miss erotica," he said, the name coming out like a prayer he had whispered a hundred times in the dark.

you leaned in, so close your knees were fully pressed together now under the table.

your voice dropped to a purr.

"so," you breathed, "you’re a fan of lingerie, huh?"

his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"yeah," he rasped. "fuck, y/n... more than a fan."

the confession hung in the air like smoke, sweet and thick.

you let the moment stretch, savoring the way his body tensed, the way he shifted like he was seconds away from snapping.

"lace?" you murmured. "stockings? garters?"

he nodded, unable to look away from you, like you were the center of his whole fucking universe.

"all of it," he said, voice almost breaking. "i... i can’t get enough."

you licked your lips slowly, leaning back just a little to give him a view of the curve of your body under your blouse. teasing. tempting.

his fingers twitched like he was holding onto the last shred of his self-control.

"poor thing," you whispered. "must be hard, wanting something so bad and not being able to touch it."

his hands fisted in his lap, knuckles white.

"y/n," he warned, voice wrecked, pleading.

you smiled, wicked and soft all at once.

you leaned closer, so your mouth was right by his ear, your breath warm against his skin.

"what if," you whispered, so quietly it was almost obscene, "i modeled for you?"

he sucked in a sharp breath, his whole body shuddering like he’d been struck.

you pulled back just enough to see his face — the desperation there, the hunger, the need.

"real life," you said, your fingers ghosting along the hem of your skirt under the table, just enough for him to catch the motion. "no screens. no distance."

he was trembling. you were trembling.

the world outside the little cocoon of the bar didn’t exist anymore.

there was only this — the heavy beat of your hearts, the unbearable pull between you, the promise of something dirty and sweet hanging in the air.

"you’d model for me," he said, disbelieving, wrecked.

"if you’re a good boy," you teased, wicked and tender all at once.

he let out a low, broken noise, half-growl, half-whimper, and you knew — you knew — that tonight was going to change everything.

you barely made it through the door before he was on you.

doyoung kicked the door shut behind him, hands everywhere, breath hot against your skin as he pressed you against the wall.

"fuck," he muttered against your neck, voice low and trembling with restraint. "you drive me insane."

you laughed softly, threading your fingers into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

"patience," you whispered. "you still want me to model for you, don't you?"

he pulled back, eyes dark and wild, chest heaving.

"yeah," he rasped. "fuck, yeah. show me, baby. show me everything."

you slipped out from under him, sauntering toward your bedroom with a slow sway of your hips, feeling his gaze burning into you.

you could hear him curse under his breath, could hear the faint clink of his belt as he adjusted himself, trying to keep it together.

you left the door slightly ajar, just enough for him to peek in as you changed.

slowly, languidly, you stripped down, sliding the soft fabric of your blouse over your head, shimmying your skirt down your thighs.

you chose one of your best sets — a delicate black lace bralette and matching thong, the garter belt hugging your hips, sheer thigh-high stockings clipping into place with a soft click.

you posed in front of the mirror for a moment, adjusting the straps, making sure everything sat just right, teasing yourself as much as you were teasing him.

"come in," you called sweetly.

the door creaked open and there he was, standing there, jaw clenched, eyes practically black.

his hands fisted at his sides like he was seconds from losing every ounce of control.

you turned slowly, letting him take you in — the curve of your ass in the sheer lace, the tight lines of the garter straps, the soft swell of your breasts barely contained by the delicate fabric.

"holy fuck," he breathed, voice wrecked. "you're gonna kill me."

you sauntered up to him, slow and deliberate, your fingers trailing up his chest, feeling the tremor beneath your touch.

"sit," you commanded, voice like velvet.

he obeyed without hesitation, sinking onto the edge of your bed, legs spread wide, hands gripping the sheets.

you climbed onto his lap, straddling one strong thigh, feeling the hard muscle flex beneath you.

your soaked panties pressed against him as you started to rock your hips, slow, grinding motions that sent sparks shooting up your spine.

his hands gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, guiding your movements as you rode his thigh like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

"fuck, look at you," he groaned, tilting his head back, eyes fluttering shut for a second before snapping back to you, dark and hungry. "so fucking pretty, so fucking wet."

you rolled your hips against his thigh, your soaked panties dragging delicious friction along the hard muscle beneath you.

doyoung watched you with a look that was pure hunger, his hands locked on your waist, controlling your pace, forcing you to grind harder, deeper.

"fuck, baby," he rasped, his voice a wreck of desire. "you’re fucking yourself on my thigh like a desperate little thing."

you whimpered, grinding harder, feeling the rough fabric of his pants rubbing right against your clit through the thin lace.

"please," you gasped, not even sure what you were begging for anymore — more, faster, him.

he growled low in his throat, grabbing you by the hips and flipping you onto the bed in one smooth, desperate motion.

"can't wait anymore," he muttered, tugging his shirt over his head, undoing his belt with trembling fingers. "need you. now."

you spread your legs eagerly, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes as he shed the rest of his clothes, his cock thick and leaking, curving up toward his stomach.

he crawled over you, one hand sliding up your thigh, tracing the garter strap, hooking his fingers under it and snapping it playfully against your skin, making you gasp.

"keep it on," he ordered, voice dark and low. "i wanna fuck you in this."

you nodded frantically, hips canting up toward him, desperate for any kind of friction.

he lined himself up and pushed in slowly, groaning deep in his chest as he filled you inch by agonizing inch.

"so tight," he breathed, forehead pressed against yours. "so fucking good."

you clung to him, nails digging into his back, moaning brokenly as he started to move — slow at first, grinding deep inside you, savoring every second.

the lace scraped lightly against his skin, the garters tugging with every thrust, the whole thing messy and desperate and perfect.

he fucked you like he couldn't get close enough, couldn't get deep enough, like he wanted to crawl inside your skin and live there.

then he slowed, grinding deep instead of thrusting, fucking you slow and filthy, making you feel every inch of him.

he pulled back just enough to look down at you, his cock still buried deep inside, his hands rough on your hips.

you cried out, legs trembling, the pressure building fast and brutal.

"wanna see you cum," he growled, fucking you harder, faster, making the bed creak beneath you. "wanna feel you."

your orgasm hit like a freight train, ripping through you with a force that left you gasping, clinging to him as you shattered apart.

his voice was low, almost a growl against your ear: "where do you want it, baby? tell me."

you whimpered, meeting his eyes, feeling the heat of your own desperation mirrored in his gaze.

"on my face and... my lingerie," you whispered, voice shaking with need. "i want you to ruin it."

his eyes darkened impossibly further, his thrusts turning erratic, brutal.

"fuck. fuck, you’re gonna kill me," he muttered, pulling out at the last second.

he pulled out quickly, fisting his cock with a few rough strokes, and then he was painting your face with hot, sticky ropes of cum, groaning your name like a prayer.

you moaned softly, licking a drop from your lip, watching him through hooded eyes.

but he wasn't done yet.

he stroked himself back to hardness almost immediately, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach.

you arched your back for him, showing off the perfect view — the lace barely covering your ass, the garters framing your curves beautifully.

he jerked himself hard and fast, the obscene sounds of slick skin filling the room, until he came again, thick and messy across your lower back and ass, the cum soaking into the delicate lace.

you stayed like that for a moment, panting, letting it drip down your skin.

you watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, heart hammering, feeling every hot splash land on you, branding you, claiming you exactly the way you asked for.

he collapsed onto the couch beside you, chest heaving, watching you with a dazed, satisfied grin.

you lay there for a moment, catching your breath, feeling the slick mess cooling on your skin, the ruined lace clinging to you obscenely.

and then, with a wicked little smile, you reached for your phone. you angled it perfectly — the sticky, creamy mess glistening across your stomach, the black lace sheer against your flushed skin.

click.

you uploaded it to your onlyfans with a simple, filthy caption:

"he made me a mess tonight."

hours later, doyoung sat on his own bed, phone in hand, heart pounding.

he opened your page and there it was — your body, still trembling, still glistening with the evidence of his obsession.

his cock twitched violently, already leaking, already aching.

he groaned low in his throat, unable to stop himself from palming his cock roughly, needing relief, needing you all over again.

he came in seconds, harsh and hot across his stomach, your name a broken whisper on his lips.

and he knew.

he was never going to survive you.

654 notes · View notes

dreamauri · 2 months ago

Text

♪ — 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗜𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗬 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗚 𝗚𝗙 lewis hamilton x fem! genz! reader ( fluff ) fic summary . . . You never meant to fall for a man twice your age, but somehow, Lewis Hamilton makes thirty-something age gaps feel like background noise. In a world of fast cars and faster headlines, you become the softest scandal on the grid—his controversially young girlfriend (2.3k words)

( my master list | more of lewis hamilton ) ( requests )

You spot him across the room like a plot twist in a book you didn’t mean to start reading—one of those late-night, one-more-chapter choices that end with your sleep schedule in ruins and your heart a little dented.

He’s standing by the bar like he owns the concept of cool, leaning one elbow against the counter, glass in hand, dressed like he just got off a jet and into a Vogue spread. Chunky rings flash with every movement. A silver chain rests on his collarbone like it was born there. Sunglasses inside—normally a red flag—but on him? It’s working. Unreasonably well.

He doesn’t look real. He looks curated. Like someone who’s used to being watched. Someone who doesn’t have to try to be interesting, because the world already decided he is.

And the weird part? You don’t know who he is.

Which makes him fair game.

You down the last of your drink like a dare, swipe your thumb across your bottom lip in case there’s gloss out of place, and march toward him like the protagonist of your own little fever dream.

“Hey,” you say, voice dipped in confidence, grin hooked to one corner of your mouth. “Quick question. Are you this hot all the time, or is it just the lighting in here doing community service?”

He turns his head slowly, like he knows he’s about to be entertained. Looks at you over the rim of his sunglasses with those lazy, almost amused eyes. Then lowers them altogether, letting you see the full scope of his expression.

Blink. Slow blink. Smile.

Then—laughter.

A warm, surprised kind of laugh. Like you just opened a window in a room that hadn’t been aired out in a while.

“You don’t know who I am?” he asks, head tilting, eyebrows raised.

“Nope,” you chirp, popping the ‘p.’ “But judging by that look, you clearly think I should. Celebrity? Secret agent? CEO of Hot Men, Inc.?”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he lifts his drink to his lips. It’s whiskey, neat. Of course it is. “I like you.”

“Obviously,” you reply, deadpan. “So, what’s your name, mysterious man with excellent bone structure and suspicious levels of swagger?”

“Lewis,” he says. It rolls off his tongue casual and smooth, like he’s said it a thousand times to people already impressed.

You repeat it slowly, like a sip of something expensive. “Lewis. You got a last name, or are you trying to stay mysterious on purpose?”

“I’m trying,” he says, smirk tucked behind his glass. “But now I’m curious. How old are you?”

You narrow your eyes in playful suspicion. “Why? You tryna check if I need parental permission to flirt with you?”

He laughs again, and it’s even better this time—less surprised, more like he’s starting to settle into the rhythm of you. “Just making sure I’m not getting arrested.”

“Relax, officer,” you reply, pressing a palm to your chest with mock innocence. “I’m twenty-four. Legal, unproblematic, and only occasionally unhinged.”

But his smile shifts—just slightly. A flicker of something cautious flashes behind those honey-brown eyes.

“Damn,” he mutters, not unkindly. “I’m too old for you.”

You arch a brow. “You can’t be that old.”

He gives you a small shrug. “I’m forty.”

There’s a beat.

A pause long enough to pour another drink in.

Your jaw drops. You step back, press a hand to your mouth in mock horror.

“Wowe,” you gasp. “You’re a fossil. How were the dinosaurs? Did you ride a pterodactyl to school?”

He throws his head back and cackles, catching the attention of the bartender and a couple people nearby. It’s not just amusement—it’s delight. You got him.

“Ruthless,” he grins at you.

You shrug, unapologetic. “What can I say? I like my men aged like wine and slightly traumatized.”

He raises his glass. “Well. You might be in luck.”

You clink your empty glass against his full one, eyes never leaving his.

Somewhere in the background, a bass-heavy track starts to play. But the real beat is in the space between you—charged and golden and humming with the promise of something very, very interesting.

You’re not supposed to be here.

Not in the paddock. Not wearing borrowed sunglasses and an oversized McLaren jacket that smells like someone else's boyfriend. Not sipping on a bottled water like you belong, casually trying not to gawk at multi-million-dollar cars or the people walking around like they own oxygen.

But you’re here.

A friend’s plus one, a last-minute invite when her PR-boyfriend flaked on escort duty. So you tagged along—because hello, free food, hot people, shiny cars, and maybe the chance to flirt with a driver or two. You figured worst-case scenario, you'd leave with a selfie and a new screensaver.

What you didn’t expect was to see him again.

Lewis.

Mysterious Lewis from the bar. GQ-cover Lewis. Ring-wearing, chain-glinting, forty-year-old fossil Lewis who made you laugh so hard you almost forgot your own name.

He’s walking through the paddock like he’s parting the sea. Everyone moves around him like he's made of something sacred—crew nodding, fans whispering, someone with a camera backing up just to get the shot. He looks… different today. Like he’s not just dressed cool, but armored in it. Like confidence stitched into a race suit.

Your jaw almost hits the gravel.

You don’t even think—your feet just move.

“Lewis!”

He turns.

Sunglasses again, of course. But when he spots you? That smile. Slow, warm, like he knew you'd show up eventually.

You grin, planting yourself right in front of him, toe to boot.

“Okay,” you say, breathless but smug, “you cannot turn me down this time. This is clearly fate.”

He laughs. It rumbles in his chest, head tilting like he’s trying to drink you in without making it obvious.

“You really didn’t Google me, huh?” he says.

You raise a brow. “Should I have? Wait, are you, like, a famous pit crew guy or something? The energy drinks guy?”

He just smiles. The kind of smile that hides a hundred secrets and a thousand wins.

“I gotta go,” he says, stepping closer for just a second. “But I’ll see you on the podium.”

You blink. “What podium?”

But he’s already walking away.

Helmet under one arm, swagger turned up to eleven, disappearing into one of the Mercedes garages like some kind of very sexy magician.

You look to your friend. “What podium?!”

Your friend is pale. “You don’t know who that is?”

“Should I???”

“That’s Lewis Hamilton.”

You snort. “No it’s not. His name is just Lewis. He didn’t even give me a last name.”

“BECAUSE HE’S LEWIS HAMILTON. SEVEN-TIME WORLD CHAMPION. THE GOAT. LITERAL SIR.”

You freeze. Fully buffer. Brain spinning like a car on slick tyres.

Cut to three hours later, and you’re in the Mercedes unit, watching on the big screen as the man you once called a fossil overtakes two cars and wins the freaking British Grand Prix like it’s casual.

The crowd explodes.

Your heart does too.

You're on your feet, half in disbelief, half in awe. You just watched a man drive like a myth, and all you can think is: he told me he was forty and I made a dinosaur joke.

And just as you start contemplating crawling into a hole forever, he finds you again.

Post-race glow. Hair half-flattened from the helmet. Fireproof suit half-unzipped to reveal that chain you remember from the bar. Sweat and champagne still clinging to his skin like stardust.

He looks at you with that same grin.

“Still think I’m someone’s manager?” he teases, voice low, eyes shining.

You gape at him. “You won. Like, you—won. Your name’s on the trophy. That podium. That—your home race??”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Must be fate. You show up, I win. Gotta say… you might just be my lucky charm.”

Your brain short-circuits. “I—I called you a fossil.”

He laughs. Full, delighted, Lewis-laugh. “And you humbled me before I got cocky. We make a great team.”

You bite back a grin, cheeks burning. “So… you celebrating tonight, or what?”

“Obviously,” he says. “You’re coming.”

it’s supposed to be a quick trip. A flash visit, blink-and-you-miss-it, in-and-out kind of thing. You’ve been swamped—deadlines, drama, flights rerouted like bad karma—but something in you ached to be there. For him. For Lewis.

So you made time. You chose time.

And now? Now you’re stuck in Austrian traffic, inching toward the Red Bull Ring in a car that’s doing more idling than moving, hair frizzing in the heat and hands white-knuckling your phone.

You press it to your ear. “I swear to god, if I miss your race because a literal cow is blocking the road—”

Lewis laughs on the other end, warm and fond. “A cow?”

“A cow, Lewis. Just standing there. Living her truth. Meanwhile, I’m two bad songs away from losing it.”

“You sound stressed, babe.”

“Gee, what gave it away?” you snap, then sigh. “Sorry. I just wanted to be there before lights out. Front row, proud girlfriend, full ensemble.”

His voice softens. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”

“Barely.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re still my lucky charm. Even if you’re watching from the parking lot.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “Go win something, fossil.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He gets P2.

You watch the final laps on your phone screen, pressed against the parkinglot gates, heart in your throat and hands half-numb. The crowd erupts. Flags wave. You swear you can hear the champagne pop all the way from the parking lot.

And then—

There he is.

Striding out from the gates like he owns Austria, still in his suit, curls damp under his cap, smile already loaded like a secret.

“Hey,” he calls out, just loud enough for you to turn.

You do. And then you forget how to breathe.

Because Lewis Hamilton kisses you like the cameras aren’t watching. Like the whole world doesn’t know his name. Like you didn’t just call him a fossil two weeks ago and now you’re wearing his hoodie like a badge of honor.

You pull back, dazed and pink. “That was… public.”

“Could’ve made it more dramatic,” he teases. “Want a dip next time?”

“You’re so cocky for a man who came in second.”

He grins. “I’ll take second if it means I get to see that blush.”

You're about to fire back—something witty, something flirty—when someone from Mercedes runs up, breathless. “Lewis, mate. You need to come back to the unit. Now.”

He frowns. “Everything alright?”

The guy looks between the two of you, eyes wide. “George got disqualified.”

You both blink.

“What?” you say, at the same time Lewis mutters: “No way.”

“Track limits. Deleted laps. It just came through.”

Which means—

“You’re P1,” you whisper, eyes wide.

Lewis turns to you, slow and stunned. Brows raised. Smile blooming like he knew.

“Guess you really are my lucky charm,” he says, low and gleaming.

You shake your head, biting back a grin. “I didn’t even see the race.”

“Didn’t have to,” he murmurs, already pulling you into his arms. “Just had to show up.”

Thursdays are usually soft-launches. Media day. Press conference drip. Everyone pretending they’re not sizing each other up, that they’re not itching for Sunday, that they’re not clocking every outfit and wink and subtle little flex.

But this Thursday?

You walk in and the whole paddock blinks.

Because Lewis Hamilton—Sir Lewis Hamilton—is already waiting by the entrance like a man on a mission. Like the sun rises wherever you land. And he’s dressed like a dream dipped in platinum, silver shirt half-buttoned, rings glinting, pants tailored within an inch of heaven.

But it’s the way he looks at you that melts reality a little.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmurs as you reach him.

You grin, a little breathless, fixing the collar of his shirt even though it’s perfect. “You’re overdressed.”

He eyes your outfit—slick and sharp, Prada shades and knee-high boots like you own the grid—and hums, “Nah. We’re matching.”

And you are. Silver and black, sleek and dangerous. A walking power couple with zero subtlety. Someone snaps a pic. Then another. Cameras start clicking like popcorn.

He slips his hand into yours. Casual, confident. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything.

And then the tweets start.

You scroll a few of them while waiting outside hospitality, phone buzzing like a feral bee. You snort-laugh at the “get it grandpa” one. Lewis peeks over your shoulder and raises a brow.

“They’re obsessed with you,” you say, smirking.

“They’re obsessed with you,” he corrects, tugging you closer by the waist. “You okay?”

You shrug, leaning into him. “I mean, people think I’m either your niece or your mid-life crisis.”

He snorts. “You’re my win.”

Your smirk falters—just for a second—because god, he’s so earnest. So warm. Like a damn sunbeam with abs.

You recover quick, flicking your sunglasses down. “Damn right I am.”

He laughs loud, head tipping back. “There she is.”

All day, people stare.

Team members smile politely. Fans whisper behind phones. Media pretends not to mention it while asking if you're enjoying your "first F1 paddock experience" (you’ve been to three, thank you very much).

You pose for a few pics. Kiss Lewis on the cheek when he heads into the garage. Sip your overpriced iced coffee like nothing rattles you.

But every so often—when it’s quiet—you hear the whispers again. About the age gap. The headlines. The way you don’t look like you belong next to someone as legendary as him.

So when you catch your reflection in the hospitality glass—twenty-four and glowing but clearly young—you take a breath.

And then you smirk at yourself. Flip your hair. Take a selfie.

Caption it:

“idk i just think i’m a slay.”

And Lewis? He reposts it.

voice notes 🔊. . . ( im so writting a p2 for this when he moves to ferrari and the disqualifying in china )

#‧˚⊹🪴 ଓ :: 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝘀 ‧₊˚⤾#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lh44 #lh44 fic #lh44 x reader #lh44 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 x female reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x y/n

980 notes · View notes

ilium-ilia · 4 months ago

Text

Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Ten: a world inside a world

tw: none

Grand Hollow is unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

It scars the land. Morphs it into some unrecognizable jungle littered with buildings that tower higher than any church you’ve ever laid eyes on. The ground vanishes underneath stone blocks and wood boards, leaving Jester’s hooves to pop! along the streets as you keep close to your little group of outlaws.

Many of the stores you pass sport large windows to show off merchandise fancier than any you’ve ever seen, such as watches made of pure silver and hats from freshly trapped varmints. There are young boys standing on street corners shouting about newspapers or other goods, or strange folk in even stranger clothes attempting to sell bottles of what you think you heard them call snake oil.

You don’t think you could ever make out your daddy’s steeple through this mess.

The air smells different here. It’s thicker than Penmosa’s atmosphere—darker. Thin columns of black smoke rise high into the air in the distance, reaching far enough to stain Heaven’s basement with coal dust and human filth. There are kinder aromas that attempt to stave off the grime of horses and automation. Strong liquor pours through some saloons and hotels you pass by, and there’s something sickeningly sweet about the tailor's shop on the other side of the street.

Sweat slicks your palms, bleeding into the leather reigns you grasp. You have never seen so many people in your life—not shoved into the confines of a city like this. Eyes wander, lips curl, mouths greet. Swallowing, you ensure your mother’s necklace is tucked safely inside your blouse.

“Your eyes look like they’re about to pop out of your skull, Lamb,” Kyle teases.

Looking to your side, you see him casually leaning back in his saddle as he leads Bear with one hand. His aura is cool—collected. While you’ve been panicking the moment you’ve crossed this new threshold, he’s only seemed to relax.

“This is all… I don’t even have the word to describe it,” you admit, eyes flickering back to focus on the road before you.

“Grand?” he chuckles. “It’s not quite as big as London, so it was an easy adjustment for us, but I imagine it might be a bit much for someone like you… no offence.”

“None taken. You’re right, after all,” you laugh nervously. “Mr. Beckett would always tell me stories about places like this. Things he heard from travelers and such. None of it comes close to experiencing it for yourself.”

“And there’s plenty to experience here. Shows, parks, libraries.”

“Libraries?” you repeat. “I didn’t think those were real.”

Kyle snickers, white teeth flashing between his lips as he shakes his head. “Oh, they’re real alright. If the human brain can cook it up, it’ll exist here in Grand Hollow.”

Deep in the heart of this jungle, sitting proud on the corner of a large city block, lies The Twin Rose Hotel. Just like every other building in this city, it towers over all of God’s creatures with glistening windows and chestnut bricks. A balcony on the second floor looks down upon the streets with an excellent view of the city park just across the way, and hanging above that on the face of the wall is the building’s name. Squinting, you’re able to make out odd, small glass bulbs that line the lettering.

Small metal poles dot the sidewalk around the hotel, staining the ground with the protrusion. John hops off his horse and hitches him to it, and everyone else follows to do the same. A pang shoots through your feet as you dismount, not used to the hard surface of the streets. Your thighs feel numb from countless hours of riding, and you do your best to stretch your hips out as you tie Jester to the metal hitching post next to Bear. Just as you knot it, you realize you can make out a small horse symbol etched into the iron. Even though this city seems so advanced, they still hold a place for the antiquated ways of cowboys.

“Right then,” John speaks up. All ears in the vicinity perk at the clamor of his voice. He stands with his shoulders squaring backwards and his thumbs looped behind his belt buckle. “Mind your manners, boys.”

Walking into The Twin Rose is even more of a culture shock than the entirety of Grand Hollow has been. Glistening crystal chandeliers hang high above your head, filling what appears to be the cleanest saloon you’ve ever seen with a warm, saffron glow. The floors are made of waxed wood that don’t have so much as a dent on them, and various tables lay around the room in polkadot-like fashion. A crowd of gentlemen sit at a round table, chuckling over full plates and bottles of beer, and a man in a silk top hat plucks away at a standing piano just next to the mouth of a wide staircase.

Toward the back of the room lies a bar. There are no stools to sit on, but a young woman with thin lips busies herself with cleaning her mixing supplies. Sconces line the walls, leaving nothing unilluminated, yet you can’t keep yourself from squinting at them.

“How do they keep the oil in all of these?” you whisper.

Kyle attempts to stifle his chuckle. “They’re lightbulbs, love. They run on electricity.”

Lightbulbs. You remember hearing about their creation when you were a kid. It was all anyone could talk about when every paper in the country slapped it on the front page. The great Thomas Edison had invented light that could be held in the palm of your hand. Of course, your poor little town of Penmosa never got to see such a feat, stuck with using oil lamps and campfires, you could only ever dream of witnessing such magic. Your father abhors the idea of it. He says it’s unnatural—ungodly and impetuous.

How could God hate something so beautiful?

John leads everyone up to the bar, weaving through tables with heavy feet. He crosses his arms and keeps his head low as he kindly greets the barmaid. Grey eyes look him up and down, seemingly unimpressed, before her gaze wanders over everyone else. She doesn’t even look intimidated by Riley’s stature and the bandana that covers his face. Suddenly, you find your pulse rising. The closest thing you’ve had to a proper bath in the last few weeks was that thunderstorm that rolled in before you hit Little Wood—you’re sure you look less than presentable.

“Can I help you?” she asks, voice dull.

“I need to speak with Laswell,” John says.

She raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t seem surprised. “Who’s asking?”

“John Price.”

The woman’s head quirks, and you think you might even see a slight smirk on her lips. She places her items down on the bar top before motioning for everyone to follow her. You’re led through a door marked private that brings you to a long hallway with several doors. The barmaid breezes by most of them before coming to a stop at the very end of the hallway. A terrible squeak accompanies the door opening, and through the threshold you’re able to see a large, rectangular table with several chairs to sit in.

“Take a seat. Laswell will be with you in a minute,” the barmaid instructs.

You find yourself squeezed between John and Kyle as everyone melts into their seats with a sigh. Red wallpaper adorns every inch of the room in a deep scarlet that soaks up the illumination from the sconces. Beautiful paintings in thick, mahogany frames dot the walls as decor, but the room is too tenebrous for you to fully tell what they are. You can vaguely make out a beautiful Arabian horse in one, and snow capped mountains in another, but your eyes strain too great to peer at them in detail.

Soap leans so far in his chair that his neck rests on the backboard, and his feet brush against yours, though you don’t say anything about the intrusion. “I hope we’re invited over for dinner.”

“Enjoying Lottie’s cooking and then having a proper bed to sleep in does sound nice,” Kyle hums in agreement.

“There’s still a lot of work to do, boys,” John reminds them.

Huffing, Soap straightens himself out in his seat. “Aye, but we’re allowed to have a little fun every now and then, aren’t we?”

Before anyone can comment further, the door swings open, then quickly clicks shut. A woman with a stern face enters the room, and she is the strangest lady you think you’ve ever seen. Her cream blouse is pressed so that it’s pristine and free of wrinkles, and her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows as if she was caught doing manual labor. Instead of a skirt to accompany it, she dons a pair of black dress pants with matching shoes. Her dirty blonde hair is pulled back into a bun, leaving only her fringe to cover her forehead and the sides of her face. For a long moment, she stands at the head of the table with her hands on her hips where she gets a good look at everyone seated in front of her before humming and taking a seat.

“Never thought I’d see any of you ever again,” she says bluntly. “Last I knew, John Price and his posse had vanished further West where the land is wild and the laws are rare.”

“You know we couldn’t stay away forever, Laswell,” John smiles.

“Yeah, not with all that unfinished business you have in Blackpeak.” The air grows tense. Palpable with hesitation. The oddly dressed woman pauses a moment to let her eyes fall on you, and you find your breath catching in your throat. She scrutinizes you—soaks up every inch of you. She doesn’t look away from you when she continues to speak. “I see you’ve got a new member to this… posse, of yours.”

John looks at you, eyes cold and face impossible to read. “She’s just cargo.”

Laswell hums. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Your mouth grows dryer than any desert Mr. Beckett has ever told you about in all his tall tales. John nods in encouragement, and your answer tumbles off of your tongue like a freshly jellied calf.

“But we all just call her Lamb,” Soap interjects with a grin.

“Where are you from, Lamb?” the woman asks.

“Penmosa.” You answer her question as if you’re unsure—as if you don’t know if you’re right or not.

“Penmosa?” she repeats. “You’re an awfully long way from home. What brings you out here?”

Nervosity chews at the flesh of your ankles as your hands fall into your lap, fingers twiddling. Is this the part where you ask for help? Where you bare your father’s sins for some stranger to see—to sully his name? Eyes shifting, you look to John, who casually leans back in his chair as he raps his fingers against the tabletop.

“Her daddy’s got a bad temper,” he explains simply.

“Right. Cargo.” Laswell crosses her arms before glancing around the table once more. “You boys are damn near drooling on my table. If you were hungry, you could’ve asked.”

“Well, we didn’t want to impose,” Kyle explains, though his grin bleeds into his words.

“You know better than to play coy with me, Garrick,” she teases. Her chair scrapes across the floor as she stands to her feet. The sconce behind her sends a diffused ray of light around her—she looks powerful. Unlike any other woman you’ve ever seen. “I’ll have the kitchen cook us some lunch, then we’ll see about arrangements. Lamb, how does a bath sound?”

Surprised to hear her address you directly, you nearly jump out of your seat. “A bath? Well… that sounds fine.”

“Good. We’ll get you fed, then while you’re bathing, the men and I can talk business. Sit tight, I’ll be back.”

It does not take Laswell long to return with two maids following along behind her in red dresses. They each push a small trolley of sorts, with large plates of food and pitchers of water jittering along the metal cart as they station it alongside the table. You eye platters of rolls, chicken, smoked ham, mashed potatoes, and a large gravy boat. Dainty hands place the delicate dishes on the table buffet style before handing everyone a fresh, rose designed porcelain plate. Then, they vanish behind the door, leaving everyone to their meal.

Honey glistens off of the ham in an enticing amber color that the boys waste no time diving into, flesh peeling like the tender skin of an orange. Rolls are passed around, as well as the saltiest butter you’ve ever tasted in your life, and you find your stomach growling after the first bite. You try to recall when the last time you had a proper meal was. When you put something other than hardtack and dried meat into your body.

It was the night you left, you realize. When you promised your father you would find the change that ripped out of your apron. Your throat closes up the moment you recall the way his hand kissed your cheek, and you drown your discomfort away with a sip of water. Algid liquid hits your teeth and makes you grimace—there’s ice in your cup. You don’t think you’ve ever seen such a thing before.

Conversation comes easy for everyone at the table except for you. John and Laswell murmur to one another in low tones while stabbing the meat from their plates with silver forks. Their eyes shift in unison, both of them on high alert as if anyone at the table might suddenly turn feral and nip at them. Riley and Soap are having some sort of disagreement, and Kyle isn’t helping with how he throws his two cents in so that they only get more riled up with one another.

So, you’re left to sit. And sit. Silverware scraping against your empty plate, you face the bitter realization that this is the final stop for you. No more trekking through the wilderness with strange men who carry large bounties. No more long nights by a tall fire. You would hate to admit that you had gotten comfortable with them, but they were at least familiar. Now, you’re going to be dumped here. Left to wander in a strange town—a terrifying and intimidating new world—and John Price will be nothing more than a forgotten memory.

After all, you’re only cargo.

“Lamb?”

Head snapping up from the scraps of your meal, you look at Laswell, who’s leaning forward in her chair with her elbows on the table. You realize you can’t quite read her as well as you can most other people. There is no tell in the corner of her lip like there is with Kyle, or a sly illumination in the depths of John’s cyanotic eyes. She simply speaks, and her tone implores you to listen.

“Yes ma’am?”

“You finished with your food?” she asks.

You nod, sharp and stiff. “Yes, it was lovely, thank you.”

Laswell stands from the table, black dress pants riding up on her waist as she does. “Let’s get you in that bath, then.”

You’re allowed to fetch your carpet bag from Jester before you’re brought up to the second floor. The chatter of well dressed patrons and their drunken games fades to white noise as Laswell leads you down tenebrous hallways marked with swirling vine and rose patterned wallpaper. Everything about this building is rich, from the sienna of the brick it’s built with, to the sconces that hold electricity in the very palm of its hands.

As you clutch your bag closer to your chest—and all your pitiful belongings with it—you try not to feel like a walking stain in the establishment.

“I can’t thank you enough for taking me in,” you blurt out suddenly. Unable to hold your tongue still, you swallow down the aftertaste of peppered mash before continuing. “John says you take in—well—troubled girls like me. That you’d give me a job, or at least help me find one.”

“It’s what we do around here, darling.” Her reply is short and curt, though not impolite. Laswell’s feet stop just in front of a door with a gilded knob and the word bath engraved into rich wood. She quickly gestures to the door before her hands fall back to her sides. “Feel free to use all the amenities. And take your time. It’ll take me a bit to get all the fine details ironed out with John.”

Nodding, you thank her once more before slipping behind the door into what you can only assume is a whole other world. That’s all Grand Hollow seems to be—pockets of universes shoved inside one another. Endless doors stuck in a vast maze waiting for you to open so that they can fill you with veneration.

There is a single lamp (at least, that’s what you think they are called—that interesting decor that looks like an oil lamp but with a shade and ten times bigger) that sits on a table just by the window, yet it’s more dim compared to the other electric light sources you’ve seen so far. The blinds are drawn, casting the room in darkness, but the shadows morph and dance on the walls as freshly lit candles sit on various surfaces throughout the room.

The bathtub is larger than any other you’ve seen before. Clawed feet rest on the floor as it holds steaming water, and when you tread close you notice the distinct scent of rose. Upon closer inspection, you notice a few vermillion petals floating on the surface. A smile graces your lips.

You think you might like it here.

Before you undress, you seat yourself at the vanity. Its stool is plush, composed of thick velvet that envelopes your rum with comfort infinitely greater than Jester’s saddle ever does. It takes you more time than you’d care to admit to detangle your hair, but you know it’s well overdue for a wash, and life on the road hasn’t been treating any part of your body too well. Stripping yourself of your overdress and chemise, you slowly lower yourself into the tub while trying not to hiss at the near scalding water.

As you rest with your back propped and limbs limp, everything fades away. The grime that nestles between your toes, the ache and sores between your thighs, the faint scars on your knuckles. Even the bitter memories of your father. It dissolves into the water to swirl around the rose petals that you toy with. Pure silk against your fingertips, you raise one to your nose and sniff. It’s sweeter than molasses—you’ve just eaten lunch and your mouth is already watering.

A myriad of oils and soaps line the small side table next to you. You take turns picking each of the bars up and wetting them with your hands to feel the suds on your skin. Each one smells divine. Meadow grass in summer, petrichor in spring, Mama’s rolls in autumn—

—there’s a knock.

For a moment, you almost think it’s her; your mother. She’s playing the knocking game again. Tapping on the wall that leads to your bedroom. Letting you know she’s still alive, that her tuberculosis hasn’t consumed her quite yet. It’s easy to fall into delusion when you’re enveloped by something so warm and so gentle—something that (for once) doesn’t have teeth.

That thin shred of your imagination vanishes the moment a figure bursts through the door without even bothering to hear your answer. Though you know you should not be surprised to see John Price standing before you, you still are. Door clicking behind him, the gravity of the situation hits you, and you find yourself desperately attempting to save your dignity. Arms crossing over your breasts, thighs pressing together to hide your sex, your eyes widen as you sink further into the water.

“John!” you shriek. “What are you…”

Whatever malice laced confusion you harbor dies in your throat the moment you watch as his thick fingers reach up towards his neck. Then, one by one, he begins to undo the buttons of his shirt. Thick swirling hair sprouts between the fabric, and you’re left to gawk at the debauched display that is presenting itself to you.

Unbothered, John untucks his shirt from his trousers before tossing it onto the floor next to your chemise, leaving him bare chested. If this were any other occasion, you’d be scandalized at such a gesture—his linens mixing with yours—but you find yourself infinitely more concerned with the odd twinkle in his eye.

“You don’t mind if I join you for a moment, do you, love?”

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates | get early access to chapters here

#ilium writing #jp ilia #dwsu #john price x reader #price x reader #captain price x reader #female reader

534 notes · View notes

mangooes · 2 months ago

Text

Thinking out Loud

The manor was quiet—unusually so.

Sylus stepped through the threshold of the living room, one gloved hand loosening the collar of his coat, expecting the usual: reports scattered on the coffee table, Mephisto perched somewhere suspicious, or maybe the twins passed out from a long stakeout.

Instead, he froze.

The lights were dimmed, casting a soft golden glow across the walls. The big windows stretched open to the city skyline—lights flickering like stars below. But what caught Sylus’s attention wasn’t the view.

A vintage vinyl record was spinning slowly on his cherished turntable—one of the many he collected from his global hunts, this one a pristine edition from the 1960s, playing a slow, crooning love song with that subtle grain only vinyl could offer. The room was bathed in golden amber, the sound warping gently at the edges of the notes, making everything feel timeless.

And then he saw her.

(Name).

She was in the center of the room, barefoot, her curls tied up messily with strands bouncing as she twirled. One hand held a feather duster. The other moved with graceful, lazy flair as she swayed to the old jazz song playing softly from the speakers. Her hips moved with the rhythm, hips swaying, shoulders bouncing slightly with each beat—completely lost in her own world, humming along off-key and completely, devastatingly adorable.

Sylus leaned against the doorframe, lips twitching with amusement.

Of course she hadn’t noticed him yet.

That was his favorite part.

Her joy was a song of its own.

He watched for a long moment, lips curving in that rare, fond smile reserved only for her. The vinyl continued to play softly, a tender hum of nostalgia and love in the background, and finally, (Name) twirled and spotted him.

She stilled like a deer, eyes wide and mischievous. “Sysy~!” she chirped with that breathless grin of hers. “Were you watching me dance again, how long?”

“Mm.” Sylus’s voice was smooth, velvet with a bite.

“Long enough,” he murmured, his voice rich with amusement. “You always throw private concerts when I’m not home?”

(Name) stuck out her tongue. “Maybe. Depends who’s watching.”

He stepped forward, crimson eyes glittering as he approached her with slow, measured grace. “If it’s me… then consider me your number one fan.”

(Name) rolled her eyes, but the blush that dusted her cheeks gave her away. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m a criminal lord, sweetie. I think drama’s part of the job description.”

She dropped the duster dramatically into the couch cushions and walked up to him, eyes sparkling with playfulness. “Well, since you’re here… care for a dance, Mr. Onychinus?”

He raised a silver brow, his lips curled upwards. “You sure Ms. Onychinus? You know I’m more fight than finesse.”

(Name) grabbed his hand anyway and placed it on her waist. “Lucky for you, I’m an excellent teacher.”

Sylus smirked, then without looking away, he reached for the turntable controls with a casual flick of his finger.

The needle lifted, and with a touch of his Evol, a different vinyl floated from the shelf—a slow romantic waltz pressing etched in deep red vinyl. The red and black mists placed it delicately on the turntable, reverently like it was a sacred ritual. The needle dropped with a satisfying crackle and hiss, and a lush, string-heavy melody bloomed through the room.

(Name) blinked. “You’re changing the track?”

“Of course,” Sylus whispered as he tugged her closer, one hand cradling the small of her back. “If we’re going to dance, it has to be our rhythm.”

They began to move.

Slow. Fluid. Effortless.

Her laugh melted against his chest as the two of them began to sway in gently.

The kind of dance that didn’t need steps or instruction—just two hearts beating in sync. Sylus guided her easily, his fingers firm but reverent on her waist, the other clasping her hand. They swayed in slow circles in the center of the room, the city lights painting their skin in gold and red.

Her cheek brushed against his chest as she tilted her head. “You’re being extra charming tonight.”

“I’m always charming,” Sylus teased, dipping his head closer so his breath tickled her ear. “But tonight, you’re glowing, kitten. Couldn’t help myself.”

(Name) laughed softly, chest fluttering as he twirled her under his arm, then pulled her close again. “Glowing? I just finished cleaning.”

He grinned, crimson eyes gleaming. “Then I must have a thing for house faes.”

Then, in one swift motion, he slid his arm under her knees and lifted her into the air with a graceful twirl.

(Name) squealed, laughing as the room spun around her, hair flying loose from its messy bun.

“Sylus!”

“Shh,” he hushed playfully, cradling her against his arm. “You’re ruining the moment.”

He let her feet touch the ground again, but barely—his arms still wrapped around her, one hand brushing the fallen curls from her face, tucking them behind her ear. His fingers lingered at her jaw, stroking down to the edge of her neck.

She was breathless.

“You’re unbelievable,” she breathed.

“One of many reasons you married me,” he quipped.

He was already watching her like she was the only thing in existence.

And this time, it was (Name) who leaned forward—her hands framing his face—and kissed him.

Soft.

Full of warmth.

The kind of kiss that said you’re home to me.

When they broke apart, she didn’t step back.

She just wrapped her arms around his neck, buried her face in the crook of his neck, and whispered, “I love you.”

Sylus froze—not because he didn’t know it. But because, even now, every time she said it so freely, it still knocked the wind out of him.

He rested his chin on top of her head and whispered back, “I love you too, sweetie.”

STOP IM CRYING SO HARD HIS BIRTHDAY IS IN 2 DAYS!! anywayss did u guys also buy the birthday merch from infold?? i bought the smoll keychain doll hehe, take my money. (ANYWAYS THIS FIC IS INSPIRED BY THINKING OUT LOUD ADSKJDNASK THE SLOW DANCE)

#sylus x reader #lnds #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #qin che #lads sylus #sylus

394 notes · View notes

vantetaes · 5 months ago

Text

PARENT TEACHER CONFRENCES🫧🥂

TEACHER!NANAMI X MILF BLACK FEM READER

SUMMARY!!! hardworking single mom yn is called to meet with nanami, her sons fourth grade teacher to discuss his performance.

WARNINGS!!! aggressive tones, cursing, penetration, oral {f}, mirror sex, affirmations, sensual, praises, 6.2k

the school hallways are eerily quiet, the usual chaos of children’s laughter, teachers and coaches directing the younger kids to class, and hurried squeaky footsteps replaced by the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. you stride through the marble floored corridor, the sharp click of your black heels slicing through the silence.

your grip tightens around the structured leather of your designer handbag as you reach the door labeled with big black lettering MR. KENTO NANAMI.

you knock twice, before using your entire body weight pushing the wooden door open without waiting for an invitation.

nanami looks up from his desk, his expression unreadable behind his gold square-framed glasses. he’s put together, wearing a clean tan suit. the matching jacket lay carelessly over the back of his chair while his white button up pressed shirt sleeves rolled up just enough to hint at forearm muscle, tie loosened just a fraction. the gold chain he wore underneath barely peeking through to catch the beams of sunlight coming through the large windows.

his whole aura screams methodical, disciplined, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes when he meets your gaze. something unreadable.

“ms. l/n, i’m surprised. thank you for making the time.” he greets, standing as a courtesy. his voice is deep, smooth, but there’s an undercurrent of exhaustion beneath the professionalism.

you set your bag down on one of the two brown leather chairs before seating yourself across from him, back straight, chin tilted slightly upward. nanami watched as your blazer tightened around your frame as you fixed your posture. your sheer stockings with lace cuffing your thigh give the man a tease, revealing with the way your mini pencil skirt rose up to crease at your hips. the simple gold jewelry necklace that hung around your neck, being fixed by freshly manicured french tips.

and the one thing he could never forget about you, you smelled like homegrown vanilla and looked like you were moisturized by gods.

“i always make time when it comes to my son, mr. kento. let’s get to the point.” your tone is crisp, practiced, the same one you use when working around the most elite of clients and workers the same. although it never mattered to nanami. outside of those aura you present, he knew you’d crumble.

“it’s about yuji. he’s a bright kid. engaging , compassionate. but i’ve noticed a pattern of distraction in class. his assignments are often rushed, and while he excels in physical activities, he struggles to focus during lessons. i’m concerned he’s not reaching his full potential.” he exhales slowly, measuring his words. his hazel eyes lock onto yours for a moment, trying to gather an expression.

“so what are you saying? that my son is a problem all of a sudden?” your brows knit together, irritation beginning to bubble beneath your skin.

“not at all, in fact i love having him in my class. i’m saying he needs more structure. more consistency.” nanami doesn’t flinch, his gaze steady. he goes to grab a manila folder, with your sons name right on the front.

“you think i don’t provide that? do you know how hard i work to make sure yuji has everything he needs?” you fold your arms, nails tapping against your sleeve, leg beginning to jump. the small sound of your heel connecting with the flooring filling the uncomfortable space.

there’s a flicker of something in his expression—understanding, maybe, but not pity.

“i’m not questioning your dedication as a parent, ms. l/n. i see how much yuji adores you. but children, especially ones as energetic as him, need more than just material stability. they need presence.”

your jaw tightens. presence. as if you haven’t sacrificed enough. as if you haven’t built an empire just so yuji never has to want for anything.

“i’m present-” you say, voice quieter now, but still firm. “i show up. the amount of money i spend on this crappy little private elementary school, i should be the one signing checks.”

nanami slightly adjusts his glasses, tapping his finger along the opening of the folder. instead, his body shifts backwards in his chair, placing the cream folder in front of you. clasping his hands together, a small, tight line smile crosses his face.

“the amount of money you donate to helping your child’s future doesn’t impress me. do with that what you will. i didn’t mean for you to feel as though i was attacking you, ms. l/n. just bringing light to the situation.”

sitting forward in your seat, you lean over. your nails drum against the polished wood of his desk, slow, deliberate. his eyes can’t help but to draw down to your exposed cleavage. watching your necklace sway with your movements.

“you assume a lot, mr. kento.” your voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it now, a sharpness honed from years of speaking over men who thought they could talk over you.

“you see a distracted child and immediately think it’s a lack of structure. you see a working mother and assume it’s a lack of presence. tell me, do you make the same assumptions about fathers?”

“i don’t assume, ms. l/n. i observe. and what i’ve observed is a boy who looks over his shoulder every time he accomplishes something. searching for approval that isn’t always there.” nanami doesn’t blink, doesn’t waver. instead, he leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the desk, his expression unwaveringly calm. you could smell the mint wafting off his breath.

“that’s not fair.” heat flares in your chest, something dangerously close to guilt threading through the frustration.

“it’s not about fair.” he says evenly.

“it’s about what’s real. yuji is brilliant, but he’s restless. he’s eager, but inconsistent. i don’t doubt for a second that you love him. but love and attention aren’t the same thing. help him or you’ll run him right into the ground.”

your lips part, ready to retort, but the words catch. because a part of you knows he isn’t wrong. knows that between early-morning meetings and late-night conference calls, between international flights and back-to-back negotiations, there are missed dinners, forgotten bedtime stories, moments you can’t get back. you work so he doesn’t have to struggle. but in doing so, maybe, just maybe, you’ve made him fight for a different kind of survival.

but admitting that feels too much like surrender.

“you’re out of line. i don’t think the dean would enjoy hear about how you spoke to their cash cow.” so you straighten, tilting your chin up just enough to remind him who you are.

“maybe-” nanami exhales slowly, pushing a hand through his blond hair. his voice remains maddeningly level.

“-but if i don’t say it, who will?”

silence stretches between you, thick with something unspoken. outside, the distant sound of a basketball bouncing against pavement echoes through the hallway.

“enough of this. i have to make it home for yuji. i appreciate your concern for my son but from now on, please mind your own business.”

collecting your purse and the folder, you stand up, straightening out your outfit. nanami stands also, watching as you flip your bouncy curls behind one ear, the skirt still high and teasing. nanami watches as your tiny frame shuffles over to the door, a smile sigh leaving his lips.

you grip the door handle, pausing just long enough to steady yourself. the conversation lingers, the weight of it pressing against your spine, taking in a deep breath.

infuriating.

“ms. l/n.” his voice stops you, low and deliberate.

“what now, nanami?” you inhale slowly before turning, arching a brow.

he watches you for a moment, arms crossed, expression unreadable. then, with the same frustrating composure he’s had all evening, “-i was too hostile.”

you blink, caught off guard. “excuse me?”

“i should have approached the conversation differently. more patience, less provocation.” he exhales, adjusting his tie, more out of habit than necessity. then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, “let-let me make it up to you. dinner.”

there’s a pause. sharp, charged.

then you laugh, a short, disbelieving sound.

“is this your way of apologizing?”

“it’s my way of offering a reset.” his lips twitch slightly at the corner, just slightly.

“would your wife be okay with you taking out a parent?”

“no wife. just me and you.”

you study him, searching for any sign of insincerity. but nanami is firm. there’s no arrogance in his offer, no expectation, just a quiet confidence that irritates you almost as much as it intrigues you.

“interesting, well. bold of you to assume i have the time. yknow, with me being an absent mother an all.” you say smoothly, tilting your chin up.

“bold of you to assume i’m not willing to wait, just like today.” he counters with a laugh without missing a beat.

the air between you shifts, charged with something neither of you acknowledge outright.

“send me the details, mr. kento. i’ll think about it.” finally, you smirk, pushing the door open.

you don’t wait for his response as you walk out, heels clicking against the tile, but you don’t need to. because for the first time tonight, you let him have the last word.

nanami: dinner. friday. 8pm. send me your preference, or i’ll choose.

you: you assume i’m free.

nanami: i assume you’ll make time.

you: bold of you.

nanami: so i’ve been told.

you: fine. pick the place.

nanami: i already have. i’ll send the details.

you: don’t disappoint me.

nanami: i wouldn’t dare.

read 6:25pm

soft jazz hums through your bedroom, blending with the quiet rustle of fabric as you smooth your dress down in the mirror. the dark red silk pulling just right at every curve of your legs and waist. here, in the warm glow of the vanity lights, with yuji bouncing on his heels beside you, you allow yourself a moment of softness.

“mom, you look so cool!” he beams up at you, eyes bright, his excitement buzzing through the air like electricity.

“you really think so, baby?” you turn to him with a warm smile, cupping his cheek gently, watching as the boys eyes lit up like a christmas tree from the affection.

“yeah! like a superhero!” he nods enthusiastically.

“you’re too sweet.” you laugh, pressing a kiss to his forehead, immediately wiping off the faint outline of your lip combo.

behind you, mrs. okoye, yujis nanny, watches with a fond smile but says little, just straightening a few things around the room as if to give you this moment.

“but why are you dressed up? where are you going again?” yuji tugs at your hand, using his other to grab his stuffed bear.

“remember the meeting i had with mr. nanami?” you crouch to his level, smoothing a hand over his messy curly hair.

“when you got mad at him?” he scrunches his nose, pulling the stuffed animal closer.

“we had a discussion. and now, we’re having dinner.” you chuckle.

“so you like him now or are you guys just gonna talk about me, mommy?”

you smirk. “we’ll see.”

the doorbell rings. yuji gasps dramatically. “he’s here!”

before you can stop him, he dashes ahead, excitement bubbling over. he bolts around the corner, dropping his toy along the way. you shake your head fondly, grabbing your clutch and the brown bear and making your way to the door. when you open it, you blink, momentarily caught off guard.

nanami stands there, looking effortlessly composed. navy blue slacks, black button up sleeves pushed up just enough to hint at the veins decorating his forearm. the gold necklace fully visible unlike earlier. but what surprises you isn’t how good he looks. it’s the massive bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath in his hand. the red and white flowers somehow glistening in the moons light.

he stares at you in awe. the way the red dress compliments the rich brown of your skin. he admired how well you layered the gold and diamond jewelry, your warm house lighting catching the gleams perfectly. he loved the way the dress held you, how he could see the outline of your already hard nipples against the silk fabric.

“good evening, ms. l/n.” his voice is smooth, steady, but there’s something almost hesitant in the way he holds out the bouquet. “these are for you.”

“you bring flowers to all your parent-teacher meetings, mr. kento?” your eyes flicker from the flowers to him.

“only when i come on too strong.” his lips twitch, just barely, scratching the back of his neck.

before you can respond, yuji tugs at your dress. “mom! look, flowers!”

“i see that, baby.” you smile, accepting them with one hand while ruffling yuji’s hair with the other. then, turning back to nanami, you arch a brow.

“you’re trying very hard to be charming.”

“is it working?”

you tilt your head, considering, before turning toward the nanny.

“mrs. okoye, put these in water for me? and uh- make sure he’s in bed by 9 at the latest. he has a test monday, his brain needs the rest.”

“but mommy!”

“no buts, that’s how i ended up in this dress in the first place.”

mrs. okoye nods, taking them with a small, knowing smile. “of course, dear.”

“mom says you’re not gonna annoy her tonight.” yuji grins up at nanami.

nanami crouches down to hear the boy more, then glances at you, amused. “is that so?”

you smirk, stepping past the threshold. “we’ll see.”

the restaurant is warm and intimate. a few candles provide low lighting casting a golden glow over dark wood and crisp linens. it’s elegant, but not in the way that feels forced or ostentatious. it’s intentional, curated. something made to make you feel something.

nanami is composed, though somehow his tie discarded somewhere between the car ride and now. he looks, relaxed. or at least, as relaxed as a man like him allows himself to be.

“you chose well, i expected something more- predictable, if im being honest.” you say bluntly, running a finger along the rim of your wine glass, the red liquid swishing.

“ah, so you expected a steakhouse.” he lifts a brow, swirling the amber liquid in his own glass.

“no but i expected something safe.” you smirk.

he exhales, the closest thing to a chuckle slipping through his lips. “i don’t play safe.”

you study him for a moment, letting the words settle between you. nanami is measured, meticulous, but never passive.

“oh? you ordered for me?” the waiter arrives, setting down your plates with quiet efficiency. you glance down, amused.

“i made an educated guess.” nanami sets his napkin in his lap.

“i assume you don’t waste time on things like scanning menus when you already know what you want.”

“you assume a lot about me, nanami.” you lean back in your chair, regarding him with interest.

he meets your gaze without hesitation. “i’ve observed things about you since i’ve started teaching yuji.”

the corner of your lips lifts slightly.

“oh yeah? and what else have you observed?” you take another sip.

he cuts into his meal with precision, not breaking eye contact with you.

“that you’re sharp. decisive. used to being in control-” a pause. he places his glass between his lips, taking a quick sip. then, casually “-and that you rarely let yourself slow down ever.”

your grip tightens just slightly around your fork, tongue picking at the inside of your cheek.

“what else?”

“you’re stubborn. too scared to let anyone in. you think too much about what matters right now and not how it’ll affect your son or his growing up-“

“oh! so now you’re a therapist?”

“ha- ms. l/n, i’m not saying this to be rude. i’m just a teacher.” he takes another sip of his drink. “but one who pays attention.” he starts eating, eyes staying on your frame.

you exhale through your nose, shaking your head. “yuji talks too much.”

“he adores you.” nanami actually smiles at that, small, barely there, but real.

“he’s a good kid.” the warmth in your chest is immediate, but you mask it with a slow sip of wine.

“he is.” nanami leans forward slightly, forearms resting on the table. “-and he wants more of you.”

your jaw tenses, and he catches it, because of course he does.

“did you ask me out to berate me? you think i don’t know that?” your voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it now. you pinch the bridge of your nose, eyebrows furrowing.

“i think you know. i think you hate that you can’t fix it as easily as everything else in your life.” nanami doesn’t waver.

the honesty of it stings. not because it’s cruel, but because it’s true.

you inhale slowly, setting your glass down. “do you always talk like this over dinner?”

he tilts his head slightly. “would you prefer small talk?”

you hold his gaze, weighing the challenge in it.

then, slowly, a smirk curves your lips. “no.”

he nods once, as if he already knew.

the conversation shifts, flows. work, travel, books that neither of you have had time to finish.

the tension doesn’t leave, but it changes, settling into something less combative, more intimate.

at some point, the plates are cleared. at some point, your wine glasses are refilled for the fifth time. at some point, you realize you’re enjoying this.

and at some point, nanami sets his glass down, watching you with that same measured gaze, and says,

“would you let yourself slow down? just for a little while?”

the question hangs between you, heavier than the air, lighter than the wine.

and for the first time in a long time, you don’t have an immediate answer. in all your tipsy, deep talk with the man, you’d actually started to enjoy the way he was looking at you. how protective and smart he was. how much he cared about a child that wasn’t even his own.

the drive to nanami’s place is smooth, the city lights blurring past as the car hums through the quiet night.

nanami’s apartment is quiet, warm in a way that surprises you. large windows take up a vast majority of his walls. pure marble countertops, redwood flooring. ambient lighting coming from his carved baseboards.

“jesus, how much does teaching actually pay?” upon entering, the much taller man wastes no time bending down, hands tracing the outline of your body as he carefully removes your expensive heels, placing them to the side and grabbing a pair of slippers from the adjacent shoe rack. carefully sliding them on you, letting you adjust, he walks you over to the bar stools.

“i’ve been teaching a long time, ms. l/n-“

“shit, maybe i should quit my empire and start. and please. call me yn.”

a record hums low in the background, something slow and rich, filling the silence between you.

he moves with his usual precision, reaching into a fully see through cabinet. pouring two glasses of whiskey without asking, handing you one with a steady hand. his fingers brush yours, just for a second, and it’s enough to make something flicker beneath your skin. you take a sip letting the heat settle in your chest.

“let’s move to the couch.” he walks from behind the island, helping you off the high bar hair and leading you by the small of your back to his sleek black couch.

“such a gentleman, who would’ve thought.” you joke, leaning back against the couch.

“you expected something else?” nanami sits beside you, not too close, but close enough.

“i expected something colder.” you tilt your head slightly, studying him. his lips pressed to the glass yet his eyes are focused on the way your dress creased at your waist.

“i’m not as rigid as you think, im sorry about earlier.” his lips quirk, just barely. finally taking a drawn out sip, he places his glass down on one of the sleek black coasters.

“no?” your gaze lingers on him over the rim of your glass.

he exhales, slow, watching you the way he always does, like he’s considering his next words carefully.

“no.”

you’re curled into the couch now, one leg tucked beneath you, nanami sitting close beside you, his hand resting on your knee, thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. the city lights below flicker and shine through the darker space. it felt really natural in a sense.

“so, yuji? are you still in contact with his father or-“

your eyes widen as you place the rim of the glass to your lips, drinking in as much of the liquid as you could. already feeling the affects of the wine from dinner and the two glasses of aged whiskey tenfold. your head drops, your bouncy hair covering the sides of your face.

“woah, im sorry if it’s early-“ shaking your hand, you finish off the drink. placing the glass back down.

“i mean, what really is there to say? he got me pregnant, decided he didn’t want to have a wife or a son. left. pretty simple.”

nanamis eyes crease at the side a little, watching as your expression began to falter.

“i won’t bring it up again, im sorry.”

“it’s not your fault. i knew you’d get curious eventually.”

the rest of the conversation flows easily, the whiskey loosening the edges just enough. you talk about work, about travel, and nanami listens intently, his attention never wavering. at some point, the distance between you shrinks, you can feel the warmth radiating off him.

“that’s in a week?” he asks, the coldness of his ring sliding across your now exposed thigh.

“a week? i wish! that’s a day to day schedule.”

“holy shit! i’d rather double the size of my classes.”

your glass is fully empty when he reaches out, his fingers brushing a stray curl from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear.

you pause, breath catching just slightly. “what are you doing, nanami?”

his touch lingers, his thumb ghosting along your jaw. “just checking on you.”

his voice is quiet, deep, pulling you in like a slow tide. you should say something sharp, something to deflect, but you don’t. instead, you hold his gaze, letting the moment stretch, letting the tension coil tighter between you. the pad of his thumb rubs across your face gently.

“you always this bold?” you murmur, tilting your chin up just slightly.

“not usually.”

you find yourself leaning forward, falling into the man’s smell. his blonde hair beginning to loose its shape from the day, falling in front of his face. jokingly, you remove one of the fallen strands, pushing it back up into the style before. he leans forward fully, finally connecting your lips.

it’s slow at first, testing, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. when you don’t, he deepens it, his hand slipping to the nape of your neck, fingers threading around your skin as he pulls you closer. he tastes like whiskey, warm and smooth, and something unmistakably him.

your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, gripping him as he presses against you, his other hand sliding to your waist, guiding you into him. the way he moves is controlled, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second. with your back pressed to the arm of the couch, you could feel the hunger radiating off the man.

when you break apart, you’re breathless, your pulse thrumming beneath your skin.

“tell me if this is too much.” he murmurs, his lips grazing your jaw.

you shake your head, a small smirk playing at your lips. “you think i don’t know what i’m doing?”

nanami exhales a quiet chuckle, his lips brushing yours again, softer this time, slower. “you’re a headache.”

“you like that, though.” you hum, trailing your fingers up his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

his grip on your waist tightens. “i do.”

then he kisses you again, deeper, hungrier, like he’s done pretending this isn’t exactly where the night was always meant to end.

his other hand finds your waist, pulling you fully against him, his grip firm, unyielding. he kisses like he does everything else. controlled, intentional, like he’s taking his time memorizing the way you taste, the way you move against him.

you sigh against his lips, your hands moving to his shirt, fingers slipping beneath the fabric to find the warmth of his skin. his breath hitches slightly at the cold touch, and the sound sends heat pooling low in your underwear.

“you always this damn patient?” you murmur impatiently against his lips, teasing.

nanami exhales a quiet chuckle, though there’s an edge to it now, something unraveling at the seams.

“not always.”

you smirk, your nails dragging lightly down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch.

“then don’t be.”

his restraint cracks.

nanami moves without hesitation, his hands gripping your thighs as he pulls you into his lap, settling you against him. the shift has you gasping softly, and he takes advantage of it, his mouth trailing along your jaw, down the column of your throat, lips and teeth and tongue leaving a slow-burning path in their wake.

you tilt your head, giving him more access, helping him out by hiking the skirt of your dress up to your hips, showing off your matching red lace panties. your fingers threading into his hair, tugging slightly. he groans against your skin, low and deep, his hands sliding beneath the fabric of your dress, fingertips teasing against bare skin.

“yn-” he breathes, voice rough with restraint, forehead resting against your collarbone. “-tell me you want this.”

you guide his face back up, meeting his gaze, dark and heavy with desire. your fingers brush along his jaw before pulling him back in, your lips barely grazing his as you whisper.

“i do.”

whatever tension was left shatters.

nanami stands effortlessly, lifting you with him as he moves through the apartment, his mouth still on yours, his hands gripping you like he has no intention of letting go.

when he reaches the bedroom, he presses you against the doorframe for just a second, just long enough to look at you—really look at you.

“last chance.” he murmurs, though his hold on you says he already knows the answer.

you smile, slow and knowing, fingers tracing down the buttons of his shirt before slipping one free.

“shut the hell up and fuck me, nanami.”

nanami doesn’t hesitate. the second the words leave your lips, his mouth crashes into yours, all slow-burning control unraveling into something deeper, something more desperate. he carries you effortlessly across the threshold of his bedroom, his grip firm but careful, like he’s savoring the way you feel against him.

the room is dimly lit, the city lights outside casting a soft glow through the windows, but you barely register anything beyond the warmth of his body, the way he moves, the way he kisses you like he’s been waiting for this—like he’s been holding himself back for too long.

he sets you down gently on the edge of the bed, the fluffy black duvet puffy up as you sit. but before he can pull away, you tighten your grip on his shirt, keeping him close.

“uh- don’t act shy now.” you murmur against his lips, fingers making quick work of the remaining buttons.

nanami exhales sharply, his hands settling on your thighs, thumbs pressing slow, deliberate circles into your skin.

“trust me, shy is the last thing i am.” he says, voice low, rough with restraint,

you smile, trailing your hands down his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath your fingertips. then, in one smooth motion, you push the shirt from his shoulders, letting it slide to the floor. disappear into the floor from the nights darkness.

your gaze sweeps over him, taking in the broad planes of muscle, tattoos littered across his skin. the faint lighting contouring his abs. your fingers trace over, your touch featherlight.

“you stare a lot.” he murmurs, amused.

you hum, tilting your head as you drag your nails lightly down his torso. “i like what i see.”

his breath stutters just slightly, and before you can tease him about it, he leans down, capturing your lips in another deep, lingering kiss. this one is different. slower, heavier, like he’s savoring every second, every sigh, every way your body reacts to him.

you let him, melting into the warmth of his touch, into the way his hands slide up your sides, tracing over fabric as if debating whether to remove it.

“nanami.” you murmur against his lips, impatient now.

he exhales a quiet chuckle, lips trailing along your jaw, down the column of your throat, pressing slow, deliberate kisses against your skin.

“hmm?”

“stop teasing.”

he pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. then, his hands move. slow, steady, as he starts to undo the zipper of your dress.

“uh uh uh, say please.” he murmurs, lips curving just slightly.

you arch a brow, amused despite the heat pooling low in your core.

“you’re pushing your luck.”

nanami smirks, fingers trailing over newly exposed skin, making you shiver.

“and yet, you haven’t stopped me.” he muses, voice dipping lower. with ease, he slips the dress from around your waist, gently pushing your body back to lay down in the warmth of the comforter.

his lips trace soft kisses down your collarbone, nipping slowly at the skin. you gasp, head falling back into the mattress, enjoying the feeling of warmth coming from the man’s breath. he proceeds down, planting kisses down to your exposed chest, tongue faintly sliding over your swollen buds.

“oh! fuck nanami, i’m gonna hurt you.” propping your body up on your elbows, he pushes you right back.

“fine, since you wanna be so impatient.”

dipping down, he picks you up, tossing carefully you so that your head rest on his massive pillows. crawling up to you, his lips pepper kisses. down your sternum, under your breast, kissing slowly down your torso, planting one first one to your belly button.

“how pretty they are, hm? just for me?” his voice raspy and hiding hunger, you let out a small sigh, fingers grasping onto the man’s blonde locs.

his head dips between your thighs, mouth pressing against your clothed cunt. a slight hum comes from his chest, letting his head fall to one side as his eyes look up at you, drunkenly.

without further hesitation, he pulls your panties to the side, tongue immediately collecting your slick that pooled. this was the most intimate you’ve been in a man since yuji was conceived. and god did it feel good.

his hands hook around your legs, holding you open in a middle split while one hand held the lingerie to the side while the other rubbed slow, agonizing circles into the swollen nub. he uses his tongue to slowly pump in and out of your throbbing hole. in the darkness of the room, all you can see is stars and made up shapes floating around in the void. tears pooling at the corners of your eyes as you feel nanami begin to slowly suck at your clit, plump lips wrapped gently around while the tip of his tongue spells out his name. his middle and ring finger pushing and pulling out of you, the sounds of wetness filling the room.

your mouth open, head thrown back into the pillows, and fingers grasping onto the man’s head for dear life, he ate you like he was starving. like a wild beast. everytime he removed his lips from sucking, using his fingers to curl up inside you, fucking your gummy walls.

“nami- oh! i’m gonna cum!” he knew it. he felt how tight you were getting around his fingers. how you were pulling him in now.

“you’re so beautiful, do it. make a mess on my fingers.”

that was enough to have you throwing your arms around the man’s neck, pulling him into a hug as the coil in your belly burned.

“shit! oh fuck.” he let you hold onto him for a few seconds before he slowly pulled his fingers out of you, watching as you frown from the lack of touch.

instead, climbs off the bed, uses his abs to wipe his hands off. he swiftly undoes his leather belt, unbuckling his slacks and tossing them somewhere else in the room. almost hopping right back onto the bed, he climbs back to your limp frame.

“you okay?” he asks, removing a few strands of hair sticking to your forehead.

“mhm.” you give him a weak thumbs up, letting your hand fall against his chest. he leans over, placing a swift kiss to your lips.

“i know you can give me another one though.”

and maybe that’s how you ended up here. bent over his sink, watching as he fucks you passionately. one hand gently around your throat, holding you up, and the other dug securely into your waist. his strokes are slow, sensual. but the way he was looking at you. his eyes got darker, body seemed to get bigger, and he was fucking you in front of his mirror.

“i knew you could take it, hm? say ‘i’m all yours’.” he watched you in the mirror as your makeup smudged and began to run down your face.

“i’m all yours, nami!” you cry out, feeling full from his length.

“mhm, good job baby. now say ‘im a great mother’.” you shake your head before he stops you, halting his movements and staring at you in the mirror. lips pressed against your ear, eye contact never stopping.

“was i asking you? say it.” you whine, trying to fuck yourself into his length, only to get met with a slap on the ass.

“say. it.”

“i’m a great mother!” he rams back into you, causing you to hunch over the counter. eyes still on the mirror as your breast press against the cold marble. he’s relentless, needy. his hand presses into your back as he fucks into you.

“yes you fucking are baby. let me give you another one.” he didn’t know what he was saying. all he knew was that seeing you, bent over his counter, eyes rolling to the back of your head, drooling. he never wanted to stop. he never was going to. he could feel the climax building, watching and feeling as you came undone under him.

“i’m gonna cum baby, oh fuck!”

it’s a short drive to his school, and before long, you’re stepping out, holding his hand as you walk him to class. yuji doesn’t mind- not yet, at least. he swings your arm between you both, talking about his favorite cartoons and how he’s going to beat his friend at some game they play during recess.

but as you reach the door to his classroom, his chatter slows, his fingers curling around yours a little tighter.

you glance down at him. “what’s up, baby?”

“you’re gonna be okay today, right?” he hesitates, then looks up at you with those big, earnest eyes.

you blink, caught off guard.

“of course. why wouldn’t i be?”

“sometimes you look tired after you drop me off.” he shifts on his feet, playing with his fingers.

your chest tightens.

you crouch down so you’re at his level, cupping his little face in both hands.

“baby, i’m always okay. especially when i get to come home to you, you hear me? you’re my favorite person in this whole world. i’m always okay when im with you.”

he nods, his tiny hands resting over yours.

“promise?” his voice small.

you lean in, kissing his forehead.

“i super promise.”

a throat clears behind you.

you already know who it is before you turn, feeling the weight of his gaze before you even meet his eyes.

nanami stands in the doorway, his usual crisp attire perfectly in place, though there’s a softness in his face when he looks at yuji and a different kind of softness when his eyes flicker to you.

“good morning, yuji.” he greets first, as always.

“morning, mr. nanami!” yuji chirps, then glances back at you.

“mommy’s happy today.”

your lips part slightly, surprised at his boldness, but nanami only nods, as if he already knew.

“good,” he says simply, then meets your gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his glasses. “i like seeing that.”

your breath catches for just a second, but before you can respond, yuji tugs on your hand.

“okay, mama, you can go now. love you!”

you exhale a quiet laugh, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

“love you more, baby.”

he runs inside without another glance, leaving you standing in the doorway with nanami, his presence steady beside you.

you glance up at him, tilting your head. “you always this charming first thing in the morning?”

“only with you.” he exhales softly, almost a laugh.

“dangerous habit, mr. kento.” your heart stumbles, but you cover it with a smirk.

nanami hums, hands in his pockets. “so i’ve been told.”

you roll your eyes, shaking your head as you take a step back.

“see you later, nami.”

“looking forward to it.” his lips twitch into a smile.

you turn, heading back down the hall, but you can still feel his gaze on you.

and for once, you don’t mind being watched.

part {2} {3}

724 notes · View notes

strangererotica · 4 months ago

Text

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI • Anthony Bridgerton x Reader • The Viscount’s visits to your bedroom have become regular, beautiful occurrences by now, but he still has much to teach you. Includes oral sex (f receiving) and talk of losing virginity.

PART ONE | PART TWO

By now, the visits Lord Bridgerton made to your room in the night were familiar…a beautiful ritual kept secret from everyone else in Mayfair. You waited by the window for his arrival, for his wordless entry into your bedchamber, an eager student anticipating her instructor’s next lesson.

And the viscount was indeed an excellent teacher. While his presence alone was more than enough to send your body into a spiral of desire, his mouth in particular had become the object of your deepest need. At first, his kisses remained as chaste as they could be under the circumstances, tracing your lips, cheeks and chin. But as your nights together progressed, Anthony’s kisses trailed lower, sucking and licking down your neck and along your shoulders.

By his own standards, Anthony was restraining himself tremendously. He wanted to bury his cock inside your sweet, ripe cunt, to know its curves and contours before any other man would. When he left you for home each night, Anthony’s dreams were filled with filling you, his bedclothes soiled every morning with sweat and cum from restless dreams of claiming your virgin cunt as his own. Each night he guided your hand and watched you come, he came with you, his body hovering over yours on the bed, his erection pressed against the mattress between your parted legs, grinding uselessly against it.

Anthony wasn’t sure how much longer his performance of control could last. Eventually, he would break, and when he did, Anthony feared more than anything the risk of hurting you, both physically and worst of all, your reputation, especially the standard you held yourself to. Perhaps he was pushing you further than he ought? Should a young woman of high standing such as yourself really be the object of a man like Anthony’s affection? He sometimes worried his handling of you was little better than the treatment he’d showed the many whores he’d had. And yet…you were different. You were, to be fair, the complete opposite of a whore. You were brand new, or at least your sexuality was. There were so many things you had yet to experience, and Anthony wanted to be the man that introduced you to all of them…

Tonight, his kisses are different. There’s an aggression in him you aren’t accustomed to seeing, or feeling. His teeth bare over your shoulder, lightly scratching your skin just enough to make you flinch. Anthony pulls back immediately, lifting his face to meet your eyes, a breathless apology whispered from his lips against yours. You cup your hand to his cheek, smiling sweetly back at him in the darkness. “I am well, my Lord,” you assure him. “Please…do not stop.”

He nuzzles his forehead against your shoulder, soothing the place his teeth grazed. A sheen of sweat transfers from his skin to yours; Anthony’s body is awash in heat, his heart thudding against your chest as he lays overtop you. Your hips shift beneath Anthony’s, his erection prodding your inner thigh. You wonder again, as you do every night, what it is that he’s hiding down there, the thing he won’t let you see? He tells you you’re not ready for that yet, that he still has more to teach you before that particular lesson might be given. Your curiosity gets the better of you tonight, leading your hand to wander beneath the covers, daring to slip between your bodies and blindly grope for the rigid part of Anthony he judges you unready for…

He whips his head up to face you, bringing his hand around your jaw in a firm, yet tender grasp. “No,” he whispers in a stern tone, softening his disapproval with “not yet, my sweet one. Patience…”

Anthony takes your wrist in his much-larger hand and guides it away from the place it searches. He’s admittedly surprised by your boldness in making such a move, and a lesser gentleman would have seized upon such innocent curiosity and exploited it. But Anthony is determined to be a patient tutor, to the best of his ability. The impossible balance of self control and indulgence he’s enduring is all for your benefit, he tells himself. To rush you into sex too quickly would be crass and ugly, not becoming of a young woman such as yourself. Anthony has come to admire you even more than he desires you. And he never plays too roughly with the things he cherishes...

“When, my lord?” you ask, your eyes wide and expecting. “When will you allow me all of you?”

Anthony resists the urge to curse, but fuck does he want to. It’s as if you’re doing your damndest to ruin him and his feeble hold on honor all at once, securing his end with nothing more than a sweet plea and an innocent gaze.

He tenses his jaw, breathing deeply. “A woman…such as yourself-.” Anthony pauses. “-Is worth waiting for…to be tenderly guided, not selfishly taken.” He presses a gentle kiss to your lips; the rigid, hidden part of Anthony moves against your thigh. “Do you understand?”

You nod agreeably, softly replying “yes, my lord. I trust the you know what is best.”

Anthony’s lips turn up in a grin. “I do,” he affirms. “And whilst moving forward too quickly would be a mistake…” He shifts his body down the bed a bit, chin hovering above your stomach. “…I see no reason why tonight’s lesson should be merely one of repetition...”

Anthony takes your hips in his hands, clutching the soft skin in his calloused grip. You draw in a sharp breath, unaccustomed to being touched in such a way and by hands as rough as Lord Bridgerton’s. Anthony’s tongue glides warm and wet down the length of your torso, his lips pausing at the coarse tuft of hair framing your sex. He rests his nose against the curly bed, inhaling the scent of arousal that clings to your quivering thighs. Anthony kisses your clit with the slightest pressure; your hips buck abruptly in response. “My lord…” you squeak. “It…it hurts.” While it isn’t a question, Anthony knows you’re likely overwhelmed. You’ve never been stimulated sexually like this before, and it must be very confusing. “Do not fret, dear one,” Anthony murmurs softly, his warm breath dusting your pubic hair. “The pain will go away, as it always does. Only this time, allow me to relieve the aching for you…”

Anthony holds your eyes as he extends his tongue to tap your clit. Your hips shiver again, held down and spread open by his strong grasp. Anthony flattens his tongue against your clit, allowing you to adjust to the new intensity the gesture creates. His cock throbs against the mattress, precum leaking into the fabric of his trousers as his very first taste of your cunt sinks over his tastebuds. Your hands are on Anthony’s shoulders, gripping his shirt in your fists, your knees framing his body. Holding you down more firmly, Anthony lowers his head and begins to lick you in wide, slow strokes. He drags his tongue across your lips and up over your engorged clit, feeling it throb at his touch. You’ve released Anthony’s shirt, now clutching your pillow to your face to keep quiet the sounds you’re making.

He parts your labia gently and carefully with his tongue, spreading you tenderly like a delicacy to be savored, not a meal to be rushed. You taste like bourbon and rain, Anthony thinks, like the licorice candy he’s so fond of stealing from his younger siblings. Your slick is copious and warm, like the morning air in the first days of Summer, like the mellow dew beaded on the Wisteria growing outside the Bridgerton home. Anthony dips his tongue between your folds, savoring your sweet flavor. It’s a flavor unknown to all but him, as even you have never tasted the product of your own arousal. The beauty of this gift is not lost on Anthony; he cherishes each coat of your slick, syrupy essence as he laps between your lips in thick, languid strokes.

Your words are lost in a mix of grunts and moans uttered into your pillow, every thought in your head dissolved and melted into Anthony’s mouth. You’re not even a person at this point, only a need, a creature like any other animal chasing its own based, primal yearning. Your body writhes indulgently under Anthony’s hold, hips grinding against his face, smearing him in the juices flooding your cunt. White hot pleasure seizes you, blanching your vision as everything in the world ceases to exist beyond Anthony’s mouth. He feels the vibrations of your climax through his tongue, feels your soul shattering to a million pieces and forming back together again in his hands.

Silky, pearlescent liquid drips between Anthony’s lips as he licks you through your climax. It feels like your body’s on fire from the inside out, a beautiful tangle of pleasure and pain that nips at your groin and twists your insides into delicious knots. Anthony’s hands are everywhere, rubbing your clit and squeezing the plumpest parts of your ass and hips, groping you in a possessive haste as if he’ll never have the opportunity to touch you again. He watches your lips flutter and pulse, slick gushing from between them as a second orgasm is spurred by the first. He’s never seen a woman come so hard before, with such innocent and unabashed rapture. It stirs something primal and almost sadistic within Anthony, a sense of pride in pleasuring you eclipsed by dominance. Now that he’s seen you lose control completely, without the reservation and shyness you’ve previously displayed, he craves more. If this is how you respond to his mouth between your legs, how much more powerfully will your body respond when his cock is buried inside you, making you come till you’re begging him to stop? And will he be able to stop? Will his sense of honor fail completely in that moment, devolving Anthony into little more than a selfish, barbaric creature intent on pushing you beyond the point of ruin?

He looks up from between your legs, catching your eyes. Their lids are heavy, lashes wet with tears, eyes glassy with an expression that tells him your mind is as good as removed from this world. Anthony knows he could take you now, in the pliant, weakened state you’re in. And considering how deeply you want him to give you all of himself, Anthony knows he’d likely meet no objection from you. But when your head lands back on the pillow, your skin flush and wet with perspiration, he realizes that to take you any further would be too much. Too selfish, too cruel. Of course you want more of him. And of course Anthony wants to give it to you, but not like this. Not when you’ve just experienced orgasms so powerful, your body is depleted of all its strength. The gentleman in Anthony once again wins out, in spite of the tug in his groin, and in spite of his predilection to indulging his own selfish needs.

He lifts himself off the bed from between your legs, wiping his dripping chin on his sleeve. You lift your head from the pillow with considerable effort, wide eyes expectant, your arm extending for him. “You’re not leaving, my lord?”

It’s more of a demand than a question. But Anthony is in control here, he reminds himself. He closes a hand over his erection, rubbing away some of the tension through his trousers. “You must rest, (y/n),” he says, his voice thick, tongue heavy. “I will return.” Anthony crouches beside you on the bed, pulling his fingertip along your jawline, soothing away the tears growing cold on your cheek.

“Soon?” you ask. It sounds very much like you’re begging, but you couldn’t care less. You are begging, craving him. Craving more of Anthony’s mouth, his kisses, his tongue, and…the part of him he won’t yet share with you. The part he’s making you wait for, and in his wisdom, you know Anthony is honorable for making you wait. “Tomorrow night,” he assures you, a warm smile turning his wet lips upward. “Wait for me as usual, beside your window.” He exhales, the scent of your sex washing over the air between you. Anthony leans in and kisses you softly, a kiss you press into but he draws back, taking your hands in his and squeezing them gently. “Tomorrow,” Anthony reaffirms. He releases your hands and makes his way to the window, where you’ve seen him enter and depart several times over the past two weeks. “I think,” he adds, in a whisper. “That you did exceptionally well tonight, (y/n). You allowed yourself to surrender fully, completely to pleasure, without an ounce of hesitation or shame.” Your heart skips at Anthony’s praise, and the possibility it implies. He licks his lips, eyes fluttering closed…one final taste of you to last him till tomorrow. “With your explicit permission, (y/n),” Anthony says softly. “I would very much like to claim your purity tomorrow night…for my own.” You swallow, understanding Anthony’s meaning. He wants to give you all of him, and in doing so, take something very important from you: your virginity.

“You have my permission, my lord,” you reply, noting the way Anthony’s chest swells in a satisfied breath of finality, of agreement. Of accomplishment. Of claiming you. He nods a silent confirmation of understanding between you, and turns for the window to make his leave. You watch the curtains lolling inward on the breeze, inhaling the scent of hydrangeas drifting in…listening to Anthony’s footsteps fading as he departs, drifting gently into dreams… 🥀

PART FOUR

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x female reader #Anthony Bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton fic #bridgerton smut #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x y/n #Bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #jonathan bailey #soaked series #soaked

409 notes · View notes

nevereclipse · 5 months ago

Text

father figure

Pairing: Platonic!Tim Bradford x femme!rookie!reader

Requested Y/N: no this came from my own brain !!

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Use of y/n, yelling (standard TO Bradford style), domestic violence from a police perspective, light verbal sexual harrassment, mentioned vomitting, mentioned anxiety/nervousness, panic attacks, referenced/discussed past child abuse (emotional, with vague mentions of physical). Tim being a big ole softie (eventually).

Words: 5k+

Summary: How you went from being Tim Bradfords boot, to his unofficial kid.

this one got away from me a lot and has not been proofread!😭 enjoy! feedback is fuel.

----

“Officer Y/l/n, you’re assigned to Sergeant Bradford.” Sergeant Grey was standing at the front of roll call, having just asked you to introduce yourself to your new coworkers. It was your first day as a rookie at Mid-Wilshire, and your stomach was alive with nerves.

“Yes, sir.” You responded, sitting back in your chair.

“Alright everyone, you’re dismissed,” Grey continued, “Stay safe out there.”

Immediately, Sergeant Bradford was out of his seat and walking towards you, his face stony. You’d been warned about him by a… Officer Chen? You couldn’t really remember her name. Still, she’d warned you about his ‘Tim Tests’ and gruff demeanour. It wasn’t helping your nerves.

“Boot! Let’s go.” Bradford snapped, gesturing you over with a flick of two fingers. You smoothed your uniform and walked over. You forced a smile onto your face, wanting to make a good impression.

“Sir, I’m-,” you started.

“Save it, boot.” Sergeant Bradford cut you off. “You will address me as only Bradford, Sergeant Bradford or Sir. Is that understood?”

You nodded, the nerves settling comfortably in your stomach. Bradford was clearly not planning to calm your worries. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Go grab the warbags and meet me at the shop.” Bradford nodded his head vaguely in the direction of the supply room, and you hurried off to prepare the war bags. The last thing you needed was to make a bad impression on someone who was already making you nervous.

---

Tim watched you hurriedly walk to the war room to set up. As he watched you go, Angela Lopez approached.

“So, what do you think of the new blood?” Lopez asked, gesturing (albeit unnecessarily) behind you.

“Too soon to say.” Tim replied, crossing his arms as he turned to Angela.

“Come on, Bradford, you always know right away.” Angela pushed, nudging Tim’s side.

Tim couldn’t deny that. He had a knack for knowing whether someone would be a good fit for policework – it was why he was an excellent TO.

Still, he paused, considering. “She’s… eager.” He hedged. It was true, to a degree. You did seem eager. But he could tell there was something more bubbling under the surface.

“Uh huh.” Lopez grinned, “Don’t be a total dick today, yeah?”

Tim glanced over his shoulder just as you walked out of the storeroom carrying the war bags. “No promises.”

---

Office Chen had been right. Sergeant Bradford was extremely intimidating. You’d graduated third at the Academy, and you knew you were good (well, competent at least), but some part of you was still constantly second guessing. Maybe it was Bradford’s height and build, or his permanently pissed off energy but an hour into your shift and you were scared. Not of him (not really), but of what’d happen when you inevitably screwed up. You’d tried to chat initially, but it hadn’t gone down well.

“So. Why do you want to be a cop?” Bradford asked as he pulled off West Olympic.

After an hour of near-silence, since Bradford had firmly proclaimed that the shop was a personal-life-free zone, the question surprised you. “Is that a trick question?”

“No. If I’m going to train you, I need to know why you’re in this car.” Bradford didn’t even look at you as he drove, instead scanning the streets around you.

You looked out your window for a moment. It wasn’t exactly an easy question to answer. Not without revealing way more about yourself then you wanted to on your first shift. Then you wanted too ever, really. “Um.” You swallowed. “I know it’s… basic, but I want to help people.” You hedged. “People who don’t have anyone else to-.”

The shop screeched to a halt, and you were suddenly cut off by Bradford yelling: “I’VE BEEN SHOT! WHERE ARE YOU, BOOT?”

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck- you didn’t know. “Um…” You looked around, trying desperately to find a street sign, or some clue as to where you were. After a few more seconds, you heard Bradford scoff.

“Now I’m dead. It’s your fault.” He didn’t even look mad. Just completed blank. That was almost more nerve racking.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” You started, hating the way your voice shook.

“Not good enough, Boot!” Tim’s voice was loud and sharp, cutting through the silence of the shop. “Apologies don’t save lives, rookie. Get out.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“I said get out and walk, boot. You can get back in when you know where you are.”

In that moment, you knew you’d ruined it. This had been your chance to be a cop, and less than two hours in, you’d already fucked it up. You got out of the shop, walking along side it. Hoping Bradford didn’t notice how your legs had shaken as you left. You wouldn’t let yourself be upset by this. Bradford was just doing his job, you were perfectly safe. From him, anyway.

Still, when you finally got back in the shop, you didn’t talk again. All your focus went towards scanning your surroundings.

---

Your legs had shaken when you got out of the car. It was subtle, but Tim had noticed it. Unbidden, a touch of guilt settled in his stomach. He honestly hadn’t meant to frighten you. It was just a Tim Test – he didn’t need (nor want) you to be scared. It was hardly conducive to training a good rookie.

What bothered him most, though, is your complete silence the rest of the day. You’d been annoying chatty the first twenty odd minutes of your shift (until Tim had, in traditional Bradford fashion, banned any sort of personal talk), but since getting back in the car, you’d stuck strictly to ‘yes, sir’s and ‘no, sir’s. It had been… unnerving.

Tim didn’t like changing his training style. After all, after half a dozen rookies, he liked to think that he’d perfected his TO methods. Everyone knew that he was an exceptional training officer. The only people he ever made exceptions for were veterans like him. But the thought of scaring you every time he yelled made his stomach drop in an unpleasant way. You’d been so eager when you’d first gotten in the shop – nervous, sure, but eager. And you were so, so young. You reminded him of himself in a way.

In the way you’d immediately changed he’d yelled, which even Tim could admit would’ve been… slightly scary. And that change had implications, ones Tim didn’t like. He especially didn’t like the implication of what that made him to you. A threat. So he’d never mention it, but he did quietly resolve to adjust – adjust, not change – the way he made sure you learnt what you needed too.

---

A few weeks into your training and Sergeant Bradford had significantly lowered on your rating of ‘scary people I know.’ While he was still harsh, and quick to criticise, he’d never shown you that cold, disappointment-infused yelling that he had on your first shift. It’d made it a lot easier for you to get comfortable around him, and you’d almost immediately started breaking the ‘no personal talk in the shop’ rule.

“Anyway, then she said that I was the one who needed to check my attitude. I mean can you believe that? Me? Having an attitude?” You said, watching your surroundings (you hadn’t forgotten your first Tim Test) as you rambled about some woman you’d run into grocery shopping.

At your comment, Bradford simply side-eyed you. He did that a lot, you were realising.

“Rude. That’s rude.” You said in response to the side eye. “It gets worse, though. She had the audacity-.”

Bradford held up a hand, cutting you off. “Boot.”

You turned, “Yes, sir?”

“Stop. Talking.”

You shut your mouth, but that was mostly to hold back a slight laugh. Bradfords hands were wrapped around the steering wheel, but they weren’t white like they were when you really needed to shut up. (You’d always been observant.)

“But this is the best part of the story.” You pressed.

“Boot, I swear to god-.” Before Bradford could issue whatever threat, he planned too, someone’s voice crackled over the radio.

“7-Adam-100, we have a domestic call at 4195 Clover Drive. Neighbours reported shouting.”

Tim’s face hardened. He glanced briefly at you, and you knew, even without a mirror, that your face had paled a shade. You’d been lucky so far to not have to deal with any DV calls. Guess that luck was over.

“7-Adam-100, show us responding, Code 6.”

Tim floored the breaks a little harder than he objectively needed too.

You could hear the yelling as soon as you pulled into Clover Drive. It was distinctly male, the words harsh and clear, and coming from a house halfway down the street.

It was an effort to clear your head.

“What’s the procedure for a domestic call, boot?” Asked Bradford as you switched off your sirens and approached the house.

You swallowed, “Um. Get inside the house to assess any damage. Separate the assumed predominant aggressor from the presumed victim or any children if possible. If there doesn’t appear to be violence, there isn’t much we can do, though.”

Bradford nodded tightly. “Good. I’ll take lead on this one.”

“Yes, sir.”

You knocked on the front door as Bradford called out, alerting the occupants to the polices presence. The yelling stopped immediately.

“Is there a problem, Officer?” Asked a man, probably in his forties. You and Bradford pushed your way into the house as you spoke with him. There was water spilt across the countertop, and a girl in her early teens standing in the kitchen. Her face was tear-streaked, but she appeared unharmed.

“We got reports of yelling from this area, sir.” Came Bradford’s voice from behind you. Your head was starting to spin as memories flooded back to you: late nights, angry words, the occasional smashed plate. Or worse.

You didn’t hear what the man (you assumed he was the girl father) said in response. The teen was watching you and Tim with wide eyes, shaking her head. She rubbed her wrist absentmindedly, and if you weren’t so stuck in your own head, you would’ve thought to ask to see if she was injured. You turned to her father and vaguely registered that he was wearing a wife beater under his button up. Ironic.

“Let’s go, boot.” Bradford snapped, beckoning you over. His jaw was set, and he obviously didn’t believe whatever the man had said. Your head felt like it was underwater as you walked out of the house, and your stomach turned. Memories flooded your head.

Bradford was grumbling under his breath, something about hating the laws around DV in California, when he noticed you stumble towards the bushes outlining the road.

“You good, boot?” He asked, frowning something.

You nodded frantically, “Mmhm… fine, si-.” The ‘sir’ was cut off by the sound of you throwing up in the bushes. You hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so nothing really came out, but still you dry heaved, clutching your stomach.

“Shit, Y/l/n, are you okay?” Instantly, Tim was at your side, one hand on your back. You nodded vaguely, gesturing for a drink of water. He almost ran to get it. When you could finally breathe, and had swallowed nearly half a litre of water, he asked,

“Jesus, boot, what the hell was that?”

“I’m fine.” You insisted, not wanting to get into some conversation about your past: Bradford wasn’t the understanding type. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Like hell it’s not.” Bradford snapped, guiding you back to the shop. His words were harsh, but his touch gentle. A strange combination, but one that left you feeling comforted. “Listen, boot, if you’ve got something that’s going to make you react to scenes like that, I need to know. Now.”

You shook your head frantically, refusing to open up. As much as you were starting to trust Bradford, you weren’t ready to give him that information. Not when he was the age he was, the build he was, holding so much authority over you

“It’s fine, sir. I swear. It won’t happen again.” You repeated, and you meant it. It wouldn’t happen again.

Tim surveyed you for a moment, watching the guarded expression in your eyes. It was one he recognised, having seen it in his reflection countless times after teachers asked about a suspicious bruise. It was for that reason he relented, though he fully intended to bring it up again. “Fine. But if have something you need to tell me… you can, kid.”

“Yes, sir.”

---

More time passed, and even though you still refused to open about your childhood to Tim (how do you even have that conversation?), you were starting to rely on him.

It was inevitable, you supposed. Unrequited, but inevitable. After all, he was in his mid-forties, an authority figure, admittedly a bit of a dick, but you were gradually (ever so gradually) starting to see a slightly gentler side of him. So of course you looked up to him. You had daddy issues, okay?

It wasn’t a crush. You knew that for sure. You’d half expected it to be, but it wasn’t. Instead, it was a healthy dose of admiration, paired with a slightly-less-healthy dose of please god be proud of me. But that was fine. It was entirely reasonable given he was your TO. You hoped.

---

“You’re under arrest for attempted grand theft auto and possession of illicit substances,” you said, hooking handcuffs around some criminal’s wrists. He’d been a pain in the ass to catch, and you could already feel a bruise blooming across your jaw from his escape attempts. Bradford had, predictably, been unhelpful in the arrest, instead opting to analyse your fighting technique as you’d taken the crook down. He’d even cracked a rare ‘good job’ smile as you’d put the cuffs on.

You pushed the perp against your shop, already halfway through the Miranda Rights: “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights?”

The thief mumbled slightly, and you nodded to Tim to take him off your hands. The second your hands were off him, however, he started complaining. Loudly.

“Aw, come on man. If you’re gonna arrest me, at least let the lady cop throw me ‘round.” He said, looking over his shoulder to grin at you. You scrunched your nose. It wasn’t the first time a suspect had hit on you, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“Nothin’? Dude, you gotta… I ain’t going to jail without gettin’ to feel some sweet lady cop ti-! Ow! The hell was that for?”

Tim scowled, hitting the suspect over the back of the head a second time for good measure (or something). “Get your eyes off Officer Y/l/n. You’re not fit to look at her.” He shoved the perp into your shop, rougher than was strictly necessary, and you couldn’t help the slight smile that crept onto your face.

“Really?” You asked, slipping into the shop’s passenger seat.

“What? You got a problem, boot?” Tim said, his voice flat. You just chuckled and shook your head.

“No problem, sir.”

---

The silence in the shop was unbearable. It was almost lunch, and you’d scarcely said a word all day. You were preoccupied replaying your conversation with your parents from the night before over and over in your head, trying to figure out how them coming over for dinner had dissolved into fighting so quickly.

“You good, boot?” Tim asked after a particularly long stretch of quiet. “Usually I can’t get you to shut up, but you’ve barely said a word today.”

You nodded quickly, forcing yourself to focus. “I’m fine, sir. Sorry. Just tired. Besides, not personal talk in the shop, right?”

“When have you ever followed that rule? You sure you’re good, boot? Because if something’s going on that’ll affect your performance, I need to know.”

“Nothing’s going on. Sir.” You knew the words sounded thin, but what were you going to do? Complain about your parents?

Tim glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “Uh-huh. In that case, what colour was the Lexus we just passed?”

Shit. You hadn’t been paying attention to your surroundings, too lost in your own thoughts. “Uh… silver?”

Another side eye, this one harsher than the last. “There was no Lexus. It was a Camry. And for the record, boot, it was blue.”

“I…” You didn’t really have a defence.

“Seriously, kid. What is going on?”

“Nothing.” You said, and you had to admit, you sounded like a kid. “I just. Had my parents over last night, and it didn’t… go great.”

Instantly, Tim was on edge. He wasn’t proud of the reaction, of the way his stomach instinctively dropped. He knew, he knew, that his version of ‘it didn’t go great’ with family wasn’t the same as most people’s. But this was you. You who’d thrown up at your first DV call, even without any violence. You who’d completely shut down after being yelled at.

Which is why he couldn’t help the immediate questions if: “Are you hurt?”

You tensed. Why would he ask that? “No,” you replied, “I’m not hurt.” It was true, technically. You hadn’t been hit since you were fifteen. And even then, it’d been rare.

Tim’s eyes flicked over you, trying to find a lie. “What happened?” He asked, and his voice had a weird gentleness that made you feel... strange.

You swallowed. Shrugged. “My parents came over for dinner. I did something, I don’t really know what, ‘n pissed my father off.” Your explanation was purposeful vague, but you could help but add: “He broke my favourite mug, which really pissed me off. It’s my apartment, you know? He’s not supposed to be able to break my shit anymore.” A long pause, your father’s furious insults running through your head. “He didn’t like it when I told him that.”

Tim nodded slightly, knowing exactly what you were suggesting. “He insult you?”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before.” Despite your cool delivery, the words stung. You looked away, out the window, feeling tears prick at your eyes. You didn’t like talking about this, especially not with Tim. Just because you viewed him as... something, didn’t mean he thought of you ask anything more than a rookie he had to train. A burden.

“I’m sorry, kid.” Tim said, assessing you carefully. “I know what that feels like.”

“You do?” You looked at Tim, curious, and instantly regretted it. The tears welling in your eyes were all too obvious now.

“Yeah. My dad was like that too. I got slapped around my fair share.” Tim’s words were clipped. He clearly also wasn’t fond of talking about his childhood.

“Oh.” What else could you say?

“Listen, boot. I know it’s rough. And you don’t deserve it. But you’re not whatever he says you are, okay?”

You sniffled, hastily wiping your eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

Tim nodded tersely. “Good.” There was a small moment, where Tim placed a hand on your shoulder, and you felt like things might actually be okay. Like you might actually have someone. Then, “Come on, boot. We’ve got six hours of shift left. You gonna focus now?”

---

Tim kept an eye on you the rest of the day. He’d known there was a bit of him in you, but the parallels between your childhoods made his heart crack.

He could see the countless untold stories behind your eyes, ones he’d undoubtedly heard before. And the way you’d tensed when he asked if you were hurt... you hadn’t been hit last night, but you had been before.

He really had tried to not get attached.

And look. He knew you looked up to him. He’d seen the way you preened at praise, the shaky look over to him after making a decision, waiting for his nod of approval, regardless of how confident you were in the decision. He’d tried not to encourage it – limiting praise, refusing to approve your decisions unless you did first. It wasn’t good for a rookie to get that attached to their TO, not when they were only partners for a year. It was especially not good for them to view them as some sort of parental figure. More importantly, Tim Bradford didn’t get attached to his boots.

But goddammit it. The look in your eyes when he’d told you about his dad? It made him abandon all the principles he thought he held so strongly. He’d always wanted a kid, after all.

---

“Does anyone know what day it is today?” Sergeant Grey asked from the front of the roll call room.

You groaned internally. Of course he had to announce it to the whole it room.

A few rows behind you, Officer Chen perked up, grinning, you were sure, at Bradford.

“The day Officer Y/l/n takes her six month exam.” She said.

Cheers and whistles filled the room and you almost buried your head in your hands.

“Boot!” Tim called out. You turned to look at him. “I’ll take it as a personal insult if you don’t get more than a 93 on this exam.”

Great. Like you weren’t stressed enough about the exam already. “Yes, sir.”

As Grey tried to calm the room down, you swallowed, focusing on calming your breathing. You knew what you were doing. You just had to not disappoint Tim. Not forget everything. Not be a total fucking failure.

No pressure, right?

---

Three days later, and you were back in roll call. Grey had written three numbers on the white board. An 84. A 91. And a 95. Your stomach dropped at the sight of the 91 and the 84. Of course you’d failed. Of course. Why hadn’t you worked harder? You’d been a straight A student in high school, and university, why was this different?

“Can anyone guess which of these belongs to Officer Y/l/n?” Grey asked the room. Various answers were shouted out, most leaning towards the 95, until Grey cut them off and said: “The 91. Good work, Officer.”

You could only nod, your head already pounding. You’d failed. Not really, not truly, but enough. And Tim. What would he do?

You didn’t notice everyone leave the room. Didn’t notice Tim approach you, not until he was practically having to shout in your face.

“Boot? Boot! Y/l/n!” The sound of your name, paired with Tim waving a hand in your face, snapped you back to reality.

“Yes, sir?” Your voice had an almost unnoticeable tension to it. A shake. Please, please don’t be mad.

“Let’s go, boot. Why aren’t you getting the war bags?” Tim asked, completely ignoring your test results.

Completely ignoring your test results? What? Why wasn’t he yelling, reaming you out for disappointing him? He’d been very clear with his expectations and he’d never been one to let you down gently if you did something wrong.

“Sir?” You asked, confused.

“What is it, boot?” Tim asked, exasperated. You should’ve been on the road by now. Wait, where you okay...? Your eyes were wide. Almost afraid.

“Why aren’t you mad?”

“What? Why would I be mad-..? Oh.” Tim looked down at you, his face softening as he recalled what he’d said before your test. What you’d told him about your past. “About your test? No, kid, I’m not mad. I was screwing with you when I said you needed to get a 93. A 91 is an excellent result, boot “

“Oh.” You said quietly, looking away sheepishly. Of course he wasn’t mad. This was Tim.

Tim looked at you like you were an idiot, but somehow, you didn’t feel stupid or insulted. “Yeah, oh. You’re not a disappointment, kid. Not to me. Now hurry up and get the war bags sorted.” Tim clapped you on the shoulder as he sent you on your way, and you couldn’t help but think that this was what a father was supposed to be like.

---

“Red or black?” You asked Tim during one shift a month or so later. It was a random question, but you wanted his opinion.

Tim glanced at you. “As concepts, or…?”

“As dress colours.” You elaborated, before hesitantly adding, “I have a date.”

The shop skidded to a stop. “Woah, woah. You have a date? When? With who?” Tim was turning instantly, all his attention on you.

You bit back a laugh. “Tonight. With a boy. Jacob. And I don’t know what to wear.”

Tim frowned. “Where did you meet this ‘Jacob?’” He couldn’t help the protective instinct. The last time one of his rookies went on a date, she got kidnapped. And you weren’t Lucy (he wasn’t in love with you) but he did… care.

“At a bookshop. Calm your farm, Bradford. It’s one date. You really pulling the protective dad card right now?” You smirked, watching the slight red colour Tim’s face.

“I- no. I’m not pulling a card, boot. I’m just… curious.” Tim spluttered, not wanting to admit that he was definitely acting like a protective dad.

“Uh huh. He’s a good guy, Sarge. He’s funny, and sweet, and I actually like him.” You said, as if the concept of actually liking a guy was foreign. It had admittedly been a while since you went on a date. “So, red or black?” You repeated, crossing your arms. Your cheeks were the tiniest bit pink.

Tim glared from the corner of his eye. “Black.”

“Thank you.”

In signature Bradford fashion, Tim huffed and simply said, “For the record, I still don’t like this whole ‘date’ thing, boot.”

---

The date was a success. So much of a success, in fact, that three dates later, Jacob came to pick you up after work the next day. It was adorable, and he showed up with fresh flowers and a planned date, and it would’ve been perfect, if you hadn’t been leaving the station with Officer Bradford.

The same Bradford who’d been demanding more information about “this Jacob person” ever since you’d first mentioned a date.

So, while you were excited about the date, you weren’t thrilled at seeing Jacob stand in front of you, levelled by one of Tim’s many practiced glares.

“Who are you?” Tim asked, crossing his arms. He knew exactly who he was.

“I’m Jacob…?” Your boyfriend said hesitantly, trying to figure out why the man in front of him was staring at him so intimidatingly.

You winced and jumped in quickly. “Jake, this is Tim. My TO?”

Recognition clicked quickly in Jacob’s eyes. He instantly stuck out a hand to Tim, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Uh huh.” Tim raked his eyes over Jacobs outstretched hand, but didn’t shake it. “You got a last name, Jacob?”

“Anderson.” Jacob supplied immediately, lips twitching faintly in amusement.

“What do you do, Anderson? If you say screenwriter, you’re going in a cell.”

Jacob chuckled. “I’m a teacher, sir.” Tim didn’t look impressed, but he didn’t look totally disgusted either. Which, to you, was a win.

“Is this the part where you tell me not to hurt Y/n?” Jacob asked with a barely contained grin.

Tim glowered. “Yes. In fact, consider this your one and only warning. Hurt her, and I’ll find a way to make you spend the rest of your life in a cell.” Tim crossed his arms over his chest, and God you were glad he’d never given you that look before.

Pitying your partner, you jumped in and placed yourself between the two most important men in your life. “Oookay, Bradford, chill. We’re going to go now. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay, sir?”

“Uh-huh. See you tomorrow, Boot.” Tim’s words came out tense, and he didn’t take his eyes off you until you were well out of the carpark.

---

The day had arrived. You’d officially been a police officer for an entire year. You weren’t a rookie anymore.

It was everything you’d dreamed of it being.

“Finally, congratulations to Officer Y/l/n for completing the FTO program and surviving her rookie year. Welcome, officially, to the team, Y/l/n.” Grey walked over to you, shaking your hand proudly. “Good work, kid.”

“Thank you, sir.” You beamed, returning the handshake. Grey dismissed the rest of roll call, and you walked out of the room. You could barely make it a few steps without someone grabbing you, hugging you or congratulating you in some way. You’d never been happier.

You reached the edge of the room and were met with Sergeant Bradford, a rare smile on his face.

“Congratulations, Y/l/n.” He said, reaching out a hand.

“Don’t even try.” You said, knocking his hand out of the way and pulling him into a hug. It was unprofessional, you knew, but you couldn’t help it. Aside from your boyfriend, Tim had managed to become one of the most important people in your life over the past year.

Tim froze for a moment, but gently returned the hug, patting your back a couple times. You thought you heard Harper snicker from across the room. You definitely heard Lucy say the word ‘Dadford.’ She wasn’t… entirely wrong. You had found a father in Tim. Maybe one day he’d even admit it – in actual words, not just actions. You still laughed every time you thought about his interrogation of Jacob when they’d first met.

You pulled back and only then did you shake Tim’s hand. “Thank you, sir. For everything.”

Tim nodded, the smile lines by his eyes crinkling. “You’re welcome… Y/n. I’m proud of you, kid.”

You smiled softly and forced yourself to only say, “Have a good shift… Tim,” before hurrying away. But as you got into your shop (your shop, for the first time), you didn’t stop a few happy tears from falling.

---

You were nervous. It was your second time riding with Tim since graduating the FTO program and you were nervous. It had nothing to do with riding with Tim, however, and everything to do with what you were going to ask him.

“Tim?” You asked, hesitant.

“Yeah, Y/l/n?”

“I have to tell you something.” You fiddled with your left hand nervously, already missing the weight on your finger.

Instantly, Tim was softening and frowning, “Are you okay, kid?”

“Yes! Yeah, I’m okay.” This time you actually meant it. “I have news, though.”

“Oh?” Tim turned to you for a second, before looking back at the road. “What is it?”

You swallowed, and then, “Jacob asked me to marry him. I said yes.”

Tim had finally come around to Jacob a few months ago. Little did you know, but Jacob had actually asked Tim’s permission before proposing. You’d told him once about how you wished you had a father that you still spoke to, just for that reason. Jacob had known Tim was the next best thing.

Tim smiled widely, “Congratulations, Y/n. I’ll be expecting an invite to the wedding.”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you about that.” This was where the nervousness was coming in. You were pretty sure the butterflies in your stomach had reached your lungs too.

“What is it?” Tim tilted his head slightly.

“Will you walk me down the aisle?” Tim froze, shocked. You quickly rambled on, as you so often did when nervous, “You don’t have to, I just-.. I don’t talk to my bio dad, and you’re the closest thing I have to a father, and it would mean a lot to me, and-.”

“Relax, Y/l/n,” Tim cut you off with a smile. “I would be honoured to walk you down the aisle.”

The smile on your face then was the third biggest you’d ever smiled. The first had been when you’d graduated the FTO program, and the second when Jacob had proposed. But this… this was an entirely different feeling. This was the feeling of your whole life, finally working out. You had a career, a fiancé, and now, a father. A real one, who never insulted you or made you feel worthless.

What more could you ask for?

fin

!! DO NOT REPUBLISH OR FEED TO AI !!

#never rambles #tim bradford #the rookie #rookieposting #tim bradford x reader #lucy chen #angela lopez #nyla harper #wade gray #tim bradford x daughter!reader #platonic tim bradford x reader #never writes

580 notes · View notes

nereidprinc3ss · 10 months ago

Text

lava lamp

in which spencer reid comforts gn!reader when you find yourself contending with a sudden bout of depression

fluff

warnings/tags: established relationship, reader has depression, task paralysis, spencer reid can't cure your depression but he sure can't make it worse

a/n: this is most definitely not inspired by the pink lava lamp in my room. it has nothing to do with that. extremely short and sweet, WC <800

The room is awash in hot pink.

It’s interrupted only by dark shadows cutting lines across the floor and the furniture. The blinds are down over the window so moonlight can’t seep in—assuming the moon is in fact out now. You’re not actually sure. You don’t know how long you’ve been lying here like this, studying the soft glow of the lava lamp where it sits on the bedside table, watching the blobs of orange separate and conjoin and float around each other like they’re dancing in the suspending liquid.

The sound of keys in the front door, of it scuffing against the floor as it opens and squeaking shut and the lock clicking back into place, inspire the tiniest spark of joy inside you. For a few moments you remain in solitude—listening to the sounds of the kitchen sink running as Spencer washes his hands, a glass being set down on the counter, the soft rustle of fabric on fabric as he takes his coat off. Maybe you have really excellent hearing. Maybe you’re just imagining the sounds because you’re so familiar with his post-work rituals.

Finally the bedroom door opens, catching your legs in a triangle of yellow light, and sounds cease—Spencer is surely standing in the doorway, surely surprised to find you sprawled on the bed, staring vacantly at the lamp you’d purchased last winter from an antique shop.

The door closes again, encasing you in an amnion of pink warmth once more.

“Hi,” he says, quietly enough.

You don’t respond. Not for a lack of affection. Just for a lack of energy, really. Spencer is used to you, and he doesn’t let your heavy mood stop him from moving to sit on the mattress behind you. The heat of his hand is a comforting weight as it finds your back, slowly rubbing up and down. There is always so much love in the way he touches you.

“How’re you feeling, honey?”

A quiet moment passes in which you’re gathering the energy to speak for the first time in hours. Spencer doesn’t rush you.

“Tired.”

More quiet.

“What kind of tired?”

But he knows what kind of tired.

“I tried to fold laundry,” you mumble, lacking even the gumption to move your mouth much as you speak. You tap the laundry basket with your toe where it sits on the foot of the bed. The laundry inside remains very much unfolded.

“I can handle it.”

If you had any more vitality you’d say, you shouldn’t have to, you just got home from a full day’s work, I’ll take care of it—but the truth is, you can’t handle it and you can’t take care of anything—not even yourself. All you can do is watch orange bubbles float in radioactive pink liquid.

“I don’t know what happened,” you whisper. A few tears take you by surprise as they roll down over the bridge of your nose, though your face remains stony. “I’ve been here for hours.”

Spencer’s hand remains steadfast on your back and you wish you could express how grateful you are for it and for him and for his gentle voice, always.

“Maybe nothing happened. Maybe some days are just hard.”

You sniffle. The answer is unsatisfying, but so is life, sometimes. And you know he’s right.

“Yeah.”

Time passes. A few minutes, maybe, of listening to your own ears ring, to the haunting frequency of the old building, of the upstairs neighbors walking around and snatches of music coming from cars on the streets below.

“You know, I sometimes have days where I just want to lie down and stare at the lava lamp too. I think a lot of people feel that way.”

You turn your head just slightly and finally see him, cast in the soft lambent glow, smiling down at you in that unconscious, serene way, that is little more than a curve of his lip. Just seeing his face makes something in your chest unclench.

“Really?”

The soft arch of his smile flickers momentarily wider.

“Metaphorically speaking.”

He’s perfect.

You reach over your own waist to grab his hand, and he interlocks your fingers, running his thumb over yours.

Spencer knows it, but you tell him anyway. “I love you.”

He leans down and kisses you, so softly it’s like medicine.

You know it, but Spencer says it back anyway, sweetly against your lips, heads pressed together. “I love you.”

And you much prefer this view to the lava lamp.

#spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic

960 notes · View notes

burningembers91 · 6 months ago

Text

The Beginning of Something Beautiful - Hwang In-Ho x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up piece to: The Girl Next Door Kimchi Stew

Synopsis: When Hawng In-Ho's past is revealed, he must decide whether to continue living with his demons, or run towards the light.

Warnings: mentions of deceased wife, sexual content, 18+ only!

It’ll get easier over time. That’s what Hwang In-Ho had been told countless times by friends, family and even strangers after the death of his wife. He hadn’t believed them at first, hadn’t wanted to think of a world without her. But lately, he’d started to understand what they meant. Yes, the pain was still there, and maybe it always would be, but each day he found it a little easier to get out of bed. He’d started making friends at work, had begun exercising again and taking runs through the park he’d spent so long looking at from his apartment window. He was learning to laugh more, to smile at the small things and to find beauty in the everyday. He was slowly letting himself open up to you, showing you small snippets of the man he’d once been; the man who liked to tell jokes, who loved vintage cars, and who got overly competitive when it came to board games. He still hadn’t opened up about his past, but he was showing the man he truly was, not the grumpy hermit who shut himself away from the world.

In-Ho was still an enigma, some kind of handsome riddle you hadn’t been able to solve yet. He was spending more and more time at your apartment but stopped coming over under the guise of fixing things. He started to come over just to hang out, to watch TV or to go for a walk. He’d even invited you over to his apartment. The once bare room was now full of furniture, the walls repainted and decked out with paintings and prints. He’d cooked for you, proving himself to be an excellent chef. There were so many things still unspoken between you, but you were happy.

You could still hear him crying through the thin walls though, could still hear the turmoil he faced when the lights went out. You’d sworn you’d heard him say your name at times, his strangled groans as he fought with himself between his lust for you and his undying devotion to the woman he’d married. He was finding it harder to resist you, falling into an anguished cycle of dreaming about your touch, and punishing himself for thinking about another woman. You had slotted so nicely into his new life, the woman who had brought him back from the dead. He wanted to repay you for everything you’d done for him, but how could he when you didn’t know how much you’d saved him?

He was stacking shelves at work when you arrived, basket in hand as you did your weekly shop. You both smiled when you saw each other, In-Ho offering a small wave as he added another loaf of bread to the shelf. “Poor man,” an old lady tutted next to you. “Such a shame.” “I’m sorry?” you asked, looking at the wizened figure next to you, her head shaking as she watched In-Ho. “His wife died,” she explained, “liver failure. Killed her and their baby. It almost killed him.” You stared open-mouthed as she walked off, leaving you shellshocked. If it was true, it would explain so much about the man you’d come to care for so deeply. You had to force your feet to move you around the store, filling your basket in sickening silence as your mind reeled.

You couldn’t bring yourself to ask In-Ho about it, to ask whether his family had been so cruelly taken from him. it just wasn’t something you could casually slide into a conversation. You found it hard to concentrate at your next dinner, trying and failing to feign laughter at a story you hadn’t even heard him telling. All you could you see was a man whose family had been ripped from him. You wanted to hold his hand, to tell him everything would be ok. You’d spent so long thinking about whether your relationship would become something more than a friendship, and now you understood why it hadn’t.

Hwang In-Ho sensed the change in you, saw the pity in your eyes. Someone must have told you, must have tipped you off about his broken past. He knew it was Mrs Park. That old bat had never been able to resist gossip. He didn’t want to lose you, didn't want to risk you pulling away. he knew he needed to tell you about his past, knew he needed to come clean before you heard anything else. Every day he was finding it harder to remain alone. He was beginning to see a future with you, to see something other than the crushing loneliness he had resigned himself to.

Catching you one night as you entered your apartment, he invited you over for dinner. “You know about my… my wife,” he said, and he watched your eyes plummet to the floor. “Yes, sorry,” you admitted, “it was Mrs Park. You know what she’s like. Can’t resist a bit of gossip.” “I want to explain. There are things…” he didn’t know how to finish the sentence, didn’t know how to encompass his feelings into words. “Please join me for dinner,” he whispered. He hoped the desperation in his voice hadn’t been apparent. He didn’t want you to pity him, he’d spent enough time pitying himself. “Ok,” you smiled, “I’ll see you later.”

When you arrived that evening, In-Ho could feel his hands shaking. He’d prepared a feast, his small apartment filled with the scent of cooking and pine scented candles. You were so beautiful in your burgundy dress, clutching a bottle of wine in your hand as you entered. The dynamic had changed between the two of you yet again, and he was hoping tonight he could steer it in a more positive direction. He’d spent many a sleepless night wrestling with himself. He would always love his wife, but he couldn’t deny the life he wanted with you; the life he hoped you wanted to.

You drank wine, and ate dinner, and laughed as you both relaxed. He’d filled out over the last few months, his taut muscles visible through the fabric of his shirt. His smile and his eyes were a little brighter, and you found yourself getting lost in him as he told you story after story. “I’ve been so alone for such a long time,” he confessed. “I punished myself for something that wasn’t my fault.” He looked you dead in the eyes as he spoke the next words. “I love my wife, very much.” “I know you do,” you smiled sadly. You braced yourself for what was coming next, for the heartbreaking crush of rejection. “But… these last few months, they have meant more to me than you will ever know.” He downed the last of his wine for Dutch courage before continuing. “You have brought me so much joy, you’ve given me a reason to get out of bed every day. I had to keep finding reasons to see you, I had to keep pretending things in your apartment were broken because I didn’t know how else to tell you that I liked your company.” You laughed, your eyes glistening as you watch In-Ho expose his vulnerability. “I love my wife,” he repeated, “but you, I have feelings for you. Feelings I never thought I would feel again. I don’t want to deny myself happiness anymore. My family isn’t coming back, but I would be a fool if I didn’t try and make the best of my life. I’d like to try doing that with you, if you want me.”

Taking a deep breath, you braced your hands on the table. Tears streamed down both of your faces, both of you finding the courage to take the next step. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice hoarse with tears. “Yes, I’d like that.” In-Ho laughed, a sound that came from deep within his belly. He stood, pulling you from your chair and into his chest. He smelled of fresh shampoo and cologne, his breath warm on your face as you looked into other’s eyes. Brushing your lips against his, you couldn’t deny the electricity between you. it had been bubbling for so long, from the moment you had turned up soaking wet on his doorstep. Your lips met once more, harder this time, more sure of yourselves. His hands snaked up your shoulders, his fingers coming to rest on the back your next. You tasted like Merlot and shea butter, and In-Ho couldn’t deny himself anymore.

He made love to you on his sofa, your bodies pressed together on the tiny 2-seater. Every atom of his body burned for you, your moans spurring him on as he explored you. He’d spent so many nights wondering how it would feel to be inside you, but nothing compared to the reality. You were so soft, so warm, and you fit so perfectly against him. It was like you had been made just for him. He held you as the sun came up, his fingers tracing sweet, delicate circles over your nipples. You could taste yourself on his tongue, your body still tingling from the pleasure he’d inflicted. You didn’t want to part, didn’t want to head back to the emptiness of your apartment, but you had to get to work. “When can I see you again?” He asked, pulling you in for one last kiss. “Tonight?” you smiled, brushing the tip of your nose against his as you leaned further into his arms. “I’ll be counting down the minutes,” he whispered, watching you disappear into your apartment.

For the first time in over three years, In-Ho felt weightless. He whistled as he showered, hummed to the radio as he prepared breakfast. He’d taken a huge step last night, one he never thought he’d be ready for. He heart would always hold love for his wife and child, but now it had space for you too.

#squid game #squid game 2 #squid game x reader #front man #the frontman #hwang in ho x reader #hwang in ho smut #hwang in ho #lee byung hun #squid game smut #squid game fanfic

497 notes · View notes