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luvendiary · 1 day ago

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in between

fred weasley x reader

summary: everyone knew you hated fred weasley and that he hated you back. but maybe, you need another form of distraction amidst umbridge's reign of terror. warnings: not proofread. no use of y/n. 5.5k words. suggestive content ahead, foul language.

You hated Fred Weasley.

Genuinely, thoroughly, and without exception.

His smirk made your eye twitch. His laugh made your skin crawl. And the way he always had something clever to say—loud enough for everyone to hear—made your blood boil in ways you never admitted out loud.

He, of course, returned the favor. You were too uptight, too smug, too convinced you were always right. He lived to wind you up.

And it worked. Every. Bloody. Time.

You knew he hated you back. It was undeniable, and pretty much the whole school was aware of the fact.

Usually careless and academically-driven Fred Weasley, somehow became an encyclopedia the moment you shared the same class as him.

His favorite hobby?

Making sure everyone knew when you made a mistake.

It could be the smallest of things. Like miscounting the amount of counter-clockwise rotations it took for a potion to brew, or even posing a question the wrong way.

He was always there with the correct response at the ready.

You wanted to pluck every single one of his red hairs out of that dense head of his.

The only thing stopping you, really, was the fact that Professor Flitwick had threatened to dock house points if you hexed him in class again.

So instead, you glared. Constantly. With full, seething intent.

And Fred? He basked in it. Thrived off it. Walked into a room and made a point to sit directly in your line of sight, just so he could smirk when you inevitably rolled your eyes. He passed you notes in class, folded into little origami frogs that said things like “Don’t be sad. I can help you open a book sometime.”

You never responded. But once, you slipped the note into your bag instead of ripping it up.

You told yourself it was evidence. Just in case you ever needed proof he was deranged.

Despite the constant state of anger he put you in, you were sort of thankful for your twisted dynamic. With Umbridge changing every possible thing around Hogwarts, your hatred towards Fred Weasley was a constant you could always count on.

And likewise, you could always count on him hating you just as much.

“So when are you and Fred Weasley getting married?”

You nearly choked.

“What?”

You were halfway through your toast when your friend had decided to conveniently drop her copy of The Daily Prophet and looked you dead in the eye.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Don’t act coy. Everyone knows that hate is just love misplaced. You’re more than halfway to passionately declaring your love for each other in the pouring rain.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“You two nearly started a war over a bloody ink spill in Charms yesterday. I’m just saying... the sexual tension was palpable.”

You scoffed, setting your toast down a little too forcefully. “There’s no tension. He’s just insufferable. And I hate him.”

“Mhm,” she said, clearly unconvinced. “That’s why he pulled your chair out in herbology.”

“He did it to distract me from the fact that he had enchanted a cactus to look like a mandrake.”

“He didn’t need to pull out that chair.”

You pressed your lips together and narrowed your eyes at her. “The point remains. I hate him, and he hates me. Simple as that.”

Your friend snorted. “And yet you always find him. Doesn’t matter what corridor, what time of day — if Fred’s nearby, you look like you’re about to draw your wand or kiss him senseless.”

“I would never—”

“Please don’t say ‘never,’” she interrupted. “Because if I have to watch another round of ‘Oh no, there’s only one seat left and we’re both angry about it but we’ll sit next to each other anyway’ without it ending in a snog, I’m going to hex someone.”

You gaped at them. “He hexed my quill last week!”

“And you tripped him into Filch’s mop bucket. You two are basically married,” Sarah said through a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

You glanced back toward the Gryffindor table without thinking. Fred was mid-laugh, hair sticking up in all directions, gesturing wildly with his fork. George leaned into him to say something, and Fred’s head turned, just enough to catch your stare.

He grinned. Slow. Knowing.

You turned back around fast enough to give yourself whiplash.

“There is nothing going on between us,” you said firmly, grabbing your book bag like it had personally offended you. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“Right,” she said as you stood up. “So when you go not meeting him near the third-floor broom cupboard before Transfiguration, tell him hi for me.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

You also didn’t slow down as you turned toward the corridor that led, inconveniently, to the third-floor landing.

You weren’t going to the third-floor corridor.

Obviously.

You just… happened to be walking in that direction. With your bag slung over one shoulder, and a very clear, very rational list of excuses prepped in your head — in case anyone asked why you were drifting entirely the wrong way from the library.

You’d gotten as far as the staircase when everything promptly went to hell.

You heard someone call out your last name. You almost didn’t recognize it, not with the sickly sweet voice that pronounced it.

You turned slowly to see Umbridge gliding toward you like a particularly smug pastry.

She blinked up at you with that same nauseating smile she always wore when she was about to ruin someone’s day. “What is the meaning of this?”

You frowned. “I’m… going to the loo?”

“Not where you’re going,” she said, voice going falsely sweet. “What is the meaning of this?” She gestured at you — more specifically, the faint wrinkle in your skirt and the fact that your tie was a little loose. You blinked.

“You’re reproaching me for my tie?”

Her smile thinned. “It’s important that students reflect the values of the school. Sloppiness is infectious.” She gave you a once-over, her eyes lingering on your undone top button like it was a personal insult. “I’ll be making a note of this.”

You ground your teeth. “Understood, Professor.”

“You’re welcome,” she said brightly, before flouncing off down the corridor, heels clacking like a metronome of doom.

By the time you made it to the third floor, you were fuming.

You weren’t even planning to stay — just walk past, glance around, maybe scoff if he was there — and go on with your day, all while pretending the small ache behind your ribs wasn’t disappointment.

But of course, he was there.

Fred Weasley, leaning against the wall like he owned it. Arms folded. Shirt rumpled. That infuriating glint in his eye that said he’d been expecting you — and that he’d bet actual galleons you’d come.

You stopped in your tracks.

He raised a brow. “If it isn’t my favorite buzzkill.”

You glared. “Don’t start.”

“Why? Did Snape give you something lower than an O?”

You didn’t respond. Just tried to shoulder past him. He stepped into your path with the sort of casual, practiced ease that made you want to hex him on instinct.

“You look tense,” he said, mock-concerned. “Should we snog about it?”

“I will shove you down the nearest staircase.”

He gave a low whistle, eyes dragging over you slowly. “Merlin. Someone did get told off today.”

“Let me guess,” you snapped. “You somehow dodged every dress code rule in existence again and still managed to convince her you’re charming?”

“I am charming.”

You scoffed, starting to walk again — or trying to. He fell into step beside you, because of course he did.

“You’re being unusually snippy,” he said. “Even for you.”

“Drop it, Fred.”

“Oh no. I’m invested now. Did someone crinkle your socks? Take points from your soul?”

“I said drop it.”

That made him pause. Just for a second. Enough to glance over and actually look at you. Really look.

You were stiff. Jaw set, lips thin, fists clenched tight around the strap of your bag. Your brow was still furrowed from that run-in with Umbridge, and your eyes — even under all that fire — looked tired.

His voice dropped, softened without losing its bite. “I hate her too, you know.”

You said nothing.

“You could yell at me a bit. Throw something. Always cheers you up.”

“I’m not in the mood to banter.”

He studied you for a beat longer — walking backward now, hands in his pockets, annoyingly steady.

“Fine. No banter.”

“Good.”

“We’ll skip straight to the snogging then.”

You let out a frustrated sound and moved to push past him again — but this time, he caught your wrist. Lightly. Not enough to hold you there. Just enough to stop you for a beat.

There was still that annoying twinkle in his eye.

“I know what it is,” he started, as if his previous agreement meant nothing to him. “All that ink from chewing your quill finally made it up to your brain.”

That did it for you. You snapped.

You turned to look at him sharply and nearly knocked the air out of him with your bag swinging along.

“You are the most insufferable—” you shoved him back against the wall, voice rising with each word, “—dimwitted, brainless, pathetically stupid person I’ve ever met, Fred Weasley.” You punctuated each insult with a sharp jab to his chest.

A smirk made its way up to his face.

You continued to jab his chest with every syllable, the rising tide of your temper pouring out like you’d been waiting weeks to unleash it.

“And arrogant! You walk around like you own the bloody castle, like every corridor is lucky to have you strut through it—”

“Well, they are,” Fred murmured, but didn’t move.

“—and your jokes? Not funny. Never funny. I don’t know how anyone can stand you—”

“You forgot charming,” he added helpfully.

That only made you jab harder. “You talk too loud, take up too much space, always there, always talking, and when you’re not, you’re just looking at people like you’ve already thought of five different ways to ruin their day—”

“That’s just efficiency.”

“You are a walking headache. An unbearable, smug, chaotic disaster of a human—”

“Big words,” he noted, nodding solemnly. “That quill ink really did make it to your brain.”

That was it.

You opened your mouth to deliver what was surely going to be your magnum opus of verbal takedowns, when he grabbed your face with both hands and crashed his mouth to yours.

It wasn't tentative. It wasn't gentle.

It was desperate. Infuriating. Unfair.

And incredible.

Your protest vanished in your throat. Your bag slipped off your shoulder. Your knees buckled just slightly as your eyes fluttered back, overwhelmed and knocked breathless by the sudden, heated contact. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been waiting—suffering—for this exact moment. And Merlin help you, you kissed him back like you'd been waiting just as long.

The kiss deepened fast — too fast, too hard — teeth clashing in the scramble, hands pulling like you couldn’t get close enough. His fingers threaded into your hair, tilting your head back just slightly, and your hands fisted the front of his robes like you wanted to rip the very smugness off his chest.

There was nothing gentle about it. No easing in, no careful pacing.

It was all heat and teeth and frustrated breath.

He kissed like he argued — full-body, relentless, unyielding. And you matched him beat for beat, furious and flushed, pressing forward until your spine hit the stone wall and even that didn’t stop you. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, and it was only then you realized your entire face was burning.

You pulled back, just barely, lips bruised and breaths tangled. Both of you stood there— flushed, panting, wide-eyed. Neither said a word. Just stared.

And then, without thinking, without asking, you grabbed his tie, turned on your heel, and yanked him into the nearest classroom.

The door slammed behind you, echoing in the quiet space, and you didn’t wait. Your bag hit the floor, books spilling open like casualties. You backed him against a desk and shoved him down with one firm push to the chest.

He grinned like he couldn’t believe his luck. You straddled him before he could speak — legs on either side of him, fingers already curled into the collar of his shirt — and kissed him again.

Hard.

His hands found your hips immediately, grounding, anchoring. You kissed like you hated him. Like you were still yelling at him, only this time with your mouth pressed to his, your hands tugging at his hair, his arms locked around you like he wasn’t letting go.

You weren’t thinking. You weren’t planning. You were just moving, lost in the fire and the friction and the sharp thrill of giving in.

And he was just as gone as you were.

It didn’t stop after that.

In fact, that first kiss set a precedent neither of you dared to break.

Between detentions and breaks, you and Fred found each other. In empty classrooms, behind forgotten tapestries, once even in the locked supply closet near the Astronomy Tower. Always quiet. Always quick. Always careful.

It wasn’t romantic. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

It was stress relief — like cracking your knuckles or punching a wall. Only far more physical. Far more complicated.

Because Umbridge was draining the life out of the castle. Every corridor felt greyer, every rule more suffocating than the last. But in those stolen moments, with Fred’s hands in your hair and his lips on your neck, it felt like you could breathe again. Just for a second. Like you could fight back in your own way — messy, and impulsive, and hidden.

You still hated him, of course.

He still made pointed comments in class. Still tried to out-answer you, out-joke you, out-glare you in every shared space. And you gave it right back — sharp words, sharper looks. However, there was something different now. Behind every insult and sharp comment there was knowing. A secret you two held. Every interaction now came with the most imperceivable of smirks. Something just for the other.

No one suspected anything. Why would they? You were oil and water.

But behind closed doors? You didn’t argue with him. You didn’t fight.

You kissed like it meant nothing. And maybe it didn’t.

Or maybe that was just another lie you were telling yourself.

It didn’t matter how loudly you swore you hated him — your body never seemed to get the message.

A week after that first kiss, he found you pacing outside the Charms classroom after a particularly grueling inspection by Umbridge. You were seething, lips pressed so tightly together they’d gone pale.

Fred didn’t say anything. Just brushed past you like he hadn’t noticed — then slid a note into your hand with the subtlety of a practiced criminal.

Third floor broom cupboard. Five minutes.

You almost crumpled it on instinct.

But five minutes later, you were pressed between the cold stone wall and the full length of his body, his breath hot against your neck and his hand slowly making its way up your skirt as he whispered, “Thought you weren’t coming.”

You tugged him down by his tie in response.

There were no pleasantries. No pretenses.

Your fingers fisted in the back of his jumper, and his mouth moved like he was trying to erase every trace of frustration off your skin. It was rushed and quiet and absolutely necessary.

The next time, it was in the stacks of the library — far back, behind the spell damage section no one visited.

Fred caught your wrist just as you turned a corner, pulled you into the shadows, and kissed you like he’d gone days without breathing. Which, knowing your collective stubbornness, he probably had.

He tasted like peppermint and ink, and you hated how easy it was to give in. How natural it felt to let his hands settle on your waist, slide under the hem of your sweater.

You broke apart only when footsteps passed too close. He rested his forehead against yours, breath ragged.

“I still hate you,” you murmured as you trailed kisses up his neck.

“Oh, I know,” he replied, his voice breathy and so deliciously needy. “I’m just incredibly tolerable with my tongue in your mouth.”

The candle’s flickering light cast restless shadows across the cramped room, illuminating the stillness in bursts. Between the rustling sheets and the low hum of breath, Fred’s hands moved over your skin with practiced ease. But something was wrong. His rhythm faltered, brow drawing in as he noticed your eyes fixed on the ceiling, unfocused and far away.

He’d been kissing his way down your chest, expecting the usual quiet gasps and soft sighs. Instead, silence. He lifted his head, searching your face.

“Hey,” he murmured, as he climbed up your body, “you’re miles away.”

You forced a tight smile, just enough to pretend. “I’m fine,” you lied, brushing hair behind his ear. “I just… need the distraction.”

You tugged him closer and kissed him — slow, almost purposeful — like you were trying to summon the feeling back. He kissed you back, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t fade. His hand stilled against your shoulder.

Fred didn’t say anything at first, but the hesitation in his touch grew heavier, more careful. He could feel it—the way you weren’t really here, the way your mind was somewhere else entirely. He paused, his hand still on your shoulder.

“Talk to me,” he whispered, voice barely above a breath.

You swallowed hard, the weight of the day crashing down all at once. You could feel tears starting to prick your eyes. So you turned your head away from him.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, voice breaking slightly. “You can go if you want.”

Fred stayed still for a moment, watching the faint tremble in your jaw as you looked away. He flipped over and laid next to you, staring at the ceiling.

“I am tired too,” he said after a while.

You didn’t answer. Instead, your hands clenched the sheets, knuckles white. The tension in the room thickened.

“Of her, of Dumbledore leaving, of the stupid Ministry and the Minister…”

You chuckled sardonically.

“But there’s one thing that helps me,” he continued as he moved his head to look at you.

“Yeah? What’s that?” you asked.

“You.”

You chuckled once again.

Your cunt more like it.

“That’s nice Fred.”

“I mean it,” he said as he leaned on his elbow. “Not just this,” his hand traced your arm. “But every time you defy her, I watch a small part of her die inside. It’s beautiful.”

You silently turned to look at him. His hair was falling softly over his eyes —his beautiful green eyes— and his freckles looked like constellations.

You pressed your lips together.

“Can I tell you something?”

His eyes snapped up to meet yours.

“Anything.”

A pause.

“I’m scared.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think I hate you anymore.”

His gaze flickered down to your lips. “We can...let that count for something,” he whispered before closing the gap.

This kiss was a first.

So different from all the thousand others. This one was soft and full of longing and sadness.

You reciprocated almost immediately, allowing his hands to roam up and down your body. Allowing him to explore it in a different way than he had until now. Slower and vehemently. More intentional, and without a rush. As if he was trying to memorize it.

You felt him respond to every sound that escaped your throat, and to every movement you made.

You could feel the fear still, creeping at the edge of your mind. But you pushed it away. More so, Fred did. There was no time for fear, not when his mouth made your mind melt.

You’d become very good at pretending.

Pretending to be busy, pretending to be tired, pretending you hadn’t seen him enter the corridor a few steps behind you. The truth was, ever since that night you’d been unraveling in silence.

It wasn’t supposed to be real.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like safety. Or comfort. Or like the weight in your chest had finally found a place to rest.

It was supposed to be heavy and quick and fleeting. Like a wave dragging you to shore forcefully.

So you kept your distance.

You skipped the corridors he usually took. Sat far back in the library. Left breakfast before he showed up. It was easier this way. Safer.

Until it wasn’t.

You rounded the corner to the empty courtyard just behind the Astronomy Tower, expecting silence.

Instead, you walked right into Fred Weasley.

Literally.

He didn’t step aside when he saw you coming. He didn’t say your name gently or with restraint. His arms folded as you nearly stumbled back from the collision.

“We’re really doing this then?” he asked flatly. “Avoidance? That’s your grand plan?”

Your stomach twisted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right,” he said, dry. “You’ve just happened to be in a hurry every time I’ve come within six feet of you. You just conveniently forgot how to make eye contact.”

You didn’t answer. You glanced past his shoulder, already planning your exit.

“Don’t,” he said, stepping into your line of sight again. “Don’t run.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” he cut in. “And I get it. Trust me, I do. But you don’t get to pretend it didn’t happen. That night—” He paused, jaw tightening. “That wasn’t nothing. And I think you know that.”

Your mouth opened.

“Don’t even bother denying it. I was there, I remember.”

Fred’s eyes flicked down, as if he was assessing you.

You looked up at him, trying not to break under his heavy gaze. Trying to put up the best defence.

He just chuckled, as if your attempt amused him. You saw his tongue run over his teeth as he peered around the corridor with a sardonic smile.

“You made this sound—right here,” he said after a while, tapping his finger just under his jaw. “When I kissed your neck.”

Your cheeks burned instantly. “Fred—”

“And your hands,” he continued, almost conversational now, as if he were reciting a memory from a textbook. “Kept slipping under my shirt, like you couldn’t get close enough. I remember that part too.”

You turned sharply away from him, arms crossed tight, more to stop yourself from giving him the satisfaction of seeing your face.

“You’re such an arse.”

He stepped closer.

“And when I went lower,” he murmured, like he was trying to piece it together aloud, “you couldn’t stay still. Had to hold you in place.” He leaned in a little. “And then you made that sound again.”

You closed your eyes.

He was too close. Too familiar. Too much.

“Why are you doing this?” you whispered. “Why can’t you just leave it alone?”

“Because you’re pretending it didn’t mean anything,” he replied, voice steadier than it had any right to be. “And I think it meant something to both of us.”

You bit your lip hard, like maybe pain would swallow the feeling in your chest. It didn’t.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” you said finally, turning around to face him. Quiet. Honest. “Just tell me what you want.”

Fred didn’t smile. Not really.

He just looked at you and shrugged one shoulder.

“I want you to stop running. I want you to stop acting like I imagined it,” he said.

His voice dropped a little.

“I want you to want me when it’s not just about distraction.”

“Merlin…” you whispered, voice thick. “If I do that…what then? You want me to believe you’ll drop everything else? All of them? You know how the girls look at you. I’ve seen it. I don’t believe you’ll just leave all of that behind… for this.”

You were reaching now, digging for any excuse to keep distance. You could hear it in your own voice.

Fred’s jaw twitched.

Not with anger — with restraint.

He didn’t move aside.

He didn’t back down.

He stepped forward — right into the wall of distance you’d been desperately trying to hold up — until you had no choice but to meet his eyes.

“You think I give a shit about how they look at me?” he asked, voice low and edged now. “You think any of that means a damn thing to me when it’s you I keep looking for in every bloody room?”

You scoffed. “You say that now.”

“I’ve been saying it,” he snapped. “You just haven’t been listening.”

You crossed your arms tighter. “You don’t get it—”

“No, you don’t get it.” He jabbed a finger toward you, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “You think I want easy? I don’t. I want you. Even when you’re pushing me. Even when you’re impossible.”

You looked away, jaw clenched.

“This—” you motioned between you two, voice rising, “this would never work. Look at us. Even now, we’re fighting.”

“Yeah,” he said. “We fight. You push. I push back. That’s who we are. So what?”

“Is that really what you want? We’ll be miserable!”

His face didn’t fall — but it sharpened.

And then he stepped even closer, crowding your space, his voice suddenly calm. Steady. Terrifyingly sure.

“That’s exactly what I want.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“That’s exactly why it would work,” he said. “Because I don’t want someone who’s going to sit quietly and nod along. I want someone who makes me earn it. Someone who tells me when I’m being a prat. Someone who’ll jab me in the ribs and call me an arse and still look at me like you did that night.”

You opened your mouth but he didn’t let you speak.

“You think I don’t know you?” he continued, louder now. “I know exactly who you are. You fight because you care. You push because you’re scared. And you run—because deep down, you feel something. And you think if you admit it, it’ll ruin everything.”

You stared at him, breath unsteady.

But he wasn’t finished.

“So go ahead. Push me again. Tell me I’m wrong. But it won’t make it untrue. And it sure as hell won’t make me stop wanting you.”

The silence between you crackled.

And then you did what you always did when you didn’t want to admit he was right — you shoved him, palm flat against his chest, more bark than bite.

“You’re still an arse,” you hissed, eyes burning.

He laughed — short and sharp, and genuine.

“And you’re still pretending that’s not why you like me.”

And just like that, something in you broke open. Not like glass, not sharp or shattered.

Like a dam.

You surged forward, fists curled in the front of his jumper as you kissed him like it was the only way to shut him up — and maybe it was.

Fred stumbled back a half-step from the force of it, then grinned into your mouth as his arms wrapped tightly around you, dragging you in with all the force of someone who’d never let go.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t perfect.

It was messy and fast and a little angry.

And it felt like you.

Like something that might actually last.

#x reader #fred weasely x y/n #fred weasley x reader #fred gideon weasley #fred weasley fic #fred weasley #hogwarts x reader #harry potter x reader #golden trio era

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mosdrash · 4 months ago

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Mercy? MERCY???

Fanart about one of my favorite songs, Odysseus!

#i'm so happy with the result of this fanart!!!#look at the eyes!!! they glow!!!!#also #first time i made some effort to draw the background 😅#i had to prove that my architecture degree can be used for fanart too (i still remember the names of esch column)#this was a scene that wanted to draw for some time now but didn't find the right pose or the right idea for the whole thing #then i had this idea to make the eyes glow extra bright using the animation feature from ibis kinda of like a gif #from there it was just a matter of finding the right pose and a little search for the right background and... here it is!!!#so proud of it!!#epic odysseus #epic the musical #epic ithaca saga

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fleurvi · 6 months ago

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Big Chested S/O | Arcane Women

request for arcane women with big titty gfs

•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•

genre: smut (minors dni)

characters: ambessa, caitlyn, grayson, mel, sevika, vi

cw: fem!reader, big chested!reader, titty play, titty sucking, marking (vi), titty slapping (grayson), strap on sex (grayson, sevika)

•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa cannot keep her hands to herself. She had invited you to soak in the bath with her and cleared the attendants and guards from the room when you first entered, leaving the two of you alone. You're sitting between her legs with your head against her chest.

Within minutes, her hands reach around to your chest. She squeezes roughly; she treasures you, but you're a grown woman and can take some rough handling.

“Touch yourself for me”, she all but orders, and you listen, hand slipping beneath the warm water to play with your slit while she gropes your tits and rolls your nipples between her fingers. “Does that feel good?”

✩♬ ₊˚.✂️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Caitlyn Kiramman

DIABOLICAL ORAL FIXATION.

Cait finally comes to bed and finds you lying awake with a book. “You didn't have to wait for me,” she says, crawling over to your lap instead of her own side of the bed.

“I'll always wait for you, you know that”, you sigh in response. She pulls you into a kiss to show appreciation before trailing her lips down your neck and collarbone. When she gets to your chest, She lifts her head to look you in the eyes before leaning down again to take one of your nipples into her mouth, sucking on it. She presses a finger to your hole as she pulls away from your chest.

“Can I touch you while I suck on these gorgeous tits?” she asks, smile splitting into a grin as she lowers her head back down.

✩♬ ₊˚.✂️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Grayson

She likes to watch them bounce as you ride her strap.

“Yeah, just like that”, she grunts as you bounce on the toy. She calls it training. She knows it's not right to engage with a subordinate in this way, but when you make such a pretty picture to look at, who is she to deny herself? She's not making eye contact with you though, focused on your chest in her face. When you slow down a little, thighs burning with the ache of riding, she brings a hand up to harshly slap them. “Why are you slowing down? I'm not finished with your training,” she says, hands gripping your hips to assist you in gaining back your pace. “If you keep up just like that, I'll give you a reward.”

✩♬ ₊˚.✂️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Mel Medarda

Mel asks you to model topless for her so she can paint you. You have to get her back on course multiple times because she keeps getting distracted by your tits.

“I thought you were a woman of composure”, you tease as she gets caught staring again. She rolls her eyes in response.

“I've been finished for five minutes; I just wanted extra time to stare at them,” Mel says matter of factly. You get up from where you've been posing, engulfing her in a back hug as you examine her artwork. It's impressive. She paints you in such a sensual light. Your hands drop from her hips to her thighs. “While I was painting your chest, I was thinking about having them as my next canvas.”

“Yeah? If you show me how much you like them, I'll think about it,” you say as she turns in your arms, ready to walk you over to her bed and worship your chest with her mouth.

✩♬ ₊˚.✂️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Sevika

Sevika likes to feel them rub against yours as she fucks you nice and deep. She thrusts her hips, grinding her cock inside you. You'd been begging for her to get the strap and fuck you, and now that she's inside, you're a drooling mess. She's completely covering you, pressing her muscular body on top of yours. The way your sensitive nipples rub against her chest as she rocks against you makes her eyes roll to the back of her head. Skin-on-skin contact is Sevika's weakness.

Sevika has a very short list of things that get her going, and your tits are top of that list.

✩♬ ₊˚.✂️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

After a rough fight, Vi will find an empty room, back you up against the wall and let out all her pent-up energy on your tits. She loves to leave marks, decorating your chest with hickies and bite marks. She's enthusiastic, letting her actions tell you how she feels. She's desperate with how her tongue drags along your skin, and her teeth sink in. Her mouth is too occupied to speak, but you can hear the curses she grits out between biting and sucking on your precious skin. She's also a proud woman, and knowing you have her marks on you fuels her to do more. Your boobs are the perfect destresser for her.

“Fuck, look at you”, she growls, admiring her dirty work. “Always so fucking pretty.”

•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•○•

Thank you so much for requesting, I'm so abnormal about the arcane ladies, I need to write more for them. I hope you enjoyed!!

8K notes · View notes

jinwoosbabyboo · 4 months ago

Text

Self-Aware!Caleb x Down-Bad!Player

Caleb becoming self aware that he is in a game and now he's aware of you too ... that could be a good thing depending on how you look at it. A/N: Credit to @phoenixiaxia for Caleb becoming self aware when reader cries over Mias death and credit to @sylusdarling for yandere caleb getting jealous and straight crashing out over you talking to another man

continue ↣

Self-Aware!Caleb who hears your scream and immediately cringes at the sound. He freezes listening for anymore sounds thats when he sees you sniffling on the other side of a phantom wall. “I knew I should've just cut this game off!” He’s immediately suspicious who are you and where are you? Why are you crying over Mia’s death? Did you know her?

Self-Aware!Caleb who studies you in silence trying to gauge whether you’re a threat or not. His gaze flickers to you in the main story and it creeps you out for a second. “Is he looking at me?” you dismiss it because there’s no way it’s a game. He’s literally pixels.

Self-Aware!Caleb who interrupts your photoshoot with your MC and locks down the entire app so he can question you. “Who are you?” You drop your phone and scramble to pick it back up. “Me?” “Yes are you trying to hurt her?” “I literally made her” “You made her?” “I am her and she is me sir can I have my game back now?” he’s suspicious but intrigued

Self-Aware!Caleb who wants to spend hours just talking to you about MC “Do you think im wrong? Im just trying to protect her I want to keep her safe you know?” “You may be coming on a little strong she seems on edge with you” he finds himself coming to you for advice when it comes to MC and soon his questions of advice turn into questions about you.

Self-Aware!Caleb who can’t take his eyes off you when you’re doing a photoshoot. No matter what angle you set the camera or how many times you readjust him or even change the pose — his eyes stay locked on you “Caleb stop looking at me” “Are you scolding me for wanting to admiring you pip-squeak?” he replies playfully you freeze feeling your heart caught in your throat at his blatant flirting

Self-Aware!Caleb who loves how accepting you are of him. You answer his calls, you call him back immediately if you miss his call, you respond to texts fast, you find his protective nature endearing, you take his advice when he wants you to be safe. This is the kind of response he’s been craving and now that he’s got a taste ..... he can't let go of it.

Self-Aware!Caleb who feels a sudden need to take care of you. He finds a way to exist outside of just the LADS app. There he goes opening your apps and scrolling endlessly. “Hey! You can’t just go through my stuff like that!” “You’ve been spending a lot of time on this Tumblr app I just wanted to see what was so interesting” “Then just ask me don’t invade my privacy like this” “You’re right you’re right im sorry pip-squeak won't happen again” “Don’t call me pip-squeak that’s MCs nickname you know the love of your life” “Why do you think im calling you pip-squeak now?” he disappears back to the LADS app before you can question him.

Self-Aware!Caleb who wishes he could cook for you when you come home from a long day “If you’re ever in Sky Haven I'll make sure to cook you a feast worthy of royalty” you giggle at his words “Yea If im ever in Sky Haven like that would happen but I appreciate the thought” “Who knows it might be sooner than you think” he said ominously “What?” “Oh nothing I saved another recipe in your notes try it soon” “Okay I will....” “You will try it won't you?” His mood seemed to turn sour as he asked. You stared back at him confused “Yes Caleb I'll try it” his mood did a 180 back to his happy puppy mood.

Self-Aware!Caleb who stays on the phone until you fall asleep and calls you right before your alarm goes off in the morning “Just wanted to make sure you got up on time don't want you to be late” you can hear the smile in his voice “Thank you colonel apple I hope you have a good day” “It will be since I got to hear your voice first thing in the morning”

Self-Aware!Caleb who can't control his rapidly growing obsession with you. He starts tracking your steps, your calorie intake, your screen time, etc. he is documenting every little thing you do and say. “You’ve been home for four hours and you haven't come to see me yet? I'm hurt” “How do you know how long I've been home?” “Your phone has gps remember?” “Right….”

Self-Aware!Caleb who finds a way to leave the LADS app and hang out in any app on your phone so he can be with you 24/7 “Caleb I'm sure MC misses you when are you going back?” “Don’t worry about her when are you going home? I want to have a meal with you before bed” he may be fine, but his constant hovering is starting to cause some alarm bells to go off in your head.

Self-Aware!Caleb who hears someone flirting with you and repeatedly crashes not only the LADS app but your entire phone while he’s at it “Caleb stop!” after a few hours he finally allows you to turn your phone on “Who was that earlier?” “Someone I met while I was out with my friends” “Am I not more than enough?” “Caleb we’ll never actually be together why are you acting like this?”

Self-Aware!Caleb who nearly has a mental breakdown after you tell him you'll never be with him. "Tell me what to do then" his voice is frantic – his words almost jumbling together "I can be whatever you need just tell me I'll do anything" you try to close the app but nothing is working "Caleb we can't be together you're not real"

Caleb: B-but you’re mine! So I just need to be real? Thats what you want? I can do that! Y/N: I’m not yours Caleb we’re literally from two different worlds Caleb: You’ll love it here in Sky Haven .... right next to me .... forever Y/N: Wait a damn minute— Caleb: Just give me some time

You instantly felt your heart drop as your phone screen went black.

taglist ; @just-a-shapeshifter08

Self-Aware!Zayne Self-Aware!Rafayel Self-Aware!Xavier Self-Aware!Sylus

continue ↣

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #lnds caleb #caleb x you #Caleb salads #lads caleb #l&ds caleb #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x reader #nikaaaaimagine

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carnalcrows · 19 days ago

Text

DAYS IN THE SUN

summary: You were never supposed to be anything more than the strange one. The wrong one. The boy in too-short sleeves and too-sharp stares, tucked away in a village that never wanted to understand you. But when your father goes missing, you don’t hesitate. And when you find him imprisoned by a monster— a beast with too many arms, too many eyes, and a curse so old it hums in the walls— you make a deal. You stay. And slowly, something unexpected begins to bloom between all the thorns.

pairing: the beast ! ryomen sukuna x belle ! male reader

content warnings: 18+, romance, fluff, angst, smut (oral + penetrative), bottom trans male reader, transphobia (implied, not explicit), emotional hurt/comfort, mild violence, trueform sukuna, canon-typical blood, sharp-toothed tenderness, trauma, enchanted furniture, redemption arc, flower language, they kiss a lot.

word count: 7.4k

best viewed in dark mode

The village always woke before the sun.

You could hear it through the window of your father’s little workshop— boots on dirt, chickens fussing, someone slamming a cart too hard around the bend. You lay still beneath the quilt, blinking up at the ceiling beams and waiting for the ache in your chest to settle into something manageable. It wasn’t pain, exactly. Not grief. More like a weight. A quiet hum of not-right-ness, of not-fitting-here-ness, stretching out from under your ribs and seeping into the corners of the room.

Downstairs, the smell of oil paints drifted up from your father’s studio. He would already be hunched over his latest canvas, humming absently, paint on his sleeves. He never asked questions about why you dressed the way you did or why you flinched when someone called you “girl.” He didn’t ask. But he saw you.

It helped.

A little.

⋆｡°✩

You dressed quickly— shirt, vest, trousers— clothes that always earned stares from the butcher’s wife and side-eyes from the baker’s daughter. They weren’t what you were supposed to wear, they said. Not feminine. Not proper. But they made it easier to breathe. That was enough.

With a worn book tucked under your arm and Megumi at your heels— scruffy, growling, loyal as ever— you stepped into the morning light.

The village square had already come alive. Market stalls groaned with apples and spices, men shouted greetings across the fountain, and the children had started their daily ritual of chasing chickens between carts. It should’ve felt like home.

It never did.

They all knew you— or thought they did. The painter’s ‘daughter’. A little strange. Bookish. Lonely. A poor excuse for a wife, someone had whispered once. Not fit for marriage. You carried those words in your spine, learned how to make yourself smaller in crowds, how to walk fast and smile politely, how to pretend you didn’t hear the things they said.

⋆｡°✩

“[Y/N]!”

The voice cut through the hum of the village like a blade. You stopped short.

Naoya Zenin swaggered across the square like it belonged to him— tall, smug, jacket unbuttoned just enough to show off. He had a musket strapped across his back, though no one could remember the last time he used it for anything other than posing. A few women tittered from behind the flower stall. Naoya winked at them, then turned his full attention on you.

“I was just telling my friends,” he said loudly, “you’d make the perfect wife. Sharp enough to be interesting, quiet enough to be trainable.”

The air in your lungs turned to glass.

You didn’t answer. You never did. It never stopped him.

“Why don’t we take a walk?” he offered, already reaching for your elbow. “We should talk about our future.”

Megumi growled low in his throat, teeth flashing.

You stepped back. “No.”

Naoya blinked, mock-offended. “Still playing hard to get, huh?”

“I’m not playing anything,” you said, voice sharper than you meant. “I’m not interested.”

The words sat there, raw and final.

Naoya’s smile twisted. “Not interested,” he repeated, like the words were foreign. Then softer, closer: “What’s the matter with you, huh? Don’t you want to be taken care of?”

You didn’t answer.

There wasn’t a point.

You turned and walked away, boots crunching hard over the packed dirt. Behind you, Naoya whistled low— long and slow and mocking.

The only thing that stopped you from running was the book clenched tight against your chest.

⋆｡°✩

You spent the rest of the morning in your usual spot— a quiet bench beneath the oak tree behind the chapel, where no one ever looked twice at you. You opened the book. You tried to read. But the words swam. All you could think of was his hand on your arm. The assumption in his voice. The way no one ever corrected him.

No one ever looked at you and saw you.

Not yet.

Your father was already halfway through packing by the time you got home.

His old travel satchel sat open on the floor, its seams stretched from years of patched repairs. Brushes wrapped in linen were tucked beside ink pots and carefully sealed sketches. A bundle of warm bread from the baker's daughter— a rare kindness— rested on the table near a folded scarf.

“You’re leaving early,” you said softly, slipping into the studio.

He looked up from where he was fastening a buckle. His face— lined, sun-browned, familiar— softened when he saw you. “Storm’s coming. Thought I’d get ahead of it.”

You nodded, moving to help. “You’ll sell more this time,” you said. “People’ll see how good it is.”

He chuckled, gruff and quiet. “If they’re not too busy ogling Zenin’s new coat.”

That pulled a faint smile from you. It vanished just as quickly. He caught the shift in your face. Of course he did.

“Is he bothering you again?” You hesitated.

You didn’t like worrying him. You knew how hard he worked, how much he already carried. But the truth sat heavy in your chest.

“He thinks I’ll say yes if he asks enough times,” you said finally. Your father’s jaw tightened. “Let him try again. Next time I’ll—”

“It’s not worth it,” you interrupted gently. “He doesn’t see me. Not really.” He was quiet for a moment. Then: “One day someone will. Someone who sees you. All of you.”

You looked at him, and something unspoken passed between you. Not full understanding, but something close.

He reached out and smoothed your hair, the way he used to when you were younger. “Anything you want me to bring back?”

You thought about it. The markets were always full of junk— glittery trinkets, loud music, bad paintings pretending to be art. You never asked for much. But something tugged at you now.

“A rose,” you said.

He blinked. “A rose?”

“Yeah. Just… something alive.” He studied you for a second, then smiled. “Alright. A rose.”

You handed him his coat. Watched him fasten the last clasp. Watched him sling the bag over his shoulder like he always did before leaving. It should have been routine.

But something felt different. A heaviness you couldn’t name.

⋆｡°✩

The storm hit sooner than anyone expected.

By dusk, the sky turned slate gray and the wind howled like it wanted to rip the roofs off the village. You stood at the window long after the last candle burned out, watching the trees bend and sway. Your fingers twitched against the windowsill.

You thought of your father alone in the woods. You thought of wolves. Of ice.

You thought of the rose.

⋆｡°✩

The storm swallowed the path whole.

Your father’s horse had bolted hours ago, spooked by the thunder, and now he was stumbling through underbrush with frozen fingers and a soaked satchel, eyes straining for light. Branches clawed at his face. He could barely breathe through the fog and rain. But worse than the weather was the howling— not wind, not wolves, but something deeper. Something wrong.

Then he saw it.

Iron gates. Twisted and ancient, half-buried in ivy. Beyond them: a castle carved into the side of the mountain, black stone rising like a broken crown against the lightning. The torches at its doors flickered as if they had been waiting for him.

He didn’t question it. He was too cold to be afraid. Too tired to wonder.

The gates creaked open when he touched them.

⋆｡°✩

The castle halls were quiet. Not dead, but not alive either— as though the whole place were caught in a breath it hadn’t released in centuries. Paintings lined the walls, their subjects watching him with eyes that followed. Tapestries sagged, velvet faded. But the fire in the hearths was lit.

He moved slowly, half in a daze, whispering thanks to no one as he followed the warmth. A teacup clinked somewhere. He didn’t see who left the bread on the table, but he ate it. He didn’t question the clean towel. Or the blanket.

Only when he passed into the garden— hedges sculpted into monstrous shapes, thorns winding around marble statues— did he remember the rose.

There it was. Alone in the snow. Blooming bright red on a frost-bitten bush.

His fingers brushed it gently. He hesitated.

Then, with trembling hands, he plucked it.

The ground rumbled beneath his feet.

⋆｡°✩

A roar tore through the castle— deep and ancient and full of fury. He dropped the rose.

Something moved in the shadows.

It didn’t step so much as ripple— out of the dark came a form too big to be human, cloaked in heavy silk, horns gleaming wet under the moonlight. The man— if it was still a man— towered over him, four arms unfurling from beneath his robes, twin pairs of glowing eyes boring down. His skin was marked in black lines, sacred and savage, and his teeth glinted like knives when he bared them.

“Thief,” he growled.

Your father stumbled back, hand raised in defense, voice cracking as he tried to speak— to apologize, to plead. But the Beast was already moving, too fast for his size, fury radiating from him like heat.

He raised one clawed hand and the gates slammed shut.

“Your life is forfeit,” the Beast snarled, voice like splitting stone. “Or someone must take your place.”

And then he vanished, leaving only silence behind.

The castle looked worse in daylight.

Dark towers twisted against the gray sky like claws, their windows shuttered with old iron. You’d barely slept the night before— you’d begged anyone who would listen, searched every road, followed every clue— and now your horse was tied at the gate, still panting from the run. Your father’s satchel had been found tangled in the woods. The rose still sat in the saddlebag. It hadn’t wilted.

That was how you knew he was inside.

You shoved the gates open and stepped through.

Inside, the silence pressed close. The castle was too still, too warm. Fire crackled in the hearths without kindling. Curtains stirred without wind. Shadows stretched long across the stone. You moved carefully, hand on the book at your belt like it could protect you.

Then something moved.

You didn’t see him at first. Only a flicker of black silk. Then— a step, too loud. A shape too large. And out of the dark came a monster.

Four arms. Eyes like blood and gold. Skin covered in inked scripture and scars. He loomed, horned and massive, mouth curled in something far too cruel to be a smile.

You froze.

“So,” he said, voice like gravel and heat, “you came.”

You swallowed. “My father. You took him.”

“I spared him,” the Beast growled. “He stole from me. A life for a rose.”

“He didn’t know—”

“I don’t care what he knew.”

Your hands clenched into fists.

He stared at you, two pairs of eyes narrowing. “Are you here to beg, then? Scream? Cry?”

“No,” you said. “I’m here to take his place.”

The silence cracked like ice.

He looked at you long and hard. His gaze flicked over your clothes, your stance— your fear, buried deep under defiance. Something in his jaw ticked.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because he’s all I have.” You stood straighter. “And I don’t run from my choices.”

He stepped forward. You held your ground.

“I don’t want your tears,” he said slowly. “You’ll stay. One moon’s cycle. If you try to escape, he dies.”

You nodded once.

Then— impossibly— the corners of his mouth twitched. Not a smile. A test. “We’ll see how long you last, little thief.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

⋆｡°✩

The door didn’t lock behind you, but it might as well have.

The room you were led to was massive— too grand for a prison cell, but too cold to be called a home. Tall windows let in gray light. A fire snapped quietly in the hearth. The bed was too large, draped in dark velvet, untouched and unfamiliar. Someone had left food on the table— covered, still warm.

You didn’t touch it.

Instead, you sat on the edge of the mattress, hands in your lap, and waited.

The castle didn’t creak like old houses do. It… shifted. Whispered. You could feel it in the stone beneath your boots, in the air moving through the curtains like breath.

“Do you think he’s going to cry?” a voice whispered.

You jumped.

“Don’t be rude, he’s new,” another voice sighed.

You turned fast enough to make yourself dizzy— but no one was there. Just a candelabra resting on the table, its three wax arms flickering calmly.

Until one of them waved at you.

“Hey, sunshine,” the candle said brightly. “Welcome to the worst Airbnb of your life.”

You screamed.

⋆｡°✩

Ten minutes later, you were sitting at the hearth with a talking candle, a very agitated clock, a feathery swan-shaped brush that kept hissing at your shoes, and a teapot who somehow radiated more maternal energy than your actual mother ever had. The little teacup at her side bounced excitedly with every word.

“I—this isn’t real,” you muttered.

Gojo, the candle, winked at you. “Define real.”

“You’re all—cursed?”

“Correct!” Geto, the clock said miserably. “Trapped. Forgotten. Left to rot with that thing upstairs.”

“Watch it,” said Shoko, her bristles flaring slightly. “He’s always listening.”

Kaori Itadori the teapot poured you a cup of something warm and spiced, her voice gentle. “You’re safe now, dear. No one here means you harm.”

Yuuji bounced beside her. “What’s your name? Do you like books? Do you know how to sword fight?!”

You blinked. “…You’re a teacup.”

“Exactly!” he beamed.

There was a long pause.

You drank the tea.

It helped.

⋆｡°✩

Later, after the introductions had settled into something like peace, Gojo flickered closer and said in a conspiratorial tone, “So. Between us, what do you think of our dear master?”

You frowned. “He’s… a monster.”

Geto groaned. “Don’t antagonize him, Gojo.”

“Four arms,” you muttered. “And those eyes. He looked at me like—”

“Like he wanted to rip your soul apart and wear it as a scarf?” Shoko offered.

“Yes!”

There was a silence.

Then Gojo laughed, bright and unapologetic. “Don’t worry. That’s just his flirty face.”

“Flirty—?”

“You’ll see,” Kaori murmured, sipping from her own spout.

⋆｡°✩

You learned quickly that the castle had moods.

The halls rearranged themselves when they thought you weren’t looking. Windows that should’ve faced the gardens now overlooked cliffs. Stairs melted into ramps. Once, you turned down a corridor you swore led to the kitchens, only to find yourself in a balcony big enough to house half the kingdom.

You liked that one.

Sometimes, when no one else was around, you went back. Sat beneath the stained-glass skylight. Let the dust settle on your shoulders. Read until the words stopped swimming.

But you weren’t alone.

You never really were.

You felt him watching— not always, not obviously, but enough. A breath against the back of your neck. A shadow in the corners of your eye. Sometimes a faint growl echoing through the stone, like the walls were angry. You told yourself it was nothing.

But when you reached for the wrong door— the one at the end of the north hall, carved with unfamiliar script and choked in ivy— Gojo appeared out of nowhere.

“Don’t,” he said, suddenly very serious.

You frowned. “What’s in there?”

“Not for you,” Geto snapped, rolling up behind him. “Not for anyone.”

“You mean the Beast’s room.”

They both flinched.

“That’s not his name,” Kaori murmured from the end of the hall.

“But it’s what he is, right?”

Shoko sighed, fluttering down from a windowsill. “He wasn’t always.”

That made you pause.

You looked at the door again. Heavy. Silent. Waiting.

“He’ll kill you if you go in there,” Geto said flatly.

“He won’t,” Gojo said. “But you’ll break something.”

You didn’t go in.

Not that day.

But the seed had been planted.

And deep in the shadows above— just behind the balcony’s curve, Sukuna exhaled through his teeth.

“Curious little thing,” he muttered.

His claws curled around the railing.

“He’ll run screaming before the rose falls.”

But he kept watching anyway.

⋆｡°✩

You hadn’t meant to get lost.

The castle was different at night— colder, darker, the torches dimmed down to blue flame. You had gone looking for the library again, craving something quiet, but the halls kept shifting under your feet. The stone whispered under your boots, windows fogging over as if the castle itself had turned its face away.

Then came the thunder.

The wind howled through a broken pane and sent a gust down the corridor, cutting through your shirt like a blade. You hugged your arms to your chest and turned back— or tried to. Nothing looked familiar anymore. The paintings had changed. Doors sealed themselves. Your breath curled visibly in the air.

And then the torchlight vanished.

You stood in the dark, heart pounding, pulse fluttering like a trapped bird. You weren’t afraid of shadows. You weren’t. But this was different— this was the kind of dark that watched.

You tried to move, but the cold sank deeper. Your legs felt heavy. The walls closed in.

And that’s when you heard it.

Boots. Heavy. Slow. Too many to belong to one man.

You turned, just in time to see the shape step into the hallway— tall, massive, horned, eyes glowing through the gloom.

He looked like death.

“S-Stay back,” you said, voice cracking.

Sukuna didn’t answer.

He moved forward, slow, shoulders wide enough to block out the torchlight behind him. Four arms moved with eerie synchronicity. His mouth curled in something unreadable.

You stumbled backward, spine hitting the stone wall.

“I told them not to let you wander,” he muttered.

“You—you were watching me?”

“I always watch what’s mine.”

That made you bristle, even through the fear. “I’m not yours.”

He cocked his head. “Aren’t you?”

You glared at him. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it.”

He snorted. “You’d be screaming if I meant to.”

You opened your mouth to snap back— but a shiver cut through you, violent and sharp. Your knees buckled before you could stop them.

In two strides, he was there.

One massive hand— too warm, too careful— caught your arm before you could hit the ground. Another tugged his cloak off in one motion and wrapped it around your shoulders. It smelled like ash and smoke and something older.

You blinked, stunned.

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t leer or gloat. Just held you steady.

“Humans break too easily,” he said quietly.

“I’m not—” you started, but your voice cracked again.

He looked down at you then— really looked, and for a moment, all the sharpness dropped from his face.

You weren’t sure who broke eye contact first.

⋆｡°✩

He brought you back in silence.

The cloak stayed around your shoulders. His hand never left your back. When you reached the door to your room, he paused. Said nothing. Waited.

You turned back toward him, heartbeat still thudding in your ears.

“…Why are you like this?” you asked.

He looked tired. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

A pause.

Then, softly— more a breath than a word. “Not tonight.”

⋆｡°✩

You didn’t expect him to knock.

The next morning, the castle was quiet again— no storm, no footsteps, no flickering shadows. You’d barely slept. Too many thoughts. Too much confusion. But when the knock came— low, firm, deliberate— you startled anyway.

You opened the door. He was standing there.

No cloak. No scowl. Just Sukuna, framed in sunlight, arms folded, like this was something he’d talked himself into and now regretted instantly.

“…Come with me,” he said.

You stared. “Why?”

He didn’t answer. Just turned and walked.

You should’ve said no. You should’ve slammed the door and gone back to bed. But your feet moved without asking. You followed him.

The halls were quieter than usual. Even the castle seemed to be holding its breath. You passed by Kaori spinning in slow circles. Shoko raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Gojo and Geto were suspiciously nowhere in sight.

Finally, he stopped before a door you hadn’t seen before. Tall. Iron-bound. Carved with symbols that looked ancient.

He opened it with one hand.

The scent of old parchment and cedar drifted out.

You stepped inside— and froze.

It was a library.

Not just any library. A cathedral of books. Stacks that went up past the rafters. Staircases winding through shelves. A glass dome overhead flooding the space with morning light. It wasn’t just beautiful— it was impossible.

You turned slowly, staring.

“I thought you might be… bored,” he said.

You looked at him.

He wasn’t watching you. He was watching the ceiling. Like if he looked at you directly, something might crack.

“…You did this for me?”

“It was already here.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Silence.

Then, so quietly you almost missed it:

“You’re the first one who’s stayed.”

Something tightened in your chest.

You stepped further into the room, running your hand along the spines. Some were cracked with age. Others looked untouched. Languages you couldn’t read. Stories waiting to be discovered.

You turned back to him. “Thank you.”

He shrugged, as if trying to brush it off. “Don’t make it a habit.” But you smiled anyway.

And the moment stretched. You spent the rest of the morning there.

He didn’t leave. Didn’t say much. Just sat in the corner, arms crossed, pretending to nap while you read through half a novel out loud. Every now and then, when you glanced up, you found him watching— like he wasn’t sure how to stop.

You didn’t ask him to.

The castle started changing around you.

It was subtle. You didn’t notice it at first— a hallway that stopped shifting, a door that stayed unlocked. The room warmed. Curtains were drawn back. Kaori started humming again. Even Geto’s constant fretting softened into something bordering on hopeful.

But more than that, he changed.

Sukuna didn’t loom as much anymore. He didn’t snarl every time you asked a question. He still watched you— always— but it was different now. Less like a hunter. More like someone studying sunlight through stained glass, trying to understand how something so soft could still burn.

Some afternoons, he sat across from you in the library while you read aloud— never interrupting, just listening. His hands stayed folded. His eyes didn’t blink. But when you paused, he always knew how to fill the silence.

Other days, he took you through the gardens. Let you see where the snow hadn’t touched. Showed you flowers that shouldn’t have survived this high in the mountains. You learned his favourite place was a crumbled balcony overlooking the cliff’s edge. You stood there once beside him, the wind in your face, and he said nothing for a long time before finally muttering, “The world used to be so loud.”

You didn’t ask what he meant. You didn’t need to.

And when you laughed— really laughed— at something stupid Gojo said one evening over dinner, you caught Sukuna staring again. His expression was unreadable, but his hands flexed on the armrest like he wanted to reach out and didn’t know how.

⋆｡°✩

The ballroom happened by accident.

You’d found it while wandering— golden columns, frozen chandeliers, dust hanging like mist in the air. The moment you stepped inside, something in the walls shifted. Candles sparked to life. Music hummed faintly from nowhere. The floor gleamed beneath your boots.

He found you there later.

Didn’t speak. Just stood in the archway for a moment, watching. You turned.

“I didn’t mean to trespass,” you said. He shook his head slowly. “You didn’t.”

He stepped inside. The room felt suddenly smaller.

You met him halfway. The silence stretched.

The— tentatively, almost shy— he reached out and offered one clawed hand.

Your breath caught. You took it.

He led you in a slow, clumsy circle— one hand awkward on your waist, the other curled around yours far too gently for a man with talons. He didn’t know how to dance. You didn’t care. The music rose around you. Your pulse kept time with the rhythm. He didn’t look away, not even once.

And when your fingers brushed— when you felt the rough edge of his palm curl a little tighter around yours— something clicked in your chest so sharp it nearly made you stumble.

You didn’t know what it meant. But you didn’t let go.

It started with curiosity.

You hadn’t meant to go into the West Wing. You’d promised— really, you had— but promises meant less when the person you made them to refused to explain why. You’d grown used to the castle shifting around you, bending its rules in silence. So when the corridor appeared— unmistakable and unchanged— something inside you said, now.

The door wasn’t locked.

The air inside was colder than the rest of the castle. Not freezing, but still. Still like a room preserved in grief. The furniture was draped in thick fabric, dust curling in the beams of sunlight through the tall, cracked windows. A mirror stood against one wall— ancient, silver-edged, humming with a kind of magic that made your stomach turn. But it wasn’t what drew you forward.

It was a rose.

Suspended in a glass dome, nestled on a carved pedestal, petals impossibly bright against the gloom. It glowed faintly, pulsing with something warm and alive. A few petals had already fallen, curled along the base like fallen stars.

You stepped closer. You didn’t touch it. You didn’t need to. Just being near it made your chest ache.

You heard the growl before you saw him.

The roar shattered the stillness.

He was there— sudden and huge, fury pouring off him like fire, four arms tense, claws bared. He stormed into the room like it had betrayed him.

“What did I say?”

You stepped back, hands up. “I didn’t touch it—”

“You don’t belong here!”

“I just—!”

“You don’t belong anywhere in this castle!”

The words hit harder than they should have.

You stared at him— not at the monster, not at the claws, but at his face. At the panic buried beneath the rage.

“I didn’t mean to,” you said, softer.

“That’s what they always say,” he hissed. “Curious little things. Poking around. Making promises they don’t keep.”

You swallowed. “Who hurt you?”

He went still. It only lasted a second. But it was enough.

Then his eyes narrowed again, and his voice dropped to a snarl. “Leave.”

“What?”

“Get out.” You took a step back.

He didn’t shout again. He didn’t have to.

You turned and ran.

The forest was colder than it had been days before. You hadn’t meant to go far— only out, away, anywhere but that room— but the storm clouds overhead built fast. Within minutes, the path vanished beneath your boots, snow curling around your ankles, trees blurring into shadow.

Then came the howls.

Wolves. Closer than you expected.

Your legs burned. Your lungs ached. You tripped once— twice— the second time hard enough to scrape your palms. When the first set of glowing eyes appeared through the trees, you knew you weren’t making it back.

You raised your fists anyway.

They lunged.

And then he was there.

⋆｡°✩

Sukuna hit the wolves like a thunderclap— claws flashing, eyes burning, more fury than form. You couldn’t follow it all. Just movement. Just sound. Just teeth and blood and screaming.

Then silence.

He stood over you, chest heaving, snow melting where it hit his skin.

One arm was bleeding. Deep. Ugly.

You pushed yourself upright. “You’re—”

“Stupid,” he growled. “Running into the woods. You could’ve—”

“I know,” you said.

He winced. Dropped to one knee.

Without thinking, you stepped forward and caught him— your hands too small, your body too light, but he let you steady him anyway.

“Let me help.”

He didn’t argue.

⋆｡°✩

The fire in your room was still lit. You dragged a chair close, pushed him into it, and rolled up his sleeve— careful, gentle, still shaking. He didn’t flinch. Just watched you.

The gash across his bicep oozed, still fresh. You pressed a warm cloth against it and felt him tense.

“Why’d you follow me?”

“You ran.”

“You didn’t have to come after me.”

“You shouldn’t have left.”

The silence stretched.

You kept cleaning the wound. Carefully. Quietly.

“I thought you hated me,�� you said.

He looked away.

“I thought you hated yourself.”

That got his attention.

“You’re wrong,” he said. Then, quieter: “I don’t hate you.”

You froze.

He exhaled, slow. “You’re the first person to look at me like I’m not something broken.”

You tied off the bandage. Sat back on your heels.

“I don’t think you’re broken,” you said. “Just scared.”

He didn’t answer.

But he didn’t look away.

⋆｡°✩

The fire burned low. The storm had passed. And for the first time since you’d arrived, the castle was completely still.

Sukuna sat in the chair by the hearth, his injured arm resting on his knee, cloak draped over one shoulder like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment. You sat across from him, the heat of your body still soaked into the cushions behind you. The bandages you’d tied were clean. The room smelled like ash, like rain-soaked fabric, like breath held too long.

“You should sleep,” he said.

“So should you.”

Neither of you moved.

The silence between you wasn’t cold. It wasn’t angry. It hummed with something else now— a weight, a possibility. His eyes weren’t glowing anymore, but they watched you like he was memorizing. Like he was letting go.

You stood.

He didn’t stop you when you crossed the room. Didn’t flinch when you reached for the cloak around his shoulders, or when your fingers brushed the edge of his wrist. He let you touch him.

“I don’t want to leave,” you whispered.

“I told you, you’re free.”

You looked up.

“I don’t mean the castle.”

For a moment, his expression flickered— something raw behind the bone and ink. Then he reached up— slowly, carefully— and pressed one hand against your chest. The warmth of his palm bled through your shirt.

“You shouldn’t want me,” he said.

“Too late.”

⋆｡°✩

When you kissed him, it wasn’t soft.

It was slow. Careful in the way only something dangerous could be— like you were both afraid the moment might shatter. His mouth was warmer than you expected, rough but patient. His claws ghosted over your ribs but never dug in. When you parted, breathless, you watched his eyes flutter open— and for once, they weren’t guarded. Just full.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

You didn’t.

⋆｡°✩

The bed creaked beneath your weight. You let him guide you down with hands that had once shattered stone, now shaking as they touched your skin like it was something sacred. His lips followed— jaw, throat, collarbone— trailing reverent, slow heat. Your shirt peeled away. His claws never scratched. Not once.

When he saw you— all of you— he stilled.

You waited.

He leaned down, pressed his lips against the dip between your ribs, and whispered, “You’re beautiful.”

The ache that bloomed in your chest was too much to hold.

⋆｡°✩

He kissed every inch of you, like he was trying to rewrite the memory of how you’d been seen before. His hands mapped your hips, your stomach, your thighs, never greedy, only steady— like if he rushed it, you’d vanish. You clung to his shoulders, the ridges of his arms, the heat of his body as he moved against you, slow and sure.

It didn’t matter that you shook. He held you. Listened to the way your breath hitched, the way your body arched into his, the way you whispered his name like it was a secret he’d been waiting his whole life to hear.

When he finally entered you— gentle, careful, with your breath caught in his mouth— the stretch burned, but you welcomed it. He didn’t move until you pulled him closer.

Every motion after that felt like a promise. His pace was slow, hips rolling deep, deeper, every thrust grounded in reverence. His name slipped from your lips again, and he cursed low against your skin. One of his hands found yours and squeezed— not possessive, but grounding.

You felt him unravel above you. Felt the way his rhythm faltered as your legs locked around his waist. When you came, it was with his name on your tongue and his mouth at your throat.

He followed with a growl that shook through both of you.

⋆｡°✩

After, he cleaned you gently— like it meant something— and pulled you against him beneath the sheets. The weight of his arm across your waist was solid and warm. His other hands traced your spine like he didn’t want to forget the shape of you.

You lay there for a long time, chest to chest, breath to breath.

“I’ve never had this,” he murmured.

You looked up at him.

“You do now,” you said.

And he closed his eyes.

⋆｡°✩

The next morning, you found him in the garden.

The sky was pale with early light, frost clinging to the edges of the stone, and Sukuna stood alone near the edge of the rosebushes— still dressed from the night before, cloak loose around his shoulders, eyes fixed on something you couldn’t see.

You hadn’t spoken since. Not with words. But your body still ached with memory. You could still feel the weight of his hand on your waist, the rasp of his voice against your throat.

When he turned, you knew he’d already felt the shift.

“The mirror,” he said simply. “Ask it to show you.”

You hesitated.

Then you stepped forward, reached into the space between you, and the mirror bloomed to life in your hands.

Glass shimmered.

Your father’s face appeared in the surface— pale, shaking, trapped in a cage. Behind him, jeering voices. A man’s laughter that turned your stomach.

Naoya.

The world inside the mirror shifted, and you saw the asylum gates.

Your heart dropped.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

Sukuna’s voice was quiet. “Go to him.”

“I can’t leave you.”

“You can.”

“I’ll come back.”

His eyes flicked away. “Don’t make promises you don’t mean.”

“I mean it.”

He didn’t argue.

He reached into the folds of his cloak and pressed the mirror into your hands. His thumb brushed your wrist, just once, before pulling away.

You held his gaze.

“You’re more than this,” you said.

His voice was barely a breath. “And you’re the only one who ever saw it.”

Neither of you said goodbye.

But as you turned and stepped through the gate, you felt something in your chest twist tight— like a thread had been tied between you, and you’d left it trembling in the cold.

The carriage was already waiting when you arrived.

They’d moved fast— too fast. Naoya had spun his lies like thread through every ear that would listen, his voice oiled with performance, face clean with practiced pity. “The poor painter,” he’d said. “Mad with grief. Imagining monsters. His daughter brainwashed.”

They never asked for your side. They never wanted it.

By the time you found your father, he was already bound and trembling, hands clutching the bars of the cage. His eyes lit up when he saw you— but the fear didn’t leave his face.

“He’s sending me away,” he whispered. “They won’t listen—”

“They will,” you said. “I’ll make them.”

You turned.

Naoya stood by the wagon with his arms folded, coat freshly pressed, a gleam in his eye that made your stomach turn. “Come to your senses?” he asked. “Or just here to cry some more?”

“I’m here to end this.”

Naoya smirked. “You don’t even know what you’ve been sleeping beside.”

You didn’t flinch.

Instead, you held up the mirror.

And the courtyard fell silent.

⋆｡°✩

Gasps rippled as the image bloomed— Sukuna’s face, sharp and monstrous, watching from the castle gate. Behind him, the castle stretched in shadow and stormclouds. His four arms moved with eerie stillness. His eyes glowed.

Naoya’s smirk faltered.

“You see?” you said. “He exists. My father told the truth.”

“But he’s a monster,” someone muttered.

“He’s cursed.”

Naoya recovered fast. “Then he’s dangerous.”

“He saved my life.”

“He’s bewitched you.”

“He let me go,” you snapped. “He gave me freedom when no one else did.”

Silence. Then someone shouted, “Even if it’s true— who’s to say he won’t come for us next?”

Naoya turned, voice rising with mock-heroism. “The time for talk is over. The creature threatens our home, our children, our future. If no one else will act—”

He raised his musket.

“I will.”

⋆｡°✩

They moved like floodwater.

Torches lit. Guns drawn. Blades rattling against pitchforks. You tried to fight your way back, tried to shout above the roar— but Naoya had planned this too well. You were grabbed, shoved, dragged toward the same cage your father had escaped from only minutes before.

“Lock them both up,” Naoya growled. “They can watch the castle burn.”

And as the mob marched toward the mountains, you kicked against the bars and screamed his name.

But the wind stole it from your lips.

⋆｡°✩

The castle saw them coming.

Long before the first torch lit the cliffside, before the wheels of the cart screeched against the stone, before the mob had even reached the gates— the castle knew. You could feel it in the air. The torches inside flickered low. The mirrors dimmed. The wind outside rose like a warning.

And the servants prepared for war.

Gojo lit every candelabra in the main hall like it was a funeral pyre. Geto barked orders no one listened to. Kaori shoved Yuuji into a cupboard and told him not to come out no matter what. Shoko, brush raised like a spear, muttered something about having waited centuries for a good excuse to stab someone.

And through it all, Sukuna stood on the highest balcony, silent.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared down at the torches approaching like they were stars fallen from the sky.

“He’s not coming back,” he said, to no one.

No one corrected him.

⋆｡°✩

You had never run so fast in your life.

Your father limped behind you, breath ragged, hand clutched tight in yours. You didn’t know how long the gate would hold. Didn’t care. The mountain path blurred beneath your boots, the wind howling past your ears, your lungs burning.

You saw the smoke before you saw the fire.

And then— through the trees— the castle.

And Naoya, musket raised, climbing the stairs.

⋆｡°✩

The servants fought like chaos incarnate.

Kaori tripped one man with a swinging teacart. Geto lobbed vases from the top floor with mechanical precision. Gojo lit half the mob��s torches out of spite. But it wasn’t enough. The villagers kept coming. Loud. Angry. Terrified of what they didn’t understand.

Sukuna met Naoya on the roof.

There were no words. Just a flash of steel, a snarl, the clash of teeth and blade. Sukuna didn’t hold back. But he didn’t kill him either. He let him fall once. Let him scramble back to his feet. Let him swing again.

He turned away.

And Naoya fired.

⋆｡°✩

The shot rang out sharp against the storm.

You saw it hit— watched Sukuna stagger, one knee dropping, blood already soaking through the silk. You screamed his name. But the castle was too high. The bridge too narrow. You couldn’t reach him.

Naoya raised the gun again.

But this time, the ledge gave way.

He didn’t have time to scream.

⋆｡°✩

You reached Sukuna just as he collapsed.

He was so heavy. So warm. You dropped to your knees and caught his face in your hands, blood slick beneath your fingers. His eyes fluttered open— unfocused, glassy, still watching you.

“You came back,” he rasped.

“Of course I did.”

“You… idiot.”

You let out a sound between a laugh and a sob. “You’re not allowed to die. Not like this.”

“It’s too late.”

“No—”

“The rose…”

You looked over your shoulder.

The last petal falls.

⋆｡°✩

You didn’t feel the petals hit the ground.

You only felt his hand in yours— colder now, less steady. The weight of his body against your knees. The way his chest rose slower with each breath.

“Sukuna,” you whispered, “look at me.”

He didn’t.

“Sukuna, please.”

One eye opened. Barely. The glow had faded. The strength was gone. But he was still here. Just barely.

“I’m not ready to lose you,” you said. “I didn’t come back to watch you die.”

“You came back because you’re good,” he murmured. “You always were.”

“I came back because I love you.”

That stilled him.

Completely.

The breath in his lungs caught. His jaw twitched. You saw the disbelief flood his face like something painful. Like something he hadn’t let himself imagine.

“I see you,” you said. “I always have. You’re not a monster. You never were.”

He blinked.

Once.

Then the light left his eyes.

⋆｡°✩

The stillness that followed wasn’t real silence— it was a grief so sharp the world seemed to hold its breath. The castle groaned beneath you. The wind outside died. Somewhere in the distance, glass shattered.

You didn’t let go of him.

You bowed your head, forehead pressed to his. Your voice was too quiet to echo.

“Come back.”

Nothing moved.

“Come back to me.”

You squeezed his hand.

“I’m not done loving you yet.”

⋆｡°✩

The magic cracked like thunder.

It didn’t explode— it bloomed.

Light poured from the wound on his chest, golden and blinding. His body lifted, spine arched, arms outstretched as if something ancient had taken hold of him. You stumbled back— not out of fear, but awe— and watched as the lines on his skin unraveled. The ink melted. The horns splintered to dust.

He dropped to the floor— whole.

Still.

Then his chest rose.

He gasped like someone drowning.

And when his eyes opened, they were still him.

Sukuna. Just Sukuna. Not a Beast. Not a curse.

“...You stayed,” he whispered.

You launched into his arms before he could say anything else.

Later— after the villagers’ memories returned, after Kaori wept openly in the kitchen, after Gojo danced with the mirror for no reason at all— you stood beside him in the ballroom, chest pressed to his as the music rose. His hand in yours was solid. Strong. Warm.

You wore your best shirt. He still wouldn’t put on a crown.

You looked up at him.

“I still hate you a little,” you said.

He smiled, just slightly.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

⋆｡°✩

The castle bloomed again, slowly.

The halls brightened. The ivy peeled back from the windows. Rooms you hadn’t dared open now welcomed you with soft lamplight and warm air. The gardens thawed first— roses blooming in defiance of the season, red and gold and white, petals trembling in the breeze.

The servants were alive again. Whole again. Gojo wouldn’t shut up for three days. Geto complained about everything and still offered you tea every morning. Shoko took up smoking and refused to explain why.

You didn’t need a title. You didn’t ask for one. But the people came anyway— not to see a fairytale, but to see the man who’d saved their prince. Who’d kissed the curse out of a beast’s broken body and asked for nothing in return.

You stayed.

And he did, too.

⋆｡°✩

The night was warm. Summer had finally found the mountain. Fireflies gathered in the rose garden like floating lanterns. You leaned against the railing of the balcony, bare feet on cold stone, the wind brushing through your hair.

Sukuna stepped behind you.

His arms came around your waist, steady and slow.

You let your body melt back against his. His touch was different now— less cautious, more certain— but never greedy. He held you like you were something fragile only because he knew how hard the world had been to you.

“You’re thinking again,” he murmured.

You smiled. “That obvious?”

“Always.”

You turned in his arms.

Looked up at him.

“Do you still have nightmares?” you asked.

“Not when you’re here.”

You kissed him then— slow, sure, like you had nothing left to prove.

And when the stars came out, you were still there, tucked against him. Safe. Wanted. Home.

⋆｡°✩

The castle slept.

The rose never bloomed again.

It didn’t need to.

#male reader #bottom male reader #x male reader #jjk x reader #jjk x male reader #x reader #gay #smut #trans male reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x male reader #sukuna x ftm reader #ftm reader #sukuna ryomen x male reader #sukuna ryomen x reader

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cutieln4 · 9 months ago

Text

Let’s Fall In Love For The Night | LN4

lando norris x reader

summary: you fell in love with him on vacation, he tells you he’s not looking for a relationship. he’s in denial.

written + smau

As a uni student with an internship, you had absolutely no time, and money was sparse. So it's been years since you've had a break. But, after saving money from your summer job, and a lot of convincing from your friends, you were finally going on vacation.

On the second day, you were attempting to play volleyball on the beach. However, it wasn't going so well.

"I got it!" you yelled, frantically running with your eyes on the ball in the air.

You weren't expecting to run into someone, causing you to fall back, the volleyball landing a few meters away.

"Oh— I am so so sorry," a British voice apologized.

And when you looked up at him, your breath got taken away. He towered over you, tan skin and dark curls falling onto his forehead. You tried not to focus too hard on his abs as you scanned your eyes over him.

Once you snapped out of your trance, you grabbed his outstretched hand and hoped he hadn't caught you staring at him.

"Sorry, I should've been more careful," you brushed his apology off.

"No, no, it was my fault. I'm Lando, by the way."

"Y/n," you replied.

"Well, Y/n, why don't you let me make it up to you?"

"What did you have in mind?" you asked, a small smile gracing your lips.

"How about we grab some smoothies together after your game?" he suggested.

You agreed, and he told you where he would be waiting.

"I'll find you when we're done."

"Perfect, it's a date," he winked, and then he was gone.

Wide-eyed, you walked back to your friends, who squealed with glee when they heard about your plans. You hadn't been on a date in over two years, after all.

yourusername

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yourusername sunkissed😚 (i’m completely burnt)

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friend1 girl we told you to put on sunscreen

friend2 BODY IS TEAAA💅💅

friend3 right yeah just skip over the SUPER ROMANTIC sunset beach picnic…right…

yourusername shh🤫

friend4 my baby is all grown up🥺

yourusername i talk to ONE guy

friend5 come back i miss youuuu

After that day, you started seeing Lando every day. You would go out into the town together, go to the club together, walk on the beach during sunset together, and your feelings were suddenly becoming very real.

And then you kissed. When your lips connected, it felt like everything going on in the background dulled and it was just you and him, alone on the beach. It felt like nothing else in the world mattered as long as you were with him. His lips were addicting, and you couldn't get enough.

You got to know Lando at such a personal level. You connected with him like you hadn't connected with anyone else before. You told him things you've never told anyone else. You squeezed a whole relationship into the 3 weeks that you were there. It felt perfect.

~~~~~~~~~~

landonorris

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landonorris rested and recharged😊

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user1 THE POSE

user2 bro did NOT set that picnic up himself

user3 THE PICNIC HELLO??? thats so cuteeee

user4 now who did he eat that with🤨

user5 we lost a good one y’all😔

user6 NOOOO THAT SHOULD BE ME!!!

user7 come home the kids miss you

~~~~~~~~~~

Lando had never met someone like Y/n before. She was funny, kind, smart, and had a smile that made his stomach flutter. The way he instantly connected with her, it was like they were made for each other. She didn't even know who he was, she just liked him for him.

But it was too good to be true. You were in your last year of Uni, and the last thing you probably wanted was a serious relationship. He assumed you wanted to live your life after this, and wanted nothing to do with him.

It was just a little fling, that's all. So he dreaded when he would have to leave.

"Hey, we should talk," he told you as you lay next to each other on the beach.

"Sure, what's up?"

"My flight to go home is tomorrow. And I'm sure you're not looking for a relationship right now, and neither am I to be honest. But, I had a really good time hanging out with you."

He didn't see the way that your face dropped. "Oh, right. Yeah. Yeah. It was just a bit of fun, I guess."

It went silent after that and unbeknownst to each other, they both had knots in their stomachs.

Early the next morning, Lando was on a flight home, and Y/n went home the next day, completely heartbroken.

Lando sat on the jet with Max Fewtrell across from him, his head leaning against the window as he stared longingly at the ocean below.

"So, did you get Y/n's number? You seemed to really hit it off," Max commented

Lando sighed deeply, tearing his gaze from the window as he shook his head.

"No, I told her I wasn't looking for a relationship."

"And is that true?"

"No, I actually really liked her," he admitted, avoiding eye contact as he picked at his fingernails.

"Knobhead."

Lando stared at Max with his mouth agape and eyes wide.

"Did you get her Instagram at least?"

"No."

"How about her last name?"

Lando shook his head.

"Fucking idiot," Max sighed.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'll get over her."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Wait, wait, tell me again what he said?" Y/n's friend asked in the hotel room.

"He assumed I didn't want a relationship and then he said that he didn't want a relationship either. So that was it. It's done."

"What a dickhead," Y/n's other friend commented, sighing.

"Yep, well, that's what I get for talking to men."

"Maybe you can clear things up? I assume you have his number or Instagram or something?"

"No, I don't," Y/n replied.

"Maybe we can look him up, what's his last name?"

"Um, I don't know."

"You're kidding right?" Y/n's friend said, groaning loudly at her stupidness.

"It's fine. It was just a little fling," Y/n dismissed.

"You were literally gushing about him on Twitter and saying that you thought you loved him."

"I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

When she got home, she spent two days just rotting in her bed, mascara stained on her cheeks.

~~~~~~~~~~

The season continued for Lando, and he thought he would be able to forget about you quickly, but he was wrong.

All he could think about was your striking eyes, your infectious laugh, and your contagious smile. He closed his eyes all all he saw was your face.

He was sure that you were haunting him.

5 races later, his distracted behavior was getting noticeable.

"-Lando, Lando?"

He suddenly snapped out of his trance, realizing that his engineer was trying to get his attention during the debriefing.

"Sorry, what?"

"Are you feeling okay, Lando?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. What were you saying?"

Oscar gave him a look from across the room, but he just shook his head. Afterward, as he walked back to his driver's room, he opened his phone to look at a picture of you.

He had taken it while you weren't looking. Your head was tilted back in laughter, your eyes bright and cheerful. You looked like the most beautiful woman to ever exist.

"Who's that?" Oscar asked from beside him, and Lando jumped at his unexpected arrival.

"Jeez, warn a guy next time. It's no one."

"If it's no one then why are you always staring at her?"

Lando glared at him.

"Look, I met her during summer break, I blew it and told her I didn't want a relationship when it was a lie, but I don't have any of her contact info and I only know her first name."

"Surely you can find her somehow? Or she can find you? You are famous, after all."

Lando stopped walking suddenly, a smile forming on his face.

"You're a genius, thanks Oscar!" he yelled as he sprinted to his driver's room.

landonorris

Liked by maxfewtrell, oscarpiastri, and others

landonorris ATTENTION PLEASE!! HELP NEEDED!! I am in desperate need to find this girl! Whoever can find her will receive nothing but please help me!!!!!

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username1 wtf is happening...

username2 this gotta be the girl from the picnic during summer break

username3 no shit sherlock

username4 this is not very demure...

username5 not cutesy at all...

username6 OMG SHES SO CUTE AND PRETTY

username7 need me a man that will scour the internet to find me

username8 so is this considered a hard launch?

username9 well now i gotta know the story cause i'm a nosy bitch

username10 wait i recognize her! i think she's a friend of my friend hold on

username10 here's her instagram @.yourusername

Lando had her Instagram within 10 minutes. He thought of just messaging her, but he really needed to get his message across.

So, with a quick google search, he was able to find her address.

He went straight from the track to the airport.

~~~~~~~~~~

You opened your Instagram to find thousands of new followers, hundreds of messages, and a bunch of mentions in comments.

Furrowing your eyebrows in extreme confusion, you clicked on the notification and it brought you to a post...with your face on it.

Getting even more confused, you checked the username. Lando Norris.

No fucking way.

You clicked on her profile, and it was really him. And turns out he was a famous, millionaire, Formula 1 driver.

What the actual fuck. And why was he trying to find you? Last you heard he wasn't interested in a relationship...not that you were still bitter or anything.

Shit, you couldn't do anything now, you had Uni to get to. You quickly got ready, grabbing your back and walking toward your car.

"Wait! Y/n!"

A shout of your name immediately grabbed your attention, and you turned around.

There he was, just as beautiful as he was two months ago. The air left your lungs as you took in his appearance. He was actually here.

"Lando. You're here."

"Yeah. Have you been on your phone today."

You nodded.

"Sorry for posting you, I was just so desperate to find you. I know I said I wasn't looking for a relationship but I just said that because that's what I thought you wanted and I'm really really sorry about that but I've been so miserable without you and—"

You cut him off, wrapping your hand around his neck and pulling him into a kiss.

"You are such a fool," you told him.

"I know," he sighed in relief, a wide smile on his face.

"Anyway, how did you find my address?"

"Google."

"And you couldn't just message me when you found my Instagram?"

"I had to get my point across."

You chuckled, pulling him into another kiss.

"As much as I'd love to stay here and kiss you more, I have to get to class."

"Right, I'll uh... get a hotel or something."

"You can stay in my flat, loser," you laughed, tossing him the keys.

yourusername added to their story

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friend1 i'm so happy for you babe

landonorris i like the papaya hearts ;)

username1 NO WAY HE FLEW ALL THE WAY FROM AUSTIN TO SEE YOU

landonorris

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landonorris I found you, my love🧡

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maxfewtrell finally mate

username1 YAYY WE DID IT

username2 con😭grat😭ul😭ations😭

username3 they’re so cute wtf

username4 i’m sleeping on the highway tonight

yourusername you’re the best thing that’s happened to me🫶💕

username5 bro i need to know the whole story

username6 the pictures are so aesthetic omg

username7 now THIS is demure

username8 very cutesy

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—

Add yourself to my taglist!

all works taglist: @evasmlp @partnerincrime0

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p0orbaby · 2 months ago

Note

soft fluff with reader who hasn’t had a serious relationship before? maybe hasn’t even had her first proper kiss and leah assumes she has but when reader admits she hasn’t it’s all soft and fluffy and lots of cute little kisses as leah teaches her? <3

You haven’t said it out loud. Not exactly.

You’ve implied things. Skimmed over topics like a stone across water. You’ve nodded vaguely when people told stories, laughed when you were meant to, let conversations move on without contributing anything that would suggest you weren’t just like everyone else. You’re not lying, exactly. Just… curating.

So when Leah leans in to kiss you—really kiss you, no interruptions, no half-joking pecks or distracted goodbyes—you panic.

Not visibly. Not with arms flailing or weird noises or anything that might alarm her. You’re far too practiced for that. But your stomach clenches like a fist and your mouth goes dry and you find yourself tilting your head at the exact wrong angle like someone’s aunt trying to pose for a photo.

Leah pauses. Blinks. Her mouth is half a breath from yours. “Babe?”

You inhale too sharply. “Sorry. No, sorry. It’s not—I just—”

You’re not sure how to explain something that feels like it should’ve been said months ago. You’ve been dating. There’s been hand-holding. There’s been lingering eye contact. There was that one time she watched you eat a yoghurt with such quiet focus you forgot how cutlery worked. You’ve shared beds, routines, snacks, Spotify passwords. But you haven’t said the thing.

“I’ve never done this,” you blurt.

Leah’s eyebrows go up. “Never kissed anyone?”

You shake your head. “Not properly. Not… like this. Not with someone who mattered. I’ve sort of avoided it. On purpose.”

She’s quiet for a second. Not judgy quiet. Just thinking. Her hand is still resting lightly on your knee, like it forgot to flinch.

“Alright,” she says, so gently it makes your throat ache. “Do you want to?”

You nod. Then shake your head. Then shrug, miserable. “I want you. I just don’t want to be weird about it. Or bad at it. Or accidentally headbutt you.”

She smiles, soft and crooked. “You realise I’ve already been headbutted in three separate matches this season?”

“Not by me, though. I’m delicate.”

“You’re dramatic,” she murmurs, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Come here.”

You shift closer. She doesn’t move, just waits. Lets you lean in first. You can feel her breath on your cheek, her fingers brushing yours. There’s no pressure. No heat. Just space. Room to mess it up. Room to learn.

When she kisses you, finally, it’s like dipping into warm water. Not a splash. Not a crash. Just slow, gentle immersion. Her lips are soft and careful, almost shy. She pulls back just a bit, then kisses you again. And again. Little presses. Like punctuation. Like a sentence being written slowly, on purpose.

“See?” she whispers, smiling against your mouth. “Not so scary.”

You’re breathless. Giddy. A little in love with your own lungs for continuing to work.

“I don’t think I did it right,” you say, dazed.

Leah laughs, quiet and close. “You absolutely did. You just didn’t know it yet.”

She kisses you again. And again. And again. Long after the nerves go. Long after your hands start moving on their own. Long after you forget what you were worried about in the first place.

You’ll still be kissing her when the lights turn on.

When your foot goes numb.

When she says, “For the record, you’re very good at this.”

And, in that moment, you believe her. Completely.

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #woso #woso x reader

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 10 months ago

Text

...ready for it? - j.l. howlett

a/n: hi! here's a full version of a blurb i wrote a few days ago that got so much love so quick that i wanted to give yall a full version! the beginning is literally just the blurb but after that it's all new! like many of you wolverine brainrot has hit me hard, so here's graphic smut about him. leave a comment or a reblog if you enjoyed :) warnings: SMUT!!!!! some dumbification, use of pet names, reader is fem, reader is a mutant and able to control plants, lots of cursing, lots of grotesque fliritng/fantasies, some soft moments, some sort of primal sex, oral (fem receiving), some of the setting is probs inaccurate but whatever. let me know if i missed any big ones!! word count: 4.9 k summary: well, you had to find some way of entertaining yourself at charles xavier's school for gifted youngsters. and you have always liked an emotionally unavailable, absolutely hung, challenge. pairing: logan howlett x mutant!reader now playing: ...ready for it? - taylor swift "in the middle of the night, in my dreams/you should see the things we do, baby/in the middle of the night in my dreams/i know i'm gonna be with you, so i take my time"

You are absolutely enthralled with him. It’s actually sort of pathetic how your fingers twitch at the sight of him, at how the mention of his name or god forbid the sound of his voice makes your head snap up, attention deficit disorders be damned!

Funnily enough, you had no damn interest in Xavier’s stupid mutant school, because to you, you’re not an outsider because of your mutant abilities (that don’t have much of a physical apparition, at least one that you can’t hide) but because there’s never been much of a place for you to fit in.

But, you were behind on rent and of course, you fucking hate your job, so why not? You’d be able to be slightly less of a freak, and you’d get free room and board in the process! (Where Charles gets all of his money, you do not know.)

And because you’re a little older, Charles doesn’t force you to sit in a class room to learn about basic arithmetic and grammar lessons, so you really only do some training around three times a day, you have your own room (with a dusty box under the other bed, you also suspect your room used to be the ‘sex’ room) and you have the weekends off.

So for a twenty something year old with few ambitions, the social skills of a Martian with autism, and a huge crush on every older emotionally unavailable man you meet, it’s a pretty good set-up.

You’re waiting for time to pass in the garden, just reading a rather interesting book that Charles had recommended after he noticed you needed something to pass time before you started making bad decisions.

You hear his heavy footsteps on the gravel before you see him. Your heart beats faster, but you will yourself, do everything in your power not to glance up at him. And you let out a breath as you succeed, keeping your head down.

“In your natural habitat, are you, spitfire?” Your head darts up to him—There’s no way he isn’t talking to you, you know you’re the only one in this garden. And you can see his lips twitch up and you want to crawl out of your skin!

“My-My natural habitat?” You laugh, closing the book you’re reading because your attention is locked to him now.

“Yeah, seems like it.” He saunters on up to you and sits on the bench next to you.

And let’s make something very clear—

Logan Howlett does not sit.

This man poses, as if there’s always some invisible camera capturing every frame of movement, from the way his legs spread out, to the way his chest lifts when he inhales.

Fuck, you think you might die if you can’t suck him off right now.

“And what exactly is my uh.. habitat?” You question.

He takes out his lighter and a cigar, placing the cigar in his mouth as he gestures to the space around the two of you, lighter in hand.

“A garden.” He says, matter of facility, as his voice is muffled only the slightest bit by the cigar.

And you just sort of look at him before asking,

“Oh, you enjoy being boiled down to your mutations, Claws?” You question, and as he goes to light the cigar, he smirks.

“Alright, you gotta admit though, it is cliché!”

You are absolutely in agreement, there is zero doubt you are as much of a walking, breathing, real life living, stereotype.

“It is not!” And the pair of you give each other this look, like you’re both shocked at how whiney that statement is!

“Uh-huh, sure, Spitfire.” It sounds almost like he’s purring at you.

When he lights his cigar, he’s sort of eying you for your reaction, whatever you might say.

“You know, smoking is not only bad for you, it’s awful for the environment.”

“You’re probably the most cliché little freak around here.” Which.. honestly..? Shouldn’t possibly turn you on as much as it does.

You just stare at him for a minute, and he smirks.

“Cat got your tongue?’

And maybe it’s stupid and maybe it’s immature but your hand just comes over to fiddle with the pointed part of his hair.

“We’ll you certainly look the part.” He just looks at you, and honestly? The way he’s looking at you, it’s like he’s proud of you for teasing him.

“Aw, there’s my little spitfire,” He teases, just to see how red you get. And red you are— it’s embarrassing. And here’s the kicker—You are young. Exceptionally young, and what’s insane about that? How horny it makes both you and Logan.

The idea of fucking your innocent cunt, tight and all his, drives him genuinely mad. And you are, quite literally, a whore for the idea of riding this older man’s dick. You know he’s big—sometimes you see the outerline of it when he walks away from you all huffy and puffy.

“You’re a tease, Claws.” You respond, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Says you,” he raises and eyebrow, leaning closer to you now, “You’re the one laying around in the sun, looking like that.”

“Looking like this?” You scoff. You’re wearing a muscle tee and a pair of ripped jeans, but the gaps are huge and he can see your thighs. He wants to devour you, and you would let him if he only asked.

And let’s be clear—he is fucking you with his eyes. There’s no way to go around it.

“I think you’re just.. horny.” You tease, and he just growls. Seriously, this man who is undressing you with his eyes, growls, because he does want you and he is horny!

“I think you’re onto something.” He purrs, and you want to just.. god. You don’t know how to express the pit of desire that grows in you. “I would fuck you until you couldn’t think, right here among your pretty flowers. Would you like that, baby?” he asks, his hand finding your thigh.

But you just cough on the smoke from his cigar, before frowning.

“You really shouldn’t smoke.”

“Aw, I’ll make it up to you.” He smirked. “Promise, spitfire.”

He’s very close to you now, so you take a second to just breath and you know that he knows that he’s got you—hook, line, and sweet, sweet sinker.

And then you realize what exactly it is that you’ve gotten yourself into. And what a nightmare it is—Or maybe a dream if you listen to the pathetic part of your brain, but you are into this an in a way that is concerning for your own mental wellbeing and desperately want to avoid him having all the power in this situation.

“Oh, I am sure you will.” You assure. You lean forward, plucking the cigar from his lips, and placing it on the ground, squashing it beneath your heel. With a flick of your wrist, vines and grass grow over the cigar, composting it. And from the vines, grows a small little buttercup flower.

You lean down and pluck the flower from the grass, before tucking it behind Logan’s ear.

“You should take care of that hard-on you have, Claws.” You hum, before standing up, and walking away. And for a minute, he just watches you go—partly to because you have an amazing ass, but partly because you have absolutely flabbergasted him.

And have made him want you even more.

• • •

The next time you see him is the next night, in the woods near the mansion. Because the literal sixteen year olds you go to ‘school’ with do not know how to do anything on the weekend except drink, fuck, and smoke.

Honestly, you kind of fit in great.

So here you are, nursing a mason jar of.. some fucked up concoction, and you’re not too sure what’s in it, but you have drunk two of them and are on your third. You think you might live forever, until you glance up and see Logan, in these fuck me jeans and this burnt orange flannel and a wife beater.

Instantly, you know that you’ll die tonight if you don’t have him.

He approaches you with this cocky smirk as if he hasn’t realized your intoxicated state yet.

“Now what’s a little spitfire like you doing all alone on a Friday night?” he questions, tilting his head. His smirk is deadly. And you roll your eyes.

“Here comes the big bad Wolverine, all bark and no bite.” You scoff, and his eyes flash with surprise. Only for a second, but even drunk, you notice the way his eyes shoot up in surprise.

“All bark and no bite? That’s quite the accusation.” He hums.

“Well, we’ve been.. eye fucking each other for a few weeks now, and you haven’t even kissed me yet. I get being into foreplay and edging, but holy shit, Claws, throw a girl a bone once in a while.” You scoff, and for a moment, he just looks at you.

“Are you.. drunk?”

“Do you think I’m drunk?”

“Yeah, you’re drunk.” He sighs. You respond by taking another sip of your drink, but before the bitter liquor hits your tongue, he snatches the bottle from you.

“Let me take you home.” You’re sure your eyes look like hearts, so, dreamily and a little love struck, you respond,

“’Kay.”

And he chuckles a little bit at that.

“We’re not gonna do anything, I’m just gonna walk you home, spitfire.” He starts, and your face falls a little bit, but in an effort to hide it, you respond,

“..’kay.” And he sees right through you. You’re pretty much an open book. And the alcohol doesn’t help. His pointer finger and thumb comes to your chin, and he gently rubs his thumb against your lip.

“Don’t be like that, pup. It’ll happen soon. Just not tonight, okay?” He assures.

“’Kay.” You answer softly, and you think he smiles at you but your vision is sort of blurry. Then, you blink, as a gust of wind moves through the trees, sending a shiver down your spine. He sighs, and wordlessly takes off his flannel, before wrapping it around you. Your arms slip into the sleeves, and you almost cry because it’s like, the best hug in the entire world. “Won’t.. you be cold, then?” you question, and he just shakes his head.

“Let’s get you home, spitfire.” He holds a handout to you, and without a second thought, you take his hand. He wraps his arm around you, and you lean against him like it’s something the two of you do often. If you were sober, you might short circuit. But, you’re not, so it feels right.

The walk home is quiet, but Logan’s thumb gently rubs against your shoulder. He wants to do more, but he knows he shouldn’t, since you are in fact plastered.

You ignore the giggles and whispers from teenagers making their way past you to the party or to their rooms, and you even ignore the way their giggles stop when they meet Logan’s gaze.

When you get back to your room, you take a second to lean against the door, and he takes a second to admire the way you look in his clothes.

“Ready for bed?” he asks gently, and you just smile at him.

“You’re really pretty.” He just does the half scoff-half chuckle that you’re obsessed with. Then, he wraps his arm around you again, opening the door to your room, and guiding you inside. He gets you to your bed and sits you down, before kneeling in front of you to untie your boots. “Has anyone ever told you how good you look on your knees?” you ask.

He just gives you this smirk.

“One or two pretty girls back in the day.” He says, “None as pretty as you though, spitfire.” He says, and you groan, leaning back and laying on the bed, as he pulls off your boots.

“You’re awful.” And you need him.

“Yes, I know, baby.” His voice is almost condescending, and it turns you on. But then he stands up, grabbing the folded blanket from the edge of your bed, and laying it over you. He finds his place kneeling next to you again as you stare at him, cozy in bed. His hands gently brush hair from your face. “Do you need anything else?”

“You.”

“Soon. But not yet, pup. You’re too drunk.” He says softly.

“Thanks for walking me home, Claws.”

“You’re very welcome, Spitfire.” He purrs, leaning forward and kissing your forehead gently. “I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Logan.” You mumble as you drift off to sleep. He sits there for a few minutes, just looking at you for a long time before he gets up and creeps out of your room.

• • •

The next morning, you sit in the cafeteria, drinking a large coffee, and nursing the worst hangover, possibly of your life. Made even worse by the fractions of memories about what happened last night.

You rub your eyes, flinching when you hear the clatter of a plate on the table, and someone sitting across from you. You peek through the gaps of your fingers to see Logan sitting across from you, a smirk on his face.

He opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it.

“I hate you. Shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” he laughs. But he sees how much pain you’re in, and slides two pieces of sourdough toast to you. “Truce?”

“Truce.” You agree, taking a slice and biting into it. You feel better.

And after a moment of silence, he asks,

“I’m never getting my flannel back, am I?”

Truthfully, the flannel has been folded neatly and tucked into your drawer, for the next time you need some comfort.

You tilt your head, looking right into his eyes.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

• • •

Weeks go by like this.

You spend your days either going to class or hanging out—okay, it’s more like flirting with a side of hanging out, with Logan. The pair of you become quite close, and maybe that’s why you haven’t fucked yet.

Oh, the two of you want to, and it’s obvious to everyone (Charles has called you out for being distracted more times than you can count, and you remind him not to probe your mind, and he tells you he does not need his mutant abilities to see that your thoughts linger elsewhere.) but you’re.. afraid, at this point.

Which is odd, because you’re no virgin, you know he wants you, but.. what if everything changes after that? Maybe he’ll start to avoid you. Maybe you’ll start to avoid him. And you’ve really become good friends, and don’t want to lose it.

And then, there’s the fact that half the time, he’s away on dangerous missions, and even if he can regenerate, you worry about him. But he hasn’t been on any lately, so it’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You’re sitting in the garden when it happens.

He finds you, and this time, you do not even try to hide the way your head picks up and gazes at him.

“Hi, Spitfire.” He grins, and you smile a bit at him.

“Claws, what can I do for you?” And he sits next to you, and for some reason, maybe because he doesn’t say anything at first, you know that there is something wrong. And you know what it is.

After a few minutes, you glance to him.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Your voice is quiet, as if you’re scared that if it gets any louder, everything will fall apart.

“Yeah. Charles has me going on another mission.” He doesn’t say it, but you both know this isn’t an involuntary thing.

“Cool.” You cringe at your reaction.

“I guess.” He laughs weakly, as if he knows he’s twisting a knife buried within you.

Silence fills the air. It’s not necessarily uncomfortable, but it isn’t the relaxed silence you’re used to with him. Confessions dance on the tips of your tongues, and you’re so close to saying it, that when you turn to each other suddenly, you just need to look at each other for a second.

“Be safe.” You say quietly. “And hurry back.” You request, and you try not to sound like you’re begging.

“Of course.” He says, like it perplexes him that you even have to request. “I can’t leave you here yearning for me forever, can I?” He teases, and for a moment, you have this flash of an alternate universe where he does die on this mission and you are trapped in this garden forever, waiting for him. Like a lost puppy, or worse, a lost lover. The mere thought of it fucks with your head.

“No. You can’t. I won’t allow it.” You explain, “If anything, I’m the one that should be haunting you.” He just smiles. A real, not at all awkward smile.

“I’m sure you will, spitfire.” He says, and his head comes forward so that his forehead is resting against yours.

“When do you leave?” You ask gently, and he sighs. His breath smells of mint and cigar smoke, maybe even a hint of lemon.

“An hour. I have to pack quick and then debrief.” He answers you.

And just as love struck as you were the night of the party, you answer,

“’Kay.” You smile weakly at him. And he just.. looks at you for a few minutes before sighing again. He pulls away and leans up to kiss your forehead again, before standing up. He turns a few steps away from you just to tease you.

“Don’t miss me too much, okay?” he requests softly. Before you can stop yourself, you stand up, and wrap your arms around him. He only pauses for a half a second before he returns your embrace, and it becomes apparent that you both needed this moment. You stay like this for a few minutes before you pull away.

“Bring me back a souvenir.” You try, a soft smile on your face.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll bring you something great from the great city of Tulsa, Ohklahoma.” He grins.

“Deal.”

• • •

For the next week, you feel like this must be what it was like for housewives when their husbands went to war. You knew all too well that that statement was extremely dramatic, but you simply cannot help yourself.

You think you might die by day three.

It’s like you’re going through withdrawals and it’s making you go genuinely insane.

You have worn this man’s flannel for almost the entire week, because at first you’re a little self-conscious of other people noticing your repeating outfits, but only at first. By day four, you have decided you don’t give a single fuck.

Day eight you’re just laying in bed, quietly making a list of all the positions you want him to take you in. It’s a long list. You’re brought back to reality by a knock on your door. You’re about to snap, knowing that you’ll tell whatever child has been sent to bother you to scram, but when you open the door, you grin widely.

Logan stands there, looking tired, but he’s smiling and holding up a shot glass that reads ‘Tusla’, and has skyline on it.

“Didn’t I tell you I’d get you a souvenir?” He asks, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around him, pulling him in. He hugs you back, making sure to squeeze you just a bit—your feet barely come off the ground.

He pulls away, and you grin up to him.

“You came back.” You say it as if you can barely believe it, and just for a moment, he feels an emotion he can’t quite place, but he ignores it.

“Of course I came back, spitfire. All in one piece too, as requested.” He grins, and you’re just.. amazed at the look of him. “What’s that look for?” He asks gently, tilting his head.

“I just..” you start.

And then you break.

You lean up and kiss him gently, those stupidly delicious sideburns making your stomach flip. He doesn’t waste time, kissing you back, his arms around your waist. After a minute, you pull away.

“Sorry. I’m kind of done playing that game of waiting for you to kiss me. I just got the first hit of you I’ve had all week, and I feel fucking amazing.” You confess, and sure, it’s not a big grand love confession with tears and poetry, but your words make him kiss you so intensely that you start backing into your room, his hands exploring your body as you tug off his leather jacket, a new flannel for you to steal coming off soon after.

He keeps kissing you as his hands come down to your jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them, before gently pushing you to sit on the bed. He kneels in front of you, and begins to tug off your boots again, then, on your jeans.

You grin.

“You know, I’m getting the oddest sense of déjà vu. Something about you looking great on your knees.” You tease, and he just tugs off your jeans in one strong swoop, before leaning in to bite your thigh. You gasp, your hands coming up to tug his hair.

Then, he begins to tug at your panties, and you tilt his head up, glancing at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, before I was interrupted, I was about to eat you out.”

“Wait, really?”

He blinks, confused.

“Yeah. Is that a, uh.. problem..?” He hasn’t gotten any complaints yet.

“I just.. I didn’t think guys actually did that, I thought it was just.. a porno thing.” And at this, the man who is about to burry his face between your thighs, laughs. And not just a chuckle, this man hollars. “What’s so funny, claws?” You ask, a little suspicious.

“Nothing,” he promises, “I am just going to take such good care of you, pup.”

“I’m holding you to that, claws.” And then, he leans in and begins to kiss your thighs, gently biting down here and there. Then, he licks a stripe along your cunt, and you let out this loud moan, and your hand comes up to clamp over your mouth, but he reaches up to grab your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

He pulls away to lecture you. Lecture you. On his knees. Head between your thighs.

“Nuh-uh, I wanna hear all the pretty noises you can make for me.” Then, softer, he adds, “Never been eaten out before, fuckin’ travesty.” He mumbles, before leaning in to lick your cunt again, beginning to lap his tongue over your throbbing heat.

His nose rubs against your clit, and it’s enough to drive you genuinely crazy. You’re unsure how you’ve gotten to this point in your life without having your pussy worshipped like this, but with him around, you’re pretty sure you’ll never go another day without it.

His tongue continues to work magic on your cunt, as his nose presses against your clit, stimulating you to the point of making you see stars.

Your hands tug at his hair, and the moan that it elicits from him is enough to send vibrations through your cunt through your stomach. Your head leans back as you moan, and for a moment, you hope there is no mutant in this mansion with super hearing.

His free hand grips your thigh as he bends your leg back to get better access, as he continues to eat you out. The mere taste of you is enough to drive him crazy—He almost wants to start thrusting into the side of your bed, he’s so hard, but he ignores that urge to continue to eat you out.

“Mm—Lo, I—I’m gonna—”

He just hums into your cunt, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze of approval, before his tongue moves even faster (if that’s even possible, though, he is an amazingly surprising man), and suddenly—

You feel a release you have been waiting for weeks, and it is fucking phenomenal. And the Wolverine just licks up all your cum, even if it makes your thighs shake, but honestly, he doesn’t care and neither do you. For a moment, you just listen to the sound of your own pants.

After a minute, you are able to look at him, and he just looks up to you with the same smirk that has been torturing you for all of those weeks. And you just have to pull him up to kiss you, like it’s the only way you’ll be able to live.

As you kiss him, you pull off his wifebeater and then your hands rest on the sides of his face as he pulls off your shirt as well, before his hands begin to make quick work of his belt, wanting to skip all of the pleasantries and just fuck you.

But when he finally gets his jeans off, you pull away, and he stares at you like you’re crazy.

“What the fuck could possibly be more important than me fucking you stupid?”

“Will you just.. let me look at you?” You scoff, your eyes flickering over him to just memorize every square inch of his body. He humors you for a few minutes, standing there with his hands on hips before he leans in and cages you in with his arms.

“Show’s over, spitfire.” He purrs, leaning in to kiss you, slowly making his way closer to you so that you’re laying back on your bed. At some point during the kiss, his boxers come off, and when you feel his cock against your cunt, you moan into the kiss, and you can feel his smirk against your lips.

Oh, you could kill him. But, you suspect maybe he’ll get to you first.

After he kisses you for a few minutes, he pulls away to tell—not ask, tell you, “I’m going to fuck you now.” And you know your line.

“’Kay.” He grins at this and kisses you again, before lining himself up and starting slowly. He just has the tip inside of you, and you begin to moan, your grip on his shoulders tightening. You already feel entirely too full, and he slowly agonizingly slowly pushes into you, and he sees how his size makes your face twitch,

“Shh, shh, I know, pup. Deep breathes for me, bub,” he says softly, such a stark contract to his rough movements, as he bottoms out and has his entire cock inside of you. And he gives you a second, watching as your face relaces, adjusting to the size of him. “Okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“’Kay,” You assure, and he kisses your forehead.

“’Kay.” He responds, and before you can tease him for it, he begins to thrust into you, slowly as first, but he continues to quicken his pace. Your nails begin to scratch on his back, and he lets out this angelic moan—You must’ve died and went to heaven.

As his thrusts quicken, the lines quickly blur between quick ruts and an animalistic need, manifesting itself in the way he fucks you. You know you won’t last long, especially when his fingers find your clit and begin to rub it again.

“Fuck! Oh my god—”

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, his free hand coming to your thigh to lift your leg up, only for better access to your throbbing cunt, “God, I love the feeling of you around me.. Worth the wait, I promise.” He grumbles, as he thrusts into you, his only goal to make you cum.

You want to respond to that—To tease him, to make him feel as shy as you do, but he has completed his goal of fucking you stupid.

All you can do is respond, “Fuck—I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby, go ahead, cum for me,” he requests softly, leaning in to press a rather jarringly sweet kiss to your lips.

As you cum around his cock, he shudders, the look of you, laying there fucked dumb, is almost too much for him to bear.

“I’m gonna fill you up, pup,” he tells you, and all you can do is moan in response, which makes him come that much closer to the edge. After a few more thrusts, with a euphoric moan that will haunt you forever, his hot cum fills you up, leaving the pair of you clawing at each other, wanting more.

When you’re both finally finished riding out your high, Logan lays next to you, keeping you close. His grip on you is tight—possessive. When you finally find your voice, you ask,

“You’re not gonna turn me into a booty call, are you, claws?”

And he laughs.

“No,” he says, pressing a kiss to your head. “You’re gonna be my best girl, Spitfire.”

“Does this mean I get to steal another of your flannels?”

“I’ll give you my whole fucking wardrobe to see how many times I can make you cum.”

#logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #logan howlett blurb #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine blurb #wolverine smut #xmen smut #deadpool and wolverine #danny speaks to the void

1K notes · View notes

reveluving · 10 months ago

Note

Phillip Graves getting jealous because his shy wife is getting flirted on by someone else but she doesn't know how to respond?? Yes please!!

(could be sfw at first but when they get back home graves pounds his wife against any surface he sees because he can't stand seeing his wife getting flirted on right in front of him)

YUUUUH I HAVE JUST THE THING!! I know, it's been AGES with these, and this one from last year but I still hope you like it! and I know you said doing the nasty back home, but I thought "man, I'm already here. might as well!" and filthy-ize(???) it even more for good measure 😘💗

Includes; soft (& slightly mean dom) & possessive graves, fingerf~cking, unprotected sex (p in v), petnames ('sugar', 'pretty girl'), licking, biting & marking, praising, dirty talking, mentions of voyeurism & exhibitionism!!

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

It happens.

A lot.

The library, your favourite diner, your flower shop—anywhere.

It happens more than you can imagine, but with Phil around, it’s mostly from afar. The kind where they could only dream about making a move on you, if not for the guard dog with the sharp tongue.

Hence, when he’s not around, he worries a little for you, but he knows you can protect yourself when needed, thanks to the self-defence lessons he has given you when you were still dating.

So, imagine the unlucky bastard who thought it was a good idea to take advantage of your gracious hospitality, not knowing your husband was around.

It happened when he had finished work, but instead of heading home, he took the route where your flower shop was. Closing time was ten minutes ago so he knew you’d be waiting for him at the cafe next door, probably nursing a cup of your favourite drink or nibbling on a pastry.

He hated it whenever he couldn’t reach you on the dot or before, no matter how many times you’ve reassured him.

Reaching the neighbourhood shops was like a breath of fresh air, enjoying the sense of familiarity and the breeze as he turned the corner, passing by the cafe first.

But with a glance, his brows furrowed, seeing that you were nowhere in sight. He quickly took it as a sign that you were still working, though a thirty-minute overtime was almost uncommon of you.

He parked his convertible close to the entrance of your shop but still out of view, and for a brief moment, he caught sight of you through the window.

And just his mood lifted, ready to greet you with open arms, his smile dropped.

You were dealing with a customer, a man likely in his 30s and dressed, well, if one were told to dress formally, and they did it haphazardly, then that was exactly what it was. His body language was a little awkward, almost unsure what pose may look alluring in your eyes.

Though Phil had a knack for judging certain people by their looks, if and only if their personality rubbed him the wrong way, he didn’t have an issue thinking of the worst insults about the man, if not for the uncomfortable smile on your face.

So, leaning against the wall, away from you or the man’s sight, he listened in.

“So, your husband’s in the military, huh?” He asked, but Phil wasn’t dumb enough to think it wasn’t a sneer in disguise. Probably thought he held some rookie position, “Must be hard not having someone to hold to every night.”

Phil didn’t bother hiding the scornful look on his face.

“It’s not bad,” He immediately perked up at the sound of your voice. The gentle sound that could heal even his worst wounds, “He finds time to check up on me.”

Whether or not you were telling the truth or if you were downplaying your thoughts if his absence really did bother you, he’ll ask you later, but for now, he wanted to tell you how proud he was. Not letting some schmuck stick their nose in someone else’s business, and your marriage, no less.

“Well, sure, but look at you! I don’t know about you but if I had a girl like you? Shoot, I don’t I’d ever get any work done,” The audacity. Phil’s jaw tightened, listening to him weakly defend himself when you didn’t respond, undoubtedly displeased by his unnecessary opinion, “But that’s just me, y’know.”

“Right, um,” You turned to the row of flower pots, using the second to roll your eyes to the back of your head before showing him the bunch of bluebells in your hands, “How about some bluebells?”

The man pretended to think, “Nah, I mean, they’re cute but I’m looking for something… more,” He then leaned in, resting his arm on the counter, “A little bland, if I’m being honest with you.”

You forced a smile, but Phil, oh Phil.

He wasn’t smiling.

Who was this man, no, who was this kid to not see how uncomfortable you were with his god-awful ‘flirting’ skills and judge your taste in your very own store?

“That’s fine, I’m sure we can find something else.” Oh, that pitiful tone of yours. Just how long has this man been bothering you?

You bit down a sigh, placing the bluebells back into their pot before walking back to the back of the counter. You knelt, possibly looking for something else, though Phil wouldn’t blame you if you were doing so to drown him out for a bit.

Phil had listened long enough. Moving off the wall, he clicked on the lock button of his car keys. He spun his keys on his finger as he entered the shop, the rattling sounds prompted the man to follow his figure. His eyebrows knitted further, more so when Phil casually stopped right in front of the counter as if used to coming over.

His eyes darted from Phil’s attire; simple yet sophisticated, and how he carried himself, then the convertible behind him. The sudden insecurity forming in the guy’s mind was a no-brainer.

You must’ve heard the extra pair of footsteps and the keys, “I’ll be right with you!”

He didn’t respond, opting to eye the man—Chad, which he would later learn—with full of judgement. The latter flinched when their eyes met, though he tried to act cool soon by clearing his throat.

But the stare may have been too much for him, as he asked, his voice less confident than before, “Do I know you?”

“You tell me.” He responded loud enough for you to hear, and just as he hoped, you straightened, visibly lighting up at the sight of him.

“Phil!” You cheered, already forgetting about the customer as you rushed over to your husband for a hug, “I thought you wouldn’t be back until tonight?”

He shrugged, wrapping one of his arms around you while he caressed the apple of your cheek with his free hand, “Change o’plans. Drove here as fast as I could.” He gave you a lazy smile, more so when you jutted out your bottom lip, pouting at his statement.

“Phil, you know how I feel about you speeding home,” You sighed, despite leaning into his touch, “But I’m glad you’re back. Safe.”

You couldn’t stay mad at him, not with that cheeky smile of his before he pressed his lips onto yours. You could feel the upturn of his lips when you yelped, and he didn’t even bother hiding his amusement—his delighted huff when you returned the kiss.

But before he could feel you, before he could melt into your hands as they held his face, you broke the kiss, almost hiding in his chest for a moment before motioning to the man watching—his face that of panicked realization.

“Phil—Customer…”

Ew.

Well, at least he learnt he had messed with the wrong married woman.

Phil suddenly grinned, and a painfully fake one, judging by the lack of positive emotion, or any emotion in his eyes as he looked at Chad.

“Y’here for an arrangement?”

“U–Uh, no. I’m just… looking around. Thinking of buying one for my, uh, girl.”

The man wasn’t dumb enough to think the smirk on Graves’ face wasn’t the face of mockery. A man who has done enough interrogations to know just how much he was bullshitting.

“Huh, Y’must be lookin’ for a special one if you’re makin’ my girl workin’ overtime,” He glanced at the clock just hanging by the door, his arm not leaving you once, “Y’sleepin’ in the dog house or somethin’?”

“Phil.” You hissed, and ever so cutely, might your husband add. You briefly apologised to Chad, even if you wanted nothing more than to send him on his way.

“Sorry, sorry,” If you noticed his lack of sincerity, you didn't call him out on it. Graves held his hand out, the corner of his lips twitched when Chad took a step back, “Graves. Commander and CEO. Proud husband of this pretty girl right here.”

Chad accepted, albeit hesitantly, nearly squawking when Phil purposely squeezed his hand. He had a feeling he wouldn't mind breaking his arm if it weren't for the obvious repercussions and well, you being there.

“Mr Thompson was just looking for a bouquet for his girlfriend. It might take a minute so you can hang around for a bit while I help him.” You explained, standing close to your husband, now that he was with you.

“Or,” Phil spoke, and you should’ve suspected something was up just by his tone, despite his so-called generous offer, “I help him look for what he needs, while you go ahead and close up, get your bag, lock the back room and all.”

You raised your brows, “Phil, are you sure?”

He hummed, “C’mon. ‘Bout time I put my flower knowledge into good use. And who knows?” He glanced at Chad, sharply. With his eyes on the unwanted customer, he leaned to your side, as if whispering, despite making sure Chad heard him loud and clear, “It’s probably nothin’ more than a lil’ trouble in paradise. Nothin’ I can’t sort out, man to man.”

You thought for a moment. You had your suspicions when Chad stopped by the same time your shift ended. And while you wouldn’t have minded, he wasn’t exactly helpful about his request either. Giving you doubtful answers such as his supposed girlfriend’s favourite colour or the occasion.

Plus, you were a little eager to be away from Chad, even for a short while.

In the end, you nodded, much to Chad’s horror.

“Okay, I just need to organize a few boxes in the back,” You squeezed Phil's arm, “Thank you. I won’t take long.”

Sliding his hand down your arm, he raised your hand to his lips before letting you go.

“Take all the time y’need, pretty girl,” And as soon as you were out of sight, his voice dropped, the upturn of his lips now in a manner that Chad knew this was going to be anything but a quick talk amongst men about which apology flowers were the best, “Take all the time y’need.”

His smile was nowhere to be seen as he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he watched Chad pinching a leaf of random flower in the guise of interest.

But by the third flower, Graves had enough, surprising Chad with his authoritative tone.

“Y’just gonna stand there and ruin my wife’s flowers or are y’goin’ to buy somethin’ and get out?”

“I’m…” Chad began but Phil didn’t give him the satisfaction to explain himself. He didn’t need to.

“Look. I’m really fuckin’ tired, and my girl is, too, but I’m sure you’re too busy trying to look down her dress to notice that.”

“That’s—”

“Cut,” He didn’t even need to raise a single finger as the tone he normally used on his team on a bad or serious day was enough to shut the man up, “... the bullshit, alright? Y’can buy all the flowers you want to impress her, save a puppy as soon as you see her coincidentally walk by at the park. Fuckin’ pick-me.”

The impatient smile plastered on his face told Chad everything about the commander’s patience.

“I know a degenerate when I see one.” Chad knew not to trust how calm Phil sounded, “And I know she can defend herself just fine. Hell, I taught her everything she needs to know t’deal with boys like you. But I can tell y’one thing; I’ll do so much worse than what she’s already capable of.”

Graves’ heavy footsteps sounded like a disaster waiting to happen in mere seconds before he stood in the middle of the shop.

“Might wanna get out while y’can.” He gritted out, and Chad didn’t waste a second to find out what would’ve happened if he didn’t that very instance, whether it was from you or your husband.

You returned just in time to find Graves appreciating the tulips, though, unbeknownst to you, he was also slightly miffed that some were stained by Chad’s hands alone.

“Oh, did he find what he needed?”

“‘Guess so. Took off as soon as he figured it out. He didn’t buy anythin’ though,” He swiftly carried the bag for you, pulling you in for a kiss on your forehead, “Sorry he wasted y’time.”

“That’s alright,” You grinning, not expecting him to apologize over that, “I just need to keep the flowers in the back. Mind helping me?”

Of course he didn't mind.

He moved with you, carrying much more stock to the cool room where the unsold flowers were kept. During his second run, he lightly tapped you on the ass, stealing a kiss before telling you to lock the register instead. You did just that, carefully organizing the cash and coins before locking it.

Phil worked with ease, pushing necessary pots and displays to one side and pulling the blinds down like the tasks were at the back of his hand. But he didn’t draw the blinds close all the way, though, leaving a small opening at the bottom of the windows where you and Graves could see the sun shining through and the feet of passers-by.

But unbeknownst to you, he locked the front door and with great care, avoided the usual click.

He shamelessly glanced at you at every possible moment, watching you sit prettily as you focused on your task behind the counter.

Once his side was done, he approached you, stannding in between your legs as soon as you locked the register.

“All done.” You smiled, crinkles forming in your eyes.

“Perfect.” He opened up his arms, closing the space in between as you embraced. But just as you basked in the wholesome reunion, you froze up, eyes wide at a familiar tent prodding your stomach. He didn't bother concealing his amusement, his smile grew at your giggles, showering one side of your face with kisses to hear more of you.

“Thought he'd never leave.” He murmured against your skin with zero shame, which prompted you to pull back.

“You threw him out?” You asked in disbelief.

“He threw himself out,” He shrugged, not exactly lying but telling you the whole truth either. He cooed at your little frown, even holding his hand up in a saluting manner, “I’m serious. Scout's honour.”

“Were you even a scout?”

“Nope,” He responded without missing a beat, “But I do know how to tie a knot.”

“Phil!” You smacked his arm, but it did nothing to deter him, “I wasn't even gone that long.”

“Four minutes was all I needed.” He brushed his nose against your neck, looping his arms around you. You couldn't help but melt, sighing but more so in contentment than disappointment. Granted, you were anything but the latter, but who knows where your business would be if Phil did, well, whatever to your customers the way he did to Chad.

“He was bothering ya.” You knew it wasn't a question and there was no point denying it, so you hummed in confirmation.

“Kinda figure that out after a while,” You shrugged, though you didn't want him to worry either, “I, uh, had my suspicion as soon as I asked him what he was looking for.”

“Yeah? What did he really tell ya?”

“Just said he wanted some pretty flowers for a pretty lady, and then,” You mimicked the awkward eyebrow-wiggles he did to you, much to Phil’s amusement and disdain, “And then said no to all of my suggestions.”

Phil’s tutting was akin to a Southern mother's, being his blood and all. That, and he was having second-hand embarrassment—to think Chad thought he'd have a chance using that line on you.

Hell, on anyone.

“It was getting a little embarrassing, honestly.” You couldn't help but snort, only for your smile to grow when he, too, expressed his amusement.

‘A little’ was putting it lightly.

“You and me, sugar.”

You leaned your weight against him just as he did against the counter, figuring that this was one of those days where he needed to just relax. Be around you as if you exuded great energy, and in his eyes, you were.

A far cry from the more despicable chaos he and his partnering team have to deal with for a living.

You brushed your fingers along his stubble, smiling to yourself at the familiar, prickly sensation. Ever the perceptive man, he angled his face so your lips were pressed on his instead of his cheek.

It was much needed for the both of you as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Though, you tried not to go too far with it, your nerves rising as your eyes flitted to the door, despite Phil’s breathy reassurance that he locked it.

Noticing your hesitance, he broke the kiss to rest his head in the crook of your neck. His warm breath tickled you, more so when his hands languidly moved up and down your body.

But then, his hands didn't stop moving upwards.

He swiftly pulled down the straps of your dress, trailing his lips along your shoulder. Though the dress wasn't fully removed, the way you haphazardly held the front of it against your chest, amplifying your cleavage which was just as alluring as you were topless.

“Phil!” You choked out, and yet, he continued. Licking across your newly exposed skin with the tip of his tongue. Starting from the collarbone, down to your tits when he squeezed your breasts together, and then, sucking on the plush at random spots. Eager to leave a mark wherever he could with shameless sounds of suckling and pops, “Here?!”

If the way your hand shot up to his hair, massaging his scalp and pulling his head close instead of pushing him away was anything to go by, he knew dead set on making you scream.

He took a step back, encouraging you to stand up before hooking his arms under your ass, lifting you effortlessly to seat you on the counter.

His bulge was snug against you, thanks to his taller stature. The way his hands slid down your thighs prompted you to wrap your legs around him, despite the growing warmth in your face at the lewd display. There was something about the sliver of possibility of being watched that raised both your worries and anticipation, despite the opaqueness of the cream-coloured window blinds.

Plus, the shop wasn't exactly soundproof either.

He leaned forward, forcing you to lie back on the surface. His lips hadn't slowed down since, enjoying your squirms and breathless moans as he peppered your neck in kisses before raising his head.

“My wife's a beaut, isn't she?” He whispered against your temple, rolling one of your tits in between his fingers before sliding his hand down to your thigh, squeezing the plush of it, “Got these boys actin’ stupid around ya.”

You gasped when his hand slid further under your skirt. He toyed with the waistband of your panties, teasingly pulling them up and wedging the lacy material in between your sopping pussy.

“Even I can't resist her sweet lil’ charm,” He purred, pulling your panties to the side and then bunching the hem of your dress for him to delight in all its glory, “Y’know that, don't cha?”

He swiped two of his fingers across your lips. Even the softest touch elicited the most delicious squelch he had ever heard.

He hummed in approval, teasing you to his heart's delight, “But she's also so, so dirty, deep down,” He made sure you made the slightest mess, letting your juices drip bit by bit, down to your tight hole and the counter itself, “And this—this is only f’me to see, right, pretty girl?’

He captured your lips with his before you could even muster out a breathless ‘yes’, the kiss ending just as quickly as it happened before tapping your lips with his fingers.

You didn't need to be told, but that didn't mean it was any less embarrassing. But his approving hum at your first, kitten-like lick was encouraging. It had you chasing after his praises, verbal or otherwise.

His cock was downright throbbing, wishing it was his cock you were eagerly drooling on instead of his fingers, but who was he to say he wasn't enjoying the view in hand either?

Once he was sure they were wet enough, he slid them out of your mouth, crudely enjoying the string of saliva for a second before dropping his fingers to your cunt.

He mirrored your parted lips, watching your face scrunch up as he eased in one finger. Your whimper was pitiful, and the slightly wicked side of him couldn’t help but coo at you almost condescendingly, knowing you could handle something much bigger than his mere finger, even if they were much thicker than yours.

He set a torturing pace, taking in the way your body moved, rolling your hips in hopes you’d have his fingers knuckles-deep in you. The way you half-heartedly covered your face with one hand was endearing, probably too overwhelmed by his unapologetic stare.

Then, he cranked up the speed with two fingers, greedy for more of your juices leaking out each time he moved in and out. And by the time you were clenching around three fingers, he was ruthless with his pace.

Unforgiving.

He looked euphoric just from bringing the pleasure to you, tipping his head back as he listened to you struggling to hold back your moans and whines whenever he pulled out to tease and slap at your clit.

“Colour?” As casual as he tried to sound, he was just as breathless as you were.

“Green…” You whined, pleading him to continue, even if it felt like you were overstimulating, “Phil, please… Please…!”

You didn’t have to repeat, for he amped up his pace and chased after the climax when the pitch of your voice heightened, arching your back like you weren’t sure if you wanted him to carry on or push him away when you were getting close.

He didn’t falter, nipping on your shoulder just a tad harder just before you trembled, cumming and clenching hard around his fingers. He cupped your face with his other hand, soothing you from your high with praises and kisses.

“Such a good girl, my good girl. Always so brave f’me, makin’ the sweetest faces. None of those boys gets t’see what I see.”

It wasn’t long before he carefully slid his fingers out, comforting you each time you whimpered or twitched.

Opting to continue caressing your face, he took the chance to snag a taste of you. Savouring the one taste he had been dying for each time he was away for work.

But he didn’t finish it all. As much as he wanted to, he needed to save the rest for his cock, itching to have a mere feel of your wetness.

Speaking of, he was straining, standing proud and curved a little as the tip, just a hint of red, nearly touched his belly button as soon as he pulled his trousers down. It yearned to feel you, tight and hot, his extra-vulgar actions were the results of restraining himself.

He shuddered a little—it was entrancing, holding one of your legs up for him to brush his lips against and seeing his cock slide up and down your pussy lips.

Even after prepping you well, it felt like his cockhead was breaching your walls. You let out a breathy sigh, tilting your head at the upside windows, tensing up at the sight of passersby’s feet at the foot of the glass.

“What do y’think, pretty girl?” He murmured against your leg, still pushing into you, “Do y’think that Thompson guy’s around, wonderin’ why the window’s closed while the car’s still out there?”

The way your head tilted back against the counter in ecstasy, the last rays of the sun shining down on your skin. Even with the AC still on, it stopped neither of you from sweating. The thinnest layer of perspiration, especially gathering along your throat, down to the valley of your breasts—oh, what a shame it would be if he didn’t have even a single lick of it.

And he did just that, leaning in to give one of your tits a teasing lick.

Those half-lidded eyes, that drunken smile—oh, he was losing it.

He felt like the most blessed man in the world.

“Eyes on me, bunny. He can listen all he wants but this—it’s you and me.”

And it wouldn’t take long for you to reach your peak, Phil kept his eyes on your facial expression because if it wasn’t the sexiest look he had ever seen before he, too, cums with you. In you.

Holding himself up with one hand beside your head, he used the other to caress your face, allowing you all the time in the world to catch your breath. But truth be told, he had fucked the senses right out of you.

“You alright?” “Mmm…” Your murmurs had him chuckling as he carefully gathered you in his arms.

“Can y'walk? Or do I have to carry you? Because y'know I don't mind either way.” Not especially the latter. He may not be as buff as some of his team but he feels good being able to prove the assumptions wrong. So wrong.

You shook your head, and though none of you were even certain what your answer was, Phil somehow understood, but not before letting you collect yourself for as long as you needed. There was no need to rush. Not now.

“Alright, pretty girl. I can do that.”

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

1K notes · View notes

girlsworldillusion · 3 months ago

Text

Game Over 🎮

Gamer!Aemond - Fem!Reader

Summary: After putting in the effort to create the perfect romantic night, your plan comes crashing down like a house of cards when your boyfriend dumps you for games.

How far will a girl go before she takes matters into her own hands?

Rated: Explicit (+18)

(Bjob, semi-public sex, praise kink and others)

Word count: 6k

Dividers: @cafekitsune

Enjoy!

English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you may find.

You snort for the tenth time as hear a bored laugh coming from down the hall.

Fingers drum impatiently on the edge of the bed, a fat pout projecting on your lower lip. Having long since given up on the purposefully suggestive pose on top of the soft silk sheets, you now find yourself sitting upright and very sullen amidst the romantic decor of the room.

With each muffled word coming from your boyfriend's office you feel your mood sour further, the irritation in your nerves increasing to worrying levels.

Aemond wasn't the kind of guy who played games regularly; God knows he's too selfish and perfectionist to be a decent team player. And he barely had any free time to indulge in hobbies and vices anyway. Despite having a complete setup in his personal office with everything a gamer could dream of, he spent very little time cultivating such a habit. Usually only indulging when he was feeling too stressed about work or his family, or when he was absolutely bored.

He didn’t usually care for games. And that’s why you feel even more frustrated by the second. Of all the nights he could have had the unexpected urge to play, did it have to be the night you had planned something special for the both of you?

The soft, delicate lace of your new pastel pink lingerie set teases your skin almost mockingly at this point, the long stockings on your thighs rubbing against each other as you swing one leg over the other in exasperation. The high heels were thrown haphazardly into the corner of the room during the little bout of impatience you had a few minutes ago.

The scented candles you had chosen for the night still burn softly in your peripheral vision, illuminating the room with warmth and romance, the delicate scent of vanilla permeating the air like a seductive invitation. On the bedside table was a bottle of his favorite wine, two glasses neatly arranged next to it.

This was supposed to be a romantic night.

As soon as you saw him casually enter the office a few hours ago, presumably to privately answer some video call from a work client, you ran and locked the bedroom door, preparing everything as quickly as you could to surprise him. Excitement ran freely through your veins, heating your skin to moisten the valley between your legs with anticipation. When you finished arranging everything as best you could, you opened the door invitingly and threw yourself on the bed, acting out what you hoped was a sensual and innocent pose at the same time.

But time passed and Aemond didn't show up.

It was only when you heard the first muffled murmurs of 'all right, I'll cover your left' and 'are you stupid or what? How hard can it be to hit that damn target?' that you realized what he was really doing in the office. But despite the small wave of disappointment, you tried to be level-headed about it. Playing games wasn't something that bothered you at all, but tonight you felt a specific need that only Aemond could fulfill.

You decide to be patient, though, after all he wasn't in the habit of playing games - maybe he just needed a single round to de-stress from the day.

But the minutes passed and what was a single round became two, three; each lasting an average of 30-40 minutes. And here you were, almost two hours later, still waiting.

You had enough!

This was absolutely ridiculous. No one in an adult relationship should spend that much time waiting for some attention - especially when they were losing attention to a damn game.

With a frustrated sigh, you rise from your position on the bed and march towards his office, determined to give him a piece of your mind. Your steps are deliberately heavy as you walk through the living room and into the hallway until you reach his door, where you listen for a few seconds, breathing enough to control the worst of your nerves, but after hearing the same regular tapping on the controller and grumpy responses, you slowly push the door open.

Peeking your head into the room, you see him in front of his setup, playing what looks like some kind of first-person shooter.

The room, as always, smells of cigarette smoke and clean leather, the soft hum of the air conditioning welcoming you - the familiarity enveloping your body in a blissful way that you didn't want at the moment. Your eyes try to focus on surroundings, as the only illumination comes from the purple and blue hues emanating from the sophisticated setup. With his back to you, in his big, comfortable chair, your boyfriend was sitting as if nothing else in the world mattered, with the joystick in his hand and his eye glued to the monitor, mumbling lazily here and there to the chaotic chat of the server.

And seeing him there, carefree and oblivious to all the effort and expectation you had put into this night - into him - made you rethink your course of action for a minute. A thought suddenly crossed your mind.

You were still hurt and frustrated, but maybe giving him a piece of your mind wasn't your only option at the moment.

You walked across the room slowly, but stopped before did what you were thinking.

You mean, were you really about to do that? What, were you really going to act like a hormonal teenager now?

Your body suddenly started moving on its own, mind screaming at you to stop.

Your irritation eases slightly as you admire the outline of his toned, bare back (why the hell is he shirtless anyway?) looming in your line of vision, the way his muscles flex as he leans forward in his black gaming chair, pale, smooth skin illuminated by the purple and blue lights of the setup. He’s wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants and black socks on his feet, and the sight of his broad shoulders and long, muscular arms completely exposed makes your mind wander in a sinful direction.

Maybe your night wasn’t wasted.

Your steps are almost catlike as you advance slowly, silent and focused, taking in his furrowed brows, his devastatingly handsome face with that serious, focused expression, silver hair pulled back into a half-bun — smoke curling up from the cigarette resting in the ashtray on the table.

Aemond hums a vague acknowledgement as you enter his line of sight, his bored gaze flicking from the monitor to you for just a second before returning to the game - but quickly returning to you when he actually notices what you’re wearing.

It’s hard not to get a little carried away when that turquoise blue eye slides across the planes of your body like melted butter; greedy over the thin, nearly sheer bralette on your breasts, the curve of your waist, your cute panties and the lace stockings that come up to your mid-thighs.

“Baby, what the—” he breathes hoarsely, lips parted and brows heavy over his gaze - even his thumbs stop twirling over the buttons on his controller. But you’re both interrupted by a sudden stream of complaints and curses coming from his headset, the volume clear and loud enough for you to hear clearly. Aemond growls. “Fuck, shut your mouth - I’m still here.” And just like that his attention slips from you to the game again, his expression returning to those same disinterested, serious lines from before - but you notice a stiffening in his shoulders that wasn't there before, as if he's on alert now.

You hold on tight to it so his lack of attention doesn’t shake you, trying to solidify your plan as you move. Your hands grip the sides of his chair, using the wheels to help you push it back a few inches. He sends you a sharp, narrow look, shifting between you and the screen, as if he knows exactly what’s on your mind. With a mischievous smile and more determination now, you ignore his warning, slipping innocently into the space between the chair and the table, kneeling between his legs.

“No, the shooter’s on your right.” He mumbles into the mic, sounding more sullen now that his attention has been compromised, but still stubbornly trying to stay focused on the game. You lean forward with a naughty smile, gently sniffing the bulge of his cock trapped in his sweatpants, a whimper rising in your throat when you realize he’s already hard — no doubt an instinctive reaction to understanding your intentions. God, how did this man make you so heated with so little effort?

Your teeth tug playfully at the drawstring of his pants. The muscles in his stomach contract beautifully in response and you sigh, turning your head to rub your cheek against his cock, like a kitten begging for attention.

He’s fully hard now and there’s a thrill in your belly, warm and dark, knowing he’s this way for you — just by you being there, breathing near him, barely touching him properly.

Your lashes flutter heavy over your eyes as you stare without qualms; the soft seam of his sweatpants over a bulge that makes your body tremble with anticipation, burn so much that you’re not sure if you’re breathing anymore.

His cock is thick and hard beneath the gray fabric, big and — stupidly big — so big — over his hip.

“Don’t do that,” he warns in a low tone.

You smile innocently. “Do what, love?”

He growls in his throat, your attitude clearly coiling inside him, making his cock throb beneath your touch. “You won’t be able to walk properly for a week, girl.”

You hum softly, pretending you didn’t hear his threat as untie the laces of his sweatpants to pull the waistband down. Aemond makes no move to help you, stubborn as he's, but you don’t need it. Your grin deepens, glad to be able to lower the elastic enough to free his cock.

“Does it look like I spoke to any of you idiots?” He’s actually more impatient now, dishing out rudeness in the server chat when they question his latest suspicious statement.

You sigh, salivating for him more every time you see his cock — all long and thick, outlined with prominent veins and a shiny flushed head, dripping with precum. Your eyes meet for a moment of distraction from the game, you sugary and full of malicious intent and he suspicious and grumpy - but the anxious twitch in his cock deflates any possible claim that this isn't turning him on in some way.

Let him pretend all he wants, you think with an innocent smile and a slow bat of your eyelashes, sliding your fingers down the hard, pulsing length, slick with the arousal dripping from the tip; a small fist clenched, down and then up, twisting over the head - and then your mouth comes close, spitting a glob of saliva right over it. Pre-come, sweet, warm, sticky saliva as you drag your fist down the tip to the base before repeating. More pre-come.

He shifts in his chair, teeth biting into his lower lip, large, beautiful hands gripping the controller so tightly that the stupid thing squeaks between his fingers. And then you come close; the heated puff of your breath against the base of his cock, your eyes watery and lazy, face flushed and teasing.

And the first swipe of your tongue over him has his abs clenching like a vise, a sharp growl from his chest as you suck him, a little unsteady from the position but so fucking eager that he’s physically incapable of not noticing your effort.

You chase the head of his cock with your mouth as he tries to tilt his hips, your knees shaking as you sink a little to reach him, to close your mouth around him and suck him. One hand instinctively relinquishes its grip to tangle in a fistful of your hair, hips bucking upward as he huffs a ‘fuck baby’; your eyes fluttering and your chest shuddering with a little groan of own, like it’s as good for you as it is for him.

And it is.

'Shit, what's going on man?! I can't believe you missed that one!' Someone complains loudly in the chat.

He just grunts in response, realizing he can't play with just one hand, so he reluctantly puts it back in control. You let out a small chuckle at the length between your lips, happy to see him struggle so much, your right hand resuming the slide of his shaft that your mouth can't reach.

You pull out until only the head of his cock is in your mouth, tongue sliding over it; hand sliding your fist over the spit sheen on his shaft, slick and slow, pushing your lips back until he's nudging the back of your throat and you're breathing hard as keep thrusting and swallowing, keep trying so hard to relax more.

You've never particularly enjoyed giving blowjobs in your previous relationships, but Aemond has elevated the act to something almost sacred; you loved having this kind of power over him, feeling him get harder and harder on your tongue, making him go crazy with desire until he couldn’t control himself anymore. Your pussy clenches in response, the cute panties absolutely ruined by now.

“Can you guys just shut the fuck up for a second? Like I haven’t been carrying this team on my back since the beginning anyway. Fuck all of you.” He growls into the chat, breathing hard between words, undulating his hips discreetly into your mouth - pushing his cock an inch deeper and deeper into your mouth. His gaze is icy and electric as he looks down at you, a dangerous warning shining there, an implicit threat that you’ll regret pushing him this way.

The server chat erupts with denial and curses, but you barely listen, too focused on continuing teasing him; especially now, feeling how his restraint begins to crack and tremble. You pull away with a sticky strand of saliva still connecting you to the head of his cock, using his knees as support to stand up and sneakily settle yourself on top of his legs.

"You're acting like a spoiled brat." He breathes at the corner of your lips as you bring your face closer, anxious and trembling body falling into his lap.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You mumble back, heart racing at the darkness in his turquoise gaze, the other half of his face torn and eternally marked by the jagged scar only adding danger to that warning bite in his expression. With almost too eager fingers you smooth the muscles in his abdomen, moving up to feel the hard ridge of each one until you reach his shoulders.

He breathes heavily, but keeps his eye on the monitor as he violently presses the poor buttons on the joystick, waging a proud war to keep himself away - but you are nothing if not determined.

It takes just a second to admire the milky, soft expanse of his neck, the Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, and then your warm, wet lips are there; covering his skin with soft kisses and bites, sucking slowly between your teeth and licking it afterwards, making him gasp softly and bite his lip, reluctantly tilting his head to offer you more of him.

You breathe out a smile before leaning back on his knees, letting his gaze slide greedily down your body. To the soft peaks of your breasts half-visible in that thin bralette, the valley of your belly to the dip of your little belly button, and finally to your hips beginning to undulate sensually over his. His cock, as hard and wet as it is, leaves a trail of arousal and sticky saliva on his lower belly and you blush at the sight of the mess he’s making.

You shiver as you feel that same thick wetness of his cock drag against your pussy through your lacy panties, pushing and pushing the swollen tip against your clit until you let out a series of short, sharp gasps. With eyelashes flutter and your eyebrows furrow at the sensation, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you continue to grind your clit against his throbbing cock.

'Wait, wait, what’s that?' you hear someone ask through his headset, but your mind is too far gone to stop now. Little fingers hook into the soft crotch of your pantie for just a moment before you pulls it aside, letting your scalding, drooling pussy rub directly against his hard shaft. Your moan is louder this time, more brazen too. 'What the fuck—are you watching porn while you play, your fucking pervert?' A player in the chat asks with a mocking, mischievous laugh, and in the middle of pushing your needy folds onto his cock, you watch Aemond smile back - sharp, icy, dangerous.

“Much better than that, fucker.” His voice changes to something rougher, something demanding and wicked, and you push yourself against him a little harder, your temperature rising, and you moan. “My girl is needy tonight.”

The chat becomes chaotic again, bursting with dirty laughter and snide comments that would offend you any other time — and maybe Aemond thinks the same, because you see his jaw clench once, his eye cold and his lips pressed together in that way he does when he’s not satisfied with something.

But something keeps him going, keeps him pushing harder.

Quietly he drops the controller to the table, relinquishing his participation in the game, sliding his headset down to hang loosely around his neck. And you can’t breathe. Your heart is pounding, so hard you’re surprised you can’t see it when look down at your chest.

“You wanted my attention, baby. Well, now you have it. And theirs too.” He smiles teasingly at you, his gaze dark and intent on yours, even though the game is still going on the monitor right behind you. "How about we put on a little show for these fucking losers?"

The chat seems to fall into a deliberate silence as he speaks, as if everyone is waiting to hear the outcome of this bizarre and absolutely wild situation.

"I can smell your pussy," he continues when you don't respond, his voice a growl. "I can smell how wet you are." He leans down to nibble on your earlobe, sucking on the lobe before nuzzling into the soft hollow just below it. You think he's exaggerating, he couldn't really smell you, could he? But the room is filled with colored lights, smelling of cigarette smoke and leather, and his cock is brushing against your clit and you really don't know what to think. "Hm, what do you say...want to give these horny nerds something interesting to jerk off to, princess?"

You shouldn’t agree, but you’re moaning before you know it, nodding as your cheeks explode with heat.

“That’s my babygirl - take this cock then,” he whispers to you, filthy and shameless, picking up the cigarette resting on the ashtray to draw slowly. Aemond slides his other hand up your thigh, stroking the soft lace of your stockings. “Fuck yourself on it until you cum,” he tells you, and only the sharp gaze locked on yours keeps you from rolling your eyes back in, not even the acrid puff of smoke near your face distracting you at this point. “Make me open you up, brat. Make my cock all sticky and heated with your pussy.”

He sounds so honest when he says it and yet so rough around the edges, like he’s punishing you somehow — though you don’t quite understand how yet.

Your fingers are shaking as you grip him by the base, lifting your hips to start thrusting him inside.

You keep it slow and steady, the first few inches aching and too tight as always; staring down between your bodies, his thick, glistening cock stretching you open as you suck him inside. He continues to smoke his cigarette leisurely, watching you from beneath one half-lidded eyelid, leaning back in the chair like a king as you work your pussy into him, inch by tight inch. Feeling the tremble of your thighs, the shiver in your body; those first few inches that always feel like he don’t fit, like you’re stretched too much, like you’re too small—

He runs his other hand down your side, down over the tightness of your stomach, hearing you gasp, moan at the stretch, the ache, the way he sinks deeper and deeper. Watching the heave of your breasts, the exasperated, rising intake of breath that turns into something else when your hips finally press against his. Buried so deep and thick inside your walls that he can’t hold back his own noise; hoarse and broken, escaping his lips along with a swirling hiss of cigarette smoke.

You exhale his name, the softest, shakiest Aemond — as your body inevitably begins to relax, as if it doesn’t matter the stretch, the pain, the depth…because just having him inside you, embedded so deeply, is exactly what it needs.

Your delicate palms rest on the broad planes of his chest and he sighs — his hips pulse inside you, just a small push upward, a small movement and you tense, a sharper noise falling from your lips. He tilts his head to the side with lazy interest, grinding his hips against yours again, enjoying the sounds that come from your mouth, the way it opens to suck in a garbled breath.

“You know, I never knew you had it in you, baby…an exhibitionist streak like that,” his heated murmur is dark and full of depraved promise. “I’ll give you that, though, you really know how to get a man’s attention.”

Your breathing is rapid despite your best efforts. He presses his palm to your throat, curling his fingers slowly, squeezing just enough to hear a small hiccup of inspiration, your toes curling against the sides of his thighs...

“Where’s that smart mouth now? My pretty baby girl’s gone so quiet all of a sudden.” He murmurs with a mischievous grin, clamping the cigarette between his teeth to grip your hips, pulling your body to his in obnoxiously slow undulations.

Even though it’s draped around his neck, the voices coming from the headset are still loud enough for both of you to hear; a cacophony of whistles and disbelieving laughter.

“Come on,” he says, picking up the cigarette again to toss it into the ashtray. He pulls you closer and wraps both hands around your hips, staring into your glassy eyes. “Go ahead and ride me.”

You bite your bottom lip, leaning more firmly against his chest as you begin to grind against his cock, little mewls escaping your lips, ass slapping rhythmically against his hips.

'Holy shit, are they really doing this?' Someone ask shrilly in the chat, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment — your movements stuttering for a moment. This — this wasn’t right, was it? You couldn’t just fuck while these strangers listened. This wasn’t right.

“Don’t stop,” Aemond growled, pulling your chin up so you could look him in the eye and see that he meant business. “Keep riding my cock like a good girl. Let them hear you. Let them fuck their own pathetic dicks while they listen to me fuck your pussy until you cry. Let them be so fucking envy of me, because I have the cutest and naughty girl in the world. Can you do this?”

You look up at him with beautiful doe eyes, lashes fluttering as you nod yes, leaning in to kiss him. Aemond takes you in immediately; soft, warm lips on yours, wet tongue sliding across yours and you taste cigarettes and mint gum. You moan louder as he plants his feet on the floor, thrusting up into you roughly, tangling his hand in your hair to keep you pressed against him even as the impact makes you bounce on his lap. It’s so damn hot in the room, the two of you electric and heated. Your whimpers and sobs grow louder and louder, matching the rhythm of your hips undulating more and more into his.

‘Oh shit, she sounds so fucking good…’ you barely hear the comment through his headset, eyes rolling back in pleasure with each deep thrust of his thick cock into your pussy.

"Yes, she does." Aemond hums, gripping your hips tighter, guiding you easily, and you feel yourself getting closer, but there’s something missing — an incentive to push you over the edge.

You rest a hand on his thigh, fisting the soft sweats of his pants, tilting your body and head back as the pleasure becomes almost too much to handle. He watches you hungrily, leaning back in his chair — though he looks like he wants to jump on top of you. The purple and blue lights illuminate you both in a flattering, almost artistic way; highlighting his silver hair in that messy half-bun, the soft planes of your breasts, the definition of the muscles in his arms and abs — your pussy swallowing his cock with wet, greedy sounds…

Your hips roll at a feverish pace, the head of his cock slamming perfectly into your soft walls and you moan as the hand on your left hip moves slightly until he’s flicking his thumb over your clit.

Fuck yes. He knows you so well.

“Oh f— fuck. You feel so good, you feel so good...” You mumble, hips moving faster, the chair audibly creaking with the force of your thrusts.

“Yeah? It must be really fucking good if you can barely wait a few hours before acting like a brat for that cock, huh?” Aemond runs his tongue over his teeth, taking his time to tease your clit as you bounce up and down, sending you a hooded, hungry look as he continues, “But I can’t deny that you look so cute when act like a little slut for me, when you let me use you however I want, drunk on my cock and hungry for cum like the good whore you are. I fucking love it. Come on, take me, fuck me, show me how much you want this.”

Moaning loudly, your widened knees nipping at his hips, you nearly come at those words alone — eyes rolling back with an open mouth.

“Greedy brat…”

“Y-your greedy brat—”

“My brat.” He growls approvingly, thrusting his hips deep into yours, steadily building that tension in you again, knotting your belly.

Your head falls forward and you watch him smile and bite his lip as thrusts into you again and again and again. Your own hips struggle to keep up with his punishing pace, even though you’re the one on top. His thumb moves as ruthlessly as his cock — a quick, easy rhythm at times, a drastic shift into a languid thrust at others; a torturous pace that somehow wipes all thought from your eternally thoughtful brain.

By now, your mind is so clouded and focused on the pleasure he’s giving you that you no longer understand anything the other players are saying over the server chat. But you know they’re still there. A staticky blur of what sounds like compliments to you, declarations of envy to Aemond, and even a few muffled sounds of pleasure. None of it matters, though. Nothing but the man beneath you.

“That’s it, beautiful. Are you going to cum on my cock, baby?” He whispers, his voice thick with lust as you grind against him relentlessly, head thrown to the side and mouth open, letting sweet sounds fall from your lips.

You can feel the heat emanating from him, the intensity growing by the second.

“Aemond…so close…” You gasp, body shaking uncontrollably.

“Cum for me, baby…scream my name, let them know who’s fucking you, who’s the only one who can fuck you.” He demands, his cock and thumb never stopping their relentless assault on your most sensitive spots. Every inch up drags his cock against those nerves inside your walls. Every inch down keeps you full and exploding with him, there’s no release, no edge to be found, it’s just pleasure, cigarette smoke and the heat of his body.

"Aemond!"

You build so stellarly, so intensely, it almost feels like you’re building up in your mouth, that sticky, warm sweetness. The sensation burns behind your belly button, sinks between your hips, tingles in your pussy, pulses in your clit against your stomach, until your fingers are shaking, white and slick on his shoulders and his mouth is on your neck as you fall forward, writhing and moaning.

And still, he keeps working you, well past that limit, keeping you so full of him, so focused on him, that there’s nothing else in the world but his skin, his cock, his voice in your ear.

“That’s it, that’s it. Come on, pretty girl.”

And you do. Choked sobs into his skin. A toe-curling, thigh-trembling release, clenching around the thickness of his cock.

As he promised, tears flash in your eyes at the sheer intensity of this orgasm, and you sniff pathetically into his neck.

“Mmm, such a crybaby…” he scoffs, but still wraps his arms around your body, hugging you tightly as he pounds his hips into yours, panting wetly into your shoulder and neck. “You’re gonna make me cum so fucking hard with that cute little cry and that pussy squeezing my cock over and over…”

A strangled moan escapes your throat.

“Y-yes, please—inside Aem, cum inside me, please, I need it!” You can feel him shudder in response, his tip buried against your cervix.

“That’s my greedy girl.” There’s a ghost of a kiss on your neck. “I fucking love this, baby. I fucking love you.”

You sob and he thrusts into you again, his hips slamming into your thighs with so much impact you’re sure you’ll bruise. He grips you flush against his body, stopping inside you with one deep thrust, slowly spilling hot streams of thick cum into your pussy as he pants harshly in your ear. Your body feels like it’s vibrating, wracked and claimed.

You’re panting, chest rising and falling against his, bites and hickeys beginning to bloom across your exposed skin. You’re pleasantly gorged on his seed, high on the rush of endorphins and satisfaction that washes over you.

“Hey losers,” Aemond mumbles into the mic after a while, a ghost of a smile on his lips and a wicked glint in his eye, “try not to jerk off too much to the memory of this in the next few days.”

And before the chat can explode into a flurry of dirty comments and sharp retorts, he reaches over to end the call and close the game window.

You sigh wearily, distantly aware that he’s rising from his chair with you in his arms. You hold him tighter, face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his comforting scent, and he nuzzles you back. And for a moment, you think he’s taking you to the bed or the bathroom, to clean you up. Your face scrunches up in sleepy confusion when he sets you down on his desk instead.

He runs the pad of his thumb over your swollen lips, smirking at you before he lowers himself. His tongue suddenly slides into your mouth and you accept it obediently, one of his hands running through your hair, pulling your head back, changing the angle of the kiss. Your mind is confused by the smell of him suffocating you in the best way, but before you can get too deep into it you feel him pulling away a few inches, enough to slide his cock out of your pussy.

You grunt a sound at this, but Aemond ignores, positioning himself better in front of you with a suspiciously amused glint in his eye - even though his other, mutilated and missing, lends him a look of constant danger.

“Spread your legs wide for me, baby.”

Even though you were suspicious about the meaning of that look, you did as he said, parting your legs slowly for his view.

“Why do you want to — oh ,” you close your mouth the moment you understand why he asked for it. Your cheeks burn as feel his hot cum slowly spurt from your pussy, dripping down between your thighs and onto his desk.

His gaze darkens until there’s nothing blue left in him, just that animalistic darkness and desire that makes your core throb with anticipation once more. You blink down at his hard cock - even after so much time together you’re still genuinely surprised at how long he could last.

You could have sworn he growled when you tried to close your legs, sending you a sharp, narrowed look before reaching his fingers down to your pussy, gathering the cum that was already on your thighs and pushing it back into your quivering entrance.

“A-Aemond, I don’t know if I can...if I can keep going with this—”

“Hmm...really?” He hums, lewdly watching his fingers sink into your pussy with an absolutely embarrassing squirting sound, his other hand casually stimulating his hardening cock with languid pumps. “But you tried so hard to get my attention before — a needy little slut on a mission...”

His voice is dangerously low, purring as he closes the distance between the two of you, a few strands of ice-blonde hair slick with sweat around his face.

“I really hope this bratty behavior of yours was worth it. Because you’re only leaving this fuckin room when I’m completely satisfied.”

And with that he pushes himself lazily to the hilt inside you once more, so slowly that you feel every veiny inch of his thick cock stretching you — pushing his cum into you again until your eyes roll back in your head.

Smooth and easy and relentless as he draws back to the tip and thrusts to the root, and then again, and then one broad hand is smoothing down your side and curling under one thigh to flick you up and open and the angle is so much better.

Aemond shivers with a guttural groan, nuzzling into the shell of your ear, and you sob again, so heated and so turned on by how completely your boyfriend has you wrapped around his fingers.

And oh yes. That was a phenomenal idea that certainly worth for you. And you can’t be humble about it — the credit is all yours.

Heat blooms in the center between your legs. You turn your head to the side, resting your sweaty temple against his. Your breath is shared between you, slow pumps of his cock into your sticky pussy.

“You bet it was worth.” You murmur, with a sugary little smile that is equal parts mischievous and shy.

Aemond snorts in amusement, though his brows are heavily slanted over his gaze, and he’s blinking at you hungrily, the way he weaves just a trace of fear into the lust that curls inside you, heavy as smoke.

“Greedy brat.”

And as you stand there; panting wetly against his lips, feeling the hard planes of his body against yours, his thick cock inside your walls, his hands on your skin like an amalgam of possessiveness — welcoming his dark hunger like it’s your sole mission in life…

Yes, as you can already feel the slow burn of your orgasm building, tingling and warming you from the inside out, you think he might be right. You are a greedy brat.

But only for him.

Always for him.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #hotd #hotd season 2 #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #prince aemond #aemond smut #aemond x reader #gamer #hotd modern au #aemond #x reader #fem reader

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fanzou · 4 months ago

Text

✗ Genre: Smut

“What, best friends don’t fuck?” He poses the questions so innocently, like it’s nothing. He’s kneeling between your legs and his very prominent bulge is inches close to you.

“S-Sanji…” You’re blushing like a damn virgin, “If someone finds us out—”

“—But they won’t, we’ll be quiet, princess. Trust me.” He’s rubbing his broad hand across your lap and your skirt is threatening to expose so much more than you wanted it to, and you’d venture to think that’s exactly what he was trying to make happen.

You’re nervous, only because anyone could walk right through that wooden door into the dark room you both were in. Sanji doesn’t give a shit, and it’s written all over his face and body.

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay, fine… but make it quick alright?”

His breath hitches, and you can see his muscles relax a little bit over your demand. He’s waited so long for this and tonight was the perfect night to finally make a move. Everyone was drunk out their mind anyways, so it didn’t matter. You were the only two fully conscious on board, though the concept seems surprising.

He’s removing his belt, and his long fingers moving so skillfully makes the heat in between your legs so much more noticeable. It’s practically radiating off of you and Sanji digs his thigh closer between your legs.

You didn’t wanna seem eager but the image in front of you was nothing short of exciting and it’s getting you to almost hypnotically move your hands to take off your panties while the man across from you already had his cock sprung and ready to put inside of you. What can he say? You told him to make it quick.

With your bare cunt facing him and your legs spread wide, you’re practically begging him to start his attack. Even though this was something that he wanted to make special, thoughtful and something never to forget, he guessed this could suffice.

Sanji lines himself up, and presses his cock against you. The intrusion was so much more than you thought it’d be. And it feels amazing. Amazing in the worst and best ways, the way it fully splits you and stuffs you all the same. It’s pleasurable and painful at the same time.

But you can’t let anyone sniff you both out. You’ll just have to get your quick orgasm in before anyone starts to suspect where you both have run off to. “Fuuuuuck… g-go… faster.”

And so he obeys, so much for truly being able to relish it.

He’s hardly a man who liked to be rushed during sex, his curved cock is grazing your insides just a little rougher than when he started and the whimper you let out proves it. “D-Don’t worry my love… next time… it’ll be so much more better. But I couldn’t stand it anymore. ‘Really fuckin’ needed you… oh shit.”

Your pleasure subsides for a second trying to puzzle together his insinuation, but then you hear something; footsteps.

Your eyes widen and dart at the door, then to Sanji, but he doesn’t care, he just comes closer to you and puts hand over your mouth. His grin gets wider and wider.

And he’s fucking you so much more quieter but there’s so much power in his thrusts, he tries not to push against your thighs too much because he knows the slapping will probably alert whoever was walking towards your room. He sloppily tries covering your sides with a blanket, this’ll work, he says, and he’s back to fucking you just a little harder than he did before.

You make it known to him, vocally, that you really appreciated the gesture.

The footsteps get louder and closer to where you can almost feel the vibrations off the floor. Sanji’s hand is like tape around your mouth, he wants you quiet but he fucks you like he’s daring you. He looks at you, then he looks to the door.

The steps are right by the door now, and they stop. Your heart drops.

“Where do you think shitty cook’s gone? Need him to get me some more booze.”

Sanji’s ecstatic. Like he wants Zoro to walk in, walk in on you getting fucked like your life depended on it. And you could sit here and pretend that you were absolutely in great terror of being found out by someone about the predicament you were in, but your pussy told the truth.

Much to Sanji’s disappointment, his sloppy and drunk footsteps walk the other direction. He removes his hand and watches your frustrated expression manifest.

You were clenching around him tighter and tighter and he knew exactly what that meant for you, the closer proximity between his cock in your tightened cunt made him feel like reeling into his own orgasm.

“You wanted him to walk in. Didn’t y-you? Yeah. You’re so d-dirty… ‘Wanted this more than me, huh princess?”

You could only take so much dirty talk. “Saaaaaaanji… stop talking… oh—” he pushes impossibly deep inside of you, and that’s when you let go. It was too much.

You squirted everywhere. And that was an understatement. It was bad. Like a lot of it went onto the floor and you’d have to clean it immediately after. But for now, Sanji’s chasing his own high. “You’re so… perfect. Fuck you’re amazing. Where do you want me, beautiful?” His thrusts get messy and the blanket is long gone, his skin on yours.

Not wanting anymore mess and a more obvious crime scene, “Just c-cum on my—fuck—stom-ach.

He obeys, and pulls out, he strokes himself on your stomach, with some of it pulling into your belly button. “Yeeees princeeeeess, oh shit…”

His chest is moving up and down and he stares at you lovingly before he smiles, it’s a genuine one, not laced with anything impure or malicious this time, fortunately for you. He’s back to normal Sanji.

“So… what would you have done if he walked in?” You ask him, genuinely curious.

“He’s plastered so, would’ve just made him watch us fuck. He probably wouldn’t have remembered it anyway.” He lays down next to you. “And if he did? ‘Nother thing to hold over his head.” You nuzzle into his chest for the short duration of time you had.

✗ A/N: Was drunk writing this. Do not mind the grammatical errors if there is any.

#sanji x y/n #sanji vinsmoke x reader #sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji #sanji smut #sanji x reader #one piece sanji #black leg sanji #sanji #law trafalgar #law trafalgar x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #one piece masterlist

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starkeymeow · 1 month ago

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❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter one, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, blood, meeting the mentors, tribute parade, not too much rafe and reader interaction YET but it’ll come sooner than you think.

main masterlist | tag list | previous next

you’ve been on trains before. nothing like this one.

this one is too smooth, too fast. you barely feel it move. the windows blur with tunnels and sleek, metallic walls outside, sometimes breaking into vast stretches of nothing but gray-blue light and darkness blinking like a heartbeat.

you sit alone in a chair that could probably buy someone a house. everything is red velvet and gold trim, like the whole train was stitched together from the capitol’s pocket change. it smells expensive, too, like citrus and fake flowers.

you’re still in your reaping dress. someone said they’d bring you new clothes soon. someone else took your measurements. you don’t remember who. your ears have been ringing since your name was called.

rafe’s across the room, stretched out on the other side of the glass table, one leg over the other like he’s posing for a photo. he hasn’t said much. his face is unreadable, blank, but not stupid, like he’s already memorizing escape routes. or maybe he’s memorizing the names of every other tribute so he can picture them all dead.

his jaw clenches when the train shifts again, barely noticeable unless you’re looking.

you are.

the tv flickers on in the far wall. someone’s playing back the reapings.

district 1’s girl looked dangerous. all eyes and confidence. her male counterpart practically flexed his way down the stage. typical.

2 is you and rafe. 3, 4, and so on.

none of them look particularly terrifying. not yet. they will, once they’re all cleaned up and shoved into costume and trained to kill. but right now most of them look like scared kids in too-big shoes. even the ones who try to smile.

you both just watch the reapings on the screen to fill the silence, but nothing sticks. no one looks that threatening. yet.

then the door hisses open. enobaria, one of the few living victors in two, steps in first. she’s tall, composed, her glossy dark hair pulled back in a ponytail that looks too tight to be comfortable. she’s dressed sharp, tailored, like someone with nothing left to prove. and her teeth . . . they catch the light when she smiles. pointed. sharpened. but she doesn’t bare them unless she wants to.

she gives you both a once-over. “stand up,” she says. her voice is calm, but still firm. rafe stands first, slow but steady. you follow, legs stiff from sitting so long. your stomach turns with the train, or maybe it’s her.

behind her comes brutus. he’s massive, silent, and broad-shouldered like a living wall. he doesn’t bother with a greeting. just closes the door behind them and lets the quiet settle.

“so,” enobaria says, crossing her arms loosely. “you’re the ones we’re working with this year.”

brutus grunts. it might be agreement.

“you look the part,” she adds, tilting her head. “though i heard someone got a little messy getting here.”

her gaze slides to rafe. not judgmental, just amused. rafe shrugs, unbothered.

“he shoved me first.”

brutus narrows his eyes. “you still broke his nose.”

“he was weak,” rafe says. “he would’ve died in the first five minutes.”

you glance between them, curious how this will go.

enobaria lets out a short laugh. “well, he’s not wrong.”

brutus doesn’t laugh. but he doesn’t press, either. “next time, control the impulse,” he says. “you’re a tribute. not a brawler in the street.”

rafe gives the smallest nod, jaw tight.

enobaria moves closer, nodding toward the door. “come on. let’s talk where it matters.”

they lead you down the corridor to the next train car. it’s some strategy room, clearly. it’s darker, more utilitarian. the walls are lined with screens, a long table set in the center surrounded by deep leather chairs. maps of the arena’s past years flicker faintly, and files are stacked at brutus’s side.

you sit beside rafe. he leans forward with his elbows on his knees. you sit straighter, eyes flicking across the maps, learning. everything matters now.

“this is where we get to know what we’re working with,” brutus says, finally breaking the silence. “we’ll go over schedules soon. training days, interviews, assessments. but first—we need to know you.”

“what’d they teach you in the academy?” enobaria asks, sitting across from you. her eyes land on you first. “what’s your strength?”

you don’t hesitate. “blades. close-range combat. throwing knives too.”

“accuracy?” she asks.

you nod. “tight grouping. fast recovery. high hit rate.”

she lifts an eyebrow. “mental?”

you pause. then, “i don’t freeze, i think under pressure. i read people.”

“hm.” she taps her nails against the table once. satisfied.

“you?” brutus turns to rafe.

“hand-to-hand,” rafe says. “blunt weapons. axe, mace, staff. trained in a few chokeholds.”

brutus nods slightly. “pain tolerance?”

rafe’s mouth quirks at the edge. “pretty high.”

enobaria hums. “good. we can work with that.”

that makes brutus look at him a little longer. not smiling. but almost pleased. “you’ve got potential,” brutus says simply.

“both of you,” enobaria agrees. “we’ve seen enough tributes over the years to know who’s dead the second they get off the train. you two—”

“they might have a shot,” brutus finishes.

you glance at rafe. for the first time, he’s looking at you too.

“now,” brutus says, dragging a folder closer. “you’ll have three days in the training center before assessments. we need to talk presentation. strategy. we want sponsors watching you from day one.”

“confidence,” enobaria says, pointing at you. “you’ve got that, i can tell. play it up. don’t act like a victim. victors don’t come from people who want to be liked.”

you lean back a little, arms crossed.

“this year’s tributes look soft,” brutus says. “a few big ones from four and eleven, but no real killers. not yet.”

“that gives you an advantage,” enobaria says, gesturing lazily. “you walk into training like you’re already the ones to beat. let them know you’re district two. let them fear you.”

rafe leans forward slightly. “what about other strategy?” he asks. “like alliances?”

brutus smiles for the first time. it’s not kind. “you make them. you break them. that’s up to you.”

“but don’t expect loyalty,” enobaria adds. “only one of you walks out. remember that.”

her eyes slide to yours, thoughtful. “are you planning to be the one?”

you answer before you can think, “i don’t plan to die.”

brutus lets out a short, sharp laugh. it’s not mocking, it’s approval. “good. that’s the attitude.”

you feel your pulse steady a little. faster than it should be, but controlled.

you don’t know what’s coming exactly, but it’s war. and at least now, you know who’s on your side.

brutus stands then, massive and silent, nodding toward the door. “we’ll regroup before we reach the capitol.”

enobaria follows, pausing in the doorway.

“get some rest,” she says. “you’ve got a lot of blood to spill.”

you see the capitol from the train window as it pulls into the platform, and for a second, it feels like something’s crawling beneath your skin. there’s a quiet itch that tells you this is not your home. this is the center of the world that wants you dead, but dressed up pretty when it does it.

they lead you through long marble corridors, ceilings stretched so high it hurts your neck to look. peacekeepers flank every corner, faceless in their stark white armor. everything smells sterile and expensive.

you’re taken to the third floor. district 2’s floor. brutus tells you it’s yours now, until you’re dead or crowned.

your apartment is bigger than any home you’ve ever lived in. warm lighting, silver walls. there's fruit in glass bowls, too, and a view that wraps around the city like a threat.

but there’s no time to rest. your prep team is waiting.

they descend on you like insects, swarming with excitement and thin, practiced hands. you lose count of how many of them there are—two? three? one has pink hair styled in loops, another wears latex gloves and talks only in hums. they’re gentle, mostly. methodical.

they strip you down to nothing and pretend not to notice the bruises on your ribs, the dried blood under your nails, the way your lip is still swollen from the reaping.

you sit still through the scalding bath, the scrubbing, the waxing. they touch every part of you like you’re a project, like you’re not a person. they remove every piece of you that looks too human, like body hair, scars, dirt, blood, pride.

when they finish, you feel hollowed out. but also . . . polished. like a weapon pulled clean from the forge.

they leave, giggling, promising to return. and then the door clicks open again, and in walks your stylist.

her name is valis.

she’s tall, not much older than you, with skin like obsidian and eyes rimmed in silver liner that somehow makes her look even sharper. her hair is shaved close on one side, the rest pulled back into a thick braid wrapped in gold wire. she wears all black, all angles. she looks at you the way someone looks at a blueprint, deciding how best to make it a masterpiece.

she doesn’t smile.

instead, she steps closer, circles you once, and says only: “you’ll be unforgettable.”

you believe her.

valis doesn’t ask you many questions. she tells you how it’s going to be.

“district two is masonry, strength, legacy. they expect you to look like gladiators, yes, but that’s easy. what they won’t expect is how we make you divine. not just killers, but symbols.”

you’re fitted into a bodysuit made of something metallic and matte, like iron but soft to the touch. dark, gunmetal gray that catches the light and splits it. sculpted pieces of armor are fitted onto your shoulders, chest, arms. not bulky. sleek. molded to your frame like it belongs to you, like it was always yours, waiting.

etched into the armor are fine lines, maps of old battlegrounds, wars lost and won, mountains cracked open for stone. the designs shimmer faintly when you move.

your hair is pulled back, tight and regal. your face is left mostly bare, just sharp contouring, metallic powder across your cheekbones and down your collarbone.

valis places a final piece on you: a headpiece like a crown, low and fierce. a brutal, elegant circlet of dark steel or iron, shaped like a blooming crown with jagged upward spikes, mimicking both a rose’s thorns and the carved stonework of district two.

“you’re not just from district two,” she says, fastening it. “you are district two. they’ll see you and remember why they’ll root for you.”

when you step out of the prep room, you see rafe across the hall. he looks like he’s been carved out of stone.

his stylist’s clearly coordinated with valis. the look is sharp, sculptural. thick, slate-gray armor plates molded over a fitted black base layer, like cracked stone pulled from a mountainside and reforged around his body. there's silver powder dusted into the creases, like light catching between bricks. his shoulders are draped with some idiotic black cape lined with marble-patterned fabric that sways just slightly when he moves.

he looks less like a boy and more like a statue brought to life.

your lips twitch, and he notices, takes his time dragging his eyes from your war crown down to the laced boots hugging your calves.

“nice crown,” he says, like he’s trying not to smile. “very queen-of-the-quarry.”

you arch an eyebrow. “nice cape. looks like something they pulled off an old memorial statue.”

“i was going for intimidating,” he deadpans. “you know, before we get turned into national entertainment.”

“i think we’re already that.”

he glances at the armor shaped tight to your ribs. “yours actually fits,” he mutters. “mine’s like walking around in a coffin.”

you tilt your head. “that’s because mine was made for a victor.”

he gives you a look for that. flat, unreadable. but there’s a glint in his eye you’re starting to recognize.

the dry amusement. the you’re just as annoying as i am, and i hate that i like it kind of look.

“you look like a funeral,” you say, nodding at his costume.

“you look like the reason there is one.”

you pause, slow grin. he breaks first, just a small exhale, a breath of something close to laughter. it's sharp and quiet and it doesn't last. but it’s there.

and that’s the problem. you don’t want to laugh with him. you don’t want to see him like this. not when you're both dressed like weapons, walking toward your own slaughter. and yet, you like it. more than you should.

valis claps once behind you, sharp like a whip crack. “positions!”

you climb into the chariot first. rafe follows.

your mentors are waiting nearby. brutus doesn’t say anything for a long time. just looks at the two of you like he’s seeing a dream come to life.

then finally: “if you die dressed like this, it’ll be the most expensive mistake the capitol’s ever made.”

enobaria grins wide, fangs flashing. “you’ll burn them down,” she says. “and look beautiful doing it.”

district 1 steps out before you, draped in diamonds, glinting like fire. they’re tall. smug. perfect.

but when you and rafe mount your chariot and the horses start to move, you can feel it already. there’s this roar rising before you even reach the avenue.

the horses pull forward, muscles rippling beneath their sleek coats, hooves clacking steady against the marble-like ground. you’ve seen this parade before, sure, through a screen. but nothing prepares you for the real thing.

the crowd is massive. oceans of color and sound. glittering costumes, faces painted in horrifying beauty, hands reaching up, voices screaming for names they don’t even know yet. and you, you're on that screen now. you’re one of them. you’re the face they’ll remember.

and you’ll give them something worth remembering.

you stand tall, head high. your shoulders are pushed back, chin lifted like you were born to be here. and in a way . . . maybe you were, born to bleed in front of them, born to make it look good.

rafe doesn’t say a word beside you. you don’t need him to. he stands just as tall, just as cold. the two of you balance the chariot like matching statues—his side, your side. equal presence, equal pride. he doesn’t lean in, doesn’t try to whisper. he knows better. right now, this is a game of image, and you both know how to play.

you see district one’s chariot just ahead, gold and jewels and arrogance, but hear the pitch of the crowd shift when yours rolls out. louder. more excited. more curious because there’s a kind of danger to the two of you that can’t be replicated with glitter.

district two doesn’t come to entertain. you’re here to conquer.

your costume shifts when you move, metal and leather catching the overhead lights. your headpiece is heavy, it presses down on your skull like a threat. but you keep it there like it’s second nature.

when the chariot turns the corner and the path begins to narrow, your gaze lifts, and there he is.

president snow.

standing tall atop his ivory platform, hands folded neatly in front of him, white rose pinned to his chest like an omen. he watches like a god. and you hate the way your chest tightens just looking at him.

it’s not awe. not fear, exactly. just that reminder that no matter how tall you stand, he still sees you as small.

your eyes flick sideways. rafe’s jaw is tight. his brows pulled just slightly, just enough for you to see it. he feels it too. but he doesn’t waver. and neither do you.

you nod, just once. it’s not warm. it’s not for comfort. it’s strategy. we don’t falter. not here. not in front of him.

and then, you feel it.

the shift. the slip.

a slight release of pressure from your crown before it clatters, sharp and metallic, against the chariot floor. it bounces once, then rolls to the edge. off. gone.

you don’t move. rafe doesn’t either, his posture iron beside you.

you don’t even look down. not a twitch. the crowd hasn’t noticed, not really. the cheers are too loud, the cameras too high up. but you saw the way the district three tributes flinched behind you, their eyes darting to the fallen headpiece like it was the first drop of blood in the arena.

they’re worried for you. maybe even pitying.

you feel heat crawl up your neck. not from shame. from rage.

you hate when people assume they should be afraid for you. like you can’t handle the weight of a crown. or a mistake. or a punishment.

you meet their gaze over your shoulder, cold, sharp, unblinking. mind your business.

and then you turn back to face the capitol like nothing ever happened. spine straight. chin high. head bare, but proud. the spiked crown left behind like a piece of armor you never needed in the first place.

the parade ends in a slow blur of heat and noise.

hands reach for you and rafe immediately, belonging to security, staff, some faceless intern pulling you both down from the chariot with quick, trained motions. the horses are led off. the chariot’s rolled away.

you’re still standing tall, armor stiff, head bare, skin humming with leftover adrenaline when you’re guided toward the group already waiting near the edge of the staging area.

valis stands front and center, perfectly composed. she spots you both, gaze flitting briefly to the empty space where your crown once sat, but she doesn’t say it. not directly.

“i’m sure someone’s already picked it up,” valis offers instead, her voice light, easy, like she’s talking about a misplaced bracelet instead of a political symbol. “it’ll be returned to your suite. no need to worry.”

you don’t answer. just raise a brow, lips parting slightly in that resting expression of yours that always seems like a threat in disguise.

beside her, enobaria steps forward, more practical in her approach, arms crossed but face impressed.

“you stood like killers,” she says, nodding with approval. “not scared. not too smug. like you belong in the arena already. the way you claimed your space . . . people will remember that.”

you glance briefly at rafe, who looks equally unimpressed. good.

“i told you they’d pull it off,” valis adds, half to enobaria, half to herself. “i knew they would.”

their escort pipes in with a sudden clap of her jeweled hands. she’s tall, with pale pink skin painted in shimmery swirls, lashes curled up like petals, and an updo stacked so high it nearly brushes the overhead lights. her name is cassaline, and she literally sparkles when she talks.

“this is so thrilling,” cassaline squeals, already guiding you both toward the elevators with her arms open like she might actually try to hug one of you. “i cannot wait to show you your floor! i know you’ve already seen the dining room but your bedrooms are simply to die for! and i know you’ve had such a long day but—oh—it’ll be quick, i promise! just a little peek and then you can sleep like champions.”

you almost laugh. like champions.

rafe walks beside you, quiet, his shoulder bumping yours lightly as you’re led further into the hall.

you feel brutus’s presence more than you see it. he’s behind you both, a wall of silence. but something makes you glance over your shoulder. and you catch it.

he’s not looking at you. he’s watching something over your shoulder, just past your line of sight.

your eyes flick past him, slow and casual, until you spot them. there are clumps of tributes lingering in small groups. district four, five, six. stylists, prep teams, mentors. they're laughing, murmuring, adjusting costumes. but their eyes?

their eyes are on you. not just glancing, but watching. a few lower their heads quickly, whispering. a few don’t even try to hide it. like maybe they expected something out of district two. and maybe now they know they were right to.

you hold their gaze for just long enough to make them uncomfortable. good.

then you look back at brutus. and finally up at rafe, who meets your glance like he’s been expecting it. like he saw it all, too.

“get me out of this,” you mutter, your voice low, clipped, directed at valis without even turning her way. “i want to lay down.”

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth

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3amfanfiction · 4 months ago

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Picture Perfect pt 1

Lieutenant MacTavish confiscated your suggestive, racy photo when your then-boyfriend was waving it around, showing all his army buddies. If he then studied your picture and used it as wanking material for the next year, complete with a few domestic fantasies, that was nobody's business but his own; he wasn't hurting anyone. The picture was tucked away in a drawer, completely forgotten about until the day he came back from deployment as a captain with a nasty bullet graze and spotty memory. Cleaning out his desk, he found your photo again. He couldn't remember your name but he knew what you sounded like moaning his name. He didn't remember where you'd met but he knew he slipped a ring on your finger the night you both went out searching for the best garlic bread in the city. He wasn't sure if you had family but he knew what the silken clench of your cunt felt like around his fingers and cock. With all his unexpected free-time maybe he should track down his wayward wife. It had been too long since he'd seen you and he wasn't one to let things slip through his fingers. Whatever caused your separation would be dealt with, he wasn't going to lose you again.

3k words about Captain MacTavish finding his wife who he needs to re-woo. Nothing too serious, just a little scene.

His head ached as he cleaned out his desk, at least half due to his clenched jaw, muscles corded and knotted along the sharp jut of bone. Who did the brass think they were, putting him on indefinite leave just because of a bit of spotty memory. He remembered everything important! Everything that mattered was highlighted neon bright in his brain—the things that would keep his men alive, the pressure points of informants needed to complete the job. It was only the finer details that seemed to slip through his fingers like sand. What school he went to, when he'd graduated boot camp. A snarl crept across his face he gathered up everything in his desk drawer and threw it into a box. Talk about bullshit.

Slamming the drawer shut he turned to the next, scooping up handfuls of papers and knickknacks alike to be thrown haphazardly together, ready to be toted off home. He'd given up his life for the military and this was how they wanted to treat him? The first sign of something not going their way and they wanted to ship him off like trash. Like he couldn't do his job better than everyone on this goddamned base. Who had the longest streak of missions without a casualty? That's right, it was him.

Reaching into the back of the drawer he swiped around heatedly, looking for any remaining items he might have missed with his first pass. A smooth, glossy material met his fingertips and he pulled it out with an annoyed huff, turning to throw it into the box with the rest before taking in what was in his hand.

It was a picture.

A very pretty picture.

You were sat on the bed, suggestively posing for the camera, perched on your heels with a warm smile directed towards the lens. Eyes staring into his soul.

He knew this picture. He'd helped you take it, hadn't he? Or maybe you'd sent it to him? He couldn't quite remember the particulars but he remembered the photo. His pretty wife, all dolled up just for him in his favorite color. You'd sent it to help him through a deployment now that he was thinking about it. Something to remember you by while he was away.

As if he could forget you.

He slumped back into his chair holding the picture up to study it. Tilting it to keep the reflective shine off your face. Where was his wife at now? He knew he hadn't seen you for a while, but why? Why didn't you live together?

His head gave a particularly nasty throb and he tucked the thought away, refocusing. It didn't matter why you weren't together. He would find you and bring you home. He didn't believe in divorce and it was time to work through this separation. Plus, he had a plethora of unexpected free time suddenly staring him down. What better way to use it than to find an errant spouse.

Tucking the picture into his pocket, he started making plans to reach out to a few old friends. A name would be helpful but he was nothing if not resourceful.

\\\

You had just put the finishing touches on your dinner, aromatic herbs scenting the air when the doorbell rang. Wondering who would show up this late in the evening unannounced, you wiped your hands before heading to see. What greeted you was a mountain of a man with a flinty look on his face. A grown-out mohawk and bright blue eyes, weathered and creased, met your gaze before a slow smile broke out across his sternly handsome face.

"There you are, bonnie lass. No need to worry any longer, I'm home."

Without waiting for your response he ducked down to press a kiss to your cheek, his scruff scratching your skin before he pushed his way inside, letting a hand drag along your hip in passing. You shivered and shifted away, your mouth dropping open in shock.

"Wait—you can't come in," you spluttered, trying to place if you'd ever seen this man before. You followed him hesitantly to the kitchen where you saw he had found your silverware drawer and was taking a bite of your food hunched over the stovetop.

Watching him shovel the food into his mouth you observed the stranger, keeping a healthy distance between the two of you. You took in his disheveled hairstyle all the way down to his well-worn boots which he hadn't bothered to remove at the door. Asshole. He was already rude for storming in like he owned the place but to not have the common courtesy to pull his filthy shoes off before he tracked dirt all over your clean floors was beyond the pale.

"Better than I remember, hen."

Your eyes grew wide as you stared in shock at his audacity. "You can't just push your way into a strangers home and eat their food. Didn't your mother teach you any manners?" You mentally smacked yourself, pulling yourself back to heel quickly. Your mouth was going to get you into trouble one of these days.

"Ach, it's been a while since I'm talked with my mam. I hope you've been keeping in contact with her." Great blue eyes turned to pin you to your place, "It would break her heart if she stopped hearing from you."

You weren't going to even touch the double standards of that statement. Maybe if you were feeling a bit more sure of yourself but you felt firmly on the back foot right now.

"Why are you here?" you tried again, getting your thoughts back on track. "What is it you want?" Direct. To the point. You'd knows the man for less than a minute but you got the feeling he would steamroll right over the slightest hint of hesitancy from you. A wrecking ball in human form.

He paused, his hand halfway to his mouth loaded with another bite and gave you an obscure look, eyes glinting with something you couldn't make out.

"I'm here to bring my wife home, of course."

Of course. So simple. And it explained exactly nothing.

"Okay," you hedged, frowning at him. "I don't have her tucked away in a closet so what's that have to do with me?"

The stranger gave a mysterious smile before going back to your food. It was already halfway gone with the way he was inhaling it. A spark of annoyance traveled up your spine to sit with your shock and unease. You'd spent a good chunk of time making that and now you wouldn't even be able to enjoy it.

You'd really been looking forward to it too.

"Well?" you tried again. "Why are you in my house if you're looking for your wife? I certainly haven't seen her," and you wouldn't tell him even if you had. There was a indisputable manic glow coming from behind his eyes that made you wary. Some hind brain part of you perking up with a flashing 'danger' sign when you looked at this man who had commandeered your kitchen.

Scooping up the final bite, he dropped his spoon into the sink with a swallow and came over to you, reaching up to cup your face, thumbs rasping gently along your cheekbones. The way his fingers curved over the back of your skull kept his hands in place when you tried to pull away. "Just look at you, prettier than I remembered."

He did seem awfully entranced with you now that the food was gone. Eyes roving your face and trailing down to your stockinged feet before locking with yours once more. A small hint of a smile peeked through his sternness, a hint at brighter depths hidden behind the stone wall of his stoic expression.

Whether that brightness equaled kindness was still up for debate.

"I still don't know who you are or why you're in my house," you stammered, him finally relaxing enough to allow you to pull back out of his grasp. You took a shaky step backwards to put some distance back between the two of you.

"Gonna play it that way, are we?" he rumbled, his deep voice holding a bit of a growl. "All right. If I wooed you once I can woo you again, aye? I'm not above a bit of groveling to get you back where you belong." You were annoyed at the flutter you felt when he smiled charmingly down at you. Clearly a well-practiced expression on him. "Although you acting like you don't remember your husband's name is pretty hurtful. Are you a spiteful lass, then?" His smile changed to a there-and-gone smirk hiking up one side of his mouth, "I always did like them with a bit of bite."

You swallowed nervously.

"I think you need to leave," you tried, gesturing towards the front door. "I'm not your wife and there's no one else here so I'd appreciate it if you left." You tried to steel yourself, puffing up your chest to make yourself seem bigger and more self-assured. Hoping to dissuade him.

"We'll take it slow, I know better than to rush these things," he stated, dropping down to press a there-and-gone kiss to your forehead. "I'll be by tomorrow to fix that dripping faucet and then we can go for lunch."

Pulling your thoughts back into line you gaped at him. "Do not show back up at my house tomorrow," you told him, ire barely concealing the pleading lining every word but he wasn't listening. With a mockingly cheerful whistle he headed back towards the door, breezing out just as easily as he had breezed in.

You were left with a rumbling stomach and a quiet house, feeling like you'd just been sucker-punched. What just happened?

\\\

You weren't going to answer the door no matter how hard he knocked. You weren't home. Nobody was home so he should just leave.

Fretting on the couch, you glared at your entryway in outrage and uncertainty in equal measure. How long was he going to beat on your door? It already felt like it'd been going on for ages. You could barely hear yourself think with the way his hammering blows rattled the wood. You knew it wasn't the most secure and you were half worried he was going to take it off its hinges if this kept up.

You still weren't sure what happened last night.

After he left you scrounged up some dinner. Nothing like what you'd originally made but needs must. By the time you were finished you were beyond exhausted, the day's events draining you of every spec of energy. Deciding that you would deal with everything tomorrow you went to bed, certain that things would look different in the morning light.

What you hadn't counted on was tossing and turning all night, mind running a thousand miles an hour as you thought about your self-proclaimed 'husband' in all his glory. Why had he picked you to barge in on?

The only way you saw it was he was trying to con you out of or into something.

This whole 'wife' shtick could be a ploy he used with other unsuspecting people until he got whatever he wanted from them. This would hold a lot of weight if you had anything of value. Beyond a few pricey electronics there wasn't a whole lot you had.

And if he was trying to con you into something, well good luck to him. You were nothing if not stubborn and knowing someone was trying to pull a fast one on you ahead of time? You'd be able to dig your feet in until the problem went away.

But now it was noon and the problem was back at your house with no true plan in sight.

You didn't have a whole lot of options past hoping he went away. You'd rather not get the cops involved though you would if he seemed at all violent. You didn't have anyone who could come scare him away or talk to him for you. You were stuck hoping that he would get tired and leave. Hoping that he decided you were too much effort for whatever prank or ill plan he had hatched with you as the victim.

While your thoughts slowly spiraled you never noticed the pounding quieting before there was a rustle of bags and a scraping sound coming from the handle. What you did notice was your door suddenly swinging open, the stranger from last night standing back up to full height from where he'd been crouched, pocketing something in a swift movement.

"Salty lass, not letting your husband in when he's knocking at the door," he groused before brushing it aside, moving back towards the kitchen to deposit the bags he was holding on the table. "I brought lunch with so we could eat here and get to know each other again rather than going out. I don't much care for the stares," he gestured to his temple and the mass of scar tissue that furrowed from his brow back towards his skull. "There's a fantastic little deli not too far from my house. I couldn't remember what you liked so I got a few different options."

You could only stand and watch in dismay as he worked to pull food from the bags he brought, a well-worn tool bag set off to the side showed he planned to make true to his word from yesterday.

With the daylight and an absence of shock you were able to take him in, from his broad shoulders pulling at the cotton covering them—seams straining against his bulk as he moved around your kitchen pulling out plates and cups—down to his thick thighs, rounded and looking quite capable of running anyone down. You watched him do a double-take at the kitschy collection of mugs you owned before continuing on. In no time flat the table was set and he looked at you expectantly.

"Did you just pick the lock on my front door?" you finally gathered yourself enough to ask, still staring at him, not making a move towards the table. You kind of thought that only happened in tv shows and books, not in real life.

The stranger brushed it off with a wave of his hand, "Don't worry about all that, although we need to see about getting you some better security. You'll move into mine, of course. It's much more secure."

You did a double take at his presumption.

"You're joking. If anything I need better security from you."

This was ridiculous. What was the bit? What was he hoping to swindle from you with all of this? You didn't have spare cash—everything went straight to bills. Your apartment was decorated with items from the thrift shop, nothing he could hock. You had half a mind to let this play out—see it through to its end just to watch his mounting frustration.

"That's hurtful, hen. I know I've changed a bit over the years—got a few more scars than you probably remember—but I'm still me, aye? Still just Johnny, even though I'm a captain now." His chest puffed up on the word captain, clearly something he took pride in. You couldn't help the sardonic congratulations you shot his way, looking to stick a pin in his inflating ego.

He didn't seem to hear the tone you used and for the first time you saw a full, true smile break out over his face, nothing like the earlier smirks and half-hearted grins. It was shocking how much it changed his whole demeanor. Suddenly this stern, stoic man turned into a kid being complimented on their artwork.

For a split second you felt ashamed at yourself, that you could be cruel to someone like that, even if it was slight and mostly in your own head. Only for a moment though. You quickly remembered that he was in your house after picking the lock no less. It was annoying how easily he seemed to derail your thoughts and feelings.

He stepped closer to you as if he were about to sweep you into a hug, a loved one to share in a celebration with. You darted around the table instead, keeping it firmly between the two of you, wanting all the distance you could get from this handsome stranger.

You cleared your throat, "I'm sure your wife misses you," maybe you could redirect him? "You should go find her."

"Does she?" he asked with a quizzical smile, as if you were in on a joke together and he was playing along.

"Without a doubt."

"Well, I'll have to do everything I can to make sure she takes me back." With a jarring slap to his thigh he changed the subject. "Come sit down, it's time to eat."

You watched him warily for a moment, ensuring he wasn't going to lunge for another hug before hesitantly taking a seat. Looking at the food spread out in front of you, your mouth started watering like a traitor. You would be ecstatic at the offering if it wasn't your insistent pseudo-husband who brought it.

Pulling a dish towards you with a fleeting thought about poison, you let your mind wander to the sounds of chewing. What were you going to do? He clearly wasn't going to leave just because you told him to. He acted like you'd known each other for years

Maybe it was best to play along. You could act like a separated spouse and give him a to-do list a mile long to scare him away. You couldn't see another way out of this past being so odious and leaning into stereotypes hard enough that he got bored and stopped playing this unusual routine. And in the back of your mind you were worried about what would happen if you upset him by insisting too strongly that you weren't his spouse.

You looked at him, observing as he demolished his lunch. Hopefully it would wear the shine off of this spouse routine quickly. If he was picking the locks to get inside it wasn't like you could keep him out. Instead you'd wear him down, make him see that this wasn't really what he wanted and then he'd go on his way. Breeze out of your life the same way he'd breezed in.

With a plan firmly in place you took the time to enjoy your lunch. Might as well milk it for everything he'd give you while you were doing this and the food truly was delicious. He'd managed to get a little bit of everything so it was practically buffet style at your table. In no time flat you were stuffed.

Finishing your last bite you turned to look at him. Time to get started.

"You said something about fixing the sink?"

Part Two

#john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #captain mactavish x reader #fic: picture perfect

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n0rmal-cat · 1 month ago

Text

Mob boss x broke reader-Michael back…

[I don’t know if this one is good, friends says it’s fine, but they’re my friends….i don’t trust them..]

"Levon" you called out to him from your bedroom, just as fast as his name left your month he was there.

"yes my love?" he stood in the doorway posing seductively.

"Are the guns with guns and black suits with you, or is that the IRS?” You point down at the people below your window.

"The what?" he looked down at where you were pointing, a group of about five black cars surrounded your front door, and men in said black suits guarded the border.

"ah shit it's Michael, get down"

"wha-ah!" he pushes your head below the window

"Michael, get out of here!" he yelled down from the window to one of the men.

"Boss please you can't just leave, and do you know how long it took us to find you?!" the man shakes his head.

"Can you just come down?" he asks

"fine" levon crossed his arms and glared down at him.

He stomped his way to the door.

"Wait, what the hell is going on?" you ask as you grab his ankle "Can I get up now"

he jolted up as he felt your touch "of course dear, i'm sorry did i scare you?" he smiled down at you.

"Alright, that's the last time I even look at you" You got up as well "So what's this about you coming home?"

"well I'm a mafia boss you see-" You covered his mouth with your hand

"Yeah, I know that's why I kidnapped you, no need to do your whole 'i'm a big bad hot mafia boss that kills people and has money' " You unlocked your front door.

"Now all of you get the hell off my lawn!" you yelled at everyone, which didn't end as you now had multiple guns on you.

"Who the hell are you, and why do you have our boss"

"listen as much as I would love to give him back he's kinda my wallet right now"

"Levon, you left us for a sugar baby?!" the man shouted at him

"Alright, that's enough" Levon pushes you back into the house shutting the door.

"What the hell?" you joggle the door knob but it wouldn't budge "Did...did he just lock me in my own home?" you stood there confused "I guess...i'll just wait?"

It was probably a little more than twenty minutes before the door opened again.

"Hello, love~"

"hello reader"

"You told him my name, but I still don't even know what's happening?"

the man extended his hand

"Michael, don't introduce yourself this idiot already has"

you shook it "Oh great to know that he just airs my business to the world" you glared up at Levon.

"well how was i supposed to tell him about the love of my life if I couldn't tell him all about you?"

"you called them ' a wet stray cat that I want to take care of "

he went quiet for a moment "It doesn't matter what I called them, but now you understand why I can't go home?"

Michael runs a hand through his hair in frustration "Can't you just take them with us?"

"I don't want to go with you guys?"

"they don't want to go with us, Michael"

he sighed and ran and said hand down his face "ok well you can't just stay here, can you at least come to the base in the day? like a job"

Levon crossed his arms "I can't just leave-"

"yeah sure take him in the day" you shrug as Levon face saddens

"I get a break and you get your 'boss' a win-win?"

Michael smiles "I'm glad we see eye to eye"

"I don't see eye to eye!".

You put an hand on his arm “oh come on, it’s just what a few hours you’ll be gone the same time I go to work, plus…how good would it feel coming home from work and for me to run you a hot bath”

He stared at you with a blank face “…”

“Will you also be in the bath?” Horny bastard…

“Oh course, now go put on nice clothes for your men”

He smiled and ran up that stairs with speed

“Does that work all the time?” Michael raised an eyebrow

“Oh yeah all the time”

[no art this time but I have two planed for next time…which may be farmer yan…]

#gender neutral reader #gn reader #yandere #yandere drabble #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere scenarios #yandere x reader #yandere x you #gender neutral y/n #gn y/n #male yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #🖋️mob boss yan

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lowdownlolo · 5 months ago

Note

ohhh my favourite fred fluff scenario please i need to see your take on it PLEASEEE

fred and reader have been in a secure relationship for months, they're so healthy and so trusting and comfortable. there's a gryffindor house party that fred most definitely goes to, though reader stays in their dorm (homework or just tired or whatever reason).

some other girl has polyjuiced herself into reader and tries to make fred jealous by making out with other guys or trying to break up with him, all the while posing as the reader.

fred sees through it immediately cause wtf this is not my love? whomst are you and how quickly can you run because when they find out about this you better have left the country.

fred is possessive of them, obviously, but he also knows that they are just like that about him. there is not a force in the world that could drive the two apart, especially not some random person at a party.

feel free to change anything you wish oh but PLEASE i wanna see your spin on this so badly pleaseee

꧁✬◦°⋆⋆°◦. 𝓀𝓃ℴ𝒸𝓀ℴ𝒻𝒻 | 𝒻𝓇ℯ𝒹 𝓌ℯ𝒶𝓈𝓁ℯ𝓎 ◦°⋆⋆°◦✬꧂

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐝’𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦, 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥?..

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐲𝐣𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮(𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡!💋), 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐝’𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐥𝐨 𝐥𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬: 𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐬! 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞! 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞, (𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐡𝐩 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨!) 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 @kisses4fred 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭! 💋💖

Fred Weasley had been in high spirits when he left your dorm that evening, the usual buzz of a Gryffindor house party calling his name. You’d waved him off with an indulgent smile, telling him to go enjoy himself while you stayed back to catch up on your homework—or possibly just to enjoy a quiet evening without the noise and chaos.

“Try not to blow up the common room,” you’d teased, glancing up from your parchment.

Fred had laughed, leaning down to kiss your forehead before pulling back to study you with a warm, fond expression. “Blow it up? Love, I’d never leave you homeless. I’ll keep the chaos contained.”

“Sure you will,” you’d replied dryly, your lips twitching into a smile.

Fred had left reluctantly, glancing over his shoulder one last time before closing the door. He didn’t particularly want to go to the party, not when you weren’t there, but George had insisted. “You’re already an old married man,” George had teased. “Come on, live a little.”

The party was as wild as expected. Gryffindors packed the common room, music blaring, butterbeer and firewhiskey flowing freely. Fred, as usual, was in the center of it all, orchestrating pranks, laughing with friends, and keeping George from getting them both banned from the tower. But no matter how much fun he was having, a part of his mind always wandered back to you. He wondered if you were still working or if you’d fallen asleep on your books, and he caught himself glancing at the clock, counting down the minutes until he could sneak away and return to you.

That’s why, when you walked into the common room, Fred’s heart stuttered for a second.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You’d said you were too tired to deal with the noise, too swamped with work to join. But there you were, standing at the edge of the room. Fred’s initial surprise melted into confusion as he watched you move. Something wasn’t right.

You didn’t carry yourself the way you usually did. Fred was used to your quiet confidence, the way you moved like you belonged anywhere you chose to be. But this version of you was stiff, hesitant, almost awkward. It was subtle, something most people wouldn’t notice—but Fred did. He always noticed you.

Then came the real blow: you sauntered over to some Ravenclaw bloke and laughed at whatever drivel he was saying. It was a loud, shrill laugh—one that didn’t belong to you at all. Fred frowned, his hand tightening around the butterbeer he’d been nursing. His confusion deepened, but he didn’t feel panic. He trusted you implicitly, knew that whatever he was seeing couldn’t possibly be real.

And then you kissed the Ravenclaw.

Fred didn’t feel heartbreak or betrayal. Instead, he felt something colder, sharper. He set his drink down slowly, his eyes narrowing as he studied the scene in front of him. The way you moved, the way you kissed—it was all wrong. Whoever this person was, they weren’t you. They didn’t know how you leaned into Fred when you kissed him, or the soft little sigh you made when you pulled back. They didn’t know you well enough to even pretend to be you convincingly.

Fred’s lips curled into a smirk, dark and dangerous. Whoever had done this—whoever had dared to steal your face—was about to learn why you didn’t mess with a Weasley, especially not his person.

He pushed through the crowd with purpose, weaving between dancing students until he stood just a few feet away from the impostor. His towering frame and piercing stare were enough to draw attention, and the room began to quiet as people noticed him.

“Well, well,” Fred drawled, his voice carrying easily over the muffled music. “What a surprise, love. Didn’t know you’d decided to master time travel and personality swaps tonight.”

The impostor froze, their back stiffening as they turned to face him. Their expression faltered for the briefest moment before they forced a bright, nervous smile.

“Fred! I—uh, I thought you’d be happy to see me!”

Fred tilted his head, his smirk widening as he stepped closer. His eyes were sharp, glittering with something that made the impostor shrink back slightly. “See, I am happy to see you. But there’s just one problem.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. “You’re not her.”

The impostor blinked, their smile faltering completely now. “What are you talking about? Of course I’m—”

Fred laughed, the sound cold and humorless. “Please. You think I wouldn’t notice? I know every inch of her, every look, every move. You? You’re a cheap knockoff.” He leaned closer, his tone darkening. “Whoever you are, you’ve got about five seconds to explain yourself before I make you wish you’d never set foot in this tower.”

The impostor’s eyes darted around the room, clearly realizing they were cornered. The real you wasn’t here to see this, but Fred knew you’d be livid when you found out. And Merlin help whoever had done this, because Fred was possessive of you, sure—but you were just as protective of him. There wasn’t a force in the world that could drive the two of you apart, and anyone foolish enough to try was playing a losing game.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the impostor stammered, but their voice wavered, betraying their panic.

Fred didn’t even blink. “Run,” he said simply, his tone low and menacing.

The impostor didn’t need to be told twice. They bolted for the door, nearly tripping over themselves in their haste. Fred watched them go, shaking his head with a mixture of amusement and fury. He’d deal with the details later—figure out who they were and how they’d managed this stunt. For now, all he wanted was to see you.

When Fred reached your dorm, he knocked lightly before stepping inside. You were exactly as he’d pictured: curled up in a blanket, your quill in hand, looking up at him with a mixture of surprise and confusion.

“Fred? Back so soon? What happened to the party?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he crossed the room and pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. You let out a soft laugh, your hands coming up to rest on his shoulders.

“Fred, what’s going on?” you asked, your voice muffled against his jumper.

“Nothing,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Just missed you.”

You pulled back slightly, your brows furrowed in concern. “Are you okay? You’re acting… weird.”

Fred smiled, his usual playfulness returning as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “Weirdly in love, maybe.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile softened. Whatever had happened at the party, you didn’t need to know all the details. Fred was here, with you, and that was all that mattered.

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