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kesujo · 8 days ago

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The Convenience Store Princess

SORRY I DIDN'T EDIT THIS AT ALL THE REASON WHY, YEP YOU GUESSED IT, IT'S LATE AS I'M POSTING THIS. Sorry for any mistakes :D

Word count: 2k

All you needed was to go to the bathroom.

“Yes! More!”

Instead, you’re pounding this breathtakingly gorgeous woman against the counter of the deserted gas station convenience store.

“Yeah? You like that?”

The sound of your damp groin slamming against her juicy romp joins the thrum of the AC fighting the blazing summer heat.

“Yes! Fuck me harder!”

“What’s a beauty like you doin’ in such a place?” The woman’s face is pointed directly at a fan, her moans being distorted by it. Every thrust pushes her face closer to the fan, but with her eyes gently fluttered closed, she doesn’t notice. In the corner of your eyes, you can see how tightly she’s gripping the edge of the counter, her knuckles even more white than her already pale skin, her entire body rocking, responding to the ferocity of your thrusts.

“If I weren’t here, you wouldn’t be enjoying my pussy, would you?”

While that was certainly true, her respond didn’t give you any answers. Not that you particularly care anyway; she’s probably an employee at this location, but there’s probably no one here because it’s so far out of the way, and that is probably the very reason why she’s not wearing a work outfit. These are all things you’ve figured out in the first minute of stepping into the store, and the only thing that stopped you from quickly exiting after refreshing yourself in the bathroom is a warm smile and a friendly, “How do you do?”

So, being the polite guy you are, respond in kind. “Swimmingly.”

“Staying cool out there? Why not grab a drink?”

Her beaming smile crawled your pace to a standstill. You were in a rush, sort of … but that can wait a little, can’t it? “Wouldn’t want to fill up my bladder right after emptying it just now.”

“Is that so?” You nod, and before you can start to respond, she continues, “In a hurry, are you?”

“Goin’ home after visitin’ the parents over the long weekend.”

“Wife in the car?”

You shake your head. “No such woman to speak of.”

“I see.” There’s something magnetic about her. You can’t escape her pull, even with the remaining few hours still left in your drive home looming in the back of your mind. But this is refreshing—the hours spent by yourself, listening to the podcast you had downloaded for this specific drive was mind-numbing, so breaking it up with a pleasant conversation with an even more pleasant woman did well to break up that monotony. “Well, now that you’ve emptied your bladder in my restroom, why don’t you take the chance to empty your balls inside me?”

It takes you by surprise, so much so that you’re forced to do a double take, but the woman remains unflinching, maintaining that beaming smile at you. “Excuse me?”

“A nice, young, strong man like you, with no woman to take care of your needs, having held back from relieveing yourself for three long days due to the presense of your parents, I’m sure you’re backed up.” It’s true, but you’re frankly shocked to hear the words coming out of the otherwise pristine, proper, pure looking princess of the convenience store. “Do you want help with that?”

You let out a laugh. “Ma’am, are you asking me if I want to fuck you, right here and right now, against that—” you nod at the counter that she’s standing behind, “—counter?”

“Yes, I am.”

Bold of her to say, but you’re not one to say ‘no’ to such a delectable offering. “Well, if you’re offering, then…”

Which leads you to the current moment, with the woman’s shirt still on but her jeans and panties pooled at her feet, the chopped up sounds of her voice being filtered by the fan blowing into her face doing nothing to lessen the arousal seeping from her voice.

“You’re not supposed to be working?”

“I’m seeing to my customer’s needs, aren’t I?”

You laugh at that. “You certainly are.”

You can tell with your own eyes that the woman has a thin frame, but feeling just how small her waist is in your hands is another story. You feel like, if you really tried, you might be able to just barely encircle her entire waist with your two hands. It’s this quality of her waist that makes her ass, which normally might look small on any other woman, appear so good. It also has a springy quality to it that’s satisfying to smack against; in fact, her entire body is surprisingly sturdy for how skinny she is.

“And the cameras?”

“They don’t work. No one comes here, anyway.” She may not have much in the chest department, but she more than makes up for it in the tightness her pussy provides. You know you aren’t the biggest, but she certainly makes you feel massive; every moan she lets out deepens your arousal, and every expletive she lets out balloons your ego. “Fuck, you feel so big inside me…”

“Such a nice little pussy, shame to have it wasting away here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Why do you think they put me here?”

You don’t want to think too deeply about the revelation, so you say, “So you can whore yourself out to the first man that walks through those doors?”

“You have no idea how badly I’ve been needing this…”

The more you slam into her, the further in you are drawn into her. Her magnetic personality, how easy it is to talk to her, and now, her pussy that’s trying to keep your cock inside her as you’re pulling out and pulling you in as you shove your length back inside. And then, after a while, you realize how amazing the velvety-soft texture of her ass feels against your groin, and when you pause to grind against her, the woman lets out an even louder moan.

“Fuck, yes, just like that!”

“Have a name for me, babe?”

“Just call me IU.”

It’s a strange name, but you don’t question it. “You like it when I do that, IU?”

She nods frantically. “Yes, oh god, that feels so good!”

She’s arching her back into you, doing everything she can to grant you maximal access to her pussy, and you decide to take full advantage of that. Your hands lift her ass a little bit, leaving the only part of her feet touching the ground being the balls of her feet, and drill deeper inside her. IU lets out an even louder, higher-pitched moans, one that may very well put Ariana Grande to shame.

“Yes! Right there! Oh fuck! Yes! Please, more!”

You’re doing everything you can to obey her, but you’re feeling yourself reaching your limits.

“You love feeling my cock messing your insides up, don’t you?”

“Fuck yes, I love it so much!”

“You love it when I do this?” You thrust again, aiming for that sweet spot you just found, and the volume of her ecstatic scream tells you that you are right on the mark.

“Please! Oh god, I’m so close, I’m so close!”

You want to give IU her release, but you also feel your own coming up. In a convenience store, you’re sure you can probably find some condoms, but you weren’t so forward thinking when you were tearing your pants off to get into IU’s.

So, you instead elect to cheat.

“Fuck!” If you weren’t so incredibly close to the peak of your arousal, you might’ve found it funny, hearing such a high-pitched squeal filtered through the fan’s distortion. “I’m cumming, I’m cumming!”

True to her word, almost as soon as she finished her warning, she came. Pretty violently, too: the first stream hit you right on the stomach, and as you continued to pump into her, the more her juices splash onto you, and the harder you have to fight your own orgasm. IU is certainly making it difficult, though; with how tightly her orgasming pussy is gripping your cock, with her head now tiled backwards and her voice no longer being filtered through the fan on the counter singing her ecstasy in all its natural, beautifully musical glory, with how hard she’s matching your every thrust by backing up into your crotch at the exact right moments, focusing solely on not exploding inside her is all you can do to stop yourself from doing exactly that.

When her climax finally subsides, you, with gritted teeth, pull out.

“Turn around.”

IU, hair dissheveled, half-basking in her post-orgasm glow, obeys, and when she sees you gripping your shimmering cock, bulging and red with anger, as if by instinct, she immediately drops to her knees.

“On my face or in my mouth?”

“You told me you’d let me empty my balls inside you.”

She grins, says, “good choice,” and then opens wide.

You don’t hesitate to stick your cock inside her waiting mouth, and it barely takes a few back-and-forth bobs of her head and swirls of her tongue before you erupt inside of her hot mouth, stream after stream of your hot semen hitting the back of her throat, filling her mouth to the brim and causing her slim face to bulge with your seed. When your orgasm subsides, you pull out and watch her swallow your load in one gulp.

“Hmmm…”

You had already began to reach for your pants, but hearing the hesitation in her voice and looking up to see how she’s eyeing your softening erection, you pause. “Hm? What’s wrong?”

“I was a bit disappointed when you pulled out, but partially relieved when you chose my mouth.”

“Is that so?”

“I did say I wanted you to empty your balls inside me, didn’t I?”

“I figured you didn’t want me to be cumin’ inside, is all.”

“Well, now you know.” It’s not a question what IU is trying to imply, especially with how her fingers are reaching for the hem of her shirt. You watch in awe as she brazenly throws her top off, and without a bra anywhere to be seen, IU is left in all her naked glory. “This time, you’ll cum inside?”

It takes some time to fully recover from your refractory period, but with much help from IU’s hands, and then her beautiful lips sealed tightly around your girth and her hot, tight mouth that attempts to harden your cock by pulling it straight out via suction, IU is on the counter, her legs wrapped around your waist while your cock is back inside her, buried to the hilt.

“Hmm, fuck…”

Her hands are resting behind her and her head is thrown back. You can see that she’s enjoying this as much as you are, but it doesn’t stop you from wanting more. Seeing those taut nipples sitting atop her modest bosom, you can’t help but bring your hands to them, first teasing the areola as you’re grinding against her, and then pulling and pinching at her nipples as your fatigue has been completely replaced with the full vigor of your renewed lust.

“God, oh my god, it’s been so long since a man has done this to me…”

Now that you have a better view of it, you can confirm what you’ve been picturing inside your head the first round: even IU’s sex face is exquisite in its beauty. Even with her toussled hair, with her gently closed eyes, with her parted lips, it all makes for a visual that would awaken desires inside the purest of men.

“In that case, I oughtta come by more often and give you the proper fuckin’ you deserve, huh?”

“I’d love that.”

You don’t think about the logistics of the proposal, how many hours it’d take just for a booty call, how you’re just fucking in public and just hoping that no one comes by to ruin the fun. All you can think about is IU’s pussy and her petit tits, in your hands and now between your lips, biting and pinching and pulling at the almond pleasure buttons on her chest.

“God, oh my god, that feels so fucking good.”

You can’t help but stare at her. You thought you preferred curvier women, but maybe you actually don’t. Maybe what you actually are more than willing to compromise that for someone so insanely beautiful that, even as she’s unabashedly drowning in pleasure, having released any inhibitions, if there even were any to begin with, and letting herself feel the ecstasy coursing through her body, she stays just as stunningly beautiful. And, the more you play with her tits, the more you realize how little of a tradeoff it even is: although they can’t fill your hands, they are still as pleasing to play with as boobs of larger sizes. What’s more, seeing IU’s reactions to your hands and your lips playing with her tits adds another layer of pleasure to it. Feeling her body rocking against yours, feeling her legs gradually tightening around your waist, feel her entire body tense as her climax approaches, you can feel your own body responding in kind.

“Yes! Fuck! More! I’m so close!”

This time, your climax hits first, but just barely. The feeling of your second, albeit thinner, load spilling inside her breaks her, and IU is sent tumbling into the chasm of her own orgasm.

“You wanted it, didn’t you?”

“Yes! Fuck, let it all out! Fill me with your hot, sticky semen!”

It takes a little bit longer for IU’s orgasm to subside, and when it finally does, the loosened grip of her legs around your waist allows you to pull out of her. You can see your freshly made creampie leaking out of her red, hot, bruised and battered hole.

“See? So much better, right?”

“Well, guess I gotta go visit my parents more often.”

IU smiles, resting peacefully atop the counter she’s supposed to be standing behind, completely unbothered by her nude state and by the cum trickling out of her pussy. “We’d all benefit from that.”

#kpop smut #smut #iu #iu smut

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lesservillain · 2 months ago

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masterlist

summary: a new face enters your life and you're blissfully unaware of the impact it will have on you.

cw: sunshine!eddie x grumpy!reader, like really grumpy, some angst

wc: 6.2k

Muffled voices penetrate through your bedroom door. Standing on the other side, you have your ear pressed to the wood to try and make out the cutting words coming from the other side. It was a fruitless effort, but you tried all the same.

“I just can’t do this anymore, Tony.” Your mother’s voice sounds closer and you dare to crack the door open a bit. Just enough that you can see her walking from the kitchen to the front door from the second floor, a suitcase in her hand. Opening the door further, you peer out into the hallway, taking a few steps until you reach the top of the stairs.

“Please, Rebecca, just talk to me!” Your dad’s voice sounds hoarse, cracking with the weight of his sorrow. “Just tell me what I can do to fix this!”

“There’s nothing to fix. I have to move on, and I can’t do that trapped here.”

“Mom?”

Their heads snap in your direction. You didn’t know what was going on, your 8 year old mind too young to understand what was transpiring in front of you. All you knew was your dad was fully crying, something you’d never seen him do before.

Your mother looks at you, taking in a deep breath before shaking her head. She takes the bag in her hands and suddenly opens the front door. Light floods the house from a car that you don’t recognize parked in your driveway. Everything is still for a moment. Your mom turns to look at you one last time before wordlessly pushing open the storm door and exiting into the night.

“Rebecca!” Your dad yells out, rushing out the door behind her. You make a run down the stairs and stop at the door, watching through the glass as your dad follows your mom around the car. She lifts open the trunk and puts the suitcase inside, your dad frantically pleading with her as she does. But her face is unmoving, solid as stone as she rounds the car again and enters the passenger seat of the unknown vehicle.

Your dad bangs on the door, last ditch effort to make your mom change her mind. Hot tears rolled down your own cheeks as the reality of the situation dawned on you. Your mom was leaving.

And she wasn’t coming back.

Soft sounds of the radio from the office behind you filled your work space with a slight irritation. You wished that your dad would at least change the station to something other than country, even if it was just to break up the monotony. The thought of closing his office door crossed your mind, but you knew he would just protest and open it back up again.

Huffing out a sigh, your eyes scan your list of things to do today. You still needed to call about some parts that were going to be delivered to try and get an estimate on time, but the guy that answered the phone for the company was always a dick to you so you were putting that off. The break room needed to be cleaned, but that was something that you would save for the end of the shift. Going down the list you noticed where it was written that an interview was supposed to have come in at 11. You tilt your head looking at the clock to see that it’s a quarter til 1 and no one has shown up, so decide to scratch that off your list. A real shame too, since you guys were in need of the help.

The ring of the door bell catches your attention. Looking up from your paper, your eyes land on a young man, probably around your age, walking into the lobby. He’s dressed in a black button down shirt and nice slacks that sharply contrasted with the leather and denim jacket combo he was sporting. From what you can tell he has long locks that are currently pulled back into a low ponytail behind his head. His dress shoes clacked against the linoleum floor as he approached you at the desk.

“Welcome to Hawkins Auto Body, how can I help you?” You ask in your best customer service voice.

“Yeah, hi, I’m Eddie. I have an interview at 1 with Tony.” The smell of his cheap cologne permeates your senses and elicits the start of a migraine behind your eye. Looking back down at your list you don’t see another interview for 1 o’clock, just the one that was for 11 that you had crossed out.

“I don’t have an interview for that time. We were supposed to have one at 11 am. Could that have been when you were supposed to show?”

Eddie shifts in his spot as he straightens up. His brows furrow, eyes darting around as if he was looking for the answer to your question. His hands start to pat the pockets of his jacket, reaching inside and pulling out a small ripped piece of paper. “I had 1 written down on the paper.” There’s a slight panic in his voice. “Maybe I made a mistake, I know I’m at the right place.”

“Well, unfortunately the boss is very busy today, so he won’t be able to see you.” You were lying, knowing your dad he was probably reading a muscle car magazine as his desk. But the lack of showing up on time wasn’t something you were going to look past. If he couldn’t even show up for his interview on time how could you expect him to show up to work.

“Really? Are you sure? Maybe I could reschedule at a later time--”

“Hey, what’s going on out here?” You dad’s chipper voice called from behind you, making you cringe.

“Hey, Tony,” you say, preferring to refer to your dad by his name while at work, “I think this guy was your 11 o’clock. He wrote down the time wrong and--”

“Oh, hey! Eddie, right?” Your dad asks, stepping out of his office with a hand out and ready. Eddie takes your dad’s hand in his and shakes it enthusiastically.

“Yes, listen, I’m so sorry I got the times mixed up. If you need to I would totally be able to reschedule for another day.”

“No, you’re fine,” your dad says, irking you. “Come on back and we can talk. Do you have your resume?”

“Oh, I left if out in my car. Let me go grab it.” Eddie says, taking a step back before running out the door. Can’t even bring in his resume? There’s no way this guy would get the job if it was you in charge.

But you knew your dad was a different story. He has a soft spot in him that you gave up a long time ago. But you had to develop a tough exterior at such a young age that you didn’t know anything else.

“You should have turned him away,” you said as you watched Eddie through the glass doors. Your dad huffed a laugh and leaned against the office door frame.

“I knew you’d say something like that,” he says shaking his head.

“Tony, he’s a total chump. Couldn’t be bothered to show up on time. Isn’t even ready for the interview. I bet those aren’t even his clothes that he’s wearing.”

“Yeah, but he’s young and willing to work. Gareth told me that he’s been working on cars since he was 12, and he has reliable transportation.”

You look at the hunk of metal that was this guys van and scoffed. “That hardly looks reliable.”

“But it works,” you dad said, nodding to the ancient van, “And that shows he knows what he’s doing.”

“You’ve already decided to hire him, haven’t you?”

“Well, lets see how this interview goes and I’ll let you know.” You roll your eyes. Knowing how your dad is he probably made the decision when he had the phone interview with him. A heavy sigh leaves your lips and you watch as Eddie bounds back through the door with a papers in his hand.

“Sorry it’s not much,” he says as he hands the papers to your dad. “This will be my first real job, so I don’t have much experience.”

Great, another tick off your list as to why you would turn this guy down. Even if he had some experience with cars, it surely wasn’t enough that your dad wouldn’t still have to train him. At least the shop did well enough that your dad wouldn’t be hurting if he had to pay this guy while he’s being trained.

“Not to worry, let’s go talk in my office,” your dad says, patting Eddie on the arm and leading the way inside. He closes the door behind you, and you can hear the sound of the radio start to lower until it can’t be heard anymore. At least you’d get a little reprieve from that.

The clock ticked by during the interview. Only the sound of the shop could be heard through the glass paneling that separated you from the bay. After about 30 minutes of nothing from your dad, you start to wonder what the hell they could be talking about that’s taking so long. If you had to guess, it was probably car talk.

Or if you were to make a guess based on the details Eddie’s jacket maybe he got your dad on the topic of music, which he could go on about forever. He’s seen just about every band he’s ever wanted to see and then some. You’d been to a fair share of your own concerts because of him, whether it was due to a lack of babysitter or because he wanted to genuinely share the experience with you didn’t matter. It was still some of the best times of your life getting to share those sweaty moments that left your voice fried the next day with him.

A loud, boisterous laugh came from the office and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Your dad must have told one of his infamous jokes that always left him on the brink of pissing himself. You wondered if Eddie was genuinely laughing or was doing it out of pity for your dad and the sake of getting the job. Either way, you shuffled a stack of part invoices and stood up from your desk.

Approaching the door, you didn’t even bother to knock as you turned the nob, pushing the door open on the little laughing fit the two of them were having. “Having fun in here?” you say dryly, unamused by them. Eddie turns to look at you, wiping at his eyes as he lets of the last bit of chuckles left in him. Your dad straightens up in his chair to catch his breath before turning more towards you.

“What’s up, sweetie?” He says through giggles. Calling you by that name in front of a stranger must mean your dad was really in a relaxed mood. He wasn’t always the most professional, but you made it very clear with him from day one that you wanted to be treated just like any other employee at the shop while working together. It kind of irked you that he would say it in front of anyone, but especially this guy, who was looking at you like he already owned the joint.

“Sir, you have some invoices here that need to be approved by the end of the day. Assuming this interview is almost over,” you said looking at Eddie, “I figured I’d drop these off to you so you could get started on them. I’d like to file them by 5.”

Your dad leaned over the desk, his hand outstretched to take them from you. You sighed, stepping more into the small office and leaning around Eddie to hand them over to him. You felt his shoulder against your side and you let out a half-hearted sorry for the intrusion into his space.

“‘S’all good,” he said softly, a small smile on his face that annoyed you.

“I’ll get to these right away,” your dad said, motioning the papers towards you. You nodded and turned to leave the room.

“Should I close the door?” You ask, hand on the knob.

“No, no, I think Eddie and I are just about done here. I’ve kept him with me for far too long,” your father says as he goes to stand. Eddie rises from his seat as well, extending his hand out for your dad to take.

“Nonsense,” Eddie says as your dad shakes his hand, “Was a pleasure talking to ya. Hopefully we can shoot the shit again some time?”

“Maybe we can get a few words in on Monday if that works for you?”

“Wait, really?” Eddie all but jumps for joy at your dad’s offer. Of course.

“If everything we talked about today sounded good for you, I’d love to see ya first thing Monday morning.”

“Oh my god, yes, sir. Thank you so much. Seriously, I’ll be the best worker you’ve ever had.”

You huffed a laugh at that, deciding this was the best time to make your exit, lest you get sick on the floor from all the sugary excitement. Turning on your heel, you made your way back to your desk and plopped down in your rolly chair. Your dad and Eddie followed behind you not long after, still chatting about something you had no interest in tuning into.

Eddie rounds the front of your desk and taps his hand lightly on the marble counter top just above you. You look up at him with a blank stare, almost blinding you with the pure sunshine rays of excitement that were beaming off of him.

“See ya on Monday, coworker,” he said with a snap that turned into a finger gun. You didn’t respond, simply staring at him hoping he would get the hint to leave. He pounds his fist against the countertop a couple times for good measure before turning to face the door. Watching him as he left, you noticed for the first time that the patch on the back of his jacket was one from Dio’s Last in Line album. You gave a small hmpf. At least he had good taste in music.

SPACE

“Still sleepy there, kiddo?” Your dad says as he pulls into the shop. It was barely dawn as the two of you rolled into the parking lot, the coffee in your hand barely doing much to keep you alert at these early hours. You wished you could call yourself a morning person with how often you woke up at 5:30 am to get ready for the day. But Monday’s were always hard on you after getting to sleep in on the weekend.

“What else is new?” You say, punctuated by another yawn that hit you hard enough it gave you shivers down your body. Your dad let out a laugh as he shifted the car into park, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and lighting one up. You followed suit, grabbing one from your own pack and stealing his lighter to spark it up. The smooth menthol wasn’t enough to wake you, but it kept your mouth busy enough that you wouldn’t fall asleep in the passenger seat.

The two of you sat in a sweet silence for the duration of your smoke, watching the sun rise from the rear view mirror. The only sounds to be heard was the low hum of the local morning talk show that played on the car’s radio.

That was until a loud booming sound could be heard in the distance. A boom that started to grow louder with each passing second. The two of you looked at each other as if asking the same question to one another before turning around and looking out the back window. You couldn’t see where it was coming from at first, until a small set of headlights started to show from down the road, approaching at a speed way faster than you knew this streets limit was. As it came into view, you whispered a barely audible “no” as the loud vehicle turned into the parking lot, now illuminated by the morning sun.

It was Eddie and his shitty van.

You thought surely the music would turn down once he made his way into the parking lot, but the loud sounds of what you could now make out as Metallica due to the sheer volume of the music coming from his van were persistent.

“What the fuck?” You say, looking over to your dad, who had a glint in his eye that you didn’t like. “Dad, no, he’s going to wake up the whole neighborhood.” You say sternly. But your dad doesn’t respond verbally. Instead he undoes his seat belt and hops out of the car, leaving it on for you to sit in so you don’t have to endure the harsh December cold.

You watch as he walks over to the van and knocks on the window and instantly hear the volume of the van drop in decibels as the window comes down. A plume of smoke comes barreling out and you watch as Eddie’s hand reaches out to swat the smoke away from your dad’s face. You take another hit of your cigarette as your dad talks to Eddie from his window.

After a few moments, you watch as your dad rounds the van, it rocking slightly once he gets to the other side. Did your dad just get in this guys van? Surely not.

Or surely yes, because as the familiar cars of your other workers began to pull into the lot, you didn’t see your dad come from the other side of the van. Irritation that shouldn’t be had on such an early Monday morning started to bubble in you, and if it weren’t so cold you would have gotten out and asked your dad what the hell he was doing a long time ago.

Checking the dash, you see it’s already opening time, so you cut the engine and lock the car, braving the cold as you walk past the van and to the door. The guys are already waiting for you as you approach the door, huddled around each other as they watch you unlock the door.

“Morning, ma’am,” Bob, your most senior member, says as he pushes past you to get inside. The others greet you as well as they make make their way in. As they file inside, the sound of car doors closing gets your attention. You look to see your dad and Eddie walking towards you, hands in their pockets to keep them warm from the cold.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” you say as they approach. Not waiting for them as you walk inside, letting the door close behind you, you make your way to the light switches and begin flicking them on. The ones in the bay’s are already on as the guys get set up for the day, a couple cars already loaded up to be worked on first thing this morning.

Eddie and your dad eventually came in through the door, both of them laughing and having a grand old time.

“Hey, do you mind showing Eddie where the time clock is?” Your dad asks as he fishes his keys from his jacket pocket to unlock his office.

“Can’t you show him? He’s already your best friend, apparently?”

“I have a call I need to get on with an important client. Just go ahead and show him around the shop for me, please?” He gives you those big, puppy dog eyes of his that honestly don’t get to you at this point anymore. But for the sake of him begging, you sigh and put your hands on your hips.

“Fine,” you say with a shrug. You motion for Eddie to follow you. “Come on, back this way.”

Leaving your desk, you walk around the hallway corner and to the break room. Pushing the door open, you prop it open with the metal wedge and walk inside. Flipping the lights on, you instantly walk to the coffee pot and push the button to get it warmed up. You turn to see Eddie waiting patiently for you by the doorway, his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face.

“Over here is the time clock,” you say, walking over to where the time punches for the week are sitting on the wall. “They’re in alphabetical order, so make sure you grab yours and not somebody else’s.” You scan the tickets and find the new name card you added on Friday, pulling it from the slot. “Just stick it in here and it’ll mark when you clocked in. If you ever have an issue with it, make sure you come to me right away so that we can get it fixed.”

Eddie walks over and plucks the card from your fingers, placing it into the slot and waiting for the click. Once it does, he pulls it out and places the card back into the slot you pulled it from. “Seems easy enough,” he says, looking at you with that smile still plastered on his face. It irked you to no end.

“Great, make sure to do that when you get here every day. It’s hard to pay you without it.”

Eddie starts to laugh, but you’re really not sure what about. Was it something you said? Was he making fun of you?

“What?” You say in a serious tone. But Eddie just waves his hands, his bangs flying as he shakes his head.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” he says. You blink at him, deciding it wasn’t worth your time to pry for answers you didn’t really care to know. Gesturing your hands around you, you let him know that you are in fact in the break room. Eddie nods, looking around, his eyes landing on the coffee pot.

“The coffee is free, just make sure if you take the last of it to turn it off.”

“Awesome, I’ll definitely be needing that.”

“Do you know how to use it?”

“Not really. My uncle made me coffee this morning. I don’t really drink it much.”

“I’ll show you,” you say, walking over to the machine. Grabbing all the things you need, you walk him through the process of filling up the back with water, how to put the grounds in the filter, and which button to press to start it.

“This seems more complicated than the time clock,” he says with a laugh.

You scoff, “Once you do it a few times you’ll get it. Or you can wait until someone else starts it. There’s usually a pot back here ready within the first half hour that we’re here.” Eddie’s head bounces with a nod. Still smiling. “Well, lets move on to the rest of the building,” you say as you walk past him.

As you exit the break room, you look both ways trying to decide where to go next. You suppose you can work from the back to the front, that way you can drop him off with Bob or Terry when you’re done. You break to the right, Eddie hot on your heels as you walk. “Those are the restrooms,” you say as you pass the two sets of doors with a water fountain in between them. “Make sure you clean up after yourself if you shit, because I sure as hell am not doing it.”

That gets a laugh out of Eddie. “Aye, aye, captain,” he says with a salute.

“Back here is the stock room.” You turn the knob and open the door to the large storage room that resided in the back of the building. It was stocked to the brim with supplies like oil, parts, and other necessities that the shop kept on hand. Eddie looked around with wide eyes as he took everything in. “You’ll learn where everything is as time goes by. If you notice something is low in stock, come tell me as soon as possible so I can order more.”

“Okay, can do,” Eddie nods.

“Back out this way,” you say, walking over to another door that enters into the bay, “is the main work area. Make sure this door is locked at the end of the day.” As you walk out to the bay, you stop at a side door to the right. “This is a door to go outside. You can smoke out there, eat lunch, whatever really. Just keep it propped open when you’re out there so you don’t lock yourself out and have to come around the front. The boss tries to keep as much grease out of the lobby as possible.” You look down at his shoes and notice he’s wearing a pair of white reeboks. “Did you bring other shoes?”

“No, are these not allowed?” Eddie asks, his smile finally turning into a frown.

“It’s not that they’re not allowed, but they’re going to go from white to black real quick if you’re not careful.”

“Shit, I didn’t think about that,” Eddie said, looking down at his shoes.

“Ask around, I’m sure the guys could give you a recommendation where to get some good boots.”

Eddie looks up at you and, once again, smiles. “Thanks, I’ll do that.”

“Whatever,” you say, pressing forward. You show him around the bay, where the tools are, and where everyone’s lockers are to keep their things while they work. Eddie follows you wordlessly, just a step behind you the whole time. When he almost bumps into you as you stop, you have to turn to face him, putting hands on his arms and extending yours.

“See this? Distance. Keep yours.”

“Sorry,” he says, looking at your hands on his arms. You drop them quickly and turn back around, scanning the bay for Bob, who was bent over a cars engine.

“Bob!” You call, getting the older man’s attention. He straightens up and looks your way, giving a slight wave.

“Bob, this is Eddie, our new guy.”

“Nice to meetcha, kiddo.” The corners of Bobs eyes wrinkle when he smiles, extending a greasy hand out to Eddie, one that he takes and shakes enthusiastically.

“Likewise, sir,” Eddie says, nodding to the man.

“Do you care to babysit for a while? Dad says he knows a lot about cars but might need some help for a few weeks.”

“Sure thing,” Bob says like you knew he would. Bob was a talker, enjoyed the company of others. You’d been caught up in his stories on more than one occasion, but you’d always tried to be polite with him since he was such a hard worker. “Let’s see what you can tell me about this gal right here.” Bob wraps an arm around Eddie and ushers him towards the car he’s working on.

Letting out a sigh of relief, free from your responsibility to the new guy, you make your way out of the bay and back into the front lobby to your desk. You scold yourself for not turning your computer on before giving Eddie the grand tour so that it could’ve booted up. Giving it time to start, you go through the days checklist that you left yourself over the weekend and get to work.

Lunch time couldn’t roll around fast enough. You’d barely made it half way through your list for the day, not expecting it to take you so long to get everything done. Too many phone calls with dick head old men and wives of clients who couldn’t tell you what a fender was if it hit them in the head. The main website you use to order parts was down for half the morning, meaning there would be at least a half days delay on everything that was needed to work on the cars already in the shop.

And then there was the young mother who broke down with her baby that talked your ear off for the last hour while you tried desperately to get a hold of her husband for her. At least the baby was cute; babies being your bad mood kryptonite. She even let you hold her, which would have been fine if you hadn’t caught a particular curly headed nuisance staring at you from the bay as you held them. But you just brushed it off, not giving that loser an ounce of your attention.

Plopping back down in your chair, you felt like all your energy had been zapped and it was barely past 11 am. Not a moment later your father pokes his head around the corner of his office.

“Hey, let’s order pizza,” he says with a wide grin. Something must have gone well with a contractor given his good mood.

“What’s the occasion?” You ask, pulling out the paper for Surfer Boy’s Pizza from your desk drawer.

“I figured we’d treat the new guy,” he says, taking the paper from your grasp to look it over.

You groan, rolling your eyes. “I guess I’m asking everyone what they want?”

“You’re my girl,” he says, handing the paper back to you. You take it, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen before heading to the bay. The smell of fresh oil hits your nose, but it’s not something that bothers you anymore after working here for a few years now. You make your way around to the guys and get everyone’s orders. Thankfully everyone was being easy, just wanting cheese or pepperoni.

You made your way over to where Bob and Eddie were working on the same car that bob was looking at earlier, but Eddie was no where to be seen. Bob was hunched over by the front, looking down at the ground where you saw a pair of white shoes sticking out from under the car.

“Hey, Bob,” you say, grabbing the man’s attention.

“Oh, hey, darlin’. What’s up?”

“We’re getting pizza. You good with cheese and pepperoni?”

“Oh boy, that sounds good to me,” he says with a nod. He taps his foot against the white pair of sneakers and Eddie’s body comes rolling out from under the car, now clad in an oversized workers uniform.

“Where’d you find that?” You ask, pointing at Eddie.

“This is one of my spares from before I lost all that weight. I figured he could use it until his comes in.”

“Oh, yeah, that should be sometime this week. Make sure you wash that one and give it back to Bob when you’re done with it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Eddie says with a nod.

“Now, we’re getting pizza. Are you okay with cheese and pepperoni?”

“Wow, really? Yeah that would be great. I…forgot my lunch, so I could definitely use it.”

“Cool, well you guys were my last stop so I’ll go ahead and order it. Should be here in an hour or so.”

“Perfect,” Eddie says, giving you a thumbs up. You don’t respond, turning on your heel and walking back through the bay to the lobby.

“Okay, I got everybody’s orders,” you say as you walk into your father’s office. He looks up from his paperwork and smiles, reaching out to you. “You don’t want me to call?” You ask, handing the papers to him.

“No, I’m gonna pay for it myself, so I’ll order it.” He looks over the paper then speaks, “Do you know what Eddie asked for?”

“He didn’t say anything specific. Just said he was grateful to have it.” Your father nods, setting the papers down on his desk and picking up the phone. It struck you as odd that he was so interested in this new guy, but not enough to care to ask him about it. Maybe Eddie said something to him in their interview that struck something in your dad. He was already under a car on day one, so maybe you weren’t giving him enough credit.

SPACE

Lunch arrived and you paged on the overhead for everyone to come and eat. You set the pizza’s on the break room counter with the plates and two liters of pop. Your dad really splurged today, ordering way more food and drinks than what would be needed for the small shop. A few minutes later the guys began to roll into the break room, conversation flowing between them as they made their way to the pizza boxes.

You waited for everyone to get their food before grabbing some for yourself. Taking a few slices, you headed towards the door to go back to your desk before someone called your name.

“You’re not eating with us?” Eddie said, standing behind you with a plate full.

“I have work to do,” you said simply.

“She doesn’t take breaks,” Tom calls from across the break room.

“Yeah her dad has her slaving over that fancy computer all day,” Jerry adds, making the room erupt in laughter.

“Your dad?” Eddie asks looking at your curiously.

You sigh, not really wanting to tell the new guy that the boss is your dad on day one. “Yeah, Tony is my dad,” you say, flatly. Eddie’s head bobs, a smile spreading on his face.

“That makes sense. I thought it was weird you guys came together today. I thought maybe you were dating or something.”

The guys start laughing again and you cringe at Eddie’s words.

“What’s so funny?” You snap, and the laughter starts to die down.

“You dating is what’s funny,” Bob says taking a bite of his pizza.

“Why’s that funny?” Eddie asks.

“This girl hates love,” Bob says, gesturing towards you and you roll your eyes. It wasn’t that you hated love, you just didn’t believe in it. There was a time in your life that you might have thought it was real, but after the things you’ve been through, you’d been convinced that love was all just a big scam. Something made up to sell jewelry and heart shaped boxed of chocolates.

“What? Really?”

“I’m just not into it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I actually have important things to do.” And with that, you turn on your heel, leaving Eddie in the dust as you make your way back to your desk.

The end of the day wrapped up when the clock struck 6 pm. The garage doors to the bay closed for the night and you were cleaning up your desk, leaving a note to remember to call a potential client back first thing in the morning. Your dad stepped out of his office, closing the door behind him with the turn of a key as he locked it shut for the night.

“Should I grab the rest of the pizza’s or are we leaving them for tomorrow?” You ask, grabbing your jacket and throwing it on.

“Leave them,” your dad says, tossing you his keys. You looked at him confused. “Go ahead and start the car, I’ll lock up.”

“Okaaaay,” you say shoving the keys in your pocket and rounding the front desk. You pushed the door open and felt the cold December breeze hitting the skin of your cheeks once again. You beelined it for the car and started it up, cranking the heat up in a futile attempt to make the warm air come out faster. Rolling the window down, you lit up a smoke and watched as the guys made their way to their cars.

You noticed your dad didn’t come out with everyone else and that made you curious. Normally if he wanted to stay over he wouldn’t have you go and start the car. But you also noticed Eddie’s car was still in the lot as well.

A few minutes later, the front door finally opened and your dad and Eddie walked out of the shop. You squinted your eyes, trying to make sure what you were seeing was correct. Eddie was standing with two boxes of pizza in his hands as your dad locked the door. What the hell? You thought he was leaving the pizzas for tomorrow. You waited to see if your dad took the pizza boxes back, but as Eddie diverged from your dad’s side to get in his van, you noticed he still had the pizza boxes in his hands.

“Alright, let’s go,” you dad says as he slides in his seat, bringing his hands to the air vents to warm them up.

“What was that?” You ask, looking at him incredulously.

“What was what?” He says with a laugh, giving you a look back.

“You gave him those pizzas.”

“It’s his first day! I wanted him to feel welcomed with us. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you going to take him to a steak dinner next?” You say as you buckle yourself in.

“It’s not like that,” you dad assures you before buckling himself in.

“Whatever.”

thank you for reading!

tags:

@meetmeatyourworst @hazydespair @gloomweed @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @prestinalove @rowynbriarsalix

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@barnesandsteven @yujyujj @person-005 @definitionwanderlust @hsdcmmjune @micheledawn1975 @emxxblog @l3xi3luv

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#lesservillain #eddie munson #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #sunshine!eddie munson #sunshine!eddie munson x grumpy!reader #sunshine!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson st #eddie munson fic #eddie munson st4

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orangeblossomsintheair · 4 months ago

Text

RULE #2 | CS55

summary : "You promised," he choked out. "You promised you wouldn’t break rule two."

warning/s : sickness, vomiting, hurt/no comfort, death

an : yall have been begging for angst so 🤷🏽 here’s pt 1 of my dead wives series

Carlos Sainz loves you. It is inevitable. It is woven into the fabric of who he is. Just as the earth revolves around the sun, just as a fire burns.

Some things in this world are simply destined to be, and his love for you is one of them.

He remembers the first time he saw you like it happened yesterday.

College had been a blur of stress and sleepless nights for him, drowning in a relentless tide of engineering coursework, circuits, and mechanics that left no room for anything else.

Then you walked into his life, unannounced, unassuming, and shattered the monotony with a force he couldn’t comprehend.

You had been a medical student, your schedule just as demanding, yet you carried yourself with a lightness that seemed impossible.

He remembers watching you in the library, bent over your notes, your lips moving slightly as you memorized terms he couldn’t begin to pronounce.

He hadn’t meant to stare. But then you’d looked up, catching his eye, and smiled. It was the kind of smile that stuck with him, that sank its claws into his mind and refused to let go.

The first time you laughed at one of his jokes, something about thermodynamics, of all things, he had stared at you, stunned, like the world had stopped spinning for just a moment.

And when you’d matched his nerdy humor with a quip of your own, so quick and sharp that he was left speechless, he had known.

That night, he went home and called his sister, still dazed, still unable to believe what had happened.

"I've met the love of my life," he’d told her, voice shaking with an excitement that bubbled over uncontrollably.

"You’re being ridiculous," she’d replied, unimpressed, as always. "You don’t even know her."

But he had known.

—

It had started as a joke.

One of those silly, late-night conversations in the library, where exhaustion made everything funnier than it really was.

The campus was dead silent that night, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional rustle of pages being turned. It was nearly 2 a.m., the kind of hour where the world felt unreal, where time stretched and blurred, where reality felt softer at the edges.

Carlos had been sitting across from you, his laptop open to a problem set he wasn’t even pretending to understand anymore.

His fingers drummed against the table as he watched you work, hunched over your thick textbook, scribbling furiously.

You looked up, catching his stare. “What?”

Carlos smirked. “Nothing. Just thinking how much easier my life would be if I had your brain.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “And I was just thinking how much better mine would be if I had your charm. You could probably flirt your way into a free degree.”

“Or at least free snacks from the vending machine,” he added, grinning.

You laughed, the sound soft but rich, the kind that still echoed in his mind years later.

Then, suddenly, his expression shifted. Something thoughtful creeping into his gaze. “We should make a pact.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A pact?”

“Yeah.” He leaned forward. “Rules for life. So we don’t screw things up.”

Intrigued, you set your pen down. “Okay. Rule number one?”

“No betraying each other.”

You smiled, nodding. “Agreed. No betrayal.” You tapped a finger against your chin. “What’s rule number two?”

Carlos hesitated, then, with mock seriousness, leaned in like he was about to tell you the secret to the universe. “No one dies.”

You barked out a laugh, the librarian across the room shooting you a glare. “That’s your rule?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “It’s non-negotiable.”

Shaking your head, you held out your hand. “Fine. No betraying each other. No one dies. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said, gripping your hand firmly.

At the time, it had been a joke. Just another of a thousand little moments between the two of you.

Carlos had no idea then how much those words would mean to him.

—

The first time you got sick, really sick, Carlos didn’t take it seriously.

It was a cough at first. A rough, hacking thing that made you wince but still had you waving him off with a half-smile.

"Relax, cariño," you’d said, voice scratchy but amused. "It’s just a cold."

Carlos narrowed his eyes at you, unconvinced. “You have a fever.”

"It’s a dramatic fever," you shot back, tugging the blanket up over your shoulders. "I’m merely suffering for the aesthetic."

He snorted, shaking his head. “Dramatic is right.”

He had kissed your forehead that night, tucking you into his side, his lips warm against your too-hot skin. And you had sighed, sinking into him like you always did, like you belonged there.

It had been easy then.

A flu, he’d told himself. Something temporary.

Nothing permanent. Nothing real.

—

But the cough never really went away.

Neither did the fevers, or the way your limbs felt heavier with each passing day.

You stopped stealing fries off his plate. Stopped nudging him awake in the mornings, rolling your eyes at how deeply he slept. Stopped teasing him about the way he could fall asleep anywhere.

On a plane, in a car, once even in the middle of a club when the music was loud enough to shake the walls.

One afternoon, when you had been too tired to get out of bed, he had finally said it out loud.

"Maybe we should see a doctor."

You had smiled at him, but it was too soft, too thin. "It’s nothing, Carlos. I just need rest."

He had believed you.

God help him, he had wanted to believe you.

—

The hospital came later.

By then, it wasn’t something you could wave away with a joke, wasn’t something you could cover up with sheer willpower.

By then, you were struggling to catch your breath after walking across the room.

By then, Carlos had started waking up in the middle of the night to find you curled in on yourself, your whole body trembling, your hands clenched into fists beneath the sheets.

By then, even you had stopped pretending.

"Okay," you had whispered, one night, your fingers gripping his. "Maybe it’s not just a cold."

Carlos had swallowed hard, his throat tight. But he had smiled anyway, because that was what he did. He stayed steady, he stayed strong, even when the ground was crumbling beneath his feet.

"No pasa nada," he had murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "We’ll figure it out."

And for a while, just a little while, you both still believed that was true.

—

The early hospital visits weren’t so bad.

You made them an adventure, the way you did with everything.

"We should start a ranking system," you had said one day, swinging your legs over the side of the exam table. Best hospital coffee. Best waiting room magazines. Best nurses who let me steal extra blankets."

Carlos grinned, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "That depends. Is this going to be a five-star system, or are we working on a ten-point scale?"

"Oh, five stars, obviously," you said, deadly serious. “We have to account for dramatic flair.”

"And yet you still insist you’re not dramatic."

"I contain multitudes, Carlos."

And God, you were still you then.

A little tired, a little pale, but still full of light. Still brimming with something sharp and teasing and warm.

Carlos had let himself believe it would last.

That the doctors would find the problem and fix it. That this was a detour, not a dead end.

That you were too strong for this.

That he would not have to watch you disappear, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of the girl who had once laughed in the middle of a silent library, who had once stood beside him and made a promise that neither of you ever really thought would matter.

—

Some nights were better than others.

There were nights when you were yourself again. When you teased him about the dark circles beneath his eyes, your voice carrying that familiar warmth, something alive and teasing and so you that he could almost convince himself this was temporary.

That this, this hospital bed, these wires, these endless nights of waiting, was just a phase, something the two of you would look back on one day and laugh about.

"You look like hell," you’d whisper, your voice hoarse but still edged with amusement.

Carlos would scoff, pressing a damp cloth to your forehead. "And you look stunning, obviously."

You'd grin, even as exhaustion weighed down your eyelids. "I try."

Nights like those, he let himself believe.

But then there were nights like this.

Nights when you couldn't stop shaking from the pain, your body curling in on itself as he held you, whispering reassurances you were too far gone to hear. Nights when you sobbed into his chest, when your breath came in ragged, broken gasps, when you whispered, "I can't do this anymore, Carlos. I can't."

And Carlos, who had spent his entire life fixing things, who had built his world on the certainty that every problem had a solution, could do nothing.

So he held you. Ran his fingers through your hair. Pressed desperate kisses to your temple.

And when sleep finally dragged you under, he would slip into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him before collapsing to the floor.

He would grip the sink so hard his fingers went numb, bow his head until his forehead pressed against the cold tile.

His body would shake with the weight of it, with the sheer unfairness of it all, with the grief that felt too large to be contained within his chest.

Carlos Sainz was not a religious man.

But on nights like these, he prayed.

Begged.

For a miracle. For a cure. For just a little more time.

—

One night, when your breathing was too shallow, too slow, something in him snapped.

The moment he noticed it, the unnatural stillness, the faintest hitch in the beeping of the monitors, he was out of his chair, panic sharp and immediate in his chest.

His hands trembled as he pressed the call button.

"Nurse," he barked, his voice hoarse. "Something's wrong."

The nurses rushed in, their voices a blur, their hands moving quickly as they adjusted your oxygen, checked your vitals. Carlos stood frozen, helpless, as they worked.

And then, as quickly as the panic had come, the moment passed. Your breathing steadied. The machines quieted.

And Carlos, who had spent the last several minutes standing motionless, fists clenched, lungs burning, finally let himself collapse into the chair beside your bed.

His elbows rested on his knees, his head dropping into his hands. He tried to steady his own breathing, tried to remind himself that you were still here.

You were still here

You were still here.

A moment later, he felt the faintest touch on his arm.

Carlos lifted his head so fast it made him dizzy.

Your fingers barely managed to curl around his wrist, your touch so weak he could barely feel it. But your eyes were open, heavy-lidded and exhausted, searching for him.

"Hey," he whispered. His voice felt raw, scraped down to nothing.

Your lips parted, but no words came.

Carlos exhaled shakily, reaching out to press a hand against your cheek. Your skin was too warm, feverish, but you leaned into his touch anyway.

"You scared me," he admitted, his voice thick.

You tried to smile. It didn't reach your eyes.

Carlos swallowed, his throat burning. He forced himself to hold your gaze, even as the words clawed their way out of his chest, raw and desperate and entirely true.

"You promised," he choked out. "You promised you wouldn’t break rule number two."

A flicker of something passed through your expression. Regret, sadness, something heavier than the both of you combined.

"Carlos," you whispered.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No. You don’t get to break this one. You don’t."

Your eyes shimmered with unshed tears. He could see it, the truth you were too kind to say out loud. The truth he refused to accept.

Carlos bent down, pressing his forehead to your knuckles. His grip on your hand was too tight, but he couldn't make himself let go.

"Please," he whispered. "Please don’t leave me."

You didn’t answer.

And somehow, that silence was worse than anything else.

—

Days passed. Then weeks.

Carlos barely left your side. He learned the names of every nurse on the floor. Memorized the dosages of your medications. Knew the precise moment when your painkillers would wear off, when you'd need him to press the call button before you were in too much agony to speak.

And still, he held on.

Because Carlos Sainz loves you.

It is inevitable. It is constant. It is everything.

And even as your breaths grew shallower, even as your hands trembled when you reached for him, even as the hope he had clung to for so long withered beneath the weight of reality-

He stayed.

—

One night, when exhaustion was too heavy for you to fight, you whispered, “You should go home, Carlos. You need rest.”

Carlos exhaled sharply. Shook his head. "I am home."

You tried to argue, but he silenced you with a kiss to your temple, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. He could feel your pulse beneath his lips, slow and unsteady.

"I’m not going anywhere."

You sighed, a soft exhale against his shoulder, and for a moment, for a moment, he let himself pretend everything was okay.

—

He lost count of the days.

There was no clear marker for when hope turned into grief. No defining moment where he realized you weren’t going to make it.

It just happened.

Like a tide pulling out to sea.

Like the quiet between heartbeats.

A promise broken, too softly to hear.

And when you were finally gone, when the world felt too quiet, too empty, too wrong, Carlos sat in the chair beside your bed, your hand still in his.

And he whispered, “You broke the rules.”

---

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#x reader #formula one x reader #formula one #formula 1 #carlos sainz x reader #formula 1 x female reader #formula 1 x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz jr x you #carlos sainz jr x reader #cs55 x y/n #cs55 imagine #cs55 x you #cs55 x reader #cs55 fic #cs55

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unabashegirl · 1 month ago

Text

Love Island - part 1

AU. Based on the TV show.

Author's note: Hello everyone, I've been meaning to post this on Tumblr. I hope you like this 10 part series as much as my Patreon followers did. This initial chapter is very short but it's on purpose.

⭐️ Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the Love Island villa. Laughter and splashing echoed as the Islanders basked in the afternoon heat, their spirits high. Y/N lounged on a sunbed, half-listening to Tom, her current partner, as he animatedly recounted his latest gym achievements. She forced a smile, nodding occasionally, but her mind drifted. Each day felt like a mirror of the last, a cycle of sunbathing and surface-level conversations that left her craving something deeper.

Then, a sudden commotion pulled her from her thoughts. Georgia, the self-appointed drama queen of the group, leaped up, her phone held high in the air. “I’ve got a text!”

The excitement was palpable as everyone converged around her, eager to hear the news. Y/N's heart raced with anticipation; a new arrival could break the monotony and shake things up in the villa.

With a flourish, Georgia read aloud: “Islanders, get ready to welcome a new boy! Please head to the front of the villa to greet him. #NewBoyAlert”

Cheers erupted, and the Islanders surged toward the entrance, Y/N caught up in the tide of enthusiasm. As they gathered at the door, playful jabs and speculation flew about the new contestant, each guess more outrageous than the last.

When the door swung open, a wave of heat rolled through the villa. In walked Harry, tall and confident, with tousled dark curls that framed his face and tattoos peeking out from under his arms. He was clad only in dark swimming trunks, showcasing his fit physique. The moment he stepped in, it felt as if the air shifted—a palpable energy filled the space.

“Hey, everyone!” he called, his voice warm and inviting. “I’m Harry. I’m 26, a travel photographer, and I’m here looking for someone special.”

As the group responded with cheers and applause, Y/N felt a jolt of excitement at his casual charm. He seemed so at ease, as if he belonged there, and she found herself drawn to his confidence.

“Travel photographer?” Zara chimed in, her tone flirty. “Sounds glamorous! What’s your favorite place you’ve been?”

“Honestly? It’s tough to pick,” he replied, flashing a charming smile that made Y/N’s stomach flip. “But I’d say Greece has its magic. The sunsets there are something else”, He glanced at Y/N as he said this, and for a moment, their eyes locked, sparking an unexpected connection.

As introductions continued, Harry moved down the line, exchanging light banter and laughter. When he reached Y/N, his gaze lingered, a genuine curiosity dancing in his green eyes.

“So, what’s your name?” he asked, his tone sincere.

“Y/N,” she replied, feeling her heart race under his attention. “Nice to meet you, Harry.”

“Great to meet you, too, Y/N,” he said, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

As the evening wore on, the villa transformed into a cozy gathering spot under the twinkling lights. Y/N found herself outside by the pool, trying to catch her breath from the whirlwind of introductions. The water shimmered invitingly, but her thoughts were consumed by Harry—the way he carried himself, how he seemed genuinely interested in everyone, and that spark in his eyes when they’d connected.

To her surprise, Harry sauntered over, casually lowering himself onto the lounge chair next to her. The warmth of his presence felt comforting, like a breath of fresh air.

“Mind if I join?” he asked, his tone light, but there was a deeper warmth in his voice that made her heart flutter.

“Not at all,” Y/N replied, a smile breaking across her face.

Harry stretched out on the chair, his relaxed posture revealing a confidence that made her feel at ease. “So, what do you make of all this?” he asked, glancing around the villa.

“It’s beautiful,” she admitted, glancing up at the stars. “But it can get a bit repetitive. I mean, we’re all here looking for something, but sometimes it feels like we’re just... drifting.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I get that. what’s kept you in here so long?”

She looked up, surprised by his directness. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You don’t strike me as the type who’d settle for just anyone. So, I was curious why you’re still here.”

She smirked, crossing her arms. “You get all that just from looking?”

“Maybe,” he replied casually. “Or maybe I’m just observant. Part of the job, you know.”

Their conversation deepened, revealing snippets of their lives. Y/N found herself sharing stories about her childhood, her passion for art, and how she’d dreamed of traveling but had never found the right person to explore with. Harry listened intently, nodding along, his gaze fixed on her as if she were the only person in the world.

“What about you? What made you want to come on the show?” Y/N asked, genuinely curious.

He hesitated for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “Honestly? I wanted to step out of my comfort zone.” He paused, a soft smile forming. “So far. I am very interested”.

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up at his compliment, her heart racing.

As the evening wore on, they exchanged teasing remarks, laughter bubbling between them. With each shared moment, Y/N felt a connection growing—a sense of camaraderie and understanding that she hadn’t felt in a while.

“Well,” Harry said after a while, pushing himself up from the chair, “I guess I’ll see you around”.

“Definitely,” she replied, her smile lingering as he walked away, a sense of excitement coursing through her.

The sun rises on another day in the villa, and it’s not just the temperature heating things up after last night’s new arrival. Our Islanders may have started with some clear choices, but Harry’s arrival has shaken things up... especially for Tom.

The villa was buzzing with morning energy as everyone moved around the kitchen, filling glasses with orange juice and grabbing breakfast. Y/N sat on a lounger, enjoying a quiet moment with her coffee before the day’s inevitable whirlwind of chats. She noticed Tom watching her from across the patio, looking a bit anxious. He made his way over, rubbing his hands together, as if trying to psych himself up.

Tom might have been Mr. Confident last week, but it looks like he’s feeling the heat now that Harry’s in the villa. Will Y/N’s current couple get through this twist unscathed, or will Tom’s nerves get the best of him?

“Morning, Y/N,” Tom greeted, taking a seat beside her. His usual relaxed smile seemed a bit forced today.

“Morning, Tom,” Y/N replied, sipping her coffee and meeting his gaze. She could sense he wanted to say something, and he looked like he was wrestling with the words.

“Listen,” he began, leaning forward. “Last night, with Harry showing up and all... It’s got me thinking. I just wanted to see where your head’s at.” His voice was steady, but she could sense the nervousness under it.

She nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “I get it. It’s all moving fast, isn’t it? I mean, I didn’t expect someone like Harry to walk in and shake things up.”

Tom shifted in his seat, his gaze flicking between her and his hands. “Right. He’s... yeah, he’s something. But, uh... I just want to know if you’re, well, interested. In him. Like, romantically.”

She took a moment, carefully choosing her words. “Honestly, I’m not sure yet, Tom. Harry’s interesting, and he’s definitely got that confident energy. But I’m still figuring things out. I mean, you and I have had a great connection.”

Tom relaxed a little, his shoulders loosening as he nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I thought so too. We’ve been getting on really well. I just—well, I know how this place works. It’s all about testing things and seeing if connections are genuine, but…” He trailed off, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. “I just don’t want to feel like I’m getting left behind, you know?”

Y/N reached over, resting a hand on his knee to ease his nerves. “Look, Tom, I’m here to find something real, and I do want to see where we could go. But I also don’t want to close myself off from getting to know Harry. It’s early days, and I feel like it wouldn’t be fair to either of us to ignore a potential connection.”

And there we have it, folks. Y/N is caught between Tom’s steady interest and Harry’s unpredictable charm. With Tom hanging on by a thread, will Y/N let go or keep her options open?

Tom’s lips tightened, and he gave a small nod. “Fair enough. I can’t stop you from seeing where things go. I mean, you’re right—it is early days. Just… give me a heads-up if you start to feel like it’s going somewhere else, yeah?”

“Of course,” she assured him, offering him a warm smile. “I’ll always be honest with you, Tom. That’s a promise.”

He smiled, though it looked a bit forced, then let out a sigh, looking back towards the villa. “Right then. Just have to up my game a bit, won’t I?”

Y/N chuckled, nudging him. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Just keep being you.”

But will that be enough, Tom? With Harry’s arrival in the villa, we might just see if Tom can hold his own—or if his steady confidence starts to crack.

After Tom walked off, Y/N settled back into her lounger, taking a slow sip of her coffee. The warmth of the morning sun was comforting, and she let herself enjoy the peace, though her mind kept drifting to Harry.

Across the patio, Harry was surrounded by a small group of girls, each one caught up in his easy charm. There was Georgia, always the first to get a word in; her dark hair bounced as she laughed at one of his jokes, flashing him a look that said she was more than intrigued. Beside her was Chloe, who toyed with her braid as she angled closer, her gaze fixed on him, and Lila, who had barely left his side since his arrival. They all hung on his every word, their laughter blending with his deep chuckles.

Y/N watched him, noticing the way he seemed effortlessly at ease, making each of the girls feel like they were the only ones there. He was charming, no doubt, and that little smirk of his told her he knew exactly what he was doing. There was something magnetic about him; he was the kind of person you couldn’t help but notice.

Then, as if sensing her gaze, Harry’s eyes lifted, meeting hers across the patio. The moment their eyes connected, a playful glint flickered in his. His smile softened, turning into that cheeky grin she was beginning to recognize. He said something to the girls that made them all laugh again, and then, with a quick apology, excused himself from the group.

Y/N’s heart gave a little jump as she saw him walking towards her, the confidence in his stride obvious as he crossed the patio. When he reached her, he didn’t sit right away. Instead, he leaned forward, his arms resting on the back of her lounger, his face close enough that she could catch the faint scent of the sea on his skin.

“Morning,” he said, his voice smooth, that smirk never leaving his lips. “Didn’t expect to catch you staring.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, raising an eyebrow. “Staring? I was just observing… thought I’d get a better sense of what all the fuss is about.”

He chuckled, settling himself on the edge of her lounger without breaking eye contact. “Ah, so you were curious, then. Good to know I’ve got your attention, even if just a little.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. “I was just checking to see if you were actually as charming as you think you are.”

He tilted his head, feigning contemplation. “And? What’s the verdict, then?”

She shrugged, pretending to consider it. “I think it’s too early to tell. But I’ll let you know if you manage to impress me.”

Harry leaned back, grinning. “Challenge accepted. I’m a big fan of keeping things interesting. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t come over here to see if I could learn a bit more about you too.”

“Oh, really?” she teased, crossing her arms as she watched him. “So, the big mystery man’s got questions?”

“Maybe one or two.” His gaze softened, the playful edge giving way to a hint of sincerity. “Like, what exactly is a girl like you looking for in here?”

She held his gaze, considering her answer for a moment. “Honestly, someone genuine,” she said, her tone earnest. “It’s easy to get caught up in all the surface stuff, but I’m hoping to find something real. Something that lasts.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Right. Thought I’d take a risk, try something new.” His voice softened, a touch of vulnerability creeping in. “Been a while since I let anyone in.”

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade. She felt a spark, a warmth that hadn’t been there before, and she knew he felt it too.

“Alright then, Harry the risk-taker,” she said, breaking the silence with a playful smile. “Let’s see if you’re as good as you say.”

Harry’s cheeky grin returned, the playfulness back in his eyes. “Oh, you’ve got no idea what I’m capable of, Y/N.”

Looks like Y/N’s little morning coffee break has turned into something a bit more steamy than she bargained for. With Tom on edge and Harry moving in, she may have her hands full. So, who’s in it for the long haul? Stay tuned.

--> part 2

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ozzgin · 1 year ago

Note

Ya know gamer bf needs some justice

GIVE EM HIS OWN YAN

(hey it’s a win win both find out they are cheating and respectfully break up shake hands and then hang out as friends will there be a problem ye do I care nah)

The boyfriend needs to learn to treat his partner properly first.

He gets isekai'd into a dating sim, where he needs to raise enough romance points with each character in order to return home, or he's bound to repeat the game forever.

He'll do his usual shenanigans at first. He'll forget to text back, focus on his video games instead, show up late to dates. Then the monotony begins to seep in. He stares with disgust at the love interest, running towards him with a toast in her mouth and accidentally bumping into him.

"Kyaaa, I'm so sorry!" she exclaims with a deep blush.

Damn it! It was cute the first 5 times. Now it's driving him mad. Suddenly he's overcome with the urge to see you again. To have his old desktop setup. To not deal with flirty senpais every single morning.

So he finally puts in the effort.

One day, you're eating your breakfast cereal, genitals still raw from that nightly monster deed. You've stopped searching for your boyfriend who mysteriously vanished without a trace. The entry door creaks open, and you turn in shock.

"Tadaima*", the now-yandere gamer boyfriend announces with an alpha growl. He's a changed man. And he's coming for you.

*Translator's note: Tadaima means "I'm home" in Japanese xDD

#to be continued #gamer boyfriend versus tentacle monster #yandere gamer #yandere gamer boyfriend #meme #yandere x reader #yancore

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ourseasone · 1 month ago

Text

CHAPTER 002 ✱ YOU’RE INTO GUYS?

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The midday bell rings across the campus of Byuksan High School, and in an instant, the energy in the building shifts. Classrooms empty as students spill into the corridors, voices rising in a chaotic symphony of teenage chatter, laughter, and the rhythmic thud of sneakers on tile floors. Sunlight streams in through the tall windows, casting long, golden beams across the bustling hallways. It’s lunchtime — a sacred, much-needed break in an otherwise dragging school day. Among the sea of students are you and Suho, navigating the crowd with the ease of two boys who have spent years weaving through these same hallways.

You have one arm slung lazily over Suho’s shoulders, a familiar gesture that makes you look like an inseparable duo out of a comic strip. The morning classes crawled by at a painfully slow pace, especially for you, having endured most of them alone while Suho snoozed with his head buried in the crook of his arm. Now free from the monotony of lectures and chalkboard scribbles, your only mission is to make it to the cafeteria in one piece and grab something edible before the good stuff disappears. You amble along, chatting about nothing in particular — class gossip, the cafeteria’s suspicious mystery meat, whether Mr. Han’s toupee is a government experiment — the usual.

“Hey… if I ate a whole candle,” Suho says, his tone eerily sincere. “Do you think I’d glow?”

You yawn, barely registering the absurdity of the question at first. But when you turn to look at Suho, you find your best friend staring at you with an expression of such intense curiosity, it’s impossible to ignore. You blink slowly, pretending to give it some thought — the kind of exaggerated, mock-scientific thinking one reserves for the dumbest of hypotheticals.

“Only if you scream while chewing,” you reply with a perfectly straight face. “That activates the wax enzymes.”

Suho’s eyes widen in awe, like you’ve just unlocked the secrets of the universe.

“So, wait… if I eat a candle and scream loud enough, I become a light source?”

“Temporarily,” you say with a nonchalant shrug. “You basically turn into a human flashlight. But it only works if you’re experiencing emotional distress.”

“Wow, that’s kinda efficient,” Suho says, nodding like he’s already calculating the savings. “Think about how much money I could save on electricity bills.”

You laugh, pulling Suho in a little tighter as you walk, amused by how genuinely he seems to be considering it.

“Sure,” you say. “Right up until your stomach melts and you start farting fire.”

Suho doesn’t even flinch. He looks you dead in the eye, voice dropping to a deadly serious tone.

“Dude. That’s not a problem — that’s literally evolution.”

You nearly trip over your own feet laughing. “No, that’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. Possibly arson.”

Suho grins wickedly. “Okay, but what if I eat two candles?”

Now thoroughly entertained by the absurdity of the conversation, you turn your head to give Suho a questioning look. Your eyebrow quirks in amusement as you mirror his grin. You’re just about to fire back with something equally ridiculous — maybe something like 'Then you qualify as a lamp and need a license' — but before you can get the words out, fate intervenes. As you’re focused on Suho, your eyes fixed on his face, you fail to notice the person directly in front of you. In the chaos of the crowded hallway, it’s all too easy to get distracted, and sure enough, you accidentally slam into someone with a sharp thud.

You jerk back in alarm, your heart racing as you whip around to see what’s happened. Your stomach drops when you see the unfortunate person sprawled out on the floor, eyes wide in surprise.

“Oh shit—” you mutter, stumbling back a step as the shock of the moment hits you. You instinctively grab onto Suho’s arm, using your friend to steady yourself. Your heart races, and you can’t shake the feeling that everything has just gone horribly wrong.

The guy you bumped into is sprawled awkwardly on the floor, looking a little dazed. It’s not clear if he’s sitting up or if he’s fallen completely, but he’s not moving much, save for the slight bob of his head as he tries to shake off the disorientation. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead, partially obscuring his face. Meanwhile, his AirPods are scattered around him, and his backpack has landed in a strange twist, one strap hanging limp on the floor like a forgotten appendage. Your eyes widen in surprise as the sight registers.

Guilt immediately bubbles up in your chest, and you pull away from Suho without thinking, rushing over to the boy’s side. Your feet move faster than your brain can process, already crouching in front of him before you even fully realize what you’re doing.

“Hey, are you okay?” you ask quickly, your voice more frantic than you intend, laced with genuine concern. “Damn, I’m really sorry. I wasn’t paying attention at all.”

Your hands move without thinking, adjusting the boy’s twisted backpack, straightening it with a soft sigh. Your eyes dart to the scattered AirPods, immediately scanning the floor for the tiny pieces. The sight of them makes you feel like you’ve just caused a disaster. A small, apologetic smile tugs at your lips as your fingers gently brush across the cold floor, and a small sigh of relief escapes you when you finally find all the pieces. You pick them up one by one, treating them as if they were fragile treasures.

Just as you’re about to hand them back, you look up, only to find the boy staring at you. And not just a glance — he’s locked in a silent, intense gaze, his dark eyes fixed on your face with an unblinking focus that feels almost like being caught in the headlights of a speeding car.

And that’s when you fully register who he is. Yeon Sieun — that’s his name, the one on the tag stitched neatly into his uniform. You’ve seen him around before, sure, but never up close like this. Sieun’s dark brown hair is soft and slightly tousled, falling into his eyes in a way that’s almost endearing. The bangs just barely brush his forehead. But what really strikes you are his eyes — dark, deep, and so expressive. There’s something mesmerizing and… honestly, really breathtaking about them, something that pulls you in without warning. You can’t help but think, Wow, those are some eyes. You couldn’t tear your gaze away even if you tried.

“…My AirPods,” Sieun mutters, his voice soft but clear, snapping you out of your trance.

You blink, realizing just how long you’ve been staring. You look down at the earbuds in your hand, then back at Sieun, mentally scrambling to catch up with the situation.

“Oh! Right, your AirPods,” you say quickly, the words spilling out faster than you intend. You instantly feel like a complete idiot, realizing how ridiculous you must seem. “Sorry about that. Here.”

Sieun’s fingers brush against yours as he takes the AirPods, and you can’t help but notice the stark contrast in your hands. His are smaller, more delicate, while yours feel large and clumsy in comparison. The moment lingers for a second too long, and you find yourself standing awkwardly, unsure of what to do next. You shift your weight, feeling a sudden rush of heat in your cheeks as you reach down to offer a hand to help Sieun up.

Sieun, however, just stares at your outstretched hand. His gaze flicks between your face and the hand offered to him for what feels like an eternity. Long, awkward seconds stretch by before he finally hesitates and, with a small sigh, places his hand in yours, letting you pull him up to his feet. The height difference becomes more apparent now, with Sieun having to tilt his head up slightly to meet your eyes. It’s… cute. Really cute. You can’t help but think it’s endearing, but you quickly push that thought aside, focusing instead on the odd tension in the air.

Just then, a pointed cough pierces the silence, and you snap your head around to see Suho standing a few steps away, arms crossed, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. Oh, right. You’re still in the middle of a school hallway, and this moment of awkwardness isn’t going to last forever.

You quickly turn back to Sieun.

“Are you okay?” you ask again, your voice softer this time, a genuine concern lingering in your words. You never really got an answer the first time, and you need to make sure the boy is all right.

Sieun blinks, taking a moment to process before muttering under his breath, “Hm. You walk like a drunk giraffe.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, a light chuckle escaping you despite the awkwardness of the situation.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you reply, the awkward tension of the situation easing just a bit.

Just to be sure, you quickly scan Sieun for any visible injuries. When you don’t see any bruises or scrapes, a small sigh of relief escapes you, and a genuine smile returns to your face. Then, without thinking too much about it — more out of habit than anything else — you reach up and brush a stray lock of hair away from Sieun’s forehead, a gesture you often make with Suho when you’re joking around.

“I’m really sorry again,” you say, your voice warmer now. “See you in class, Sieun.”

You give a quick wave and turn to rejoin Suho, who’s already giving you a teasing look. As you begin walking away, Suho gives you a playful slap on the back, causing you to stumble a little.

And Sieun stays there for a moment, watching you walk off with a look of complete disbelief in his eyes.

If the hallways had been loud, then the cafeteria was on a whole different level — it was complete and utter chaos. Voices bounced off the high ceilings, chairs scraped across the floor, trays clattered, and someone in the back was already yelling over a spilled drink. It was the usual lunchtime madness at Byuksan High School.

You and Suho had managed to snag one of the last empty tables, sitting across from each other with trays of lukewarm cafeteria food between you. Suho, as expected, had not stopped talking since you sat down — and worse, he hadn’t stopped teasing you either. For ten excruciating minutes, he’d been reenacting the hallway incident with far too much enthusiasm; flailing arms, dramatic sound effects, and talking with his mouth so full of rice that you had to look away to keep your appetite.

“Yah,” Suho said again, barely containing another round of laughter. He pointed his chopsticks across the table like they were weapons. “You demolished that poor guy. Like — full body slam. Out of nowhere. Just bam!”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face as you chewed on a mouthful of rice. You didn’t dignify the reenactment with a response — instead, you casually tapped Suho’s chopsticks aside with your own and shot him a look.

“Yah,” you mimicked dryly. “Eat your damn food before I glue your mouth shut.”

But Suho wasn’t fazed. In fact, he doubled over laughing, almost choking on a piece of kimchi in the process. Several nearby students glanced over, clearly wondering what was so funny. You, though thoroughly annoyed, couldn’t help the faint grin tugging at the corner of your lips. No matter how dumb Suho was being, his energy was infectious. You shook your head and exhaled, somewhere between amused and exasperated. This was just Suho — loud, ridiculous, and completely incapable of letting a moment pass without turning it into a joke. But still, you wouldn’t change a thing. As chaotic as he was, Suho had a way of making everything around him feel a little lighter.

Still, even as Suho went on ranting about how you might be charged with ‘attempted murder by shoulder-check’, your mind drifted. Back to the hallway. Back to him. Back to Sieun. The image returned in full detail; tousled hair, serious eyes, that slightly blank but piercing look — like he could see right through you without saying a single word. It had lasted seconds, maybe less, but it had stuck to you like gum on the bottom of a shoe. Inescapable.

“Yeon Sieun,” you murmured, almost to yourself, letting the name roll off your tongue like you were tasting it. “He was kinda cute.”

The words hung in the air for a second.

Suho froze. Literally froze — like someone had hit pause on him. His cheeks were still puffed out, his mouth full, eyes wide open. For a second, he just sat there, unmoving, staring at you with a look that hovered somewhere between shock and betrayal. If you had thrown a pencil at his head right then, he probably wouldn’t have even blinked. He looked like a hamster who had just witnessed a crime.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“What did you just say?” Suho demanded, leaning forward now, chopsticks clutched in one hand like he was ready to cross-examine you.

“That he was cute?” you repeated, nonchalant as ever.

“Yeah, that!” Suho jabbed his chopsticks through the air like he was pointing out a crime scene. “That.”

You just stared, visibly unfazed.

“What?” you asked again, head tilting slightly, your tone genuinely confused — as if Suho were the one acting weird, not you.

There was a beat of silence as the two of you just… stared. Suho was squinting now, chewing much more slowly, eyes narrowed like he was trying to read hidden subtext in your face. Meanwhile, you looked like a golden retriever trying to understand quantum physics — head cocked, eyebrows lifted slightly, lips pressed into a casual line. Then came the question, dropped in a flat tone, like it was both an accusation and a revelation.

“Wait… you’re into guys?”

“Yep,” you said without missing a beat, lifting a spoonful of rice to your mouth as if you were talking about the weather.

The sound that followed was a metallic clink — Suho had dropped his chopsticks straight onto his tray. He was now leaning over the table, mouth slightly open, eyes comically wide. He looked like someone had just revealed a long-lost twin or told him the cafeteria food was actually edible.

“Wait— seriously?!”

You looked up mid-chew and nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I told you. Like… two years ago? Three?”

Suho’s eyes went wide. “No, you didn’t!”

“Yes, I did. You were half-asleep, and I said, ‘By the way, I think I like guys.’ You grunted and then asked me if I wanted your extra pudding cup.”

Suho squinted, trying to rewind the memory. Slowly, realization dawned.

“Wait. That… actually sounds like something that happened.” He looked betrayed by his own brain. “I thought you were joking!”

You chuckled, setting your spoon down. “Yeah, I figured you did. But I wasn’t. You just never brought it up again, so I assumed you got the memo.”

Suho leaned back, eyes still wide, but the shock was quickly melting into amusement. “Damn. And here I thought you were just a sad little loser who couldn’t get a girlfriend—”

Before Suho could launch into another overly dramatic reaction, you reached across the table and shoved a big bite of rice into his mouth using your chopsticks. Suho sputtered mid-protest, nearly choking on the unexpected ambush.

“Mmph— what the— mmphf!” he mumbled through a mouthful of rice.

“Chew,” you said, grinning as Suho glared at you with puffed cheeks like an angry squirrel.

You both burst out laughing after that — loud and unfiltered, the kind of laughter that made other students glance over, but neither of you cared. The conversation drifted into nonsense again : dumb jokes, petty arguments about food, and exaggerated gossip about your classmates. Nothing heavy. Nothing different. And yet, even as you polished off the last bites of your food and wiped your mouth with a crumpled napkin, your thoughts kept circling back to one place.

Or rather, to one person; Yeon Sieun.

No matter how loud Suho got or how silly your banter turned, you couldn’t shake the memory of those eyes — quiet, unreadable, and somehow still echoing inside your chest.

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note ∘ ∘ ∘ i hope you’ll enjoy this chapter! feel free to let me know what you think of the story and please don’t hesitate to reblog or leave a like — it really helps motivate me to keep writing! 🩶

taglist ∘ ∘ ∘ @suunani @naelvze @ecrvea @eijizwrld @dudekiss3r @ten0rikuma @nnryota @yeon103 @reiyaus @strawberrywith-chocolate2 @daichiwkmi @jaymiwrld @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @nightshadelover12 @edensparadisee @heeknow @mazettns @academiq @iluvkyo @cinnabells @carnalcrows @wingoodlilboymyway @marsredbrrr @energydrinkstastegood @aeilani @prettywhenicry4 @starrykie (let me know if you wanna be added!)

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drgnflyteabox · 9 months ago

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lament [1]

part one -> honey || part two -> sugar series masterlist

john price x fem reader summary: as you recover from prolonged illness, you meet a man on a hike in the woods just as strange things begin happening around you. tags/warnings: creepy, phone sex, injuries, pneumonia, mobility aids, softdom!price, dubcon due to intoxication

The woods are a peaceful, meditative thing. You’ve been spending your mornings there walking with Diva, meandering through the local trails and venturing off for pictures of red mushrooms or Diva in her little yellow raincoat, sniffing something or other.

The trails were scarcely used and took a couple of hours to finish, a longer trek in taller trees that closed off the sunlight and created peace through insulation, like an echo chamber of wet pitter patter from rain the night before and the gentle calls of birds, broken only by the sounds of your hiking shoes crunching gently through pebbles and leaves.

Quiet. It’s just what you need, slowly erasing memories of bright fluorescent lights and the smell of antiseptics. The trail isn’t elevated, it’s long, but not elevated. That’s important for your recovery, two months spent in a hospital bed attached to breathing apparatus.

Relief, freedom, as slow as your steps are and as beleaguered is your breathing, it’s pure relief. You’re no longer breathing through a straw, building strength walk by walk, spending time with Diva and watching her little tail wiggle under her coat. This time is good for her, too. You could sink to your knees and praise a higher being for the time off and sick pay policies your job has - so could Diva.

The shaking continues, your limbs still weak, muscles unused to standing and walking. You often find yourself sitting, on a log or a rock, and taking time to breathe and recover. Sometimes a granola bar makes its way into the mix, sometimes a handful of trail mix.

The last few times, there’s been a man. Tall, imposing, walking much quicker than you even with a brace around his knee. His posture tells you he takes himself pretty seriously, or he’s military, if there’s any difference.

Mutton chops, mustache, cargo pants. He’s been coming up behind you with sure steps, barely a limp even with his knee, and going by you so fast there's a breeze, makes you a little nervous to get mowed down.

Diva is weary of him. Her hackles raise, though she doesn’t bark, and she tucks close to you when he goes by. You don't feel unsafe, just a little surprised at the break in monotony no matter how tiny it is.

Doesn’t help that it’s pretty nice watching him go, that broad back and tight shirt, those well sculpted legs. Hey, you’re still sick and weak, still recovering. Sue me, you think, leaning on a tree when your lungs start burning again a little too much.

He stops, a few feet in front of you.

“You broken?” His voice is just as you imagined, rough maybe from smoking, maybe from overuse.

“What?” Broken?

“You alright?” He repeats, turning then. The quiet is a little oppressive now, with your struggle. You’re wheezing.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine-” you cough, dryly. “Just asthmatic.” It’s an easy explanation, you’re trying to get him to move on. You’ve never felt in danger, but it’s still the middle of the woods and he’s still a strange man.

“Need a hand?” He has to look down at you, even from a distance. His head is tilted down, arms folding across his chest, biceps calling to you like sirens.

You shake your head, squatting down as best you can, taking the breaths learned from your doctor and pulling out your steroid inhaler. One puff, two puff.

The man looks at you skeptically, eyes small and narrowed, flitting once to Diva who would fail as a service dog, but tries her best at guarding you despite being so small. Her gaze is pinpointed to him, as stiff as he is.

”Right, then,” is all he says before he’s back to his soldiers march.

You imagine him with horse blinders on and pulling a sled behind him, wheezing a laugh into the empty air.

Recovery is not linear. That’s what your doctor tells you, what you were told before you left the ICU, before you were discharged all together. There’ll be ups and downs, moments where you feel you’ve backslid to the point of having to start all over.

You get it, really. It’s a mantra. Recovery is not linear.

What they don't warn you is that it’s different when you’re actually feeling it, waking up weaker than ever and coughing, burning in your chest. It’s jarring, every cell in your body crying for oxygen and yet you aren’t low enough that you need to go back to the ER, just sit up in bed and stare out the window to the fortress of green that surrounds your house.

Recovery is not linear. You watch comfort shows - animated Halloween specials, a couple months too early. They fit the cooling temperatures, the slow yellowing of the trees.

Food is hard when you can’t stand for long periods of time, so you order in. Soup, and an extra chicken crunch treat for Diva on her dinner.

It’s only when you turn Charlie Brown off that you hear it.

Tap tap tap. Deliberate, timed taps, like a mini hammer on a mini nail. Quiet enough that your ears strain, and yet you can just barely catch the sound. It’s coming from the side of your house, opposite to your bedroom and closest to the living room you were just in.

Tap tap tap. Maybe it’s the vibe you put yourself in, but you shiver with apprehension. Could be an animal, you do live fairly far out, and by the woods. Your driveway is long, separated from the highway just outside of town.

Diva is usually a false alarm - she raises her hackles at the stove, she’s not trustworthy when it comes to alerting you. And yet you look, and find her standing straight up and staring at the wall the sound is coming from, lips peeling back.

Only there's nothing you can do. You aren’t gonna go check, not with your weak limbs and thin breath. Theres a landline in the kitchen with a long cord, and your cellphone. The best you can do is lock the windows and doors, which you do, shuffling so as to make the least amount of noise possible.

Next the lights and curtains, drawn and shut. You tuck a knife under your mattress, more for reassurance than anything, and close your bedroom door behind Diva.

The only reason you’re able to sleep is the bedroom door locks. The handle has one, and there’s a chain above that. You tuck into bed under the covers like a child hiding from their closet, straining to hear the tap tap tap. Sometime between you locking all the entries and exits, it stopped, but you’re still unmoored.

Your lungs fare better the next morning, eased by rest. You’re back in the woods by late morning, driving up to the trailhead through the canopy of trees. It really is beautiful, part of the reason you moved here, other than peace and quiet.

There's another car as you pull up, a reliable model in a dark colour, a surprise since you’re usually the first one there.

You park away from it in an effort to not be creepy, but still sneak a peak while Diva does her post-car ride shakeout and pee.

It’s the man from before, sitting in the front seat, talking on a phone. He looks serious, frowning, talking in a measured way but you can still hear the volume as you pass by.

He waves, and you wave back, giving him a little smile.

Diva leads the way, prancing into the woods without fear even as the leaves start blocking out the sun. She inspires you - a little dog, brave, braver than you were last night.

God, it was probably a rabbit or a possum stuck somewhere. Maybe a mouse, and though you hope it isn’t it is the season for them. Cooler temperatures means creatures trying to enter your house. Means you have yet to drive down to town and pick up insulation supplies for your windows before fall really hits and you’re freezing.

Making a mental note of that, you lean heavily on your walking stick and pause. It’s one of those days, needing more aid than usual after yesterday and more breaks.

Crunch.

“Sorry, honey,” the army man holds his arms up, seeming sheepish as you flip around to face him. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” your cheeks burn in embarrassment. “Just jumpy today.”

“That’s alright,” his eyes crinkle at the corners, softening at the edges. He’s approachable today, not speed walking through the woods like there's a pot of gold at the end. “Mind if I join you?”

Unexpected, but with your eyes at pec-height it’s an easy yes. You deserve a handsome escort for the second half of the trail, and your emergency alarm is tucked in your front sweater pocket if you need it.

“Sure,” you nod. “I’m pretty slow, though, just to warn you. Recovering.”

“That’s fine, I should be taking it easier anyway. Make my physio happy for once,” he gestures to his knee with a chuckle. “John.”

You tell him your name. John. It suits him, the masculinity of it, the simpleness too. He gives the impression that he’s careful about how he presents himself, that outside of this sudden friendliness he’s very closed off - the way he was when you’d come across him before. Now he calls you honey, and touches his fingertips to your back as you navigate a patch of rough terrain warped by roots.

“I’m off until my knee is battle-ready, again,” he says it like it’s a joke, but there’s a steel edge beneath his words. You ask about his job: contract work, he says, not self-employed but with pockets of free time.

“Did you move here recently?” The wind shivers the trees, chillier than last week, as you meander.

“Ah, didn’t move here,” he scratches his thumb with his nose. “Staying with a friend. Needed the fresh air.”

“I get it,” your shoulder brushes his arm. “That’s why I moved here too.”

“Helps your asthma?”

You pause for a moment, confused. And then.

“Oh!” You’re a little embarrassed. “I don’t have asthma, actually. I mean I could have it, or develop it. But really I had pneumonia for a while, really wiped me out.”

“Ah, I see,” his voice says surprised, but his face stays the same. You wonder if he notices. “Terrible, that. My mum had a bad bout of it a couple years back, gave us a scare.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” you aren’t sure how old John is, but you can assume it was dangerous for his mother to have caught such a bad infection. “How’s she doing now?”

“Much better. Healthy as a goat.”

“A goat?” You’re laughing, then. A giggle that has him smiling back at you. “Haven’t heard that one before.”

John hums when he doesn’t reply verbally, and nods like you’re giving a university lecture. The attentiveness is nice, but it makes you self conscious, unused to having so much attention so focused on you. And he is so focused, like you’re discussing nuclear launch codes or what a quark is or something important. Honestly, it makes you hide your face in an embarrassingly shy way, avoiding eye contact.

He walks with you slowly, patiently down the path, arms crossed behind his back. Every once in a while either or the two of you laugh, which seems to bother Diva, whose been looking back at John suspiciously or trying to get between you the whole time.

“So sorry about that,” you really don’t know what’s gotten into her. Sure, she’s a pro at finding innocuous things suspicious, but you’ve been walking for a while now and she usually warms up when she realizes you’re okay with the offensive person or item.

“Don’t worry about it, honey,” honey again. He sure knows how to make a lady flustered. “She’s just looking out for her mama, right?”

If your pussy reacts to that, it’s no one’s business but your own.

The air chills, day by day. John has begun joining you on your walks every other day, and sometimes you catch him jogging to the trailhead from the road instead of driving it. It makes you wonder where he’s, whether it’s close or he’s really pushing his knee, and whether or not he’s flirting with you when he shows up all sweaty in a tight shirt.

Another anomaly is that the tapping has returned, nearly every night. You’re scared every time, won’t even let Diva out for a final pee and have stuck to walking up at the buttcrack of dawn to make sure she’s taken care of.

Tedious, is what it is. Ridiculous. And yet when those little taps come, in different places around the house now, different walls, you hide under the covers with Diva growling her little growl at the bedroom door and try to sleep.

When cabin fever starts to set in, anxiety and insane thoughts like, what if someone is trying to break into my house? You decide it’s past time for a visit to town.

The trip serves many purposes, anyways. Diva needs treats, kibble, and a new ball. You need groceries, tampons, new socks. Overall worth it outside of the fresh air and human interaction with more than just one person.

“Hey! Hey you!”

You’re in the bakery, weighing with your hands two loaves of artisanal bread. Just the one will do, since your freezer is small, but you want both. Pumpernickel or dark rye? Which will go better with the honey ham sandwich slices?

“Hello? Earth to-”

Your deliberation is interrupted by a waving in your face. You realize Jo, your only real friend in town, has run across the street to catch your attention.

“Oh gosh, my bad,” you look down at your shoes, then reach for a hug. She squeezes you.

“That’s okay, babe, off in your own world?” She’s dazzling, too cute for such a small town. Her ringlets bounce on her shoulders and her mouth, which is always smiling, is stretched wide with mirth. Makes you feel warm inside that she cares for you.

“Trying to make a hard decision. You know, end world hunger or stop all wars.” Stupid, but she laughs. You love making her laugh, and if you were lesbian you’d have made a move on her. Maybe you were, just a little.

“Why not both?” Her hands find your shoulders and squeeze. It’s then that you notice someone behind her, a much taller someone. At first the muscled chest and thick neck make you think it’s John, and a small squeeze of jealousy grips your stomach.

Then you see the mohawk, the difference in height. This man is looking at you with a similar intensity, though, all piercing blue eyes, thick furrowed brows, pin-straight posture.

“You’re right,” your laugh is more awkward, then, motioning with your eyes to the man.

“Oh, I’m so rude,” she turns to him. “This is Johnny, we met a few weeks ago.”

A wink. Ah, they met a few weeks ago. You picture them in the only bar in town, low lighting and Jo looking like Botticelli’s Venus, plump cheeks and red lips. And yeah, Johnny’s pretty good looking. You’d laugh about the mixup and the names if it wasn’t rude.

“Nice tae meet ya,” his accent is thick, palm warm and rough against yours. “Shall we, lass?”

He’s talking to Jo. They exchange glances, him looking at you once so fast you almost miss it. There’s something uncomfortably familiar about the look he gives you, but you shake it off. Nerves, you think. From the taps.

“Right,” Jo looks a little sheepish, then. “We’re off to the movies, but nice to see you!”

You raise a brow. You can’t help it, it’s 10am. Jo laughs and they leave.

You bake, sometimes. It’s a good hobby for someone on a leave of absence with nothing much else to do but read, walk and play with her dog.

The oven sometimes scares Diva, and she curls up in your room indignantly until you’re done using it. You’ve always wondered why, since she came to you as a puppy and hasn’t got a single reason to be upset with the appliance.

Oh well.

You decide to bring brown butter chocolate chip cookies on your hike, hoping to see John and give him one. Your interactions haven’t progressed past leisurely chatting and walking together, but he’s a handsome man and you're still a little stir-crazy. At least with work, it wasn’t just hours on hours of uninterrupted alone time.

Funny how that works, isn’t it? You spend every day at work wishing not to be at work, and once you have the opportunity you have no idea what to do with yourself.

John loves the cookies. He takes two right out of the Tupperware, flattering you by groaning as he eats. The recipe is that good, but you think he might be putting it on a bit anyway.

It’s sweet.

“Fantastic,” he says, licking his fingers. You try not to look. “You bake often?”

“Just something to do, keeps me busy.” Diva has growled at John again, her second offense. She’s being a real heel today, rude and fussy. You elect to schedule a vet visit for a checkup soon.

“No one to keep you company in that house?” He stops when you need to stop, takes the opportunity to stretch his bad leg.

“What?” You take a puff of the inhaler, frowning a little.

“Are you lonely?” A weird question, but you chalk it up to small town weirdness.

“A little, but that one over there keeps me company,” as if she knows, she turns and yips. “What do you mean, that house?”

“You mentioned you live in your grandfather's house, no? Inherited it.” He chuckles at Diva.

“Did I? I don’t think…” you fully frown, thinking back to your conversations. Did you mention that? You haven’t even thought of it yourself for a while, not wanting to revisit painful memories. Your grandpa did pass you his house, but you’re usually more private than offering more than surface-level information to strangers.

“I believe so,” he looks deep in thought himself, squinting up at the umbrella of trees above you. That comforts you, the fact that he’s trying to recall. You’ve been so anxious lately.

“I must have forgotten, sorry. I’ve just been so scrambled lately.” John perks up at that, turning towards you as you finally continue walking.

“Scrambled?” His palm finds the back of your arm, the meat of it. He squeezes you, and it fills you with warmth. “How so?”

“Ah, well, just some animals around my house. I think,” you meet eyes, and he gets the best of you, so you elect to stare between his brows.

“Want me to take a look?” His tone is very serious. You shiver.

“I don’t think it’s necessary… I think there’s just some mice making a home for winter. I gotta call an expert,” He slides his hand down to your elbow, holding it gently. You’re nearing the end of the trail, the woods getting brighter around you. Diva marks her territory here more than anywhere else and yips at John again.

“I could do it for free though, honey,” the air drops where you are, a gust of wind creating a symphony of sound all around you. A little romantic, you think. Ridiculous.

“Well,” far be it from you to pass up free help. “Only if you let me pay you back somehow.”

“You have already,” he holds up the cookie Tupperware, shaking it gently.

“Then let me make you dinner. Whatever you want!” The enthusiasm in which you say it has you cringing at yourself, but mentally you justify it; it’s completely normal to invite a friend over, especially to pay back a favour. You’re not being obvious that you’re attracted to him at all, no sir. Definitely not scared and in need of comfort, Mr John sir.

“Sounds like a plan. I’m free after 7 o’clock.”

You elect to be cliche and make British food. Good British food, a proper roast. Something you’d had a few times with friends in pubs or that time you’d visited London as an exchange student. Hot, smothered in gravy, salty and perfect with a mug of beer British food. You really hope he likes it, that he doesn't think you’re weird or making fun of him for his accent.

John is a proper gentleman, so punctual that he knocks on your door the very second it turns to 7:30 on your oven timer.

Diva has to battle her hatred of the stove with her need to announce a guest, staying in hallway purgatory barking at both.

The smell of garlicky roast beef, rosemary and thyme, salt and boiling potatoes is rife in the air, no doubt spilling into the woods through your badly insulated windows.

The moment it hits John, you can see it. Your door opens, creaking, and his eyes fix to you so quickly it’s almost physical.

“Hey! Thanks for coming,” you open it, motioning for him to come in. “Don’t mind Diva, she’s not a fan of the oven being on.”

He toes his boots off, still staring, like you’re a prize heifer and he’s set on buying you at the farm auction. A little sexy, mostly nerve wracking. Diva peeks around the corner at him and the sound of her little nails on the hardwood breaks the tension.

“Smells like home,” he leans closer to you to put his coat up on the rack. “You really went through all this trouble?”

“It’s the least I can do for your help.” At that moment, he seems to remember.

“Right, the mice. Want to show me where you heard them, or can I not steal you away from the stove?” His voice deepens as he talks, intensifying, grating hot coals and growling like a bear. Blue, focused eyes find the half-apron you’re wearing. You swear his pupils dilate, but he shakes his head before you’re sure.

“I can show you, there’s still a few minutes left for everything.”

The air is biting outside, cold with the evening breeze and dark already. So dark you equip your biggest, brightest flashlight and walk around the house with him, explaining the taps all around.

“I figure it’s them trying to dig holes so they can get in,” you hand the flashlight to him, feeling your fingers brush, and shivering in response. “I’ve been too chicken to check, to be honest. I keep thinking it’s a person walking around, not some animal.”

John nods as you speak, squatting by your little tool shed, looking diligently and moving items as he needs to. Then, he looks up, smiling a little.

“Why don’t you head inside, darling? Let me take care of this.”

“Sure,” you squeak. Squeak. Your stomach makes a knot and you scurry like one of the mice he’s looking for back into the house to mash the potatoes and make the gravy.

You are quite proud of this meal, not a proper cook by a long shot but it looks and smells pretty good. The Yorkshire puddings are alright, too, and that was the hardest part. Plus, you think, it’s free food. He’s gotta be happy with the effort, even if he winds up not liking it, right? That’s something your mother always told you. Someone’s put in a lot of effort for this meal, she’d say, pointing at you with a long nail. Better eat it.

“Think I found the little buggers,” John startles you just a little as he comes in, toeing his boots off again. You’re plating his plate, huge portions of mash potato and roast carrot and brussel sprouts nestled to the beef. His eyes look at the plate, then to you, then down to your apron, and you pretend you can’t see him adjusting his pants.

This isn’t what you think it is, you remind yourself. Two friends, one lending a hand and the other paying them back. You don’t even know his last name.

“Oh god, how bad was it?” You ladle gravy over his portion, then yours, pretending to be unaffected when he walks into your kitchen and takes a huge sniff.

“Not too bad. I’ll have to come back with some traps, if that’s alright.” You want to say John, you can come back anytime, but you don’t.

“Glad to know it was mice at least,” that’s the truth. A feeling you didn’t totally realize you had turns from paranoia into relief. “I was really scared it was some creep walking around my house, trying to get in.”

“Here,” John takes his plate when you hand it to him, but puts his phone into your hands before you can get yours. “Put your number in there, honey. Call me if anything like that happens.”

Honey. You fucking love that, so much it renders you temporarily mute as you punch in your number. He doesn't let you bring your own plate to the table, picks it up while you’re busy and comes back to shepherd you there with a palm on your lower back.

“Thank you,” you say, struck timid by his casual and yet firm guidance of you.

Diva makes an appearance for supper, summoned by the smell of beef and the oven being turned off. Her little claws tip tap against the hardwood as she circles your chair, tucks herself under the table looking for scraps, and whines at John while he’s trying to eat.

You nudge her away from him with a socked foot, stuttering that she isn’t usually like this, honest, only for him to brush it off kindly.

After supper, when you’re full and you can’t handle him looking at you with those half-lidded, well-fed bear eyes anymore, you move to pick up the dishes and bring them to the kitchen.

“Ah ah,” John cuts in front of you, stealing the plates and cutlery. “You cooked, I’ll clean.”

Useless to argue - he’s built like a brick shithouse. You’re forced to pack up the leftovers, one container for you and one for him to take home. For no reason other than you’re feeling especially soft and gooey, you wrap up a few homemade fig and date granola bars for him to take too.

“Thank you,” he gruffs, rolling his sleeves to his elbows, flexing his forearm muscles, making you hot again.

“It’s really the least I can-”

Snap. Fuck, the day that creepy noises don’t happen near your house is the day you convert to whatever religion that’ll make it happen. Both your heads turn to the living room window, where the sound came from, a crack in the otherwise quiet night air.

Anxiety curls in your stomach, sharp and dreadful. You try to remind yourself that you live in the woods for gods sake, there’s gonna be sounds, but that awful sense of danger is back and if you were Diva your hackles would be raised.

John frowns, wiping his hands on a towel. He doesn't seem as phased as you are, probably because he’s not worried over boogeymen haunting the forest like you are, but when he looks back at you and sees your fright he leans in and murmurs that he’ll go take a look.

“It’s okay, it’s probably one of my furry friends,” you try, but he shakes his head, putting a palm on your hip for a brief moment as reassurance and then he’s out the door.

God, you’re so nervous you whip out a bottle of wine, desperate for a little courage. The feeling is so strange, you’re used to feeling safe and cushioned by your home, by the forest. Even your little dog whimpers, tapping her way into the kitchen, rubbing her face on your leg like a cat. She’s a comfort still, something about there being a more nervous person (or animal) that inspires bravery. Still, you won't peek out the window.

The wine is good. A little too dry, but still good. A housewarming gift from your mother, even though she knew you didn’t drink unless it was social.

Or unless you were nervously waiting for some man to come back, having dealt with your problems for you. She’d weep to see you, aproned and wringing your hands and sipping red wine too quickly. Whatever, you think. There’s nothing wrong with letting him help.

John comes back in, maybe a few minutes later or maybe a half hour, you can’t tell. Your wine is half empty, and you feel awkward about it so you pour him one without asking.

“Think you’ve got more than one furry friend,” John says, laughter in his voice. In his fingers he’s got tufts of light brown hair, which he holds up. “Dinner, if you hunt.”

“Ah, I don’t,” and you wouldn’t. You’re fine eating meat or even purchasing it from a local hunter to eat, but there’s something in you that’s deeply uncomfortable with the idea. Maybe it’s cowardice, unable to do the dirty work and yet enjoying the fruits of someone else’s labour. Maybe you’re putting stock in something that really isn’t worth stressing over. Either way, you’re overthinking, and only stop when John steps into your space.

“Hey- you alright, darling?” You like darling too, just as much as honey.

“Yeah, sorry,” your hands find the wine glass you poured for him, and you hand it over. One thing about abstaining is that it hits you quickly, even with the big meal. “Want to sit? I’ve got a fireplace.”

You cringe at yourself, not meaning to sound so suggestive. Oh well, he doesn’t seem to mind, just nods and takes you by the elbow again to your living room.

“This all the heading you’ve got?” John asks.

“Er, no. I have to get my windows insulated for winter, then I can turn the heating on without it all going to waste. For now, I make do with the fireplace,” when you sit, Diva runs to you both and demands to be swaddled in her blanket. It’s an old knitted one, a college project finished between essay assignments and readings. There’s sentimental value there, especially with your pup who doesn’t even let the presence of a strange man come between her and her cozying up.

“I can help with that,” John says. Briefly, Westley pops into your head shouting As you wish! and it makes you smile.

“That’s okay,” you sip, tasting spice. Would’ve been good with dinner. “I owe you double now for helping me again.”

“Not at all, sweetheart.” Oh, he’s full of names - and getting bolder.

The conversation ebbs and flows naturally. Sometimes you both sit in silence, sipping, refilling glasses, staring at the fire. He’s easy to talk to, soothing, his confidence and sureness leaving you relaxed.

“I better get going,” he grunts as he stands, extending a palm to you.

“Are you okay to drive?” You’re half worried, half disappointed. There’s been a steadily building sense of heat between your legs the entire evening, brought on by his touches and his pet names and his taking care of you

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I live close-by.” That’s one mystery solved.

“Well, okay. But will you call when you get home?” If you weren’t three glasses in, you might be embarrassed. John crinkles his eyes at you while he puts his boots on.

“John?” You’re in your pajamas, face hastily cleaned with a makeup wipe. Your door is double locked again, anxiety beaten down by the wine.

“I’m home,” he sounds distant. You can’t really hear anything, just his breathing, the sounds of him taking off his coat and his boots. “You tucked in bed, sweetheart?”

“I am,” you breathe, eyes slipping, drunker than you thought you were. “Did you drive okay?”

“I did,” he laughs. His keys jingle and make a clamor as he tosses them. You imagine him in a house that fits him, a log cabin or a house built by hand, before remembering he’s talking with someone. Disappointment dampens you a little.

“I guess I should let you get to bed then,” you try to keep it out of your voice, but you’re curled on your side with a hand pressed against your clothed pussy and it’s hard not to be sad at the fact that you have no idea if he’s actually been flirting with you, or just being friendly.

“You sound disappointed,” either he’s perceptive, or you’re more obvious than you’re trying to be. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you without saying goodnight.”

A pulse, between your legs. You rub with all four fingers, moving the phone away from your mouth.

“That’s okay, I don’t want to keep you,” you scrunch your eyes shut, trying to stop, not being able to. You’re starved, really, haven’t been touched or talked to like you’re desirable in quite some time and he makes you feel safe. Taken care of.

“You touching that wet little cunt, sweetheart?” A shockwave, from your nipples tightening to your toes tingling, curling. You stop hiding, breathing whines into the phone.

“I’m so sorry,” you mumble, biting your lips. It feels like permission, and maybe it is or maybe it isn’t, but you stuff your hand into your pants and start focusing on your needy clit. “I’m so-”

“Shh, sh, sh,” you hear a mattress creak, a grunt, and imagine him laying back. Maybe palming his cock. “That’s okay, baby, I could tell how needy you were.”

Panting, you stuff two fingers in your soft hole, grinding your palm into your clit. You hear him making sounds, quieter than you, but you’re straining to hear them.

He starts talking you through it, murmuring into your ear, calling you sweetheart and honey and baby, telling you to put three fingers in and to play with your tits.

“Go ahead and touch your nipples, sweetheart, go on,” his breath is growing laboured. “Needed to come so she could sleep, did she?”

For a moment, you think he’s talking about you.

“Poor little pussy needed some attention,” his voice gets rougher again, like when he walked in and saw that you had made him a roast. “Give it to her then, baby, go on, let her come.”

That’s all you need. You squeeze your nipples one last time, letting your tits out of your shirt and turning over to hump your hand unashamedly. Your clit drags against your palm still, hips desperately moving, listening to him grunting and groaning on the other side of the call, waiting to hear him come before you let go.

You shake, shiver, curl into yourself as your core tightens and explodes like an elastic band snapping. It’s great, just what you needed, and you’re half asleep by the end of it

“John..” you mumble into your pillow, just enough consciousness left to pull your hand out of your pajama pants.

“It’s alright, it’s time to sleep now, alright? Close your eyes.”

“Alright, John.”

“Good girl,” his voice is distant, sleep taking you, muscles more relaxed than they’ve been in so long.

You’ll deal with the rest in the morning.

428 notes · View notes

thexsilentxwordsmith · 7 months ago

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Part 2 to A New Form of Pleasure

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: There is something that happened between you and your superior, something that unlocked a new side to both of you that neither of you knew about, but Simon may not be as keen to accept it as you are. However, after a bit of silence on his part, a late night visit might just fix everything.

Word Count: 6.4 k

Warnings:

Quiet breathing is the only noise left in the room as both of your bare, glistening bodies lay exhausted in bed, wrapped in a euphoric haze as Simon’s hand draws lazy circles up and down your arm. He continues the pattern for several minutes until that high finally starts to subside and clarity comes rolling back in.

Your eyes scan the small room to find the solitary clock along the wall and seeing how late it is you make the decision that it’s time to head back to your own room. The night is waning faster than you thought and now that the problem has been fixed, you both should really get some sleep.

Without a word you crawl your way out from his side and begin the search for your clothes; you won’t make it far across base naked. Simon props himself up against the wall behind the head of his bed, one arm behind him like a headrest as those dark eyes follow you through the room collecting your clothes to get dressed. Strange thoughts are already swirling around in his mind now that it’s clear of his desire, but he keeps those thoughts locked tight behind his closed lips and just enjoys the sight of your body until those silky curves are once again hidden from his sight.

Your shirt is put on last and with that he too makes it out of bed and tosses on his sweats to walk with you the short distance to the door. “Till next time, yeah?” you say with a light chuckle, delaying the inevitable for a few seconds more so that the heat in your cheeks can die down.

Pulling you back against his warm chest with a strong arm wrapped around your waist, he places another grateful kiss to your lips and the moment you break apart he places his forehead against yours. “Thank you,” he whispers in the space between your raw mouths.

“Anytime,” you say with eyes still closed. “Just say the word and I’m here to do this again.”

He moves back and you shoot him a bright smile as you reach for the door handle before you can talk yourself out of it and just like that you make your way out into the night. His eyes stay on you until he can’t make out your form in the darkness anymore and only then does he head back inside with a question pressing to the forefront of his thoughts.

What the hell has he gotten himself into now?

Days pass in normal fashion, but Simon doesn’t speak a peep about that night; there’s no requests for more encounters, no mentions of how good it was, nothing. You find it odd after all the intensity you had both shared, after the way he had told you how much he really wanted you to make him beg, that all of a sudden it would just be radio silence from him. Perhaps it would just remain a secret that you would share or maybe… maybe he thinks it was a mistake.

Whatever the case you keep it to yourself and things around the base return to the usual standard of monotony that day to day life brings whenever there are no missions scheduled. The only thing that keeps you from over thinking too much is the fact that Simon addresses you as he always has, but you can feel some space between you that hadn’t been there before and it puts a sour taste in your mouth that you can’t seem to shake.

More days pass in this confusing limbo, more nights spent alone in your bed without that thrill of making your superior cum again and now you’re frustrated. It wasn’t just Simon that got opened to something new, you did too and you liked it. Now it’s just over and tonight you’ve just about had it.

“I guess I better just get used to it,” you mutter to yourself as you roll over to turn out the lamp to at least try and get some rest.

You aren’t certain how long you’ve been asleep, but something suddenly breaks you out of your slumber. In your sleepy haze you aren’t entirely sure it’s actually anything until it happens again. Tap, tap, tap. Someone is knocking at your door and it’s getting louder and more frantic. It’s late, much later than having random company would allow and curiosity has you in its grip as you bound out of bed.

“One second,” you call out as you quickly flick on the lamp and blink a few times to adjust to the light.

Another round of knocks ring out and you grab a jacket you have lying about close by to cover your tank top and panties well enough to greet whoever it is on the other side as it’s clear you won’t be able to get fully dressed; must be urgent the way the person doesn’t even seem to react to your message. Quickly you grab for the handle and turn the knob, ready to find out what’s so pressing that you would be disturbed this late.

You open the door barely a crack and there, standing close to the frame, is the hulking form of the lieutenant. His random presence catches you off guard; he is the last person you’d expect to see right now with no previous warning. What the hell is he doing here? Silly question, but you don’t want to assume even though you are quick to pick up on a few signs.

His attention falls to you as he finishes surveying the area around him and those eyes immediately find yours looking up into his balaclava-masked face. You notice something strange in his gaze… like he’s nervous. The sweats he’s currently wearing look as if they’ve been thrown on in a hurry and he isn’t even wearing a shirt, it’s just his dog tags that are over his bare chest. It’s like he’s bolted all the way over here the way he breathes in laborious, heavy draws.

“Bit late don’t you think?” you say, trying to ascertain from his demeanor what the agenda for this visit is. “Can I help you lieutenant?”

Simon clears his throat. “We need ta talk,” he says, ignoring the snide way you utter his title as he rushes to finish speaking as if he doesn’t have the time. “Are ya gonna fuckin’ let me in?”

“I don’t know if I should…” you counter, your sleepy state making it hard to hide how annoyed you are at his sudden appearance.

He knows he deserves it, but he is desperate to get in. “Please,” he pushes; it’s not a word he uses often.

You detect that hint of desperation in his tone and unable to stop yourself you silently fling open the door enough that he can pass by you to get in. Without another word shared between you both he quickly steps inside as you poke your head out. The hallway is quiet, everyone else still asleep for the night. No personnel can be seen moving about which leads you to believe this isn’t a business call… at least that’s what you hope.

You close the door and set the lock out of habit, but as you go to turn around your pithy words about how he better have a good reason to wake you up in the dead of night die on your tongue as you are suddenly forced back first onto the surface of the door and pinned with by two large, rough hands on your hips as bulky muscles press against your stomach. The action is so fast it leaves your mind reeling and grasping for understanding.

“Again,” he growls in a huff, his face inches from yours. “Need it again.”

Simon’s breath is warm as it wafts over your features and you realize his balaclava is already discarded haphazardly on your floor; there is no barrier that now exists between you. The parts of his skin that make contact with your body through your clothing are feverish to the touch; it’s like he’s on fire.

His hands on your hips grip into the muscle harder as he speaks. “Need ya ta make me come again,” he groans, his lips getting closer as he tries to hold back long enough to have this conversation. “Like ya did last time. Can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

“Can’t get off alone again, so you’ve come crawling back to me? Is that it?” you ask, followed by an irked chuckle as you try to steady your breathing, hoping he can’t tell how flustered that little move just made you. He doesn’t get that luxury, at least not yet.

Simon shakes his head slowly. “I’s not that,” he replies, quieting his voice.

“Then what?” You stare back, waiting for his reply.

Simon licks at his bottom lip. “I’s not just ‘bout comin’... I want you, the way ya fuckin’ do it and I’ll do anythin’ ya tell me to jus’ ta have it like that again.”

His needy words stir something inside you, making you feel that boldness you did that night this happened the first time. How could you say no to a request like that? But you can’t just let all that silence that built between you both in the days since that night pass without saying something.

“Care to tell me why you’ve been ignoring the subject then? I thought we had something going last time and ever since you’ve acted like nothing happened. You made me think we were actually gonna keep this up.”

He pauses a moment as he thinks about how best to answer. “I… like tha fuckin’ power ya seem ta have over me,” he admits finally. He knows he’s fucked up and if this has any chance of going anywhere tonight he is going to have to be honest. “Not used to enjoyin’ somethin’ like that and once the pleasure subsided I got self-conscious ‘bout it. I shoulda said somethin’ to ya sooner. I’m not exactly tha best at tryin’ new things.”

Dammit, that’s actually a reasonable excuse. And, of course, you’re already forgiving him. Fuck. “I guess I can understand that,” you admit as he ever so subtly brushes his lips over your own, which doesn’t help you in staying mad at him. “But how do I know you’re not gonna just pull this shit again, hmm? That we’re not gonna keep playing this game where I give you what you need and then you just ignore me till you need it again? Cause guess what, I got needs too you know.”

Releasing one of your hips, his rough fingers come up to mess with the zipper on your jacket as he lets his confession linger in the air a moment until he pushes the edges of your open coat back to see the skimpy bits of clothing you have underneath and his breath hitches. Barely anything on; god damn he is starving.

Simon’s dark eyes meet yours one for a split second before he breaks the short distance between your faces to catch your lips in a desperate and heated kiss that you cannot help but reciprocate with the same intensity. It’s not exactly the answer you wanted, but in this moment it isn’t half bad and all that frustration melts away as your mouths dance in feverish bursts until finally Simon breaks the kiss.

He inhales a shuddered breath. “Because ya got me in a fuckin’ chokehold, luv.”

You swallow hard to collect yourself; you have been waiting for this chance to spread your dominant wings again and now is not the time to get swept up in his overwhelming desire, not if you want to do this right; you need to keep your head.

“Well, then that was a good first start, but I’m gonna need a bit more before I can really forgive you.”

Those coffee eyes drift back up from your flushed lips to your face. “I wanna make this right. I’m at your fuckin’ mercy.”

The dog tags around his neck clank together as he shifts his stance and the sound causes a reaction that makes your hand gravitate to them without even thinking. Your fingers find the chain wrapped around his neck and slip around it, pulling it towards you to grip it tightly in your fist, and tug hard.

The action is unexpected and even though it takes Simon by surprise he cannot help moaning deep and guttural at the feeling of the chain tightening around his throat in such a delicious way. This is why he knew he had to come to you tonight, you are full of surprises and he was doing himself a disservice by staying away.

His reaction is evidence that you’re onto something and you decide to run with it. “Then you best be obedient and get down on your knees,” you whisper into the intimate space between your mouths.

You wrap the chain around your fingers again to make it tighter around his neck and give the tags another hard jerk downward now. That hulking man doesn’t hesitate to follow your direction, slipping out of his shoes and lowering himself to the ground right at your feet like a dog waiting for a treat.

God, it already feels good to be back in this headspace again, he thinks and your thoughts match the same without either of you knowing.

With your free hand, you wiggle your arm until the sleeve of your jacket slips down and you can pull your arm out of it before you switch the chain to the other hand and do the same to the other side. The clothing falls around your feet and there you stand in almost nothing.

Simon’s eyes are immediately drawn to your clothed pussy, but you need him to pay attention and so you jerk the chain. “Eh, eyes up on me. I need you to look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Dark eyes snap back to your face and you smirk. “There you go,” you praise him before issuing your first of many demands. “Now, I want you to listen carefully. You are going to take off my panties… with your teeth.”

Again he immediately follows your order, holding his hands together behind his back to prevent them from getting involved and he leans in to place his lips against your lower abdomen as his teeth latch onto the waistband of your panties. Simon looks up just for a second to see how you tower over him with his makeshift leash wrapped around your delicate fingers.

God, you look so fucking good.

It makes him feel small for the first time since he was a kid. His body feels like it is vibrating at a new frequency now as he drags that small piece of fabric off your hips and down the length of your legs, excitement and ecstasy flooding through him at a rapid pace so that his heartbeat is pounding dangerously fast.

“That tongue of yours is going to have to do a little more forgiving,” you say as he reaches your ankles, his mouth still clinging to that delicate bit of fabric, his face in the floor as he waits for you to step out of them so that he can sit back upright with his prize between his lips.

That’s all the context he needs to know what’s coming and his heartbeat leaps excitedly in his chest at the prospect of having his face buried between your legs. You can see the look in his eyes as he drops the undergarment from his mouth and lets it fall down to the floor between his knees; so eager to please in that aspect, but this isn’t for him, it’s for you.

You chuckle at his electric enthusiasm that you can feel coursing from him as you place your hand at the back of his head. “Don’t get too excited now, you better be sure I can feel just how sorry you are,” you say as you push his head in towards your body, struggling to hide the way your breathing hitches as he gets in close and his balmy lips make contact with the skin on your abdomen.

His lips are already on the move the moment they touch down and he trails them to the mound of your sex, through the trimmed patch of hair at the top of your pussy, before they sink into the bulk of your thick, stocky thighs. Carefully he helps you to adjust your footing so that he can lift your leg.

Propping it up on his own thigh, he sits back on his calves so that his face sits at the same level as your pussy and in a flash he is smothering his face right between those dangerously thick pieces of flesh as you widen your stance with his guidance to make it easier, adjusting the chain in your hand so you don’t lose it. Hardened fingertips dig themselves into your body, forcing you even more firmly against his face until his nose is pressed into your clit and he moves his head back and forth to stimulate it with the tip.

There is little oxygen to be had from the heat between your legs, but it doesn’t matter. The sound of your soft gasp as he penetrates your entrance with his tongue is enough to sustain him until he can come up for air. Lapping and thrusting, wriggling and applying pressure, he writes his apology all over your cunt until the overwhelming euphoria of being devoured washes away the rest of your annoyance at him.

He is relentless in his endeavor, putting his all into eating you out like a goddess deserves. That tongue has moved up to your clit now and with weighty presses over the tiny bean you can barely contain yourself, but you continue to hang on. There is still more work to be done to him and as good as this feels you cannot let it derail your objective.

You raise your hand to the top of his head. “Who do you belong to Simon?” you ask through a moan as you pet over his scalp and through his short hair. “I’m going to need you to say it, out loud, so that I know you aren’t going to stray away from me again. Say it, say you’re mine.”

Simon pulls away from you swiftly. “I’m yours,” he says against your pussy.

You can feel his warm breath on your lips. “Again,” you push for another answer.

His fingers dig into your thighs. “I am yours, sweetheart.”

“Good boy,” you praise and you can feel him shiver against the palm of your hand still resting over the crown of his head.

That military officer eats you out as if he is a man starved, his aggression in taking all he can from you making you lose it fast and you scramble as he goes to come up with what comes next. You hadn’t forgotten his words from the last encounter, how he wanted you to make him beg, and you know that this isn’t the way to make that happen; he would clearly love to drown in you forever and be happy to do it.

The more that pressure that builds at the base of your spine, the less time you have to claw through the haze to create a plan, but as you look up from the top of his head bobbing between your legs your sight lands on your bed and like being struck with lightning, your mind materializes a single image of him tied down, arms outstretched with you on top of him and you know what you want to do.

Calmly you try to pull him from you. “That’s enough,” you coax, but he digs his fingers in harder to your hips.

“Wanna make ya cum,” he groans into your body, but you pull him from you by contorting the chain and taking a step back to get out of his immediate way.

“I’m not done with you yet,” you say with a smirk as you look down into his face to see the lower half glimmering with your slick and his saliva. “It’s time to move on to the next part. Go get on the bed and lay down on your back up by the head… and don’t make me tell you again.”

Wiping the wet mixture from his mouth and chin with the back of his hand, he gets to his feet and heads to the bed just as you directed. You have to do this on the fly since you haven’t had any time to prepare, but thankfully your pack of gear isn’t far and making your way to it, you dive into one of your duffel bags. It takes you a minute, but finally your hand makes purchase with what you are searching for and you pull out a bundle of military issue rope.

“Arms out,” you direct him as you make your way back over to the bed. “I know someone likes to get handsy, so we’re gonna take care of that.”

His eyes stay glued to your movements as you bind his wrists and strap them down to the legs under your bed. It’s a good thing you did because as soon as you finish you stand at the foot and remove your tank top agonizingly slowly, letting your breasts bounce as they fall out and you can see the way his pupils dilate; you know he is itching to get his hands on you again. His sweats start to tent even more than they had from the pleasure of being face-deep in your pussy as you stand there completely naked like the most gorgeous creature he’s ever seen.

Are you a devil, an angel? Whatever you are, he cannot get enough.

Like a lioness stalking through the grass, you slink onto the bed on all fours, moving until you are over top of his legs where you finally stop and your fingers brush across his stomach as you grab at the waistband of his pants. “Lift your hips,” you command and he does.

You pull them down and off his legs and you can see his cock is already pulsing at attention as it springs free from its cage. Fuck, he’s so hard already he can barely see straight and he has to clench his fists tight and take a few deep breaths to calm himself as he waits for further instruction.

Using the pad of your pointer finger, you lightly brush it over his tip and watch as he almost levitates off the bed as he groans. You wait until he has settled back down before you decide to speak, the smile on your face unable to be contained; oh, he is going to be begging alright, once you’re done with him.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do… we are going to play a little game. I want just the tip inside me, that’s it. And you’re going to lay there and let me warm it for a bit. If you can last till I say then I’ll let you fuck me however you want.”

You lean over him to grab his chin firmly in your hand. “Do you understand?”

Simon struggles to keep his eyes from rolling back into his head as your skin brushes against him. Fuck, why did he wait so long for this? “Yes,” he says.

That drugged look in his eyes, you can’t get enough of it. “Yes, what?”

Crap, what should he say? You are waiting for his reply, but his mind is already gone. Luckily the soldier in him takes over. “Yes, sergeant, understood.”

That’ll do. “You’re even better at this than you were last time,” you praise, releasing his chin to position your body over top of him, using his chest as leverage, and you can tell he is holding his breath as you grab his cock to place the head right at your entrance.

“Aww, baby, you better breathe cause we’re going to be here a while,” you say and lower your hips to take the tip inside the threshold of your wet cunt.

Simon is now in a battle with internal demons as he fights himself not to cum from this small bit of insertion, his cock is throbbing something fierce as your body puts the tip in a chokehold. You aren’t faring any better as he stretches you out; all you want is to lower yourself on it all the way, but you push that feeling down and incline yourself forward so you won’t be tempted.

The heartbeat coming up through your palms pressed into his chest is thunderous and you can’t help but smile as you count the strikes to calm down. “There we go,” you say after a moment. “See, you’re already doing so well Si. If you keep this up you’re gonna get what you want, to fuck the shit out of me.”

Minutes pass, but the time passes so incredibly slowly that it feels like hours to the lieutenant. He’d been in all types of high stress situations in his career, but nothing had ever been more overwhelming than having to rest just barely inside you without letting that animalistic part of himself take over to thrust up into you until you both cum.

Sweat starts to gather on his bare chest the longer this goes, a product of the conflict raging inside, and it rolls down in shimmering beads over the curves of his muscles, through the hair covering his chest and abdomen, all the way past his belly button.

You can tell Simon is losing the war with himself to stay still as he unintentionally tries to buck his hips up into you, but he can’t get any purchase as you raise yourself up off him. “Ah, ah, ah, the more you struggle, the less you get,” you tease. “I said just the tip and I meant it. Now, be a good boy and stay still; we’re almost done. You don’t want to lose it right at the end, do you?”

The need is killing him and he can hardly see straight anymore. He wants, no he needs to be deep inside you, but he can’t. You won’t let him. Instead his eyes fixate on something else, anything to give him the strength to survive.

“See something you like?” you ask with a coy smile spread across your lips. “I can see how hard you’re focusing on my nipples.”

“Need ‘em… in my mouth…” he stammers out.

“Then stay still and maybe I’ll let you suck them.”

Forcing himself not to move an inch, he becomes like stone even as his muscles twitch and you move your upper body towards him just enough so that he can lean his head in and capture one of your breasts in his hot mouth.

The moan he lets out in relief is intoxicating, matching the way you feel in between his lips. His suction is strong, pulling as much of the soft, supple tissue into his mouth that he can until breathing becomes nearly impossible.

“You like that?” you ask in a groan of pleasure and he nods enthusiastically.

There’s a light pop as he unsuctions his lips from around the first breast to get at the other one, pulling it into his mouth with just as much enthusiasm as the first one. Your distraction is working a little too well, but on you now and it isn’t long before it’s going to make you break.

You need to end this soon.

“How bad do you want to fuck me now?” you ask, grinding on his tip as you push on his chin to remove him from your nipple so he can at least try and answer.

There is a hazy quality to his eyes now that reminds you of someone after a night out of heavy drinking. He can barely speak as he feels your slick start to drip down his shaft, but he swallows to gather the strength to create a simple sentence. “So fuckin’ bad.” The words feel too cumbersome in his mouth.

“You want me to untie you so you can take me?” you ask, your tone still cocky even as you yourself are falling apart.

“Please,” he grunts.

“Yeah, you gonna ruin this tight pussy? You gonna rail me so hard I can’t walk after?”

You risk lowering down a bit more onto his shaft and he has to bite the inside of his lip in order to answer. ��Gonna ruin you.”

“Then you know what you have to do, Simon. You said it yourself last time and I am going to hold you to it.”

You rotate your hips as you squeeze so that your walls clamp down on him and he chokes on his own saliva as he strains to stay still. His cock is so sensitive he’s sure by now that a little breeze would make him blow his load, but that’s not how he wants it to happen. He’s come this far, the only way he wants to go out is from fucking you.

One more rotation and you stay still to give him a moment to recover; you need his fervent participation for this next part. “ Simon,” you say his name to make him focus on your face again, “beg.”

You’re not gonna go easy on him; that’s just what he wants. “Please,” he says in a whimper, his voice the most meek you’ve ever heard it. It surprises even him that he can sound so pathetic after all the years he’s been the dominant one. “Please, luv, I need ta fuck ya. I’m beggin’ ya luv, please. I’ll… I’ll… I’ll be your good boy. Whateva ya want me ta say, I’ll fuckin’ say it; whateva ya want me ta do, I’ll fuckin’ do it. Jus’ want ta be good for ya so we both can fuckin’ cum.”

“And you’re not gonna pull away from me again?” you ask. “Not gonna deny yourself this type of pleasure from now on?”

“I swear it,” he doesn’t hesitate to answer. “I’m yours, I belong to ya.”

A smile spreads across your lips and fills the features of your face. “Good boy,” you praise as you raise yourself off his body amongst his agonized grunts of displeasure. You move closer to the first wrist to undo the restraint. “That was better than I could have imagined, Simon. I think you’ve more than earned your turn now.”

The tie on his second wrist hasn’t even slipped off the bed before you are forcefully grabbed by the waist and flung onto your back as Simon rips your legs apart and clambers his hulking body in between your thighs. He looks down and sees the effect your teasing has had on you too as the lips of your pussy are covered with your arousal.

What a pretty fucking sight.

But there’s something he’s been thinking of since you grabbed his dog tags back at the start of all this, one last thing he wants you to do as he pounds you into the mattress. Grabbing both of your arms by the wrists he wrenches them up so that your hands are near his neck. He releases them from his grasp and uses his own hands to encircle yours around his throat.

“Squeeze, hard,” he growls as he leans in to capture your lips and you apply ample pressure to the sides of his neck.

It’s like flicking on a switch and his kisses turn rough and intense in a second so that he is devouring your mouth with everything he has, shoving his tongue to the back of your mouth until you are so full of him just as you will be down below in only a few more seconds time. A low groan vibrates in his throat against your palms before spilling onto your tongue.

“Mmm, gonna fuck the shit outta ya now, luv,” he gasps between the embraces of your mouths.

God, yes, please. “Then give it to me, baby,” you purr as you keep your hands firmly around his neck. “That’s it, get your prize.”

Simon pushes your thighs back towards your chest as he aligns the head of his throbbing cock with your moist entrance and you can no longer hold back how much you need him in you, inching your hips forward as you try to force him inside. Is it desperate? Yes. Is it needy? Yes. Do you fucking care? Not even in the slightest.

He’s the one to chuckle now. “Christ, you’re gonna be tha death ‘a me and I’m gonna die fuckin’ happy as hell.” With that he pushes through the threshold and down the length of his thick shaft, bottoming out all the way inside.

After all that stimulation, being smothered in your tight, wet cunt is almost too much for his sanity to handle. Just entering you he is already seeing stars. What’s going to happen when he actually comes?

The first of his movements comes swift and hard; there is no more time for being gentle, not with the way both of your bodies are in agony for release. Your poor, government issued mattress can hardly withstand the power of his desperate thrusts as he slams them forcefully into you, each one causing the springs to creak and groan loudly until it is echoing off the walls.

You open your mouth, pushing yourself to keep in control even as he is shoving his cock so far into you, you swear you can feel it in your stomach. “That’s it, give it to me Simon. Fuck, I love the way you stretch me out.”

The sloppy sounds of your drenched pussy being penetrated so aggressively grow louder and louder the more he ruts into you at that relentless pace. He pushes your legs back farther against your chest to open you up even more, needing to get as deep as humanly possible. There is only one thing left in his feeble mind now: to make you both cum and cum hard.

You let out a moan as your body shakes up and down with each thrust and squeeze so that you tighten around him and it makes his thrusting falter, breaking his rhythm for a moment.

“Bloody hell, jus’ like that… fuck…”

His words fuel you to do it again and he groans. “Yeah? You like that?” you ask breathlessly and he nods.

“That’s what you do to me Simon,” you continue. “No one makes me feel like you do.”

You compress around him again and his body jolts. “God, you’re gonna make me cum. It feels so good, sweetheart. Don’t stop.”

“I want you to cum, Si. Cum for me. I need it so fucking bad; I’ve been waiting so long to make it happen again.”

Just the thought of making him fall apart again is a stimulant in itself and all that pressure that had been previously built is quickly coming to a head, that warmth in your belly glowing through you with more intensity now. That look of euphoria must be plastered all over your face for him to see because he is focused in on you even harder at making sure his strokes are more even.

“You first,” Simon grunts. “And don’t fuckin’ hold back.”

He is fighting tooth and nail to hold on for just a little bit longer; he knows you can’t be far off. Then he sees your toes curling into the air at his sides and he instinctively knows that each thrust is hitting its mark precisely as it’s meant to, your body giving in to all the pleasure it needs to be satisfied. A few more pumps and there it is, just like that everything comes to a head with a shudder as your orgasm rockets through you fiery hot, making your body writhe in his grasp as your core flutters around his cock.

You place your hand over his gripped around your thigh and he laces his fingers in between the spaces in your own, holding onto you for dear life as you coax him with shaky words. “Let go, baby. That’s it.”

He isn’t far behind and it doesn’t take many more strong thrusts until the warmth that had been tirelessly overwhelming his body all night finally shoots through his body while he releases a loud moan, the euphoria coursing like a burning river of fire through his veins as he rips his cock out and you reach between your legs to take it in your free hand to stroke it over your stomach. His warm load shoots out in short bursts, coating the skin on your abdomen in his cum.

“You did so good for me, Simon,” you sweetly praise in repeat as you work his cock until he has to tap your hand to get you to stop.

His limbs are shaking from the comedown as he breathes in deep, his body spent, his mind completely blank in his state of ecstasy, and he releases your legs to tumble down beside you exhausted. A few minutes pass silently in that high until he can collect himself enough to speak again.

With his palm against your cheek, he turns your head to face him. “If I ever do somethin’ as stupid as tryin’ to stay away from ya again, ya ‘ave my permission to fuckin’ deck me,” he says with a laugh before scooching in closer to your face to place a kiss to your lips.

“That’s not gonna happen,” you say against his mouth, “ cause you said it yourself Si, you’re mine now. And you would never deny me what’s mine, would you?”

Another kiss placed to your lips, this one lingering a bit. “Never,” he says finally.

Good, you think, cause I will fucking deck you.

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thatnonameuser · 7 months ago

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The Red King holds a Bleeding Head

A Wonderland of Yanderes - Masterlist Chapter 1. Heartslaybul Part 8.

Going down the rabbit hole that is your mirror a third time feels a little more normal. Even though traveling through it to begin with is the definition of crazy, you’ve started to get used to it. Just like the last two times you awaken to your bedroom, you feel smothered by that sensation of being forced under something heavy and lying on a fluff cloud. Your mirror ripples and gleams a bright white light that beckons you forward.

You’re not exactly prepared for this, but you don’t have any time to. You throw off the odd feeling blankets and make your way to the mirror, which is sparkling in its usual white light.

You take a deep dream breath to steady your nerves. You want this trip through the looking glass to be different this time. Instead of you stumbling through the mirror world completely blind, you need to go through determined to find answers.

You’re smart enough to recognise the pattern. Whatever happens there seems to happen in your dreams, to some effect, have happened in real life. The painted roses, the cards soldiers, and Ace and Deuce, being beheaded by the Queen for breaking the rules. There’s a pattern and if it keeps up tonight, then tomorrow during the duel something is going to happen that will be similar to your dreams.

Plus, there’s also the King of Hearts. He and Alice were the only ones who could see you so far, and Winston was the darling of the Queen. There had to be something that he knew that could help you. And if your dreams were really sending you back in time to meet them, then he had to know something that can help you. Even if it was a tiny detail, you needed to know.

Plus. If your deduction was correct, then Crowley had done jack all since you arrived to send you back home, then maybe you could find something out from someone like you. A darling that’s terrified. If it’ll lead back home, it's worth a shot, right?

Now invigorated with courage, you place your hand on the glass, and it ripples. And you’re pulled into wonderland.

You’re somewhere unfamiliar. As in it doesn’t look like the rose maze anymore. In fact, this place looks very different.

The rose garden is beautiful, the hallway you’re in now is ominous. Even with the gaudy red hearts. The black, white and red are smothering here. The hallways narrow, but ornate. It’s covered with heart-covered and heart-shaped vases, picture frames, and statues. The hallway’s lit up by heart shaped lamps that glow gray, meant to give off light but feel the room feel so dark. The manic and exaggerated shapes and the monotony of the overwhelming crimson red makes you feel a little tremble.

You take hesitant steps down the hall, scanning them for anything helpful or clues.

“This is…new.” And so far what’s new makes you feel chills. “What is the mirror trying to show me n-”

A deafening roar of <Off With Their HEADS!!!> echoes through the halls and interrupts your thoughts and makes you jump in surprise. The roar makes the decor shake and rattle, some fall and shatter.

You gulp nervously and your heart speeds up. This doesn’t feel right.

Another roar fills the air <SILENCE!!> makes you hasten your footsteps. Whatever’s happening you're missing it, and you need all the help you can get right now.

You run down the hall to nowhere, finding no doorways, until the hall ends. It’s a single door, knee high and heart shaped.

“How the hell am I supposed to-” Another roar fills the hall and breaks a nearby lamp. “Alright, I’m going!” You shove it open and crawl through, and it shrinks around you just to make things worse, After a mild struggle, you finally get through, something better be on the other side-

Something grabs you by the back of your pajamas, and you hauled up to be faced with the King of Hearts.

And he looks angry. <What are you doing here?!> He whisper-yells, shaking you by your shoulders.

“I-I-”

You don’t get to put a word in, and shit must’ve hit the fan hard when you were gone because Winston starts ranting. <What are you, the Cheshire Cat!? You were there one moment and gone the next! I’m stressed out of my mind trying to keep a girl alive and you just keep popping up to make things even more stressful!!!> He pauses for a moment, to recollect himself, <H-How did you even get here?!>

“I used the door-” You turn and point to find no door or wall and instead find a sharp decline into a certain death behind the haphazard judge’s bench. “Nevermind” You quickly finish as you take a nervous step back from the ledge.

<Well, it doesn’t matter you have to->

<Winston, sweetheart, who are you speaking too?> The voice that pipes up is mockingly fond. As if they’re entertaining a child speaking to an imaginary friend. You look past Winston, to see a stout woman that looks suspiciously like the Queen of Hearts.

No seriously, her mocking, smiling face looks so punchable, that it reminds you of Riddle. A heart shaped with high cheekbones, and a glare that rivals Riddle Rosehearts, her black hair is tied up into a rose shape, slick backed, smooth and orderly. Her dress is extravagant even in the field of black and white, red undertones over taking the dress. Her crown is larger than Winston's, cementing to you that she is in charge and he’s unwillingly along for the ride.

She looks like a real person this time. Are your dreams progressing? Becoming more detailed?

Winston looks at her incredulously, you can hear him mutter, <C-Can’t you see her?...> Pointing in your direction confused.

<There’s no one there, Winston. Are you imaging things again?> The King of Hearts spares you a conflicted look, before finally agreeing with her.

<I must be…..> He says after a few long moments.

<Of course sweetheart. How could you survive without me?> She chuckles to herself, and you feel the urge to punch someone again.

A soft voice snaps you out of it. <Um…Your Majesty?> You finally notice Alice from her place down below. She looks a mix of exasperated, confused and terrified as she stands in the defendant’s chair. The Queen redirects her ire back to Alice as soon as she raises her voice. She screams like a banshee and roars like a violent loud animal.

You take advantage of the noise to speak to Winston. “Winston I-”

He interrupts you, losing himself to his ramblings, <I’ve finally lost, haven’t I?> Winston laughs bitterly. <You’re not real, you’re just a figment of my imagination…>

“No. You haven’t and I’m not.” You push, desperate to make him see reason, “Alice has seen me before, I’m real!” You hurriedly whisper-yell.

<HAPPY UNBIRTHDAY TO YOU!> A cake and teapots, and all the fixing that remind you of the buffet yesterday at Heartslabyul. The Queen and nearly everyone in the room are excitedly celebrating while Winston and Alice look exasperated. Seemingly exhausted from the shenanigans that are ensuing before you.

“W-What’s happening?” You raise an eyebrow in complete confusion. Yesterday an unbirthday party made sense because it was a party at a dorm then a trial room with a death sentence.

Winston sighs in abject misery, <A trial. I did it to save Alice from losing her head, but this nonsense is a trial. And I thought back home was crazy.>

You perk up at his words. Back home means that he’s not from wonderland so if that’s the case…Just to be sure, you ask. “You’re not from here?”

He looks at you curiously, still halfway between believing you’re real or not, <I-I’m from London, England. I came here by accident and have been stuck here ever since.>

“You know where London is?” You feel hope bloom in your chest, “Are you from Earth?”

<Yes, but->

You interrupt him in your budding excitement, “Then you have to help me! I’m stuck here, like you and Alice!”

You haul the king up by his shirt. “Would you rather be stuck here forever?! If there’s a way out, we need to take it!” You can ignore the ‘being stuck here ever since’ part for now, because if he and Alice (who are real in this world) come from Earth and know about a way back, then that means there’s a way back to your world from Twisted Wonderland. Alice goes home at the end of the story, so there is a way back home for you in this world. And you need that way out. You just need to get to it.

<I’ll help you on one condition.>

“Anything!”

<Help Alice. I can’t let another person die.> And then he shoves you. And then you're falling. You don’t even get the opportunity to scream as you’re pushed. Falling off that deathly edge, and hitting the floor hard.

“Ow….” Damnit Winston, if you weren’t stuck in the same situation as him, you’d curse him out

<Miss, you’re back!> You slowly open your eyes to see Alice standing over you in worry, still completely black and white. <W-Where did you come from?>

“A place like you.” Alice lights up at your words, “How’s your trial going?” only to deflate five seconds later.

<It doesn’t make any sense, this trial doesn’t follow any rules.> You climb to your feet brushing off the imaginary dust off your dream self.

“No, it does.” You’re forced to admit. “They’re just horrible rules.”

<Well, this really isn’t-> Whatever justifiable statement is cut off by the Queen being undistracted by the unbirthday celebrations.

You don’t even know what happened next.

One moment, Alice is pointing out the Cheshire Cat, her words, on the Queen’s head, and the next the Queen is a mess of jam and her torn flag, with a new bump on her crazy head. And Alice is holding the mallet and jam when the Queen finally clears her eyes.

Winston bangs his head on the judges bench in defeat, at the sight of the mayhem.

“OFFF with-” the Queen interrupts herself, as Alice hurriedly stuffs her face with two pieces of something you don’t recognise. Her eyes go wide for a moment, as her muscles twitch and her body contorts in places. She then grows over a mile high. Because of how rapidly she grew, you end up on the giantess Alice’s shoulders.

<Oh, are you alright?> Alice asks, concerned. You give her a thumbs up in reply as the nausea in your gut trembles, before giving way. Now calmed, knowing one of her few friends here are okay, Alice focuses her attention on the tyrant whose red face has gone pale. <And as for you, Your Majesty….’Your Majesty,’ indeed!> The mushroom that Alice ate causes her to grow as tall as the trial room ceiling is high. You cling to her shoulder with your nails, not wanting to fall from this height. What crack did you smoke last night to dream this? Anyway, Alice takes her moment to finally tell off the pompous queen, with all the confidence that a seven year old can have.

The queen shrinks back in surprise at the seven-year old’s new size, and Alice chooses this to be the time to finally tell off the tyrant.

<Why, you’re not a queen. You’re just a fat, pompous, bad-tempered old ty…tyrant…> As if Alice couldn’t get any more unlucky, the mushroom’s magic wears off as she starts to lay down the facts. Her confidence dies as she shrinks back to size. You tumble off of Alice’s shoulder as she shrinks smaller and smaller. And the longer she speaks, the more the Queen’s glare gets more and more murderous.

<Mmhmmhmmhmm….> You, even at this distance, can see the fear painting across the King’s face and worry on Alice’s. This isn’t good, and the longer the Queen holds that note the more grim those looks become. You embrace the shaking girl. You can hear her whimpers of ear the longer this draws out. <What were you saying, my dear?>

A cat pops onto the head of the Queen, reminding you of Chenya even with the black and white, who parrots the, now shaking, Alice’s words. <Well, she simply said that you’re a fat, pompous, bad tempered old tyrant!> The cat cackles, as the Queen’s face turns red, contrasting the black and white.

You watch as the card soldiers jump from their seats to descend on the two of you as Alice clings to you for dear life, as the card shoulders dive to deliver her to her death sentence.

But before the avalanche of card soldiers obscure everything from view, you can hear the King of Hearts beg his wife and captor to spare the poor girl. <Darling she’s just a child!>

And then the world blurs.

You’re back in your bed. Alice isn’t in your arms anymore, instead it’s Grim.

Why won’t anyone stop the queen? Someone could have stopped her.

AND THEN YOU COULD’VE GOTTEN YOUR EXIT!! FUCK!

Great. Winston had promised to help you if you helped Alice. And now you can’t go back till you go to bed! And that’s if Alice hasn’t gone home or lost her head yet! YAY!

You groan before sitting up, not expecting the violent pain in your neck. You then hiss in pain, just barely managing to massage the flesh locked under the collar.

What a great way to start the morning.

But there was some good news. The tyrant queen will get called out for her tyranny. That’s something to look forward to at the duel today. Still doesn’t make you feel any better though.

“Ugh, Great.” You rub the exhaustion out of your eyes, to be face to face with Grim.

“Hey, ____! Ah, good, you’re already up!”

“Didn’t exactly have the best sleep.” Maybe you should tell grim about your dreams, just in case. But that’s a later thing, “Ready to get these collars off?”

“Yeah!”

Back at the tyrant’s castle, er, Heartslabyul, the residents have all gathered in the magical battlegrounds within the rose garden. Why someone built a magical battlefield in the middle of a flammable rose maze must have been a tyrant themselves, because why someone didn’t bring up the flammable part at some point during the dorm’s construction was a question you’re not stupid enough to come up with an answer to.

Speaking of tyrants, Riddle must have gone on a power trip stoked by his tantrum yesterday. Because the number of students wearing collars, minus or plus Ace and Deuce pick one, has to have doubled in one night. Seriously, a good quarter of the audience has to be wearing collars.

And because of said collars, this duel is going to go south real fast. Because Riddle’s already fucking cheating with his signature spell. Seriously, magic nullification should not be allowed in duels like this but for some reason it is.

But back to the duel of the century, for just Heartslabyul. The dorm residents have been gossiping since your group’s arrival….

“Did you hear? They say someone’s challenged Dorm Leader Rosehearts to a duel!”

“Riddle Rosehearts? Seriously?! Whoever it is has gotta be outta his mind. Riddle will have his head off in five seconds flat.”

…about how stupid this decision was. You mean, you agree, but they’re the ones living under a tyrant. Have a little positivity, everyone.

Thankfully, there are few who have held onto the aforementioned positivity.

“Still, it’s the first challenge since Rosehearts took power. I’m pumped!” In your opinion, the dorm should be like that guy. That guy has a little faith.

Also, Trey apparently didn’t warn Cater about the duel that was probably going viral on Heartslabyul’s Magicam, because he looks completely shocked as you told him about the shit preparing to hit the fan. “You’re saying Ace and Deuce are challenging Riddle for the dorm leader’s seat?! Please tell me you’re kidding!”

You sigh, “I’m not, Cater. Wish I was.”

“We tried to stop ‘em.” Correction, Trey. YOU tried to stop them, he sat there and did nothing like with Riddle. Seriously, the bystander effect is strong with Trey; it's like he’s afraid of saying something when he needs to. Did Riddle’s mom traumatize him too!?

Cater looks positively miserable at the revelation. “Of all the stupid ideas…I just hope this doesn’t make everything worse.”

“You and me both.” Trey agrees, but now you're both curious and concerned. Just how much worse is worse?

Crowley’s clearing of his throat silences the crowd’s chatter. Kinda concerning that he's more focused on two students dueling a dorm leader than the rampant abuse of power that’s going on in this dorm, but whatever it’s not like negligence is a crime or something. Though it probably isn’t given your experience so far.

“We are about to commence two challenges for the dorm leader position at Heartslabyul House.” He announces as grandiose as possible. “The first challenger is Ace Trappola, the second challenger is Deuce Spade. The current housewarden they have challenged is Riddle Rosehearts.”

“Now, in accordance with the duel rules, please remove the magic-sealing collars as they would provide an unfair disadvantage.” Oh, you were waiting for that.

Riddle snaps his fingers and the collars dissolve away into sparks, leaving behind red marks around Ace and Deuce’s necks. Given Ace has been stuck in that thing for two nights you can’t imagine the relief he must feel. “Ah! FINALLY, the dumb collar is off!”

Yours and Grim’s are still on though. Oh, did he just forget that you and Grim were collateral damage to yesterday’s rampage? You can feel your rage rising.

“Enjoy your moment of freedom. The collar will be back on soon enough.” Riddle’s cocky smirk looks so punchable, and you feel an itch in your fingers. Still cockiness might be his downfall.

But before that…..

“Hey, Rosehearts!” You call out, “ Just to point something out,” You say as sarcastically and humorlessly as possible, “could you please remove mine and Grim’s. We’re not even in your dorm!” Riddle sighs, as if you’ve been bugging him about this for hours, before finally unlocking the literal weight around your and Grim’s necks. And you breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” The ‘Asshole’ part goes unsaid, for fear of making this worse.

Now, that the cone of shame on your neck is gone you can let them return back to the pre-duel banter. “Carry on.” You say with a dismissive wave of your hand.

Riddle hmphs, returning his focus back to his two challengers. “I could hardly believe it when I heard you two intended to duel me. Is this a joke?”

There’s a “Do I look like I’m joking?” from Ace and a “I’d never propose a duel as a joke!” from Deuce. They’re not backing down now.

“Hmph. Have it your way. Let us get this over with.” Indeed, let’s get this over with, because you might have a room to clear out when this eventually fizzles out. That doesn’t mean you won’t cheer for Ace and Deuce, Bravery is still something to praise even if it’s on par with stupidity.

But like before, Cater intervenes when he really shouldn’t, “Uh, Riddle, what do you want to do about today's afternoon tea?”

“A foolish question. You know that the rules stipulate I take my tea everyday at 4 PM sharp.” Oh, so he’s cocky that he can finish this in, what, thirty minutes.

“It’s just that it’s already past 3:30….”

“And you fear that I will be late? All the more reason to end this promptly.” So he’s very cocky. You can only hope it will be his downfall.

“It appears I have little time to waste. Rather than facing my opponents in succession, I will take on both at once.” Oh. Wow, he’s…..he’s arrogant if he thinks that. Well, Ace and Deuce are probably screwed.

The cheers of the dorm residents fill the air as stiff and empty as they were yesterday.

“You can do it, Dorm Leader!”

“Knock ‘em dead, sir!”

You can see Trey shake his head to your right, so he still hasn’t said anything. Coward.

“Cowards,” you hear Deuce say, and you agree, because you’re looking right at one. To say that you don’t want to hurt his feelings after a hard time, when you’re letting him force that hard time onto others is the definition of cowardice.

“Myah, I got a bad feelin’ about this.” You squeeze Grim tighter.

“I do too, Grim.”

“Hey, at least we got a plan!” A plan that already hangs on by a thread, Ace but you’ll accept his confidence.

“Headmaster, please give us the signal.” Riddle’s already sure of his victory even before it starts, and he might be right, but a part of you wants him to suffer, just a little.

“When the mirror, I’ve thrown shatters upon the ground, that is your signal to begin. Ready…Go!”

“You guys can do it!” You offer them some encouragement, but….

“OFF WITH YOUR HEADS!” You saw the way this battle ends from miles away.

If you're being generous, you’ll call that another deja vu moment. This insanity of constant ‘beheadings’ is starting to become grating. But, you hope the ending of the calling out part comes sooner rather than later.

“That was…..fast.” You say glumly, it’s sad that they failed so quickly but at least they tried. It had to be, what, 5 seconds into the duel before the collars locked on and it was over. Saddening, upsetting but expected.

Well, now what?

“Visualization is key to spell casting.” Crowley starts an unhelpful speech about magic. It’s not really helpful in this situation, because if Riddle has his way from now on Ace and Deuce are going to be wearing those collars till Riddle graduates. “The better you are at accurately visualizing your magic’s effect, the stronger and more precise it will be.”

“They lost in less than ten seconds, you’re not helping Crowley.” You point out the explicitly obvious, because it doesn’t fucking matter about how visualisation is important when a. They lost before they cast a single spell, and b. They can’t even use their magic to practice now. “Still, it would appear Mr.Rosehearts has finely honed his magic.” Ouch, salt in the wound. Stroke the tyrant’s ego even more too. Crowley’s just batting zero right now.

“Myah…They didn’t stand a chance.” Grim bemoans at the loss.

You sigh, “Well at least they tried….” it wasn’t really an attempt even but at the very least. You force a smile on your face as you approach your two friends, “You guys did your best, or were going to your best..” You add unhelpfully, before giving them each a gentle smile. . You might have to just let them stay it seems.

Ace opens his mouth to reply but someone else does to add their unhelpful commentary. “Hardly. They didn’t even last five seconds.” You can hear Ace and Deuce growl as you turn to face the cocky tyrant.

That cocky, self-righteous brat keeps adding his unwanted opinion. “That was all you had, and still you thought to challenge me? You must be utterly humiliated.”

You glare at him, “You won already. Stop rubbing it in.”

Riddle’s too high on his high horse to seem to be aware of what happens below. “I guess my mother was right. A man who cannot follow rules is a man who cannot achieve anything.” You’re going to put a knife between that woman’s eyes if you ever meet up. Mommy undearest’s parenting has screwed him up so much that he’s doing the same thing to the people he lives with.

If Ace or Deuce actually won this battle he probably would have been run out of the dorm.

“Tch…We agree that rules should be followed. But forcing others to follow nonsensical rules like the ones you’ve enacted is tyranny!”

“Then you agree that breaking the rules is wrong. And in this dorm, I AM the rules.” Is…is he serious? Did he miss the second part of Deuce’s sentence? “Therefore, those who cannot abide by my decisions deserve not the heads they use to complain!”

You had enough of this.

You’ve bit your tongue bloody, thanks to this brat’s tyranny. You've been inconvenienced again and again because of his pretentious and frankly ridiculous rules.

Screw manners, screw survival, and screw this red-haired little absolutist pain the ass! “But that’s not right! You can’t just use the rules to do whatever you please!” You yell in fury.

“I am the one who decides what is wrong and right-”

You cut him off. “And you’re also a pain in the neck and the ass, that pretends he’s the perfect student that can do no wrong, because mommy said so!” His eyes widen in shock as you finally, finally go off the leash you tethered to yourself this entire time. And you’re not done. “How can you be so blinded by your own delusions that you can’t even see how unreasonable it is to follow, frankly, the most STUPID of rules!?!” You can feel your cheeks warming and the blood in your ears roaring in boiling hot fury. You can feel someone try to calm your rage with a hand, Deuce’s, on your shoulder. You’re pissed and tired and angry and what does he do?

He continues talking like you didn’t say anything. “If there were no penalties, no one would follow the rules.” You;re going to punch him.

“You!-” What he says next cuts your thoughts and words off completely.

“What sort of pitiful education have you received, that you cannot follow such simple rules? Clearly, you were born to parents with no great magical capability. As a result…you lack even the basic education necessary to attend a school such as this. It’s quite sad.”

You blink, taken aback. The rage in you is stunned into pacification.

He did not.

He did not just say that about you.

“You-” You can’t even string your thoughts together completely stunned. You can forgive someone being unreasonableYou feel something different from rage, something stronger, boiling inside you.

“You little…” Deuce releases you, prepared to pummel the tyrant into the ground but…..

“You shut your spoiled little mouth!” Ace dashes forward fist raised and-

He punches Riddle clean across the face.

Hard enough to knock Riddle off his feet. Ace quite literally beat Deuce to the punch.

So many voices speak up in shock and surprise at Riddle, the untouchable dorm leader, finally eating his just desserts. Right in the face too.

You don’t say anything, staring at what’s about to unfold, with a blank expression.

“That’s all I can take. Forget Riddle. Forget the duel. I’m done.” Just like Alice in your dreams last night, calls out the now stunned red sovereign.

“That hurt! You…p-punched me?!” Riddle’s genuinely stunned. Is stunned by his house of cards finally starting to collapse around him? You can’t bring yourself to care.

Ace spits some facts.

“Kids aren’t trophies for their parents to flaunt. And the accomplishments of a child aren’t determined by the worth of their parents. It’s not your parents’ fault you became a tyrant -or anyone else’s. You’ve been here a year and haven’t even made a friend who will tell you you’re outta line. And that’s on you.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“Yeah, maybe you had some rigid upbringing from a relentless helicopter-mom. Is that all you are? An extension of her? Can’t you think for yourself? You call yourself the ‘red sovereign’. You’re just a baby who’s good at magic.”

“Baby…? Did you just call me a ‘baby’?! You don’t know anything about me! You don’t know anything about anything!” But despite the honest truths that Ace is trying to make the pretentious tyrant hear for what has to be the first time in his life, Riddle refuses to listen.

“Nope, sure don’t. And I don’t need to. Your attitude tells me all I need to know- that you’re nothing but a spoiled brat!” Ace doesn’t let up on the lecture Riddle probably needed to hear last year.

Riddle’s face is starting to turn pink from his blind anger. “Shut up, shut up, shut UP! My mother was right! And that means I’m right too!” Riddle practically roars in anger. He’s shaking from barely repressed rage.

Trey steps between them to prevent what has to be a near disaster, trying to pacify the screaming tyrant. “Riddle, calm down. The duel is already over.”

“Mr. Clover is correct.” Crowley The challenger has been disqualified due to physical violence. If you do not cease your conflict now, I’ll have you written up for breaking school rules!” But even with the threat of breaking his own personal rules and being a rule breaker himself doesn’t soothe his rage. It doesn’t matter here anyway, because as long as no one is willing to stand up to-

“Ace is right, though! I’ve had enough of Riddle!” A voice in the crowd shouts, and he throws something small aimed directly at Riddle’s head.

An egg cracks in Riddle’s hair. Egg goop trails down his face. You fight back a laugh with all your willpower. Well, color you impressed. The card soldiers aren't completely useless, brain dead drones.

For half a second everyone is frozen solid. And then the egg practically cooks on Riddle’s face as he searches for the offender, completely infuriated. “Who did that? Who threw that egg?!”

And this time, the silence feels both suffocating and glorious. At least the cowards have finally stood up for themselves, at least a little. Unfortunately Riddle, instead of taking the obvious hint the egg to the face was, he laughs. And it’s not a composed one.

“Heh heh…Ah ha ha ha!” It’s an insane one.

Riddle snaps at all of the now cowering dorm students“You say YOU’RE fed up?! I’M the one who’s fed up with all of YOU!”

“No matter how strict I am, no matter how many heads I remove, you keep breaking the rules! All any of you care about is doing what YOU want to do! If the guilty party won’t come forward, then I’ll pass judgment on all of you!”

“Clearly, none of you value your heads! OFF WITH YOUR HEADS!!!” Like a tyrant gone wild, collars lock on to every single one of the residents' necks, save Trey and Cater, sealing off their magic. You’re getting real tired of hearing that.

The Heartslabyul residents scatter like headless, heh pun unintended but fitting, chickens. “Bwaaah! Let’s get out of here!” “Urrrgh!”

Riddle, reassured that his tyranny will last, shoves past Ace to rub in his ‘victory’ to Ace.“How do you like that, hm? Now no one can do a thing to me! Do you see now? My strict adherence to the rules was clearly the correct path!”

Crowley still does nothing to calm, or now that Riddle’s actually broken some rules, to punish Riddle for this insanity. “Cease this improper behavior now, Mr. Rosehearts. I expect better from you!”

“Crowley, could you maybe actually do something!?!” You finally point out the utter stupidity of him not doing anything while Riddle literally abuses his power.

“Uh…Trey, if he keeps using his spell…This could get ugly, fast!” You barely hear Cater over the chaos.

Trey does, still trying to separate the fuming Riddle away from Ace and a catastrophe. “Riddle, stop this!”

Ace might be perspective but he’s incapable of reading the room when shit really starts to go bad. “Wow, way to totally prove me wrong here, pal! I call you a baby and you immediately throw a temper tantrum!”

Riddle’s face goes deep crimson. “Retract your comment immediately, or I shall skewer you where you stand!” He yells.

This might not be good.

Ace doesn’t let up “No way. I ain’t retraction’ squat.”

Face red, eyes full of rage and mania, Riddle’s reached the point of fury where words are impossible and yells of anger are the only sounds that can be made. “YEEEAAARGH!!!”

“Dude, this is bad! You’ve G-2-G, now!” You feel a hand on your wrist, Cater's, dragging you away from the rampaging tyrant.

And then you're blinded by the debris.The earth shakes for too long as the rose bushes are yanked out of the earth, the fragile yet heavy bushes floating high in the air. Ripped up from their earth , roots and all, and float in mid-air. The roses and their thorny brambles writhe under Riddle’s magic.

Debris and dirt float through the air, alongside the rose bushes.

“W…Whoa…” You take a nervous step back, “Shit.”

“The rose trees! They’re floating!”

“This is some serious magic!”

The roses and their brambles might not be the strongest weapon, but Riddle’s magical strength is powerful, as you watch the roses and branches become arrows, perfect for tearing flesh from bone and crushing the rest.

“Mighty roses, tear this brute to pieces!” Riddle yells, completely blinded at his anger. The roses, thorns and all fly like arrows aimed directly at Ace. A deadly shot, if it lands.

“Ace! MOVE!” You dash forward, but a pair of arms are around your waist holding you back from the barrage of arrows aimed at your friend. You look around frantically and you see who’s stopping you from helping the first friend you made here. It’s Deuce. When did he get next to you? Nevermind. “Lemme go! Ace needs help!”

Deuce shakes his head with a remorseful expression. “I can’t let you get hurt!”

Since you can’t get to Ace, “Crowley! DO something!” You yell at the Headmaster who’s done jack diddly since Riddle’s tantrum progressed into hemorrhage. All he’s done here is politely ask Riddle to stop, and Ace might actually die if Riddle keeps at this.

“Cease and desist at once!” Crowley doesn’t do anything, but yells at him to stop, and Riddle’s already too angry to listen.

But it’s too late for any one to push Ace out of the way,

“ACE!” You can’t even shut your eyes as the roses and brambles come down. You take back every thing you’ve ever said about Ace, and this world if it means you don’t witness him being killed….

…..By playing cards?

Instead of roses and their thorns tearing Ace to shreds….playing cards fall from the sky.

“Huh? I’m still alive?” Ace is as stunned as you and everyone else here.

Deuce is probably as stunned as you, because his arms go limp, and you practically tackle Ace, “Are you okay!?” Your arms and legs are jelly from adrenaline, but you manage to stumble over and check him over with trembling hands.

“Y-Yeah,”He answers and you sigh in clear relief. What’s with all these playing cards?”

“All the rose trees turned into cards?” Deuce is right, All the roses and their brambles are gone. Instead it’s all playing cards. And nothing more. How did that even happen?!

Wait. Deja vu again, this keeps happening. Cards falling against an innocent. But there’s no time for that.

Because Riddle’s face is murderous, and his grip on his magical staff is so tight it could have snapped in half. He raises it again, prepared to recast as “Why didn’t you-”

Deuce dives in between you and Ace, to act as human shield but Trey stops him, shielding you all from Riddle’s view. “Riddle, stop this right now!” Oh, so NOW Trey decides enough is enough, murder was the last straw. Wonderful.

“Wait, is that Trey’s ‘Paint the Roses’?! But…how?!” You can hear a confused Cater, and thank goodness, because Trey saved Ace’s life.

“All the magic sealin’ collars are gone!” Grim’s right, You didn’t even notice in the mayhem. Ace and Deuce, and probably all the Heartslabyul residents, all have their magic-sealing collars removed.

“What did I tell you? My magic can overwrite characteristics for a short time. So I used it to make ‘Riddle’s magic’ into ‘my magic’.” Trey’s explanation lets you breathe a sigh of genuine relief. At least now, Riddle is defenseless.

“You can do that? That’s some kinda loophole!” And a lucky loophole to test on someone about to die.

Meanwhile in Crazy town, Riddle’s discovered his magic’s no longer his own. “N-no…Off with their heads! I SAID, off with their heads!” Every attempt Riddle makes to cut off everyone’s magic just causes more and more playing cards to fly out. But depending on how short the time Trey’s magic can work, that might not be for long. Especially with how many times Riddle tries recasting.

Trey finally puts his foot down. “Riddle, stop. Can’t you see how you look right now?”

You can’t believe that this is what it took to finally open the eyes of the residents. Ace nearly being murdered because Riddle’s ego got bruised. At least now, their eyes have been opened to the true extent of Riddle’s cruelty.

Which they decide to vocalize in the presence of the tyrant with the bruised ego. They’re not very smart. are they?

“He…he was really gonna do it!” “He is completely out of control.” “He’s like some kinda monster!”

Thankfully, and unfortunately, Riddle isn’t focused on that. Instead, he’s more concerned with the fact that his magic isn’t his anymore. And Trey is the reason. “What? Was my magic overwritten by yours? Does that mean your signature spell is stronger than mine?!” He demands, turning on the only one who ever really defended him in his madness.

“Of course it doesn’t. Riddle, take a deep breath and listen to us.” Trey tries to reason, but it’s too late for Riddle to be reasonable, with him already lost in the throes of his anger.

You start to feel a chill up your spine, like back in the mines with that monster. But why are you-

Still completely unreasonable, Riddle’s still deaf to Trey's words, “Are YOU going to tell me that I’m wrong too? After all I’ve done to protect the rule of law?! Do you know how much I’ve suffered for this?! I…I refuse to believe this!” That chill gets worse, and the ominous and malicious feeling you’re getting from Riddle gets worse. Something much darker. A line of dark blood drips from Riddle’s nose. Wait, that’s not blood. Blood isn’t….black.

You might be angry about earlier, but unlike Riddle, you haven’t lost your wits. You can tell when things are nose-diving into a downward spiral at terminal velocity. Because the longer Riddle spits his mad ravings, the more of that black stuff comes out.

You normally wouldn’t do this, mostly because you want to punch the bastard. But that inky stuff has to be a bad omen. “Riddle, you need to calm down.” You try to soothe the raging beast, even though you’re sure that this is a bad idea. “You don’t want to be a rulebreaker, right? So just calm down and we’ll talk this out.”

“Wha-OW!” Ace looks at you as if you’d gone insane too, but you elbowed him harshly in the gut.

Riddle’s angry glare falls on you. And you could see the veins starting to twitch under his skin. If he gets any more angry, then he might have a stroke. “ I! AM NOT! A RULE BREAKER!” He yells, his own rage leaving him breathless. “AND YOU! OF ALL PEOPLE! HAVE NO RIGHT TO SAY THAT!”

“I’m just trying to calm you down, you don’t really want to break the rules by hurting anyone, do you?” You hope he doesn’t actually want to hurt anyone. Plus, you’re really not ready to witness someone’s death.

Riddle’s face is so red, it looks like it might explode. And his glare could kill you and cook the remains with how fiery it is.

He snaps, his voice laden with venom.

“YOU! DARLINGS LIKE YOU! ARE WHY WE NEED THE RULES! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SAY THAT TO ME!”

…..What.

Did he just-

No way, he just did. He did.

Shit. Shit...SHIT.

FUCK YOU, RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS!

You did NOT go through all that shit for him to reveal it to everyone here in a fit of rage. No fuck him, fuck this, whatever shit he has going on can wait because you need this bastard’s neck to be the other way round.

You feel fire burn under your skin. You’re gonna-

“Wait, wha-” You hear , and you don’t even have the ability to freeze up in terror. Because you gotta disperse the potential nightmare of Ace and Deuce finding out. Even if they don’t believe him, the doubt will remain. So you’re basically fried.

“It’s nothing!” You frantically yell to cut off whatever Ace or Deuce were going to say as fast as you can as you feel your heart speed up in total panic. You’ll be lucky if they think this is a psychotic rambling of a raging tyrant. This just keeps getting worse and worse for you.

If Riddle doesn’t get killed in this madness, then he owes you an apology and you owe him a big, fat fist to the face.

Meanwhile as you prepare for your own mental breakdown, Crowley maintains his complete and utter uselessness, even though he probably has the power to stop this. “Cease immediately, Mr. Rosehearts! Any further attempt to use magic will leave your magestone completely tainted with blot!”

What is blot?!

And why is Riddle-

“But….I’m right! I’M the one who’s right! There is NO! POSSIBLE! ALTERNATIVE!” Thick, black inky substance comes out of his eyes and ears.

“Riddle, stop!” Trey’s words can’t pull Riddle out of his madness and likely never will.

Because all that black ink dripping out of nearly every pore, staining his skin and clothes, pools around him for only a few seconds. Before it engulfs him, swallowing him whole.

And like a caterpillar metamorphosing into a horrific butterfly…..

…..he comes out a monster.

Like a horrible chrysalis bursting open, Riddle comes out changed.

His skin is so pallid, the color could have been mistaken for bone. A red flame is positioned over his right eye, glowing an unnatural color. The ink that bleed out of his skin sticks to his arm and face like tar. And most identifiably, he’s dressed like the Queen of Hearts. Sort of, if she was beheaded and her body was thrown in her beloved rose garden to be torn apart by the hedgehogs. (A fitting fate in your eyes)

The tyrant has changed to match his predecessor, both over-controlling monsters.

But that’s not the most terrifying part of it.

There’s also the giant hulking beast tethered to Riddle’s back. And that’s the most defining feature. Because that thing matches your dreams of the Queen of Hearts. The monster is dressed in a dress nearly identical to the one from your second dream. She’s even carrying a rose bush, torn from another world’s ground.

This is not good. And you’re suddenly very afraid of what will happen next.

The possessed? Riddle cackles, “You are fools to defy me! You are not welcome in my world. In my world, I am the law. I am order made manifest!” His voice is warped and distorted as if someone otherworldly is speaking through him.

“The only response I will accept from you is ‘Yes, Dorm Leader Riddle.’ All who defy me will lose their heads! Ah ha ha ha HA!”

“Dear me, what have I done? I’ve allowed a student to overblot in my presence!” What the fuck is overblot!?

“Crowley? What the HELL is overblot!?” You demand an explanation to this madness, because Riddle is both a monster, and has a massive monster connected to his spine. Seriously, what the shit is this!?!

“Overblot is a dangerous condition that mages must avoid at all costs. At the moment, he is overcome by negative energy and has lost control of his magic and emotions.”

“Okay but what does that mean?!”

“Please explain!”

“To put it in layman’s terms, he’s in evil berserker mode!”

“If he keeps releasing magical energy, we could be looking at a loss of life here- his included.”

“WHAT!” You feel your eye twitch, “CROWLEY! WHY DIDN’T YA JUST TELL ME ALL THIS SHIT WHEN I GOT HERE!!” It can’t be that hard, can it? How hard is it to give the unfortunate transfer student from another world or dimension a simple crash-course of ‘hey, here’s some things you should know about our world!’, for crap’s sake.

“Ms. ____-”

“Nevermind, Crowley! We’ll deal with the evil giant monster thing now, I’ll freak out later!” And freak out you will. Riddle outed you, overblotted and could kill someone or multiple someones if this shit goes south. Forget punching him, you’re going to beat him so bad that smug arrogant face of his will be unrecognizable when you're done with him.You are fucking tired of this shit already, and when you think it’s bad it just gets worse.

“Yes! The well-being of my students is my top priority. Therefore, I must evacuate them immediately.”

“Y-You’re not staying?”. You say weakly. Was the bar for headmaster requirements in hell? Yes, there is a giant monster/dorm leader attacking the running and hiding Heartslabyul residents but this is a MAGIC school for shit’s sake. “No, but as for Mr.Rosehearts, we must restore his consciousness before his magical energy runs dry.” Damnit Crowley! “For as bad as losing him would be, there are scenarios that are far worse…” WHAT’S WORSE?!?!

“Listen well: I need all of you to seek help from the other housewardens and members of faculty.” But how the hell are going to all evacuate and summon the other housewardens if Riddle is-

While the exposition dump was happening, the beast behind Riddle follows his body movements, and still fueled by all the anger that caused this whole mess to start in the first place, raises the rose bush like a club, prepared to strike down one of the unfortunate Heartslabyul students.

Ace and Deuce finally allowed to use their magic, do what they’ve wanted to do since yesterday. Strike the pretentious dorm leader down.

“HIIYAH! TAKE THAT!” A strong magical gust knocks the beast’s weapon away from its original target. And annoys the furious Riddle.

“Huh!? Trey, Cater and Crowley look and sound bewildered at the attack, but you feel a rush of pride.

“I summon thee, cauldron!” Deuce takes advantage of Riddle’s change in focus to strike. With his infamous cauldron spell. Riddle manages to dodge it, but at least he’s not attacking the students any more!

“MYAH!” Grim leaps out of your arms to join the attacks, sending a wave of blue fire along with Ace and Deuce’s own attacks.

Now even more pissed ( a surprise to be honest) Riddle fumes at their lack of submission. “What do you fools think you’re doing?”

“Um, hello?! 911? We’ve got an idiot emergency!” Cater’s internet talk doesn’t fade in times of high stress.

Grim, acting unlike his usual selfish self, actually points out the most frightening part of this, “You DID hear that part about how reeeal bad things are happenin’ with him, right?!”

“That’s why we need to stop him now! I don’t want that on my conscience!” Yah, Riddle straight up sucks but risking the deaths of others to save yourself from certain death is cowardly, and unlike the rampager, you’re not a hypocrite.

“And I’m not givin’ up till I hear him say, ‘I was wrong and I’m sorry.’”

You’re convinced, “Yeah, he owes me an apology for the shit he put me through!!”

“All right, let’s do this. I can overwrite his magic for a little longer. In the meantime, do what you can! Headmage, please evacuate the other students!”

“Wait! This is dangerous!”

“Are you S-R-S, Trey? You can’t beat Riddle!”

“So what, you’re not even gonna fight unless you KNOW you can win?”

“Yeah, he’s right. That’s weak.”

“This is the only way we can think of to snap him out of this!”

“Yeah…I don’t want to lose him. There’re too many things I’ve left unsaid.”

“We just have to do this, whatever it takes!” You might not be able to do magic, but you’ll help….somehow.

“Ugh, I do NOT like or subscribe to this, but fine!”

Ngh…I’ll be back as soon as I’ve gotten the students to safety. Stand firm until then!”

“Such defiance, from every last one of you! I shall take all of your heads!”

“Riddle’s body can’t take much more of this. We need to stop him before it’s too late!”

Things are going…..well enough.

Because how in every layer of hell can you describe this? At all? It’s not everyday that you watch a magician go into berserker mode and try to kill his ‘underlings’ or really equals he’s un/knowingly been abusing for who knows how long?

Here’s the good news.

Trey’s magic makes the fight easier for them. Replacing Riddle’s UM makes the battle actually possible.

Cater’s Spilt Card, makes the perfect distraction ones, that he can use as human shields as Riddle strikes.

Even Ace, Deuce and Grim’s inexperience manages to turn the tide. Wind, cauldrons and fire join a barrage of more sophisticated and more complicated spells of the third-years is the perfect combination of brute strength and complicated strategy.

But here’s the bad news.

Riddle’s fast. Very fast.

For every one spell the others cast, Riddle can cast two. and moves twice as fast to replace every one Trey replaces. Which should be impossible with all of his magical energy and life force being drained away but it seems whether he’s a horrific monster or a tyrannical dictator, he’s still a magical prodigy.

What your friends need is a distraction. And they need one fast. And while you might not have magic, you’re not completely powerless here.

Why?

Because Riddle’s earlier pique was kind enough to dislodge plenty of stones that once were the floor of the battle ground. Small and light enough for you to carry. Large and heavy enough to leave a nasty bruise or a nice headache.

All you hope is that you have good aim. Because this better land right in the face.

Even with the hail of magic sending wind, ice, fire, cauldrons and other magical bursts in Riddle’s direction, you’re safely hidden in the background and the beast attached to him is otherwise preoccupied with the aforementioned magic, so it’s easy to sneak away.

You wrap your hand around one of the loose stones of the destroyed battlegrounds, and sneak behind the bushes till you’re a good distance away from the others with a broad distance away from him and that monster. “Hey Rosehearts!” You yell.

He turns to you with a death glare that could actually cut off your head. But as soon as his gaze has fallen on you, you throw the stone as hard as you can.

It hits him square in the forehead.

Riddle doesn’t even have the time to cry out in pain, as he and the phantom monster stumble back, dazed.

“HA! Take that you controlling bastard!” Sure, you’re saving his life in the process, but considering he just outed you, kicking his ass through this is actually one hell of a relief.

Everyone takes advantage of the distraction you made to send another barrage of magic against Riddle. Still dazed from your strike to his head, probably combined with the damage the overblot was taking on his body, he’s much slower.

So now, every strike lands without fail, and Riddle barely has time to retaliate now. And that changes the tide of the battle.

With every new strike, the monster’s body starts to distort and parts of its body start to writhe and twist. The darkness glowing underneath starts to distort and warp. The roots holding it to Riddle's body start to sever. The monster’s distorted roars start to soften, turning weaker.

“Is it over?” You ask. You feel safe enough to go closer, now that the monster’s body starts to sway and collapse. Riddle looks like he’s about to pass out. “Is he going to die?”

“He better not. He still needs to apologize to me!” Ace

You sigh in relief for half a second. And the blot around Riddle swarms him.

You don’t know what switched on within you. You hate this guy. You want to see him suffer a little, or more specifically a lot.

“Henchman!”

So you don’t know why you ran when you did, or why you grabbed Riddle’s wrist like a vice right before his body disappeared into the mess of dark ink. You grabbed on as tight as you can, just as the monster finally burst.

Thick ink, scalding hot like Riddle’s burning rage, hits your skin and burns your face. You scream in reflex, and your mouth burns from the hot, bitter ink entering it. You choke on the blot. It burns. It coats you, covers you, drowns you and your vision swims. But your grip doesn’t let up.

“_____!!!” You hear many voices screaming your name. But you can’t see them. The burning black ink falls like rain, obscuring your friends from view.

All you can feel is that overwhelmingly painful and smothering burn of the ink…but the last thing your senses pick up on before you pass out isn’t the burn on your skin, the bitterness in your mouth, or the voices of your friends.

It’s a voice.

“I…was wrong?! But that’s…impossible…”

A sad, anguished voice. The sad, anguished voice of Riddle Rosehearts.

“Isn’t it….Mother?”

#yandere #yandere twisted wonderland #yandereverse au #yandere twst x reader

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buttercandy16 · 5 months ago

Text

Shadows from the Past

Sequel to "The Bully"

PAIRING: Dark!Agatha Harkness x Reader

SUMMARY: Your past will never let you go.

WARNING(s): Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, Manipulation, Torture, and many more Dark Themes.

Years had passed, but the ghost of Agatha Harkness lingered in your life, her shadow creeping into every corner of your mind. No matter how much distance you tried to put between yourself and her—geographically, mentally, emotionally—she always found a way to slip back in.

High school was behind you, yet the horrors endured in those dimly lit hallways clung to you like old scars that refused to fade. She had turned your formative years into an unrelenting nightmare. Your only solace had been leaving town the day after what happened in the cafeteria, promising yourself you’d rebuild from the rubble she’d left behind.

But escaping Agatha wasn’t as easy as leaving.

Life hadn’t been kind since your departure. You’d scraped by working dead-end jobs: waitressing, retail, data entry. Nothing lasted. Over time, you began to feel cursed. Managers would praise you one moment and fire you the next. Coworkers would smile at you but whisper behind your back. Each dismissal came with the same dismissive refrain: “It’s not a good fit.”

Each time, you wondered what you’d done wrong, what flaw they saw in you that made them push you out. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the suspicion that it wasn’t just bad luck. It was a feeling that settled deep in your gut: a cruel hand was behind all of this.

You stared at the eviction notice pinned to the cracked wall of your studio apartment. It mocked you, its red letters glaring against the yellowed wallpaper like a physical manifestation of failure.

Thirty days to vacate. Thirty days to figure out where you were going to sleep next. You couldn’t borrow money—you’d already alienated the few friends you had left by constantly asking for help. No family wanted to step in either; they’d given up hope long ago.

Slumping down onto the edge of your creaky bed, you stared at your phone screen, scrolling through endless job postings with no responses. You’d applied to over thirty positions in the past month. Nothing.

It felt personal. Too personal.

That’s when the email arrived.

The notification flashed across the screen, an unexpected break in the monotony. There was no subject line, and the sender’s name was unfamiliar. Normally, you would have deleted it without a second thought. But desperation pushed your fingers to open it.

The message was brief but chilling:

*Dearest [Your Name],

I’ve been watching. It seems life hasn’t been kind to you since our time together. But I can make all of your problems disappear. I can offer you comfort, stability, even a home. All you have to do is come back to me.

Meet me at 845 Blackthorne Drive tomorrow, 8 PM. Refuse, and… well, you know how persistent I can be.*

The blood drained from your face. You didn’t need to guess who had sent it. You knew. Of course, it was her. Agatha.

You closed the email immediately, your hands trembling, bile rising in your throat. You hadn’t heard her name—or dared speak it—in years. You had forced yourself to believe she was a distant nightmare.

But now, the past was staring you in the face, with claws sharpened and fangs bared.

The mansion loomed at the end of a long, winding road, shrouded by gnarled trees that reached toward the sky like skeletal hands. Blackthorne Drive was far enough from the rest of town that it felt completely cut off from reality. The house itself was imposing, its gothic architecture exuding an eerie dominance. The massive iron gates groaned as they opened, as if reluctant to let you pass.

Your car crawled up the driveway. The building grew larger and more menacing with each inch closer. Stone gargoyles leered down from the rooftop, their grotesque forms barely discernible against the stormy evening sky. Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark silhouette of a figure standing at the top of the stairs.

Agatha.

She looked exactly as you remembered, though years had polished her beauty into something sharper and more refined. The same piercing blue eyes, the same cruel smirk that had haunted you for so long. Her tailored suit clung to her form, exuding authority and control.

“Right on time,” she said, her voice cutting through the heavy rain like a blade.

You clutched the strap of your bag tightly. “I didn’t have a choice.”

A smile curved her lips, but there was no warmth in it. “You’ve always had a choice, sweetheart. You just never make the right one.”

Her words stirred old memories—memories you had fought to suppress. The cafeteria, the locker defacements, her voice whispering cruel truths in your ear. You had spent years trying to build a wall between you and those memories, and now it felt as if she was tearing it down with every step she took closer to you.

“Come inside. Let’s discuss the terms of your employment,” she purred.

The interior of the mansion was no less intimidating. It was darkly elegant, with rich mahogany floors, towering bookshelves, and ornate chandeliers. Yet there was a suffocating energy that weighed down the air, making it hard to breathe.

“Your duties will be simple,” Agatha said, circling you like a lion stalking its prey. “Clean. Serve. Obey.”

Her tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of menace in her words. She wanted you to remember who held the power now—if you’d ever had any to begin with.

You tried to protest. “Agatha, this isn’t—”

“Ms. Harkness,” she corrected sharply, her eyes narrowing. “We’re not on a first-name basis anymore, darling.”

Her smirk deepened as you faltered, biting back your words. She reached out, running her fingers along the edge of your jaw, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“You’ll find,” she said softly, “that resisting me has consequences.”

The first month in Agatha's mansion blurred into an endless cycle of humiliation and despair. Each morning, you woke to a rigid schedule outlined in excruciating detail. Agatha handed you the list herself, her fingers grazing yours as she delivered it with a sly smirk. It wasn’t just work—it was a gauntlet designed to test your limits.

The tasks were mundane in concept but laced with subtle malice. Polishing the marble floors until they reflected like glass was a daily occurrence, though she ensured new scuffs appeared overnight. Preparing her meals required precision to an absurd degree: the perfect temperature, perfect presentation, and even the placement of silverware had to match her exacting standards.

She monitored your every move, ensuring you were always within her grasp. Every task she gave you became a test of your endurance, every failure an opportunity for her to assert dominance.

One day, she ordered you to scrub the kitchen floor on your hands and knees. The task was grueling, the heat from the stove making the air heavy as you worked. Agatha leaned casually against the counter, sipping wine as she watched you struggle.

“You missed a spot,” she said idly, pointing to an invisible imperfection.

Your hands trembled as you scrubbed harder, the muscles in your arms burning with the effort.

“Pathetic,” she murmured, her voice low and mocking. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

You paused, your breath hitching as her words dug into your skin like needles.

“I see someone who was nothing before I came into her life,” she continued, her voice sharp. “You think you’ve suffered? You have no idea what suffering is.”

Her words lit a spark of defiance in you, even as tears stung your eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” you choked out, your voice raw with emotion. “What do you want from me?”

Agatha crouched beside you, her cold blue eyes locking onto yours.

“I want you to realize that you belong to me,” she said softly, her hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You always have. And you always will.”

Agatha began finding excuses to pull you away from your duties, insisting on long, tense dinners where she dissected every aspect of your life. She pried into your thoughts, your fears, your dreams, twisting them into weapons to control you.

“You’ve always been so weak,” she remarked one evening, her tone almost pitying. “Even back in high school, you needed someone to guide you. You’d have been eaten alive without me.”

Her words reopened old wounds, the memories of her torment flooding back with brutal clarity.

“You’re wrong,” you said, your voice trembling but defiant. “I was fine until you came into my life.”

Agatha’s smile faltered for a brief moment, her expression hardening.

“Fine?” she echoed, her voice icy. “Do you call this fine?” She gestured to the house, to the life she had engineered around you. “I gave you everything. Without me, you’d have nothing.”

Her words struck a painful chord, but you refused to let her see the effect they had.

“I’d rather have nothing than live like this,” you said, the defiance in your voice wavering but unbroken.

Agatha’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening as her control slipped for the briefest of moments.

“Careful, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice dangerously soft. “You’re treading on thin ice.”

Her cruelty wasn’t just about control—it was about possession. She wanted you to feel her presence in every corner of your mind, to know that no matter how far you ran, you would always belong to her.

Her games became more psychological. She’d arrange personal items in your room—things you’d never brought with you, things you’d left behind in high school. A worn notebook you’d written in during freshman year. A bracelet you hadn’t seen in years. Each item was a reminder that she had always been watching, always waiting.

One evening, she cornered you in the kitchen, her hands bracketing your body against the counter. The faint scent of lavender filled the air, mingling with the oppressive tension.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said, her voice dripping with mock concern. “Are you unhappy here, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer.

Her hand cupped your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Do you know why no one wants you? Why every door you’ve tried to open has been slammed in your face?”

Her smirk deepened as your silence stretched. “Because I made it so.”

Your heart sank, the weight of her confession crushing you. Of course, it had been her. Every rejection, every failure, every lost opportunity—it had all been orchestrated by her.

“Why?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

She leaned in, her breath ghosting over your ear. “Because if I can’t have you, no one can.”

The second month in the mansion was worse. Agatha’s punishments became more invasive, more intimate. She began to invade your space with increasing frequency, her touch lingering longer than necessary—a hand brushing against your arm as she passed, fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re mine,” she reminded you constantly, her voice a low purr that sent chills down your spine. “I’ve always loved you, you know. Even back then.”

Her twisted idea of love suffocated you. She wanted you to break, to surrender, to accept her as the center of your world.

And yet, there were moments of terrifying vulnerability in her eyes. Moments when she looked at you not with malice, but with a desperate longing that bordered on obsession.

“You don’t understand, do you?” she whispered one night, her hand resting on your cheek. “I did all of this for you. To protect you. To keep you safe.”

Safe. The word felt like a cruel joke, given the hell she had put you through.

What little humanity she offered was just as terrifying as her cruelty. Late one evening, you collapsed against the counter, your muscles aching from scrubbing floors for hours. Agatha appeared behind you, her presence announced by the familiar scent of lavender and something darker—whiskey, maybe.

She placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it just enough to make you stiffen. “I can ease this for you, you know,” she said, her voice soft yet sharp as a knife. “All you have to do is surrender.”

You didn’t dare ask what she meant, but you could see it in her eyes. Agatha didn’t just want your service. She wanted every part of you: body, mind, and soul.

When you flinched away, she sighed in mock pity. “You’ll see eventually,” she murmured. “It’s only a matter of time before you’re mine entirely.”

It was a game to her, an amusement at your expense. She thrived on your frustration, your exhaustion, the trembling in your hands as you tried—and inevitably failed—to meet her impossible demands.

Agatha ensured you were utterly dependent on her. The mansion was isolated, far from town, and the cell service was mysteriously spotty at best. Every attempt to reach out for help was met with failure—calls that wouldn’t connect, emails that bounced back.

One night, after weeks of relentless torment, Agatha pushed you too far. She had caught you crying in your room, curled up on the floor, your body trembling with exhaustion and despair. Instead of offering comfort, she stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

“Look at you,” she said softly, almost tenderly. “So fragile. So weak. You need me, don’t you?”

When you didn’t respond, she stepped closer, crouching in front of you. Her hand reached out, tilting your chin up so you were forced to look at her.

“You’ll see it one day,” she murmured. “You’ll see that I’m the only one who’s ever truly loved you.”

Something inside you snapped. All the fear, all the pain, all the years of suffering boiled over in a wave of anger and defiance.

“Love?” you spat, your voice shaking. “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

For a moment, Agatha’s mask slipped. Her eyes darkened, her expression hardening into something unreadable. Then, without warning, she grabbed your wrist, pulling you to your feet.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” she hissed, her grip bruising. “Not after everything I’ve done for you.”

Her voice cracked with something raw, something vulnerable, but it only fueled your defiance.

“You don’t own me,” you said, the words trembling but firm.

Agatha’s lips curled into a dangerous smile. “Oh, darling,” she whispered, her voice low and menacing. “I already do.”

You should’ve left. Walked out the front door that very first day and refused to let Agatha Harkness tighten her grip on your life. But desperation binds people, ties them to their torment in cruel, unyielding knots. You were broke, friendless, and hopeless. Agatha knew this. She had engineered this.

One day, driven by an overwhelming need for freedom, you slipped out of the mansion while Agatha was occupied in her study. You didn’t have a destination, only an overwhelming desire to breathe air that wasn’t tainted by her presence.

But you didn’t get far.

A black car pulled up beside you within minutes. The windows rolled down, revealing Agatha’s ice-cold gaze.

“Tsk, tsk, darling,” she said, her voice cutting through the quiet night. “Running away without saying goodbye?”

Her driver opened the back door, and Agatha stepped out, stalking toward you with the predatory elegance you had come to fear.

“I warned you,” she whispered, gripping your wrist with surprising strength. “There’s no escaping me.”

The ride back to the mansion was silent. Her grip never left your wrist, her nails digging into your skin. When you arrived, she led you inside with a calm, almost detached demeanor.

“I thought I was being kind,” she said once you were inside, closing the door with a resounding click. “Letting you work for me instead of keeping you locked away. But it seems you need to learn your place.”

Agatha’s grip on your wrist tightened as she pulled you closer, the dangerous gleam in her eyes making your heart race with equal parts fear and anger. She exuded control, towering over you not just physically but emotionally, the years of torment heavy between you like an anchor.

“You say I don’t own you, but here you are.” Her voice was soft, almost soothing, but her words dripped with venom. “You came to me, desperate, broken… and I welcomed you. I gave you purpose. Don’t you see?” She leaned in, her lips just brushing your ear. “You were always meant to be mine.”

The suffocating weight of her words threatened to overwhelm you. Agatha had taken everything from you—your independence, your sense of self, and now, even your will to fight. You stood there, frozen, as her fingers brushed along your jawline, a twisted facsimile of tenderness.

But there was no love in her touch. Only possession.

“You owe me,” she whispered, her face inches from yours. “You owe me everything. And you’re not going anywhere.”

That night, Agatha removed every shred of freedom you had left. No phone. No access to the outside world. You weren’t her maid anymore. You were her prisoner.

The days that followed were a blur of torment and submission. Agatha’s control tightened around you like a noose, her presence suffocating every moment of your existence.

One evening, as you lay in the cold, sterile confines of your room, a realization washed over you: there was no escape. Agatha had trapped you in her web, her obsession consuming you completely.

And in the depths of your despair, a horrifying truth began to take root.

You had fought so hard to resist her, to maintain your independence, but the constant push and pull of her control had worn you down. You were no longer the person you had been, no longer the girl who had dreamed of freedom and a fresh start.

You were hers.

And she knew it.

Agatha stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the hallway lights.

“You’re finally starting to understand,” she said, her voice soft but triumphant.

Tears streamed down your face as you looked at her, your defiance crumbling under the weight of her control.

“Why me?” you whispered, your voice breaking.

Agatha stepped into the room, her gaze never leaving yours.

“Because,” she said, her voice tender and possessive, “you’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted. And now, you’re mine.”

The moment your defiance crumbled, it felt like death. The person you had fought to hold onto, the fragments of your former self that Agatha hadn’t destroyed, slipped from your grasp like sand through your fingers. What replaced them was something darker—a hollow version of you, shaped by her control and your desperation to survive.

Agatha stood over you, a predator basking in her triumph, her blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she watched the tears streak your face. Her hand cupped your cheek, the possessiveness in her touch both suffocating and strangely comforting.

"That's it," she whispered, her voice soft as velvet. "No more fighting. No more pretending you're anything other than mine."

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Instead, you let your body sink into the bed, limp and resigned, as she leaned in, brushing her lips against your temple. The gesture was almost gentle, but it only served as a reminder of the power she held over you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick with unspoken truths, with the undeniable reality of what you had become. You hated yourself for it—for the small, treacherous part of you that found solace in her touch, that craved the twisted sense of stability she provided. Agatha had broken you down to the point where even her cruelty felt like love.

And that was what terrified you the most.

Agatha’s dominance over your life grew even stronger after that night. She no longer needed to coerce or threaten you—your surrender had made that unnecessary. Instead, she began to blur the lines between control and affection, lacing her cruelty with moments of twisted kindness that left you reeling.

She bought you expensive clothes, dressing you in fabrics that felt like cages. “You look stunning,” she would say, her tone dripping with approval. “Perfect for me.”

She demanded your presence during her late-night dinners, insisting that you sit beside her as she drank her wine and recounted the day’s events. Sometimes, her hand would rest on your thigh, her grip firm but not painful, a constant reminder of her claim over you.

Other times, she would pull you into her lap, her arms wrapped around you like steel bands. “Tell me you belong to me,” she would whisper, her breath hot against your ear. And every time, you would nod, your voice trembling as you gave her the answer she wanted.

“I belong to you.”

Over time, the resentment that had once burned brightly within you began to dim, replaced by a numb acceptance of your new reality. Agatha’s world became your world, her needs and desires shaping every aspect of your existence.

She began to soften in subtle ways, her sharp edges smoothing out as she reveled in her victory. She would brush your hair before bed, her fingers gentle as they combed through the strands. She would trace the scars on your wrists from past despair, her lips pressing against them as she murmured, “You’re safe with me now.”

It was a cruel irony, the way she twisted the concept of safety to mean submission. But in your fractured mind, her words began to hold a strange kind of truth. Agatha had stripped you of everything—your independence, your identity, your dreams—but she had also filled the void she had created. Her presence, as suffocating as it was, had become the only constant in your life.

One night, as you lay beside her in bed, her arms wrapped around you like a cage, you found yourself leaning into her touch. The realization hit you like a blow to the chest—you no longer hated her as fiercely as you once had.

“I hate you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the darkness. But the tears that slid down your cheeks betrayed the lie in your words.

Agatha’s lips curved into a knowing smile as she tightened her hold on you. “No, you don’t,” she murmured, her voice filled with twisted affection. “You just hate how much you need me.”

And in that moment, you knew she was right.

Your days bled into weeks, then months, until time became meaningless. The life you had once imagined for yourself—a life of freedom, of love untainted by pain—faded into the background, a distant memory overshadowed by the reality of your existence with Agatha.

She had transformed you into exactly what she wanted: a creature entirely dependent on her, bound to her by a dark and unshakable connection. And as much as you despised what you had become, a part of you—small and desperate—began to find comfort in the life she had built for you.

Agatha, for her part, seemed utterly satisfied. She no longer needed to assert her dominance with cruelty; your surrender had solidified her victory. Instead, she began to lavish you with affection, her gestures laced with a possessiveness that made your skin crawl and your heart ache.

“You’re mine forever,” she would say, her lips brushing against your temple as she held you close. And every time, you would nod, the words leaving your lips like a prayer.

“I’m yours.”

But deep down, a tiny spark of defiance still flickered within you, buried beneath the layers of submission and survival. It was a fragile thing, easily snuffed out by Agatha’s overwhelming presence, but it remained—a reminder that, no matter how deeply she had claimed you, a part of you still longed for freedom.

And as you lay in her arms, her breath warm against your skin, you couldn’t help but wonder: would that spark ever be enough to set you free? Or were you destined to remain trapped in her web, a willing prisoner of her dark and twisted love?

Agatha’s voice broke the silence, her words soft but commanding. “Say it,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your ear. “Say you love me.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you hesitated, the weight of her command pressing down on you like a vice. And then, with tears streaming down your face, you gave her what she wanted.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words tasting like ashes on your tongue.

Agatha’s smile was triumphant as she pulled you closer, her arms tightening around you in a suffocating embrace. “Good girl,” she purred. “You’re mine, and I’ll never let you go.”

And in that moment, you realized the horrifying truth: you didn’t want her to.

#agatha all along #agatha harkness x reader #dark fanfiction #agathario #agatha harkness #agatha harkness fanfic #kathryn hahn #marvel #dark!agatha harkness #rio vidal #aubrey plaza #agatha x reader #agatha coven of chaos #agatha spoilers

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littleplantfreak · 19 days ago

Text

TL;DR

Umemiya Hajime x Reader

wc: <900

Sfw

In more words than I can make a title out of, you read to your boyfriend Umemiya after he breaks his glasses.

“…Plants form flower buds only when they contain reserve food. This is true of plants grown for flowers or fruits. Rapidly growing plants, such, for example as Dahlias that have been too heavily fertilized and grown on rich soil, will produce prolific plants, stems and foliage, but few flowers…Hajime? Are you snoring?” you ask, though by now in your relationship, you can tell the slow heavy breaths that come with your boyfriend mean he's dozing as he holds you, rather than listening to you reading it.

“…mmh, sounds good Pumpkin,” he mumbles, half asleep as you look up at him with a sigh.

“Did you hear anything I just read?” you ask, not mad, but certainly exhausted from the monotony of the book. Audels Gardeners and Growers guide volume 4 was not for the casual gardener, nor was it something you yourself were interested in.

Two days ago during a maybe too enthusiastic make out session in his room, Umemiya managed to fully crush his glasses, frames and all with his elbow, though neither of you noticed until you got up the next morning with one of the lenses having pasted itself to your thigh as you slept before uncerimoniously falling on the floor with a small tink as you got out of bed.

It wasn’t too big a deal; he barely used them unless he was reading...except for the fact that he reads. A lot. Much more than you’d think a retired gang leader would at least, and although it was cute for the first few minutes, him holding his book out as he tried to squint-read the words had become a problem. The squinting was giving him migraine that even he couldn't brush off as nothing.

“I’ll just read it to you until you get your glasses back from the eye doctor's. It's partially my fault they're broken anyways.”

“Really?! You're gonna read to me?” he’d asked, and you're sure if it were possible, he'd have stars in his eyes. That was when he drug out blankets from the closet and made mugs of tea for you both before settling you to sit between his legs in the recliner, having you lean back against his broad chest. The blankets over you were icing on the cake, leaving you both more than comfortable for this.

Cracking open the book, you began where he'd left off on the page, but the more you read, the less sounds and comments he'd make, until finally, painfully, you read to where you're at now, stuck on this chapter about plant fertilization.

"Hajime, your tomatoes are escaping," you say, testing just how far gone he is.

“Huh? Catch them,” he breathes, and you know for sure that he’s listening but definitely not listening.

He only really starts to wake up when you shake him awake with your laughter, his continued nonsensical answers cracking you up. You lost it when you told him he had to bounce on it.

"Bounce on it?

"Crazy style," you nod solemnly, doing your best Nosferatu impression before you bark with laughter. Your laugh dies down as his arm tightens around you, the haze of sleep finally clearing.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, just that I both managed to convince you that your tomatoes were taking a vacation to Costa Rica, and that my middle name is William. You said it was beautiful," you snicker, feeling him chuckle as he leans forward to blow a raspberry right on your cheek.

"Wha- A sneak attack?"

"That's what you get for bullying me in my sleep." You can recall a few times he's bullied you in your sleep and it wasn't anything as innocent as this.

"That's what you get for falling asleep while I was reading to you."

"It's not my fault your voice is soothing. I don't think I've ever slept better. Maybe you're a siren? Hypnotizing and tempting me into sleep infested waters," he teases, closing his eyes and pressing his lips to the crown of your head. He definitely been reading too many bedtime stories to his siblings again.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, because you are also insanely cheesy,” you laugh, dog-earring the page in the book. While this wasn't productive for reading, you can't say it wasn't at least relaxing to a point.

“I’m lucky you’re mine,” he smiles, leaning back in the recliner further to curl you up closer in his arms. “Will you read to me again sometime? I can’t promise I won’t fall asleep, but I really do love hearing your voice.”

It’s a bit embarrassing to hear, because you know it’s true. He’ll call you any time you’re free, saying that he just really missed hearing you. Looking on his phone, he’s saved every voice message you’ve ever sent. He’s absolutely shameless about you and you can’t bring yourself to be anything but shameless about him too.

“Mm…I guess this siren can spare a little of my voice for you.”

#mari writes #ough its been about 5 months since ive written #umemiya hajime x reader #wind breaker x reader #i started rhyming at the end??#thts how u know im sleep deprived #i got to use an exerpt from my gardening guide tho so...fun!#I'm sleeping now nighty night #o i didnt beta it #em if ur reading this beta it in spirit #alsoo #isnt sleepy ume cute?#imtrying to find his voice again #like the one i used to write him wth #ne ways peace out girl scout dont look at me if there are typos

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galaxy-stardust · 6 months ago

Text

First story with Ghost is a sfw version. Use your phantasy to read between the lines ;)

Simon Ghost Riley x you

Part 1

First sight

The hum of fluorescent lights above my desk seemed louder today, grating against my nerves as I glanced at the clock. Another hour until my shift ended, but it might as well have been an eternity. Working in the administration office of the hospital wasn’t the most thrilling job, but it paid the bills.

I typed away at the computer, distracted as my thoughts drifted to the emergency room downstairs. My friend worked as a nurse there, and we often took our coffee breaks together. It was our little escape from the monotony. She had texted me earlier:

“Meet me outside in 10?”

I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed my coat and headed down the sterile halls of the hospital. The closer I got to the emergency room, the louder the sounds of chaos grew—urgent voices, the beeping of machines, the clatter of gurneys. This place was alive in a way the rest of the hospital wasn’t, buzzing with adrenaline and urgency.

My friend spotted me the moment I walked in, her hair tucked into a messy bun. “Hey, give me a second,” she called over the noise, scribbling something onto a chart.

I nodded, leaning against the wall to wait. That’s when the doors burst open.

An ambulance crew wheeled in a stretcher, a man on it groaning in pain. Behind them, another figure followed—a towering man dressed in black tactical gear. His presence commanded the room, even amid the chaos.

The first thing I noticed was the mask. A skull, white and stark against the black fabric. It covered the lower half of his face, leaving only his sharp blue eyes visible.

I froze.

He didn’t look like he belonged here, like he’d stepped straight out of one of the dark romance novels I devoured in secret. The kind of man who radiated danger and dominance.

My friend returned, grabbing my arm. “Ready?”

“Who… who is that?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, that’s one of the Special Forces guys. They come in sometimes with wounded soldiers or civilians. That one’s new, though. Haven’t seen him before.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. He moved with a precision that was almost predatory, his presence suffocating in the best way. He looked up suddenly, as if sensing my stare.

Our eyes locked.

My breath hitched. Those eyes—they were intense, like they could strip me bare with a glance. I felt exposed in a way I hadn’t in years, my usual defenses crumbling under his gaze.

My friend tugged on my arm, snapping me out of it. “Come on, let’s go.”

I followed her outside, but my mind was stuck on him. The way he’d looked at me. The way something inside me had stirred, a spark of excitement I hadn’t felt in… well, longer than I cared to admit.

As my friend sip her coffee, I just stare in mine, my hands shaking slightly.

“You okay?” she asked.

I nodded, lying to both her and myself. “Yeah, just… long day.”

But it wasn’t the day that had me rattled. It was him.

And I had no idea just how much my life was about to change.

Part 2

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #cod

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aventurineswife · 6 months ago

Note

Hi! This is my first time making a request but I literally love all of your hsr work and wanted to give it a try! Can I request Aventurine, Ratio, and/or anyone else you feel inspired to write reacting to reader stopping by to see them while they’re working? Have a great day/night!

In the Silence Between Chaos

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Romance, Fluff, Lighthearted, Playful Banter, Casual Humor, Established Relationship.

A/N: HII!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!! I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS!!🤭💖🫶

The steady hum of the office filled the space as Aventurine tapped his pen rhythmically against his desk, the gold nib catching the light of the green-glass lamp. Documents were scattered before him in a meticulous chaos only he could understand, numbers and risks dancing across the pages. The roulette-themed clock on the wall ticked steadily, but his focus was unshaken—until the sound of the door opening broke the monotony.

"Ah, darling," he greeted smoothly, his eyes lighting up as you stepped in. His ever-present smile softened into something more genuine. "To what do I owe this delightful interruption?"

You held up a small paper bag with a playful smirk. "Just thought you could use a break. Your assistant practically begged me to rescue you from yourself."

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Rescue me? From work? You wound me." But the way he reached for the bag betrayed his eagerness.

Inside was a small box of pastries and a note in your handwriting: For the gambler who bets on everything but sleep.

Aventurine’s laughter bubbled forth, rich and carefree. "You know me too well," he said, setting the bag aside. "But tell me—since you're here—how about we make a wager?" His eyes glinted mischievously.

"And what are we betting on this time?" you asked, crossing your arms with a smirk.

"Whether or not this pastry tastes as sweet as you."

You rolled your eyes but laughed, knowing full well you had already lost.

The rhythmic tapping of keys filled the air in Ratio's dimly lit laboratory. Shelves lined with books, glowing screens, and complex holographic projections dominated the room. The doctor sat hunched over his desk, hair falling over his face as his fingers danced over the keyboard. He was lost in his work, eyes fixed on a glowing equation that twisted and turned in midair.

The creak of the door broke his concentration. "Veritas?" Your voice cut through the silence like a beam of light, making his head snap up.

"Ah, [Name]," he said, his sharp eyes softening as he removed his glasses and leaned back in his chair. "I wasn’t expecting visitors. Is there something urgent you need?"

You shook your head, holding up a thermos and a small container. "Not urgent, just… figured you might need a break. Thought I’d bring you some tea and snacks."

He blinked, momentarily taken aback, before letting out a low chuckle. "You’ve come to save me from myself, have you? Very well, I’ll indulge your concern." He gestured toward the nearest chair. "Sit."

Placing the thermos and snacks on the table, you watched as he poured himself a cup. His movements were precise, almost ritualistic, and you couldn’t help but admire the way he carried himself with a quiet intensity.

"I’ve been working on a solution to a rather stubborn problem," he said, breaking the silence. "But I must admit, this interruption is… welcome."

You leaned forward, curiosity piqued. "What’s the problem?"

His lips curved into a small smile. "A theoretical model on multidimensional communication. Fascinating, yet infuriatingly elusive. Much like you."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Infuriating, huh? And yet here I am, bringing you tea."

"Indeed," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "You’re quite the enigma yourself. A distraction, yes, but also a source of clarity." His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the intensity in his gaze made your heart skip a beat.

"Ratio," you teased, trying to lighten the mood, "are you saying I’m your muse?"

"Perhaps," he replied, a rare softness in his tone. "Or perhaps just the only person who can remind me to step away from the chaos and appreciate the simpler things."

The two of you sat in comfortable silence, the hum of machinery around you fading into the background. In that moment, it wasn’t about equations or theories—it was about the connection you shared, grounding him in a way no academic pursuit ever could.

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cool-fancier · 9 months ago

Text

Running into You

Synopsis: You're just an ordinary person, but your life is about to take an extraordinary turn. Your friend Somi, a die-hard Blackpink fan, drags you to their concert. You stumble upon a quiet backstage area and bump into none other than Rosé, the main vocalist.

Word Count:6.9K (long one)

The afternoon sun filtered through the curtains of your living room, casting a soft, golden glow over the space. You were curled up on the couch with a book, trying to lose yourself in its pages, but your attention kept drifting. The words blurred together, the story losing its grip on you as your thoughts wandered.

Lately, everything seemed to have fallen into a predictable pattern, one that you couldn't quite break free from. Work, home, the occasional hangout with Somi, and then back to the routine. It wasn't that you were unhappy—just... stuck. There was a restlessness growing inside you, a need for something different, something that would shake up the monotony of your life.

"Why do you look like you're about to fall asleep?" Somi's voice cut through your reverie, pulling you back to the present. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, her laptop open with several tabs displaying concert dates, fan forums, and YouTube videos.

You glanced up, startled by her sudden question. "I'm not about to fall asleep," you replied, closing the book with a sigh. "I'm just... not into this book, I guess."

Somi's eyes sparkled with that mischievous look she often had when she was up to something. "Maybe you need to do something more exciting tonight," she suggested, her voice light but full of energy.

You raised an eyebrow, curious but cautious. "Like what?"

"Like coming to a concert with me," she said, her grin widening as she leaned forward, clearly excited about whatever she had planned. "There's this band I've been dying to see live, and I've got an extra ticket. You should totally come with me!"

You frowned slightly, hesitating. "A concert? I don't know, Somi. You know I'm not really into crowds, and I don't even know who this band is."

Somi rolled her eyes, clearly having anticipated your reluctance. "Come on, it's Blackpink! Even if you're not familiar with them, I promise you'll have a good time. Their shows are legendary, and the energy is just insane. Plus, it's been forever since we did something fun together outside of this apartment."

"Blackpink?" you repeated, the name vaguely familiar, though you couldn't place it. You might have seen it online somewhere, but you couldn't recall ever listening to their music. "I don't know..."

Somi wasn't one to give up easily. She moved closer, her tone becoming more persuasive. "Please? It'll be a blast! And who knows, maybe you'll even meet someone interesting." She winked, the playful grin on her face impossible to resist.

You chuckled, leaning back against the couch as you played along. "Oh yeah? You think I'm going to find the love of my life at a concert?"

"Hey, it could happen!" Somi teased, nudging you with her foot. "I mean, you're single, ready to mingle, and you've been in a bit of a rut lately. What better place to shake things up?"

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your amusement. "Right, because that's exactly how these things work."

Somi's grin only grew wider. "You never know! Besides, I've got a good feeling about this one. Who knows, maybe you'll even catch one of the members' eyes. There's this one, Rosé—I think you'd really like her."

"Rosé?" you repeated, trying to remember if you'd ever heard that name before. "Is she famous or something?"

Somi nodded eagerly. "Yup! She's the main vocalist, and she's absolutely gorgeous. I've always thought you two would be a perfect match."

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. "Now you're really dreaming. What would someone like her see in someone like me?"

"Don't sell yourself short," Somi said, her tone becoming more sincere. "You're smart, kind, and beautiful. Anyone would be lucky to be with you."

You smiled softly at her words, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. Somi always knew how to lift your spirits. "Thanks, Somi. But still, it's not exactly realistic, is it?"

"Maybe not," Somi admitted with a shrug. "But hey, at least come for the music and the experience. If nothing else, you'll get to see what all the hype is about."

You considered her words carefully. The prospect of something new, something different, was tempting. Maybe a night out was exactly what you needed to break the monotony.

"Alright," you finally said, giving in with a smile. "I'll go with you."

Somi's face lit up with excitement. "Yes! You won't regret it, I promise."

— — — —

The days leading up to the concert seemed to fly by, with Somi's enthusiasm never wavering. She tried to introduce you to Blackpink's music, playing their songs while you both worked around the apartment or during your commute together, but the details mostly flew over your head. The melodies were catchy, but with your busy schedule, you never really took the time to learn the names or faces behind the voices.

Each evening, after work or on lazy weekends, Somi would excitedly share a new song or music video, pointing out her favorite moments, but you only half-listened. It wasn't that you weren't interested; it was more that the music felt like background noise to everything else happening in your life. There was always something else to focus on—work deadlines, family obligations, and the usual demands of daily life.

But as the concert date approached, you couldn't help but notice a growing sense of anticipation within yourself. Maybe it was Somi's infectious excitement, or perhaps it was just the idea of doing something out of the ordinary, but you found yourself looking forward to the night more than you had initially expected.

The night of the concert arrived faster than you expected. As you and Somi got ready in your apartment, the excitement in the air was palpable. Somi was practically bouncing off the walls as she applied the finishing touches to her makeup.

"You look amazing," you said as you watched her in the mirror, genuinely impressed by her ability to transform her look for the occasion. Somi had gone all out, wearing a stylish outfit that perfectly captured the concert vibe—bold, chic, and a little edgy.

"Thanks! So do you," she replied, turning to give you a once-over. "See? I knew you'd get into the spirit of things."

You glanced at your reflection, feeling a bit more confident in your outfit. Somi had helped you pick out something that made you feel good—something that was still very much you but with a bit of flair. For the first time in a while, you actually felt excited about going out.

As you slipped into your jacket, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. There was something different about you tonight—a spark that you hadn't seen in a long time. It wasn't just the outfit or the makeup; it was the idea of stepping out of your comfort zone, of embracing something new.

"Okay, let's go before I change my mind," you joked, grabbing your jacket as you headed for the door.

Somi laughed, linking her arm with yours as you left the apartment. "No backing out now! We've got a concert to catch, and who knows? Maybe you'll even run into Rosé.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Yeah, because that's totally going to happen."

The journey to the concert venue was filled with a mix of excitement and nerves. Somi kept the conversation light, chatting about her favorite songs and how incredible the band was live. You listened with a smile, feeling more at ease with each passing minute, even if you couldn't quite keep track of all the band details she was throwing at you.

As you got closer to the venue, you could feel the energy around you intensifying. The streets were crowded with fans dressed in various shades of pink, holding signs and light sticks, all buzzing with anticipation. The atmosphere was infectious, and despite your earlier reservations, you could feel your own excitement starting to build.

"This is crazy," you muttered as you and Somi made your way through the throngs of people.

"Isn't it great?" Somi replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "This is what it's all about—the atmosphere, the anticipation, the music. It's going to be amazing."

The crowd outside the venue was massive, with fans buzzing with anticipation as they waited to get inside. The energy was contagious, and for the first time, you felt a genuine thrill of excitement.

As you approached the entrance, you could feel your nerves creeping in again. The noise, the crowd, the unfamiliarity of it all—it was a lot to take in. Somi must have sensed your apprehension because she gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Hey, if it gets too much, just let me know, okay?" she said, her tone gentle. "We can take breaks, step outside if you need to. I want you to have a good time, not feel overwhelmed."

You nodded, grateful for her understanding. "Thanks, Somi. I appreciate it."

Once inside the venue, the atmosphere was electric. The stage was set up with massive screens and lights, and the anticipation in the air was almost tangible. You and Somi found a spot with a decent view, and as you settled in, you started to feel a bit more comfortable. But as the minutes ticked by, the noise and the crush of the crowd began to get to you.

The venue was buzzing with life, the energy palpable as fans eagerly awaited the start of the show. You glanced around, taking in the sight of people decked out in merchandise—T-shirts, hats, light sticks—all proudly displaying their love for Blackpink. It was a world you didn't fully understand yet, but there was something exhilarating about being a part of it.

Somi was in her element, chatting excitedly with a group of fans nearby who were just as hyped as she was. You tried to focus on the conversation, but the noise and the sheer volume of people were starting to feel overwhelming. The venue, which had felt so thrilling moments before, was now beginning to press in on you, the weight of the crowd a little too much.

You took a deep breath, trying to ground yourself. "I'm going to step outside for a bit, just to clear my head before the show starts," you told Somi, hoping she wouldn't mind.

She looked at you with concern but quickly nodded, understanding. "Sure thing," she said, giving you a thumbs up. "Just don't take too long! You don't want to miss a second of this."

You smiled, appreciating her concern, and started to make your way through the crowd. It took longer than you anticipated, weaving through the throngs of people all eagerly chatting and finding their spots. But eventually, you reached the exit and stepped outside, into the cool night air.

The contrast was immediate and stark. The noise of the venue was replaced by the quiet hum of the city at night, the air cool against your skin. You took a deep breath, savoring the stillness, the way the world seemed to slow down out here. It was a much-needed reprieve from the overwhelming energy inside.

You walked for a bit, letting the tension in your shoulders ease as you moved further away from the noise and the crowd. The streets around the venue were quieter, less chaotic than you expected. You turned a corner and found yourself in a small, dimly lit alleyway. It wasn't particularly scenic, but it was peaceful, and right now, that was exactly what you needed.

Leaning against the wall, you closed your eyes for a moment, letting the quiet wash over you. The city sounds were distant, muted—cars in the distance, the faint murmur of voices, the occasional breeze rustling the leaves of a nearby tree. It was a soothing backdrop, one that allowed your mind to slow down and process everything.

You hadn't realized how much you needed this, this moment of solitude. The excitement of the evening, while exhilarating, had also been draining. But here, in the stillness of the night, you could finally breathe, let go of the nerves that had been building up.

Your thoughts began to wander, unbidden, back to Somi's words earlier. About Rosé. You couldn't help but smile to yourself. It was a sweet thought—Somi's belief that you and a global superstar could somehow be a perfect match. It was unrealistic, sure, but it was nice to have someone believe in you like that, even if it was just in jest.

The idea of meeting someone like Rosé felt like a distant dream, something far removed from the life you knew. But in the quiet of the alley, with nothing but your thoughts for company, it didn't seem so far-fetched. You let yourself imagine it for a moment—what it would be like to meet someone who could see you, really see you, beyond the surface. Someone who could connect with you in a way that felt real and meaningful.

You shook your head, laughing softly to yourself. "Get a grip," you muttered under your breath, pushing off the wall. This was silly, getting lost in such thoughts. It was just a concert, just a night out. Nothing more, nothing less.

But as you began to make your way back toward the venue, something caught your eye. The door to a side entrance was slightly ajar, light spilling out into the alleyway. Curious, you hesitated, wondering if you should take a peek inside. It was probably just a maintenance entrance or something equally mundane, but the idea of stepping into a quieter part of the venue was appealing.

With a quick glance around, you gently pushed the door open and slipped inside. The hallway was dimly lit, the sound of the concert preparations muffled in the distance. It was a stark contrast to the chaos outside, a pocket of calm in the midst of the storm.

You wandered down the hallway, the cool air inside a welcome change from the warmth of the crowd. There was something almost surreal about the quiet here, like you'd stepped into a different world entirely. It was a world where the noise and chaos of the concert didn't exist, where you could just be, without any expectations or pressures.

As you rounded a corner, lost in thought, you collided with someone. The impact was gentle but unexpected, and you both stumbled slightly, caught off guard.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" you exclaimed, your hands coming up instinctively to steady the other person. "I wasn't paying attention, and—"

"It's okay," a soft voice interrupted, gentle and reassuring. "Really, no harm done."

You looked up, and your breath caught in your throat. The woman standing in front of you was stunning. She had long, blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulders, and her eyes sparkled with a warmth that immediately put you at ease. There was something ethereal about her, something that made the world around her seem to blur at the edges.

"Are you sure?" you asked, still flustered as you took a step back to give her some space. "I wasn't paying attention, and I—"

"I'm sure," she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I've been in your shoes before—lost in thought and bumping into random people. It happens."

You let out a small, relieved laugh. "Well, I'm still sorry. I don't usually run into people like that."

"It's no big deal," she replied, her tone soft and kind. "Like I said, it happens. You're not hurt, right?"

You shook your head, still a little stunned. "No, I'm fine. Just... a little embarrassed."

"Don't be," she said, her smile widening a fraction. "It's actually kind of nice, having a normal interaction for once."

You blinked, caught off guard by her words. "Nice?"

"Yeah," she said, her voice taking on a thoughtful tone. "It's not often I get to just... be, you know? Without all the noise and expectations."

You nodded slowly, trying to process what she was saying. There was something about her, something in the way she spoke, that made you feel like you were in on a secret, like she was sharing something with you that she didn't often share with others.

"So, are you here for the concert?" you asked, hoping to steer the conversation into safer territory.

She nodded, her smile returning. "Yeah, I'm here for the concert."

"Me too," you said, relaxing a little now that the conversation had found its footing. "Well, sort of. My friend dragged me along. She's a huge fan of this band, but I don't really know much about them."

She chuckled softly, the sound warm and comforting. "That's actually kind of nice. You get to experience it all for the first time, without any preconceived notions.”

"Yeah, I guess so," you agreed, though you still felt a little out of place. "It's just a little intimidating, you know? Everyone else seems to know so much about them, and I'm just here trying to figure it all out."

"That's the beauty of it," she said, her tone light but sincere. "You get to see everything with fresh eyes. It's a rare thing, and it makes the experience all the more special."

You found yourself smiling at her words, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. There was something about her that made you want to keep talking, to keep this conversation going, but you weren't sure what to say next. The silence between you was comfortable, though, filled with a sense of understanding that didn't require words.

"So, what do you think so far?" she asked after a moment, her eyes curious.

"About what?" you replied, a little caught off guard.

"About the whole experience," she clarified, her smile softening. "The concert, the music... everything."

You took a moment to think about it, trying to put your feelings into words. "It's... overwhelming," you admitted. "But in a good way, I think. I didn't expect to feel so much... energy."

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. "It can be a lot to take in, especially if you're not used to it. But that's what makes it so powerful, I think. It's this shared experience, this connection between everyone in the room, all feeling the same thing."

You looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. There was something in her eyes, something deep and genuine, that made your heart skip a beat. You wanted to ask her more, to keep this connection going, but the words didn't come.

Finally, she broke the silence, her voice gentle. "I should probably get back. The show's going to start soon."

You nodded, though you felt a strange reluctance to let this moment end. "Yeah, I should too."

She smiled at you, a smile that seemed to hold a thousand unspoken words, and for a moment, you thought about asking her to stay, to talk a little longer. But before you could find the courage, she turned to leave.

"Maybe I'll see you around?" you found yourself saying, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

She paused, turning back to look at you, her eyes soft. "Maybe," she said, her voice holding a promise that made your heart flutter.

And then she was gone, disappearing down the hallway and leaving you standing there, wondering what had just happened. You felt like you'd just experienced something rare, something precious, but you weren't sure what to do with it.

You stood there for a moment longer, trying to collect your thoughts before heading back to the concert. As you made your way through the crowd to find Somi, your mind kept replaying the encounter, the way her eyes had seemed to see right through you, the way her smile had made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

When you finally found Somi, she was practically vibrating with excitement, her eyes wide as she talked to a group of fans. "There you are! You almost missed it!"

You forced a smile, trying to push the encounter out of your mind, at least for now. "Sorry, I got a little lost."

Somi waved it off, too excited to care. "No worries! Come on, the show's about to start!"

You followed her into the crowd, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the woman in the hallway. There was something about her that you couldn't shake, something that made you feel like you'd just missed out on something important.

As the lights dimmed and the crowd erupted into cheers, you tried to focus on the stage, on the music, on the experience that Somi had been so eager to share with you. But your mind kept drifting back to the woman in the hallway, to the way she had looked at you, like she had seen something in you that even you hadn't noticed.

And then the music started, and the stage lights came up, and you found yourself staring at the group on stage. The woman from the hallway was standing in the center, microphone in hand, her voice soaring over the crowd. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized who she was.

She was Rosé.

And she had been singing just for you.

— — — — —

You stood frozen, your eyes glued to the stage as Rosé sang. The realization of who she was—and who you had just been speaking to—sent a shockwave through you. Her voice was even more powerful in person, filling the entire venue with a warmth and intensity that made your heart race.

Next to you, Somi was cheering loudly, completely caught up in the performance. But you were still processing everything, your mind racing as you watched Rosé move effortlessly across the stage. She was captivating, her presence commanding every bit of attention from the audience, yet all you could think about was the conversation you'd had just minutes ago.

You hadn't recognized her. How could you have not recognized her?

The thought was both embarrassing and oddly exhilarating. You'd spoken to Rosé, not as a fan, not as someone who knew everything about her, but as yourself. And she had spoken to you, not as a celebrity, but as a person. The memory of her eyes meeting yours, the warmth in her voice—it all felt so surreal now.

As the performance continued, you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from her. Every note she sang, every movement she made, seemed to resonate with you on a deeper level. It was like she was speaking directly to you through the music, and for a moment, the crowded venue and the thousands of fans faded away, leaving just the two of you.

But then the song ended, and the crowd erupted into applause, snapping you out of your reverie. You glanced at Somi, who was practically glowing with excitement, completely oblivious to the inner turmoil you were experiencing.

"This is amazing!" Somi shouted over the noise, grabbing your arm. "Aren't they incredible?"

"Yeah," you replied, your voice a little shaky. "They really are."

Somi didn't seem to notice your unease, too caught up in the next song as it started. But you couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. Rosé was right there, on that stage, singing her heart out—and yet, all you could think about was the brief, fleeting connection you'd shared with her backstage.

As the concert went on, you tried to focus on the music, on the energy of the crowd, but your thoughts kept drifting back to her. You kept replaying your conversation in your head, analyzing every word, every look, trying to make sense of what had happened.

Had she recognized you? Did she know that you didn't realize who she was? Was that why she had seemed so intrigued by you?

The questions swirled in your mind, making it hard to focus on anything else. Even as the concert reached its peak, with the crowd singing along and the lights flashing in time with the music, you felt a strange sense of detachment, like you were watching everything from a distance.

It wasn't until the final song that you finally managed to pull yourself back into the moment. The music slowed, and the stage lights dimmed, casting the group in a soft, golden glow. Rosé stepped forward, her voice filling the venue with a hauntingly beautiful melody that sent chills down your spine.

You watched her, completely mesmerized. There was something raw and vulnerable in the way she sang, something that seemed to echo the conversation you'd had earlier. It was like she was laying herself bare for the world to see, and yet, somehow, it felt like she was singing just for you.

As the song came to an end, Rosé's eyes swept over the crowd, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, they met yours. You held your breath, wondering if she recognized you, if she remembered the conversation you'd had. But then her gaze moved on, and the moment was over, leaving you with a strange mix of emotions that you couldn't quite untangle.

The concert ended with a final burst of energy, the crowd erupting into applause as the group took their bows. You clapped along with everyone else, but your mind was still elsewhere, lost in the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings that Rosé had stirred up.

As the lights came up and the crowd began to disperse, Somi turned to you, her face flushed with excitement. "That was incredible! I'm so glad you came with me!"

"Yeah, it was amazing," you agreed, though your voice lacked the enthusiasm that Somi's held.

She didn't seem to notice, still buzzing with the afterglow of the concert. "We should totally do this again sometime! I can't believe how good they were live!"

You nodded, forcing a smile. "Definitely."

But as you made your way out of the venue, your thoughts kept drifting back to Rosé. The concert was over, but the memory of your encounter with her lingered, leaving you with a sense of unfinished business, like there was something more to be said, something more to be done.

You couldn't shake the feeling that you'd missed an opportunity, that there was something important that had been left unsaid. And as you and Somi walked through the crowd, your mind raced with possibilities, wondering if you'd ever get the chance to speak to her again.

— — — — —

The ride home was a blur of neon lights and distant chatter. Somi was still gushing about the concert, replaying her favorite moments and showing you clips she'd captured on her phone. You tried to engage, to share in her excitement, but your mind was elsewhere, still stuck in that dimly lit hallway where you'd spoken to Rosé.

By the time you arrived back at your apartment, Somi had finally started to wind down. She flopped onto the couch with a satisfied sigh, scrolling through her phone for more Blackpink content.

"That was seriously one of the best nights ever," she said, glancing up at you with a grin. "Thanks for coming with me."

"I'm glad I did," you replied, and you meant it. Despite the overwhelming emotions, there was something about the night that felt... significant.

Somi yawned, clearly exhausted from all the excitement. "I think I'm going to crash," she said, standing up and stretching. "But we should totally talk about this tomorrow. I want to hear all your thoughts about the concert."

You nodded, watching as she headed to her room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The apartment was quiet now, the only sound the faint hum of traffic outside. You sank onto the couch, finally allowing yourself to process everything that had happened.

Your mind kept drifting back to Rosé, to the way she had looked at you, the way her voice had sounded in that quiet hallway. There was something about the encounter that you couldn't shake, something that felt unfinished.

Without really thinking, you pulled out your phone and opened up a search engine, typing in "Rosé Blackpink" out of curiosity. As the search results popped up, you were greeted with countless images of her—performing on stage, attending events, posing for photoshoots. She looked just as stunning in the photos as she had in person, but there was something different about the woman you'd met.

In the photos, she was polished, poised, the image of a global superstar. But the Rosé you had spoken to in the hallway had been different—more relaxed,

more real. There had been a vulnerability in her eyes, a warmth in her smile, that you hadn't expected.

You found yourself scrolling through the images, searching for that same warmth, that same realness, but it wasn't there. In the photos, she was Rosé, the idol, the star, but in the hallway, she had just been... herself.

As you continued to scroll, you came across a video of the concert you had just attended. Curious, you clicked on it, watching as the camera panned over the crowd before zooming in on the stage. The energy of the concert was palpable, even through the screen, but your focus was solely on Rosé.

The video captured the final song, the one where Rosé had looked out into the crowd, her voice filled with emotion. You watched as she sang, her eyes sweeping over the audience, and for a moment, you could almost convince yourself that she was looking at you.

But as the video continued, you noticed something that made your heart skip a beat. Just before the song ended, Rosé glanced off to the side of the stage, her expression shifting subtly. It was a brief moment, barely noticeable, but it felt significant.

You replayed the video, watching that moment over and over, trying to decipher the meaning behind it. Was she looking for someone? Was she thinking about your conversation? Or was it just a trick of the camera, a coincidence that meant nothing?

The questions swirled in your mind, making it impossible to focus on anything else. You tried to push them away, telling yourself that it was just a chance encounter, that it didn't mean anything, but the doubts lingered.

Finally, you set your phone down, running a hand through your hair with a frustrated sigh. You needed to stop overthinking this. It had been a moment, a brief, fleeting moment, and nothing more.

But as you lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, you couldn't help but wonder. What if it had been more? What if there was something deeper, something that you hadn't fully grasped?

The questions haunted you as you drifted off to sleep, leaving you with a strange sense of anticipation, like you were standing on the edge of something important, something life-changing, but you didn't know what it was.

— — — —

The next morning, you woke up feeling restless, the events of the previous night still fresh in your mind. Somi was already up, humming to herself as she made breakfast, but you couldn't bring yourself to join her. Instead, you grabbed your phone and headed out to the small balcony attached to your apartment, hoping the fresh air would help clear your head.

As you stood outside, your thoughts drifted back to the concert, to Rosé, and to the way she had looked at you. There was something about that moment, about the way she had spoken to you, that you couldn't shake. It felt like there was more to it, something left unsaid, something unfinished.

You stared out at the city, trying to piece together the puzzle of the night before. Why had Rosé taken the time to talk to you? Why had she seemed so different from the image you had of her—a global superstar with thousands of fans at her feet? The encounter felt significant, but you couldn't put your finger on why.

Somi's voice pulled you from your thoughts. "Hey, you okay out there?" she called from the kitchen.

"Yeah," you replied, though your voice lacked conviction. "Just thinking."

Somi appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame as she looked at you with concern. "You've been quiet since last night. Did something happen?"

You hesitated, not sure how to explain what you were feeling. "It's nothing, really. Just... processing, I guess."

She gave you a knowing smile. "The concert was pretty intense, huh? I saw the way you were watching the stage. It's like you were in a trance."

You nodded, your thoughts drifting back to Rosé's performance, the way her voice had wrapped around you, pulling you into a world where only the two of you existed. "Yeah... something like that."

Somi grinned, pushing off the doorframe. "I knew you'd come around! I'll make a Blinks fan out of you yet."

You forced a laugh, trying to match her enthusiasm, but the unease lingered. There was something more to last night, something you couldn't quite grasp. And it was gnawing at you, refusing to let go.

After breakfast, you decided to take a walk to clear your head. You needed to get out, to think, to figure out what was bothering you so much. Somi offered to come with you, but you declined, telling her you needed some time alone.

The streets were quieter than usual, the weekend morning lulling the city into a slow start. You wandered aimlessly, your feet carrying you without direction, your mind replaying every detail of the night before. The way Rosé had looked at you, the way she had smiled—there was something there, something that made you feel seen in a way you hadn't expected.

As you turned a corner, your thoughts still tangled, you nearly bumped into someone coming from the opposite direction. You looked up, an apology ready on your lips, but the words died in your throat when you saw who it was.

It was Rosé.

She was standing right in front of you, dressed casually in jeans and a simple jacket, a baseball cap pulled low over her eyes. For a moment, neither of you moved, both caught off guard by the sudden encounter.

"Hi," she said, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

"Hi," you echoed, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn't believe it—what were the chances?

Rosé looked around, as if checking to see if anyone was watching, then back at you, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

"Me neither," you replied, your mind racing to catch up with the situation. "Are you... are you following me?"

Her eyes widened in surprise, then she laughed, a sound so genuine and warm that it made your heart flutter. "No, not at all. I'm just... I don't know. I guess it's fate or something."

"Fate?" you repeated, the word hanging between you like a question that neither of you could answer.

She nodded, her smile fading into something more serious. "Yeah, maybe. Or maybe I just... I don't know, wanted to see you again."

Your breath caught in your throat. There was something in her eyes, something that made you feel like this moment was teetering on the edge of something bigger, something you couldn't quite grasp.

Before you could respond, she glanced around again, her expression shifting. "Listen, I know this might sound strange, but... would you mind walking with me for a bit? I'd like to talk, if that's okay."

You hesitated, still trying to wrap your mind around the fact that Rosé was standing in front of you, asking to spend more time together. "Sure," you finally managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled, a genuine smile that seemed to reach her eyes, and motioned for you to follow her. The two of you started walking, side by side, the city moving around you as if in a different world. Neither of you spoke at first, the silence between you comfortable, but charged with anticipation.

As you walked, Rosé glanced over at you, her expression contemplative. "You know, I don't get to do this often," she said quietly.

"Do what?" you asked, curious.

"Just... be myself," she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "Away from the cameras, the expectations. It's nice to have a conversation without all the noise."

You nodded, feeling a deep sense of connection to her words. "I can imagine. It must be exhausting, always being in the spotlight."

"It is," she admitted, her eyes distant for a moment. "But last night... talking to you, it felt different. Like I could just be me."

There was a softness in her tone, something that made your heart ache with a strange mix of emotions. You wanted to say something, to tell her that you felt the same, but the words were stuck in your throat.

The two of you continued walking until you found yourselves in front of a small, cozy café tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It was the kind of place that looked like it was straight out of a postcard, with ivy creeping up the walls and a charming little sign that swung gently in the breeze.

Rosé hesitated at the entrance, then turned to you with a smile. "Do you want to grab a coffee? My treat.”

"Sure," you replied, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.

The café was warm and inviting, with the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. Rosé led you to a table in the corner, away from the few other patrons, and the two of you sat down, the atmosphere between you comfortable, but still tinged with something unspoken.

As you both sipped your drinks, the conversation began to flow more easily. Rosé was surprisingly down-to-earth, sharing stories about her life, her travels, and the little things that made her happy. You found yourself opening up as well, sharing stories from your own life, laughing at shared experiences, and finding common ground in unexpected places.

The connection between you grew stronger with each passing moment, and for a while, it felt like the outside world didn't exist—just the two of you, talking and laughing over coffee.

But then, just as you were beginning to relax completely, Rosé's phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at it, her expression shifting slightly, but then she smiled at you and put the phone face down on the table, clearly not wanting to interrupt your time together.

"You're popular," you teased lightly, trying to keep the mood light.

Rosé chuckled, her eyes twinkling. "It's probably just work stuff. I try not to let it interfere when I'm enjoying myself."

"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," you said, feeling a warmth spread through you.

She looked at you, her gaze softening. "I really am. This is... nice. Just being able to sit and talk like this."

There was a moment of comfortable silence between you, and then Rosé's phone buzzed again. This time, she let out a small sigh and reached for it.

"Sorry, let me just check this quickly," she said, her tone apologetic.

"Of course," you replied, trying to ignore the slight pang of disappointment.

Rosé glanced at the screen, her eyes widening slightly as she read the message. A small smile tugged at her lips, and then she looked up at you, her expression somewhere between amused and mischievous.

"Everything okay?" you asked, curious about what had caused her reaction.

She nodded, biting her lip as if holding back a laugh. "Yeah, it's just... do you trust me?"

The question caught you off guard, but there was something in her tone, in the playful glint in her eyes, that made you smile. "I think so... why?"

She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Because I just had a crazy idea, and I think it could be a lot of fun."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued but wary. "What kind of crazy idea?"

Rosé grinned, her excitement almost contagious. "How do you feel about a little adventure? Something spontaneous?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion, the idea of doing something completely

out of the ordinary both thrilling and nerve-wracking. "What did you have in mind?"

She looked around the café, as if making sure no one was listening, then leaned in closer. "Well, I just got a text from one of the girls in my group. They're doing something kind of wild today, and they dared me to bring someone along. Someone... unexpected."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "You mean... you want me to come with you?"

"Yeah," she said, her smile widening. "If you're up for it. It's nothing dangerous, I promise. Just a little spontaneous fun."

You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing with possibilities. This was definitely not what you had expected when you woke up this morning, but the idea of spending more time with Rosé, of being part of whatever adventure she had in mind, was too tempting to resist.

"Okay," you said, feeling a rush of excitement. "I'm in."

Rosé's eyes lit up with excitement. "Great! Let's go before we change our minds."

As the two of you quickly finished your drinks and prepared to leave the café, your heart raced with anticipation. Whatever was about to happen, it was sure to be something you would never forget.

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fourorchid · 9 days ago

Text

“Obedient Thing”

— Chapter 5 (End) —

Description: The monotony of your day to day life as a lab assistant is suddenly interrupted upon meeting Viktor, a researcher at the academy, who has a gaze that pulls you apart and knows exactly how to piece you back together. His voice, his actions—they’re dizzying, frustrating—but madly addictive. Curiosity and happenstance seem to render you incapable of avoiding him as you come to terms with the newfound feelings he’s unintentionally (or maybe intentionally) stirred within you.

Chapter Index:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 (here)

— Viktor x fem!Reader | ~5.8k —

Content Warning: dom!Viktor x fem!reader, explicit sex, penetration, edging, blowjob, fingering, squirting, unprotected sex (oops), ejaculation inside (oops x2)

**If you are not 18+, please do not interact**

Disclaimer: The finale is here! Thank you for being patient, I hope the wait was worth it. Not gonna lie, I was squealing and kicking my feet as I was writing this. As always, I appreciate any comments or feedback, thanks again for all the support on this series :)

Enjoy ~

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You didn’t even push back when Jayce said you would be helping Viktor today.

“The Academy—“ he huffs, “They’re putting the pressure on him. Viktor’s been working on this prototype—it’s medical, a brace—something that they agreed would help people once perfected,” He took a long breath in before continuing, “But then they just pushed the due date to the beginning of next week out of nowhere—“

“I don’t mind.” You say simply, cutting off his explanation.

A perplexed look flitted over Jayce’s features, but he doesn’t dare question it. “Oh, uh—great, thank you, he should be in lab 308.”

You readjust your bag on your shoulder as you begin towards the stairwell to the other floor. Admittedly, you were embarrassed to even face Viktor after your last interaction and what it had resulted in. You shake your head of the thought.

Yet, despite that, you still had this urge to see him again. The frustration of it all was outweighed by something more imperative; that same feeling that you were too scared to really examine but too overtaken with to ignore.

You arrive shortly at the other lab, you open the door with a knock as you enter. There he sat, elbows resting on top of the work bench as he fiddled with the component in his hand. You noticed Viktor’s appearance was more disheveled than usual, his sleeves were rolled up haphazardly, his hair tousled from likely running his hand through it one too many times, his brows pressed firmly together in concentration—and he had never looked better.

He glances up after a moment, appraising the intrusion to find it was just you staring at him, still planted firmly in the doorway.

“Hello, Miss y/n. You may come in.” He speaks formally. A pink flush paints your neck and face as you realize he had noticed. You walk into the lab to set your belongings down.

“Is that part of the prototype?” You recall what Jayce had mentioned.

“Yes, it’s a component to a medical brace I’ve been working on—the last part that needs to be attached before I can begin testing.” He explains as you look at the piece in his hands. Your eyes follow his finger as it traces along the mechanism, the action stirring something in you. You nod.

He breaks from the trance of his work, noticing the almost imperceptible shift in your demeanor. He smiled but refrained from saying anything.

Placing the component gently on the table, he stood up. His hand braced itself on your waist as he slid past you to find an extra stool for you to use. The action, so blatantly intentional, catches you off guard. You falter. He returns, placing the stool across from him and moving the component between you both on the edge of the table.

“Please—sit, Miss y/n.” He offers a gentle reminder as to what you were to be doing, your mind now blank. You oblige, sitting down to face him. He looked you up and down before leaning forward and hooking his hand under the stools top, pulling you towards him a bit more, stopping once you were close enough to work on the part together. A shiver ran through you at the proximity.

“Let’s begin.” He states, allowing you no time to process.

Viktor hands you the jointed end as he carefully explains what to do.

“Take these pliers and mark six divots—evenly spaced—around each hinge. It will help ensure the individual pieces don’t slip out of place.” He speaks in a low, precise timbre.

You nod, taking the pliers in your hand to begin on the joints while Viktor worked on attaching a ligament to the other end.

* * * *

Even after the initial hour it usually would take you to settle in, it still required nearly all of your will power to focus with Viktor this close to you. His soft breathing filled your ears, almost hypnotic. And your eyes kept wandering to his forearms as he worked—the rolled sleeves of a man’s shirt were an aphrodisiac in their design, you think.

Suddenly, Viktor moves closer to get a better look at the piece between his hands, his knee now stanced between your legs before subtly pressing up against the inside of your thigh. His eyes flicker up to meet yours as he speaks, “Focus, Miss y/n.” His delivery was stern and made your pulse jump, realizing you had been caught and were now receiving due punishment.

The room feels inexplicably warmer but Viktor’s demeanor gives way to nothing. You decide to ignore it as best you can while you continue marking.

Eventually, you finish all of the hinges, you look up to Viktor. “Hinges are done.” You speak quieter than usual due to the fact that you are so close to each other.

“Good, thank you. You can help me with the last part of this ligament—it’s proving to be rather…temperamental.” He speaks quieter as well, mirroring you.

You do as he asks, and unfortunately for your dwindling composure, the task requires you to lean in even further. Viktor hums softly in satisfaction as you adjust yourself closer to him.

After a moment, Viktor realizes he requires the other set of pliers behind you on the table. He lifts forward slightly to swap them out with the pair he was currently holding, and in doing so, brings his knee right against your clothed center beneath your skirt.

You tremble with a surprised inhale.

And he doesn’t stop there, no, he takes his time retrieving them—even going so far as to brush his knee up and down against you just barely to the point where it could still be plausibly denied.

A half-contained shudder travels down your abdomen at the sensation. Finally, Viktor moves, indicating his return to his seat. But to your embarrassment and pleasure, he makes sure to keep his knee pressed snuggly up against you while continuing his work.

You find yourself insatiable as you act on impulse, pushing yourself a bit harder against his knee. “Mmh—“ You let out a strained hum of pleasure, your cheeks burned red in shame but you were too far gone to stop.

“Miss y/n.”

He speaks your name as a warning, but he makes no move to stop it just yet. You look up to him, needy.

“Can you behave yourself? Or do I need to remind you of your place?”

He chastises you in a measured tone that sent a chill down your back, stopping you in your tracks. But something tells you he was aware of his effect on you—setting you up on purpose. Either way, the tension filling the room was becoming unbearable; so thick you were almost choking on it. He pulls back, removing the pressure you ached for more of.

And it just wasn’t fair. He was the one pointing out your need, inviting you to find some relief from him—insisting, even—but then pulling away each time you acted upon it.

And the worst part—you loved it. You couldn’t stand how much you loved it. Being built up on the edge of ruin at everything he does, entirely at his mercy—and he knows it too.

Your frustration reaches a boiling point.

You set down what you were working on, the ligament clinking against the table. “Who do you think I am? Someone fun to mess with?” You blurt out, standing up to promptly put some space between you both.

Viktor leans back, curious and slightly caught off guard by the outburst as his eyes traced over your hands where they moved to fix your skirt.

“Not at all, I think you are entirely more interesting than that.” He concedes as he stands to walk over to where you stood, still allowing you some space.

“Then could you please treat me as such?” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, a defensive pose.

“What about how I treat you is not to your liking?” He remains cool and calm, the question genuine but not without implication. He clasps his hands together as he stood against the table, lifting his chin as he appraises you.

“You order me around, you—you get me stirred up….” You trail off, Viktor gives you a second to continue but you seem to have already lost steam.

“And yet, despite those things, you obey every command and order, you let me get you stirred up—why is that?” Your words fail you as you both know the reason.

“You are an intelligent woman, Miss y/n, I have no doubt you can come up with an answer.”

You turn away to try and escape the confrontation, feeling embarrassed at your inability to reckon with your own desires. But Viktor insists, stopping you in your tracks with a firm hand placed on your shoulder.

“It is not my intention to back you into a corner,” he speaks, taking a step closer, “But I do need to know that you are okay with this.” He adds, followed by a pause of silence on your end.

“I only command you as much as you allow me to,” he continues, his voice softer now, “I can give and take as much or as little as you give me.” His eyes search your face, trying to decipher the feelings bubbling out of you.

You bring your face back to Viktor’s, exhaling a sigh coated in vulnerability, still unsure what to say.

“I can pull back some if you are overwhelmed—perhaps you would like a moment to sort through what you are feeling?” He suggests.

You shake your head, dismissing the offer. The last thing you wanted was to be away from him—in fact, you wanted the exact opposite. But, regardless, you knew he was right—you needed to be honest with yourself.

You give a single decisive nod, more reassured after both laying your cards on the table.

“I’d like to continue.”

A soft smile splays across his lips at your response.

Before turning back to the project, Viktor reaches out and does something unexpected—running his knuckles down your cheek, featherlight and sweet. The tender gesture sends a flutter through your chest.

You follow him back to the work bench to finish what you both had started.

* * * *

It was not long after until the prototype was completely formed. Viktor tweaked a few things before placing it gently on the table, satisfied.

“Now we just need to test its functioning. Would you be comfortable helping me with the trial, Miss y/n?” He looks to you.

You pause, unsure what that entails. Maybe you were overthinking it.

��Of course.”

Viktor brings his hands to his shirt, loosening the collar slightly in preparation. You swallow softly, your mouth running dry.

He then picks up the intricate brace and starts to wrap it around himself. You take the opportunity to roam over his torso and bared collarbone, appreciating the way his lean frame flexed underneath the fabric of his shirt.

Viktor suddenly stops, confused as he attempts to adjust the brace but something isn’t right. He removes it and tries one more time before eventually sliding it back off again with a beleaguered sigh.

“It seems the measurements are slightly off—the circumference is too small.” He groans. All that work unfortunately did not make the final product immune to such a simple miscalculation.

“Would it fit me?” You sound a bit more timid than you anticipated.

“Well…I suppose you could try. Would you be okay with that?” Viktor’s eyes roam over your expression, searching for any signs of hesitation.

“Yes.” You sound more confident.

Viktor nodded.

He stepped closer to you. “Miss y/n, do you have anything you could use to put your hair up?” he asks.

“Mhm.” You hum as you take the hair tie from your wrist to begin gathering your hair up off your back in preparation for the brace, but Viktor stops you.

“Let me.”

He plucks the hair tie from your hand and takes your hair between his fingers, gentle and meticulous. The way his hands feel in your hair has you just about ready to melt. He brings the tie over to fasten it in place.

“Beautiful” He whispers under his breath, so quiet you weren’t sure you were meant to hear it. Heat crawls up your neck as he pulls away to examine his work.

He circles the brace around in front of him, opening it up to wrap along your torso, securing it in place on your back.

“How does that feel? Loose? Too tight?” His words tickle the nape of your neck in a low rumble.

“Could be tighter, I think.” You breathe out.

Viktor makes an adjustment.

“Now?”

“A little tighter—I promise I won’t break.” Your response comes out a bit more taunting than reassuring but he lets it slide.

With one final pull, he cinches the brace tightly around you, making your breath catch.

“Better?” His voice was lower now as his hands lingered on your waist a second longer than necessary.

“Mhm.” You nod.

“Alright, let’s begin.” Viktor pauses to gather a pad and paper from his desk. He positions his cane under his left arm as he returns behind you.

“To start, I’m going to have you test the brace’s range of motion—just follow my instruction.” He explains calmly.

“Bring your arms straight out in front of you—“

He looks up to see you following along, “And now bring them all way out at your sides.” You continue, no complications yet.

“Good. Now, lift your arms up straight for me.”

You bring your arms up, but halfway through you realize the bottom of your blouse was lifting above the waistband of your skirt—you pause.

“All the way up, Miss y/n.”

You reluctantly oblige, feeling the cool air hit the band of newly exposed flesh above your hips. You hear the pen in Viktor’s hand jotting down his observations on the notepad before continuing.

“Now, bend over for me.” He directs.

You try not to think about it too hard—how that order might sound in a different context.

Keeping your legs straightened, you lean forward as far as you can go. Your skirt rides up, just barely covering what it’s meant to. Viktor exhales.

“Excellent, thank you.”

You return to standing.

“No issues so far? It enables your full range of motion?” He asks.

“Yes, I don’t feel any resistance.”

“Perfect—now we must check the structural stability when introduced to strain. Ideally, the brace can withstand pressure and not produce any significant discomfort for the wearer.” He speaks almost clinically. “This might be a bit painful as we test its limits, so please let me know if it becomes too much for you.”

You take a deep breath in to steady yourself as you wait for Viktor to begin.

You feel his hands resting at the base of your spine against the brace, he begins to press lightly. There’s some tension but you barely notice it.

Viktor waits a moment to observe your reaction. He presses down with more force, you wince slightly. “Still okay?” He asks.

“Yes.” You assure, letting him continue.

He pushes again, this time much harder than before. A noise somewhere between a moan and a hiss involuntarily pushes out of you. He takes his other hand and wraps around to grip your waist as he feels you stumble.

“Too much?” His voice also sounds strained in solidarity.

“No,” you swallow as the pain dissolves, “Keep going.”

Viktor pauses, not knowing whether to admire your stubbornness or reprimand it. He reluctantly continues, keeping your blessing as collateral. His one hand was still braced on your waist, you could feel the heat from his palm seeping through the fabric of your shirt.

He pushes firmly down again. You gasp, feeling a sharp pain shoot all the way up to your shoulder blades.

“Just a little more, you are doing so well.” Viktor whispers calmly into the shell of your ear.

You feel his thumb on your waist brushing back and forth in an attempt to ease you through the pain. You bring your bottom lip between your teeth as you prepare for the final impact.

Viktor’s chin now rests on your shoulder his chest pressed against your back, trying to ground you and keep you upright.

He presses down as hard as he can within what he believes you can handle.

“Viktor—ah—“ You yelp, your vision going black at the searing sensation. You bring your arms behind you, wrapping your fingers weakly around his wrist; effectively tapping out. A heavy pulse thumps in your ears as you feel your knees buckle. Viktor brings you back up against him, keeping you steady as you recover.

“It’s all done—you did very well, Miss y/n.” Viktor shushes you gently as he carefully removes the brace from your frame, setting it aside. His praise sends heat through your body, pooling somewhere lower. He holds you there until your breathing returns to normal. His hand remains at the band of bare flesh at the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles against your skin.

You turn around to face him. And as the pain subsides, you find yourself left with an entirely different mood—something hot and heavy. Viktor’s gaze was locked on yours as he listened to your breathing, caressing your skin, so soft beneath his fingers. There was no doubt he was feeling something similar.

Your eyes flickered down to his lips. He did the same, appreciating the swollen blush staining your bottom lip from where your teeth had been.

Before giving yourself a chance to second-guess, you lean in.

But Viktor was quicker than that.

Immediately he took his hand to grip where your hair was gathered together between the elastic band, pulling your head back to prevent you from getting any closer. He had fully commandeered control of the situation—but it only fueled your want.

“Ah ah ah, Miss y/n, I am not sure you are of sound mind right now” Viktor tsks. You hold your breath, hanging on his every word—just waiting for the green light.

“You see, pain can sometimes blur the line—” he leans in, almost antagonizing, as he brings his face closer to yours. Moving his mouth to your jaw, he starts planting slow, deliberate kisses down your neck.

“Between logic—” kiss.

You bite back a hushed moan.

“And emotion.” kiss.

“So—are you consenting to this?” He’s fully teasing you now, drawing it out until its unbearable.

You whimper, exhausted and so intoxicated by him you have trouble responding.

“Use your words.” He coaxes.

“Please, Viktor—“ He hums at the phrase, giving you a look of tamed lust that was ready to pounce.

“Beautiful start, yes?”

“I want you to fuck me.” You breathe out.

A sound somewhere between a chuckle and a groan vibrates through him.

“Such filthy words” he moves his hand back to your hip, his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt slightly, roaming across your back. “But I do think you are sincere,” he speaks in a deep, almost whisper, close enough to your face for you to feel his words dance across your skin, leaving a red flush in their wake.

“Although,“ his other hand finds its way beneath your skirt, “I might need evidence to be certain.”

He pauses his movement to check in, his stare flitting over your expression, hungry and in wait.

“Mhm,” you hum, too pathetically impatient to find the words, but that was all he needed anyway.

He teasingly brushes aside your underwear, dipping his fingers to your entrance to feel your warm, wet heat as your breath hitched. He moves his fingers up and down slowly before returning to circle your sensitive clit in a drawn out motion. Jolts of pleasure go through you at each repetition and your legs tremble slightly as you attempt to hold yourself upright.

His eyes stay trained on your face, satisfaction curling on his lips as he takes in your reaction. Your mouth hangs slightly open as a gasp catches in your throat. The noises you make were something he could easily find himself getting addicted to. In fact, he was already plotting how to get his next fix.

He then pulls away with no warning, you whimper. He returns his hand in front of him to examine the wet coat between his fingers, as though it were a work of art in its own right, before offering his hand to you. You take his fingers into your mouth, licking them clean in a haze. He finds himself pleased, his own hardening arousal twitching in his pants at the sight of you taking what he gives you.

“On your knees, Miss y/n.” Viktor orders. A shiver runs down your back as you lower yourself to the ground. His breathing seems to become heavier at the positioning of you below him like this—the first obvious sign that this all is affecting him as much as it is you. From the lab window, the dying evening sun casts a halo-ed glow around your silhouette. Such angelic imagery in contrast to the sin taking place—Yin and Yang, he supposes.

He reaches his hands to your hair, freeing it from the fixture—it sweeps down, tickling your back and shoulders. Viktor brushes a hand across the side of your head, running it through your hair almost lovingly before bringing his hand back around to your chin. He runs his thumb across your bottom lip, still glossy with your own arousal—just begging to be used.

“Open your mouth.”

Once your lips part, he slips his thumb inside, pressing into the soft, wet pad of your tongue—already imagining how it would feel wrapped around him. He pulls his hand back with a string of saliva hanging from his finger. It was a beautiful and depraved sight—you on your knees with your mouth open for him.

Viktor begins to free himself from his waistband, his length almost fully hard as he took it in his hand. It was as glorious as you had imagined. He ran his thumb over the tip before stroking it a couple times, bringing it to your mouth. He sets the tip against your tongue and you instinctively bring your hands up to reach for the base but Viktor stops you.

“Hands behind your back—use only your mouth.” He instructs.

You obediently place your hands into each other behind your back, leaning forward to take his length in. You slowly sink onto it, bottoming out as it hits the back of your throat. You managed to take it all in through sheer determination and the inertia of your own arousal. Viktor breathes out at the overwhelming sensation. He returns his hand to your hair brushing it softly out of the way so he could see your mouth stretched around him.

You pull off, this time attaching yourself to just the tip, circling it with your tongue before moving to place wet, sloppy kisses along the shaft. Tender and lewd wrapped in one devastating blow, Viktor groans.

“Look at me.”

You lift your eyes to meet his gaze as you begin sucking his entire length, his own burn golden as he watches. You hum around him as you push his cock all the way in and all the way out, getting faster with each take. You hold eye contact as he had asked—and something in Viktor snaps.

Composure faltering, he suddenly braces his palms on the side of your face before thrusting himself into your mouth a few times, still trying to maintain some form of restraint. The noise from the movement was all together divine and obscene, sloppy as it underscored the selfish pleasure the act brought him.

Wanting to pace himself, Viktor pulls out of you gently. Spit and pre-cum dribble from your lips as he guides you back up on your feet. The need pooled between your legs was beyond unbearable. Like a mosquito bite that ached to be scratched, or a dark-stained bruise that begged to be pressed upon.

He maneuvers you up on the edge of the work bench, steadying you as he captures your mouth in a feverish kiss. He could taste himself on your tongue as he moved deeper. His hands sought control, reaching to your hair once again to pull you back, giving him more leverage. A moan traveled from his lips to yours as you braced your hands against his lower abdomen.

Your shirt was decidedly in the way as Viktor brought his hands up to the collar, gripping the first button. Slowly, he made his way down until the entire garment was open, baring more of your heated skin to him. He trailed his mouth down your collarbone, biting and kissing down your chest.

Each contact elicited a different noise from you—and each noise you made stirred something more urgent in him. An erotic feedback loop neither of you planned on stopping anytime soon.

“So sensitive,” Viktor’s low, warm voice rumbles against your skin, he nips at your throat before pulling back. He can see that you are holding on by a thread.

“What is it, hm? You have to tell me what you want or else I won’t know, Miss y/n.” He taunts, but he knows exactly what you need. A pity, the one time he willfully decides not to read between the lines.

You feel yourself throbbing and desperate at your center, the muscles in your thighs flexing subconsciously. He waits with his hand pressed up against your now wet underwear, the warmth of his palm sending a shudder through you.

“Viktor, I want to feel you inside me,” you whine.

At your words, he swiftly plunges his fingers into your entrance and a trembling gasp flies out of you. Deceptively longer once they were inside, it was impressive how deep they reached.

He continues driving his fingers into you at a relentless pace, curling them slightly to hit a spot that makes your entire body reel.

“Do you want only my fingers, or would you prefer something else?” His voice lilts teasingly as you writhe and whimper.

“Mm—Your cock, please—“ you beg, too wrapped up in the moment to care how depraved you sound.

“Good girl.”

Viktor pulls his fingers out of you once more, rubbing your slick from his hand over his length. You lean back on the table, knocking over a pile of notes in your urgency causing a single pen to roll off the edge, landing with a tap on the floor. As you move your legs apart, he pushes your skirt back and your underwear to the side to line himself up to your entrance. He takes a moment to draw it out even more, taking the tip and rubbing it up and down your folds, circling your clit—

“Viktor, please—I’ve been good.” You whine as you try to make him see reason.

And to your surprise, it seems to work. He begins pushing into you, pausing for a moment to allow you to adjust before finally sinking all the way in. Your moans echo each other at the long-awaited sensation. You feel yourself tighten around his cock, filling you to the brim. God, you felt so full yet you were still greedy for more.

You begin moving your hips back and forth, rutting against him. A sound of amusement comes from Viktor at your action, but he doesn’t give in just yet. Instead, he takes both of your wrists in one hand and holds them in place against the table—partially to maintain control and partially to brace himself on his better leg. His other hand finds your still swollen clit, circling it to feel you clench around him.

“Viktor—ah—“ You attempt to speak but his length presses so deeply inside you that you come up empty. He lifts his hand from your needy clit up to your chest, pulling your bra down slightly. The cool air hits your feverish skin making your nipples harden. Viktor rolls one between his fingers as he speaks.

“Yes?”

“Please, move—” You can’t wait any longer, you might just come undone right now.

Viktor pulls back and snaps his hips into you just once. You gasp out a groan, the sensation makes your entire body catch fire. He’s enthralled with the way you respond to him, spurring him on even further.

He presses his hand against your lower stomach to feel how deep he reaches inside you. He hums in approval at how well you take him.

“You are doing so good, taking me so well.”

And just like that you find yourself tempered, the saccharine praise quelling your restlessness just so. And now that you have you remembered your patience, Viktor continues. He begins moving in and out of you, working you both up to an overstimulating pace. Each thrust was punctuated by an untamed noise squealing from your throat.

Viktor brings his hand to cover your mouth. “It would be in your best interest to be quieter, Miss y/n—”

He pounds into you even harder, his action in direct opposition to the point he was trying to make.

“Or else our colleagues might hear how you sound with my cock inside you—and I’d rather keep that all to myself, truthfully.” He breathes out, not letting up.

The way he exudes control as he speaks, still so proper but with such filthy sentiments—you have never been so turned on in your life. You move your tongue past your lips, swiping them across Viktor’s fingers, he shudders. He opts to push his middle and ring finger into your mouth now, a slightly ineffective but incredibly arousing gag to continue stifling your moans. You take them in graciously.

The way Viktor drives into you so insistent, almost like a prayer, you can tell he is also getting close. He angles himself just right as he begins hitting a spot deep inside that makes your vision blur from ecstasy. A strange feeling starts to build inside you.

“I—I think I need to use the bathroom,” you squeak out sheepishly between tears.

Viktor displays a knowing smirk, not letting up. “Mm—I don’t think you need to go to the bathroom, Miss y/n, I believe you are about to experience something much better.” He promises. You are powerless to stop it and in all honesty, you didn’t want to.

“I’m going to—ah“ your breath interrupts, “I’m so close—“ You do your best to communicate, and he is impressed you even managed to get that far. But you would be naive to think it would be that easy.

“Not yet—not until I give you permission, Miss y/n,” Viktor tells you, although you can tell he isn’t fairing that well either as his breathing becomes more labored and his thrusts become sloppier. The incessant noise of him repeatedly filling you up floods your senses as you hold on to the single shred of willpower he has so kindly left you with.

Your eyes meet Viktor’s in a desperate plea. Your face contorts; a sublime, raw image of perfection. You can’t hold out much longer. He caves.

“Come for me.”

Those three words in that deep, mesmerizing voice were your utter undoing. The peculiar feeling from earlier suddenly snaps as liquid gushes out of you, a string of babbled exclamations and moans involuntarily follows. You convulse and shake, every muscle in your body seized by pure bliss. Viktor brings his thumb to your clit, helping you ride out the high as you tighten around his cock incessantly—he will no doubt follow shortly. The sight of you coming undone like this, so vulgar and unrestrained, pushes him over the edge. And you can’t help the phrase that flies out of you in earnest—

“Please—come in me.” You beg him.

Viktor’s mind goes blank, reason and precaution are cast aside to attend to the fervor of your words—especially since you asked so nicely. He ruts into you, pulling your hips against his own as he releases deep inside, his cock twitching violently. Your praise was sung from his hoarse throat as he moaned, feeling his hot release coat your walls as they continue to clench around him with no mercy.

The come down was nothing short of transcendental as you both take a moment to bask in the after-glow. You pant heavily, your senses worn out to the point you barely realize Viktor’s hand had reached up to cup the side of your fucked-out face. He slowly pulls his length from you, soaked and numb from the high.

“Look at the mess you’ve made,” Viktor coos, his breathing still a bit ragged. “Did you enjoy it?” He smiles affectionately, appreciating the half-lidded state you were in. You laid against the table, spent and with no complaints.

“Yes.” You exhale out the only word you were able to remember right now.

He brushes the hair that was clung to your face through a sheen of sweat away as you sit up, still a bit wobbly. He takes a clean rag from a nearby drawer and uses it to help clean you both off. His touch gentle so as to not overstimulate you. He tucks himself back in his pants. Then he moves to bring your skirt back down for you before refastening your bra and blouse, placing a gentle peck against your forehead once finished.

“I hope you understand now how your patience can be rewarded.” His voice is a smooth, rich sound filling the silence as he runs a hand across your jaw, lifting your chin to look at him.

“Mhmm—”

“Patience is a virtue, Miss y/n.” Your name rolls off his tongue.

“Who said I was trying to be virtuous?” You quip back softly. He chuckles.

“You are right—morally bankrupt suites you much better.” He purrs as his fingers trace down to examine the evidence of where his mouth had been on your skin, the marks littered across your neck and chest in a hedonistic display of ownership.

Now that you had both gotten a taste of the other, there was no stopping it. No denying it. You were, from this point forward, inextricably intertwined.

Hungry as often as you were satiated.

Obedient as much as you were rewarded.

And rehabilitated with each fix of your mutual addiction.

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