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rafescoke · 3 years

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hiiiii!!

Can I please request a rafe x reader based on that song need to know by doja cat.

Basically the reader heard rumors about the rafe’s and he’s past with his ex. Basically all saying how he was a 10/10 on bed. The reader is furious but sad and quickly confronts the rafe. You can choose the ending. Smut or fluff ending!!

Also pls post the rafe x reader, jj fic with the 19 chapters plsssss!!!! I beg you!

Need To Know ; Rafe Cameron

masterlist

#Part 1

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: The reader confronts Rafe about his past

Warnings: Straight smut, hella angst, substance, swearing, Rafe being a total dick

A/N: this one shot’s too long but i hope you will love it. i poured all my love into this however this isn’t my best work and im sorry!!

p.s, i’m always open for requests <3

“Hey! thanks for coming,” Topper smiled, hugging Rafe’s side before kissing (Y/N)’s cheeks. He ushered them both to the middle of the ongoing party, to the centre where all of Rafe’s friends were hanging out.

(Y/N) is never a fan of parties, especially the ones that she will have to tug on Rafe��s collars for them to finally enjoy the night alone. However, she passed up the chance of watching netflix with her partner tonight to go to Topper’s birthday party, since, it was, well, Topper’s celebration.

If it had not been for Topper, she wouldn’t even bat an eye to this party, especially when she knows the amount of girls silently crushing on her boyfriend of 6 months now. Rafe’s incredibly handsome, with his hair messily parted and his blue eyes shining everytime they’re exposed to the glowing sunlight of Obx. . . (Y/N) couldn’t justify why he would even choose her.

“What are you thinking?” Rafe playfully groaned, pulling his girlfriend’s waist near him. His fingers played with the hem of her dress, giggling when she hissed, swatting his hands away. “Seriously. You’ve been quiet since we got out of the car.”

“I just don’t like the attention’s you’re getting tonight,” she sighed, rolling her eyes when Rafe poked her, an amused expression plastered on his face. “I shouldn’t have told you that. Now you’re this proud prick.”

Rafe laughed, throwing his head back, his hands still around her waist. She waited for him to regain his posture before kissing his cheeks.

“Go and find Topper. I know you want to kiss him.”

“Not as much as I want to kiss you,” Rafe replied, laughing again when (Y/N) stuck her tongue out at him before walking away to go and get some drinks for herself. In truth, Rafe doesn’t understand why she would feel so inferior towards other girls; she’s simply the most beautiful girl he’ve ever laid his eyes on. No one can ever compare to (Y/N), and that’s for sure.

(Y/N) muttered a thanks when someone handed her a beer, standing on her toes to search for her friends. When she couldn’t see any of them, she began making her way towards Rafe and Topper. She decided that instead of waiting alone in the resting area of the club while everybody else is socialising, she would rather listen to whatever Rafe and his friends were conversing, knowing that somehow she’ll find something interesting in the discussion.

That was when she bumped into a figure, causing the person to drop the drink they were holding onto her front dress. (Y/N) groaned, not liking how she was already ruining the branded new dress she bought with Rafe. The smell of strong alcohol wafted into her nostrils, causing her to scrunch her nose.

“Watch where you’re going,” the person said, and (Y/N) rolled her eyes before finally leaving the scene, not wanting to stir any unnecessary drama. She knows it will always end up dirty and Rafe will have to calm her down in the car.

(Y/N) pushed her way through the swarm of sweaty bodies as the dress reeked with alcohol clung onto her body, and she momentarily regretted her choice of wearing a skin tight short sequin dress to a club where dropping drinks on someone is just something that is bound to happen.

She sighed when she finally reached the bathroom, quickly washing her stains with the cheap toilet paper. It left some white bits on her dress when she finally removed them, and she groaned again before washing the fabric under the running water. Her day was going totally bad, and she dreamed of the night she could’ve spent with Rafe if only Topper wasn’t born on yesterday’s date 19 years ago.

“That’s what I’m saying!” a loud voice shrieked, followed by group of shrill laughs. “God, I really wish I’m still with him.”

(Y/N) raised her brows at the familiar voice, but thought none of it. Topper wouldn’t invite Rafe’s ex, he knows what she did to him. There was no way she was allowed to be in the private part of the club, unless someone had brought her as their plus one.

(Y/N) shook her head at the thought, trying to focus on the stains that seemed to be making everything hard for her.

“He has this habit of running his fingers through his hair when he’s receiving head,” the voice continued, and (Y/N) stopped in her tracks.

That’s exactly Rafe. Whoever the voice was, she was talking about Rafe. Rafe has this habit of running his long fingers through his hair while he’s whimpering, and it always drives (Y/N) crazy.

She thought nothing of it, thinking about the possibility of another guy doing the same thing. It’s a common thing anyways; she wasn’t going to pull the crazy jealous girlfriend card that night.

She turned to pull another tissue paper, her ears still intently listening to the group of friends who seemed to not mind receiving any attention from their bold topic.

“Now he’s with that (Y/L/N) girl. I honestly don’t get why he would be with her. Oh and-” the voice squealed, “Do you know that Rafe called me when they were talking?”

What?

“What?” her friends asked in disbelief, and (Y/N) didn’t move a muscle. She pressed her back against the tiled walls, listening close. Her heartbeat beat faster, and she could feel her head getting lighter.

“Yes! It was like, the first month they started getting close? He told me he couldn’t get over me and that he tried everything including finding me in her.”

(Y/N) felt the walls closing in, and quickly got to her feet to splash some water onto her face. She felt like dying right then and right there, but she knew she had to at least hear more to, now identified, Rafe’s ex girlfriend.

“He drove to my house and we just talked, you know. . . and then he told me something, and I refused. He got mad, I guess, and we fought like always, and he left me to be with that girl until today. Kinda sucks to be her, you know? Like the second choice kind of thing?” she continued, an amused tone lacing in her voice.

At that point, (Y/N) had heard enough. She walked towards the exit as fast as her heels could take her, not stopping to stay goodbye to her now approaching friends. She could feel her hot tears crashing down, but she didn’t feel like crying in the club and having random strangers coming up to her to soothe her down.

When the night breeze hit her square on the face as she finaly exited the suffocating club, she let out the hardest cry ever as she tried to find any available taxis through her tears. There were none, seeing that it was only 9 p.m. and people had just starting to arrive, so she decided to walk to nowhere until she finds any yellow vehicle.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” a voice called out from behind her, and she turned when a hand pulled her shoulder. “What the fuck? Are you okay? Where’s Rafe?”

“Kelce, I’m not feeling good. I just want to go home, okay? Please, oh my god. I can’t do this right now,” she cried, covering her eyes with her palm. Kelce pulled her into a side hug, allowing her tears on his new t-shirt. When she finally soothed down, he tried to find an answer in her face again.

“What happened?”

“I can’t tell you now, I just-” she took a deep breath, “I just can’t. Can you um, call a Uber for me, please? My phone’s with Rafe.”

“What? Why would your phone-” he sighed, taking out his own phone. “Borrow my phone. It’s safer this way. Call a Uber, get home, and don’t do anything stupid. Okay?”

(Y/N) nodded, kissing Kelce’s cheeks before ordering a Uber, waiting by the sidewalk impatiently. She was scared Rafe would come out to look for her, and she didn’t feel like talking to him.

She felt like shooting him in his ribs until he’s begging for her to stop.

When she got home, her fingers trembling and her dress now ruined, she stripped out of her clothes and got under her covers. Her mother tried asking her about why she had come home earlier than expected with a running mascara and a smudged lipstick, but decided to let it pass when she didn’t answer, knowing that something has indeed happened.

She felt like screaming. She had trusted him so much, and he was even the first guy to take her virginity. Now she felt disgusted, thinking about how she had allowed herself to the sweet words he had given her before.

She couldn’t ignore the memory of the night she first experienced sex with him, and the whole sweet care he had provided after.

It was Friday the 13th, and Rafe decided it will be a good night to watch some type of a horror movie. (Y/N) agreed, being a fan of horror, but until one point, she was bored with the super-slow plot and boring characters.

She played with Rafe’s fingers, intertwining them with hers, before she got an idea midway of the female character’s scream that echoed throughout her bedroom.

“Rafe,” she said, and Rafe hummed in response. His eyes were fixated to the screen, not paying any attention to her. She whined, “Rafe. . .”

“Yeah?” He finally looked down to her, and laughed when he saw the face she gave him. “What the hell is wrong with you? The best part’s coming up. Watch it, the guy’s going to- fuck.”

(Y/N) had slipped her hand into his basketball shorts, teasing the outline of his v-line. Rafe’s breath shuddered, and he grabbed her hands before things escalate.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He grunted.

“I just wanna try something,” she replied innocently, and Rafe swore he felt like his heart stopping right then and right there. She was that sweet girl, and he has never saw this side of her.

“Can I?” she asked, and with a tiny nod, she continued her movements as Rafe’s eyes stayed glued on the television screen, though his mind was already on cloud nine.

She was so good, and Rafe couldn’t explain the feeling inside of him when he watched her palmed him, her mouth slightly open and her hair falling down to her shoulders. Rafe felt like attacking every inch of her, wanting to give anything that she desired.

“Stop,” he said, closing his eyes. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum from just your hands.”

“I want you to,” she said, and Rafe cursed. He liked, scratch that, he loved and is obsessed with the way she did anything to him, with her innocent eyes and her teasing smile. He felt like fucking her numb every single time she purposely brushed her hands against his buldge in the restaurant or bumping her bottoms against him when playing golf.

And when she would deny her actions, god, he felt like giving his all to her until she couldn’t walk.

“Rafe,” she said again, with that gint in her eyes. She leaned onto him, and he shievered when he felt her lips brushing with his earlobes.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Rafe groaned, not wanting to look her in the eyes, afraid that he would do things he will regret the next morning. He felt her fingers around his chin, forcing him to look at her.

“Please.”

“You told me you wanted to wait,” he said softly.

“I’m done waiting,” she had said, and that was enough for Rafe to crash his lips against her soft ones, pushing her lightly to her queen sized bed. He felt her hands playing with the hem of his shorts, and being an impatience fuck like his dad, he guided her hands to his already hard penis, craving for her touch.

“Fuck,” he groaned, closing his eyes to the euphoric feeling starting to form in the pit of his stomach. His fingers fumbled with her shorts, trying to untie the waistband, and grunted when he couldn’t gues the knot.

(Y/N) giggled, untying the ribbon, sliding her shorts to the edge of her bed as Rafe waited with his eyes staring at her hands eagerly, like a prey waiting to attack.

Once her shorts were off, Rafe didn’t waste anymore time to place kisses from her stomach down to the sides of her aching core. (Y/N) couldn’t take it anymore, after so many nights of trying to picture this exact moment in her head whilst fingering herself, pretending like it has been Rafe’s fingers instead of herself, she wanted to feel him around her so bad.

“Please, Rafe,” she begged, looking at him with the innocent eyes again. She moaned when he inserted his fingers in her, pleasuring her the way pornstars would from the many porn videos his cousin had taught him to watch since he was 10 before.

“Oh my god,” she screamed, not able to comprehend the strange feeling in her stomach. She tried to close her legs, only for Rafe to gripped them apart tightly, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Do that again and I’ll leave you hanging.”

It was the way he had said that that left (Y/N) all red, pushing herself against him to reach her end. She felt a sudden feeling approaching, and gripped Rafe’s wrist to tell him.

Rafe laughed when she had came around his dingers, feeling her juice soaking up his fingers and her bedsheet. (Y/N) sighed, still heaving from her high, making a mental note in her head to love this other side of Rafe Cameron.

“Suck,” he said, placing his two soaked fingers in front of her face and watched her as she sucked on them like a little girl who’s licking off a lollipop that her mother had bought for her. He felt like cumming just from the sight of her face.

“I want you inside me,” she had said again, and Rafe groaned to look away, not wanting to be a regret she had made the next morning. He looked at her again when she sat on his lap, looking at him with puppy dog eyes.

“Please?” she whispered, and before he knew it, she licked his ear to the the side of his lip before placing a soft peck on his lips.

Rafe has never removed his basketball shorts as fast as he did that night, not even when he had felt an animal crawling in his pants in the pet shop when he was 8 that resulted Sarah into having a laughing fit when they found out that a hamster had gotten into his pants.

He positioned himself in front of her slit, waiting for any new demands for him to stop now that she had changed her mind. But there was nothing, only (Y/N) demanding for him, and without wasting any more time, he slowly slided into her, strecthing her hole.

He grunted when she felt her closing in, knowing that if she kept doing that, he’ll finish straight away. (Y/N) screamed as he fucked her with a quick pace, causing him to quickly pull her head close to him to whisper into her ear.

“Shut up, princess. Don’t want mummy and daddy to wake up, do we?”

(Y/N) shook her head, wanting to reach her end soon. She moaned against her mattress, smelling Rafe’s scent from it, and liking the way he would whimper when he hit her g-spot.

“I’m so close, baby, fuck-” he cursed, his pace getting sloppier. His fingers with his cold rings intertwined with hers as he slammed into her for good measure, and pulling out to aim on her face as she tried to regain her breath.

(Y/N) felt a shot of hot load landing on her face as she finally looked up to him, his sweaty chest heaving from the ungodly practice they just did. Rafe groaned, feeling himself getting hard again from the sight of her with his load all over her, and quickly turned away to grab a clean towel to clean her up.

That night, with a soft lullaby playing from (Y/N)’s record player that Rafe had bought for her in Italy, he ran his fingers through her hair as she snuggled close, watching the moonlight brightened the ocean.

Rafe sighed, now wrapping his arms around her, forcing himself to not touch her breast in any way. “I’m sorry if it wasn’t what you had pictured in your mind.”

“Are you kidding?” she turned to face him, “God, Rafe. That’s exactly how I wanted it with you.”

Rafe chuckled and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, “God. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Riing! Riing!

(Y/N) wiped her tears with her fingers before pressing on the green button, bringing the phone to her ears when she saw Topper’s name. She decided that he deserved an explanation after she had ran off from his birthday party.

“Tops?”

“Hey, baby, you didn’t pick up my call. I have to use Topper’s phone but, um-” (Y/N) heard the crowd sang happy birthday, “But um, are you okay? Kelce told me you were crying and I-”

“I’m fine. You should sing happy birthday to Topper.”

“I’ll be there in a bit,” he said to a voice in the background, and tried to talk to her again. “What is it, baby? The line’s kinda shitty here. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay. I know you’re not. Can you please tell me what happened?”

“It’s nothing, Rafe. Go and enjoy yourself.”

“God, (Y/N), don’t pull this shit on me,” he sighed, and she waited until the background noise lessen. “Okay, I’m at the smoking area. Can you please tell me what happened?”

“You used me.”

“I’m - what?” he asked, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I heard her talking about how you drove to see her and you told her that you tried finding her in me,” she finaly confessed, her voice breaking. A tear slowly rolled down her red cheeks and she quickly wiped them away.

“Baby, it’s not how it sounds like.”

“Then what is it?” she yelled, clutching onto Kelce’s phone like it was her life support. “Fuck, Rafe, I gave you my everything.”

“Baby, I swear, it’s just-”

(Y/N) waited for him to finish his sentence, and sucked in a breath when she heard the voice that had caused her this misery.

“Rafe! What are you doing here?”

“Fuck, (Y/N), I’ll come by to your house, okay? Please, don’t do anything stupid, I’m coming back home-”

(Y/N) pressed the end call, letting go of the breath she was holding before finally throwing her head back against the pillow.

#Part 2

add yourself to the taglist!

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #rafe cameron smuts #outer banks #outerbanks #outerbanks imagines #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey smuts #outerbanks x reader

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lilyblyss · 3 years

Text

So, I was rereading my old posts and came across a Sukuna one I half-heartedly posted a while back and had a better idea about. The inspo's only slight, but it was still there.

Warning/Tag:: 18+, fem-bodied reader, noncon, slight talk of the supernatural, monster-fucking (Sukuna in his true form), degradation, name-calling, size-kink, overstimulation, spit kink, pet names (includes: doll, little one), a hint of a CNC kink

Note:: Sukuna is forever condescending, don't take his compliments to heart

You didn’t like to think too much about the supernatural occurrences that happened around your apartment. Other than the slight inconvenience of it all, it never really affected your everyday life. Sure, ruined lipstick smeared across your bathroom mirror and your eating utensils being moved randomly were a little much, but easily overlooked when you considered just how much you spent on the place. Not that you couldn’t afford a better place, what with your occupation and all, but as your late grandmother always said; the easiest way to have lots of money was to avoid spending it. Then again, if she knew where your money was coming from, she’d no doubt call it filthy.

Not that it mattered much to you. You minded the business that paid you, and being a camgirl paid you very well.

"I'm just saying," your friend always complained, "if you're making good enough money, you can get out of your totally haunted apartment."

"It's probably nothing to worry about." You placated. The annoying tricks and pranks were just that, and it's not as if you planned on living there the rest of your life. Everything would be fine.

Except when it wasn't. Especially because some humanoid, four-armed, two-faced, monstrosity was laying across your bed, barely covered in his kimono as if he ran the place. You stood at the entrance of your room, toothpaste foam still sitting on the corner of your mouth and your toothbrush beginning to slip out of your hand. You were just getting ready for bed, dressed in an oversized shirt and some mini-shorts.

The monster seemed pleased with your reaction, leaning forward with an awfully smug smirk on his face, eyes squinting as his mouths grinned devilishly, bringing attention to the tattoo on his face. You supposed the strawberry blond--almost pink really--hair would have taken points off the intimidation factor, but just his blood-red eyes were enough to stop you in your tracks. He was attractive in a terrifying way, a 'living on the wild side of things' way. If he was human, he might have actually been someone on the street you'd be attracted to.

“Ah, so you can finally see me,” he hummed, voice almost slurring, “I was starting to think my efforts were in vain. Be grateful, little one, that I’m so patient.”

You quickly wiped your mouth, placing your toothbrush in the cup on your dresser. You slowly looked around the room for any sign of breaking and entering. There were none. “W- how did--who are you?”

He stood from the bed, hunching over just a little to keep from bumping his head against the ceiling--look at that, the small extra for the high ceilings did come in handy--and walked over to you, stopping you in your tracks. He doubles, almost triple you in size and you take a step back. You looked almost like a rabbit, eyes focusing on the most dangerous thing in the room in case you needed to run. Poor thing just didn't know how trapped you already were.

His large finger curved around your chin, tilting it uncomfortably to make eye contact with him.

“Ryomen Sukuna. King of Demons. And you have caught my interest.”

“Me?”

“I prefer not to repeat myself, little one.” His voice is gruff, and it’s your first sign that maybe this man--demon--thing—isn’t the most patient creature on Earth. “That little… profession of yours, it’s intriguing. You certainly keep me interested in my pastime.”

“You’ve seen my…” Well, that’s a little embarrassing. This all-powerful creature not only noticed you touching yourself to millions but also happened to make a hobby out of it. “Why are you here then?”

“Simple, I want you to submit yourself to me. Put your body to good use.”

"Ah, so you wanna fuck me." He raised his eyebrow, but the interest still painted his face.

"Crude, though I guess expecting you to be a little bashful was an oversight; but yes. I want you. And I'm not asking."

You stared up at him, keeping eye contact as you took deep breaths. Slowly, carefully, you hold your hand out. Sukuna raised an eyebrow at you as you tilted your head expectedly. “Well? Pay up.”

“Excuse me?”

"Even with my life in danger, I'm afraid I won't be doing anything for free, sir. Sorry."

Your blood ran cold in your veins as his red eyes glowered at you, almost glowing in the dim lighting of your room. Your room seemed to grow colder with his mood and you shivered.

"You expect me to pay you?"

You swallowed, clearing your throat before boldly saying, "Yes. I do. It's my job."

Your hands were starting to shake, and despite the resolve in your eyes, the fact that Sukuna could--and probably would-- kill you without so much as a second thought made you wanna curl against him and beg for mercy. But you had your pride, goddammit. And even though your grandma didn't approve of a lot you did, you knew she would at least love you for that much.

Instead of moving his hand and snapping your neck like a twig for wasting his time like you thought he would, he twitched your head side to side, taking in your expression before humming. Before you could even blink, you were on your back. He was sitting in front of you on his knees, and you were folded in half on his lap; both your wrists were trapped in just one of his hands, another of his hands pushed one of your thighs against your chest, the other forced around his waist.

Even with your foot planted on his hard chest, you couldn't even attempt to push him away.

You gasped when his third hand roughly grabbed your cheeks, making you look at him. You started to swarm, and he looked excited at the steady increase of your heartbeat.

"Do you really think you have what it takes to deny me? That I'm giving you a choice?"

Through labored breaths, you answered: "I… I thought we were doing business."

He raised an eyebrow, both intrigued and annoyed. "I have you trapped under me and you still have the nerve to mouth off?"

You let out a shaky laugh, tears starting to form in your eyes regardless of how hard you tried to keep them in. "It's the adrenaline. Sorry."

In the back of your head, you could hear a voice that vaguely sounded like your friend begging you to just be quiet, but you figured you were probably going to die here tonight anyway. Besides, you seemed to make a habit of saying the wrong things at the wrong time, you think it might just be ironic justice that it's what gets you killed.

Instead of the blood-curdling screams being thorn from your throat as Sukuna ripped it out, the only sound that rang through the room was Sukuna's laugh. First muted between his lips then shifting into a deep belly laugh. His eyes are wild, wide with dangerous wonderment, and his smile terribly wide, showing how sharp his teeth were and the warning bells rang louder in your ears. You were so occupied looking at his canines that you failed to register his fourth and last hand was on you until it reached under the hemline of your shorts. You let out a gasp when his fingers slid against your clit down to your opening, the rough callus on the tip in complete contrast with the smoothness caused by your slick.

“Is it all that adrenaline that’s making you this wet, or are you just accustomed to being ready for anything like a slut?”

You jolted, cursing your sensitivity as he massaged your clit. It wasn’t even the entire situation that had aroused you, but with the only sexual attention you received coming through the screen, there weren’t many times that you had been touched by another person. Having his hands on you, pressing against your skin, and maneuvering you however he pleased was just what your body needed to get you in the mood.

“I’m not a slut!” you yelled. He didn't care to respond. He removed his hand from your shorts long enough to pull them off before returning to part your folds and play with your clit.

Wiggling your hands, you hoped that he would loosen his grip on you, but it did nothing. In fact, it made Sukuna hold you a bit tighter, wanting to watch you struggle more. He normally wanted absolute submission from what he wanted to claim, but the show of defiance was almost fun to him; a shocking difference from what he was used to. It reminded him of the past when demons ran free without the worry of priests and purifications, where he’d have the privilege to actually conquer. He licked his lips as you struggled to keep the pleasure from showing on your face; as if you couldn’t fathom enjoying this. He decided he wanted to see how long you could keep that up.

He pushed one of his fingers into you, not caring that just his one finger was about the length of two of yours. He started at a slow pace, wanting to feel your walls pulsing as they tried to quickly get used to his fingers. Heavy breaths accompanied by faint moans leaving your parted lips as he moved. You continued to squirm, but now for a different purpose, wanting his finger to press more firmly against that spot that sent shivers through your entire body. You cursed yourself for looking for pleasure on his fingers.

He smirked at the shaky breaths you made when his hand moved from your face to sit against your neck. “That feel good? You can tell me, little one.” he mocked, pressing against your inner walls to prepare you for another finger. "You should thank me for being so kind, preparing you like this."

You bit your lip to try to keep your voice in, eyes shutting to block him out, not wanting to indulge him by showing him how good you were feeling. Not that he didn’t know it. The way you cant your hips against his hand was needy, almost as if he wasn’t moving fast enough for you, was telling enough. Still, he decided to play your little game.

However, the soft moan that escaped your lips when he pressed against the side of your neck let him know that he was winning. Not wasting a second, he inserted his second finger. It forced a pained moan out of you, toes curling against his chest as your body tensed from being stretched with almost zero warning. You let out a curse when his fingers curled up, increasing the speed as he fucked them into you.

He ignored your pitiful whimpers asking him to wait, back arching as you tried to scoot away from his fingers, already feeling overwhelmed yet not close to coming. You could feel your eyes water as your body begged for a break; you couldn’t even wrap a hand around his bicep to ground yourself.

“S-Sukuna… please it’s--I can’t.”

Just as you thought, he didn’t listen. Blinking a few times and feeling the tears run down your cheeks, you saw Sukuna’s face; condescending, pleased, and aroused beyond belief as he watched you fall apart around his fingers. It’s like he enjoyed the idea of ruining you.

“It’s just two fingers, doll. Are you telling me you can’t even take that? What a worthless whore, after all.” With a laugh coating his words, he sped up the movement of his fingers, and you choked on a moan, a sob quickly following after.

“Y--! You don’t exactly have the most normal fingers!” You struggled to muster. The leg at his waist curling around him and pressing your heel on his back. You briefly wondered if you had enough strength to attempt to kick him, but the hand at your throat moved to grab your ankle, inadvertently pulling you closer on his lap. It was then that you felt the imprints of something large and thick on your ass and lower back, and you shivered.

Sukuna leaned forward, pressing an open mouth kiss against your neck, making sure his teeth scraped against the surface, almost as a reminder that your life was in his hands at the moment. “Hmm, so you still have a bit of fight left in you, do you?”

You refused to answer, biting your bottom lip as hard as you could, too concerned with trying to stay quiet to worry about the threat of drawing blood. For the first time since Sukuna pinned you down, he clicked his tongue in annoyance, one of his hands returning to your face and forcing your jaw apart.

“I grow tired of this damned habit of yours.” Before the irritation could truly settle on his face, he pressed a hard kiss against your lips. He shoved his tongue in your mouth, almost suffocating you with the need to keep his lips against yours. He was brutal with his kiss, almost as if he wanted to hurt you. But you couldn't tell if it was because he didn't realize his own strength in regards to you or if he just didn't care. He gave you no room to breathe, tongue domineering as it claimed you. You tried to bite him, but Sukuna pressed his thumb in as well, hooking it against your molars, and tugged as a warning, disregarding the tears falling because of him.

You let out a groan as he sucked your tongue into his mouth before pulling back. He looked at you as you fought to catch your breath, and was aroused at your tear-stained pitiful face and bruised lips, still held open by his thumb. For a moment he looked like he was contemplating something before gathering the spit in his mouth and letting it drip on your tongue. He moved his thumb to place against your bottom lip and looked at you expectantly.

You swallowed as best as you could as you felt heat rush through your body, the pleasure almost painful as it continued to bottle up.

Sukuna could feel the arousal thumping through his body as you shakingly opened your mouth to show him. "And I didn't even have to tell you what to do. What a good little thing you are."

You knew he didn't mean it, not in the way that should make you tingle, but with the way he just kissed you breathless and his fingers quickly bringing you to your peak, your waterlogged brain couldn't tell much of a difference at this point.

"Haah, Sukuna, 't hurts!" Your body started to tense so much it hurt, your stomach felt tight and you wanted to scream because of all the sensations going through you.

"Poor thing, you wanna cum?" He sounded smug, but you were too focused on trying to calm your nerves before you lost your mind.

"Please! Sukuna, 's too much! I can't—!"

"Then come."

If you thought Sukuna was kind enough to gently work you through your orgasm, you were sorely mistaken. His fingers continued their brutal pace, forcing you through your orgasm, even as your overstimulated body tried to twist and turn away from him. The tears running down your face are almost in tandem with the erratic beating of your heart. The moan you let out bounced against the walls of your apartment and Sukuna reveled in it.

As you came down from your high, Sukuna moved away from you. You shook uncontrollably and you pressed a shaky hand against your lips, embarrassed that you'd been so loud. You wondered if your neighbors were going to complain about you to the landlord in the morning. You wouldn't blame them if they did. You covered your eyes and tried to control your breathing, allowing your body to relax for a moment.

A quick moment was all you were allowed, because soon Sukuna grabbed you again, pinning you under him as he aligned your hips with his. Tired, you looked at him, eyes drinking in the fact that he'd stripped himself, fixated on the tattoos lining his pecs and abs. Your legs parted for him, tensing when you felt his cock brush against your clit as he shifted.

"You'll only be taking one of my cocks tonight, but next time, I'll expect you to take both."

Your eyes widened, quickly looking down when he placed his cock--one of them--against your lower belly, the other pressed against the curve of your ass. It reached just below your belly button, and he was thick enough that if you were to wrap your hand around it, your middle finger and thumb wouldn't be able to touch. It was intimidating and he expected you to take two of those the next time he came?

He smirked, hand holding his length against you, drinking in the sight of his thick shaft on you. "This is how far I'll be, little one."

"It won't—"

"It's going to fit." The look he gave you meant business. He wasn't taking no for an answer, not that he had since the beginning. "I didn't work to open you up only to not fuck you. I'll make it fit."

Sukuna was pleased to see that even as you complained about his length, you sat still as he lined himself up against your hole. You laid down completely, willing yourself to relax as the head of his cock slid against you, toying with your clit then pressing against your entrance.

When he began actually pushing his cock into you, you let out a shocked yelp, tensing while your hands automatically moved to push against his shoulders. He disregarded you, continuing even as you clawed against his thick skin, raking down his chest—not that your nails caused much harm to him.

"Ugh! Wait—fuck!"

"You're so loud," he scoffed, pulling your stiff legs apart and opening you up for himself.

You wished he'd prepped you more. As much as his pace and thick fingers hurt, it really didn't compare to his dick; not even your thickest dildo was as much as Sukuna was. Admittedly, the pressure against your already pulsing walls was nice, but every time he moved it painfully reminded you that Sukuna was making you adjust to him, not letting you. The thought did help you loosen a bit more, but Sukuna could tell he wasn't going to get too far with you as you were, even with the shallow thrusts he was currently doing.

You let out a soft cry as something slimy and thick danced against your inner thigh before moving to your clit. You look down to see a tongue hanging out a mouth on Sukuna's stomach. Your head fell back against the floor with a small thump and you moaned softly. Right, you thought, monster... demon or whatever. You couldn’t find the strength to worry about it, though, since it lapped at the nub, sending pleasant shock waves up your spine while Sukuna split you open on his dick. It wasn't too long after that he finally bottomed out, holding you still as you squirmed to try to get used to him inside you.

"What'd I tell you?" Sukuna asked, snapping his hips one good time and smirking when you cried out in pleasure, "You take it just fine, my little whore."

That thrust was the first of many, and soon he was pulling out all the way to the tip before pushing inside you.

Your mouth dropped open and you couldn’t keep the moans from leaving your mouth. After the first few thrusts, the drag of his cock inside you felt amazing, and you moved your hips in small circles against the tongue. You grabbed his forearms, trying to ground yourself while giving you leverage to thrust against him as well, chasing your pleasure. Sukuna let out a growl, placing one of his hands against your lower stomach and effectively pinning you down. His hips slowed to a stop as he looked down at you.

“And what do you think you’re doing, little one?”

You whined, wiggling against his hold. “Sukuna, please move.”

“Fucking yourself on my cock? What a desperate little thing you are.” Two of his hands moved to your hips while the other two circled behind your back, pulling you up. Your chest pressed against his as he sat back on his thighs. As he moved, you looked down to see the tongue returned back into its mouth.

You looked at Sukuna curiously, moving your hands to grip his shoulders. “But I thought you wanted me to give myself to you?”

“No,” his grip on your hips tightened, slowly lifting you off his cock until only a little was still inside you, “I said I wanted to fuck you.”

With that, he pulled you down on him, making you ride him faster than he was currently fucking you. Although, to say you were riding him would imply you had any control in the matter. He was using you like you were a sextoy, thrusting into you without any abundance or regard to you at all. It seemed like the loud moans were just a plus to him. He pushed another bruising kiss against your lips, drinking in your moans.

You wrapped your arms around him, hoping that your grip on him would keep you in control when you felt another orgasm building, but Sukuna might just be trying to fuck the sense out of you. He swapped out his quick thrusts for slower, harsher ones, thrusting in you and rolling his hips, molding himself against your pulsing walls. Your body tensed and without thinking, you sink your teeth into Sukuna’s shoulder. He groaned as his hips stuttered, thrusting out of rhythm for a second before he resumed.

“How cheeky,” he smirked, one of his hands moving to the back of your neck, wrapping around it harshly and yanking you off of him. “And here I was, thinking I’d treat you nicely.”

You didn’t think two or three slow thrusts would qualify as being ‘treated nicely’, but your mind was miles away at that point. His rapid thrusts returned, and when his hand covered the loud moans escaping your mouth, you knew he planned to finish himself off without any more distractions. You wondered if you should move against him, attempt to speed up the process, but considering his earlier reaction to you rutting against him, you didn’t think that was wise. Besides, considering how he didn’t even want to hear you moan, you figured you were all out of favor, so you had no choice but to take it.

Satisfied with your submission, Sukuna loudly growled. He threw his head back at the feeling of shooting his cum inside you, filling you up as you screamed against his hand. Just as he coated your walls with his cum, you could feel his other dick let out a stream of cum against your ass and back.

He held you still, pulling you flush against him as he used you to ride out his orgasm, a pleased hum rumbling in his chest as he felt you quiver. Your body started to ache almost immediately, and it didn’t help that he kept you sitting on his cock with no sign of moving whatsoever.

“U-uh, Sukuna?” Your throat itched uncomfortably as you tried to talk. A bath and a cup of warm tea definitely had your name on them. Sukuna certainly wasn’t going to take care of you.

He shushed you, a sharpened nail running up and down your spine. “I just gave you a gift, little one, it’s best you don’t waste it.”

Despite your better judgment, you closed your eyes and willed yourself to relax. Letting Sukuna use you was as physically taxing as you expected it would be, and if he planned to repeat this certain act, you were going to need all the rest you could possibly get.

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #jjk x reader #tw dubcon #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut

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byorder-fanfic · 4 years

Text

Red Eyed Anger

Summary: There are two things your brothers hate the most: the cavalry, and the idea of you, their youngest sister, dating. When they decide to piss you off at Tommy’s wedding, you think it’s a good idea to hit two birds with one stone. Or, more likely, give John an aneurysm.

Word count: 2234

Warnings: Swearing, overprotective brothers and mentions of drugs

Authors Note: This is my first Peaky Blinders x reader imagine, so I hope you enjoy. Thanks for all the support and kind comments from my first post, it really gave me the confidence to carry on! xx

When Finn had grabbed your wrist and told you Tommy wanted to see you, this wasn't exactly what you expected. Walking into his needlessly large kitchen, you dodged a few busy waiters hurrying around (and maybe grabbing a snack off one of the plates), as you perched on the side. Looking around, the family was all there. Well, nearly. It was all the men and boys, in their dark suits that made your dark green dress stand out more. It was long sleeved and baggy, just as all your clothes were, lest you wanted to give Arthur a heart attack. Tommy was looking as disgruntled as always as he lit a cigarette, eyebrows furrowed as he watched Arthur and Michael clamber down the stairs, saying something about needing a map. It was true, you thought, as you compared the mansion you were sat in to the little house in Watery Lane.

"Tom, why the hell have you invited me to your boys club?" You snapped, only to be ignored, as usual.

"Alright boys, you're all here," he muttered as he raised his arms to look at you all. You tried to ignore the 'boys' comment, but you still felt yourself glaring at him as he started his speech. "Today it's my fucking wedding day."

"And you said there'd be no uniforms," John pointed out with a snarl. Upstairs, the red uniforms overwhelmed every corridor and floor.

"Nevertheless John, despite the bad blood, I'll have none of it on my carpet." Everyone shared disappointed glances. "Now, for Grace's sake, those bastard's out there are her family, and if any of you fuckers do anything to embarrass her, your kin, your cousins, your horses, your fucking kids, do anything to-"

He was almost shouting, you didn't hear Isaiah suddenly piping in, until Tommy suddenly turned to him to yell "What?"

"What about snow?" You raised your eyebrows over your brother's shoulder, causing Isaiah to return a little smirk, as John grabbed him in headlock.

"No cocaine," he pointed his finger in front of Isaiah. "No sports," directed at John. "No races, no fucking sucking the petrol out of their cars." He grabbed onto Finn's face, and this time you couldn't hide a laugh. Then Tommy turned to you, his blue eyes unusually angry. "As always Y/N, no drinking, smoking, and no dancing with any man not in this room."

Your mouth dropped in offence, as you looked round to your other brothers, all looking at you with teasing grins.

"Tom, this is a party! I thought I could have fun!" You tried your best to look angry at him too, only to get John snorting out a laugh.

"C'mon, Y/N, you're just a kid, have fun with Katie and my lot," he suggested with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Yeah, I'm sure Charlie's got some orange juice you can have," Arthur joined in with a gruff laugh. In a second, your fists were clenched as you moved up to hit them, only to have Tommy's grip on your shoulder, pushing you down.

"I'm the same age as Finn, you promised you'd let me have a bit of freedom!"

"Well, we lied," Tommy said simply as he turned over to your Uncle Charlie, who was watching this with an interested cock of his eyebrows. "And, you, Charlie, stop spinning fucking yards about me, hey?" He turned around, letting out another huff of smoke.

"I'm just trying to sell you to them, Tom," Charlie protested as he too raised a cigarette in his hand.

"And for the love of God, no fighting," Tommy was yelling again. You wondered if Grace could hear this. "NO FUCKING FIGHTING!"

You rolled your eyes as you quickly walked out, trying to ignore your Uncle's sympathetic pat on the shoulder as you marched past, a fury in your eyes and fists curled.

"I'm not a child, Esme," you groaned as you slumped next to your sister-in-law. She was giving a grin, evidently being told what Tommy's meeting was all about. "When will they start to treat me like Finn?"

"When you don't have tits," she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Fucking sexists," you said under your breath, yet Isaiah still heard. He was by your side, eyes glazing over the woman on the dancefloor, yet commanded by Finn to play bodyguard. His laugh shook the cavalry shoulders standing behind you to jump suddenly, as they surveyed the three of you with curious eyes. You recognised one of them from the ceremony. He was younger than the two men, about your age, but still donned the same robin-red uniform. He was handsome, you thought, and had been giving you less than discreet looks as you stood opposite in the pews. Now, it was your turn to give him a grin. Luckily, neither Isaiah or Esme noticed your sudden change of attention.

"I'm going to get some air," you said, and they both nodded as they watched you go, green dress standing out in the sea of red. As you'd hoped, there were a pair of footsteps behind you as you made it into one of the many corridors of Arrow House.

"Miss Shelby," his accent was distinctly Irish and brought another smile on your face as you spun on your heels to turn to the cavalry soldier.

"It's Y/N," you held out your hand, which he quickly took in his own, bringing himself closer to you. "And you are?"

"Conor Burgess." He let go of your hand, but he was still very close to you, his breath fanning on your skin.

"You're related to Grace?" Despite yourself, you took a step closer, your chest brushing against his.

"She's my dad's cousin."

You brought your hands up to smooth down the edges of the bright uniform he donned. Red, like the bad blood between them and your brothers. Red, like the anger you felt at them. Red, like the lipstick on your smile as an idea came to mind.

"You're a little young to be a soldier," you whispered, fingers brushing the golden button at his throat.

"It's a family thing," Conor had an exhausted sigh. "I kinda have to be."

"I know what that's like," you nodded as you thought of the ways your brothers had bent over backwards to keep you the child you no longer were. Shaking off the sadness, you gave him another mischievous grin. "How about we go disappoint both our families, Conor?"

"Sounds good to me, Y/N." He let you take your hand and drag him up the stairs.

There were a lot of guest bedrooms in Arrow House, so surely it was a good idea to hide in one. If anyone noticed you’d gone, they’d need a map to find you. When you took off Conor's scarlet uniform coat, removing all responsibilities of a soldier, you'd made it explicitly clear that that was the only piece of clothing being removed tonight. He'd agreed to it, eagerly, as he discarded the jacket with very little thought. In his undershirt, he sat next to you on the end of the bed, looking at each other awkwardly.

"Y'know, I've been watching you all day," he whispered as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. The action made your face burn up, as you became all too conscious of the feeling of his knee against yours.

"I've noticed," you tried to keep your confidence, despite a bashfulness at the thought of what was coming next.

"You are the prettiest girl in the room, Y/N," he kept a hand against your neck, the other one on your hand. Conor held an intense look as he forced you to keep eye contact. "Can I kiss you?"

You didn't answer, just dove in to press your lips against his. It wasn't a smart idea, you realised a little too late, as you had no clue what to do next. Luckily, Conor did. He held onto your neck, keeping you close as he kissed you softly. It wasn't like the ways you'd seen Esme and John make out, or as disgusting as it looked when you saw Isaiah or Finn snogging girls in the Garrison. It was a nice, warm feeling that exhilarated you, although the sensation of his tongue in your mouth wasn't one you were used to. Suddenly, you grabbed onto his shoulders as you shifted yourself to sit on his lap, knees by his hips. In a second, he readjusted his grip to hold onto your own hips. You pulled away when you ran out of air, uncomfortably aware of the saliva at the corner of your lip. With a chuckle, Conor reached up to brush it away with his thumb, beaming up at you without a hint of disgust. His hands stayed on your hips, your dress was still on and he seemed contented by that. A softness in your heart suddenly formed for this boy you knew next to nothing about.

"That was nice," you whispered.

"Your first time?" He asked with a smile that assured you he knew the answer.

"My brothers always told me boys only wanted one thing from me." You bit your lip as you looked into the empathetic look in his eyes. "But you're...different."

"Good different?"

"Very good different." You leaned down to place a chaste kiss on his lips. "Maybe we should do this again some time?"

His eyes lit up.

"I'd like that," he ascertained, but the sudden reminder of his accent made you frown.

"When are you going back to Galway?"

"I've got some soldier training in London, which I can probably extend to a year."

This time, it was your eyes that widened. A year? To go from a first kiss to get at your brothers, to a year with the kind, reluctant cavalry boy you were currently straddling.

"Well then, I guess I'm going to be going up to see my sister a lot more." You smiled into another kiss. This time, he turned you to lie down on the bed as he rested on top, kissing you softly. As you heard the music blaring downstairs, you tried not to think how pissed your brothers will be.

Right now though, all you could think of was Conor, and the kiss on your lips and his warmth over your body. It made the music and the sound of approaching footsteps all blur into nothing. That was, until you heard Arthur's hoarse scream.

"GET OFF MY SISTER!"

With wide eyes and blushing faces, the two of you jumped up to look at your three eldest brothers, all donning similar wrathful faces, none more angry than John. His face was redder than the scarlet jacket in his hand, which he immediately threw into Conor's chest. Fumbling with the buttons, he immediately shrugged the damned thing back on, looking at each of your brothers with fear evident. The two of you shuffled to sitting down, looking at each other like naughty schoolchildren.

"What the hell, Y/N?" John was disappointed, it was obvious, but you couldn't care less.

"Nice to meet you Mr Shelby, I'm Con-" He didn't get a chance to finish his unusually cheerful introduction as Arthur thrusted a finger forward.

"Shut it, you," he said with his usually gruff tone.

"What happened to no fighting?" You said, far too snarky for the situation.

"What happened to no boys?" Tommy snapped back, looking at you with pursed lips and an anger contained by icy blue eyes.

"Wasn't a rule," you said sweetly, as you began to mock his voice: "No drinking, smoking, and no dancing with any man not in this room, and NO FUCKING FIGHTING!"

Your giggle was met with three deadpan expressions. They weren't so easily amused, apparently.

"No boys is always a rule," Arthur seethed.

"And he's fucking cavalry," John immediately added on with as much venom as he could muster. You rolled your eyes, certain that even if he wasn't cavalry, your brother wouldn't be too happy about you sneaking off with a boy.

"Really?" You feigned innocence. "Couldn't tell- didn't have his coat on."

With a huff, John made a move forward, only for you to jump up to stand in front of him.

"No. Fucking. Fighting." You stressed each syllable, looking him down, confidence fuelled by rage. You weren't a baby, you weren't going to let your brothers rule your life.

"She didn't break any rules," Tommy conceded with a sigh, forcing the other two Shelby brothers to look at him with flabbergasted anger. But Tommy wasn't looking at them, just the red-faced boy you stood in front of, protectively. "Now, who the hell are you?"

"Conor Burgess," he said weakly. That seemed to please Tommy, as he perked up significantly, popping a new cigarette into his lips.

"Good, so I assume you're going back to Ireland with the rest of Grace's family next week, huh?" His eagerness relaxed the other two. Momentarily, of course.

With a smirk, you fell back onto the bed, giving a wink behind you. Conor was watching this all with wide eyes and the barest shadow of a smile.

"Actually, Conor's sticking around for a year." You shone your sunniest smile. "Cavalry training."

Like that, all hope and peace from your brother's eyes drained out of them like a light flickering off. You bit back a laugh, not fully trusting the still-raging look in Tommy's eye, nor Arthur's clenched fist.

"Fuckin' cavalry," John spat out under his breath.

Part 2 here

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luminescencefics · 4 years

Photo

stubborn love

Ask and you shall receive! Here’s a little blurb about this post, filled with an angsty y/n and an adorably dimwitted Harry. Oh yeah, also smut. Enjoy!

2.6k word count

My masterlist // read below:

***

If there was one thing about you that Harry hated, it was how stubborn you were. And if there was one thing about Harry that drove you absolutely mad, it was when he left arguments incomplete—choosing the easy way out instead of finishing the conversation you ultimately started.

It was with good cause, though. After being together for three years, the little things started to surface every now and then. And with the aid of liquor coursing through both of your veins, it was only a matter of time until a fight started.

They never lasted long. And it was usually cured by sex, but sometimes, Harry did things that drove you absolutely bonkers, leaving you wanting to punish him a bit. Like tonight, for example, when you had to remind him three times that he had to be ready by eight o’clock in order to make it to your best friend’s birthday dinner on the other side of town. You watch by the vanity as you finish applying your nude lipstick, observing how he scrolled through his phone aimlessly on the bed with just a towel wrapped around his waist. His outfit was laid out beside him, his hair still wet from the shower he had recently gotten out of, and the time on the clock read 7:42.

“Harry, please get dressed. We’re supposed to be out the door in five minutes,” you remind him, sitting on the bed beside him while you buckle the strap of your heel around your exposed ankle. He nods absentmindedly while texting Jeff about scheduling radio interviews for the upcoming album, seemingly ignoring what you were telling him.

“Harry.”

Your tone is laced with annoyance now, and immediately his eyes snap over towards yours, taking in your completed look for the first time since slipping on the black dress you decided to wear this evening. His eyes rake your body instantly, and because of the years you’ve been with him, you know exactly what he’s thinking already. But you don’t have time for this, and when you stand up abruptly and saunter towards the door, you try to ignore the pout he shoots in your direction.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” he says slowly, sitting up straight and facing the door you were currently standing in.

“Harry, please just get dressed! I promised Catherine we’d be there early,” you say tightly, giving him a pointed look until he surrenders and gets off the bed, reaching for his briefs in the dresser on the other side of the bedroom.

“Jesus, what is with you always needing to be early? You know Catherine’s always late, anyways,” Harry says in a clipped tone, shoving his long legs through the navy trousers laid out on the bed.

“Don’t start. This is important to me, and I don’t need your lack of time management ruining Catherine’s birthday dinner that I’ve been planning for weeks.” You knew that you were being a bit over dramatic, but the stress of making your high-maintenance best friend happy was weighing down on you. Coupled with the fact that Harry was leaving again for a few months, you were under a lot of stress to make everybody happy.

“What do you mean ‘lack of time management?!’ We’re talking about Catherine for Christ’s sakes! The girl who showed up late to almost every event you’ve hosted in the past two years! I think she’ll manage us being a couple of minutes late.” Harry speaks while finishing putting on his outfit, and for once, you really don’t have it in you to argue. Because arguing costs time. And time is something you are lacking at the current moment.

Your silence is what causes his head to snap in your direction, giving you a confused look. “Oh are you giving me the silent treatment now?”

You know that he doesn’t mean it, but his words are causing you to seethe in your heels. Before you can make a comment that will cause another argument, you start heading towards the stairs, grabbing your keys by the table near the front hallway and throwing them into your clutch.

“Oh, come on! Catherine probably won’t even be there for another hour anyways!” His voice is right behind you, and before you can even think about it, you’ve pivoted on your heel, your hair whipping against your neck with the sheer force of your movements.

“Enough! I’d like to get there before my perpetually late friend, and I don’t need you breathing down my fucking neck about it! Can you do that for me? Please?” You really didn’t mean to snap at him, but he’s been egging you on ever since you’ve asked him to get ready hours ago.

You know that your boyfriend means well, and that he’s got enough on his plate as it is, and going to your forgetful best friend’s birthday dinner is probably the last thing of importance on his list—but you’ve done so much for him. You’ve flown out to shows, you’ve gone months without seeing him due to his demanding schedule, you’ve practically uprooted your life to accommodate his throughout your relationship. And, of course, it was all worth it—because he’s worth everything. But sometimes, especially times like this, you wish he would realize that and just do as you say.

And with one clipped nod, the nod he gives you when he’s surrendering to the argument, he reaches behind you for the front door and holds it open, allowing you to walk in front of him and head towards the car at the end of the driveway, trying your hardest to let the anger seep out of your skin.

***

You hate to say it, but Harry was right. Catherine was forty-five minutes late to her birthday dinner, and before it was over, she was already drunk enough to completely forget to thank you for putting the entire thing together.

But you were far too proud to show your boyfriend that he was right, so instead of acknowledging the smug look he was shooting your way, you decide to order another drink and continue swallowing them down until you were drunk enough to forget how annoyed you were at the entire evening. When Catherine announces moving the party to the new club that opened downtown, you decided you were done, choosing instead to end the night early.

While you were waiting for the valet, you notice that Harry wasn’t as drunk as you were, but he was definitely drunk enough to let his hands rest low on your hips while his body enveloped yours, seemingly protecting you from the cold. His lips would brush your neck every now and then, and while you appreciated how touchy he got when liquor was in his veins, you were still annoyed at the unfinished argument the two of you had hours earlier.

“You look so beautiful tonight, baby. Can’t wait to take you home,” he whispers in your ear. You blame the shiver that racks your body on the wind, even though your insides were burning at the feeling of your boyfriend’s lips against the shell of your ear.You’re silent the entire car ride home, resting your head against the window as Harry’s hands splay against your exposed upper thigh uncovered by your short hemline. With every stop light, he would look over towards you, and you could feel the heat of his gaze every time he ogled your body in the short garment.

Ignoring Harry when you were mad at him was an entire feat in itself.

When he pulls into the driveway, you’re the first to spring out of the car, determined to put enough distance between the two of you so you aren’t tempted to let him win the argument. Harry knows this, because he knows how stubborn you can be. He loves this little game of yours that you play, and while he knows he’ll ultimately apologize to you in the end, watching the way you battle yourself with touching him and keeping your distance makes him only want to rip your clothes off more.

He sits on the loveseat in your bedroom while you rip your heels off and place them on the shoe rack in your closet. You're aware of his gaze, watching every step you take as you remove your earrings, plug your phone into the charger, run to the restroom to wash your face. His silence is irritating, but you’d be damned if you were the first to break it.

It’s once you’ve finally stripped out of your dress when Harry breaks.

“Christ, can you come here, please? You’re killing me, baby.” His voice is rough and you can hear the frustration laced in his words, and it’s enough to make you stare at him head on, hands gripping the undergarments gracing your hips, looking down at him with a stern look.

Harry does his hardest to hide the growing bulge in his pants at the sight of you.

“I’m still upset with you,” you utter, walking towards the loveseat slowly. You purposely matched your bra with your underwear, and it’s enough to cause Harry’s eyes to wander the expanse of your skin, holding back a groan at the sight of you.

“I’m sorry.” His voice sounds miles away, and you can tell that your body is distracting him. He’s not even looking into your eyes, and once his big hands reach out to grab your hips and pull you down on top of him, you immediately back away, removing his hands from your body.

“No touching. Not until you’ve apologized properly.” You know it’s wrong to tease him, but sometimes your boyfriend needs a little reminder of how to treat you when he’s been a bit unfair towards you.

He frowns instantly, crossing his arms against his chest like a petulant child. It’s enough to cause you to snort, before crossing the room and laying on the bed, your back towards him and your front facing the window.

You can hear him shuffling around, most likely removing his clothes in favor of wearing his briefs to bed. And once the overhead light is off, just the light of the moon filtering through the room, you can feel his body hovering over yours in the bed, his hands gripping your waist tightly.

“Hate when you’re a tease,” he whispers against your neck, rolling your body so that you're completely under his, staring up into his dark eyes.

You lock your arms around his neck. “Hate when you’re a prick,” you reply back, trying your hardest to suppress the moan urging itself out of your throat when his hands trace the swells of your breasts, before settling at the tops of your underwear.

“How many times do I have to apologize?” He says, his eyes locked on your body instead of your eyes. You know that he’s been wanting to see you naked all night, and while it makes your skin prickle with goosebumps, it’s not enough.

“Until you mean it.” You watch as he swears under his breath, before moving his hands behind your back to the clasp of your bra. He’s cautious, testing to see how you’ll react, wondering if this is still a game for you. And when you’re quiet, he takes that as affirmation, ridding you of your top layer before pressing his mouth against your newly exposed skin.

You bite your lip so hard until you can taste the metallic flavor of blood, trying your hardest to ignore Harry’s bulge growing against your upper thigh. His mouth is moving lower and lower, his hands kneading your exposed flesh, and it’s driving you absolutely mad to stay silent. But you’re still angry. And stubborn as a bull.

“You know I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt your feelings,” his lips are ghosting over your clothed center, and when your body twitches under his, he takes that as a sign to pull the lace from your skin, tossing it over his shoulder.

“Yeah, well you did, Harry.” Your voice comes out much more high-pitched than normal, and you know that it’s due to your boyfriend’s proximity to your heat. It’s coursing now, and Harry’s eyes flicker from your eyes to your exposed center.

“Didn’t mean it,” he’s distracted again, and before you can yell at him, you watch as his ringed fingers trickle from your navel down to your clit, before swiping against your folds. He’s testing you, wondering how long you’ll be upset with him. You’re still silent, because he doesn’t deserve you at your full-capacity, not when he’s still so cavalier about the way he treated you earlier.

When he removes his briefs and teases you with the tip, your hands immediately grip his shoulder blades forcefully, and the sting is enough to make him look at you for longer than a few seconds.

“You can’t stay mad at me forever…” he’s teasing you, knowing that you’ll eventually break. But your boyfriend is completely underestimating your stubbornness, and when he tries to turn you over so that your front is pressed into the pillows and your backside is in the air, the position that he craves the most, you clench your abdominal muscles and anchor yourself to the mattress.

You won’t be giving him that luxury today.

He says your name breathlessly, but you ignore it. Instead, you bring your mouth closer to his, before speaking instead of kissing him. “Need you to mean it, baby.”

Harry groans against your lips, his tip slipping in when you moved closer to his chest. His mind is moving a hundred miles a minute, trying to remember the exchange of words you both had hours earlier, wondering what he did to make you so upset.

You can tell that he’s thinking, and you decide to reward him by wrapping your legs around his waist, allowing him to slip further inside of you. You’re not that much of a monster.

“I do mean it! I’m sorry I made you late,” he’s stuttering and his eyes are completely blown out, and normally you’d kiss him at this moment when his length is almost completely enveloped by your heat. But he still isn’t understanding it. And you’re still mad.

“Not why I’m angry with you,” you say against the corner of his mouth, your breath hitching once he’s completely bottomed out inside of you. His brain is clouded over with lust, and trying to apologize at this moment is damn near impossible.

His hips start to rut against yours, and when he pulls back out and pushes inside of you once more, gathering a gentle rhythm, you dig your fingernails deeper into his skin to remind him that you are, in fact, still waiting for a decent apology.

Harry’s breathing your name in between moans, his lips inching towards yours desperately. He normally kisses you during sex, tangles his tongue with yours, pulls his teeth against your bottom lip, anything he can do to get closer to you. But you’re denying him of this luxury, and he’s growing more and more frustrated with each pump into you.

“Harry!” You’re not sure if it’s from pleasure or from the fact that he still can’t come up with the reason why you’re so upset with him. But once you’ve stilled under him, his eyes snap to yours, and he’s realizing then that he truly has been a bit of a dickhead tonight.

“Didn’t mean to make you late. Didn’t mean to egg you on. I know—fuck, I know Catherine is always late but that doesn’t mean you are. I know this was important to you. ‘M sorry I was such an asshole. You’re important to me. I love you, fuck baby, I love you too much. Can’t stand you being mad at me. Please.” He’s desperate, his words falling over your cheek in hot pants. His eyes dart between both your pupils, and you can tell that he needs you to understand his words. That he truly means them. That he needs you to fucking accept his apology because he’s about to burst inside of you, and his heart can’t take you not kissing him and looking at him the way you normally do.

You smile then, removing your hands from his shoulders and tangling them into his hair, bringing your lips to his. He sighs in your mouth, relief coursing through his veins. He starts pumping into you again, and you’re finally reciprocating, kissing his cheeks and his neck, whispering his name into his skin, telling him that you love him with each press further into the mattress.

And when he finally comes, you reward him with an open-mouthed kiss, your tongue tangling with his, whispering “I love you” until it settles into the back of his throat.

Because even though you’re stubborn, and even though Harry can be dim when it comes to apologies, you wouldn’t have it any other way. You love him far too much to let him go that easily, and when you’re cuddled into his chest and he’s running his fingers down your matted hair, you fall asleep knowing that you’re safe in his arms.

#blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry x reader #harry smut #1dff #1dffupdates

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berrynarrybanana · 3 years

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Holiday Wishes, Mistletoe Kisses

A/N: This was meant to be a blurb, but I got carried away. I honestly don’t know how I feel about it, but I wanted to post some Christmassy stuff in between now and Deck the Halls, so here’s a little something. It’s basically over a thousand words of Harry pining for some girl he just met. That seems to be my favorite trope, yeah? Anyways, I hope you enjoy and I hope that you all remember that Christmas isn’t about what you have or what you’re able to give, it’s about spending time with the people you love the most. I’m always here for you all if you need me and I love you loads. Thank you!

Word Count: 5.1K+

Warnings: A little smut, pining, flash forward, ofc

Prompt: “You’re wearing the Santa hat, whether you like it or not” | Taken from this post here!

It wasn’t that Harry hated Christmas.

He loved spending time with his family, drinking mulled wine and talking shit with his Mum and Sister on the couch until the morning light. He loved the Christmas cookies that everyone seemed to bake just for him. Every single one of his friends would wrap them up in cute, candy cane striped cellophane bags with a little bow as if they were worried he’d been deprived of sweets. He loved the warmth that enveloped him when he stepped into any building, dodging the cold winter winds and brutal snowflakes that hit his skin. He loved most things about the season, but he truthfully hated the actual holiday itself.

He hated the music, each song covered by about twenty different artists, (yet, they always sounded the same, somehow), playing on a loop on every single Christmas station. He hated how rude people were in the shops and on the road, as if their time was more important than anyone else's. He hated the stigma around giving expensive gifts, stressing over the perfect thing to get each of his friends. If he could, he’d give them all something homemade, but he was shit at doing anything crafty.

His boots crunched against the snow as he walked towards his mother’s front door.

He let himself in, kicking his shoes off before he removed his scarf and his winter coat. He could hear laughter from the kitchen, Gemma and his Mum giggling far too loud. They must have cracked into the mulled cider a little early, and truthfully, he was jealous. He’d spent the last four hours stuck in traffic listening to white Christmas over and over and over again. He shut the front door as Evie wrapped herself around his legs, her soft purring catching his attention as he glanced down at the black and white kitten.

“Hiya, darling girl.” He crouched down, scooping her into his arms before he delivered a series of kisses over her head. “Daddy’s missed you, eh. Have you been good for your nan?”

She meowed in response, causing Harry to coo at her before he scratched under her chin.

“That’s my girl.” He pressed another kiss to the top of her head before setting her back to the ground.

He knew they would indulge in several cuddle sessions over the next few days, so he wasn’t worried about missing his one and only pet this holiday season. He walked through the house, finding his way into the kitchen where Gemma was tipping back a glass of dark red liquid, and his Mum was rolling out cookie dough with a bright smile on her face. What Harry wasn’t expecting, was the curly haired girl with a cookie cutter in her hand next to his Mum.

“Hello!” He called out, offering a smile as he walked over to the kitchen island. “I see we’ve started having fun already.”

“It took you forever to get here!” Gemma said defensively, picking up a chocolate kiss before tossing it at Harry. “Do you want a drink?”

“Something hot, it’s like the bloody tundra outside.” He shivered at the thought of the harsh wind, his eyes trailing back towards the new girl.

“Stella makes the best peppermint hot chocolate you’ve ever had in your life.” Gemma groaned out, her eyes rolling back in her head. “She puts peppermint vodka in there.”

“I can make you one if you’d like?” Stella’s voice was soft and painfully american. “We’ve got a slow cooker full of hot chocolate.”

“If you don’t mind.” Harry gave her a smile as he pulled out a stool, sitting next to Gemma. “Nice to meet you, Stella. I’m Harry, by the way.”

“She knows who you are.” Gemma reached over, pinching Harry’s side. “Stella is a new transfer at work. She’s new to England, and we thought we’d show her a proper English Christmas.”

“Stella, love, you should probably find another family to spend Christmas with if you want a proper English Christmas.” Harry snorted. “Ours is half arsed at best.”

“We have a lovely Christmas, thank you.” Anne piped up, flicking flour in Harry’s direction as Stella laughed softly. “Don’t scare the poor thing off, we’ve just made her feel at home.”

Stella turned her back, walking towards the stove.

“I suppose we do have a good time.” Harry hummed out. “I can’t wait to watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas for the millionth time.”

“They’ve got an animated one now!” Gemma exclaimed. “We’re going to do a double feature.”

“Lovely.” Harry rolled his eyes.

Moments later, a steaming mug of hot chocolate laced was placed in front of Harry.

He looked down at the grinch mug before looking back up at Stella.

“Thanks.” He offered her a smile, but she merely nodded back at him before taking her place next to Anne again.

He watched her, sipping at his drink as Gemma and Anne chatted about some Hallmark movie that was meant to premiere at some point during the week. She wasn’t normally the type of girl that he dated, but he had to admit that she was beautiful. Her cheeks were round, a soft blush smeared over them that he assumed came from a makeup product. Her lashes were thick, and long, shadowing her hazel colored eyes. She had thick brows that seemed a little unruly, and plump lips stained with a plum colored lipstick that matched her smoky, purple eyeshadow. He wasn’t a huge fan of the plum color, but he had to admit that it brought out a lot of the warmer tones in her eyes and in her beautiful, brown skin. He also thought that it complimented the lighter strands in her curly brown hair that bounced about everytime she turned her head.

He tried not to be too obvious with his curious gaze, but he couldn’t help it. He was almost mesmerized by her beauty, but he was more so confused by his attraction to her. She was far too quiet for his taste, her eyes cast down on the cookies she’d been cutting out for the last few minutes while everyone else chatted.

He watched her place them on the tray carefully, obsessing over how they landed before she reached for the colored icing. He watched her pipe onto the little shapes, her tongue nestling in the corner of her mouth as her unsteady hands worked diligently on the cookies.

This was a Styles family Christmas, and the Styles were a rowdy and messy bunch. He’d never seen his Mum or Gemma put that much work into sugar cookies before, and it was almost painful to watch her perfect each and every one before she slipped the tray in the oven. He watched her reach for the cheeky little chicken shaped oven timer that Gemma bought when his Mum fist moved into this house. In all of those years, he’d never seen anyone actually use it.

“Did you hear me, my little turtle dove?” Anne brushed her hand over Harry’s back as he sipped at his cocoa. “They’re calling for a huge storm this weekend, are you packed for that?”

“I left some stuff here the last time I was around.” He turned his head, smiling back at her. “I think I should be fine if I get stuck with you lot.”

“Good.” She nodded, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too, Mumma.” He wrapped an arm around her back, pulling her into a hug.

The warm scent of vanilla and musk greeted his senses, flooding him with comfort and nostalgic memories of cuddling with Mum on the couch. He missed having her around him. He missed having his best friend around to comfort him when he needed it the most. When he let go of her, his heart sank a little in his chest. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head before moving back to work on more cookie dough.

“Why are you making so many cookies?” He asked, brows furrowing as he brushed his fingers over the sickly green mug with the cartoon characters face on it. “Do you plan on feeding an army?”

“No, but Stella suggested that we take some down to the local homeless shelter on Christmas Eve.” Anne smiled over at the girl. “That’s her family's Christmas tradition, and since she’s not with them this year, we thought we’d make it happen for her here.”

“Thank you again, for agreeing to this.” Stella smiled at Anne. “It really means the world to me, and I can’t thank you enough.”

“You’re a part of the family now, dear.” Anne teased. “Even if you’re not spending Christmas with us, this little tradition of yours has been officially integrated into our own Christmas tradition. We’ll always have a little bit of Stella with us during the Holiday’s now, eh.”

Stella laughed at that, reaching her arms out to wrap Anne in a hug.

Harry almost felt a little jealous at how seamlessly she fit in here.

“If you keep staring at her, she’s gonna want to run back to America.” Gemma nudged her elbow into his side. “We get it, she’s hotter than you.”

“Oh, shut up.” Harry rolled his eyes at Gemma as she smirked. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Okay, Casanova.” She snorted. “Whatever you say.

Harry wasn’t sure why he was hard.

He just wanted to close his eyes and go the fuck to sleep.

After a long day of travel, and an even longer evening filled with Harry pulling down Christmas decorations from the attic, he just wanted to sleep. He wasn’t looking forward to taking the annual trip to the Christmas Tree Farm tomorrow. Since Robin passed, Harry was the only man in the family, which meant that he often had to do the heavy lifting. He found that most of his strength lay in his core, despite the amount of lifting he’d done to buff up his arms, and he wasn’t looking forward to tossing a tree on top of his car while everyone watched.

Truthfully, that was the worry that should have been plaguing his mind as he lay in bed. Instead, his mind was lost in hazel colored waves that crashed on dark plum shores. He couldn’t stop thinking about Stella’s eyes or her perfectly shaped lips. He spent most of his night watching her drink from a wine glass, her cheeks turning a shade darker with each joke that she shared with his family. If there was one thing that he was shocked about, it was the dry humor that tumbled from her perfect plum colored lips. She was a funny girl, despite being quiet, and he laughed at every single joke she told without shame.

As he shifted his about, trying to avoid any further thoughts about her lips, the tip of his cock brushed against the warm flannel of his pajama pants. He let out a throaty groan, reaching down to push his palm into the crotch of his pants to soothe the pressure building in his lower belly. He couldn’t jack off to the thought of Gemma’s new friend, it would be awful, and it would surely land him on the naughty list. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best not to picture her lipstick staining his lower belly, his upper thighs, and eventually...the shaft of his cock. But after a few minutes of trying not to think about it, that was the only thing he could see behind closed eyes.

With an annoyed grumble, he dipped his hand into his pajama pants, tugging his cock out while his free hand pushed the band of the pants down his hips. He licked over his dry lips, making a mental note to buy some chapstick tomorrow as he gave himself one, swift stroke. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to moan as he brushed the pad of his thumb over the weeping slit of his cock. He was pathetic, dripping down his cock over a girl that he barely knew. He couldn’t believe that he was being that guy right now, tugging at his cock desperately to the thought of a beautiful girl on her knees for him. He wanted so badly to have her there, whispering filthy words in that gentle tone she had, encouraging him to cum on her tongue.

When he did cum, her name spilled from his lips.

His chest was heaving as he came down, the tinkling of Stella’s laughter filling his ears.

Seconds later, he heard her bid goodnight to Gemma before the door next to his own shut.

He was totally fucked for this girl.

The next morning, he didn’t expect to see Stella sitting at the breakfast bar when he came downstairs.

He stopped in the doorway, his cheeks growing warm as he looked over her sweater covered back. Thoughts of her name tumbling from his lips last night flooded back as he looked at her. She was wearing a lavender colored, cable knit sweater, and her curls were tied up in a messy ponytail on top of her head. Most of the curls had fallen out, covering up some of her neck alongside her fingers. Her cheek was propped on her palm, her gaze focused on her laptop as she lifted a mug of steaming liquid up to her mouth with her other hand.

Harry cleared his throat, walking toward the stove so he could put the kettle on. No one else in the house would be up for hours, but Harry couldn’t turn off his internal alarm clock no matter how he tried. He also hoped that he might find a moment of peace from the very girl sitting in his Mother’s kitchen. She haunted his dreams, her face playing on the silver screen in his mind all night long. He hated how infatuated he was with this woman that he barely even knew.

“Morning.” She spoke up first, her voice scratchy and tired. “Did you sleep well?”

“Splendid, yeah.” He nodded, filling the kettle with water. “You?”

“I’ve slept better, but that’s to be expected.” She said softly. “I spent a little bit of time on a skype call with my brother’s, so I was up longer than expected.”

“But you’re up fairly early this morning, aren’t you?” He put the kettle on the stovetop before turning around, his eyes landing on hers. “Why’s that?”

“I wake up this early anyways.” She smiled at him. “I usually like to go for a walk in the morning to wake myself up.”

“That’s nice.” He lifted his hand, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “I usually like to go for a swim or a run in the morning, too.”

“Where do you swim?” She asked.

“There’s a men’s swimming club not too far from my home in London.” He said. “It’s freezing cold, but you get used to it after a while.”

“Jeeze, you swim outside in this weather?” She lifted her head from her palm, her eyes growing wide. “I could never.”

“It’s an acquired taste.” He chuckled softly. “What are you working on?”

“A new piece for my blog.” She said. “I started out using it as a diary of sorts, but people apparently love reading about the disaster that is my life.”

“I’m sure it’s not all horrible.” He hoped that he sounded encouraging and not rude. “You seem like a lovely, and positive person.”

“I try to be.” She shrugged, reaching for her mug. “I could say the same about you.”

“I try to be.” He smiled at her. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Oh, I was actually thinking of popping down to this little bakery Gemma told me about-”

“Mandeville’s.” His heart picked up, a smile stretching across his lips. “Had my first job there.”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” She laughed, wrapping both hands around her mug as she leaned back in the barstool. “I figured I’d go grab some pastries for everyone. I know it’s kind of a busy day with the Christmas Tree Farm, so I thought it would be best if your Mum didn’t feel the need to cook.”

“She would love that.” Harry said. “Maybe I could go with you? We could both get our walks in, and I can see Mary before she hunts me down and drags me to the bakery.”

“I would love the company.” She smiled. “But enjoy your tea first, I’ll just be working on this until we’re ready to go.”

“Cheers.” He nodded, watching her eyes drop to her computer screen.

She wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup this morning, and Harry almost wished that she was.

He wished that she had covered up her beautiful, freckle covered skin so that he didn’t fall harder for her beautiful face. He wished that she was hiding away those little blemishes that made him swoon, because she was actually a human after all, not some angel sent down from heaven to torture him. He wished that she covered those beautiful lips in that plum lipstick again so that he could imagine kissing it off of her. He hated the feeling stirring inside of his belly, the butterflies a tell tale sign of his feelings.

He had a crush on Stella.

And there was nothing he could do to stop himself from falling for her.

Stella’s gloves were precious.

They were a bright red, little snowflakes and reindeer stitched into them.

She offered to let Harry borrow a pair of her gloves, claiming that she’d brought plenty of pairs for the winter, but he politely declined before shoving his hands in his pockets. She looked so cozy, wrapped up in her winter coat with a beanie on top of her head and a matching scarf tied around her neck. Harry wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and cuddle her so that they could both stay nice and toasty on their walk. He wanted to kiss her bare cheeks, paying special attention to each freckle on her skin as the winter sun cast over them.

He was so infatuated with her that it was almost embarrassing.

“I can’t even imagine what it was like, growing up in a place like this.” Stella turned her head towards Harry, the tip of her nose a little red. “It’s so picturesque.”

“It’s alright.” He gave her a small smile. “I always wanted to get out when I was a kid.”

“Of course you did, we all do.” She chuckled. “I think everyone should run away for a little while, it really gives you all of the tools you need to really appreciate your hometown when you go back. I don’t know that I’ll ever move back to my hometown, but when I visit it, I feel a little bit more appreciative of the pivotal role it had in raising me.”

“I feel the same way about Cheshire.” Harry nodded. “It’s a big part of who I was, and that helped make me who I am. I wouldn’t be the same without this place.”

“Exactly.” She said.

“So where exactly are you from?” He asked. “I mean, obviously America-”

“Is it that obvious?” She asked, narrowing her eyes playfully, her lips pursed. “I don’t think it is.”

“It’s a neon, flashing sign above your head kind of obvious, love.” He snorted. “But I can’t place what your accent is.”

“It’s not really an accent.” Stella shrugged, turning her attention back to the sidewalk. “I grew up on the road for most of my life, but my family settled in Georgia when I was about twelve.”

“Interesting.” He said. “How did you like Georgia?”

“I didn’t, at first.” She laughed. “I hated it so much. I loved being on the road with my family, traveling places like Hawaii and Los Angeles. When we moved to the south, I despised everything about it. It was so plain and boring compared to places we’d lived before. But like I said, moving away has made me learn to love it more when I go back.”

“How long have you been gone?” He asked.

“About three years.” She said. “I lived in Amsterdam for a year, and then Paris, and now I’m here.”

“Which place is your favorite?” He asked. “Be honest with me, now. You don’t have to say London just because you’re trying to get on my good side.”

Stella tossed her head back, laughing loudly.

“I think it’s truthfully London, Harry.”

His name sounded like honey falling from her lips.

“Why is that?” He asked.

“Because I’ve found my chosen family.” She turned back, giving him a smile that thawed out the chill creeping up from his toes. “Starting with Gemma, of course. She was the first person to take me under her wings, and I’m so happy that I have her in my life. Then I started to find other people, and we all became this really close knit group of friends that felt more like family than my actual family does. I don’t know how I’ll ever leave this place.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” He said softly. “Maybe this is home.”

Please don’t go, Stella.

Stay here with me forever.

Love me.

“My contract is up at the end of the year, but we’ll just have to see how things go.” She said. “I might be convinced to stay.”

“Well, I guess I have a lot of work to do.” He chuckled.

“Why are you so keen on me staying?” She asked him, her brows raising as she gave him a knowing smirk. “Do you have a crush on me, Styles?”

His cheeks grew hot against the cold wind.

“Alright now, don’t let that go to your head.” He grumbled, tucking his neck into his scarf as Stella’s smile grew wider. “It’s all your bloody fault, you know?”

“What have I done?” She laughed louder. “I’m just me.”

“That’s exactly it.” He let out a breathy chuckle. “You’re you, Stella.”

The Christmas Tree Farm was going well.

That was up until Gemma decided that they absolutely needed to take a family picture in front of the big Christmas tree, Stella included. They had picked up a few little trinkets and such while walking around the market included in the farm. Anne picked up a reindeer headband with bells stitched in, plopping it on her head the second she found it. Gemma found an elf’s hat with little ears attached to the side, putting it on her hair before fussing with her hair. Stella found a crown made of poinsettias that she plopped on top of her curls, the red and gold working perfectly with her red lipstick and gold eyeshadow. Harry, however, wasn’t exactly in the spirit.

“You’re wearing the bloody santa hat, whether you like it or not!” Gemma shoved it towards him with a frown. “If you stand next to Stella, you’ll like Mr. and Mrs. Claus!”

“Shut up, Gemma.” Harry sneered, snatching the hat from her hands. “I didn’t tell you about that so you could throw it in my face!”

“Well, I’m doing it for the greater good of our family photo!” She glared at him. “Put that hat on before I shove it on your head myself.”

“Fine.”

“Are you two alright?” Stella smirked, adjusting her crown on her head as she walked up to Harry and Gemma. “Santa is still putting people on the naughty list you know?”

“If anyone’s going to be on the naughty list, it’s Harry.” Gemma tossed her arm around Stella’s shoulder with a proud smirk. “He’s being a pain in the arse.”

“Is the hat really necessary to the photo?” He groaned, dropping his head back.

“Yes.” Stella and Gemma said at the same time.

“Alright, alright.” He groaned, tugging the hat over his curls. “Are you both happy now?”

“Ecstatic.” Stella smiled brightly at Harry. “I think you look handsome.”

“I’m going to just point out…” Gemma pulled her arm from around Stella, tucking her hands behind her back. “That there’s mistletoe hanging from that piece of wood above your heads.”

“Gemma-” Harry’s eyes grew wide.

“And I’m promptly going to walk away.” She smiled at Stella. “Meet us at the tree in ten minutes.”

“Gemma-” Stella held her hand out as Gemma walked away, her eyes growing just as wide as Harry’s were. “What a sneaky little elf.”

“Tell me about it.” Harry shifted, adjusting the hat on his head. “Devious little-”

“Well, I guess we can’t break tradition.” Stella looked up at Harry, shuffling forward slowly with a little smirk on her lips. “I mean, what would Santa say if we didn’t kiss under the mistletoe?”

Harry licked over his bottom lip, his fingers twitching.

“You really want to kiss me?”

“I might.” Stella’s toes were almost touching Harry’s now. “But the question is, do you want to kiss me?”

“I do, yeah.” He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since I laid eyes on you, Stella.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” She raised her brows. “Now is your chance, Mr. Grinch, lay one on me.”

Harry lifted his hands, pressing them to Stella’s face hesitantly before he lowered his lips to hers in a soft kiss. It was a gentle peck, one that anyone would share underneath the mistletoe, but Harry wanted more from Stella. It seemed that she wanted more as well, her arms sliding around his neck as she pressed up on her toes. He let his hands fall to her waist as the kiss grew more intense, his hands holding onto her tightly as she brushed her tongue over his lower lip. He tried his best not to smile into the kiss, letting her have what she wanted by parting his lips. When her tongue slipped over his, he let out a tiny moan, gripping her hips tighter.

“Get a room, you two!” Harry groaned, pressing his forehead to Stella’s.

“Gemma, I swear to god-” Harry turned his head, whipping his santa hat off before he threw it in her direction. “Go bother someone else!”

Stella laughed, ducking her forehead down to Harry’s chest as he rubbed his thumbs over her side gently. He felt her body shaking underneath his hands, his heart hammering in his chest when he realized just how close they actually were. He turned his head back, lifting a hand up to guide Stella’s chin up. He pressed his lips to hers once, twice, three more times before she pressed her palms to Harry’s chest.

“We’ll never stop if we don’t move away from the mistletoe.” Stella whispered. “And I think Gemma might physically pull us apart if we miss that Christmas picture.”

“Let it be known that I’m only partaking in this picture because I want to stand next to you for as long as I can.” Harry smiled. “I think I have a little more than a crush on you, Stella.”

“I think I have more than a crush on you, too.”

“Madeline, stop right there.” Stella let out a frustrated sigh as she looped her arm under the baby carrier, her eyes falling down to the sleeping infant. “Milo, promise Mumma that you’ll listen when you get to that age?”

“Give him here.” Harry brushed a kiss over Stella’s temple, his hand massaging her lower back gently. “You go catch up with speed racer, okay? I’ll be right behind you with the baby and the diaper bag.”

“Thank you.” Stella turned her head, puckering her lips out. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He hummed out. “And our beautiful babies, even if one of them has a death wish and two left feet.”

Stella snorted out a laugh, pulling her arm from the carrier before she stuffed her hands in her pockets. “I better go help her up the stairs.”

“Please, we don’t need a repeat of last year.” Harry smiled.

“Yeah, I would like to avoid a trip to A&E this year.” Stella snorted.

He watched Stella walk over to an antsy Madeline, her pigtails bouncing about as she jumped from foot to foot in excitement. Harry chuckled softly at his daughter, amused by her excitement. He was happy that she found so much joy in Christmas, just like her Mother did. He watched Stella hold a hand out, waiting for Madeline to take it before they both conquered the brick steps outside of his Mum’s house. When they got to the top, Stella lifted Madeline up, kissing over her cheeks as their daughter giggled. Harry lifted Milo’s car seat from the base, his eyes falling down to the six month old with hazel eyes and soft cheeks just like his Mother’s.

“We’ve got our hands full with those two, mate.” Harry pulled the soft, wintery blue blanket up to Milo’s chin, tucking it around his shoulders so that he would stay warm. “Gonna keep us both on our toes, I know it.”

Milo cooed up at him, causing Harry to smile wider before he ducked his head down to kiss his son's soft cheeks.

“Let’s get you into Nan’s before you turn into a popsicle, my love.” Harry said. “Mumma won’t be happy if we have to spend Christmas thawing you out.”

As Harry made his way up the stairs, he couldn’t help but remember five Christmases ago.

He was walking up the exact same steps on his own, unaware of the magic that was waiting inside for him. He was unaware that the girl Gemma brought home for Christmas would one day be his wife, and the mother of his two beautiful children. He had no idea that they would spend long nights together, planning their future and holding each other tight. He opened the front door to his Mum’s house, smiling at the sound of Madeline telling his Mother a story with animated gestures, her curly pigtails bouncing around as Stella tried to wrangle her jacket off.

“And then Daddy told me we could get a puppy next year if I was good enough!” Madeline squealed out as Harry shut the door.

He dodged the steely gaze he got from Stella after she heard the word puppy.

“Sorry.” He mouthed over at her, causing her to shake her head as she tried to fight off a smile.

“You’re a menace.” She mouthed back. “But I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He said it outloud, his heart soaring in his chest.

Stella gave him a heart warming smile, Madeline’s coat still in her hands.

Seconds later, Milo let out a tiny cry causing Harry to snap back into dad mode.

He rested the carseat on the ground, carefully pulling his son out before pressing a kiss to his chubby little cheeks. As if Gemma could sense his presence, she barreled into the living room with her eyes set on Milo.

“There’s my little man.” She held her hands out, wiggling them as Harry rolled his eyes. “You get to see him every day, Harry. Pass him over to his auntie.”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes. “Please be careful with him, I kind of like this one.”

“Piss off.” Gemma snorted out, sliding Milo onto her hip before pressing a bright red kiss mark into his forehead. “Has Daddy told you that without auntie Gem, you wouldn’t exist?”

“Gemma-”

“Can you believe that?” She looked up at Harry, a hint of something nostalgic and genuine sparkling in her green eyes. “If I’d never brought Stella to family Christmas, we wouldn’t have two beautiful babies to dote over every year.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine what life would be like without them.” He whispered. “Thank you, Gemma.”

“Harry, I really didn’t-”

“Gemma.” He said her name sternly, pressing his palm to her bicep. “Thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She said softly, her eyes watering. “Now, if you could do me a favor and bring a hot friend around, I’d really appreciate it.”

“I’ll see what I can manage.” He let out a wet chuckle, his own eyes watering.

“What are we managing?” Stella wrapped her arms around Harry.

“We owe Gem a favor.” He sniffled, turning head to press a kiss to Stella’s forehead.

“Why are you crying, baby?” Stella frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing at all.” He pressed his lips to hers, softly brushing his nose against the tip of hers as his. “Just so incredibly grateful to have you in my life, that’s all.”

“You’re so sappy around the holiday’s.” Stella brushed her palm over his belly. “I love you, Mr. Styles.”

“I love you, too, Mrs. Styles.” He said. “Merry Christmas, Darling.”

“Merry Christmas.”

#not edited #as per usual #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry fic #harry one shot #harry imagine #harry styles X ofc #harry styles christmas fic #harry styles blurb #harry blurb #harry styles christmas blurb

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snackhobi · 4 years

Text

pairing: min yoonji x reader / word count: 9.7k / genre: f x f smut, assassin!au

summary: a fic inspired by this post and that’s pretty much it-

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), talk about death/assassination (nothing graphic dw! but they are assassins, so), mild violence, unnecessarily sexually charged lipstick application, face riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f giving/receiving), use of restraints, overstimulation, squirting, kind of dom!yoonji?

a/n: this is an entirely self-indulgent fic I wrote as a gift to myself for my bday, it’s a lil rushed bc I wanted it done for today! women are so very beautiful and I am so very weak, thank you ladies for all being so amazing ily. this was meant to be a short pwp and now it’s almost 10k but I have no regrets bye

la petite mort French literal meaning: ‘the little death’; also an expression used to refer to the brief loss or weakening of consciousness, specifically the sensation of orgasm as likened to death; an orgasm.

“It’s just unacceptable.”

The woman in front of you is clearly wealthy. Her dark hair is perfectly styled and her pale nails are perfectly shaped and her subtle makeup is perfectly flattering; she’s starting to get older but rather than shy away from it, she’s leaning into it, and she looks almost imperious in her beauty, eyes sharp and set of her lips severe. Park Dahye was born into wealth and has clearly thrived in the life that she’s been afforded.

“Mmhm.” You try not to yawn.

“He’s flitting around with some young, silly thing on his arm, with no consideration for the family’s reputation— my reputation,” she continues. Her posture is perfect, from the set of her spine to her crossed legs to her folded hands that rest on her knee, somehow demure and yet highlighting all of her beauty and riches; the jewellery on her wrists and fingers, the expensive heels on her feet, the slit of her haute-couture dress, no doubt tailored for her and her alone. “I’ve already spoken to him about his behaviour, but he’s just ignored my warnings. We may have agreed on the divorce but we’re currently still husband and wife— has he no shame?”

“Awful.” You don’t even try to hide how bored you are, but Dahye is so quietly incensed that she doesn’t even notice as she launches into the next part of her queenly diatribe, and you muffle a sigh.

That’s the problem with rich clients. Sure, they’re willing to fork over stupid amounts of money to you, but they also think that their issues are of paramount significance— like they’re the centre of the universe and their problems are the only important ones in the world. Like you’re interested in what they have to say. Like this is the only job you’ll ever do that holds real weight or meaning.

For them, it’s a life-changing (life-ending) decision.

For you? It’s another Tuesday.

“Yes, yes, that’s just so terrible, gosh, I don’t know how you manage it,” you say once she pauses to take a breath, using the opportunity to cut her off before she launches into another part of her articulate rant. “Anyway. Would you prefer if his death was embarrassing or quiet?”

For the first time since you’ve met, she seems unsettled. “Pardon?”

Namjoon is much better with people than you, smooth and charming with his boyish dimples. Normally any discussions would go through your handler, but this woman had demanded to meet you personally and had been willing to pay for the privilege: so here you are, with your relative bluntness instead of Joon’s winsome smile.

“You know,” you say, gesturing with your hands. “When they find the body. Do you want him to be caught with his trousers around his ankles—literally or figuratively, that’s up to you— or would you rather it seemed like something natural and unpredictable? Like a sudden heart attack in his sleep, for example.”

When it comes to rich clients, a lot of it is about reputation. When someone’s shuffled off this mortal coil, it’s not just that they’re removed from the equation, it’s also about the ripples that their death leaves in the high society that they’ve lived in. Does she want her (soon-to-be) ex-husband made a mockery of, or does she just want him out of the picture?

She can’t see your face, behind your mask as it is, but you can see hers in perfect clarity. For all that Dahye seems put together and almost impassive, you see the tiny flicker in her eyes. Ah. She’s not just mad because he’s ruining their reputation. She’s hurt.

Man, that sucks. Honestly you bet it’s easier being an assassin than a rich housewife. At least when it comes to backstabbing you can literally involve a knife to sort your problems out. (Well, knives are messy, but you get the picture.)

“I’d prefer something quiet,” she decides. “I’d worry that it could lead back to me, otherwise.”

You’d be offended at the idea that you’d leave any trace that could implicate anyone or that this man’s sudden death was in any way suspicious, but she’s paying you enough that you find that you don’t care. You take pride in your work, but for the amount of zeroes involved in the fee you’re being paid, you think you can take an unintentional insult or two. Or three. Or ten.

You like money, what can you say.

“Sure thing,” you say, giving her a lazy, two fingered salute. You’ve been reclining against the desk of the hotel suite, flicking the complimentary, heavy metal pen between your fingers, twirling it like the world’s most underwhelming baton. You straighten up and let the pen drop back into the pen pot—wait, no, of course it’s a handmade porcelain jar, an alarmingly well-made Joseon porcelain replica. Everything in here stinks of money. “RM will confirm where the money is to be deposited. Half of it now as collateral, and half upon completion of the job,” you say. “If you change your mind between now and then, we’ll be keeping the original 50%, but if for some reason something goes awry, you’ll receive that money back. Sound good?”

She seems surprised at your directness. “I—”

“Fabulous!” You clap your hands together, although the sound is muffled by your gloves. You’re not about to leave your fingerprints everywhere, geez. “Alright, time for me to skidaddle I suppose! I’ve got work to be doing, people to be watching, men to be killing!”

Dahye flinches imperceptibly, but by this point you’ve already slipped out onto the balcony and into the night.

Being an assassin is hard work.

Technically, everyone has the capacity to kill another human being. But killing as a job involves a lot more than just caving someone’s head in with a rock—that’s why Cain isn’t referred to as an assassin, what with how he’d just bashed his brother Abel with a convenient stone that happened to be lying nearby. He was just a straight up dick.

No, when you kill professionally you need to be familiar with an array of different techniques, each one far more sophisticated than the last. You need to know how to be stealthy, how to blend in as you watch your target, how to set up the scenes of their death in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. Or, instead, how to set the scene up in a way that lets any onlookers know that this person had been offed by someone who knew what they were doing, and knew it well. There's a difference between being a killer and being an assassin and you are firmly in the latter category.

So, if your client wants her husband to be shuffled off quietly, then that’s what she’ll get.

They really have pulled out all the stops for this charity gala. Everything is shining, glittering and bright: the surroundings, the food, the people. Especially the people. The rich elite have come together for an extravagant and exquisite night of ostentation and luxury, all in the name of raising money for some needy cause. (You try not to think of the irony and/or hypocrisy behind that.)

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to blend in here. Namjoon had secured (forged) invitations for you both, and so you hang off his arm as you make a slow sweep of the room, trailing unnoticed after your target. You’re not planning to make a move right now but you want to feel out exactly what he’s like: the more information you have about the person you’ve been contracted to assassinate, the better.

Plus it’s an excuse to dress up nice and eat free food— though that last part is mainly Namjoon.

“God, these canapés are so good,” Namjoon moans quietly to you, hoovering up the flaky pastry crumbs from his fingers with single-minded intent. You dig your fingers subtly into his arm.

“I thought we agreed on not eating tonight, Joon,” you mutter to him, although you say it with a beatific smile in case anyone is watching; the place is heaving with people but you’re always on guard. (Even if Namjoon is right. The hors d’oeuvres that are on offer do look incredibly tempting.)

“You have a glass of champagne,” he points out.

“And you may have noticed that I haven’t drunk any of it.” You titter, as if he’s just told a funny joke, and lightly slap his arm. Again, you’re fairly certain no one is watching, but you can never be too careful. “It’s all about creating a facade, Joonie. It’s what we in the business call a ruse.”

Even throughout your back and forth, you’ve kept your eyes on your man of the night: Park Minjae, a middle-aged businessman who’s been greeting people and getting swept up in conversation, all while a slip of a blonde clings to his arm, stuck to his side like a pretty limpet. She’s cute, sure, but she lacks the poise that Dahye has, so you frankly don’t get it. Then again, not everyone finds strong women as attractive as you do. Weirdos.

You’ve been focused on Minjae but your eyes have also been flitting around the room, drinking in your surroundings, drawing up a detailed map of your environment (of course you’d scoped out the building before tonight, but with all the banquet tables and chairs around the layout is a little different). The people, too, have been subject to your scrutiny, although so far they all seem summarily unimportant and uninteresting, just as you’d suspected. You lift your glass to your lips and pretend to take a tiny, demure sip, glancing up through your eyelashes to scan the room again, and you freeze.

Holy shit.

You take back what you just said about everyone being unimportant and uninteresting.

The woman who’s just walked in is fucking stunning. Her sleek dark bob is unstyled, but perfectly frames her beautiful face: sharp eyes, soft nose, flushed lips. Her cocktail dress lets you see almost every inch of those perfect legs, the line of her thighs to her calves and— oh, you swear you could shed a tear of joy. She’s already tall and she’s made even taller by the heels she wears, towering above most of the men here, a fucking Amazonian goddess who looks powerful and undeniably elegant at the same time.

(Thank you for your service, tall women.)

You don’t know who she is, but goddamn, do you want to. She’s scanning the room, and for a brief moment, your eyes touch. A tiny thrill shudders up your spine at the darkness of her keen eyes, that quick and astute gaze.

It’s only the tiniest of moments that’s over as soon as it’s started. The dark-haired beauty looks away and is already disappearing into the crowd before you realise, and it’s only then you notice that you’re staring, utterly drawn in by her cool poise and presence. You’ve been frozen in place with the rim of your champagne glass resting against your mouth, and your eyelashes flutter as you blink and glance down.

The imprint of your lower lip has been left on the glass, stark red visible against its edge, and you squeeze Namjoon’s bicep.

“How does my lipstick look?”

He takes one look at you as he swallows down another tiny vol-au-vent. “Like half of it is missing,” he says, and you frown.

“Ugh. I’ll go touch it up in the bathroom. Keep an eye on our guy, I’ll be right back.”

It’s not until you’ve made it to the toilets that you realise that you do not, in fact, have any lipstick in your ridiculously small clutch bag. When it comes to your actual work, you’re meticulous and thorough and well-planned, but for some bizarre reason, a tube of lipstick is never the top of the list when it comes to equipment. Unbelievable. (You knew you should have worn the 24/7 stuff, but it was always such a nightmare to get off.)

You’ve been so busy rummaging through your bag that you’re completely caught off-guard at the sound of a quiet voice from behind you.

“Lost something?”

Oh, fuck. It’s her, your dark haired and dark eyed beauty, meeting your gaze through the mirror when you glance up from where you’re resting your bag against the marble counter (marble, marble, marble, it’s all marble: the floors, the counters, the sinks; why do rich people always love marble?). She looks altogether too amused at your plight and at how your eyes have widened perceptibly upon seeing her again. But can she blame you? Her presence is so graceful and commanding and she’s so dizzyingly attractive it’s insane. Surely she must get this all the time.

You stare for a little longer than is probably polite, and even behind her fringe you can see how one of her eyebrows rises.

“Sorry for staring,” you say once you notice. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She pauses as she takes in the compliment. You see how her eyes flicker over your face and settle on your mouth; your upper lip, tinted burgundy red, while the lower is faint and smudged.

“Lipstick problems?” She cocks her head at you, still staring at your lips in the mirror. God, she’s so hot.

“Can you tell?” You sound rueful as you glance down at the reflection of your mouth, touching your bottom lip lightly with a fingertip. “I forgot to bring any with me so now I’m stuck.”

She finally looks away from you. You hear a small, metallic click as she unclasps her evening bag— marginally larger than your own— and lifts out a small tube of liquid lipstick. “Would you like to use mine?”

Fuck yes you would.

“Oh, would that be alright?” You finally turn around, and you have to tilt your head back to look at her, taller than you in her heels. Jesus Christ. She’s going to be the death of you. Why are women so gorgeous? Who gave them the right? “I’m not sure the shade will match, though?”

You watch her beautiful mouth curve up into a small smirk as she pulls out a tiny pack of makeup remover wipes from her bag, and you swear could propose to her there and then. Beautiful and tall and organised? Holy shit. What a woman.

She’s got her bag in one hand, while the lipstick and wipes are clasped in the other; her hand is held up in such a way that you think she means for you to take them from her, but when you reach out she shakes her head.

“I’ll do it for you,” she says. The quiet note of authority in her tone makes you go weak at the knees.

Thank god the toilets you chose aren’t the main ones, because it means there’s no one around to see how she tilts her head at the marble counter in the universal gesture of get on there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but you, of course, immediately comply. You brace your hands against the cold stone before hitching yourself up, careful with the draping folds of your dress; the cold touch of the stone is noticeable through the material of your dress, but it’s instantly forgotten when your enchantress steps closer.

You spread your knees so she can stand between them. Holy shit, she’s even better up close. Her lashes are wispy but they’re the perfect frame for her gorgeous eyes, which are dark and intent. You suppress a shiver. You hold yourself still as she leans forward and around you so she can put her clutch and lipstick down, trying to ignore how close she is, but there’s no way she can’t realise what she’s doing. Your heart is pounding. You wish you didn’t have a job to do tonight because you would so much rather be getting, ah, acquainted with this woman rather than following some old businessman around.

The only noise in the bathroom is the sound of peeling plastic as she opens the tiny packet of wet wipes before she curls one around her finger, glancing at you through her lashes.

“Open,” she instructs.

Your mouth drops open immediately. She sweeps the wipe over your lips, bottom, then top, touch firm but careful, drawing away the red from your skin; you stare at her as she works, how her eyes are cast down as she stares at your mouth. She’s using her free hand to grip your chin and you feel deliciously powerless in her grasp.

You purse your lips a little to try and help her, watching the way her eyes flicker as she pulls the wipe back over them— somewhat firmer, this time, with more intent. Lingering. The only barrier between her finger and your mouth is soft and flimsy, the texture of the wipe against your lips like cotton as it drags across them, and it would be so easy to pull it out of her hands.

She flicks the dirtied wipe aside, heedless of how it lands on the unsullied marble, before reaching for her lipstick. She twists the tube in her fingers, motions of her hands precise and deft, and you’ve never been so attracted to how someone’s uncapped something before.

You watch her hands. (She watches you.)

Your eyes trail over the wand as she pulls it out, dragging the doe foot against the rim to catch the excess before turning it towards you, putting the tube by your thigh, near where your hand is bracing against the marble. She takes hold of your chin once again. You stay quiet as she starts to sweep the lipstick over your lips, painting them the same flushed pink as her own. Once again she’s staring at her work so you’re free to drink her in, almost drunk from her beauty, eyes catching on the tiny moles on her pale skin, the smallest freckles that are only noticeable because you’re this close.

The squelch of the applicator sliding into the tube is almost lewd in the silence of the bathroom, and this time you can’t suppress a shiver when she pulls your chin down to open your mouth so she can go back in again on your lips, drawing a sharp, crisp line. Tracing the edges of your lips, the flushed swell of them, the peak of your cupid’s bow.

She glances up. For a moment you’re both still, staring at each other, tension in the air palpable, but then she smacks her lips and you copy the motion, evening the application of the makeup on your mouth.

“Perfect,” she murmurs. “One more step.”

A small, confused frown flits over your face. She’s put the lipstick aside but then she lifts a finger and points towards your still parted lips. You take in a small, shuddering breath when she speaks again and you realise what she means.

“You don’t want to get lipstick on your teeth, do you?”

Both of her eyebrows have risen and she’s looking at you like you’re being silly if you disagree with her.

“No,” you say. You’re not about to deny her. “No, I don’t.”

Your eyes remain locked. You lean forwards, taking that perfect, long finger into your mouth, dragging your lips upwards so that any excess lipstick is caught against her pale skin, a ring of deep rose circling her bottom knuckle; you curl your tongue around her, hot and wet, feeling the crease of her knuckles and pad of her fingertip against your taste buds as you slowly, slowly pull away.

It’s undoubtedly indecent and risqué and you can feel the flush of arousal settling in your lower belly, an almost embarrassing flush of wetness leaking out of you at the taste of her skin. She, however, remains unmoved, although she lets her finger linger just for a moment on your bottom lip, almost rough against their softness— but before you can swallow those fingers back down and ruin her meticulous work, she pulls away, lifting the discarded wipe to sweep it around her finger, catching the lipstick you’d left on her skin.

“Done.”

She steps back and you feel like you can finally breathe, a breath so deep you can feel how your lungs fill, oxygen rushing to your brain so fast you feel lightheaded. You watch as she sweeps everything back into her bag, clicking it shut with a note of finality; the sullied wipe is cast carelessly into a tiny, chrome bin with a flick of a wrist, her every motion regal.

You slide off the counter. You still can’t take your eyes off her and you don’t want to. It feels like whatever heaviness was in the air has dissipated, gone in an instant with a turn of her head— normally you’d let it slide, even if you feel disappointed, but she’s just so magnetic.

“Thank you,” you say. You can see yourself in the mirror now and to your complete lack of surprise, your lipstick is perfect. The shade is lighter than one you’d have chosen for yourself but it’s beautiful on her, of course.

“You’re welcome.” She’s in the middle of washing her hands, but she glances over her shoulder at you, and the firm set to her face lightens a little as she smiles. It’s a small, sly thing, and you realise with a start that she knows exactly what effect she has on you.

I’m coming back for you, you think to yourself. You have work to do tonight, but—

“What’s your name?”

She pauses. She shuts off the tap with a quick motion, reaching forward for a rolled hand-towel, a neat stack on a metal tray nearby. You wonder if she’s not going to answer but then she speaks, looking at you instead of the soft cotton she’s rubbing over her skin. “Yoonji,” she says. “I’m Min Yoonji.”

Min Yoonji is the most gorgeous fucking woman you’ve ever seen.

“I love your dress, Yoonji,” you say, and it’s true, you really do— but you’d prefer it if it was off. Not that you’re about to say that, of course.

She lets out a breath of laughter. “I know.” Oh, god, you love confident women. “What’s your name, darling?”

You have that same split second of hesitation, similar to Yoonji’s only moments prior. You use a codename when you work, of course, and you have a plethora of fake identities that you use and are intimately familiar with— but the idea of your real name falling off Yoonji’s flushed, petal lips? Woof.

“Y/n L/n,” you say.

Oh, Joon would be so unimpressed right now, giving some mysterious woman your full, real name just because you think she’s the sexiest thing since sex, but whatever. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Well, Y/n,” Yoonji says. You were right, your name sounds so good falling from her mouth, the mouth that’s turned into a small, almost smug smile. “I certainly hope to see you at the charity ball in a few weeks?”

“Of course.” Your schedule has been magically cleared and you’ll definitely be in attendance for whatever ball Yoonji is referring to, even if you have no idea what it is. You only come to these things if you have to for work but for Yoonji you’ll make an exception. You’ll make a hundred thousand exceptions. A hundred thousand quinquagintaquadringentillion exceptions. “I’ll make sure to remember my lipstick next time.”

And there it is, the thing that seals the deal, the final nail in the coffin: Yoonji glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, a sharp, dark touch that shoots through you as her smile edges into hunger.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure it won’t stay on your lips long enough to matter.”

The thing you’ve discovered about Minjae is that, with his divorce due to be finalised soon, he’s apparently lost any sense of routine and is revelling in his new found freedom, which is kind of irritating when you’re trying to tail the guy. Sure, you’re still going to take him out, but you prefer it when targets have some sort of schedule that they adhere to— makes it easier to set up a kill.

“You’re certain that he’s going to be here tonight?” You’d been sceptical considering how the guy’s apparently thrown his schedule out of the window, but Namjoon had been certain.

“Positive.” He’d said. “He’s there every Tuesday night. You’ll have plenty of time.”

The house appears to be deserted. The driveway is empty and all the windows and doors are locked tight. It’s just one of the properties that the Parks own in the city, and for all its size and lushness it appears as though this one is rarely frequented; you imagine that the cleaners and gardeners spend more time here than the owners themselves.

It doesn’t take you long to evade the watchful eyes of security cameras to pick a lock and slip inside. You're grateful for the dying evening light that helps cover your tracks from any onlookers from the street, although you imagine the high walls do good work at preventing people from seeing into the grounds anyway.

There’s still enough light to navigate through the house, the golden tinged sunset casting warm shadows across the spotless furniture and fixtures; you take a moment to let your eyes slide across a huge canvas hanging on a wall that spans two storeys, some impressionist piece that’s surprisingly ugly for all the talent that’s obvious in its brushstrokes. Maybe that’s why the Parks are never here? You’d certainly try to avoid seeing this thing if you could. Eurgh.

Even though the building is empty, you’re careful as you start to make your way forwards. You always place your toes down first whenever you take a step, soundless as you start to map the house out in your mind; there are so many rooms you can hide in, but you’d prefer to be close to wherever Minjae ends up. Saves faffing around later.

You’ll overpower him, inject the toxin into his blood and wait for him to die before setting him up on the toilet— it’s surprisingly common for people to die while on the shitter, the strain leading to an untimely heart attack, especially in older people. The poison you’re using tonight will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack in the case the coroner decides a post-mortem needs to be undertaken.

(Being found on the bog might not be a particularly graceful way to die but when you’re dead it’s kind of hard to be embarrassed.)

You’ve eased the door open into a large bedroom, and you’re just inspecting if it looks like this room sees more use than the others when you pause. It’s deathly silent in this building, the air still minus where you glide through it as you move, but there’s a feeling in your gut, some instinct that makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You freeze, ears straining to catch any noise to let you know if there’s someone else here, when—

There. In the reflection of a burnished pot, the tiniest shifting movement.

You react almost faster than the eye can see. You spin to parry a hit that was aimed for your head, and the strength behind it shudders through your arms. You only have a second to take in the details of your assailant— dressed in dark clothing, masquerade style mask in place, a professional just like you— before you’re deflecting another flurry of blows, flipping backwards out of reach before spinning into a kick, hooking that burnished pot with your foot and sending it flying towards the other assassin.

They dodge it. You both ignore the sound of clattering metal as you lunge forwards, trying to catch them off guard after their sidestep— your fist makes contact with their palm instead of their face, your hand engulfed in theirs, and you startle at their speed. You might not be the strongest but you’re damn fast.

There’s a pause, and you can only see a slither of their eyes through the sockets of their mask, but you can tell that they’re impressed. And honestly? So are you.

The moment shatters when they use the hand they're holding to twist you, locking an arm around your neck and putting you into a chokehold; they’re strong, stronger than you, cutting off your airflow. You need to get out of this before you fall unconscious, but if they’re trained as well as you then they’ll know how to combat the usual ways you’d use to get out of this.

So, in a demonstration of your flexibility you kick a leg up, using the strength of your thighs and calves to slam it into the arm that’s around your neck. Your assailant lets out a noise of surprise and pain as you slip out of their hold and cartwheel across the room before spinning to face them.

There’s a beat. The air is tense. You get another chance to take in the details of whoever’s just tried to choke you out; you stare at her as she stares at you, the two of you poised and ready to strike, watching and waiting.

Knives might be messy but of course you’re not unarmed. You have multiple sheathed weapons in your clothes, though you don’t make a move to draw any of them. Yet. “I suppose you wouldn’t tell me who your employer is, would you?”

Your opponent tilts her head. “You don’t know?” She sounds amused, even through her mask. “Minjae took out a contract on the assassin who has a contract on him.”

Your lip curls back from your teeth. The only way Minjae would have heard about your contract is if Dahye had told him. Presumably to try and shock him out of his behaviour, or something, who knows. “This is the last time I’m accepting a job from these rich old farts,” you mutter.

“That’s for certain,” she says.

She starts to move and you catch her arm just as she goes to unsheathe a wicked looking blade, knocking it aside before she overpowers you and you start to wrestle. It’s messy and graceless but sometimes you just have to fight dirty.

Whoever this woman is, she still has the upper hand because she was expecting you and you weren’t expecting her; she knocks you onto the bed and pins you down, swooping the knife up from where it had been thrown onto the mattress. You go utterly still as she holds it against your throat, towering over your from where she’s straddling your waist and kneeling on your arms. Any sudden movement from you now could lead to your untimely demise— and, unsurprisingly, you absolutely want to avoid that at all costs.

Namjoon would never let you live it down if you were killed on the job.

You hum. “It seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

She doesn’t respond. The knife doesn’t dip any lower, though; you’re undoubtedly at her mercy but you notice she’s careful to keep the knife still, hovering above the skin of your neck, but not making contact.

“Well,” you continue. “At least I’m going out the way I’d always hoped to.”

Even in the dying light and with how her face is covered, you notice her face shifting behind her mask— a silent, questioning raise of an eyebrow. You give her a cheeky smile that crinkles your eyes.

“In bed with a beautiful woman, of course.”

At this she huffs out a laugh. “Do you flirt with every person who tries to kill you?”

You’re trying to look as non-threatening as possible to keep that knife away from your jugular. The longer you talk, the longer you live, even if you can’t see a way to get out of this situation right now. “Only the pretty ones.”

The small laugh she lets out this time seems more like a scoff. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Any woman who can fight like you and knows how to handle a knife? Automatically hot. I don’t need to see your face to know that.”

The knife still hasn’t moved. She continues to stare you down and you go tense when her free hand moves. She tugs the cloth of your mask down to reveal your face, the air of the room almost cold against the suddenly bared skin, your breaths free to curl out unhindered.

“Usually I like to be taken out to dinner at least once before we get this intimate, but for you I suppose I’ll make an exception.” You’re still grinning cheekily at her, but your mind continues to race as you try to think of a way to get out of this, especially now that she’s seen what you look like—but you suddenly notice that she’s gone very, very still.

“Y/n?”

The grin freezes on your face. Oh, you’re so boned. You’re so very boned. Like, yeah, you’ve been seconds away from death for the past, hmm, five minutes, but this is somehow worse. How the fuck does she know your name?

You’re given the answer almost immediately. She withdraws the hand from your chin and reaches for her own mask. Your eyes widen and your breath stutters in your throat once you see who it is.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Yoonji is staring down at you. She’s every inch as imperious and stunning as the last time you’d seen her— hell, even moreso now that you’ve seen what she’s capable of. No wonder you hadn’t been able to find out anything about her after you’d met at that garish charity gala. Because she’s untraceable, just like you.

“Well.” You stare back at her, not even attempting to keep the surprise off your face. “If anyone has to kill me at least I can die satisfied in the knowledge that it was you. Can I make a request? I’d be eternally grateful if you smothered me to death with your thighs. Just a suggestion, feel free to ignore it if you want.”

Yoonji cocks her head. Her bob is tied back, but there’s a loose lock of hair curled by the side of her face that shifts at the motion. Your fingers twitch. If she wasn’t kneeling on your arms you know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from tucking it behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Hey, if it means I get to feel your legs around my face before I die, I’ll give a full fledged TED talk,” you say. “I have to admit, though. When I pictured us in bed together I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The knife still hasn’t moved from your throat. She continues to stare, as if considering what to do next, though her face remains impassive. “What did you think it would be like?”

“Well, you know. Less knives and clothes involved and a lot more making out,” you answer. “You, telling me what to do. Me, entirely at your command. Anything the lady wants, she gets.”

The human body is a fickle and strange beast. Ever since you discovered who’s straddling you, you’ve been growing wetter and wetter, even if you’re trying not to let on that you’re steadily growing more aroused— you’re still distinctly aware of the knife that’s only centimetres away from your skin, but somehow your body is more focused of the fact that the woman you’ve been daydreaming about is finally in front of you again.

(Well, less in front of you and more on top of you, which is an admittedly preferable option, sans the knife involvement.)

You see how Yoonji’s eyes are darting over your face. No doubt taking in how your pupils are dilated, how your breaths are a little shallower, quicker— signs of fear and signs of arousal are surprisingly similar. You wonder if she can identify which it is. Probably. You’re not exactly very subtle in your attraction to her.

“I forgot my lipstick again,” you add, and Yoonji’s passive mask finally breaks when she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t need it?”

Even the way she throws the knife aside is gorgeous. The sharp undulation of her wrist as she sends the blade skittering across the polished wood floor is careless and fluid. Her hands cup your face as she bends down, and you send up a mental thanks to any god or higher being who might be listening before Yoonji presses her lips to your and your brain goes blank.

Apparently Yoonji likes it messy. One of her hands is grasping your chin in a mockery of the last time you’d met and she’d painted your lips— your mouth is open and she licks past your lips as you shudder beneath her. She’s still got her knees pressed into your arms, pinning you down, but you desperately crane your head towards her, chasing that kiss; you tilt your head to deepen it, and the whine that leaves you when she pulls away is almost embarrassing.

The sun has finally dipped below the horizon and the room is dark, painted in shades of grey and deep blue. You wish you could see Yoonji properly and you can’t help but wriggle a little underneath her, but then you watch her raise her hands and clap three times in rapid succession before the room floods with dim light. Sound activated lights? Damn.

Yoonji’s mouth shines, covered in a sheen of your mixed saliva, her pretty lips flushed rose pink; even without makeup they’re beautiful and their colour is deep, the blooming petals of a flower. Your eyes trail over her face, down her neck, over the fall of her chest and stomach— you’re both far too covered up in these stupid ensembles of yours and you want to strip the clothes off her. You want to see every inch of her beautiful, majestic body, bared for your lips and hands.

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous.

“Not to, um, ruin the moment, but my hands are going numb.” The weight of Yoonji’s body being pressed into your arms has pretty much cut off the blood flow to your fingers and you can feel the telltale sensation of pins and needles spreading through your skin. “Can I have those back, please?”

Yoonji lifts her knees just enough for you to slide your arms out from underneath them. You immediately shed your gloves and go to grab her ass but she gives you a sharp look and you freeze, slowly settling them on her thighs instead, which she allows with only the slightest raise of her eyebrows.

“Watch,” she commands, and who are you to disobey?

She reaches for the tie in her hair, tugging it out and letting her dark locks fall to frame her lovely, beautiful face. You hungrily swallow down each sight that she feeds to you, the skin that’s revealed as she shrugs off her layers of clothing. She unbuckles the weapons hidden underneath her clothes as she sheds them; she’s a veritable arsenal of firearms and knives, all cast carelessly aside until her upper body is finally, blessedly naked. You’ve been staring at her the whole time, the graceful column of her throat, the delicate lines of her collarbones, and your gaze falls to her breasts, small and perfect, nipples dusty pink and hard. You want to put your mouth on them.

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” you say.

She smirks. You watch as she rolls her body, lifting up from her knees and standing up, towering above you on the bed—your hands fall to the mattress as she pulls her trousers down, tight material dragging against her skin as she slides it over the curve of her hips and down her long legs. There’s a dagger strapped to her thigh, which she unbuckles and lets fall to one side, but god, if she used it to kill you right now, you would die a happy woman. The image of Min Yoonji towering above you in nothing more than some flimsy underwear is one you want to take to the grave.

You can see how the material around her entrance is darkened with her arousal, and you feel your own body react to the sight, pussy throbbing, your own lower lips slick underneath all your layers of clothing. Yoonji hooks her thumbs into her panties and pushes them down, and you’re enraptured as you watch how the wetness clings to them, before that last bit of clothing is cast aside too.

You moan, unable to stop the sound bubbling up in your throat. From how she’s standing above you, legs spread from how her feet are either side of your hips, you can see everything—how her cunt is flushed, how wet she is, her folds shining. You bet she tastes so fucking good.

You let your mouth fall open, tongue lolling out in a way that’s obscene. You see Yoonji’s eyes flicker as she traces the motion, the way she takes in your expression: wide, hungry eyes, parted lips, wet tongue. Your hands skim up the back of her calves as she shifts forwards and returns to her knees, her naked core so, so close to your mouth, and you dig your fingers into her skin.

“Bon appé-fucking-tit,” you murmur, and then you pull her onto your face.

Yoonji gasps.

(You were right. She tastes so, so fucking good.)

You’re utterly shameless as you slurp up her juices, the wetness that continues to leak out of her as you bury your face into her cunt, tongue lapping over her entrance as your nose brushes her clit. Your hands have moved to the flesh of her ass and you encourage her to grind against you, rolling her hips towards your greedy mouth; you’re staring up at her, drinking down her reactions, the way her face twists with pleasure and the shuddering breaths she takes in, perfect little breasts jumping at the motion. There’s a flush spreading down her neck and chest, pale skin blushing pink, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You purse your lips against her clit, circling it with your tongue before dipping back down between her folds. Each time you breathe in all you can smell is her scent, heavy and dark, all your senses filled with Yoonji, Yoonji, Yoonji. When you hum against her, Yoonji arches her spine and throws her head back, so when you press your tongue into her you hum again, letting the vibrations shiver through her.

“Yes,” she gasps, rutting against your face. “Yes, yes—”

Her thighs tighten around your head. You redouble your efforts, watching her face as you continue to swipe your tongue up her slit and through her folds; you wish you could swallow each of the noises that are falling from her lips as she reaches the crest of her pleasure, the little gasps and moans each time you move your tongue in a particularly wicked way.

“There,” she says. “There, there, just like that—”

Your jaw aches but you don’t even register it, too intent on keeping your mouth open and hot and wet against her. It only takes a few more swipes and flicks of your tongue before she shudders violently, canting her hips towards your mouth as her legs go tense and she cums. She continues to straddle your face as she rides out the waves of pleasure, and you swallow down the wetness that flushes out of her rippling cunt, ignoring the throbbing between your own legs.

You can’t talk, muffled by her as you are, but your mind is singing. Look at you, you think. Look at how gorgeous you are. God, I could eat you out all day. (What a blessed life that would be.)

You can tell when Yoonji’s edged into oversensitivity, jolting when your tongue sweeps over her swollen clit; she settles back, knees spread as she rests against your heaving chest, legs tensing each time an aftershock shivers through her. Your mouth is open as you pant in air, but she watches as you swipe your tongue over your lips, catching the lingering taste of her on you, your chin opalescent with her arousal.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “I’ve done everything that’s worth doing. I’ve peaked. Everything is downhill from here. You can kill me now.”

You’re only half joking, but your thighs instinctively go tight to rub against each other when you see how Yoonji’s eyes darken.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she purrs.

Yoonji might be naked while you’re still clothed, and so still armed, but she’s undoubtedly the one who’s in control right now. You are so, so okay with that. You watch with wide eyes as she shifts back, her hands grabbing the material of your jacket to tug you upwards, but before she can strip off your clothes you capture her lips with your own.

The taste of her is still heady and deep in your mouth and you nip at her bottom lip before pressing your tongue forwards. The kiss is already slick from Yoonji’s wetness and when you pull away, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects you for a moment before it breaks, which Yoonji wipes away from your chin with the pad of her thumb.

“Dirty girl,” she says, and you bite back a moan at the unabashed lust in her voice. Her grip on your chin is firm. “Did I say you could kiss me?”

“No,” you answer. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She tuts, as if disappointed, and every one of your nerve endings feels electrified, ready and anticipating whatever Yoonji is going to do next. “Such a shame,” she says. “You just can’t keep your hands or mouth to yourself, can you?”

“Can you blame me?”

Yoonji huffs out a laugh through her nose. She strips your jacket off in one sharp motion and then your shirt is similarly pulled off with single-minded intent, along with every other piece of equipment cinched to your arms and body. When you reach for her, though, she captures your wrists, her face stern.

“If you keep moving without permission, I’m going to take that privilege away from you.”

You don’t have to see your own eyes to know how your pupils will have dilated from that statement, blood thrumming through your veins, and you can tell Yoonji has noticed when her expression shifts.

“Oh.” A small, triumphant smirk appears on her face. “I see.”

You lift your arms up so she can pull your sports bra off (of course if you had known you’d been running into Yoonji again you would have worn something nicer). Rather than touch your heaving chest, however, she pushes you down onto the mattress, a hand around your wrists so they’re held above your head.

“Keep still,” she says.

She reaches for the holster that you’d had around your upper arm, lazily casting the knife aside before looping it around your wrists and pulling it secure.

Yoonji’s fingers ease under the nylon as she checks the fit. It’s tight, but not so much so that it’s painful or dangerous, and there’s a hushed moment when the realisation hits you— Yoonji and yourself are both skilled enough to know that you could easily free yourself if you wanted to. It would only take a little motion of your wrists and hands and you could slip them out of the makeshift cuffs in an instant.

You melt into the mattress. Yoonji’s eyes shift away from your wrists as she takes in the way you’ve gone utterly relaxed and limp below her, staring back at her. You see an expression flit across her face faster than you can see, before she slides down your body so she can push your legs apart.

You lift your hips to help her strip your trousers off. Her hand lingers on the concealed holster around your thigh, eyeing the small pistol nestled inside it, before that too is stripped off and cast aside. Her hands trail over the soft skin of your hips and stomach, eyes skimming over the bared length of your body before settling between your legs, the slickness of your inner thighs.

“You got this wet just from eating me out?” Her pretty mouth is curled into an expression that’s almost mocking, and your legs jolt as she runs her fingers lightly over your lower lips before rubbing her fingertips together to feel the wetness she’s gathered. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your nails dig into your palms as your hands twist against each other and you shift your legs further apart. “Please, Yoonji,” you plead, shameless from desperation and arousal.

She laughs at your obvious hunger. “I suppose I should return the favour, shouldn’t I?”

You watch breathlessly as she lifts her fingers to her lips, swallowing them into her mouth to get them slick and wet. The motions of her tongue are languid as she licks across her fingers. You’re like a livewire, thrumming with electricity, and the sensation of her finally sinking one of those fingers into you sends sparks throughout your body.

Yoonji’s maddeningly slow. Your body takes her readily, her long finger gliding easily in and out of you, but she makes no move to speed up; you let out a small noise and she moves upwards to kiss you, as if indulging you, and you’ve just relaxed against her mouth when she plunges a second finger in.

She swallows your gasp as her fingers speed up, before she starts to kiss across your jaw, your neck, between the valley of your breasts and then closing her mouth over one of your nipples— she times the flick of her tongue with the thrust of her fingers, and then you feel how she takes her thumb to press your clit at the same time and you’re gone, falling over the edge faster than you’d expected. Your orgasm is fast but deep, your walls clenching tight around the fingers that continue to curl in and out of you, but she doesn’t stop.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “It’s too— oh—”

Those two fingers continue to rub your sweet spot as you edge into oversensitivity but Yoonji doesn’t let up. She continues to lick and bite at the skin of your chest, putting her mouth to your other breast and circling the hardened bud of your nipple with her tongue before kissing down your stomach, your pubic bone, and then pressing her lips to your swollen clit.

You whimper. Her pace of her fingers has quickened, and she curls them each time she almost pulls them out, the squelch of their motions obscene as they slide through the cum of your first orgasm. She stares up at you, lapping at your clit with her tongue, and you can feel the saliva that’s dripping from her mouth and over your flushed core, every inch of you oversensitive but screaming with pleasure.

It’s almost painful, but you can feel an orgasm creeping through that ache; you wring your hands together and sob as Yoonji continues to finger fuck you without mercy, her pace almost bruising, the thrust of her knuckles against you each time she bottoms out just one more layer on top of that overwhelming pleasure.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “I’m g-gonna cum again.”

She hums against you, and you make an incoherent noise at the feeling of that sound against your clit, almost too much— and then she presses one more finger into you, and that’s it, that slight burn and stretch sending you hurtling over that edge again. When you cum, your hips buck and you gasp, air rushing into your lungs before it escapes you in a moan of ecstasy; the only sensations registering in your mind right now are the ripples of pleasure spreading through your cunt as Yoonji pulls her fingers out of you, pressing down on your clit in a way that’s almost cruel, and you sob as your legs instinctively try to tighten but are prevented from doing so by Yoonji’s unyielding presence.

She’s staring down at you as you start to go lax, and you think she’s finished with you, but you watch with widening eyes as she takes her ring and middle finger to run them through your sodden folds. You sob again when those fingers plunge back into you, palm pressing against your clit each time she curls her fingers, and you squirm underneath her.

“Yoonji, it’s too much,” you cry.

“One more.” Yoonji’s leaning back and staring at you, taking in the sweat that’s beading across your skin, the tears that are gathering in your eyes and threatening to spill down your face and into your hair. “You’re doing so well, darling, you can give me one more, can’t you?”

Your reply is incoherent, a small noise that shudders out of the back of your throat. You’ve never been thrown so thoroughly into pleasure like this, overstimulated and aching, but there’s that flicker of pleasure still between your legs, growing each time Yoonji beckons with her fingers, curling over your abused sweet spot again and again and again.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Yoonji says, the wet plunge of her fingers into your abused pussy so messy and loud but not enough to drown her out. “One word and I’ll stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just let your eyes roll back into your head as you cant your hips towards her, trying to latch onto that thread of pleasure that’s thrumming through you below all your screaming nerves, and the noise Yoonji makes is pleased.

“There we go,” she praises. “Look at you, so good for me. Pretty darling.”

You can feel how your pussy clenches around Yoonji’s fingers, how the coil in you is squeezing tighter and tighter, how another orgasm is somehow creeping up on you— you tilt your hips towards that feeling, towards Yoonji’s hand, and then she’s pulling her fingers out of you in an almost rough motion and you’re cumming harder than you ever have before.

“Oh, fuck!” You sob.

It’s indescribable. The sensation rips through you as your back arches off the bed and you’re cumming and squirting and gasping and you can feel the wetness that slicks out of you, your toes curling as your brain goes blank from the staggering pleasure and static consumes every one of your senses. Your entire body feels like nothing more than a vessel for the ecstasy that’s shooting through your veins, spreading out from your core and to every corner of your insides and limbs.

It takes you a while to come back around, aftershocks wracking through your body. You feel sluggish and slow as your mind slowly clears, focusing on the sensation of warm hands stroking over the skin of your stomach and hips and thighs; your eyes flutter open and when you glance down you can see the shine to Yoonji’s skin, evidence of your pleasure painting her in a thin sheen of liquid.

“Oh my god,” you moan. “Holy shit.”

She smiles. “You were so, so good for me,” she says. She leans down to press a light kiss to collarbones and you shiver. “So beautiful. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven before coming back again,” you reply. “Oh, that was so good, Yoonji. I’ve never squirted before. I didn’t realise I could. God.”

Yoonji laughs lightly. You can’t help but watch the way it transforms her face, the way her chest jumps at the motion, every inch of her gorgeous and majestic and cute and pretty. “You did so, so well,” she praises, before she kisses you, her mouth so soft; you barely notice the sudden easing of pressure around your wrists as she releases you, more intent on the sensation of her soft petal lips against your own.

You stare up at her as she pulls away. Powerful, amazing Min Yoonji, kneeling between your legs, naked but not helpless. Definitely less vulnerable than you right now. And yet she’s still making no moves to grab one of the many weapons littered around the bed so she can finally finish her contract by completing the kill. It would be so easy for her.

The silence of the room is suddenly broken by a tiny buzzing noise. You both glance over at the sound, one that Yoonji doesn’t recognise but you do— the communicator in one of your wristbands, the one you use to keep in contact with Namjoon.

You watch the twisting of Yoonji’s body as she leans over the bed to hook the band with a finger before proffering it to you. You pause, but then grasp her wrist and lightly pull so she ends up pressed against you, softness of her breasts against your own, and you hold the communicator between your faces as you accept the call.

“Thank god you answered.” Namjoon’s voice is obviously frantic even through the tinniness of the small speaker. “Dahye cancelled the contract because Minjae wants to reconcile with her, but apparently he’s already put a hit out on you— tonight was a ruse, Minjae isn’t going to be there, you have to get out of there—”

“Bit too late for that,” you interrupt. Yoonji’s hair is tickling your cheek. “Don’t worry. I have it in hand. Send some flowers to Minjae for me, will you?”

“Flowers?” Namjoon sounds understandably confused. “Why?”

“As a thank you for taking out a contract on me,” you say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy.”

“With what?”

“With me,” Yoonji says, and you hear Namjoon’s surprised intake of breath before you cut the line.

You end up laughing to yourself. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for that,” you giggle. Yoonji’s hand trails up your stomach and you continue to giggle at the ticklish sensation. Her skin is still slick against yours, and you suddenly realise how cold it is in the room, the air touching the cooling liquid that’s rubbed off against your skin, and you shiver. “Mm. I think it’s time to clean up. Want me to scrub your back in the shower? I give very good massages.”

Yoonji’s eyes are dark and warm before she presses her nose to your neck, lips soft as they touch the delicate skin of your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

#yoonji x reader #min yoonji #yoonji smut #cypherwritersnet #bts smut #bts oneshot #one day I'll learn how to efficiently use tags... one day #joy.masterlist

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victoria-daydreams · 3 years

Text

Of Vices and Virtues

AN: This story is being crossposted from my Fanfiction account. I figured I might as well post it up here, there’s not enough black!oc X-Men fanfictions to be honest. If anyone wants to be added to the taglist for this story let me know.

Summary: Claudia Walker created the perfect facade she had a simple life, a simple job. There was nothing remarkable about her. Until two men offer her the chance to do something with her powers to stop a war looming on the horizon. In a fight between good and evil, loyalties strain and relationships grow. The world's changing for better and worse, and Claudia is right in the middle of it.

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men just the OCs in the story.

Trigger warnings: none I can think of

Word Count: 4.3k

Chapter One: The Queen of Hearts

The music started up, with the sultry tango beats of "Whatever Lola Wants" by Sarah Vaughn. Her colorful voice lit like a spark in the air, and with it, the seductive lyrics of the song. The air seemed to crackle as I spun away from my dance partner, but a strong hand ripped me back into his grasp. With glittering eyes I pressed myself against him, his hand tenderly slipping over my back. We side-stepped as the singer continued to croon the audience with her hypnotic lyrics.

"Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets,"

"And silly man, Lola wants you," I sung to the man, who was completely entranced.

He stopped dancing to trace along my curvy figure slowly, extracting a long breath from my lips. He rejoined my hands smoothing his over my fingers. I crossed my left foot seductively in front of the right, while cocking my head mischievously to side. He smiled and placed his right hand dangerously low on my back. Before he could change direction again, I elevated my right foot, kicking it behind me, and situated behind his right leg, coquettishly hooking around his toned calf. I smirked, savoring the attention I was getting from my dance partner and the men who were watching me dance.

The man copied me by kicking his right leg between the middle of my two. He was daring, and he pressed my chest into his.

"I always get what I aim for. And your heart and soul is what I came for,"

The song finished up and I pulled away from him, creating space between us, "You may go now, I've had my fun," I instructed, trailing my index finger up over the man's tie.

He nodded and shuffled off of the dance floor. I made my way off of the dance floor, to order another drink. It was Saturday night, and the nightlife was at its height. I took my seat on the bar stool, signaling for the bartender to pour me another drink. I grabbed my clutch that was hiding underneath the chair and opened it, pulling out a compact mirror.

I looked at my reflection, my eyes were a brilliant almond shape, with dark brown irises that held knowledge and wisdom beyond my years. My lashes were long, dark, and thick. My lips were red with lipstick, but full and perfect. My wide nose curved in a delicate slope and I could clearly see my defined cheekbones. I combed my fingers through my hair making sure that every hair was in place and checking that my makeup hadn't smudged. I snapped my mirror shut and placed back it back into my purse, a sigh escaping me.

I had always known I was different since I was a child. I always felt out of place. I never blamed my parents for that. They loved me and they always did what they thought was the best for me. Well, at least what was good for them I suppose.

It was at the age of eighteen when I left my home, leaving my past in Pennsylvania far behind me. My memories from there were unpleasant, to say the least, and I needed to leave. To start a new life elsewhere, in central New York. Money was never a problem, I had a decent paying job as a psychologist's assistant at a private practice and a well furnished apartment. But I still found myself drinking away my sorrows. At this point in my life, I had to every reason to be happy, but I knew deep down I wasn't. There was always that loneliness, biting at my insides.

Someone cleared their throat next to my ear, something I wasn't all to fond of.

I glanced at them, raising an eyebrow, "Something I can do for you, stranger?" I asked, barely masking my annoyance.

He smiled, and I made a note to admire it. He was pretty handsome it, but he was overly cocky, I could tell by the way he made himself comfortable next to me, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the bar, and getting way too into my personal space. Not to mention he was easily in his mid-forties. I had just turned twenty-two

“Fucking creep, I thought.

"Michael, my name is Michael, Mike for short. You can help me by maybe letting me buy you a drink,"

I raised an eyebrow at this, he moved pretty fast. He must do this all the time to women he thought were drunk. Too bad for him, it took me more than a couple of drinks to have lost my common sense. Pushing my shoulder length, curled black hair out of my face. I faced him to reply as two other men approached, I didn't want any trouble, but the audacity of the man made my blood boil.

"And what do you expect in return for this drink?"

He smiled and leaned in closer to me, placing a hand on my thigh.

"The bastard thought he was in, didn't he?" I thought.

"Well, maybe just a friend," he smirked.

I rolled my eyes and smiled lightly at him, leaning in until our lips barely touched.

"With you? I'd rather watch the grass grow," I replied dryly, eying him up and down, as if he was something I'd find on the bottom of my shoe. "My mama didn't raise me to accept drinks from men I barely know, and my daddy taught me how to break a hand in seven different places, so remove it or I'll do it for you, Mike," I punctuated my sentence by grasping his middle finger in my fist and slowly bending it back, until I heard the pop that let me knew I dislocated it. "Next time I'll break it," I threatened.

"You bitch-" He began, but was interrupted mid-word by me.

"Run along, before I make you gouge out your eyes with a butter knife," I commanded boredly, putting effort into making my words go through the older man's head. The man walked away dutifully and I smirked. "There's a good boy," I cooed, turning away from him and took a sip of my vodka martini.

I heard a chuckle of laughter behind me, causing me to turn around again and examine the new arrivals behind me. The two men who I saw previously were now directly behind me, they appeared to be in their early thirties or late twenties. Despite being slightly tipsy, I couldn't help but gape a little when I properly looked at the two men.

The taller of the two had his thick and muscled arms crossing themselves in front of his broad chest. Clad in a short navy trench coat over a pair of long, black pants and a black turtleneck, his perfectly slicked back hair was the ultimate factor that completed the dangerous, rugged look he was probably going for. He looked like a mafia member, or something.

His icy blue eyes were fixed onto my wandering brown eyes unflinchingly, as a dark brow rose to mock me, to tell me that he had seen me appraising his impressive form. I raised my eyebrow and smirked saucily before I turned my gaze away from the taller man and shifted it to the other one, now standing in front of me.

Unlike Mr. Mafia Man and his dark attire, this man was significantly more professional looking. With his sharp pressed grey blazer jacket, a white button up shirt worn inside, the matching dark grey pants and his polished shoes, this guy pretty much screamed 'successful businessman'. He, along with the other man had sharp masculine features – sharp nose, strong, angular jaw line, and the clearest blue eyes I have ever seen. His eyes were so blue they resembled crystals, and were framed by his dark brows. His short, dark hair was tousled casually.

"Your quite clever," the shorter man complimented, with a thick British accent.

"So I've been told, but I've done nothing tonight that would warrant such a compliment," I replied, looking at the man as I lifted my glass to my lips, taking another sip of my martini.

"I think you have, actually. The song, 'Whatever Lola Wants', it fits you," the man remarked.

I raised an eyebrow in confusion, although I had an inkling to know where this was going, "How so?" I asked curiously, tilting my head slightly.

"Has anyone told you that you have an excellent mutation?" the shorter man asked abruptly, a small smile on his face.

"Mutation? You call every woman you meet a mutant?" I snorted, widening my eyes and let out a chuckle that matched my expression, disbelief. "Wow! This must be the night, where the worst pick-up lines are thrown at me," I drawled, before taking another sip of my drink. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but I am just me. I am normal," I laughed, and the taller man just huffed annoyed.

The shorter man smiled at me, then I noticed that his fingers were pressed onto his temple and he was still looking at me. I frowned at the slight nudge in my head. It didn't hurt, but it was very irritating. I focused on strengthening my shield against the nudges. I felt the nudge grow stronger, it was attacking my shield before it finally gave up and left.

The man looked mildly surprised and my mouth turned into a small frown. I really didn't know why he was surprised. Unless.

Mutant.

I glared angrily at him, "I don't know who the hell you are, but stay out of my head!" I snarled. "You have no right!"

I always thought I was alone, that quickly changed only a couple years ago, but ever since that encounter...well I'm uneasy around other mutants, my own mutation was something I kept to myself, only select people in my family knew about it even.

He put his hands up in surrender, "You're right, my apologies. But how? No one has ever been able to feel me before. Are you a telepath?" he asked, studying me with curiosity shining through his eyes.

"No, I'm just highly aware of myself and those around me," I answered with a slight growl, slamming my glass down on the counter nearly breaking it. "You have your tricks, I have mine," I added, glaring at him.

"My name is Charles Xavier," the man introduced in an irritatingly friendly tone. "And this," he said, gesturing to the other man, "Is Erik Lehnsherr. We're like you. We're different. And we need your help. We are-"

"Is there a private place where we could talk?" Erik interjected hastily in a strong German accent, looking mad and broody, as he looked from one side to the next.

I didn't particularly want to know what, if anything at all, they were to offer. I sat there in silent for a few seconds, first looking at Charles, then at Erik, then back at Charles. If this was a game, it certainly wasn't funny in the least.

"Why should I even try to talk to you two? The first thing Mr. Xavier says to me is that I have a mutation and then he follows that up by trying to intrude my thoughts," I argued. "It has been a long and trying night gentlemen, and I'm over it. So, I'm going to try and scavenge what little fun I can find," I concluded, flashing them a faux smile just as a saxophone moaned through the opening of "I Put a Spell on You" by Screamin' Jay Hawkins.

"What do you know, my favorite song," I added grinning, and shook my head beginning to walk away from the two men, only to be stopped by Erik gripping my arm tightly. I leveled him with an icy stare, "Let go of me right now, or I will make you feel pain that you thought was unimaginable," my voice low and threatening.

"Erik..." Charles called warningly.

Erik loosened his grip, freeing my arm slightly, but he made it clear I wasn't going anywhere, "We know you know exactly what you are, and we know what you're capable of. Stop playing coy with us," Erik stated coldly.

"Two strange white men walk into a bar, approach a black woman and accuses her of being a mutant. Forgive me, but you expect me not to find that a bit suspicious," I sassed, before yanking my arm completely out of his grip. I spotted a booth occupied by two men and I walked towards the two men, I gently grasped their chins and looked them in the eyes. "Due to your undying love for me, you two are going to give up your seats," I demanded, manipulating their desires so they reflected my own wishes.

"Of course," one man said eagerly, sliding out of his seat.

"Your wish is my command," the other man stated, getting out of his seat as well.

"Hmm, I know," I smiled, lightly laughing. "Now leave me be," I commanded, shooing them away and the two men nodded their heads and kissed the back of my hands before their departure.

I looked over to Erik and Charles, to see Erik roll his eyes in annoyance and huff before he whispered something to Charles, whose expression was unreadable. Charles and Erik sat in the seat across from me, Erik sat a stiff as a board while Charles seemed relaxed.

I interlocked my fingers together, "Ah, now that is how a gentlemen should behave. I think you should learn from them, Mr. Lehnsherr," I suggested my lips curving into a smirk.

Erik scowled at me, "You never told us your name," he remarked irritated.

"You never asked, Mr. Lehnsherr. Maybe if Mr. Xavier, greeted me properly, you would know," I countered, looking between the two men. "Although, something tells me that you two already know," I added, arching my brow and leaning forward.

"Miss...Claudia Walker, am I right?" Charles asked.

I quickly glanced at Erik and it seemed like he had one eye concentrated on me whilst the other was focused at the crowd in the club.

I focused back on Charles, "You would be correct," I replied, lapsing back into an easy lean. "How exactly did you two find me?" I asked curiously.

"Well, I was in Cerebro-" Charles began.

"Cerebro?" I interjected, scrunching my eyebrows together in confusion.

"It's a machine that helps me locate people like us," Charles explained, he was way too excited to answer my question. He was almost bubbling with excitement. "I was surprised to find you. Your signature was so strong, powerful, which intrigued me. I quickly got your coordinates and here we are," Charles finished happily.

"You certainly didn't make it easy," Erik mentioned, in a slight annoyed tone.

"Hardly, you two are here now aren't you?" I questioned, my tone was playful and I could tell that it was grating Erik's nerves.

"Really? So my eyes weren't playing tricks on me yesterday?" he questioned, as he leaned forward slightly.

"Depends on what you saw," I quipped, a small smile beginning to show.

"I saw you start that brawl. The way your hand curled and your eyes narrowed, you made that skinny man kick the fat, bald one in his groin," Erik remarked, his own mouth curving as he smirked. "You nearly got us entangled in that predicament," he added, looking at me with his piercing eyes.

Not looking away I smiled dangerously, "Yeah that was me," I admitted with a shrug. "I had an inkling that was someone was following me yesterday, I just didn't know it was you two. Whoops," I commented, my voice dripping with sarcasm and shrugged my shoulders again.

"Well, speaking of powers, you know my power. And we would very much like to know all about yours, Miss Walker," Charles started.

"Please, call me Claudia," I started. "I'll demonstrate my powers, but Mr. Grumpy over there has to show me his first," I proposed, flicking my chin out, motioning towards Erik.

Erik's eyes met were now fully focused on me again and I returned his stare.

Charles smiled and leaned forward, his elbows on the table, "Erik has the ability to manipulate metal,"

I narrowed my eyes at Erik and he glared at me in return. He would be very powerful, even with the tiniest bit of metal he would be able to kill someone with the flick of his hand.

"What's that old phrase again?" I asked aloud, tilting my head up as if I was pondering the question. "Oh, that's right. Seeing is believing," I finished, looking back at Erik, raising my eyebrow in challenge.

Erik raised his eyebrows as well, before focusing his eyes on the cutlery in front of him. Nothing happened for a while before they started shaking and eventually they lifted off the table. My eyebrows raised as I stared at the floating knives and forks.

"Do you believe now?" Erik asked, and I could see a ghost of a smirk.

"Well, I'll be damned," I gasped smirking, as I watched the utensils gracefully land back on the table.

"There you go," Erik said. "We showed you ours, now show us yours,"

I sat up in my seat and reached a hand across the table and turned it palm up, "Mr. Xavier, would you be so kind to give me your hand?" I asked.

"Call me Charles, please," Charles replied, sliding his own hand into mine without a moment's hesitation, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Erik grimace.

"You’re too trusting by half, Charles," Erik commented, shaking his head.

I closed my fingers gently around Charles', and slowly a broad, blissful smile stretched across his face as I channeled sensations of contentment into him.

"An empath," he breathed. "My, that's...mmm, that's lovely," Charles laughed, I smirked as I slid my hand back across the table, and Charles took a moment to compose himself.

"Want to see something else?" I asked grinning.

"Yes, please!" Charles exclaimed, grinning back excitedly.

I focused my gaze on one of the knives on table, and narrowed my eyes in concentration. A purple aura surrounded the knife as it raised itself off of the table and floated in mid-air and I maneuvered it to have the blade facing Erik as Charles watched, fascinated at the display I was putting on.

"Remarkable," Charles breathed.

"You’re telekinetic," Erik stated boredly, snatching the knife out of the air by the handle.

"I am," I replied, looking at Erik. "Now, you two are going to tell me why I've been performing tricks like I'm in some circus show," I demanded, glancing between the two men in front of me.

Charles laughed, "You have amazing gifts, a mutation, an ability. Erik and I are recruiting people to help us and in the process you get to learn how to control your powers,"

"Recruiting?" I asked confused, looking at them suspiciously. "For what?"

"That is what we're here to talk to you about," Charles said, sensing the sudden guarded tone in my voice. His eyes held mine in an intense stare. "A war is upon us, Claudia,"

"Yes, I know. The one between the Soviets and America, everyone knows that," I stated, now leaning back into my seat. My mind was reeling at where the conversation was going. Charles nodded firmly. "But what has that got to do with mutants? Or me, more specifically?"

"One of the agents at the CIA discovered a plot, the spark that lit the fire for the nuclear war," This time, it was Erik that had spoken. His soft yet gruff voice flooded into my ears with its tough resonance. "She had gone undercover to see one of the American Colonel's getting pressured into installing missiles into Turkey. That was the first step to angering the Soviets, and they are planning to retaliate. From what she had described, it had been a mutant who was threatening the Colonel,"

"A mutant?" I questioned. "But why?"

"We have no idea as of yet," Charles offered, leaning back into his seat as well.

It was obvious to me that Charles was troubled by the fact that a fellow mutant would want to start a war between two powerful nations.

"Well, do you know who the mastermind is behind all of this?" I asked again, raising an eyebrow.

"Sebastian Shaw," Erik spat, the venom clear in his words. A frown was etched deep into his forehead and his eyes were glaring at the coffee table, as though willing it to break under the hatred burning in his cold blue orbs.

By the way I could sense the hatred coming from Erik's emotions, he was an enemy. A big one.

"So that's why you're recruiting people? Like me?" I asked.

"We're planning to stop Shaw before he could escalate this conflict any further. He has got his own army of mutants to help him," Charles replied. "We need ours," Charles finished.

I ran my hand down my face, closing my eyes and breathed out deeply. This was not how I planned my night going, these two men walk up to me, telling me how they are like me and need my help to prevent World War III. This was a lot for me to take in, in such a short period of time. I mentally made two lists, negative and positive. Positive points: Learn to hone my powers, meet other people like me and this was probably the only chance for me to fit in and have something. Negative points: This could be a trap and if it wasn't a trap my powers could probably kill someone else.

"Give this a chance," Charles' voice urged gently, breaking me out of my thoughts.

I opened my eyes and staring at the two men, Charles and Erik staring back at me. Charles looked at me patiently and Erik looked like as though he had just proven something to Charles.

I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear and took a deep breath, "While this sounds very dire and adventurous, I can't," I answered shaking my head. "Why should I come? I have a perfectly good life right now, with a decent paying job. I don't want to be involved in any war,"

"What?" Erik started, raising an eyebrow. "You don't just charm your way out of everything?" Erik asked mockingly.

I looked at Erik pointedly and glared, "No, actually. Having everything handed to you, makes life quite boring," I retorted.

"We've already spoken to your boss about it," Charles chimed in. "He's willing to grant you an indefinite period of leave from work. Or at least until the whole thing is over," he explained.

"He agreed?" I balked, thinking back to the measly, overweight doctor who had many a times refused to grant me my annual break, unless I used my powers on him.

Charles smiled, "The words 'government' and 'CIA' can be very convincing in situations such as these,"

"He must think me to be some criminal or spy now," I muttered more to myself, before scowling up at the two when I realized what they had done. "You guys move fast. What if I didn't want to join your little team?"

"You'll get your job back," Charles shrugged his shoulders. "Your boss wouldn't even remember meeting anyone by the names of Charles Xavier or Erik Lehnsherr," He tapped his fingers against his temple with a proud smile.

"How convenient, but even if I agree to join you, my life will never be the same. I will be ostracized even more than I already am," I reasoned.

"You don't think the public will accept you?" Charles questioned.

"Charles, please tell me that you’re not this naive?" I asked back. "I don't know how you folks do it across the sea. But Charles, look at me, I am a black woman in America, I'm barely accepted now and I live in the northern part of America. Why would they accept me? Black people are being murdered for the color of their skin since this country was founded. People in the past have been killed for being different. Just look what happened with the Jews and Hitler," I pointed out.

I could feel Erik's mind radiating with anger. I frowned and when I looked up and saw Erik's face. He looked like he stuck in between an inner battle with himself.

"I think humans will accept us sooner or later," Charles stated optimistically.

"Perhaps, that remains to be seen. They don't even accept humans with a different skin color," I countered. Momentarily, a silence fell over us before I spoke up and broke it. "Just to be clear, this isn't some sort of a trap? You two aren't trying to experiment on me?" I asked in a serious tone. "And the CIA and African-Americans do not have the best history, so promise me that they won't try to assassinate me and label me as some black radical," I added.

Charles looked slightly amused, but shook his head, "No, we won't hurt you and the CIA won't hurt you, I promise," Charles reassured, and I nodded then stood up.

I was probably going to regret this.

"I'll...help you guys," I began.

"Thank you, Claudia," Charles interjected gently.

"But, let's be clear that doesn't mean I trust you. We've only just met," I explained, glancing at the two of them.

"Completely understandable, Claudia," Charles replied, nodding his head.

"One more condition, if you want my help," I stated, and Erik scoffed and I glared at him.

"This should be interesting," Erik drawled.

I looked back at Charles, "You have to promise me, if I occasionally let my mental shield down, you will not look inside my mind," I demanded.

Charles looked quite stunned, "Of course. But can I ask, how can you block me out? You're not a telepath,"

My gaze hardened again, "I once knew someone who was,"

Chapter Two: Division X

#x-men fanfiction #black fanfiction #x-men fanfic #charles xavier fanfiction #charles xavier x oc #black!oc #magneto x oc #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr fanfiction #erik lehnsherr x oc #erik lehnsherr x reader #charles xavier x reader #black!reader #x men fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic

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ficsnroses · 4 years

Text

Prompt Fic #11

❧ Summary : Keanu fucks you in the washroom at your parent’s house during a family brunch because he’s needy af 👀

☒ Prompt : “Try and stay quiet for me, can you do that?” nsfw. smut.

☒ Pairing : Keanu Reeves x Reader.

☒ Word Count : 1.5K (sorry lol, drabbles who? we don’t know her apparently)

“Try and stay quiet for me, can you do that darling?” Keanu begins kissing your neck, breath hot and demanding in the tiny walls of the pale guest washroom. Your skin felt satin, so silky smooth under his calloused palms, hands kneading your breasts adoringly, your neck habitually tilting to allow him better access. Nodding fanatically, you work his belt buckle, arousal muddling between your thighs. “We have to be quick, or they’ll notice we’re gone.” You whisper, mindlessly peppering kisses along his jaw as he pulls you close, rough fingers slipping underneath your dress.

Today, happen to be a family brunch at your parent’s house. All your family; cousins, nieces, nephews, aunts and uncles were in attendance, and up until 5 minutes ago, you’d been helping your mom with final preparations for brunch, while Keanu shared a beer with your cousins in casual conversation. Unfortunately, however; you’d made the mistake of wearing Keanu’s favourite dress today, a light blue bodycon, making your curves and dips look exquisite as ever. He’d been eyeing you all afternoon, brushing up against you far too intimately as he passed, ghosting in suggestive touches to your ass when no one was looking.

“I need you…” He whispered in your ear a mere couple of minutes’ prior, the sultry ring of his rasped tone sending shivering shocks down your spine with arousal. Leading him into the guest bathroom when no one was looking, here you stood now; locked and secreted, your needy husband positioned between your legs, full seamed bulge in his pants causing your throat to swallow thickly with want. Fanned warm to his skin, your breath elicits soft, gentle moans when his hands explore your body, inquisitively grazed to the small of your back and ass, a gentle knead to the peachy skin.

“No foreplay, and you have 5 minutes to cum. Not a second more.” You assert, gaze intently locked with his, finger pointed dominantly to his face. Chuckling a titter, he replies, sly and assured, stocky fingers peeling aside your lace underwear, digits expertly slipped between your moist folds as he prepares your cunt for his taking.

You’re always warm, wet, inviting; his favourite place to be.

“I could lose control through just one thrust into you.” Rolling your eyes to his cheesiness, you give his cock a few quick strokes, spitting into your hand to lubricate him with ease. “Alright,” You breathe a breathy moan, wrapping your arms securely around his shoulders as you pull him in, back pressed against the cold bathroom drywall. “Come, baby. Take me.” You allow permission, watching him bunch up your dress to your stomach, tip of his swollen cock edging your slick folds, rosy tip rubbing against your clit in anticipation. As his hand guides the full sum of his girth into your tight little pussy, you sigh in unison to the familiarity, feeling the relief wash over you, completely filled to the brim with his cock rammed deep inside. Keanu halts at first, his splitting erection savouring still inside your wet haven for a moment.

“Fuck, Y/N,” He hisses, callous palms plating to your ass for leverage. “So tight, so fucking warm.” Groaned and satisfied, Keanu conjures a rapid pace to restricted time, pumping into you hastily, hips fucking senselessly with the mixture of your creamy juices deliciously coating the insides of your legs. Trembling, your fingernails sink into the fabric of his blazer layered shoulders. He always looked so handsome in his blazers. Today, he’d opted for a sleek black dress shirt and your favourite navy blazer on him, beard perfectly trimmed with his hair the perfect length. He looked beautiful, exquisitely handsome; and to think you had him all to yourself, quite literally being fucked into bliss by your needy man in the bathroom of your parent’s house? It only added to your pleasure, slick arousal coating his member perfectly, the sounds of your wetness glistening on him loud in the walls.

“Fuck, Keanu,” You moan almost gutturally, gaspy with stifling whimpers fleeing your lips to the feel of his throbbing cock, aching inside. Each vein, each ridge; the slight curve of his dick is felt grinding inside you, his tender skin brushing inside your walls, veins thick and pulsing. He’s offered a fast pace, in hurry to finish so you can return outside. As he pumps in and out, his length hits your end to perfection each time, stretching you completely, the pain and soreness of no foreplay beautifully replaced with searing pleasure.

Residing with a desperate hold to his shoulders, you hear his voice against your ear as you hold him dearly, yelping quiet moans echoed. “What if everyone knew how well I’m fucking you right now?” His jaw tightens. “How I’m buried deep inside your tight little cunt with everyone still outside?” He whispers, delicate lips browsing the skin of your breasts as he draws your dress lower down your modesty, allowing your full, round tits to fall out. He slams in repetitively with ease, sloppily glistening with your arousal as his balls smash against your wet folds.

“Listen to the sounds you’re making, babygirl.” Shuddering, his cock twitches inside you, nearing completion. “So fucking sexy, baby.” Low and rugged, his lips travel to your ear, close and proximate as your breasts bounce to his aggressive, almost selfish roll of hips drilling into you. Against his chest, your breasts squish into him, breathy moans falling your mouth, “All mine.” He almost growls, palms digging into your hips as he jerks into you relentlessly.

“All yours,” You whimper, eyes shut tight as he pounds into you, his thumb moving between your tangled bodies to circle your sensitive nub, thrusts never faltering.

“Harder, Keanu, please.” You plead, breath hitching in a beautiful contrast of the cold wall against your back, mixed with the delicious burn he’s leaving to your stinging cunt. Lips tender against the valley of your breasts, he groans with his hips bucking ceaselessly forward into you, sound of his moans throaty; low and gravelled. Soft yet with a firm grasp, you lower your palm to the base of his cock pumping you, a flattened palm kneading to his balls; knowing how much he liked it and how close it brings him to release.

“Fuck, baby, you gonna come around my cock?” He encourages through gritted teeth, meeting your lips in a breathtaking kiss, heat of his breath hot on your mouth, soft whimpers laced with bruising fingerprints into each other’s skin.

You nod, so close to completion, sighing when his face buries into the crook of your neck, nuzzling with some final hard thrusts. In your half nude glory, Keanu’s eyes glaze down over your body, trained eyes effortlessly able to undress each and every part of you to sheer memory; your body a mural he’d perfectly memorized. The measly thought of how fucking gorgeous you’d look without the dainty dress bunched up on your body, with your hair all done up beautiful, simple makeup dappled to your skin in dewy sheen- his dick erects, pulsing further to the mere thought of your sexiness. His woman is a goddess, and he knows it.

“I need you to stay quiet, baby.” He whispers, encouraging you with his hand covering your mouth while you let out a particularly raunchy moan, lips revelling back to savour your lipstick painted lips in an eager kiss. Your sounds were muffled by his palm, yet he enjoyed them nonetheless. Nodding, tears prick at the corners of your eyes, the burn of his cock widening you so godly, divine. His hand stays firm on your hips, controlled thrusts sinking in and out, exiting your pussy fully each time before delving back in. He smirks at how gorgeous you look for him, flustered with your tits swollen, nipples hardened to the crisp cold air, desperately holding him, legs jellylike while he holds your balance. The pleasure was far too intense, he’d been filling you far too full to encase your whimpers as the pleasure bubbles, boiling a course to your veins.

��I’m gonna cum!” You cry, hiding your face into his chest as he thrusts dilligently in, feverishly circling your clit for you. Your orgasm washes over, Keanu’s hips going stiff and rigid as he slows pace, grunting quietly as he cums, spilling spurts of his hot seed inside you. You feel him fill you to the brim with his cum, heavy and deep, and you silently thank birth control for existing when you remember you didn’t even have a condom today; not that you’d remember to use it in the heat of a moment like this anyway.

“Fuck..” He moans into your neck, coming down from his high as you hold him, snug against his body as the nirvana dies down. Removing his flaccid cock from inside you, Keanu moves to grab a bulk of tissues, cleaning your cunt from whatever he’s left behind, his cum that drips out of your pussy wiped away by his helpful hands.

Wiping himself off as well, he helps you fix your dress, pulling your top over your breasts as he pulls down the seams to cover your bare bottoms, as you step back into your underwear. Tucking himself back into his boxers, he watches you fix your hair in the bathroom mirror.

“Thank you, baby.” He praises, kissing your cheek, your shoulder, palms soothing your arms. “That was amazing.” Turning, you grin, wrapping your arms around his neck, the smell of cigarettes and his smoky cologne tracing your senses.

“I’m not done yet..” Lip bitten and a prying wink his way. “Wait till we get home.”

Chuckling, Keanu kisses your forehead, palms planting on your ass again as his deep voice rasps. “You never fail to surprise me, Mrs. Reeves.”

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

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#keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves x you #john wick x reader

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rosepetalsthings · 3 years

Photo

More Loceit Doctor Who au! This time Logan and his companions (He’s collected almost the full set at this point) have arrived to a gala event, tipped off to some kind of homicidal alien activity happening there. Janus sees him, and like a moth to a flame, or a tiger to a poor unsuspecting baby deer, approaches.

“Not quite black tie, darling,” Janus says, gently grabbing the tie, placing his other hand on Logan’s brown blazer, resting over one of Logan’s hearts, both of which have started to thump rapidly, a miniature drum beat of its own. It’d be perfect for the Khachaturian, Sabre Dance Logan thought hysterically. Logan stills, jaw dropped open and eyes wide.

Janus tugged on the tie, Logan instinctively moving downwards, working on autopilot. Janus leaned upwards, his face just inches from his own.

Logan notes the perfect make up. The golden eye shadow, faintly glimmering, somehow perfectly making his dark brown eye and his almost golden eye pop. he distantly noted the snake ear cuff, a golden that loops around his ear, secure in place. His lipstick is a dark red, and if that wasn’t one of the most enticing sights he’d ever seen. Too bad his mind couldn’t focus on that right now, stuck in some kind of shock. He’d never seen Janus in make up before, you’ve never worn make up before Logan might say, if his tongue didn’t feel like lead in his mouth.

“However, I don’t mind the blue. It looks quite the catch on you,” Janus continues, and Logan is faintly aware of how the hand on his chest seems to be trailing down his chest appreciatively. Janus eyes haven’t left his, and Logan sees the hunger in them. Somewhere, Logan’s mind is screaming at him.

They stay still like that, before just as quick as it started, the moment ends. Janus other hand reappears, and both hands moving to readjust the tie and put it back into place.

“That’s better, don’t you think?” Janus moved his hands, touching his shoulder. “It’s about time I get back, so many interesting people to meet and so little time.” He steps back, removes his hand, leaving a feeling like electricity coursing through that spot. Logan still cannot speak. Janus turns around and starts to walk back to the throng of people. Logan can’t stop staring. Janus’ dress flowing beneath his hips, and what’s more, Logan now sees that the dress was a full bare back. Surprisingly, he sees a full back tattoo of a golden double headed snake trailing down his back.

“Oh, one more thing,” Janus says, pausing and turning his head back. “Make sure to save a dance for me, darling.” He winks, and then disappears back into the crowd.

Logan still stares in shock, and finally manages to feel the horror and grief and confusion settle in. Because that was Janus. And he watched Janus die.

tattoo and more under cut

So that tidbit ended up longer than expected! Sorry I didn’t post in the last couple of days, but I wanted to do this and make sure it looked nice before I posted again.

So yes, Janus comes back (takes a while, cause Logan’s got to gather the rest first), but doesn’t seem to know who Logan is at all? And this is the start of a lot of very complex feelings and mysteries that Logan had, at this point, thought he’d finally managed to get some sort of peace (not move on. Logan’s sure no one could move on from Janus).

Also, I’m starting to work on actually writing the damn thing now! Hopefully I can actually finish it (got a lot of motivation right now at least). On a side note, if you want to help me figure out how to add Remile to this au, just check out here

Happy 57th anniversary to Doctor Who! Can’t wait for more Jack Harkness!

edit: forgot to add, heres the tattoo for reference!

#loceit #janus sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides #doctor who au #i'm really proud of this one #it's been on the back burner for a while now #and i can say ive got a lot more of the larger plot points down #as always if you wanna ask me anything my inbox is always open

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murdersexual · 3 years

Note

So... When are you going to post that LeoPika fic? 👀👀👀

Mane bet... 😏 But I might delete it later! Here’s part one!

🚨WARNING!🚨

Rated MA for Mature Audiences only. NSFW.

Sex, Drugs, Alcohol, Gambling, Gun Violence.

NOT COMPLETELY PROOFREAD.

May have a few out of character instances for I wrote this around 3am, so please excuse that.

✨Ship/Pairing✨:

LeoPika (Leorio x Kurapika)

March 3rd, XXXX, En route to World Resorts Casino, around 9:47pm:

The weather in Yorknew hadn’t exactly started to reflect that it’s close to Springtime yet. It’s still cold and snowy but that wasn’t going to stop the event that’s being hosted by some of the biggest names in Underground Crime.

We’re talking about a night full of sex, drugs, alcohol, gambling and music.

It’s also the night of Leorio’s 21st birthday and he’s in town, steaming hot for he’s yet to receive a ‘happy birthday’ call from a certain Mafia Leader with the most gorgeous of light blonde hair. However, that’s not all... In general, Leorio is ultimately tired of trying so hard to be the glue to what’s considered an already unfixable relationship. The point of his visit this time is to give Kurapika a piece of damn mind for what may be the final time.

What a way to spend his birthday, right?

The hot blooded koi fish found himself strolling down the cold streets of Yorknew by his lonesome. His enticing hazel gaze is relative to the weather... Cold and piercing. He wore the meanest of faces with his lips decorated in a sheer pout. Then his face and ears are red from the whipping of the snow and frosty winds. The thoughts that went around his sophisticated skull only ruses him further. With each step he took, the snow crunched beneath his expensive waterproof combat boots. The sound gave him a slight sense of calm—one that managed to steal attention momentarily.

“I forgot the last time I’ve even enjoyed the Winter...”

The words came rolling off his tongue. His eyes slightly softened as he now comes to a brief halt, a soft sigh exhales from the tall doctor-to-be. He finds the dark sky that slowly drops the small white flakes. Being the jovial spirit he knows he could be, he sticks his tongue out and catches a few of them. His handsome features are now graced with a soft smile only to see the lights of his destination illuminate the skyline. With a low growl, he’s reminded of his current goal.

“Bet even YOU won’t see me coming...”

His icy glare returns and the tone of his voice has lost all signs of benevolence. His words came out way darker than they should’ve.

But can you blame him though?

Continuing his traverse through the snowy lands of the busy city, he adjusts his earmuffs while now stuffing his gloved hands back into his long black winter coat. The brunette’s hair is messy and filled with snowflakes, such a look makes him appear rather gentle despite his mood. His trademark circular shades are gently shaded from the current weather but that doesn’t stop him from seeing now does it?

‘When I get there, I promise this time I’m gonna knock his fucking lights out.’

The thought got his adrenaline flowing. Now he yearns to cause physical damage. The question is... will it actually happen? This IS Kurapika here. He’s not gonna sit there and take that shit, UNLESS... he ACTUALLY accepts such a punishment.

Leorio knows how aggressive he can be but he is more angry than sad. He won’t ever come to say it...

But the idea of not being called on his birthday genuinely hurt him.

It felt like a slap in the face, especially for everything he’s done. He’d never miss any birthdays or special occasions and it’s to the point where he feels like it’s only him who thinks that way.

‘I give too fucking much to not get much—better yet, NOTHING in return!’

Being a person with a heart the size of the world this is the curse: to always be dealt a hand that’s never going to win. Knowing him? He wants to break that curse and by default there’s no better way to do it than to throw hands. His actions always spoke louder anyways.

Crossing a few streets and nearly fighting one of the people who almost hit him, he finally makes it to his destination—World Resorts Casino. Entering through the slide open glass doors, the bright slots, signs that point to everything and even the neon-like decor nearly blinded him. The smell of expensive imported cigars, cigarettes, various alcohol and a multitude of different colognes and perfumes filled the air. His nose burned from the mixture of scents all around. A low grunt emits as he now removes his gloves and earmuffs. Stuffing both in his pocket, he proceeds to walk ahead while undoing his silver buckle, his finely seamed gold buttons and his golden zipper. It revealed the finest of outfits!

He’s wearing a sleek black slim fit blazer that fits rather nicely around his muscular arms, a jet black satin button up that’s halfway unbuttoned at the top and neatly tucked in his matching sleek slacks that’s accented with a gold buckle Gucci belt. Tapping his feet to rid of the snow from the bottom, he walks on ahead only to meet one of the Casino Bunnies.

“Welcome to the World Resorts Casino, my fine gentleman! If you’re looking for the event labelled ‘How To Play Russian Roulette With a Criminal Mastermind’, it’s from the second floor on up! Here’s a complimentary welcome drink! May you enjoy your time here~!”

Giving a quick bow, the busty beauty now switches away, her semi-exposed cheeks had a little bit of a wiggle to them much like her makeshift bunny tail. With a smirk as he watches her, he stirs his drink and takes a sip, now charmed by how well it’s mixed.

“Not bad!”

Heading to the stairs that’s decorated in the cutest of roulette wheel numbers, he heads up, his ears are open and listening to the music that’s being played. He hums while trying to figure out what floor Kurapika may be on...

Speaking of him?

Kurapika’s right hand reaches for the roulette wheel, the midnight blue and black ombré nail polish that was still on his hands matched with the blue and purple ambience that is on the 8th floor. In his left, he held a half empty shot glass, now proceeding to spin the wheel. His right leg is crossed over his left, his foot gently swung to the beat, a soft smirk now decorating his face for he’s caught up hosting the Roulette Table.

“What’s your bets?”

He asked the two players, a woman in a black short evening dress that seemed one size too small, her breasts looked as if they were about to pop out of it and her bodacious hips, butt and thighs made the dress rise to the point her black g-string nearly showed. But it’s a good thing she has her legs crossed right?

“I’ll take all even on red, my kind sire~”

Her voice cooed, almost in a flirtatious tone towards him. To be honest, she’s been debating on attempting to charm him since his grand appearance earlier in the night. He knew that just from her gestures and body language alone. Those light grey orbs swished over to the woman beside her, she held herself up, a cigarette now being doused out in an ashtray, she wears a smile on her ruby red lips as she now casually blows smoke into the air.

“Mmm, can luck be a lady tonight~? I think I’ll take all even on black, hun~”

Sipping the little bit of cognac that’s left in his shot glass, he sets it down and looks to the wheel while mentally trying to calculate who’s going to win this round.

“How much?”

The busty lady was quick to answer...

“I’ll put 100 genie on my red~”

The ruby red lipstick lady smirked at her.

“Hmph, I’m a bit of a daredevil, so I’ll do 700 on my black~”

With that being said, he spins the wheel and actually narrows his choice down to who’s going to win.

‘Ruby, otherwise she wouldn’t have bet so much. She’s confident that all black on even will be victorious. And she’s not wrong... Tara’s bet was a safe one so there’s a lack of confidence in her choice. I know I’m the reason why she’s picked red... I have my earring to blame.’

“And the winner is...”

His eyes carefully watched the wheel as it began to slow up. The tiny little ball clicked and clanged until it fell onto...

Black, 26.

“Ruby.”

‘Just as I thought.’

Indeed, he knew it and with a gasp of disbelief, Tara pouts before reaching in between her breasts and pulling out a total of 800 genie. She hands it over to Ruby who takes it and waves it like a fan over her.

“Mmm, I can smell that vanilla perfume with a hint of boob sweat~ You were nervous weren’t you, doll face~?”

Tara gives an eye roll and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Hmph! What’s it to ya? Ya won already!”

She squeaks angrily. Getting up from her chair, Ruby wanders over and stands behind her before leaning down and wrapping her arms around her, she plants a kiss on her cheek before using her alcohol tinged tongue to sensually lick the shell of her ear before nipping at it and tugging on it. She purrs playfully.

“Better behave yourself, kitten~”

A soft squeak emits from Tara who huffs softly. She hates how she plays at one of her many weaknesses.

“Oh fine! But you’re on the couch tonight!”

“As long as my face is between your legs, I’m fine with that.”

The exchange between the two didn’t really surprise the blonde. As a Mafia Leader, he’s come to accept the shit he’s gonna see on a pretty regular basis. Taking his ice cubes and holding them into his cheeks he sets up for the next spin only to receive a call.

“Ugh...”

He knew whose voice it was off the back. He blinks his eyes closed as he slides the answer icon to the right and places it to his ear.

“What...?”

On the other line, that soft voice of Melody’s muttered...

“You have a visitor on his way to you... He seems very pissed...”

But who exactly is SHE referring to?

‘Oh don’t tell me...’

“Who…?”

He was enticed to ask anyways.

“I think it’s Leorio! I-I’m not sure, the only heartbeat I recognise that’s this fast and full of anger is yours though... It doesn’t seem like him at all...”

His eyes found the sky as he worded ‘my dear family, I do apologise, but fuck me gently with a fucking chainsaw, please, speed on low and blades on extra sharp.’ He made Tara and Ruby giggle for they read his lips perfectly. With a gentle sigh, he asks...

“Okay... so is it him or not…? I’m in the middle of hosting the roulette table...”

Her answer would’ve been immediate for she could hear the irritation starting to ruse. But before she could answer, she was spotted by the angry Leorio. His eyes glinted as he knew she was snitching.

“U-Uh!”

“MELODY!! TELL THAT FUCKER I SAID... BE READY TO FUCKING FIGHT!!”

Now leaning to his left hand to pinch his nose bridge a dreaded sigh left Kurapika.

“...Great.”

👀👀👀

I see that you’ve made it this far... This is ONLY part one. I currently have three full parts. So if you’d like to see the rest? Let me know! (EWW I CANNOT WRITE WTF! 🥲) I do apologise if this is all over the place but I knew that I’d get asked to post this some time around!

#hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh 2011 #oneshot #writing #leorio #leorio paladiknight #Kurapika #ask #ask response #anime #hxh imagines #one shot #fanfic #part one #thanks for the ask!#casino

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versatilewindow · 4 years

Text

My Mortal Enemy

Find it on Ao3

Summary: I saw a tumblr post that said, reader insert fic but make it about being enemies instead of lovers, and I immediately came up with this. Read either as an OC or yourself as you go about your day, and finish by curb stomping Sasuke. First chapter is an OC, inspired by the writing style in My Immortal. The second chapter is the same plot but reader insert, inspired by cringey wattpad writing.

A/N: Repost bc i hated the format it was in before. In case it is not clear, this is satire, anyway hope it makes you giggle, also ao3 has a reader version in chapter 2, its the same thing but y/n instead of the oc

I, Blake Dracon’ia Lunacy Crow Wentz, woke up in my cozy bed in Konoha and turned on my favorite Waterparks song (A/N: I know they don't exist in the Naruto world but suc my pp i can do what i want XP) No one else I know listens to them, but I guess I'm quirky like that. I got out of bed and looked in the mirror, I have long midnight black hair (which matches my soul xD) and have two different colored orbs, one pink, and one that's almost darker than my hair. I then turned my attention downward to my big ol’ honkin tiddies. They have been huge since I started puberty when I was 11, now I am 18 and they are impossibly large. Continuing downward I saw my tiny, 24 inch waist; that in combination with my humongo tiddies and juicy earthquake creating ass made me the object of every boy’s attention. I mean my cheeks are just constantly clapping as I walked it made being a sneaky ninja so hard DX, like if I were to run or twerk it would cause a 8.0 earthquake, and if I were sprinting or throwing it back for a real one, it also creates a sonic boom, shattering every eardrum in a 100 yard radius. All of these problems are manageable tho bc I have the tightest, moistest, Gorilla Grip™ coochie, like it sounds like a fresh pot of Kraft mac n cheese.

Then I got changed into my favorite clothes. I put on a v-neck fishnet bodysuit and black Sleeping with Sirens crop top, which was just the right length to cover my nips, and show off the tattoo on my stomach that said “For my vampire boyfriend’s eyes only” with two arrows pointing downwards and upwards. I also put on cute pink leather assless chaps with a lot of chains on them, with a checkered studded belt to hold them up. Then I pulled on my ginormous 12 inch stilettos that have skulls and glitter all over them (If you think the way she dresses is “slutty” then get da hell out of here!!!!) Then I put my super long black hair into high pigtails which made me super Kawaii!!! And then I did my make up. Yes I put on makeup, but not for anyone, I do it for me, so that the outside matches the inside. I used stickers and blush to make it look like there were heart freckles on my face and I put my eyeliner on so that it looked super sharp and pointy. I also made my lipstick look like I had just eaten a cherry popsicle, so it was super concentrated in the center and faded out. To finish off the look, I put on my ninja forehead guard, but tied it around my super tiny waist and I was ready to go out and get groceries.

I had finished getting my groceries, which were mainly dumplings, takis, and Monster energy drink, when I saw HIM, my mortal enemy, Sasuke Uchiha. Ever since the academy, we hated each other, it was a constant battle to see who was more angst, emo, punk, and goth than the other. He doesn't even care about his friends!!! So not punk or Cash Money! I mean I also had a tragic backstory. My dad was an Uchiha, who had an affair with a Hyuga, meaning I was born with both types of dojutsu, then when I was two, they were both killed by Madara Uchiha, who then watched over me until the actual Sage of Six Paths beat him up and he gave me the Rinnegan, and made me capable of using all the powers of the tailed beasts (even the ten-tails!!;!!,.!!) And no, despite all of this I am NOT op. Point blank periodt!!!!

Anyway Sasuke and I caught eyes because the clap of my ass cheeks alerted him from across the street, and he ran towards me activating his sharingan/rinnegan. But he was too late, had already used my Super Speed Shadow Asscheeks Jutsu, causing him to go deaf, and I activated my Byakugan, Sharingan, and Rinnegan Combo eyes. (I can use them all individually but this is my mortal enemy, so I can't take any chances >:3c) Because of my dojutsu. Sasuke just stood there, and I used my taijustu skills to beat the shit out of him.

By now we had attracted a huge crowd, Naruto was there, looking mad because I was beating up his boyfriend (If you dont think theyre boyfriends then you're homophobic!!/11) Sakura and Ino were also there clinging to each other for safety because while they used to like like Sasuke, they realized over the 4th Shinobi war that they were actually in love with each other and got married as soon as the battle was over!! (If you dont think Sakura and Ino would be girlfriends if Kishimoto actually knew how to write a well rounded female character then you’re still homophobic!!!) Then from the crowd I heard Shikamaru and Kakashi and Kurenai cheering me on!!!

“Yes girl curb stomp the shit out of him!!!”

“Show him who’s boss!!!”

“Teach him about what a Poser he is!!! He doesn’t even know who Brendon Urie is !!!!!”

That line got me really mad, How can you even pretend to be emo or punk without knowing who Brendon Urie is????????!!!!! >:^(((. So I concentrated all my chakra into my fist, (like Tsunade but came up with the move first!!!!) and Pummeled Sasuke in the solar plexus, and he flew off into the air, up in the sky to space, a la Team Rocket (If u dont kno who they are then ur the biggest chump ever!!!!!) And then Sasuke came back down and said that I was the most goth, emo, punk person in the whole Land of Fire, and apologized for not knowing who Brendon Urie is. I wish he stayed up in space, but that would’ve made Naruto sad, and he’s my 6th cousin 9th removed, and keeping my friends and family happy is part of my Ninja Way! Believe it!

#Sasuke x reader #sasuke x oc #Naruto #whenever i think about this fic i feel shame #but i also laugh uncontrollably so

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kimsunwoah · 4 years

Text

take her to the moon || kim sunwoo

[22:19]

“don’t do this, please,” sunwoo sobbed into your sweater that was once his, clinging to your figure as if you were going to leave the moment he lets go. “I swear it- she didn’t mean anything to me! y/n please-”

“sunwoo, please don’t make this harder for me” you chuckled painfully, caressing the back of his head that was placed on your damp shoulder. “of course she means something to you, my love.” you paused, lifting his head up to rest your forehead on his, “but why would you hide it from me? didn’t I ask you to tell me everything?”

tears rapidly fell from your eyes and his. the night cold and the winds harsh compared the soft yellow glow of the fairy lights you hung up with sunwoo months ago, especially on the rooftop of you and sunwoo’s shared apartment where both of you were. god, that was the last thing he wanted: to make you cry, to see your beautiful face stained with salty tears that he knew he caused.

you knew of his secret escapades with the pretty girl from his chemistry class, but not even once did you speak a word about it to him. ‘if she makes him happy, I’ll be okay’ you thought every time you’d smell her perfume on his shirt, or when you see a pink lipstick stain on the collar of his favorite white sweater. you knew you should get out of the relationship, according to your friends. they knew you were already in pain, and you did know that, but your pathetic self always came back to him, and you always will.

how could you let him go? you and sunwoo met in freshman year at high school and got together in your junior year. after graduation, you both agreed on living in one apartment since you were both nearing your 2nd anniversary and you were both attending the same university but with different courses. you knew he was the one for you. how could you possibly let him go?

the first time you noticed was when there was a different scent on his hoodie. a scent that did not belong to you. you thought it was just because he had to spend his time on a female classmate’s house to finish their thesis report. or so you thought. it added up day by day: started from the strong victoria’s secret perfumes that you never owned, to the lipstick stains that you never wore, to the amount of time he was gone that you never spent. you were never worried though, you believed at the end of the day, he’d run back to you.

you both were drifting apart, and it was only beneficial to the party that was not yours. you no longer were the cause of his bright smiles. he smiles on his phone more, you took note of that as well. it was hurting you, he was hurting you, but at the same time, he still manages to heal your torn heart with those stupid forehead kisses, those stupid quirks he had, that stupid him.

stupid. you were so fucking stupid and you knew that.

until the night came where you saw them kissing on the very same rooftop where you spend your cheap dates with laptop movies, blankets, and junk food, where you watched the sun sink and the moon rise, and eventually watch the sun rise, where you both made paper promises to each other, where you both belonged. you needed to borrow his flash drive as you planned to save more movies for both of you to watch on free days. you stood on the doorstep leading to the rooftop as you watch sunwoo’s lips pull away from her’s, then place a final peck before his lips formed into the smile that you thought was only for you. you slipped into the shadows, but not going unnoticed by sunwoo and his girl as they heard the metal door of the exit harshly slammed close by the wind. all you could do was to look at sunwoo with tears running down your cheeks from your pained eyes, his mirroring your expression as the other girl froze in shock.

now here you all were, sobbing on the rooftop.

“I-I’m sorry, y/n. I swear I would tell you but-” you cut sunwoo off.

“I always knew, sunshine,” you cupped his wet cheek, smiling bittersweetly as your fingers chose to wipe his tears first before your own. sunwoo was surprised at the sudden use of your favorite nickname for him. he did not understand why and how you were not mad at him. “I just wanted to know why you didn’t tell me earlier. that way, it would not be as painful.”

the girl put herself aside and situated herself on the corner, not wanting to sever the gap any farther that separated you and sunwoo in the first place. she never knew anything about you. she just knew that sunwoo will pick her in the end. or will he?

“sunshine, before I say goodbye, will you do one last thing for me?” now you cupped his face, giggling softly to brighten the tense atmosphere as if it is your last time spending this moment with him, and it is. you knew you had to make it last.

‘w-what do you m-mean goodbye- y/n what are you saying-” sunwoo was scared. this was it. you were going to leave him. he expected this. he knew this will come sooner or later, but why was this breaking him?

“be happy,” you whispered softly to your ray of sunshine, the amount of tears falling from your eyes and sunwoo’s increasing.

“h-how could I be happy without you in my life, y/n? tell me how-” Sunwoo was already mad. mad at himself for leaving a diamond such as you for a different gem, at least, you thought she was a gem. his walls crumbled at that point.

“- please y-y/n, just don’t leave me please,” he sobbed. you knew you couldn’t leave him like that, but how would his true love comfort him if you were standing in their way. you started to detach yourself from sunwoo, removing his hands from your arms as you step back towards the exit of the rooftop that was once yours and his.

once you had enough distance from him, the girl approached the boy who was already crouching on the floor, racking with uncontrollable sobs. with a pained glance, you look back at them one last time to speak your final words to them before pulling the metal door shut.

“and sunwoo, take her to the moon for me like you promised me, and say you love her every time like how you told me the last time,” you told him before you were gone from his life, forever.

sunwoo barged into your apartment room, finding the space uncomfortably empty. after you left, he let the girl calm him down, but not how y/n would do it. he was adjusting this new atmosphere without you, and he could not bear it. sunwoo prayed that you have not actually left, that you would come back into the apartment and back into his arms. he can’t be happy without you. he can’t take her to the moon because he promised you, not her. and he can’t love her, because she wasn’t you.

he searched all of your cabinets and drawers, finding all of them empty like his heart, before seeing a little post-it note on your pillow on your side of the bed.

2-2-19

My dearest Sunshine,

I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you, my love. I thought you would still come back to me when I knew that you wouldn’t. I wish I could stick around and fight back your tears and tell you "My love, I'm still here". I only wish you happiness, my dear, and you know that right? I always and always will wish for nothing but your happiness, and if she gives you that, I will gladly let you go. I’ll live with the pain as long as it’s for you, my Prince. Please remember that no matter where you are, you'll always have my heart, and I'll always love you from afar.

So be happy, my love

y/n

song inspo: take her to the moon - moira dela torre

#lune types #oh god #sunwoo hours #open #the boyz #tbz #the boyz fic #the boyz x reader #the boyz imagines #the boyz blurbs #the boyz angst #kim sunwoo #kim sunwoo fic #kim sunwoo imagines #kim sunwoo x reader #the boyz sunwoo #kim sunwoo angst #kim sunwoo blurb #wheeee

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notthefilmreview · 4 years

Text

17 year old watches MIRACULOUS LADYBUG: ZOMBIZOU

Hey it’s Dana!

As you can tell from the title I’m obviously 17 and today I’ve decided to watch the Miraculous Ladybug episode Zombizou (admittedly not the first time I’ve watched Miraculous) because this episode is about zombies and I LOVE ZOMBIES.

Horror movies in general are great and usually when a series decides to do a horror themed episode I’m sitting there ready to watch, but zombie movies are arguably superior (don’t @ me).

However, I am a tad bit sceptical about a kids show doing a zombie themed episode because obviously they won’t kill anyone - RIGHT!?!

And also how are they going to transfer the infection? Are these children going to go around biting each other???? Not gonna lie, if they do, that’ll be a dark twist I’m ready for.

This probably won’t happen because Huffinton post does recommend it towards 6 - 15 year olds so…

Anyway, read on for my reaction to Miraculous Ladybug Zombizou…

Lol, okay, so we’re not into the episode yet but I paused the screen at this moment and it looked kinda funny so I thought I’d just share.

So while I see why everyone’s so annoyed about Chloe forgetting Ms Bustier’s birthday it just doesn’t really matter. Most teachers don’t really care about all their students remembering their birthdays and most students either don’t know when their teachers birthday is or they don’t even bring it up (at least that’s what happened in my student experience lol, I don’t know about the rest of you).

Also, everyone does know about Chloe’s issues with her parents so they have to understand that she has a habbit of forgetting special occassions or showing sentimentality.

ALSO, there’s bound to be someone else in the class who’s forgotten Ms Bustier’s present - not just Chloe. Why aren’t they ganging up on them? Like what about Adrien? What did he get her with all that money he has stored up?? Huh???

#ChloeBourgeoiseDefenceSquad

Okay…so I’ve got to admit that was a bit rude of Chloe to do, but what do you expect when everyone constantly mocks her for not getting Ms Bustier a present? I’m just surprised she never did anything like this on Ms Bustier’s previous birthdays.

#StillChloeBourgeoiseDefenceSquad

On a side note: Ms Bustier is an absolute angel! Seriously, I don’t know how this woman manages to keep her patience teaching these hormonal 14 year olds every day while some deranged butterfly akumatises them on the daily.

On an extra side note: Ms Bustier is so pretty! Why doesn’t she have a boyfriend? (or a girlfriend?) She seriously has everything going for her: patience, love, support, good-looks, good with children…

How does Marinette manage to keep up her hobby of fashion, save Paris, get her schoolwork done, WHILE being the Class Representative? I can’t even handle just my A Levels and she’s out there doing all of this at 14??? What is this wizardry???

Also, I kinda hope Marinette gets akumatised because that would just make it so much more harder to get rid of the zombies.

Okay, so if I were Marinette I would have just transformed into Ladybug when the akuma was coming after her and Ms Bustier. She can obviously trust Ms Bustier to keep her secret and it may even help when she needs to miss class or get extensions on her homework or even cover for her when she needs an adult to do stuff…Then, Ms Bustier wouldn’t have been akumatised!

Wow Ivan truly deserves better! He is such a little sweetheart for offering to hold Mylene and Sabrina back while everyone else runs off to safety. BUT - look at Adrien over here doing absolutely NOTHING! I know that there’s a rule that they shouldn’t let anyone else know their secret identities but sometimes there should be exceptions - like in this situation.

Like with Marinette and Ms Bustier earlier, if Adrien just transformed maybe even in the classroom when Zombizou first broke in then he could have saved Sabrina, Mylene, and Ivan. Then he could have easily guided everyone to safety without thinking about when and where he should transform.

Lol, don’t lie Marinette, you secretly liked that…

I do like the whole “is anybody here?” thing with Ladybug going through the school trying to find survivors like a real zombie movie.

Smooth, Adrien, smooth…

I love how Adrien attempts to take advantage of the situation to kiss Ladybug! At least he tried; it was worth a go.

However, it does lead me to wonder what would happen if he actually did land a kiss, making Ladybug believe she’s infected. But then he has to explain to her that he’s actually not zombie-fied. That would be quite awkward.

Also he just looks so extra and in love in this photo!

Lol, also Alya blaming Chloe for why Adrien got kissed is actually quite funny. I don’t know why but it just felt as though Alya just wants another reason to hate on Chloe. #ChloeProtectionSquad.

Awwwwww look at that little back hug! That is actually just the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life! Mylene and Ivan are just so cute together!

This is quite a cool shot with all the survivors being on the roof, waiting for their leader (Ladybug) to tell them what to do next. It’s such a zombie movie trope!

Kim looks like he’s just seen his whole life pass before his eyes and he’s determined to do something heroic (such as possibly sacrificing his life for his friends).

Max, Nino, and Alix look like they’ve given up.

Alya and Ladybug look like the leader and the co-leader discussing what they need to do to get out (and possibly what sacrifices they need to make).

Juleka and Rose look like The Couple! Omg they are just as cute as Ivan and Mylene! If anything happens to them I will give Chloe up to Zombizou myself! (Sorry not sorry, Chloe).

Finally, Chloe looks like that one person everyone hates in the group. Those types of survivors in zombie movies usually come into a stable group (mostly by being saved) and then mess everything up. They’re usually the one who *accidently* gets everyone killed and then survives at the end! We hate those types of people…

So, if I were Zombizou I would just send my kisses off into Paris to just try and catch people. Her kisses are a lot faster and can reach high places, unlike her zombies, and the gang is on the roof so they’re basically sitting ducks for her kisses.

Here it comes; this is the point in the trope when one by one everyone decides to be heroic and make a sacrifice to save the-last-hope/main-objective/the-key-t0-the-end-of-the-virus (aka Chloe). While I think it was quite heroic for Max to hold back the zombie’s and for Rose to go out and save Chloe, Chat Noir and Ladybug could have easily done that themselves without getting kissed!

I just feel like this episode has underused and underemphasises (is that a word?) their powers to make their classmates seem more heroic. On one hand that is good for character development but I do feel as though they could have done that in a different way.

For example, they could have had Ladybug and Chat Noir possibly kidnapped by Zombizou or something like that (basically the heroes aren’t there to help them) but they all know, possibly from a transmission from Ladybug, that they need to safely get Chloe from the school to some checkpoint. Then, on the way, each classmate makes their own heroic sacrifice until finally it is just Chloe at the checkpoint (possibly just with Alya because Alya hates her so much) and they use Chloe as bait (willingly, of course) while Alya frees Ladybug and Chat Noir and they save the day.

Just a thought :)

Firstly, Rose and Juleka are so cute together and basically act like a couple so why can’t they just make it official????

Secondly, omg the hiding-the-bite trope!!! Ahhhh! I usually hate these people and just hope they die already BUT, in this circumstance when it’s my sweet little Rose who risked her life to safe Chloe, I just feel bad for her AND for Juleka.

Okay do you see those hands??? That is not how you hold a friend, just saying…

This was quite an emotional scene and just makes me love Nino so much more! The fact that he decided to stay with her, trusting that Ladybug and Chat Noir would fix everything but also not completely knowing that they will, just shows how he’s such a reliable and loving guy. I would seriously trust Nino with my life; why can’t he be my boyfriend????

I’ve never been such a big fan of Alya as a good friend to Marinette but I feel as though Alya and Nino together is much more better. But that may just be because Nino’s such a sweet boy who loves his girlfriend and his friends so much and deserves so much love back. #NinoProtectionSquad.

I feel really bad for Ladybug! She’s only 14!!!!!! And she has all these people relying and trusting in her to fix everything. It must be so traumatic for her!

Since it’s a kids show they obviously won’t venture into how traumatic all these experiences (watching all of her friends become zombie-fied) are for Marinette but I can’t help but ponder on how messed up her brain is.

Although she may fix everything with her Miraculous Ladybug, it’s only the exterior that is fixed - not the trauma.

It does cause some people to forget what happened, only she (and Chat Noir of course) know what really happened.

Do you ever think they get nightmares about these things? Because they’re seriously just 14 year olds with the weight and order of the world resting in their hands, which is quite a parallel to the power rangers (and they’re probably all messed up in the head as well).

That was quite redeeming of Chloe to sacrifice herself for Ladybug. Yes, you go girl! #ChloeRedemptionSquad!

Hawkmoth was a bit stupid for making her central power the lipstick because it does easily rub off after a long day of terrorising the Paris…so this ending did seem a bit anti-climactic because it was just make-up remover. Make-up remover, really? After all your classmates sacrifice themselves, all you needed was some make-up remover???

This is really cute and seems like a mother-daughter type of interaction. And we do know that Chloe’s parents are practically absent so what I’m saying is - what if Ms Bustier just adopts Chloe??? #ChloeAdoptionSquad.

Okay, that was really cute. Although Chloe didn’t apologise to the rest of the class, she finally decided to make an effort and get something for Ms Bustier. I also love how she didn’t tell anyone because that is quite humble of her but Marinette and Alya did see her so that does make her look better in their eyes. Yay #ChloeRedemptionSquad!

Overall, the episode was really interesting and did seem like a zombie-type movie (especially if it was longer *cough* *cough* Miraculous Ladybug: The Movie *cough* *cough*). The end was quite annoying with Ladybug defeating Zombiezou with just makeup but the ending did redeem itself by having Chloe also redeem herself.

What other episodes of Miraculous Ladybug should I watch next???

#miraculous fandom #miraculous ladybug #chloe bourgeois #marinette dupain cheng #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #adrien agreste #chloe protection squad #chloe deserves better #ivan x mylene #rose x juleka #adrienette #movie #movie commentary #movie watching #series #zombizou #adrien x marinette

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