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seitmai · 5 hours ago

Text

Many thoughts

“I can’t believe we go to a school thing and Baby on Board here manages to snag a teacher,” Hangman complains, hitting the cue ball across the table. He stands up straight, motioning to him. “C’mon. Look at him. No offense, I mean.” “You really gotta stop saying ‘no offense’ when you say shitty things, Bagman,” Phoenix comments, rolling her eyes.

For real!

“She’s got a point,” Bob finally offers, looking up from his phone. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, keeping them in place. But he knows he has a shit eating grin on his face. “You’re the one that went out to lunch –I just happened to have stayed back. Right time, right place.” “Don’t get cocky on us, Bobby,” Hangman warns, pointing the pool stick at him. “She hasn’t even texted you yet, has she?”

This just truly shows that Jake can't bear to not be cocky for once lol

Bob deflates some, nodding sheepishly. Then, as if the universe wanted him to have a win, his phone buzzes.

Impeccable timing

“I think you must have been able to read my mind,” she says from the other end of the call, and he can just see the pretty smile on her face. “I was just thinking I wanted to hear your voice.” He blushes, running a hand over his jaw as he grins to himself. Then he sits on one of the chairs outside the bar, kicking his feet out. “I’m glad I’m not the only one, then,” he admits with a small chuckle. “How was the rest of your day?”

That's just the sweetest thing ever (even though I personally hat taling on the phone lol)

“I’ll have to make it up to them,” he offers without a second thought, sitting up again as Rooster comes outside. The pilot gives him a questioning thumbs up and Bob returns it with a smile. “I can bring lunch for them sometime, if you’d like.” “Lieutenant Floyd, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to earn brownie points by being so nice to my students.”

I mean, why not? That's some good strategy right there

She hums at this, and he wonders what she’s thinking. But the thought is banished when she speaks again. “Well, I’ll see you on Friday, Lieutenant Floyd. I have to finish grading these essays before then, or our date will consist of you helping me grade.” “I can do that too,” he offers without missing a beat. “I…really believe you would do that,” she admits with a soft laugh. “Text me, though. Seriously. I can’t chat on the phone, but I…I would like to keep talking to you.”

I 100% believe he would help her grade and that's juat so sweet 🥰

She’s distracted, and he clears his throat, but there’s a sheepish smile on his face as he speaks. “I wasn’t sure what flowers you liked, so I got probably one of everything.”

“Bob from Montana,” she repeats, nodding as if she suddenly understood a lot about him. “That does explain the accent –that midwestern chivalry too. Were you a cowboy before you were an officer, Bobby?” He leans back in his seat a bit, watching her with that same grin he gave her at lunch the other day. “I did work on my family farm –can’t say I was a cowboy, though.” “Shame, I bet you’d look cute in a cowboy hat.”

Facts 😌

“How often do you deploy?” She asks, and it’s a question she doesn’t really want an answer to, but she knows she needs to get it out of the way now before she’s hooked. Though, it might be too late.

Urgh understandable but a hard thing having to question from early on

“I just recently got back from deployment,” he explains, leaning his elbows on the table to look at her. His tone has shifted some, a bit more serious than before. “I’ll be here for a while, I think –they’re having our squad train a few teams of pilots on a new weapons system.” “So that bodes well for a second date,” she offers, trying to ease any tension or concern he might have.

What a perfect way to ask for a second date 🥰

They don’t have a lot of things in common, but she tells him she’s interested in the things he talks about and is open to trying new things –but he has to be the one introducing them to her. He shares the sentiment, a grin on his face.

That is just so perfect and the literal dream 😍

He squeezes her hand gently, and she can feel him looking down at her. “Thank you for saying yes. I’m not…usually one to ask a pretty girl out the moment I meet her. But I’m glad I did.” She looks up at him, and they lock eyes for a second. A fondness is in his eyes —more than just a passing date or two, but actual care —and she smiles. There’s a charge between them; a tension that they both know all too well. It’s just up to them now to decide who's going to give into it first.

Ahh this is so precious 🥹🥰

“I’d like to kiss you,” he admits, and she can’t help but let out a laugh. Because of course he’d ask; he’s too sweet not to. “I’d like it if you did too,” she promises.

🥰🥰🥰

“Can we skip to the part where you ask me to be your girlfriend?” She asks, voice soft as they sit up slowly. “After one date?” He points out, but not because he doesn’t want to. But because he’s surprised she does. “I…yeah. Absolutely.” She stares at him expectantly, grinning at him until he catches on. Then he nods quickly, fixing his glasses like it’s a nervous habit. “Sorry, yeah —I’d…I’d kill for you to be my girl, if you’d want that?”

Easy answer imo 🙂‍↕️

Future Fest | b. f. | 2

Bob Floyd x teacher!reader

She briefly considers that if he asked her, she’d go anywhere he wanted.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff

Author's Note: My hand slipped

Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

Bob is sitting to the side with Phoenix, anxiously shaking his leg. He’s been checking his phone every five minutes it feels like, waiting for a text from her. They’ve been at the Hard Deck for an hour or so. He’s pretty sure the school let out at four, but he wasn’t positive. Maybe she’d forgotten; he’s kicking himself for not getting her number instead.

“You really gotta stop saying ‘no offense’ when you say shitty things, Bagman,” Phoenix comments, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t get cocky on us, Bobby,” Hangman warns, pointing the pool stick at him. “She hasn’t even texted you yet, has she?”

Bob deflates some, nodding sheepishly. Then, as if the universe wanted him to have a win, his phone buzzes.

Hey! It’s your new favorite teacher :)

He grins at the text, unable to help himself. Hangman groans in the background, but Bob isn’t paying any attention to him now as he focuses on what to say. Then he decides to be honest –it only made sense.

Glad you texted me. I was starting to kick myself for not getting your number lol.

There’s a beat, and he stares at the screen and the little bubble that pops up as she’s typing.

I’m pretty sure if I didn’t text you, my kids would have found out and murdered me. They’re so nosey lol

“You gonna play, Bob, or you gonna sit there and make eyes at your phone?” Fanboy teases, coming around to throw his arm around his shoulders. “Let’s see what your new friend is saying –,”

But Bob moves out of reach, holding his phone away from his friend as he stands up. “Knock it off –I’ll shoot later. I’ll be back in a sec.”

They all holler after him as he moves his way through the crowd and out the back doors. He considers, for a moment, if he should just call her. Would that be weird? He doesn’t really like texting; there could only be so much behind the words and it’s easy to misunderstand. And truthfully, he wants to hear her voice again.

He caves, and she picks up the first ring.

He blushes, running a hand over his jaw as he grins to himself. Then he sits on one of the chairs outside the bar, kicking his feet out. “I’m glad I’m not the only one, then,” he admits with a small chuckle. “How was the rest of your day?”

“Chaotic,” she admits with a laugh of her own. And Bob swears he’s never heard anything so sweet. “Once you left, the kids lost their damn minds on me. They’re so nosey –I couldn’t get them to focus at all.”

“I got the impression they’re a bit nosey,” he agrees, leaning back in the chair. “Are they always following you around, or was today a special sort of day?”

She sighs in a wistful sort of way, and he imagines her sitting in her living room. Maybe she’s relaxed after a long day, maybe she’s winding down. “Today was a special sort of day, but I do usually have a group that eats lunch with me every day. They were especially mad that I kicked them out.”

“Lieutenant Floyd, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to earn brownie points by being so nice to my students.”

He chuckles again, shaking his head. “Is it working?”

“It is,” she admits, and he covers his mouth because he knows he’s smiling like a damn fool. Even if she’s not here to see it, he can’t help it. “Let’s have that date before we start bribing my students to like you though.”

“I can make that happen,” he concedes, leaning forward now to rest his arms on the tops of his knees. “How’s Friday sound? I can pick you at six –there’s a nice little place on the water. The sunset’s always real pretty there.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” she agrees. “I’ll text you my address. What should I wear?”

“Anything you want.”

“I can do that too,” he offers without missing a beat.

“I…really believe you would do that,” she admits with a soft laugh. “Text me, though. Seriously. I can’t chat on the phone, but I…I would like to keep talking to you.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says confidently. “I’ll see you on Friday.”

He hangs up the phone and stares at the screen with what’s probably the dopiest grin possible. Bob stays there for a little while longer, texting back and forth with her until Fanboy comes out and forces him back inside.

I want to say duty calls, but all that really means is that they need me to drive them home –have a goodnight. I’ll see you soon

There’s not a beat missed when she replies back,

I can’t wait, Lt. Floyd. Goodnight.

There’s a little blue heart at the end of the text, and Bob swears that it makes his heart lurch in his chest. He’s already a smitten fool for a girl he just met; the team is going to give him so much shit.

*****

She’s not pacing exactly, but she’s definitely not standing still as she waits for Bob.

She doesn’t know why she’s so nervous; they’ve been texting back and forth all week and she called him at least twice after the initial chat. But she is, and so she’s finding things to do so she doesn’t sit and stew in her nerves. Touching up her lipstick, switching out the jewelry she’s wearing, changing her shoes…until there’s a soft knock on the front door and she takes a quick breath in.

“I got this,” she reassures herself, slipping her sandals back on, then opening the door.

Bob is standing there with a bouquet of flowers. He’s not in his uniform today; just a light blue flannel shirt that’s rolled up to his elbows and a pair of jeans. But she can’t help but think he’s just as handsome as the first time she saw him.

She’s distracted, and he clears his throat, but there’s a sheepish smile on his face as he speaks. “I wasn’t sure what flowers you liked, so I got probably one of everything.”

“These are beautiful,” she finally manages to say, taking them in her hands. “You can come in –I’ll put these in a vase then we can go.”

He follows her to the kitchen, where she fumbles around for a moment until she finds a vase big enough. She can feel his eyes on her for a moment but when she turns around, he’s looking at the photos on the wall just outside the kitchen. She comes up behind him, pointing at one of her as a little girl, with bright pink hair, and a younger boy with a green mohawk.

“That’s my little brother and I when we went back to Seattle for the first time since moving here,” she explains with a fond smile. “We weren’t supposed to be going anywhere, so my mom let us dye our hair and cut it up for the summer. My grandma got sick though and we had to go up there to help…My mom got the nastiest looks in the airport.”

“You miss it up there?” He asks, looking down at her.

“Sometimes, but it’s too cold for me now.”

He nods in agreement as she motions for him to follow again, grabbing her purse. “I was stationed briefly up in Bremerton, at Naval Base Kitsap. It rains…a lot.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she laughs, shutting the door behind them. “Cold and wet. If it wasn’t so pretty, I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to live here.”

He opens the passenger door of his truck without hesitation, holding out his hand to help her in. She blushes at the motion, smiling to herself as she settles into the seat.

The drive isn’t long, and when they arrive, they’re seated out on the deck, right on the beach. The sun is just setting, and she thinks it’s the most magical thing she’s seen in years. Then, he pulls out her chair for her there as well. She wants to thank his mother for raising a proper gentleman, because she can’t remember the last time anyone pulled out her chair for her or helped her get into the car.

“Where are you from, Lieutenant?” She asks after the waiter takes their drink order.

“Montana,” he offers with a grin. “And you can just call me Bob.”

He leans back in his seat a bit, watching her with that same grin he gave her at lunch the other day. “I did work on my family farm –can’t say I was a cowboy, though.”

“Shame, I bet you’d look cute in a cowboy hat.”

He blushes at that, and she laughs as she lifts her wine glass to her lips. “What made you wanna join the Navy? Isn’t Montana landlocked?”

He nods in confirmation, looking over at the water for a moment. “My dad, and his dad, and his dad before him –they were all military. It wasn’t even a second thought to join. But I wanted to work with planes, so the Navy had my best chance at that.”

“So that bodes well for a second date,” she offers, trying to ease any tension or concern he might have.

His smile says it all as he nods. “I think it does, yeah.”

The rest of the evening goes just as smoothly, conversation flowing easily between the two of them. They talk and eat, sharing a variety of things about themselves. She tells him about her favorite books, both personally and the ones she likes to teach. He tells her about his favorite movies and what he did before he moved to California. They don’t have a lot of things in common, but she tells him she’s interested in the things he talks about and is open to trying new things –but he has to be the one introducing them to her. He shares the sentiment, a grin on his face.

By the time the check comes, neither of them want the night to end.

“C’mon,” he suggests, taking her hand in his.

She follows without question, distracted by how large his hand is compared to hers. How calloused it is, which she knows is because of his work. There’s a brief moment where she considers how they would feel on other parts of her body, and the thought makes her flush as he pulls her down the boardwalk to the beach.

They slip off their shoes, leaving them up on the boardwalk in hopes they’re there when they get back. Feeling a little more bold, she pulls herself close to his side as they walk, other hand moving to hold onto his arm. Bob looks down at her, and even in the dark, she can see the blush creeping up his cheeks.

“I’m having a great time tonight, Bob,” she sighs when they stop, sitting down in the sand. She rests her head on his shoulder, still holding his hand, and looks out over the water. “Thank you for this.”

He squeezes her hand gently, and she can feel him looking down at her. “Thank you for saying yes. I’m not…usually one to ask a pretty girl out the moment I meet her. But I’m glad I did.”

She looks up at him, and they lock eyes for a second. A fondness is in his eyes —more than just a passing date or two, but actual care —and she smiles. There’s a charge between them; a tension that they both know all too well. It’s just up to them now to decide who's going to give into it first.

“I’d like to kiss you,” he admits, and she can’t help but let out a laugh. Because of course he’d ask; he’s too sweet not to.

“I’d like it if you did too,” she promises.

And that’s all it takes for Bob to lean in and close the gap between them. He’s soft, but a bit urgent, like he’s afraid if he stops, he’ll never get to kiss her again. But when she reaches up and touches his cheek, deepening the kiss, he slows down just enough to let her enjoy the feeling of his mouth on hers.

He tastes sweet —and a little salty, though that could be the ocean sticking to their skin. His hands find her waist, and he’s pushing her back into the sand. Her tongue traces along his bottom lip, a silent question of more. And he accepts, half on top of her, as she tangles her tongue with his.

She thinks she’s definitely hooked now. There’s no way she’s not; his weight against her, his hands on her hips. He tastes like honeysuckle and vanilla, and she briefly considers that if he asked her, she’d go anywhere he wanted.

When they finally pull apart —half because they need to breath and half because neither of them want to push this any further in the sand —he rests his forehead against hers. That boyish grin is plastered on his face, and her lips are swollen from kissing. They’re staring at each other like they think they both hold the stars in their eyes.

“Can we skip to the part where you ask me to be your girlfriend?” She asks, voice soft as they sit up slowly.

“After one date?” He points out, but not because he doesn’t want to. But because he’s surprised she does. “I…yeah. Absolutely.” She stares at him expectantly, grinning at him until he catches on. Then he nods quickly, fixing his glasses like it’s a nervous habit. “Sorry, yeah —I’d…I’d kill for you to be my girl, if you’d want that?”

“I do like the sound of being called your girl,” she admits, leaning over to kiss his cheek gently. “I definitely want that, Bobby.”

He nods again, unable to help the smile that’s spreading across his face. Then he’s kissing her again, like his life depends on it. But she’s laughing into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“My girl,” he whispers against her lips when he pulls away.

“Your girl.”

639 notes · View notes

carminechrollo · 3 days ago

Text

CHOCOLATE GONE WRONG

neuvillette x f!reader

SYNOPSIS: Neuvillette finds himself itching to break the sacred rule of No Nut November after naïvely indulging in aphrodisiac-laced chocolates gifted by Sigewinne—a popular craze among young Fontanian adults.

CONTENT WARNING: explicit smut (mdni), unprotected sex, creampie, porn w/o plot, p in v, use of aphrodisiacs (m), neuvillette has two cocks, neuvillette uses his cane as a makeshift leg spreader bar, pet names, wriothesley cameo, sigewinne mention, not beta read

WORD COUNT: 5.4k

NOTES: this is a repost from my old blog and was from my nnn event last year :3

For Neuvillette, the month of November was nothing significant to say the least—his job continued, overseeing trials, sorting out documents, meeting with important people, and more workload now that Lady Furina had stepped down from archon hood; so, when you had come into his office one day, talking about how a certain trend spread like fire across Teyvat, Neuvillette was rather intrigued.

It had a weird name—No Nut November—and couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea based on the name alone.

He remembered how you explained to him Fontanians, and people of other nations were to engage in No Nut November which was to participate in sexual abstinence.

Naturally, the idea was all bizarre to him—not because he thought he couldn’t do it but more so the fact that it was natural for humans to engage in intercourse, same goes for his kind as well.

Neuvillette couldn’t see the significance of such a trend, and why humans were participating but who was he to deny your proposal of a challenge?

After all, there was no harm involved, he figured it would help him understand human customs a little better despite the it’s strangeness in nature.

Situated behind his desk, Neuvillette let out a deep sigh, letting the papers in his hand fall onto the wooden desk beneath before rubbing his temples.

“Stressed, Monsieur?”

A familiar, teasing voice sliced through the suffocating silence of the Iudex’s office.

Neuvillette looked up from his desk, greeted by a friendly figure.

The former was too focused on the case materials before him that he hadn’t realised the presence of another,

“Wriothesley. I’m rather surprised to see you.”

The raven-haired male was clad in his usual attire, heavy obsidian boots sounding with each step taken against the carpeted floors.

“Ah, you’re not the only one.” Wriothesley chuckled, recalling his encounter with Sedene just mere seconds ago, who looked like she had just seen a ghost.

Before Neuvillette could inquire about the sudden visit, the former beat him to it,

“Don’t worry, I won’t take up much of your time. I’m here because Sigewinne had given me an errand to run. She got these for you.”

Taking a couple steps closer to Neuvillette’s desk, Wriothesley placed a small box atop the case papers.

Carefully wrapped in an ivory satin ribbon, the azure container was adorned with intricate designs in gold that shone beneath the afternoon sun, neatly decorated chocolates peeked from the plastic window of the lid.

The Chief Justice subtly raised his brows in amusement, he wasn’t one to indulge in chocolate nor was he a sweet tooth but nonetheless, he appreciated Sigewinne’s thoughtful gesture.

“That is very kind, please thank her for me.”

Watching the way Neuvillette’s expression morphed into a naïve smile, Wriothesley crossed his arms over his chest,

“Say, Monsieur, have you heard of the craze among young Fontanian adults right now?”

He most likely already knew the Iudex’s answer to the question but what was life without a little teasing?

With how the popular sweet has been making rounds across Fontaine, it would be near impossible for anyone to be clueless about it but at the end of the day, Neuvillette was Neuvillette, probably the busiest man in all of Fontaine which is why Sigewinne had to intervene with the chocolates.

The head nurse didn’t have to physically see the Iudex to tell how much he’s been overworking himself nor was a simple order from her was going to stop him.

So, what better way to disguise a remedy with something simple? Basically akin to administering medication to a pet concealed as a tasty treat

Sexual intercourse was the fastest—and best—way to relieve him of his stress.

Sigewinne hoped for the Iudex to pardon her complete brazenness but he was as stubborn as a rock, and took her orders about resting rather lightly.

Naturally, Neuvillette shook his head with a light chuckle, a tinge of interest seeping its way into his skin,

“I believe I’ve heard her talk about it but the details must have slipped my mind.”

A subtle blush blanketed the Chief Justice’s pale cheeks at the mention of his lover, you. Wriothesley’s lips stretched into a teasing smile—one which the former paid no attention to.

“Well, would you ever try an aphrodisiac?” At Neuvillette’s baffled expression, the younger male bit the inside of his cheeks, biting back a hearty laugh.

“An aphrodisiac, you say? Substances that—”

“That increases one’s libido, yes.”

Wriothesley cut him off, tease practically dripping from his tone.

Neuvillette was a man capable of many things, an esteemed individual once he’s in court but when it came to much simpler matters, the Chief Justice was nothing but clueless, especially regarding human customs that are a bit harder to wrap one’s head around.

“I’m afraid I have no such time for trivial things.”

The Iudex shook his head once more, this time dismissively waving a gloved hand at his friend.

He cleared his throat, the blush on his cheeks deepening into a crimson hue—Neuvillette wasn’t going to say it out loud, especially not in front of Wriothesley but he deemed himself more than capable of maintaining his sexual desires and performances, you were enough proof.

Wriothesley left it at that, his friend may just end up as red as a tomato if he prodded around the topic any further. Needless to say, amusement filled him to the brim, “Alright. It was nice chatting with you Monsieur. I believe Sigewinne also left a small note there—”

The latter looked down at the box. Indeed, there was a small piece of paper neatly folded and tucked beneath the ivory ribbon.

“—do heed her letter.” With that, Wriothesley dipped his chin, sauntering over to the double doors.

Reaching for the handle, the Duke stopped in his tracks, he looked over his shoulder, icy cerulean gaze full of mischief, “Oh, and I hope you two enjoy—the chocolates, I mean.”

With that, he left the office, leaving Neuvillette to his thoughts.

The day went by rather quickly, the azure skies turning into golden hues of oranges and yellows as the sun bid farewell to its people, disappearing below the horizon.

The chocolates from Sigewinne remained untouched on the corner of Neuvillette’s desk, it watched as stars decorated the night sky; though, as the Chief Justice retired for the evening, he grabbed the box of sweets before heading out.

Neuvillette figured he’d share them with you at home.

Greeted with silent darkness, he was suddenly reminded of your words this morning at breakfast:

‘Oh, I have work dinner later, my love; so, I won’t be eating here. We’re celebrating a company milestone.’

Conveniently enough, Neuvillette had already eaten at his office before leaving so he won’t have the pleasure of sitting across an empty seat at the dining table.

Getting ready for the chilly night ahead, Neuvillette changed into his evening attire after taking a warm bath, he donned silken azure pyjamas paired with a fluffy ivory robe.

His silver strands cascaded down the length of his spine, the cerulean bow, and golden hair clips he usually wore were neatly tucked away inside his jewellery box.

Situated on the love seat, Neuvillette casually flipped through case documents inside a brown paper folder.

The fireplace across him was ablaze with hues of oranges and reds, casting a citrine glow upon the dimly lit living room.

As flames danced atop dry wood, the dulcet sound of classical music poured from the record player, filling the space with its tunes.

After minutes of skimming and scanning the documents, he reached for the box of sweets next to his lap, taking time to read Sigewinne’s carefully written note:

Monsieur Neuvillette, I’ve acquired these sweets for you, and her! I figured these would help you loosen up a little so please do not shy away from consuming as much as you want. Make sure to share them with her as well. Enjoy!

Love, Sigewinne

A warm smile spread across Neuvillette’s face, and despite his better judgement of waiting for you to come home and indulge in the taste of chocolate together, he figured one piece wouldn’t hurt to try alone, right?

With the moon high up in the obsidian night sky, you walked down the cobblestone footpath that led closer to yours and Neuvillette’s shared space, the evening breeze gently caressing the apple of your cheeks.

Work dinner had just concluded at Hotel Debord which housed a lovely singer who put on a dazzling performance.

By now, the streets of the Court of Fontaine were more deserted as people retired to their homes for the night, shop owners here and there packed away their respective signage, their stores devoid of any customers.

With each step leading closer to home, you soon found yourself in front of your home, keys jingling between your fingers as you unlocked the front door.

From the entrance hallway, warm hues greeted you like an embrace, hinting at the ablazed fireplace in the living room.

“My love? I’m home.”

You called out to Neuvillette while skilfully removing your shoes, and neatly placed them beside his own.

Met with silence, you figured he either must be occupied with something or must have fallen asleep while waiting for your return.

You sauntered over to the end of the entrance hallway, making your way to the living room, and as you got closer, melodic sounds engulfed your senses—you recognized it, Neuvillette’s favourite classical music.

Turning the corner, you were greeted with a rather interesting sight, a wave of concern washing over you,

“Neuvi—Are you okay?”

Seated on the love seat was Neuvillette, his left elbow propped on its arm rest, face hiding behind his hand.

A deep crimson blush painted his handsome face, intensified by the reds and oranges that the fireplace emitted.

He sat there looking flustered, chest heaving up and down as he took heavy breaths.

Drinking in the view, you noticed documents sprawled across the empty space next to him but what really caught your eye was the intricately designed box resting on his right thigh.

The box had its lid intact yet the loose ivory ribbon draped over his thigh hinted he had previously opened it.

Upon closer inspection, you realised it's familiar packaging, a co-worker had shown it to you the other day, telling you how her and her boyfriend have been dying to try the popular chocolates—chocolates laced with a potent aphrodisiac.

Your gaze made its way back to Neuvillette—who was still breathing heavily on the love seat—now noticing the prominent tent beneath his silken pants, the azure fabric was flimsy and delicate which left little to your imagination.

Pushing away the impure thoughts that snaked its way into your mind, you kneeled before your lover with a concerned expression,

“My love, who gave these to you?”

Knowing Neuvillette, he most likely consumed the chocolates without knowing its true contents simply because he wasn’t aware of the trivial things that humans indulged themselves in.

He let out a pained groan, shaky and vulnerable as he shifted in his seat,

“Forgive me, ma chérie. This is improper of me.”

With trembling hands, Neuvillette covered his throbbing groin, completely embarrassed that you had to see him in such a state.

Truth be told, he didn’t know what came over him—a chocolate or two was all he had, and the next thing he knew, his skin burned like a thousand suns as blood rushed down, down, down to his cock.

The very core of Neuvillette’s body churned with desire—carnal desire—and as each second passed, each tick of the ivory wall clock, the uncomfortable yearn between his legs grew.

A light sheen of sweat coated his feverish forehead, as though he was experiencing a fever, and whatever this was, it heightened all five of his senses.

From your voice sounding like it dripped with pure honey, all the way to the saccharine scent of your body, Neuvillette was driven mad with lust.

It didn’t help how you kneeled before him, and gently caressed his thigh, a poor attempt of comfort because it brought nothing but waves of icy shudders down the length of his spine. Sensitive.

His body was completely sensitive to any external stimuli, and if you rubbed his leg any further, he might just come undone.

An embarrassing thought.

Neuvillette was pathetically needy. How preposterous, the high esteemed Iudex of Fontaine reduced to nothing but a lust-driven man eager to shove his aching cock deep in your velvety walls.

The subtle buck of his hips against the thick air; the way he swallowed breathless whimpers at your touch; the violent throbbing between his legs, he was beyond irredeemable.

With another grunt, Neuvillette panted out,

“Sigewinne gifted them. Wriothesley had delivered it to my office this afternoon.”

Truth be told, you weren’t surprised. At all.

Standing up from your spot, you walked over to the wall phone. You tried your best to ignore the dainty whimper that fell from Neuvillette’s lips as your warm touch left his thigh, you also tried to ignore how his body involuntarily sought you out—trembling hands reaching to chase your gentle hold.

With glassy eyes, Neuvillette watched as you deftly dialled on the phone, he couldn’t help but trace your breathtaking figure, from the square of your shoulders all the way to the curves and dips of your legs.

Oh, the things he’d do to spread them open, and inhale your sweet essence like a mad man. Neuvillette could practically taste your honey on his tongue, its velvety texture sliding down his throat.

Another groan escaped your lover at the thought of eating you out, his cock rubbed against the fabric of his underwear as it shamelessly twitched beneath his pants.

“Ah, I didn’t think you’d be calling given the . . . circumstances.”

Of course Wriothesley knew.

Pure tease dripped from his honeyed voice, most likely paired with a smug smile, and an icy, taunting gaze.

“Why would you give him that?!”

A chuckle from the other end of the line,

“First of all, I just delivered the present. Our head nurse here bought it. She’s helping Monsieur Neuvillette out.”

You huffed, trying to make sense of Sigewinne’s motives, “By what? Feeding him chocolates with a potent substance?”

You’ve always adored how Sigewinne cared for her loved ones, especially Neuvillette—whatever one’s deal was, she was always willing to help out in her own unique way.

But this . . giving him such a substance without any warning felt like foul play, and not only was Neuvillette receiving the short end of the stick, you were as well.

You weren’t naïve, aphrodisiacs only wore off after one has reached their satisfaction through sexual means, like quenching one’s thirst.

“You’re making it sound like we gave him drugs.”

“It is drugs, Wriothesley!”

Before you could say anything else, gentle, yearning arms wrapped around your front, caressing your stomach which ultimately caught you off guard.

Neuvillette.

Nuzzling into the junction of your neck just beneath the telephone against your ear, he placed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your sensitive spot, soft smacks of his lips loud enough for Wriothesley to pick up.

You bit back a moan, free hand coming up to rest on the wall to support your weight. Neuvillette’s kisses had your legs trembling, it left prominent goosebumps in its wake as he trailed further down to your shoulder blades.

“Hm. Looks like it's time for me to go. Pass on my best wishes to Monsieur Neuvillette.”

And with that, he hung up the phone.

“My apologies, ma chérie. I just—I need you.” Neuvillette sighed, hot breath ghosting over your bare skin, akin to a gentle caress coaxing you into the borders of lust, like a lone finger protruding from the darkness, beckoning you to its endless, sinful void.

“Love—mhm!” You let out a yelp, his hands finding comfort on the curve of your hips, keeping them still as he slotted his clothed cock between your ass.

Neuvillette grinded into you, unshameful and devoid of any decorum.

Placing the telephone back on the wall, your nails dug into the hearts of your palms, just the feel of his hard cock had you embarrassingly wet already.

Neuvillette was different from this, despite his sexual urges, he was never forward with you, he took his time—sensual and sincere, treating you like the finest piece of gold to ever exist.

But saying you weren’t enjoying his brazenness would be a complete lie. Seeing a different side to your lover put you in a rather sensitive state, almost like a virgin bedded for the first time.

Something primal had awoken deep inside his core, and the only way to handle it was to satiate his carnal thirst.

Nonetheless, you tried to get your point across, “Neuvi . . What you’re experiencing is the effect of an aphrodisiac from those chocolates Sigewinne gave you.”

Your words fell deaf on his pointed ears, instead, Neuvillette mumbled some of his own, “I’m sorry . . Ma belle, I promised you about that challenge but it seems I cannot fight my urges any longer.”

Another shaky sigh left his rosy lips.

Challenge? Oh.

Oh.

Even in his lust-driven state, Neuvillette was still thinking about the No Nut November challenge you had proposed earlier this month.

“I’m a man of my word but I need you, my love. Let me break the rules just this once, please?”

Pure desperation coated every word that came out of his mouth. It was thick like honey, and melted on your skin like snow.

God, at this point the stupid challenge wasn’t even on your mind anymore, not when he desperately humped your ass like an animal in heat—quick, little ruts of his hips that soothed the ache a bit better.

Who were you to deny your lover?

The transition from the living room to the shared bedroom was a blur—everything was hasty; desperate hands exploring each other’s bodies; lips sealed together in a rough, passionate kiss; a trail of clothes messily discarded on the floor leading up to the room.

Everything Neuvillette did had you on your toes, completely breathless while trying to mirror his hurried actions.

Normally, Neuvillette would bask in your serene glory, peeling clothes off from your body layer by layer, and decorating your exposed skin with butterfly kisses.

He’d gently stroke your hair, slender fingers weaving through the strands as he takes in your bare beauty.

Now, his tongue swiftly explored your mouth—lengthy and thick—something he has never done before. It dizzied you.

You landed on the foot of the plush mattress with a soft gasp as Neuvillette pulled away. Breathless and flustered, you stared up at him through your lashes, soft pants escaping your kissed lips.

The sight before him made his cock twitch.

How your hair was splayed around your head, mimicking a soft halo, a divine being greater than he.

Neuvillette discarded the last two pieces of clothing—pants and underwear—in one fell swoop, and what came into view undoubtedly had you clenching around nothing.

Standing proud and heavy at the base of his abdomen were his cocks, both painted in a deep vermillion hue, and generously leaking pre-cum.

The sticky pearlescent substance coated his bulbous tips, it glistened beneath the moonlight, beckoning you to wrap your lips around them, and have a feast.

This wasn’t the first time you saw Neuvillette naked nor were you not aware of his kind but it always brought you shock every time, not to mention the faint cerulean scales the underside of his cocks boasted, it was also his sensitive spot.

Stepping out from the puddle of fabric around his ankles, Neuvillette did the same to your undergarments, mindlessly tossing them elsewhere in the room.

A low growl sounded from his chest as he pried your legs apart, his deft hands guided them to bend at the knees while resting the soles of your feet on the edge of the mattress, putting your glistening cunt on full display.

In less than a heartbeat, Neuvillette was on his knees, his eager tongue lapping along the length of your slit, your arousal pooled at the tip of his tongue like sinful honey, the divine taste of your cunt prompting another shameless growl from your lover.

He repeated the movement a couple of times, each lick reaching closer and closer to your sensitive clit, and when he finally reached it with his hardened tongue, you let out a surprised gasp.

“Neuvillette!”

Shocks of electrifying pleasure kissed its way up your spine as Neuvillette tongued at your swollen bud—tight, fast circles, up and down, side to side, he toyed with you like it was the only thing he knew how to do.

Your hands immediately flew to his ivory tresses due to his ministrations, it was almost like playing a game of tug of war, indecisively pushing and pulling his, unsure if you wanted more or if you wanted him to stop and slow down.

Lewd, wet smacks of Neuvillette’s tongue mixed with his low growls filled the room, allowing you to bask in the sounds of pleasure your lover unabashedly made. Almost akin to a vicious beast swallowing down its prey.

As your back arched off the mattress, and the grip on Neuvillette’s hair tightening, he pulled away, earning a rather disappointed whine to fall from your lips.

Sweet arousal abundantly coated his lips and chin, bringing warmth to your cheeks.

No one in the room dared to say it but this was the first time your cunt got embarrassingly wet, not that Neuvillette was inadequate in bed per se but you were wetter than usual, and you were confident that he had also noticed.

The glow of his lilac eyes and cerulean feelers were proof enough.

Standing up to his feet, Neuvillette languidly stroked the cock that sat beneath the other one, an immodest gaze raking over your sopping cunt, and how it shamelessly dripped with sticky arousal enough to soil the ivory sheets beneath.

“Are you ready, ma chérie?”

Neuvillette’s lilac stare captured you in a haze, absentmindedly nodding at his words as though you were rendered speechless.

He slowly rubbed the tip of his bottom cock before pushing it past your soaked folds, it eagerly swallowed him in—a loud, shameless squelch filling your ears as he stretched you open further.

Your toes curled at the sensation, hips immediately bucking into him as you moaned his name. The stretch was a pleasurable burn, one that had you rolling your eyes back, and digging your nails onto the sheets a little harder.

Neuvillette was able to easily slip into you, courtesy of the plentiful slick that coated your velvety walls.

Neuvillette stilled as he bottomed out, quick, short pants falling from his rosy lips.

God, you always took him so, so well, he could never get enough of the feeling of warmth wrapped around his cock. You took this time to get used to the stretch, your muscles relaxing to lessen the resistance he felt.

Neuvillette filled you up so well you could almost feel him in your stomach—a thought that had you clenching around him.

One, two, three seconds later, Neuvillette slowly pulled back, letting out a shaky breath at the pleasurable sensation. And with only his cock head inside you, he took no time to slam all the way inside.

You moaned, hands flying to his bare shoulders, immediately marking his pale skin with crimson stripes. Neuvillette unabashedly keened at the clench of your cunt around him, knees buckling as you gripped his cock like a vice, making it harder for him to move in and out.

“Haah! Mhm! Neuvi—right there, my love!”

Colourful moans and whimpers urged Neuvillette on, dragging him further and further to the state of insanity.

“You feel divine, ma belle . .”

The words came out as a choked sob—pathetic and dainty. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead paired with a deep crimson blush that painted his cheeks, if anything, Neuvillette looked absolutely ethereal in this state despite how out of it the aphrodisiacs made him.

Not only were his cocks extra sensitive to touch but he could also perfectly smell the scent of your sex that lingered in the air.

That sweet, sinful aroma he knew oh so well.

It made his head spin.

He tried holding back, he really did but your dulcet moans stroked his growing ego, and the feel of your sopping cunt deliciously sliding against him, the last thread of sanity that held him snapped.

Violently.

As if he saw nothing but bright hues of ruby, Neuvillette picked up his pace, long thrusts quickly turning into short ones as he mercilessly pistoned his hips over and over again, allowing his cock head to reach your sweet spot.

Your fingers raked down the length of his spine—leaving violent ribbons of red in its wake—stopping right at the dimples of his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks as you dug onto the pale skin there.

Neuvillette wasn’t the only one on the brink of insanity with how the underside of his other cock furiously rubbed at your swollen clit with each thrust, it rested at the hood of your cunt, thick and heavy.

“S-so good! It feels so good—ngh!”

The thrust of his hips felt amazing, too amazing to the point where your body started to reject them. Your body entered fight or flight mode, parted knees instinctively closing together which only allowed an inconvenient amount of room for Neuvillette to move with.

Upon noticing the change, he slowed down, sweaty palms resting on either knee, “My love—haah . . Open up for me, would you?”

Winded and weak, Neuvillette attempted to pry your knees apart to no avail considering his mushy state.

“Too much, mon chérie . . I—I can’t.”

Neuvillette shook his head at your words before pulling out, leaving you confused and empty.

From the mattress, you watched as he sauntered over to his side of the bed, grabbing a lengthy, obsidian object that rested against his nightstand.

Before a question could even formulate in your mind, he returned to his spot in the blink of an eye; though, this time, with something in his hand.

A cane—his cane.

The same one he used during court proceedings, in that context, it was deemed a sacred symbolism of his authority as the Iudex of Fontaine.

To use it in such a setting would be borderline blasphemy.

Hovering over your trembling body, Neuvillette placed chaste kisses on each knee,

“Do you trust me, my dear?”

Was that even a question? Of course you did. He wouldn’t harm you and you believed that completely.

With a soft touch, Neuvillette was able to easily pry your knees apart, the scent of your cunt once again filling his senses.

He wordlessly slotted the obsidian cane beneath your knees, its surface cool against your feverish skin, you shuddered at the contrast in temperature.

Neuvillette pushed down on the shaft of the cane, bringing your knees closer to your chest—you also noticed how it kept your legs still, meaning you had no option to close them.

You whimpered at the slight burn the position invited, especially with the cane pressing down on your soft skin.

And once again, Neuvillette sheathed his cock inside your cunt before setting the same merciless pace. Only this time, you wouldn’t be able to deny him.

“Neuvi! Neuvi! Neuvi—aah! Fuck—mhm!”

You held on to the ivory sheets above your head for your dear life as Neuvillette roughly pistoned his hips.

With each relentless thrust given, your body jolted further up the mattress, breasts bouncing in full display for your lover to drink in.

Oh, how he adored the way your naked body moved and reacted to him, so plush and pliant.

Sharp hisses from the bed frame interlaced with the pornographic sounds of your moans, creating a lewd melody for the moon to witness, a sinful song only for the darkness of the night to hear—full of heat and passion.

“Does—ngh! Does it feel good, my love? Will you give in to the—haah! To the pleasure I’m giving you?”

Neuvillette curled over himself, tresses of ivory cascading down to cage your face as he leaned closer to you.

Despite the blur of your vision, you noticed the faint azure scales that decorated the side of his neck along with his pupils becoming more animalistic.

Neuvillette’s draconic features only ever made itself known during his heat; so, this came as a genuine surprise to you. Not that you were really complaining.

His hand remained on his cane while the other found comfort on your hip, subtly guiding your body onto him to meet each thrust.

Neuvillette met your gaze through a glossy stare, you watched as beads of crystalline-like tears formed on the corners of his eyes, eventually rolling down his reddened cheeks.

The sight before you was beyond divine, it wasn’t every day one would see the Chief Justice in such a poor state, his usual expressionless face painted with a colourful expression.

One that unmistakably screamed how lost he was in pleasure: rosy lips parted to let out soft whimpers, brows tightly knitted together, creating a deep crease between his brows.

“Are you close ma chérie? Mhm—aah! Come with me?” Neuvillette breathed out.

It took all of his will power to hold himself up, and keep his hips moving due to immense pleasure weighing on his body like a great burden.

The feeling had him trembling to his very bones, like a yellow autumn leaf braving the evening winds, and no matter how much his brain screamed at him to stop, he didn’t.

The pleasure would be too great of a loss if Neuvillette stopped now; so, he kept going—pounding, rutting, and grinding into you as he chased both your impending orgasms.

You nodded vigorously, throat too dry from all that panting to choke out any coherent words.

The burn of the position you maintained mixed with Neuvillette’s cocks stimulating your cunt sent you into a painful yet pleasurable overdrive.

Without a second thought, you hastily placed your hands between your bodies, blindly seeking out Neuvillette’s other cock, and wrapping your fingers around it. To the best of your ability, you vigorously pumped his shaft, matching your strokes with his thrusts.

Neuvillette shuddered, releasing a loud moan into the damp air.

After a few more quick thrusts, he stilled deep inside you, sealing his lips with yours as you both reached your climax, eagerly swallowing one another’s lewd moans.

Your back arched off the mattress, toes curling, and fingers digging into Neuvillette’s skin as you violently came, the feel of his thick, hot cum painting your plush walls white had your hips bucking into him, begging for more.

Embarrassingly enough, Neuvillette came a lot.

Not only inside you—to the point where it spilled out of your cunt and onto the sheets below—but also on you.

The cock you’ve been stroking spurted thick ribbons of cum on your abdomen, abundantly covering your skin in his essence. He looked at the filthy art that decorated your skin, colourful curses enough to make Fontainians gasp in shock filled his mind.

How beautiful you were marked by him.

“Did I hurt you in any way?” He asked, slowly peeling himself away from you.

Neuvillette made sure to quickly remove his cane from under your knees, placing it flat on the floor before tending to you.

He kissed your sweaty forehead, and pulled your bodies up the mattress with your head atop the fluffy pillows.

“Not at all but I have to say, I was reaaally looking forward to completing the challenge, mon chérie.” You joked, letting out a breathless laugh.

Neuvillette blushed, suddenly remembering how he readily accepted the proposal of your challenge . . What was it again? No Nut November?

“Another year is to be expected, I am determined we will overcome the challenge.”

And you were looking forward to that. Very much so.

You just hoped he wouldn’t consume another aphrodisiac-laced sweet in the coming year so the both of you could actually complete the challenge.

Well, at least you concluded that Neuvillette and aphrodisiacs weren’t such a bad match, right?

Looks like you had a certain head nurse to thank.

#vermillion tales ⟢#neuvillette #neuvillette x y/n #neuvillette x you #neuvillette smut #neuvillette x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x y/n #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader

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isabelckl · 1 day ago

Text

whiskey & honey 3

ranch girl ellie williams x city girl fem!reader

every summer since you were fourteen was spent in Ellie’s family ranch. your mothers are best friends, which only made it harder to understand why you and Ellie were never even friends. or maybe the question isn’t about friendship at all.

a/n: here it is! I’m currently on summer vacation back in my hometown, and things have been crazyyy. I’ve been sneaking in time to write whenever I’m not out with my cousins or caught up in the chaos. Hope you enjoy this chapter! ♡

Part 2

Celine was out in the garden when you pulled in, crouched over her tomatoes with sun on her shoulders and a floppy straw hat shielding her eyes. She looked up at the sound of the truck, hand resting on her hip.

“Back in one piece,” she called over the hedge.

“Yeah, well, she dents easy,” Ellie said, sliding out of the driver’s seat with a grunt and slamming her door like she hadn’t just made your heart do something stupid. “Gotta drive like I’m hauling crystal.”

You rolled your eyes and shot her a glare, but it didn’t quite land—not with the way your chest fluttered at the sound of her voice saying your name like that, even if she didn’t.

You hopped down barefoot, still holding your sandals in one hand. The porch steps radiated heat as you walked past them toward the house, but instead of going inside, you lingered — trailing just behind Ellie as she veered toward the barn.

“Hey,” you called after her. “Where are you going?”

She glanced back over her shoulder, expression unreadable. “Feeding. I forgot to check on Bramble this morning.”

You fell into step beside her, ignoring the ache in your calves from running in sand. “Can I come?”

“Lunch will be ready soon.” She reminded, raising her eyebrows.

“I’m not hungry yet.”

Ellie glanced over, her eyes trailing down your figure before flicking back up.

“Yeah,” she said dryly. “That’s kind of your thing, huh?”

You scoffed, half a smile tugging at your mouth. “I eat well,” you said. “You just never notice.”

She didn’t answer, just pushed open the barn door and left it swinging behind her. So you followed.

The air inside the barn was thick with the scent of sunbaked hay, leather, and the comforting musk of horses. Dust floated in the light filtering through the rafters, like tiny stars suspended in the heat.

Ellie disappeared into one of the stalls with a rustle of movement and soft huff from a horse.

You hung by the doorway for a second, taking in the quiet rhythm of the place, the creak of wood, the slow shifting of hooves. And then you stepped forward, curiosity pulling you closer.

“You don’t remember any of this, do you?” Ellie’s voice floated out from the stall.

You leaned on the edge. “Vaguely. I think I was scared of stepping in poop the last time.”

Ellie made a noise that might’ve been a laugh. She emerged a moment later holding a bridle, bits of hay stuck in her rolled-up sleeves.

“You want me to teach you something?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Or are you just going to follow me around and talk?”

“Why not both?” you teased, shrugging.

That earned you a half-smile — one of those crooked ones she tried to hide.

She handed you the bridle, and it was heavier than you expected — the leather warm and smooth, the metal cool against your palm.

“Alright,” she said, stepping close. “This is basic. You hold it like this—no, not like that. Here.” She adjusted your hands, her fingers brushing yours, firm but gentle.

You tried to focus, but the warmth of her body so close behind yours was impossible to ignore. Her voice was low, the kind of tone that filled your chest more than your ears.

“Reins over here. Loop under here. You tuck this strap behind the bit. That’s it.”

You squinted at the mess of buckles. “I’m gonna break this horse’s face.”

Ellie scoffed lightly. “You’re not even on the horse yet.”

“I’m helpless,” you sighed.

“It’s cute,” she said — too easily, too naturally, like it slipped out before she could stop it.

You turned your head toward her, surprised.

She was already looking at you, close enough that your breath could’ve met hers in the space between. For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then she stepped back, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Try again,” she said, voice quieter now.

You fumbled through it with her watching. Not too close this time, but close enough that her gaze felt like a second set of hands guiding your movements.

When you finally got the bridle looped properly — or at least close enough — she nodded with approval and a small grin.

“Not bad,” she said.

“I expect a certificate,” you said, holding it up proudly like a trophy.

She leaned back against the stall door, arms folded, her smile still lingering. “You get a gold star. Maybe.”

You were about to reply when a faint voice called from the house. “Girls! Wash up! Food’s getting cold!”

Ellie pushed off the stall door with a sigh, brushing off her jeans. “That’s our cue.”

You hesitated, looking around the barn one last time, reluctant to leave the moment.

“Can we come back later?” you asked.

She gave you a look you couldn’t read, then nodded once. “Sure.”

The sunlight slanting through the window had just been so warm. The ceiling fan overhead whispered lullabies. Your limbs were heavy, your skin still tinged with salt and sun, and before you knew it — hours had slipped through your fingers like warm honey.

You stirred awake sometime past five, the golden light already creeping lower across the floorboards, stretching long and soft like lazy fingers reaching across the day.

Panic fluttered in your chest as you sat up too fast, your shirt sticking slightly to your back. The bridle lesson. The plan to come back. You'd said you would. You'd wanted to.

You groaned under your breath and swung your legs off the bed, your bare feet hitting the cool wooden floor.

By the time you stepped outside, the sun was already sinking low behind the ridge, casting the yard in hues of burnt gold and honeyed orange. The breeze smelled like hay and honeysuckle, like open fields and somewhere far from obligation.

You padded across the yard toward the barn, adjusting the soft white shorts you threw on and tugging lightly at the hem of your yellow tank. The thin white cardigan you wore over it moved with the wind — cropped, gauzy, more for feeling than warmth. The kind of thing that slipped down one shoulder without trying.

You tugged it back in place as you reached the open barn doors.

Inside, the horses shuffled gently in their stalls, tails swishing, the air thick with the warm musk of animals and wood and old dust. Ellie stood near the last stall, silhouetted by the golden spill of sunlight through the open back doors. She was brushing Bramble with slow, practiced strokes, the horse’s flank glinting with a healthy sheen.

For a moment, you just watched her.

She hadn’t noticed you yet — or maybe she had, and chose not to say anything. Either way, she looked calm. Centered. One hand resting on Bramble’s side, the other running the brush in lazy circles.

You stepped forward quietly, the soft pad of your sandals barely making a sound.

“Hey,” you said, voice was almost sheepish. “I fell asleep.”

Ellie looked up. Her face was lit from the side — all soft edges and warm tones, her auburn hair glowing like a campfire. She blinked at you once, then offered a small shrug.

“Swimming takes it out of you.” She said simply.

Your cheeks warmed. “I just— I didn’t mean to ditch. I thought we’d come back here. I kinda—made it a whole thing earlier.”

Ellie chuckled under her breath, going back to brushing the horse. “You’re not that dramatic.”

You stepped closer, tucking your hands into the pockets of your shorts. “I might be a little dramatic.”

She glanced sideways at you, eyes flicking down — just for a moment — before returning to her task. “You’re wearing yellow.”

You looked down at yourself, surprised. “Yeah. Too much?”

“No,” she said. Her voice was softer now. “It suits you.”

You felt your face heat again, this time without any excuses.

You leaned lightly on the stall door. “I’m not great with… high-energy stuff. Swimming. Running. That sort of thing. Sometimes I just crash.”

Ellie gave a faint smirk. “I know.”

You tilted your head, eyes flicking to hers. “You could just say you missed me,” you said, careful, like you were testing the water.

“I could,” she said, brushing the horse in one last stroke. “But you were snoring.”

You gasped. “I was not.”

She didn’t answer — just walked past you toward the tack room, her smirk growing.

You stared after her, flustered and grinning, and tried not to think about how the barn lights were starting to come on, one by one, blinking softly in the dusk.

You were right back where you'd started.

And somehow, it felt exactly right.

The opening credits rolled slow across the screen, a soft instrumental fading into the quiet. The living room was warm and dim, lit only by the soft orange glow from the floor lamp and the faint hum of the TV. You hugged a throw pillow to your chest, legs curled under you on one end of the couch, the wine glass loose in your fingers.

Celine had fallen asleep halfway through the last movie, muttering something about early morning errands before disappearing upstairs with a blanket over her shoulder. Now, it was just you and Ellie — both sun-drowsy and half full of pasta, your body warm and just fuzzy enough to feel a little braver.

You sipped the last of the wine, lips tugging into a sleepy grin.

With a sigh, you let your head fall back on the couch cushion. “God,” you murmured. “I just love it here. Can your mom adopt me?”

Ellie, tucked into the other end of the couch in an old T-shirt and gray sweatpants, turned her head to look at you, eyebrow raised. “Why?”

You hugged the pillow closer, voice playful. “She’s so cool. And I don’t know, it’s just… I love it here.”

Ellie leaned back, arms crossed, watching you like she was trying not to smile. “I love your mom. What’s wrong with her?”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, gaze still on the wide flat screen. “I love her too, but she’s… pushy. Always asking when I’m gonna find a boyfriend like that’s a personality requirement.”

Ellie snorted. “Boyfriend, huh?”

You whipped your head toward her, glaring through your wine haze. “Hey, It’s not funny. Why would I need a fucking boyfriend?” You were pouting now. “I can live without one. I got, like, plants. Spotify. And air.”

Ellie’s mouth twitched. Her eyes danced with laughter as she reached for her water bottle. “Jesus. You talk shit when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” you said, even though the way your head lolled slightly and how your limbs felt extra floaty said otherwise.

“You sure?” she tilted her head, sipping. “You’re one more glass away from making out with that pillow.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Well maybe the pillow is emotionally available.”

Ellie laughed — really laughed — and it made something flutter behind your ribs. You stared at her like you were memorizing the sound.

Then she added, between a grin and a shrug, “Too bad my mom’s pushy too. But I definitely don’t want you as a sister.”

You gasped, eyes narrowing. “You’re mean.”

Ellie shrugged. “You’re the one trying to get adopted into my family. Don’t be mad you ruined the vibe.”

“Whatever,” you muttered. “We’re like… basically sisters anyway. Our moms are obsessed with each other.”

“Yeah,” Ellie said slowly, side-eyeing you. “Let’s not unpack that dynamic.”

You turned toward her, shifting closer across the couch, still hugging your pillow like a shield. “You say that like we didn’t share a bed that one summer.”

“Yeah,” Ellie replied, her voice low and dry. “When you snored and kicked me in your sleep.”

You giggled, cheeks warming. “Okay, rude—”

“I still have the scar.”

“You’re lying.”

“Prove it.”

You stared at her for a second. Then leaned in, just a little. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Ellie raised her brows, amused, but her body didn’t move away. Her tongue flicked briefly along the inside of her cheek.

“You talk so much shit when you drink. I didn’t know that about you.”

You smirked, head tilted now, fully facing her. “Well, Ellie… there are things you still don’t know about me.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nodded. “So many things.”

There was a pause. The air thinned.

“Wanna find out?” You ask, soft.

Ellie’s expression shifted — subtly, but enough that your heart stopped for a moment. Her eyes dipped — not by accident — to your lips.

You saw it. She didn’t try to hide it.

“What do I get if I do?”

Her voice was quiet now. Low. Different.

Your breath caught. You blinked once, heartbeat spiking.

You swallowed the air between you and whispered, “What do you want?”

Ellie leaned in slightly, not enough to close the gap — just enough to tip you forward with her. Her gaze flicked between your eyes and lips slowly. Deliberate.

“Don’t ask that unless you mean it,” she said, the smallest hint of a dare in her tone.

You didn’t move back.

Neither did she.

But then, of course, without warning, Ellie looked away — just a glance to the side — and leaned back slightly. Her mouth twitched, almost smiling, almost not.

She stood up.

You watched her move toward the TV, the silence stretching again, soft but tight like a string between you.

She picked up the remote, clicked the screen off, and let the darkness settle. Only the lamp glowed now.

“We should sleep,” she said, not looking at you.

You groaned, slumping into the couch. “We didn’t even finish the movie.”

Ellie didn’t answer right away — she just walked past and reached out, ruffling your hair like it was nothing.

“Hey—!” you laughed, swatting her hand away.

She grinned as she started walking toward the stairs. You stood, hugging the pillow tighter, and followed.

You walked together, quietly, the floorboards soft under your steps.

Your rooms were across from each other, just a few feet of hallway between them. She stopped in front of hers, her hand now rubbing the back of her neck like she didn’t want to open the door yet.

She looked at you once before looking away. But then her eyes were all over you again.

You were just standing there — barefoot, holding the pillow like armor — your heart somewhere between your ribs and your throat.

Ellie sighed, her lips twitching like she was losing an argument in her head.

“…That’s your room,” she said finally, eyes flicking toward your door.

You blinked up at her. “Uh. Yeah. That’s…” You pointed to the door behind her. “That’s your room too.”

You bit your lips as silence enveloped the two of you.

Ellie’s eyebrows raised slightly, her mouth twitching again. “Incredible observation.”

You wanted to melt into the floor.

“Okay, alright,” you said, laughing under your breath, stepping back. “I’ll go inside.”

“You should,” Ellie said, but she didn’t move either.

You nodded again, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as a small smile escaped.

Turning, you slipped into your room and closed the door gently behind you — then immediately leaned back against it, heart pounding, grinning so wide it hurt.

You barely had time to let out a silent scream into your hands before a knock made your heart jump.

You opened the door quickly — too quickly.

Ellie was standing there.

“Yes?” you breathed.

She scratched the side of her jaw, her voice a little raspier than before.

“Goodnight.”

Of course she said it like that.

“Goodnight,” you said, trying not to smile like a maniac.

She gave you a small nod, then turned and walked back into her room.

You closed the door slowly this time, pressed your back to it again, and screamed without sound — body buzzing, heart in shambles, hands gripping your face like you were losing your mind.

Because holy shit.

She said goodnight.

And she came back to say it.

tag lists:

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#ellie williams #eventual smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie fanfic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fanfic #friends to lovers #ellie fluff #tlou #tlou fanfic #isabelckl #whiskey & honey

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thisapplepielife · 2 days ago

Text

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Somewhere Over the Rainbow pop-up event.

born to run

Prompt: Red | Song: All Too Well by Taylor Swift | Word Count: 1978 | Rating: T | POV: Eddie | CW: Self Isolation, Language | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, But He's Isolated, And Steve's Having None of It, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Getting Together, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Lots of Springsteen References

'cause there we are again on that little town street, you almost ran the red 'cause you were lookin' over at me

The criminal case had fizzled into nothingness, dismissed before it began with some strings pulled from places higher than Eddie will ever understand. Of course, the court of public opinion has been less forgiving. Eddie's not surprised, not at all. It's always that way for guys like him.

Different. Weird. Freak.

Guilty.

Even if he's not.

He still feels trapped, caged, locked up. Like he can't leave the house. And as someone who wants to run by nature, that's been torture.

At the new house, the backyard is fenced, and that's Eddie's prison yard. He walks the fenceline, pacing in a big circle, the only energy outlet he has. Just a never-ending loop, wearing a path into the grass. Alone with his thoughts.

Unless he isn't. He hears footsteps brushing through the leaves, and freezes. Then he sees the hands reach up and grasp the top of the tall wooden fence. Seconds later, Steve is hoisting himself over the backyard wall with ease, like some sort of knight in shining armor.

Eddie laughs, though his heart is still beating against his chest, just a little.

"Front door didn't work?" Eddie asks as Steve swings his body over, sliding to the ground.

"Uh, forgot my key. You didn't answer. I knew you had to be out here," Steve says, wiping his hands on his jeans, "And look! You were!"

It's far too excited of a tone, especially when there was nowhere else Eddie could have possibly been. It's not like he leaves the yard. Eddie starts pacing again, and Steve falls into lockstep. Walking in circles right beside him.

He'd never tell Gareth, wouldn't even admit it under pain of death, but Steve's been the best friend he could ask for these past months. Nobody else is even close. It's just different. What they both know. What they've been through. Seen. Survived. Together.

He finally gets the old war buddy bond that Wayne talks about. It's no joke.

"I'm going stir crazy in this prison," Eddie says, because there's never a reason to lie to Steve.

Steve's seen his worst days. Maybe someday he'll see his best, too. Eddie is optimistic that this isn't forever, even if it feels like it right now.

Jogging a couple steps ahead, Steve turns so he can walk backwards ahead of Eddie.

"I have an idea."

"And that idea would be?" Eddie probes. He's open to anything right now.

"It's your birthday, right?" Steve asks, and Eddie didn't even realize he knew that.

"Uh, yeah. Tomorrow."

"Come for a ride with me," Steve says, and Eddie's already shaking his head. No way.

Steve's eyes are pleading, but Eddie can't.

"Later tonight. When the town is quiet. Nothing will happen. Not while you're with me. Not on my watch," Steve says, and Eddie feels his resolve crumbling. He doesn't want to leave the house, but Steve's using those fucking eyes of his against Eddie. It's really, truly unfair.

Eddie doesn't say no, but he doesn't say yes either.

For now, they'll just pace the yard, loop after loop.

Laying on Eddie's bed, Steve's got a cigarette dangling from his lip, head upside down off the edge of the bed as he holds up the liner notes of Born to Run, reading them. It was Steve's turn to pick the record. Some of Steve's have slowly migrated to Eddie's room, collection intermingling.

"Hey, Eddie, this guy, he's the real thing," Steve says, just before Springsteen sings the same line of lyrics.

Eddie laughs.

Steve's proving a point with this album, has been all night. He wants to hide out on the backstreets. Wants a meeting across the river. He wants to ride out tonight to case the promised land.

Eddie, after all, is born to run.

Wayne appears in the open bedroom door, and they both look over at him. He's got a six-pack held up, "First legal drink on me."

"I'm not twenty-one yet," Eddie banters, tapping his watch.

"Well, I gotta get to work, wise guy. Show some restraint for once and don't crack one open until after midnight."

"What about Steve?" Eddie teases. "He's a minor. Don't make me call Chief Hopper."

Wayne laughs, putting the beer down on the desk, having to scoot some shit to the side to make room for it, "What I don't know won't hurt me."

Eddie grins. He knows before all this bullshit happened, Wayne would have taken him out to his favorite bar for that first drink. That's not really an option now, unfortunately.

Wayne smiles back at him, "Happy birthday, kid."

"Thanks, old man."

"Birthday breakfast?" Wayne asks, "Both of you?"

And they both nod. Eddie tries to not read into the fact that Wayne just assumes Steve's staying all night. Eddie knows he probably will. Steve's made it his personal mission to keep Eddie company.

"Stay out of trouble," Wayne says, a relic of years gone by. And then he's gone. Eddie's definitely not getting into trouble these days.

Steve goes back to studying the lyrics printed on the album flap.

"This town rips the bones from your back," Steve reads, and then looks up at Eddie, "Who knew Springsteen has been to Hawkins?"

Eddie laughs. Ain't that the goddamn truth. It is a death trap. But maybe that's a more universal feeling than he's considered it to be.

It's quiet for a while, Steve reading, both of them smoking. Springsteen crooning from the corner.

"Wanna go for that ride?" Steve asks, interrupting the silence, looking hopeful and earnest.

Eddie shakes his head on instinct, but for some reason he still agrees anyway. For Steve.

"Okay, big boy. Take me out into that town full of losers."

Playing it safe at first, as promised, Steve hugs the side streets. Long patches of inky darkness only broken up by dim street lights on corners. Revealed with the soft swish of the windshield wipers. A summer shower that'll probably stop as quickly as it started.

Eventually they move out onto the main drag. Eddie isn't sure how it looks exactly the same, but also so different. They've cleaned it up well. Fast. He's shocked. The world, the town, is spinning on without him as he stays stagnant, trapped in that house.

Steve's looking at him. Staring. Eddie can feel his eyes on him.

The light changes.

"Red," Eddie says.

"Huh?" Steve asks, brow furrowing.

"Light's red!" Eddie shouts, and Steve slams on the brakes. Sliding a little on the wet road before coming to a stop. Squeezing the steering wheel, laughing.

There's not another soul on the road, but they still stop and wait for it to change back to green.

"Green means go, red means stop," Eddie mocks.

"One stoplight in town, and I almost ran it," Steve giggles, looking back over at Eddie, just like he had been before the jarring stop. Eddie can't help smiling. It's nice, and Steve's car feels safe. Like the house, like the backyard. Another extension of home.

That's all Steve.

When the light changes, he pulls away from the intersection and the wind whips through Eddie's hair.

The clock flips over to midnight, and Eddie's a year older. Maybe this one will be different. Better.

"Happy birthday," Steve says.

"It's just another day," Eddie answers, because he can't get his hopes up for anything to change.

Steve reaches over and rests his hand on Eddie's knee, and it's shocking and comforting and inevitable, "You're turning twenty-one. That's supposed to be fun."

Eddie covers it with his own, and feels his heart flip in his chest.

"You're a poet and didn't even know it," Eddie says, deflecting, because anything else feels too big, too real.

Steve laughs and pulls his hand back to his own lap.

Eddie misses it, immediately.

So much for a summer shower. It's a full-on downpour by the time they pull back into the driveway. They run back into the safety of the house, laughing, Steve locking the deadbolt behind them. Then his hands are on Eddie. One hand sliding around the back of Eddie's head, tangling in his damp hair, pulling him close.

Looking right in his eyes, Eddie feels trapped, pinned down in another way now.

This way is much better.

"Green," Eddie whispers, and Steve furrows his brow just for a second, then he smiles.

"Green means go," Steve says back, and hell yes it does.

Steve goes, because he's brave, and Eddie feels Steve's mouth covering his for the first time. Eddie reaches for him, clings to him, kissing him back.

After three months in the grave, locked away in this tomb, Eddie feels alive again. Warmth flooding his cheeks, kissing Steve Harrington.

It suddenly feels like a home, not a prison. Just like that. Eddie's world shifting, being illuminated with the warmth that Steve has offered him.

Eddie squeezes Steve's biceps, and Steve walks him back towards his bedroom. And Eddie goes more than willing, letting Steve pull off their damp clothing, tossing them away. He sighs as Steve presses him down into the mattress, covering Eddie's whole body with his own. Shielding him, protecting him, still.

Harrington's got him.

Steve finds his hand, laces their fingers together, squeezing tight. Eddie tilts his head, deepening the kiss. Humming with happiness as Steve eventually pulls back, and moves to kiss his neck instead. Lips dancing across his skin, his tongue peeking out, brushing against the juncture of his neck, making Eddie laugh, delighted.

It's soft, and sweet.

It's everything Eddie never knew he needed.

Even in their underwear Steve isn't asking for anything other than this, even if Eddie would willingly give it. This is enough, more than. Steve's hand holding his tightly, his body grounding Eddie's to his own, to the bed, to the world.

The noise of Hawkins, of death, of destruction finally pushed to the back burner with Steve lighting better fires to attend to with his mouth, his fingers.

Eddie's never had this, what feels like hours of staying so close, kissing, touching, just holding onto one another. They've shifted, now face-to-face in Eddie's bed. Steve's hand holding his. Like he might never let go.

He hopes he doesn't.

This was overdue, Eddie realizes.

Inevitable.

"Tramps like us," Steve says, and Eddie laughs, rolling on the bed, but not letting go. And he lets Steve tug him closer. There's no place left to hide.

Nowhere to run.

Eddie can't tell him he loves him. Not yet. Even if he knows he does. Probably has since he was stumbling through the woods of the Upside Down, trailing after Steve Harrington like a lost puppy.

Thinking he had no chance. Flirting to flirt, teasing to tease.

"Wild and real," Eddie says instead, and the way Steve smiles means he gets it. He knows what Eddie is saying without saying it.

Steve Harrington speaks in Springsteen, and after being around him for months, Eddie does, too.

Eddie surges forward this time, taking the lead, kissing Steve again. He never wants to stop kissing him. He never wants to stop loving him with all the madness in his soul.

He's the one.

In the morning, they drink Eddie's warm birthday beer with breakfast. If Wayne notices that things have changed between them, if he sees their swollen lips and their stupid grins, he definitely doesn't mention it.

He just slides eggs and bacon and toast onto their plates before joining them at the table. Smiling as he gets to share that first legal drink with Eddie after all.

Wayne clinks his bottle against Eddie's, "Twenty-one will be better than twenty. You'll see."

Eddie grins, eyes cutting over to Steve who's already eating, wearing one of Eddie's threadbare shirts, a hickey on his neck.

Looking back at Wayne, Eddie smiles, maybe bigger than he has since before.

Fuck yeah, it will.

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the Somewhere Over the Rainbow popup event!

Notes: Let's be so for real. Wayne totally already thought they've been together for months. 🤣

Tons of references to the album Born to Run in this one. Maybe more than the Taylor song that it was built around after all was said and done, lol.

#corrodedcoffinfest: somewhere over the rainbow #corrodedcoffinfest #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie ficlet #stranger things #thisapplepielife: corrodedcoffinfest #thisapplepielife: short fic #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fanfiction #wayne munson #eddie munson fanfic

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itsgivingmami · 2 days ago

Text

Subject Matter

Rhea Ripley x photographer!reader

They tell me the masters have muses— and maybe so. But then what are they but muses to someone else. The first time I saw her I did not think— subject.

I thought— salvation.

“When I have a camera in my hand, I know no fear.” — Alfred Eisenstaedt

There is a peculiar kind of hush that lives backstage—not silence, not exactly, but a quietness formed from restraint and ritual. It gathers beneath stage lights and travels between locker room echoes and ring ropes. You’ve learned to listen for it: the measured beat of boots on concrete, the clatter of belts, the crackling radios fizzing out last-second demands. But underneath all that, beneath the layers of motion and metal, there’s always a pulse.

Yours.

It syncs with the zip of your camera case, the hum in your lens, the snap of buckles tightening around your chest. This is your holy place—the breath before performance. The rhythm of readiness.

You’ve stood in pit lanes and photo wells, in greenrooms and behind barricades, pressing your eye to the viewfinder as chaos bloomed around you. You’ve been bruised by crowds, kissed by smoke, nearly trampled by bass. You’ve framed war and worship, skin and smoke, light and blood. Spent nights in countries you couldn’t speak the languages of and even a night detained at a protest.

You’ve never been afraid.

Until now.

Zayn hands you your schedule for the week—just a square of thick, almost smug cardstock—and says with a grin, “She’s yours now.”

You blink down at it.

RHEA RIPLEY — SHADOW COVERAGE. FULL ACCESS.

Your heart kicks once against your ribs. “Full access?”

Zayn shrugs, pulling the lanyard from his mouth like the words don’t weigh anything. “They want raw branding stuff. Candid. Long-form. Not promo—presence. You’re not shooting her. You’re following her.”

You pause. “She approved this?”

A scoff. “She didn’t say no. And with Rhea, silence is a good reaction.”

Your grip on the camera strap tightens. You nod, legs already moving—toward something you don’t fully understand, but feel in your chest like a dropped match.

—

You find her in the hallway—early morning quiet, where the world hasn’t quite remembered itself yet. The air tastes like rust and electricity.

And then she steps into view.

Rhea Ripley.

She doesn’t walk. She moves. Shoulders coiled, arms swinging with that lazy kind of danger. A black tank clings to the lines of her back, the curve of her spine. Her pants sit low, her hair still wet from the shower, curling like smoke at the back of her neck. One headphone dangles against her collarbone like a dare.

She sees you.

Doesn’t slow. Doesn’t blink. Just cuts her gaze across you like a blade and walks past.

Then stops.

You feel the air change.

She stands just behind you—close enough to feel, not touch. Not yet.

Her voice arrives like smoke.

“So this is the new stalker.”

You answer on instinct. “Photographer.”

She turns her head, just enough for her profile to come into view. Sharp. Sculpted. Unforgiving.

“No difference.”

And she keeps walking.

“Intention,” you murmur, “that’s the difference,”

—

You catch her again an hour later, crouched between rusted steel doors lacing up her boots. Her tank top lifts as she leans forward, revealing the carved lines of her stomach, the shadows that map her body like constellations of violence and grace. Her eyes are closed. Her breathing is slow. She looks like prayer disguised as flesh.

You raise your camera.

Click.

Stillness.

Click.

Then her eyes open—and pin you in place.

She doesn’t move.

“You always shoot without permission?” she says, voice level, unreadable. Before you can stammer something resembling an apology, she stands. Approaches slowly. Presses a single fingertip to the front of your lens.

The glass fogs.

“If you’re gonna watch me,” she whispers, “don’t flinch when I look back.”

Then she’s gone again. And you’re left clutching the camera like it’s the only thing keeping your hands from reaching for her.

—

That night, your laptop flickers through frame after frame—Rhea in motion, Rhea in between. The moments no one else sees. Not the brutality. Not the victory. But the breath that comes before.

Then you find it.

Her head against the wall. Eyes closed. A sliver of stomach revealed beneath her lifted shirt. Neck exposed like a secret.

You drag the file into a folder you don’t name.

And you return to it more than once that night, just staring.

Not because it’s perfect.

Because it’s hers.

The shift is silent.

She lets you in without ever saying it. Doesn’t tell you to go. Doesn’t tell you to stay. She tapes her wrists with her knees pulled up, shirt clinging in the heat, sweat already blooming at her collarbones—and she doesn’t hide from the camera anymore.

She smirks sometimes. But mostly, she just exists. Open and unguarded in the way that people forget they’re being watched. Except she hasn’t forgotten.

She wants to be seen.

Especially by you.

One night, your camera is still open on your screen when Zayn slides past behind you and mutters, “You’re falling.”

You deny it, of course.

But when you pull up the still—the one where she’s laughing at something off-camera, head tilted back, eyes soft like someone let the fight drop from her shoulders—you see it.

Not lust.

Not even obsession.

Longing.

—

It happens after a match.

Not just any match—one where she bleeds harder, breathes rougher, her body thrown like a prayer someone dared to catch. You don’t see the end of it, your body ducks behind the curtain before your brain catches up past the sound of Rhea’s body hitting the steel stairs ringside. You tense backstage, pacing in the dark, index resting on your shutter button like it’s the only thing grounding you.

Then she’s there.

Her silhouette arrives first, sweat-slicked and steam-hot, eyes blown wide from the crash of adrenaline. Her lip is split. One strand of hair clings to her cheek. She wipes it with the back of her wrist, but the blood just smears, staining her skin like war paint.

And still—she doesn’t look away.

Your lens is down. Hanging. Useless.

“You ducked early” she breathes. “You get it?”

Her voice is hoarse, barely a whisper, threaded with smoke and vulnerability. You manage a nod, and know somewhere in your chest she doesn’t give a damn about the shot— just that you were there.

“I want to see it,” she says. “Later.”

I need proof.

You still don’t lift the lens. You just watch as she wipes her jaw, leaving a streak that gleams dark red beneath the hallway fluorescents. Her shoulder rises, breath hitching, chest falling like she’s trying to slow her own heartbeat—and maybe failing.

Then she tilts her head, eyes flicking down to the camera still resting useless in your grip.

“What—don’t want to shoot me like this?”

Another step forward. Her breath is closer now. It smells like heat and metal. You can see where her pulse jumps at her throat.

“Or is this not the version you want?” she murmurs. “Too messy? Too raw?”

You want to tell her it’s the only version that ever felt true.

But your mouth doesn’t move.

And something flickers in her then—softness, or sadness, you can’t tell. Her face doesn’t fall, but it flickers, and somehow that’s worse. Like watching light die behind a curtain you didn’t mean to close.

You lift the camera slowly. Quietly. Not for the photo.

But because it’s the only thing between you and reaching for her.

Click.

And her eyes stay on you even after the shutter closes.

—

“All photographs are accurate. None of them is the truth.” — Richard Avedon

You’re editing again when she finds you. No knock. No warning. Just Rhea in the doorway, sweat-damp and shadowed by the low hallway light.

You don’t hide the screen this time.

She steps close, arms crossed. Casual, almost. But her eyes are sharp.

“I saw your old work,” she murmurs, nodding toward the collage of thumbnails. “Girls in windows. Girls in bathtubs.”

She doesn’t say it with scorn. She says it like she’s been studying.

“You shot them like they were dreams.”

“That’s what they wanted to be,” You tilt your chin. “And you?”

A pause. Then: “I’m not a dream.”

“No,” you whisper. “You’re the ache that comes after.”

Something flickers in her face. A line pulled tight.

“Careful,” she says, voice low. “You’ll ruin me talking like that.”

She leaves you sitting in the quiet laughing at the irony of her accusing you of ruining when she existed like that. You were honest with her, some women wanted to look like dreams for people they didn’t sleep beside yet.

You found forgot cameras aren’t always windows, they’re mirrors and when you look to them they reflect back what you’re asking for. You’ve had lots of women look at your lens to achieve something, not because it was yours.

Not like her.

—

“I really believe there are things nobody would see if I didn’t photograph them.” — Diane Arbus

The message comes after midnight.

Rhea: You up?

You: Yeah.

Rhea: Pool. No camera.

When you arrive, she’s perched at the edge of the glowing water. Her legs move idly making soft waves of the surface. The door closing echoes in the bleached silence around you both.

“I didn’t think I was going to like you,” she starts, you raise a brow at her with a soft questioning look, “don’t get me wrong they’re not all bad, talented and nice more often then not but,” she finally looks at you, soft blue lines from the water reflecting on her jaw. “At the end of the day it all comes down to a good photo,”

You begin moving towards her, the tile is cool against your feet and the grout is scratchy but it’s irrelevant as she continues—

”But you,” she looks up to the ceiling and blinks a couple times before swallowing, “ it seems like taking a good photo of me sits on the back burner to some other goal,”

“I want to know what you look like without the lens.”

Her mouth curves, but it’s not a smile. It’s a question.

“Does that scare you?”

You sit beside her. The warmth of her radiates into your thigh.

“No,” you say. “It scares the parts of me I didn’t know I didn’t want to lose.”

She doesn’t speak again. Just reaches out and threads her fingers into yours with a tight grip you match.

No heat. No hesitation.

Just gravity.

—

“When I photograph, what I’m really doing is seeking answers to things.” — Wynn Bullock

The next match is brutal.

She’s a force. Her body hits the mat with thunder. Her roars carry through the arena like a pulse. Every move is precise, punishing. You shoot from the edge of the tunnel, camera lens trembling from the sheer heat of her presence.

She wins.

Of course she does.

After, she finds you before you can find her.

She grabs your hoodie. Fist curled in the fabric. Her forehead nearly touches yours. Her eyes burn into you like they’re demanding something deeper than sight.

“You didn’t look away from me once.”

“It’s in the job description,”

“You weren’t looking from the viewfinder little one,” You don’t deny it— her voice roughens. “Next time you watch me, you’ll remember what I sound like this close.”

You already do.

Later, in a stairwell that smells like concrete and sweat, you scroll through the photos with shaking fingers.

Her face. Her fire. Her truth.

This isn’t documentation. This is devotion.

You whisper into the silence:

“I’m already in too deep.”

—

“You cannot possibly hit the shutter without leaving a piece of you in the image.” — Joe Buissink

Your phone buzzes.

Rhea: Stop editing. Come outside.

You don’t ask.

She’s waiting beneath a streetlamp, hair still damp, gear half-hanging off her shoulder. The glow slices her in half—part shadow, part starlight.

She doesn’t speak. Just lifts her hand and you take it.

It’s quiet. The kind of quiet that exists just before a kiss. Just before a storm. Your joined hands swing between you like something earned. She leads you through the dark to an empty parking lot, its edges softened by moonlight.

She turns.

“Show me,” she says.

You blink. “What?”

“The folder. The one you keep pretending isn’t there.”

You hesitate. Then pull out your phone.

She scrolls.

Stops at one—her against the hallway wall, the light bleeding red behind her, her mouth almost smiling.

“I don’t remember this.”

“I can’t forget it,” you confess.

She scrolls again. Finds the one where she’s bruised and open, post-match. Her collarbone shadowed. Her mouth cracked with blood.

She lingers.

“You weren’t taking pictures of me,” she says. “You were keeping me.”

She looks up.

“Can I keep you?”

You nod. Voice caught somewhere in your chest.

She steps forward. Closer than she’s ever dared.

The kiss is soft. And then—

A storm breaks behind your ribs.

—

She brings you to her hotel like you’re glass she wants to carry without dropping. The air smells like soap and skin. Her boots are beside the bed. Her shirt falls from her shoulders in pieces.

“You’re real,” she says, palm against your chest.

“So are you,” you breathe.

You undress each other like you’re building something new. Not desire. Not conquest.

Recognition.

Her teeth graze your neck.

“Mine,” she whispers.

Your body arches. Every nerve alive.

“Yes,” you say. “Yours.”

Not surrender.

An invitation.

—

“Photography is a love affair with life.” — Burk Uzzle

The morning is syrup-thick with gold. Her leg is thrown over yours. Her arm heavy across your waist. She smells like sleep and salt. Her mouth is at your throat.

You wake to her watching you.

“I didn’t dream you,” you murmur.

“No,” she says. “You’d wake up bruised.”

You laugh, soft and wrecked. Her mouth finds your collarbone.

The second time is different. Needier. Faster. Hungrier.

She flips you. You claw at her shirt. There’s laughter in the spaces between your gasps. A breathless apology when she bites too hard.

And you love every second.

You lose track of cities.

But she stays constant.

Sometimes, she finds you backstage and kisses your lips swollen. Sometimes she’s at your hotel room with takeout and a comfortable silence

You never ask what this is.

But both of you know.

—

One morning, you wake to find her standing by the window. Her back bare. Sunlight streaking her skin like brushstrokes. Her tattoos glow.

“Shoot me,” she says.

You do.

No posing. No lies.

Just her.

Then she turns, still half-lit, and gestures.

“Your turn.”

You hide behind the sheet. “No way.”

You allow her to crawl towards you and gently pry the camera away. You smile as she cradles it with more care then you’ve seen her handle anything before, your chunky camera suddenly looks dwarfed in her hands.

She takes a lot of pictures, most of them are a mess. Overexposed whites and random light glares when she moved to fast.

“Mami you know your closing the eye in front of the view finder right?” You teased her,

“Looking at you is more important,” she’d growled back.

But woven into the chaos is a few frames that make her chest tug. The light finally showing the way your hair shines, the angle of your shirt- her shirt- falling making you look delicate.

She has no idea if it’s technically correct or would be considered half decent at all but to her—she’s finally managed to capture what her eyes see.

Later she sets it as her home sceeen, the only place safe enough for such mastery.

—

“What you have caught on film is captured forever…” — Aaron Siskind

The crowd explodes and you grin proudly at the pop. You kneel in the tunnel with your camera strapped waiting for the smoke to clear. She steps into the lights like wrath wrapped in leather.

She doesn’t look at you.

Until she does.

She points.

Right at the lens.

Click.

You lower the camera.

Because you don’t need proof.

You already belong to each other.

—

“A thing that you see in my pictures is that I was not afraid to fall in love with these people.” — Annie Leibovitz

—

Hello! Hope you enjoyed! If you did —likes, comments, reblogs and follows are always appreciated!

Not sure where this one came from sometimes you just start writing poetry and then need a fic to justify it.

Much love x.

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arkofangels · 3 days ago

Text

Because I Love You

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Summary:In the aftermath of discovering the truth behind the Fireflies and the cure, you confront Joel — the man you’ve grown to love — about the lie he’s lived with for years. What starts as anger and betrayal becomes something far more complicated as Joel finally confesses why he did it: not just to protect Ellie, but because he couldn’t bear to lose you too, and the life you built together.

a/n: not proofread because I spent the last 24 hours at an amusement park and now I’m severely dislexscy. this fic is running purely on my last two brain cells. enjoy the emotional damage <3

The air was heavy. The kind of thick silence that comes after something breaks — not with a crash, but with a slow, agonizing crack.

You stood with your back to him, fists clenched, shoulders tight. The Fireflies’ hidden lab had been empty for years, but what they left behind told enough of a story. Enough for the pieces to fall into place.

“You said the cure was never real,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “That there was nothing they could do.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. You could hear his breathing steady, almost measured. Like he was holding himself together with both hands.

“They were going to kill her,” he said at last, quietly. “They didn’t ask. Just wheeled her in like she wasn’t even—”

“Joel,” you cut him off, turning around slowly, eyes burning. “You didn’t just kill them for her.”

He swallowed hard.

“You killed them because you couldn’t bear to lose her. And now you’re here — with me — pretending you’re someone I can trust.”

He flinched like the words had struck him across the face.

“You were supposed to protect people, Joel. That’s what you taught me. But instead of telling her the truth… you made it like there was never a choice at all. Ellie was ready to give everything, and you took that away from her. Not just the cure. Her choice.”

“I know,” he said, voice rough. “I know what I did.”

You stared at him. “Why?”

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, he looked so wrecked, so human, that your heart nearly softened.

Then he spoke.

“Because I’m selfish.”

You blinked.

“Because I loved her. And because I love you.”

The words hung there, bare and bruised.

Joel stepped closer, cautiously, like he wasn’t sure if you’d let him. “I’ve lost everything before. My daughter. My brother. Pieces of myself I’ll never get back. And then I met you. And for the first time in twenty years… I didn’t feel hollow anymore.”

He paused, shaking his head.

“I was supposed to die that day. Hell, part of me wanted to. It would've made sense. Her life could’ve meant something. Mine would’ve, too. But I couldn't do it. I couldn’t lose her. And I sure as hell can’t lose you.”

You looked away, chest tightening. “So you’d do it again?”

Joel nodded. “If I had a second chance… if I stood there in that hospital all over again? I’d do the same damn thing. Even knowing what it would cost.”

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t.

He took another step toward you, voice breaking.

“Because I love you in a way you probably can’t understand. A way that eats me alive. A way that makes me selfish. Makes me stupid. Makes me weak.”

He laughed bitterly under his breath. “And maybe one day, you’ll leave. Maybe you'll turn away from me because you can’t look at the man I really am.”

Tears pricked at your eyes.

“But if you ever love someone the way I love you,” he whispered, “if that day ever comes… I hope you do better than me. I hope you’re braver than I was.”

Silence again. But it didn’t feel empty this time. It felt full — of love, of grief, of everything Joel Miller never says out loud unless it's already too late.

You turned back toward him, slowly. His eyes met yours, filled with regret and longing.

“I don’t forgive you,” you said quietly.

He nodded. “I wouldn’t ask you to.”

“But I do love you.”

His breath caught.

“And that’s what makes this so goddamn hard.”

Joel didn’t reach for you. Didn’t try to close the space. He just stood there, letting the weight of his choice settle between you both.

He was selfish. And he would never stop being selfish — not when it came to you.

Because love, to Joel Miller, was never about saving the world.

It was about not losing the one person who became his world.

#fanfic #arkofangels #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #ellie tlou #ellie williams #joel tlou #tlou #tlou hbo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #i love pedro pascal #the last of us hbo

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purplecatghostposts · 18 hours ago

Note

What about Félix 💛 Rose for the ask game?

(Oooo I think them honestly interacting could be very interesting. Rose is kind but she’s ‘Do no harm and take no shit’ kind, and I think Félix could respect that. Here’s a little snippet of them and thank you for the ask!!)

—

Rose does understand why people don’t like him but she’s come to value Félix’s friendship. His honesty most of all.

Her other friends are always so kind to her and she appreciates that, but sometimes Rose needs to feel like a person, not a fragile glass figure. She knows if she asks Juleka, she’ll tell her it doesn’t matter how she looks, the people that matter won’t care. And it’s sweet and true and it’s always good to hear that her girlfriend loves her no matter what, but sometimes Rose needs blunt honesty.

Rose has bad days. Days where she looks worse than others because she doesn’t have the energy to pretend otherwise. And sometimes she just wants to ask someone, “How bad do I look right now?” And get an honest answer.

Félix gives her a once over when she asks, lounging from his perch near the window. “You’re paler than usual.” He says simply. “I don’t think the pink eyeshadow is helping.”

Rose nods, she was thinking the same thing but needed a second opinion. “You think foundation will work?”

“Maybe. They might freak out regardless.” Félix rolls his eyes. “How many times have you had to comfort them when it shouldn’t be your problem?”

“They just care a lot. Sometimes it does get a little much but I can put them in their place if it gets to that point. And if I can’t, Juleka has been helping too.” Rose can’t help but send a smile his way. “And of course, I know I have you too!”

Félix’s lips twitch into a smile. Even when he’s not transformed, Rose knows he preens just like a bird if you say the right thing. It has to be honest of course, he can tell the difference, but Rose is good about being honest too. Her positivity and kindness is no facade.

Rose has her bad days.

Félix has his bad days too.

She finds him after the Akuma has been taken care of, hidden away where no one without superpowers could get to him and even then, Rose had a hard time finding him. He’s tucked himself into a corner, head buried in his hands, and tenses minutely when she jumps down nearby. It eases away as she grows closer however— he knows the sounds of her footsteps.

“Can I sit by you?” She asks. After a long pause, he huffs and nods slightly. She plops herself down, sitting the appropriate distance— not too near, not too far. She’s learned it. It’s not her first time, but it’s the first time in a while.

“I didn’t like this Akuma either.” She tells him. “Big and scary. Loud but not in a fun way. I usually don’t mind big or scary either but this was an exception.” She pauses to give Félix the chance to talk. His fingers are still tightly clutched around the fabric of his Argos coat. She can’t help but frown. “I didn’t like the way he grabbed you either.”

“I’m fine.” Félix responds automatically. “The cure wiped away the bruises. I’m not hurt.”

“It’s okay if you are.” Rose tells him, fiddling with her tambourine. “There’s nothing wrong with being hurt. I’m hurt all the time!”

She almost thinks he’s not going to reply. But then he says, “I should be over this by now.”

Rose tilts her head at him. “Says who?”

“He’s dead.” Félix spits, as if spitting on his metaphorical grave. “He’s dead so it doesn’t matter anymore. He can’t do anything anymore.”

“Except rot!” Rose adds cheerfully, knowing that kind of grave humor will earn a chuckle out of Félix. His head lifts, eyes misty but his lips are quirked up.

“Your friends are right.”

“About?”

“Me being a truly terrible influence on you.”

“I thought you were supposed to be a genius.” Félix’s eyebrow raise curiously. Rose grins impishly. “You should know I’ve always been like this!”

That earns another, louder laugh out of him. Rose giggles right alongside him and when she leans over to bump his shoulder, he doesn’t react badly. He’s relaxed and his eyes are full of mirth.

A lot of people are surprised to learn the two of them are friends. Good friends. Rose won’t lie, she thinks their surprise is a little funny. The two of them just work, nobody else needs to understand it. (But Juleka does, because she always understands her, and Rose is happy to have that too.)

(Send me two ML characters and a symbol from the list and I’ll talk/write about their dynamic!)

#miraculous ladybug #felix graham de vanily #felix fathom #rose lavillant #SB Writes #SB Speaks #Ask #Miraculous Dynamics Ask Game #Implied chronic illness #implied child abuse #does this count as a long post??#yeah maybe #long post

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heartbreakfeelsogood · 1 day ago

Note

for a prompt buck wikipedia scrolling as eddie plays with his hair 😚

also on ao3

—

“Buck.”

A noise akin to a groan comes out of Buck’s mouth in response. Eddie huffs out a laugh at the sound of it.

“Time to sleep?”

Despite the fact that Buck is currently tucked into Eddie’s side and breathing steady breaths, he disagrees.

“Mm-mm,” Buck protests. “Not ready; ‘m reading ‘bout cows.”

If Eddie were to look at Buck’s phone, which sits an unhealthily short distance to his face, he would, in fact, find the Wikipedia page for highland cows, along with six other tabs open to articles on various micro-subjects. What do highland cows eat? How do you care for highland cows? What climate should highland cows live in? These are all questions to which Buck is looking for answers.

Instead, Eddie asks, “Cows?”

“Mhm. Highland cows.”

Eddie has just put down the book he’s been reading, Artificial Condition; it’s the second in a series Karen recommended to him. He’s shut the lamp on their nightstand off, which makes it so the only light in the room comes from Buck’s phone screen. The brightness is turned down, and the white point has been reduced, but it still illuminates Buck’s face. His lips sit in a frown which, along with the way his brows pinch inwards, makes him look grumpy. His curls remain un-styled after a wash and lay messily over his forehead. Eddie can’t help himself from slipping a hand into those curls. He scratches softly at Buck’s scalp, drawing a yawn from his lips, further proving Eddie’s point.

“You’re sleepy, bebé.”

“But…” Another yawn. “...wanna know what they eat.”

“You can read about it in the morning, too, y’know.” Eddie plays softly with the curls at Buck’s neck. “Gotta go mimis.”

“Wanna know now,” Buck whines.

To say Buck can be sensitive when he’s tired would be an understatement. To say he’s capable of logic near sleep would be the opposite. Eddie knows this, of course, but he also knows how to tire Buck out (in more ways than one). So, Eddie continues threading a gentle hand through Buck’s hair and says:

“Tell me about what they eat.”

Buck may be unaware that he’s falling for Eddie’s trap, but he burrows his head further into Eddie’s chest regardless.

Eddie listens intently as Buck tells him about the diet of highland cows. In between yawns, he talks about the health of the average cow and how it allows them to survive off poorer pastures than other cattle. Eddie hums in all the right places, although his own eyes grow heavier, and he only mutters “Really?” when Buck tells him these cows can eat poison ivy.

The hand on Buck’s head stays put. Eddie grows sleepier as he twirls Buck’s soft, product-less curls between his fingers and rubs gently behind his ears. When he places a featherlight kiss on the crown of Buck’s head, his hand falters. He remains hunched into the scent of coconut and sea salt in Buck’s hair. He hums contentedly as he flops back down.

Buck halts mid-sentence about the hours in a day highland cows spend eating (Eddie will have to ask him about that in the morning) and laughs.

“Alright, I give,” he says as he reaches for his charger. “I can read more about them tomorrow.”

“Chris’ll help,” Eddie mumbles. It’s something only Buck’s carefully attuned ears can understand.

“Yeah, I bet he will.” Buck kisses Eddie’s cheek. “Roll over, cuddlebug.”

The sound Eddie lets out is almost a laugh. Exhaustion washes over him as he settles onto his side and is pulled back into Buck’s embrace. Buck gives Eddie a squeeze before settling his arms around him and buries his face into Eddie’s neck, placing a soft kiss.

“‘Night, baby.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

“We can’t get a cow.”

“Of course not.” Yawn. “We can’t get a cow. Needs friends.”

Eddie gently nudges Buck with his elbow, and Buck simply pulls him closer.

#911 #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buddie fanfiction #*fics

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smolandweirdwriter · 6 months ago

Note

as someone with it - tourettic adaine!

bracing herself when she feels prelimanary urge to tic, trying so hard to suppress but also defiant about the fact that theyre involuntary. hates when anyone outside the bad kids notices or comments (the group makes up nicknames for her most common tics) her parents thinking shes being weird or 'freakish' until jawbone helps her get diagnoses.

snapping at people who assume that the tics are on purpose but also snapping at people (post freshman year) who think everything is a tic - "no that wasnt a tic i want you to fuck off"

adaine tics a lot more noticeably when she's anxious - she grimaces and jerks her head, sometimes makes noises, but they're mostly more prominent when she's anxious or having panic attacks because shes better at hiding them usually, as her parents used to snap at her to "stop twitching". she thinks of it as sneezing*, where she can hold it in for a while, until shes out of sight and she can tic. due to this, she never got diagnosed.

when she moved in with jawbone, it took a while before he gathered the courage to ask about her tics. she brushed it off as a nervous habit, something silly, made a few jokes about her parents' awfulness, and pretty much let it fall into silence. jawbone respected her privacy. that night, adaine fantasy googled twitching disorders, blinking problems, facial disorders, etc**. about an hour later, she walked downstairs to where jawbone and sandra-lynn were making dinner and asked if she could pull jawbone aside. they stepped into the living room and she quietly told him her speculation. she couldn't stop tic-ing as she told him and she could barely get her words out. jawbone told her she was very brave for coming to him and immediately made an appointment.

slowly but surely, adaine gets more vocal about her mental/health needs. her parents taught her there was something wrong with her, something she could fight and beat out. that, as it turns out, is a lie. still, after all shes been through mental health wise, she has a particular sore point for "haha im overstimulated/ticcing/having a panic attack" jokes, as well as people at school gawking at her like they're waiting for her to tic. still, it's better than hiding it. also, she has a bunch of friends now (and a formerly-evil sister) who will no-questions-asked curse and/or punch anyone who bothers her.

*one of my friend with tourettes explained it like this to me

**also something one of my friends did before they got their tourettes diagnosis

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kismetlotts · 3 months ago

Text

cw: money kink? Simon is obsessed, Simon loves you spending his money and giving you money, strangers online, mentions of male masturbation, mentions of oral sex, reader streams and goes live a lot, mentions of poor financial situation, Simon yearns, controlling, reader starts an OnlyFans, jealous Simon Riley, mentions of the name 'Daddy'

Simon Riley who barley uses social media and doesn't understand it well. He supposes he’s never really had a proper reason to. Sometimes he would check up on his teammates private lives, see how they are doing when they are away and off duty; sometimes he could be caught watching the odd dog meme video that pops up- earning a small, slither of a smile from the scarred stoic man.

But honestly, he’s never had a reason to bother, no account profile picture or bio and a randomly generated username he wouldn't know how to change even if he wanted to. Most of the time he would have two or three followers and always one of them was someone he had no idea of.

He never had a reason to give a shit about the online world, not until he saw you.

Sat at your desk, eyes sparkling under your warm ceiling light. Eagerly reading the chat-box at the bottom of your stream as you answered peoples questions with genuine interest. Your smile made his chest burn hot and his eyes caught notice of your fingers fidgeting with your hair. You were stunning, absolutely fucking breathtaking and Simon couldn't get enough; he needed you.

He would join every single live, not messaging or saying anything to you but just watching and suffocating in silence. He wouldn't miss the way you licked your lips wet and chewed on your lower lip as you waited for more people to join. If it wasn't for his expertise in self control he would've been fisting his cock to the sight of you.

He would have you full blast on his phone as he pottered around his house, your angelic voice singing out words of ecstasy through the cold empty walls like you were there with him. His precious little sweetheart, living with him in his head and in his home. Who would've thought a stranger like you could mess someone like Simon up this fucking badly?

He learnt things about you, jotting them down in the notebook of his brain. Learnt the places you wanted to travel to and experiences you wanted to live- and found himself wanting to be beside you: witnessing it first hand. He found himself for the first time in years wanting to live and not just survive.

Despite his toll of silence, you didn't miss the way he was always there. Checking the viewer count to see his account right at the top as per usual. Time didn't seem to matter either, when you had woken up at early in the morning and decided to go live out of boredom- he was there. In the middle of the day when you were on your lunch break, ragged looking earphones trailing out your ear as you whispered into the microphone at the back of the café, he was there watching. He was always there and it felt strange.

In honesty, his consistency petrified you. You knew it was all in your head but the nagging feeling that it was one of your fucked up, clingy exes, still keeping tabs on you despite going your separate ways, made you sick. Hoping was all you could ever do because you wouldn't dream of confronting the mysterious account that was watching, lingering and following you every second your phone was powered on. It was highly unlikely to be anyone you knew and you weren't entirely sure if that was for better or worse.

When your first couple of donations rolled in, you didn't know what to say. Smiling and thanking the donators by name as your cheeks heated up.

You never asked for money or pleaded for donations; the option was always there if people wanted to. You certainly weren't going to beg or come across as a 'money hungry' but some extra cash on the side was definitely not a bad idea. The fact that people were so generous and kind to donating pennies and pieces to help reach the goal of buying your own place. It wasn't much people were sending in but every little help strangers would accompany you with, made you realise the world wasn't so selfish after all: and when Simon noticed this. He reached for his card.

Hundreds, multiple hundreds and it was just a ridiculous amount of money that piled in from his account. It was the first time you had seen him interact with you aside from liking your content or watching your streams- what the fuck were you supposed to say? Your eyes would lock onto the screen, mouth slightly agape revealing your wet tongue as you tried to find the words. Simon fucking groaned.

The blank, grey profile picture looked back at you with numbers you couldn't comprehend attached to it. Simon was helping you tremendously and despite your gratefulness you couldn't help but end your stream- guilt surfacing in your throat because that was a lot of money to be handing away to a stranger. It felt rude taking it, you were scared to take it- it felt like borrowed money not gifted money because who sends someone that amount of cash. Who in their right fucking mind?

The worst part was he didn't stop there- in honesty, watching how fogged your mind got and watching the way you struggled for words- he couldn't find himself able to stop. It was a high for him, he wanted to give you everything you wanted.

He would crack his neck, a moan falling from his lips as he clicked on your live with a grin. Adrenaline fuelling his body as he sent more, and more, and more until he heard the shake in your voice. 'Stop' falling from your lips between nervous giggles and he knew you meant it, feeling his heart ricochet in his chest but still, he continued.

The mental aspect of the situation had led you to taking a short break off of streaming, you were sure he wasn't some crazy ex from the amount of money he had given you and the realisation it was some random stranger always being there instead, didn't make you as uncomfortable as you thought it would've. He was probably some old man with a fetish for seeing some girl like you everyday and spoiling you. The worst case scenario was that he could be a stalker or a murderer who had taken a liking into you- but even then you were highly careful of what you let slip online and who could be out there.

It was difficult, you wanted him to leave as much as you wanted him to stay- you couldn't block him after he had spent all that money on you and as much as you wished he wouldn’t have done that: it was very helpful.

A good few weeks had past since you had uploaded and you figured that he would be onto some other girl by now. Splashing the cash for some supermodel look alike as he whispers into her microphone things that drive men wild. But of course that wasn't the case.

Simon was going fucking haywire. He couldn't sleep without hearing your muffled little voice in his dreams, your sleeping little face and messed up hair with your tantalisingly lowcut pyjamas, where were you? Where had you disappeared to? He would check your account religiously, just in case you posted and his notification didn't go off. He had googled ways to tell if he had been blocked- but the reality of the situation was that you had just became inactive.

It made his lungs ache and knees weak without hearing your voice daily- just old videos he had re-watched over and over again. Your absence worried him and it worried himself with how badly he was getting attached to you. His days felt like months, his strong demeanour replaced by one that was moping and mourning. Jesus- you weren't fucking dead. If you were fucking dead he would ruin whatever stole you from him. Was this stalker like behaviour? Was he being a fucking loser for worrying about you?

Upon your return you had decided to create a dreaded OnlyFans account. It was just to raise money and you weren't expecting to blow up into some massive porn star earing millions from sex work- you kept it pretty downlow. It was as much humiliating as it was necessary- without Simon there to send you hundreds of pounds, you needed the extra pay for groceries and rent money. Plus- it seemed everyone your age was doing it so what was the harm? You uploaded a quick video to promote your new account, posted it and sat down at your one seat table.

The cold of the wooden chair hitting your thighs and the dim lights of your kitchen made you realise how tiny your apartment was. Even for one person you felt like you were incarcerated- stuck in a prison cell but you couldn't afford to leave yet. The sound of your swallow echoing into the silence as you finished up your instant ramen- humming in satisfaction as your phone hummed to. You picked it up, your stomach turning cold as a message request came through.

How much to delete your OnlyFans Account?

Simon was fucking seething. Posting your tits- your body, that little mouth of yours sucking on objects that weren't his cock for other men to see? For other men to pay for? He almost cracked his phone when he opened your notification to that and he would've if it wasn't for his urgency to get you to delete your account. He had heard of OnlyFans, he wasn't daft and you were coming off there whether you liked it or not.

Your heart stuttered seeing the familiar account and a scoff of shock fell from your lips. He hadn't forgotten you after all. The mysterious account had finally broke his silence and your stomach fluttered with feeling you couldn't make sense of. He hadn't moved on from you, he couldn't move on from you- should you be weirded out by this?

Sorry?

How much to delete your OnlyFans Account. Now?

The pulse in your vein throbbed as you finally made sense of his question. The giddy feeling from earlier at the realisation he was waiting for you, subsided into thick strings of anxiety. Hypothetically, if you had run your account on there for a good few months, posting regularly and having a handful of subscribers- you would bring home a good portion of money to save up. You couldn't ask him for a lot of money- especially after all the money he had already gave but you couldn't delete your account for little to nothing. So, you took the time to nicely write back to him and explain your financial situation to him. Explaining how you need to money to help save for a future house- that you need food and necessities and that your shitty job doesn't pay you enough.

The chat fell silent, Simon began to type and then stopped- disappearing and you shut your phone off worried you had either overshared and accidently unloaded everything onto him or upset him.

I mean- you didn't owe him anything- he donated all that money to you on his behalf but you couldn't help the niggling feeling of regret and shame that you had offended someone so nice that had done so much for you. You told yourself that he was still probably some creep, some fucked up pervert that probably only watched for one thing. But if that was the case, why would he be against your OnlyFans? Maybe you read him wrong- or maybe he wanted you all for himself.

You felt your phone ping again, opening the chat to a payment of multiple thousands.

This your spending money for food and whatever else you want. And I can buy you a house darling, don't you worry.

The high numbers full your screen and you blinked. Your head unable to comprehend if this was real or not. A whole house? Spending money? Was this guy fucking rich? He obviously had money to give away willingly so there was no doubt he was rich. But still though, did he not have a family to spend this money on- or anything better to do with it? Without properly thinking you typed back your response, sitting back on your chair as your eyes darted around your small apartment. Was he deadly serious about buying you a house?- Who were you kidding, of course he was serious.

Are you a sugar daddy or something?

Simons concrete façade broke as he snorted, reading your message. Imagining your sweet, pretty, intoxicating voice reading it out to him while he melts and loses himself in you. He should just send you his card and bank details- he should just send you all of his fucking money and spoil you absolutely rotten. He would give you anything you wanted- he would let you walk all over him and drain his fucking account. The thought of you all dolled up, new shoes, new clothes, new perfume. The thought of you comfortable, clean and fed- fuck he had never felt this horny and desperate before. He fisted his cock through his jeans as he sat up on his couch, stretching and adjusting a little before looking back down at the message. Fingers typing back a reply before plopping his phone down beside him.

Not a sugar daddy, I just like your smile, Sunshine.

But if you really wanted to call me daddy, I wouldn't be opposed to the idea.

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classyrbf · 10 months ago

Text

SHE SAID IT'S HER FIRST TIME! — NANAMI KENTO

SYNOPSIS...older bf!nanami finds out he’s your first time and he intends to make it very special

INFO...older bf!nanami x virgin fem!reader, age gap (earlier 20s, early 30s), virginity loss, consent checks, praise, nipple sucking, fingering, pussy eating, penetration, slight blood, slight crying, creampie, nanami grows kinda feral, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

Having Nanami as an older boyfriend was such a joy. The maturity, thoughtfulness, communication, love, commitment, and patience you received from him was more than you could have ever asked for. You were always so open with him, telling him everything and just being the annoying girl friend you were. But, there is one thing that you’ve kept hidden for the last six months of your relationship.

Every time things got heated between you Nanami while making out or getting handsy, you always backed out last minute telling him that you “weren’t ready” and he always understood and respected your boundaries. Though, you are ready. If you were to lose your virginity to anyone you’d want it to be your sweet loving boyfriend. But voices in the back of your head start to make you overthink, wonder if he’ll even want you anymore if you confess to him.

It isn’t until you’re here on his bed, hands tangled in his hair while kiss him slowly, passionately. His hands are roaming all over your body, still careful to be respectful. You’re pushing into him, smiling in between kisses. “Have I ever told you how much of an amazing kisser you are?” He chuckles, peppering kisses along your jawline.

A blissful sigh escapes your lips before you answer, “no.” You shake your head, his lips traveling lower down to your neck. Your bottom lip tucks between your teeth, enjoying the moment. His tongue glides along the skin of your neck, gently sucking and kissing, earning little whimpers from you as a reward. His hand grabs at your leg, hooking in over his waist as he pushes his hips into you.

Your breathing grows shallow, heart beating frantically against your ribcage. You gulp, feeling things grow more intense with each passing second before you push Nanami away. “I’m sorry, Kento, I just—”

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I understand you want to take your time with this kind of thing.” He gently grabs your hand, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. His brows furrowed as he studies your features, eyes wandering every where else but into his. “What’s wrong, hm? You know you can talk to me,” he says in the most smooth voice, one that makes you wanna spill every secret. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. “Sweetheart?” He draws out the pet name, he knows something is on your mind.

“Ken, I feel bad for keeping this from you for so long, but,” you sigh, fidgeting with the hem of your t-shirt, “I’m a…virgin.” You finally look in his eyes, clenching your jaw. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, ears ringing loudly it almost drowns out your heart beat.

His lips part, eyes widening at your words. Deafening silence falls upon you like a tidal wave and you feel the embarrassment rush in. “Fuck,” you whisper, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything I…I’m just gonna go.” You quickly scramble to your feet, grabbing your sweater from off of his bedroom floor. Maybe those voices in your head were right. Why would a man like Kento want anything to do with an inexperienced girl like you, compared to a woman who would know how to please him, give him a what he wants.

Just as you were about to walk out his bedroom, you feel a tug at your arm pulling you back until you hit his broad chest. “Where are you going?” He asked, looking at you. “I never said to leave, sweetheart.” He walks you back over to the bed, taking your sweater from your hands and placing it on the back of his chair. You sit on the edge of the bed, anxiously waiting for the next words to leave his mouth. Eyes follow his every movement, watching the way he walks over to you and kneels down in front you, grabbing your hands in his. “Look at me.” And you do, eventually, meet his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

You find it hard to speak, to even get a peep out. Nerves are shot and it feels like your stomach is twisting in knots. “I just thought that—”

“That I’d be upset you’re a virgin?” He asked, putting it all out there. You nodded your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “Sweetheart,” he chuckles, flashing a smile at you, “you’re too cute for your own good.” He caresses your cheek. “No wonder you’ve been so nervous each time we’ve made out.” He licks his lips, taking a deep breath in before speaking again, “listen, we don’t have to rush into anything. You should’ve just told me, but I understand your feelings.”

You blink a couple of times, your heart rate finally drops, feeling more comfortable with the situation. It felt like a huge weight was lifted off of your shoulders, and even more importantly, you were glad Nanami took it so well. “But, I am ready.” You look away from him.

“What?” His brows furrowed, confusion written on his face.

“I’ve been ready, just been scared, nervous…I don’t know.” You shrug, your voice getting quieter with each word you say.

His hand comes up to your cheek, gently cupping it as he directs your gaze back towards him for the millionth time. “Are you asking me to be your first?” He asks in such a gentle tone, eyes carrying a look of adoration in them. Sheepishly, you nod.

“Always wanted it to be you, Ken. You’re so kind to me, and so patient,” you admit.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, “I’d love nothing more than to be your first.” He kisses the top of your hand, soft lip pressing against your skin as he stares into your eyes. “We’ll go at your pace, yeah?” He smirks.

Everything in you is telling you to pounce on this man and go at it like animals with how he was treating you. It only made him a hundred more times attractive than he already was. Your lips find his as you both fall back onto the bed, resuming the make out session from minutes ago, only this time it’ll actually lead somewhere. The kisses felt more feverish, more passionate, something that’d you been craving this entire time.

“Can I take your clothes off?” He asked, placing a kiss to your jaw. “I’ll take mine off too.”

“Yeah.” You nod, feeling his hands tug at the hem of your shirt. The fabric slipped over your head, your first instinct was to cover your chest, feeling completely vulnerable in this position. His hands carefully undid your pants, pulling them down along with your panties, discarding the items of clothing on the wood floor. You covered yourself up, shutting your legs and holding your chest.

As you watched him get undressed, your eyes landed upon the obvious tent in his shorts, leaving you turned on. His body seemed liked it was carved from the gods, toned biceps, shredded six pack. He looked like he could just easily toss you around, put in whatever position he wanted. Not to mention, you could see how big he was through his boxers, your nerves starting to wrack up again as you began to wonder if it’d even fit. And once he pulled them down, your eyes widened and worry flooded your face.

Nanami let out a light laugh at the look on your face. “What’s the matter?” He asked, rubbing his hands over your thighs.

“Do you think it’ll fit? It’s just…really big, Ken.” Your eyes couldn’t help but wander. He was thick, and slightly long, which is reasonable excuse for your worry.

“It might hurt a little, sweetheart, but that’s why I need to prepare you, yeah? Make it feel good for my sweet girl. Now, don’t hide yourself from me, okay? I wanna see all of you, praise all of you.” He leaned over, kissing your lips again, trailing down further with each one. His hands replaced yours, gently groping your tits, squeezing them in his hands. “Such soft and pretty tits.” He kissed each one. “Can I suck on them? I promise you it’ll feel good.”

Once he gets your approval, he wastes no time, his lips latching onto your hard nipple, hot tongue swirling around the bud. His eyes fluttered shut, a muffled moan escaping his lips. Your hands find themselves in his hair, little pants and whimpers leaving your lips at the foreign sensation. His other hand pulls at your nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he gets lost in thought. He pulls his head up, hazy eyes staring back at you. “Doing okay, baby?” He asks.

“Yes, please keep going.” You bite down on your bottom lip, earning a smile from his as he moves over to your other nipple, tip of his tongue circling over the sensitive skin before taking it in his mouth, suckling on it. “Mmm, Ken,” you whimper, tugging at his hair.

“Feeling good?” He places kisses all over your tits, his touches so gentle. You buck your hips up towards him, grinding against him. “I’ll take that as a yes. You’re feeling needy, aren’t you, baby? Go on, you can tell me.” The flat of his tongue lays against your nipple again, slowly licking, teasing you.

You bring your hand up to your face, covering it, too embarrassed to look at him, to let him hear you. But with each flick of his tongue more whimpers spill out of you, overflowing. His warm lips press kisses to your sternum, traveling down towards your stomach, getting lower and lower until you jolt up. “What…what are you doing?” You ask, dumbly. It was clear what his intentions were with his mouth just inches away from your cunt.

“Just sit back and relax.” He caresses your side. “Open up for me, wanna get a taste,” he murmurs. He gently pushes your thighs open, scooting lower on the bed. His mouth slightly parts, eyes gravitating towards your wet cunt. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re already so wet,” he chuckles, looking up at you. He rests his head against your thighs, lips kissing your skin, worshipping you, savoring you. He plans to tease you as much as possible, he wants you ready.

You body twitches when you feel his fingers ghost over your throbbing cunt, light touches making you yearn for something you’ve never even had before. He kisses down your thighs and towards your pussy, pausing when he finally reaches. He looks up at you for approval and when you scoot your hips closer towards him with the cutest whimper, he dips his head down between your legs and presses the slowest kisses on your clit. The way you gasp makes him smirk, he wonders how you’ll sound when he uses his tongue.

Finally, you feel the flat of his hot tongue dip between your soaked folds, pushing its way up your slit and finding your clit. You sit up on your elbows, brows furrowing in pleasure as Nanami wraps your his arms around your thighs, holding your hips in place. He moans against you, pulling you closer towards him as he starves for more of your taste.

He flicks his tongue across your clit, his chin coated in your juices before he moves his tongue lower, tongue fucking you. You bite down on your plump lower lip, quietly moaning while your eyes watch his every movement, like you were studying him. His tongue slithers back to your clit, circling it before he gently sucks on it. “Hah, fuck,” you gasp, your hand instinctively reaching for his blonde locks of hair.

He lifts his head, licking his lips to not waste any drop of you. “Hey, pretty girl, can we try something?” His voice is gentle, a sense of security in it. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” The pad of his thumb rubs your clit in circles, his other hand caresses your thigh. “Wanna try fingering you while I eat this pretty pussy, get you ready for me,” he explains.

You gulp, nervously looking down at his hands. “Will it hurt as much?” You ask.

“Might hurt a little, but it’ll help. I’ll make you feel good, baby. I never wanna hurt you.” He sits up, moving closer towards you.

You nod slowly, “okay,” you meekly say. Nanami, wraps his arms around your waist, hoisting your leg around him as you both lay on your sides.

“You ready?” He asks, kissing your cheek, his fingers rubbing your slick over your entrance and back over your clit, trying to get you prepared. “Just gonna do one finger for now until you want more,” he whispers into your ear. Slowly, he slides his thick digit into your entrance and you immediately let out a pained sigh. He removes his finger, pressing another kiss to you cheek. “Take your time, baby. You’re okay. Hold on to me if it gets too much.” He continues rubbing your clit in slow circles until you give him the nod of approval to try again.

He pushes his finger past your folds, feeling your walls clench around him as he goes inch by inch. “Mmm.” Your eyes screw shut as you cling onto his broad shoulders, feeling the sting of the stretch. He finally gets it all the way through and you’re panting, clawing at his skin.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” he reassures. “Hey, look at me,” he grabs your face in his direction, “it’s okay.” He kisses your lips as you whimper against his. “I’m gonna start moving my hand now.” You hold onto him tighter, the burn making you wince as he pulls his hand back and pushes his finger back in, slightly gaining in speed.

You can’t seem to look away from him, melting into his touch as the pain slowly turned to pleasure, feeling your body accept him just like you wanted this entire time. He presses his forehead against yours, bodies pressed up against one another as you fight back the urge to kiss him until you’re breathless. Your hips rock into his hand, following his movements. “Want more,” you whimper, nodding at him.

“Want more, pretty? Yeah?” He pecks your lips, carefully sliding his ring finger into your entrance. You whine at the stretch, taking in a deep breath when you feel his fingers curl up, repeatedly hitting your g-spot. Your cunt squelches around his fingers, sucking them in. “You’re doing such a good job,” he whispers, working fingers faster until you’re a moaning mess.

Wet kisses make their way down your neck, moving lower down to your chest as he repositions himself at the end up of the bed, fingers still curling inside you. He pushes one of your legs back, eyes intently watching the way your pussy takes his fingers so well. Without warning, the flat of his tongue presses down your swollen clit. “Oh fuck!” You gasp, gripping at the sheets below you. Your body shivers with pleasure, the sensation of his tongue and fingers sending you to cloud nine.

Your head falls back on the pillow, eyes rolling back, legs threatening to close around his head. He slurps your pussy, tongue working its way through your folds to get every last drop. He’s moaning at your taste, breathing heavily through his nose. His hand pushes your leg back farther, nearly up to your chest, as he works hard to drive that orgasm out of you. “Ah! Oh my gosh!” You cry out, clutching at his hair, pushing his head down when he sucks on your sensitive clit once more. “Ken, baby, I think—fuck!” You squeal, rocking your hips on his face. Your legs close around his head as your orgasm arrives, body quivering, and every touch is heightened. That doesn’t stop Nanami, low eyes watching how prettily your back arches off the bed, your walls squeezing his fingers. “Hah! Ah! Yes!” You moan.

Nanami finally lifts his head, chest heaving up and down as he looks at you with the most love in his eyes. “Fuck, baby, you did so good. Come here.” He rushes to plant his lips on yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His dick is throbbing, oozing pre from the tip just from watching you cum. “You alright?” He asks, petting your cheek.

“I’m okay.” You nod. “Thank you.” The sweetest smile spreads across your face, one that makes his chest fill with warmth. “But, I think I’m finally ready.” You look down towards where you two meet, only inches away from one another.

“You sure? We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I want you to be comfortable,” he says softly.

“I promise I am. Just…go slow,” anxiousness riddled your tone.

“Of course. Let me know at any time if you wanna stop.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. The nerves build in your chest, and your stomach fills with butterflies. He repositions his hips, rubbing his length through your folds, smearing his precum. He lightly groans, slowly moving up and down, nudging your clit with each thrust. Nanami notices you watching, he can see you’re still nervous. “Baby, look at me, okay. It’s gonna be fine.” He gently grabs your face, staring into your eyes before his fat tip pushes its way through your folds. Your eyebrows raise in surprise before furrowing. He goes as slow as possible before removing himself, letting you take a breather.

You spread your legs further before another attempt, wrapping your arms around his neck. He pushes into you again, inch by inch you feel the stretch, the stinging sensation making you grit your teeth. “Ah!” You bury your face in his neck, when you feel his hips finally meet with yours.

Tears fall down your cheeks, and he’s quick to kiss them away. “I know it hurts, sweetheart. Let’s stay like this for a minute.” He wipes your tears, massaging your thighs as you try to accustom to his size. “Gonna start moving now.” He pulls his hips back, his length coated in a mix of your juices and slight blood. “Oh, your bleeding baby.” He looks at you with the most empathetic expression.

“Mmmph, sorry, I’m sorry.” A wave of embarrassment washes over you as it came to mind that it was most likely on his sheets.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s completely normal.” He kisses your lips as he pushes his hips against your again, the head of his cock grazing over a sweet spot deep inside you that you didn’t even know existed. “I’m so proud of you, you know that?Hah, my sweet, sweet girl—fuck,” he breathily chuckles. And now he’s moving faster, wrapping your legs around his waist, clinging onto him like you never want to let go. “So fucking tight,” he grunts.

You feel so full of him, like he was made for you. His dick dragging along your walls, his hands holding you close, wrapping around you as he whispers praises in your ear in the most sweetest voice. Your eyes roll back, nails leaving marks on his skin, your toes pointed. He’s fucking you into the mattress, but being oh so gentle about it. “It feels so good,” you mewl as he fucks you deep, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust.

“This pussy was made for me baby—oh shit—taking me so fucking well. You feel so fucking good,” he moans. He presses into you, each thrust sending your mind spiraling as shivers run down your spine, your body covered in sweat. Nanami squeezes you tightly, kissing your neck, and nibbling at the skin.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” It feels like your breath is being sucked out of you, your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage. “Gonna cum!” You cry out. “Hah—yes, yes!” He keeps the same rhythm, tip of his dick kissing your cervix before your shaking under him.

He holds you tightly, pressing his sweaty forehead against yours, staring into your eyes as you cum around his dick. Your hands cup his face, searching his eyes. “That’s my girl, let it all out,” he says. He can feel you clenching down on him, the feeling making his dick throb harder. “Always be my good girl, right baby?” He asks. And all you can do is nod, when he starts fucking you faster, almost like he’s grown feral. “It’s good that you know because I’m about to fuck you like you aren’t.” He pushes your knees to your chest, lifting your hips slightly so that he reaches the deepest parts of you. “Nngh, fuck!” He grunts.

“Ken! Oh fuck, fuck!” You squeeze your eyes shut, the bed rocking and creaking with each other his hard thrusts. A hand clasps over your mouth in a weak attempt to muffle your screams of pleasure.

“Pussy feels so good, sweetheart. Can’t get enough—fuck—I’m sorry,” he heavily pants. Strands of blonde hair cling to his forehead, eyes fixated on watching his dick disappears in and out of you, your pussy creaming around him, leaving a white ring around the base. He can feel you clenching down on him again, your nails leaving crescent marks in his forearms as you’re cumming for a third time tonight, barely able to form words. “Atta girl. Look so pretty cumming on my cock,” he smirks.

Your back arches into him, legs quivering as he thrusts grow sloppier and sloppier. “Nnngh, shit,” he moans. “Gonna make me cum—ah!” His brows furrow as he fucks you harder, a primal feeling rises in him as he thinks of cumming inside of you for the first time ever. “Baby,” he says with desperation, “baby, let me cum inside you.” A rosy red spreads across his cheeks as he stares into your eyes.

Your arms reach out to him, dragging him down for kiss, legs locking around his waist as you push him closer to you. Nanami groans into the kiss and you swallow every last one as his seed fills you up, coating your walls. He slowly fucks you, making sure to get every last drop of his cum in you before pulling out.

“Oh my god, sweetheart,” he chuckles, a glint in his eyes. You laugh with him before he rolls both of you over, you now on top of him. He caresses your cheek and you melt into his hand, a blissful sigh leaving your lips. “You did absolutely amazing.” He smiles. “You doing okay, though?” He wonders, fingertips tracing patters on the small of your back.

“Yeah,” you nod, closing your eyes shut, “I’m doing great actually.” You smile. You rest your head on his chest. “Thank you, Ken.”

“No, thank you. I’m glad that you trusted me to be your first, honestly. It means a lot to me.” He kisses the crown of your head. “You’ll always be my girl.” He continues tracing your skin.

“Really?” You ask, lifting your head to look at him. “Promise me?” You pout, batting your lashes.

“I promise.” A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, his thumb rubbing over your bottom lips before you press a kiss to it. He chuckles at the small gesture. “Let’s get in the shower, together, yeah? Maybe order some food? You deserve it.”

15K notes · View notes

leriexoxo · 24 days ago

Text

Unknown Number

Idol! Chan x Stay! Reader

Tags: strangers to something more, voice kink, phone sex, anonymous sexting, slow reveal, idol!Chan is lurking, dirty talk, mystery man AU, smut 18+, blindfolds, unprotected sex, thigh riding, dom chan, praise kink, oral (f receiving) fingering

Word count: 5.4k

Summary: It starts with a text. A no-name number. A bold stranger in the dark. He saw your comment in a chaotic Stay group chat—“those fingers could ruin my life”—and now he won’t leave you alone. But maybe you don’t want him to. Because his texts are flirty, filthy, and just the right kind of fucked up. Because his voice notes make your thighs press together. Because he talks like he already knows what you sound like when you come. And the worst part? His voice sounds dangerously familiar.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

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The first text came at 12:43 AM.

Unknown Number:

hey. you awake?

You didn’t recognize it. No name. No contact photo. Just numbers. But something about the timing—and the boldness—had your curiosity flaring.

You hesitated, thumb hovering. Then answered.

You:

who’s this?

Unknown Number:

just a bored stranger. saw your number in that stay gc. figured you wouldn’t mind the company.

You blinked. That group had been pure chaos, a flood of usernames and selfies and people throwing their numbers around like confetti. You almost forgot you’d joined it in the first place.

You:

wow. bold of you to admit you’re creeping in there like that lol

also… which one were you? i don’t remember you posting anything

A pause.

Then—

Unknown Number:

i didn’t

i like watching more than talking

especially when the girls are that pretty

Your stomach dipped.

Flirty. Shameless. You should’ve blocked him.

Instead, your lips curled.

You:

so what—you just stalked and picked the first girl who looked like she’d be down to text a stranger?

Unknown Number:

no. i picked the one who made that comment about chan’s hands during that encore stage.

you said, “those fingers could ruin my life” and i haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

You froze.

Your heart stuttered. You remembered typing that. The GC had been flying, no way to know who’d even seen it. And now it was echoing back at you from some faceless man in the dark.

You:

you’re a menace.

admit it. you get off on lurking. Chan would be horrified.

Another pause.

Unknown Number:

maybe, but i think he’d understand

You:

oh yeah? why’s that?

Unknown Number:

because if i were him, i’d want to know exactly who says that kind of stuff about me.

especially if she meant it.

Your breath caught.

You:

…and do you?

mean it?

Unknown Number:

every word.

but you tell me—should i be worried you’re the type to flirt with strangers this easily?

You smirked at your screen, heartbeat kicking faster.

You:

maybe i just have a thing for mystery

or maybe i like the idea that some stranger out there is thinking about me when he should be sleeping

Unknown Number:

you should stop saying things like that

You:

why?

Unknown Number:

because now i’m wondering how you sound when you’re out of breath

You stared at the message a beat too long. It’s not even what he said—it’s the way he said it. Like he already knew he could be the one to pull that sound out of you.

You:

that’s a bold thing to say to someone you’ve never met. you don’t even know what i look like

Unknown Number:

don’t need to.

i like your brain first.

your mouth second.

the rest is just a bonus.

Your breath stuttered in your chest. Who was this guy?

You:

you talk like you’ve done this before

seducing strangers through a screen

Unknown Number:

i don’t.

just bored. and maybe a little curious.

You:

curious about what?

Unknown Number:

what kind of girl sends texts like that about chan’s fingers

and whether she texts even filthier things when she’s comfortable

You bit your lip, grinning.

You:

maybe you’ll find out if you don’t scare me off first

Unknown Number:

oh baby, if you scare easy… you wouldn’t have replied to me at all

The way he called you baby shouldn’t have made your stomach flip like it did. It wasn’t even a real person. You didn’t know who was on the other end. And yet—you couldn’t stop.

⸻

Day 3

Unknown Number:

still thinking about the way you said “ruin my life”

i wonder how far you’d really let someone take that

You:

depends on who it is

Unknown Number:

so if it were chan? you’d let him?

You:

you ask a lot of questions for someone hiding behind a fake number

Unknown Number:

maybe i’m just trying to find the perfect way to ruin you myself

Day 6

The texting hadn’t stopped.

It was not constant—but it was regular. Little things. Late-night provocations. Random check-ins. Sometimes he was sweet. Sometimes unhinged. But always flirtatious. Always suggestive. And always reading you too well.

Unknown Number:

you at work?

You:

yeah, bored af… why?

Unknown Number:

just picturing you trying to act normal after everything you said last night

like a good girl pretending she didn’t admit she wanted to be choked

Your fingers paused mid-typing.

You:

you’re twisted

i like it

Unknown Number:

i know you do

you’re just as fucked up as me and i haven’t even told you the worst parts yet

A few seconds of his typing bubble coming and going, before the next text dropped.

Unknown Number:

what’s the dirtiest thing you’ve ever imagined about him?

No warning. No easing into it. Just dropped into your messages like a match on gasoline.

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering. You could’ve played coy. Could’ve brushed it off. But it was late, your inhibitions were low, and this was him—your anonymous stranger, your chaos comfort. The one person who let you say anything without judgement.

So, you gave him the truth.

You:

i think about riding his thigh way too much, like full on grinding in his studio, late at night.

headphones on, shirt off, music playing like nothing’s wrong, but i’m coming on his leg while he pretends to mix tracks

There was silence after that. No typing bubble. Nothing.

For a minute, you wondered if you’d finally gone too far. Made it too real. But then your screen lit up again—except this time, not with a message.

A voice note.

You stared at it.

The little waveform pulsed quietly, like it was waiting. And before you could think twice, you pressed play.

It started with a low breath. Like someone trying to keep their cool and failing.

Then—

“Fuck… you’re gonna kill me.”

The voice was deep. Gravel and heat and something so raw it skated straight down your spine. Familiar. Not too familiar—but something about it made your skin prickle.

“I shouldn’t be imagining it, but now I am,” the voice continued. Rough. Lazy. Wrecked. “You bouncing on my thigh, making those soft little noises you don’t even know you make…”

A pause.

Then a quiet, throaty chuckle.

“…and you expect me to sit still and pretend nothing’s happening? Baby, if you ever climbed on me like that, you wouldn’t be leaving the studio for hours.”

The recording cut off with the sound of a sharp inhale, like he was about to say more—but stopped himself.

Your heart pounded.

It wasn’t just the filth. Wasn’t just the way he said baby like he already owned your body. It was the tone. Something in it that teased the edges of recognition, like a song you couldn’t quite place. Not a perfect match—but a ghost of one. You frowned, replayed the voice in your mind, again and again.

And failed to ignore the stupid, impossible thought that whispered— No. It couldn’t be.

Could it?

You:

that voice

have we met before?

The message stayed unread for a few minutes.

And then—

Unknown Number:

not yet

—

You shouldn’t have replayed the voice note.

But you did.

Over and over. Lying in bed with your knees pulled to your chest, phone pressed to your ear like it held answers. And maybe it did—just not the kind that made sense. Because that voice did something to you. Tugged on a thread you didn’t know was loose.

Low. Deep. That exact kind of rough that spilled into your dreams when you thought about Chan whispering filth behind your ear.

Except… this wasn’t a fantasy anymore.

You’d said his name in front of a stranger. Described yourself melting on Chan’s thigh. And he hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t pulled away.

He’d responded like he’d wanted it. Like he was the one holding your hips down.

And God—that voice.

You tapped open a random behind-the-scenes video. Just to compare. Just to check.

Your breath hitched.

No. No way. Not possible. You were being insane.

Still… your chest felt too tight.

You:

i’m spiraling, don’t mind me

just casually obsessing over that voice note. you sound so familiar it’s driving me crazy

No reply. For hours.

But what you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was that while you were busy unraveling, so was he.

Because you’d told him your name once. Offhanded. Way back on Day Two, when he called you baby girl in a text and you laughed, saying—

“you don’t even know me, my guy. it’s [Y/N], by the way.”

And that was all it took.

He went looking. Lurking. He searched through the GC again, found your profile. Clicked your socials.

And then he saw you.

Saw the face behind the dirty little texts. The smile that curled when you teased. The thighs you said you wanted to ride his with. The lips. The eyes. The one bikini pic you posted with zero shame and a caption that said “it’s too hot out” like you didn’t just set his whole body on fire.

He stared at your selfies so long he forgot to breathe.

And when he finally responded— It wasn’t with a text.

It was another voice note.

You saw the waveform and your stomach flipped.

Pressed play.

“Just saw your page.”

His voice came out lower this time. Slower. Like smoke and honey and trouble.

“You’re real pretty, y’know that?”

A pause. You could almost feel him grinning.

“Exactly my type. That mouth of yours would look even better wrapped around my fingers.”

You choked on air.

“If I had you in front of me right now, baby… I’d ruin you. You’d be soaked just from hearing the way I breathe your name.”

Your pulse skipped.

“Should I say it? Should I moan it for you next time?”

Click. It ended there.

You stared at your screen like it had slapped you. Your thighs pressed together on instinct, heat crawling up your neck. He knew now. He’d seen you. And suddenly, it wasn’t just a game anymore.

It felt like a trap.

And you were walking right into it.

You:

what else did you see?

Unknown Number:

enough to want more

every. single. night.

You didn’t respond right away.

You needed time to breathe, time to cool down—except, you didn’t. Not really.

You were already wet before the voice note ended.

Already playing it back in your head like it was your favorite late-night playlist. That voice, so low and thick in your ears. That cocky little pause before he asked if he should moan your name.

You almost said yes.

Almost begged for it.

But instead, you smiled—schemed.

You weren’t stupid. He’d seen your socials. He was definitely stalking now. You had no doubt he’d clocked your Chan obsession.

So you decided to play a little.

Test the limits.

You:

i keep wondering what you’d sound like really moaning my name

like… if i had my mouth on you

would you curse? or say something soft in… korean maybe?

Three dots. Then nothing.

A beat.

Then the voice note came in. You didn’t even hesitate this time.

Click.

“…you’d hear both,” he rasped, already sounding out of breath. “I’d be praising you in English and cursing in Korean. You’d earn every damn syllable.”

Your mouth went dry.

“But you’d have to beg for it,” he added. “On your knees. All needy, telling me exactly what you want. Exactly how deep.”

Click.

Your core throbbed.

Still—you had a goal tonight. And it wasn’t just soaking your panties.

So you pushed further.

You:

you’re so good at dirty talk

you sure you’re not some secret idol who’s had media training or something?

you kinda sound like you know how to use a mic

You smiled as you sent it. Waited.

Unknown Number:

haha! you’re cute

That’s it? No voice note this time. You narrowed your eyes, smirking.

You:

i’m serious though, i listened to one of chan’s old vlives today

he’s got a sexy ass voice, kinda deep like yours when you talk slow. you two could be twins

You watched the “read” receipt pop up instantly.

No response.

You:

wait…you’re not him, right?

imagine

Nothing.

Your phone stayed silent for almost ten whole minutes.

And then it buzzed again—another voice note.

You could already feel the grin spreading across your face as you hit play.

“I’m not him,” the voice crooned, low and slow like warm silk. “But if I was… you think I’d let you get away with saying shit like that without consequences?”

You bit your lip hard. The recording continued.

“You’d be bent over that couch before you finished the sentence, baby. Face down. Ass up. I’d remind you exactly what my voice sounds like when you’re full of me.”

Click.

You didn’t realize your thighs had clenched together until your muscles ached.

And still—you weren’t done.

You:

you’re really good at this

whoever you are

maybe too good, maybe i should be scared

Unknown Number:

then stop teasing or i’ll make you say my name while you come

Your pulse jumped.

And for the first time all night… you wondered if maybe, just maybe, you already had.

⸻

Your legs were already trembling.

You’d been edging yourself for the past ten minutes—hand under the sheets, replaying that voice note like it was a playlist you couldn’t live without. Every time he said baby in that ruined growl, your fingers slipped lower. Every time he whispered what he’d do to you, your breath hitched.

And then you got brave.

Your thumb hovered over the record icon. You didn’t think. You just pressed.

You let the silence hang for a second—just your breathing, soft and needy. You let him feel how real it was.

Then you whispered, voice hushed, drenched in heat:

“Wanna know how I sound when I imagine Chan fucking me?”

Another pause. Then a soft, teasing whimper. Just enough to make his imagination snap.

“I moan his name like it’s the only word I know,” you purred. “I picture him grabbing my throat, whispering dirty things in that deep voice and accent, and I can’t help it. I’m already dripping.”

You let your breath hitch again. Just once. Just enough.

“I imagine him pushing me up against the wall in his studio, whispering ‘good girl’ against my mouth, and I lose it. I come just from his voice.”

Click.

You stared at the screen, heartbeat in your throat. No regrets.

He didn’t answer immediately.

But when he did—oh, God.

It was instant.

Unknown Number:

baby.

Another voice note dropped in seconds later.

You didn’t even brace yourself this time. You wanted to hear him break.

Click.

“You really wanna play that game?” His voice was pure gravel now, thick with restraint. You could hear the tension, the crack in it.

“Do you have any idea what you just did to me?”

You bit your lip.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep saying shit like that. Fuck—you’re dangerous.”

Another pause. A breath. Something almost like a growl.

“You wanna take this further?”

Your breath caught.

“Take a chance on me. Meet me. Let me ruin you for real.”

You blinked, heart hammering now for a different reason.

Then the final blow—

“I’ll tell you my name in person,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. “But you’ll be screaming it by the end of the night anyway.”

Click.

You stared at your phone, stunned. Soaked. Shaking.

Unknown Number:

yes or no

one word baby, and i’ll tell you where to find me

You didn’t text back. You couldn’t. Your hands were shaking too hard to type. So you hit the call button.

Just like that.

Your thumb hovered for half a second before it connected. And then it rang. Once. Twice.

He picked up.

“Fuck,” he breathed—just that.

And it hit you low.

His voice—real, not filtered through a voice note. It filled your ear like silk-wrapped sin, deep and slick and raw.

“You really called me,” he said, almost laughing under his breath, like he couldn’t believe it either. “God, you sound—”

“Wrecked,” you rasped. “I sound completely wrecked.”

His inhale was sharp. You could barely get words out.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” you whispered. “Your voice—your fucking voice—it’s like every fantasy I’ve ever had about Chan, but worse.”

He choked. “Worse?”

You whimpered softly, dragging your palm across your soaked core, no longer caring if he could hear.

“He ruins me,” you breathed. “In my head, he’s so mean. Doesn’t even give me time to adjust. Just whispers, ‘take it,’ and—”

“Jesus Christ,” he growled.

“—And I do. I take it like a good girl. Like I’m supposed to.”

He was silent. But you could hear his breathing—heavy, desperate. Like his hand was wrapped around himself already.

You swallowed, voice dipping lower. “I imagine riding his thigh and crying when he doesn’t let me come. You think I’m sick for that?”

“…No,” he rasped. “I think I wanna see it.”

You bit your lip hard. “You’d really watch me fuck myself stupid over your voice?”

“I’d hold your hips down,” he said. “Make you say please. Make you scream.”

And you moaned. Right into the speaker.

Soft. Real. Honest.

He gasped—just a little. That sound did something to him. You felt it.

“Say it again,” he whispered. “Say my name.”

“Chan—” It slipped. You didn’t even think.

And he shuddered.

“Fucking hell. Say it again.”

“Chan—” breathy, broken.

“Keep going.”

“Chan, please,” you whimpered. “Please, I need—fuck—I need you inside me, I can’t—”

His voice broke, cracked, fractured in your ear. You still didn’t hear it. You didn’t notice.

Because in your head, this wasn’t real. There was no way your ultimate fantasy, your favorite idol, the man who owned your soul with one smirk on stage—was the stranger breathing ragged into your phone right now.

There was no way Chan could be real. No way he’d call you baby in that exact voice. No way he’d whisper—

“Say yes.”

Your lashes fluttered.

“To what?” you asked, dizzy.

“Say yes,” he repeated. “To seeing me. Let me prove what I’ll do to you.”

You swallowed hard. You wanted it. All of it.

Still clueless. Still soaked. Still talking to the one man you thought was impossible.

“yes.”

⸻

The car ride felt longer than it was.

Your thighs stayed pressed together the whole time, hands fidgeting in your lap. You kept reapplying lip balm even though it was perfect. Kept checking your phone even though he hadn’t messaged again—not since you said yes.

Just one message. “Penthouse” One pin drop location.

No name still. No other clue.

But you went. You had to.

You reached the building—quiet street, upscale high-rise. Your heels clicked softly against polished marble floors as you made your way through the lobby, every step heavier than the last.

Penthouse suite.

Of course.

He had money. You knew that already. The voice, the confidence, the way he said he’d show you what your fantasies felt like in real life—he wasn’t bluffing.

You stopped in front of the door.

Stared.

And then, hand trembling, you raised your knuckles and knocked once.

Silence.

And then—

The door opened. Your heart stopped.

The man standing there was familiar.

Too familiar.

Too—

“…Chan?” you whispered, eyes wide, stomach lurching.

He leaned against the doorframe, black hoodie hanging off one shoulder, hair messy like he’d been running his fingers through it for hours. His chain glinted in the soft hallway light.

One corner of his mouth curved up.

And that voice—that voice that had ruined you all night—slid through your skull like molten sin.

“Surprise, baby.”

You froze.

Mouth parted. Eyes locked on his. Brain not catching up.

You were standing face to face with Bang Chan.

Your idol. Your obsession. Your late-night fantasy.

The man who whispered filth into your ear like it was made for you.

“You’re—” You choked. “No way. There’s no fucking way—”

Chan stepped closer. Just one slow, predatory step.

“You called me Chan when you moaned,” he said, dark eyes locked on your lips. “You knew.”

“I—I thought I was just—I didn’t think—”

He laughed softly, jaw flexing. “But it was always right there in front of you baby”

You backed up a step, but his hand shot out—gripped your waist. Firm. Steady. Possessive.

“I’ve been dying to touch you since the second I saw your profile, Y/N. You think I didn’t notice the way you talk about me online? You practically begged me to ruin you.”

Your knees buckled slightly.

“Now,” he murmured, dragging you inside and shutting the door behind you, “I’m gonna make good on every filthy thing we both said.”

Your back hit the wall.

“But this time,” he whispered, voice all gravel and heat, “you won’t be able to pretend it’s just a fantasy.”

His mouth hovered inches from yours. Pupils blown.

Close enough to feel the heat, to smell the faint trace of his cologne—clean, smoky, dark. Your pulse thudded in your ears, wild and loud. You still couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t breathe.

Chan’s hand slid from your waist to your jaw, slow and steady, like he was testing how much of you he was allowed to own. His thumb grazed your bottom lip, tugged it slightly, eyes never leaving yours.

“Still think this is a dream?”

You shook your head, barely.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I don’t want you waking up anytime soon.”

You leaned in, lips parted, waiting—begging—for his mouth.

But he smirked. Didn’t kiss you.

Instead, he leaned to your ear, breath hot against your skin, and whispered—

“You thought about me in this hoodie, didn’t you?

Your stomach dropped.

“Imagined me pulling it off, pressing you into my mattress—making you forget your own name.”

You whimpered, thighs clenching together.

“I heard every sound you made earlier,” he murmured. “You didn’t even try to hide how wet you were.”

“Chan—” you whispered, but it cracked.

“Mm. Just like that. Say it again.”

“Chan—”

He groaned.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he muttered, leaning back just enough to look you over. His gaze dragged down your body—slow, heavy, hungry. “Fuck, you’re exactly my type. Pretty little mouth, skin I wanna bite, and thighs begging to be spread.”

You shivered, hands gripping the front of his hoodie.

“Touch me,” you whispered.

“Not yet.”

You blinked. “W-What?”

His mouth was at your neck now, barely brushing your skin. Not kissing. Not biting. Just hovering.

“You already gave me everything over the phone, didn’t you? Your moans. Your voice. Every filthy thing you wanted me to do.”

His voice dropped to a sinful purr.

“So now I wanna watch you beg.”

You gasped.

“You gonna let me see how desperate you get for me? Right here, baby. Against this wall.”

You swallowed hard. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers trembling.

He grabbed your wrists—lightly, but enough to stop you.

“Mm-mm,” he hummed, lips brushing your cheek. “I said beg.”

“Chan, please,” you whimpered, arching your back just slightly, pushing your chest against his. “You don’t know how badly I need you.”

“No,” he said, low and lethal. “I do. And that’s why I’m not giving it to you yet.”

His hand slid up your thigh—almost. Almost.

Then it stopped.

“You think I’m cruel now?” he whispered. “Wait until I’m inside you and still not letting you come.”

You whined—loud.

And he laughed, dark and breathless. “There she is.”

Then finally—finally—he kissed you.

Not soft, Not sweet.

Claiming.

Tongue first. No warning. Hands gripping your hips like he owned them. You barely got a breath in before he pressed you harder into the wall, lips devouring yours like he’d been waiting a lifetime.

You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed it whole.

And then—he pulled back, chest heaving.

“One more chance to back out, baby,” he said, voice wrecked. “Because after tonight, things are gonna be different.”

“Please—”

He led you down the hallway with his hand on your lower back—no words, no teasing now, just heat radiating off his body like it was built to burn you.

The lights were low, but his room still felt rich. Sleek lines, black sheets, cool-toned walls. And you—blinking at your reflection in the floor-length mirror across from the bed—trying to remember how to breathe.

“Sit,” he said, and you did.

The bed dipped beneath your weight, silk beneath your fingers. He stood in front of you, hoodie still on, eyes dark and patient like a man who already knew how the night would end.

But then—you stilled when you saw what was in his hand.

A blindfold.

You looked up at him, breath catching.

“Trust me?” he asked softly.

You nodded. He stepped closer, brushing hair away from your face before tying the fabric around your eyes. Not too tight. Not uncomfortable. But enough to change everything.

“You don’t need to see me tonight,” he whispered against your cheek. “You’ve heard me. Felt me. Begged for me.”

He guided you backward, hands careful on your shoulders, until you were flat on the bed.

“Tonight,” he whispered, breath ghosting your throat, “you only get sound. And touch. And need.”

You whimpered, arching instinctively, trying to find his mouth, his hands, anything—

But he just laughed. Dark. Low. Almost cruel.

“Desperate already?” he murmured.

“Chan, please—”

“Mm. That’s the one.”

Then his hands—warm, wide—slid down your sides. Slowly. Reverently. But he still hadn’t really touched you.

Until— He moved.

Positioned you without a word. Straddled his thigh between your legs, gripped your waist, and pulled you flush against him.

You gasped—sharp, involuntary.

The muscle flexed beneath you. Solid. Hot. Right where you needed him.

“There,” he whispered. “Didn’t you say you thought about this?”

You nodded frantically, blindfolded and panting.

“Riding my thigh while I whisper all the things I’d do to you?”

“Fuck,” you whimpered, already grinding.

“That’s it, baby. Show me.”

He let you move. Just watched. Let you use him, breath heavy and dirty in your ear as he spoke.

“You’re soaked, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you cried.

“Messing up my pants like a good girl. Gonna leave a stain right there, huh?”

He flexed again.

You whined.

His lips brushed your ear.

“You want my cock already, but I’m making you come just like this. Wanna hear how greedy you sound.”

You moaned—loud, desperate.

“Shh,” he whispered. “Or I’ll stop. We don’t come until I say so.”

“Chan, please—please—”

But he stayed still, hand pressing lightly on your lower back.

“You’ll come when I let you. Not a second before.”

And that broke you.

Your body shook, thighs trembling as he slowed you down, holding you in place.

“You wanna be good for me, baby?” he breathed, lips against your neck. “Take the blindfold off and get on all fours.”

You froze.

He tugged the blindfold free.

You blinked, dazed, ruined.

“Turn around,” he said. “Now.”

And you did.

Hands on the sheets. Ass up. Back arched.

You looked over your shoulder—heart stuttering when you saw him standing there, hoodie off, black tank hugging his chest, chain catching the light.

“You’re gonna take me now,” he growled, stepping closer, voice low and possessive. “Every inch. Every word. Every fantasy.”

“And after that?” you whispered, eyes wide, skin burning.

His smile turned sinful.

“You’ll never think of me as your idol again.”

You felt his body behind you before you heard him move.

A warm palm smoothed over your back, from the dip of your spine to the curve of your ass. Gentle. Reverent. Worshipping. He breathed slow, like he was grounding himself. Like if he wasn’t careful, he’d devour you whole before he even got inside.

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmured. “Fuck, baby. Do you even know what you’re doing to me?”

You tried to answer, but the words melted on your tongue when he leaned down—chest grazing your back, lips brushing your neck.

“You let me hear you. Let me tease you. Let me own your body before I ever saw your face.”

His fingers slid under the waistband of your underwear, dragging slow.

“And now that I have all of you…” He kissed your shoulder. “You’re not leaving my bed until I’ve ruined you.”

You whimpered.

He laughed, breath hot and low.

“Still so shy? After everything you said to me?”

You turned your head, lips parted. “I want it. All of it.”

That broke him.

The sound he made wasn’t human.

He tore your underwear down and off in one swift pull. Fingers gripped your thighs—tight. Spreading them wide. Exposing you completely.

“Fuck me…” he breathed. “So wet. And you haven’t even been touched yet.”

“Chan—”

He dropped to his knees behind you.

And licked a stripe up your center.

You screamed.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled against you. “Sing for me.”

He devoured like a man starved—tongue precise, relentless, cruel. Two fingers slipped inside, curling just right. Your moans turned messy, hips jerking, hands clawing the sheets.

“That spot?” he rasped. “Right there?”

“Yes—yes—please—”

He spanked your ass once, hard.

“Then take it.”

You shattered—body convulsing, legs trembling, gasping his name like a lifeline. But even through your orgasm, he didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Didn’t let you rest.

“One more,” he ordered. “I want you crying before I even fuck you.”

Your vision blurred. Your thighs trembled. You came again—harder, louder, incoherent.

And then— He pulled away.

You blinked back into the world to see him standing over you, eyes blown black, jaw clenched.

He grabbed your hips, dragged you up and back, and lined himself at your entrance.

“Last chance to run.”

You shook your head, tears on your lashes. “Want you.”

He thrusted in—slow, deep, unrelenting.

You both moaned—his hands squeezing your hips so tight you knew you’d bruise.

“So fucking tight,” he growled. “Like you were made for me.”

You whined, head dropping.

He started slow. Intentional. Torturous.

Then leaned over, mouth at your ear, one hand wrapping around your throat.

“Gonna fuck you so deep you’ll forget your name. Gonna fill you so full you’ll know who you belong to.”

Your moans spiraled into sobs. You were wrecked. Completely gone.

And still—he praised.

“Good girl. Taking me so well. Look at that pretty pussy swallowing me whole. Just for me.”

You lost track of time. Of the room. Of anything but the sound of your bodies slapping together and his voice dragging you through every layer of hell.

Then he flipped you. Straddled you.

Fucked you facing him. Eyes locked. One hand holding your face.

“I wanna see you come again,” he whispered. “Right here. Look at me while I ruin you.”

You nodded, tears spilling, body ready to shatter.

He slammed into you—hard, deep, ruthless.

“Now,” he ordered. “Now.”

And you screamed.

Came harder than you ever had. Back arched. Vision gone. World spinning.

He held you through it—kissed your forehead—whispered filth you couldn’t even process.

Then he followed you—coming with a groan so low and raw it vibrated through your bones.

He collapsed over you, breath tangled in your skin.

You lay there, chest heaving, both of you coated in sweat and bliss and something dangerous.

Then— A kiss to your temple.

—

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was dangerous.

Your bare skin still touched his, tangled in sheets that smelled like sex, sweat, and the kind of risk you weren’t supposed to crave. His fingers traced lazy lines down your spine, like he didn’t want to let go. Like he was still memorizing how you felt stretched around him.

Neither of you spoke.

Because what the fuck was there to say? He wasn’t your friend. He wasn’t just a stranger. He wasn’t even just some faceless number anymore.

He was him.

And he knew exactly who you were now too. You could feel it in the way he looked at you. Like you were something forbidden he couldn’t stop tasting.

You shifted, chest rising and falling against his, still breathless.

“I probably should go,” you murmured.

His hand flattened against your lower back.

“Should you?” he said.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t let go. Didn’t stop you either.

You pulled away slowly. Found your shirt in a messy heap on the floor, sliding it over your head without bothering to fix your hair. Your thighs still ached. The inside of them still sticky. You weren’t sure if you were shaking from pleasure or adrenaline or both.

“Is this the part where I pretend this didn’t happen?” you asked, voice light but not teasing.

He propped himself up on one elbow, eyes dragging across your figure.

“You don’t have to pretend.”

A beat passed.

Then another. And then—

“I probably should’ve stopped this,” he added, quieter this time.

“But you didn’t.”

You turned to face him fully now, shirt barely covering anything, mouth still swollen from the way he kissed you like he wanted to destroy you.

“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”

You stepped toward him, slow.

Deliberate.

He watched you like prey—like the only reason he hadn’t pounced again was because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop the second time.

“I’m not asking for anything,” you said, standing between his knees now. “I know what this is.”

His gaze flicked up.

“What is it?”

Your lips twitched.

“Stupid. Risky. Completely fucking insane.”

He smiled.

And fuck, that smile—you could feel it between your legs.

“But you want more,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

“I do,” you breathed.

“So do I.”

You swallowed hard.

The air between you practically buzzed.

No confessions. No declarations.

Just need.

And beneath it all, the low, simmering thrill of getting away with something you shouldn’t.

“So what happens now?” you whispered.

His hand slid up your thigh. Not possessive—familiar.

“You wait for me to text you,” he said. “Then you come back. Let me fuck that fantasy out of you again.”

Your breath hitched.

“And if I don’t?”

He smirked.

“Then I’ll send you a reminder.”

His fingers dipped between your legs through your shirt, slow and cruel, and you nearly collapsed right there.

“I’ll see you again,” he added, voice rough against your throat now. “You know I will.”

You kissed him. Hard. Brief. Addictive.

Then slipped from his grip like a storm cloud—messy, dark, full of promise.

You didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t need to.

The second the door shut behind you, your phone lit up.

Unknown Number:

Next time, I want you riding my face before you even say hi.

Your smile was sinful. And your reply came fast.

You:

Next time’s too far away.

-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: ‘Unknown number’ portrays one of my most vivid imaginations about how i wanna meet Chan 😩 we’re all delulu so dont look at me like that! But yeah, Chan is always lurking? Well i hope he lurks and finds this fic too 😏😏❤️❤️

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @universeyuto @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000

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georgeplease · 4 months ago

Text

The One Where We Have to Fuck or Die

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Fred gives Reader his test vial of a new love potion for the store. They quickly realize if they don’t have sex then it’ll kill her.

Tags: Porn Logic, Aphrodisiac, fucking like rabbits, both reader and Fred are in their late 20s-early 30s

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

It started as a normal Saturday for (Y/n). She had slept in, made some breakfast, cleaned her flat, and had been getting ready to relax for the rest of the day. That was until a familiar owl had found its way to her window, dropping off a letter with her name scrawled across the front. The handwriting was all too familiar, making her roll her eyes as she retrieved it from the owl before sending him on his way.

Having met the twins in her first year at Hogwarts was a pivotal moment, developing a fast friendship with the both of them after a prank gone wrong. That fateful afternoon sparked a 12 year long friendship between the twins and her.

Yet, there was always something between her and Fred, others may say they were destined together, they chose to believe they were just really good friends. It’s part of the reason he could send a letter like this, asking for her to rush down to his shop and help him. As annoyed as she would act, she would always rush to his side.

It didn’t take long for her to get dressed and make her way to Diagon Alley, easily finding her way through the busy street to her favorite store. As (Y/n) entered the shop she turned waving to George as she passed through toward the back. The store was as crowded as it usually was for a weekend, causing her to weave through several other customers before she was able to each the employees only section. The letter she had received from Fred to come to the store said it was an urgent matter, but having known him long enough, she was positive he was lying. But yet, here she was.

Not wasting anytime, she pushed into his office, seeing him sat at his desk, feet resting as he smirked upon seeing her enter.

“Well, if it isn’t my most loyal test subject.”

“What is it now, Fred?” She asked, crossing her arms, clearly not assumed by his mood.

Standing up, Fred walked around his desk, handing her a glittery pink vial, causing her to raise an eyebrow as she grabbed it from him. Looking at it, it was clear what it was supposed to be, having seen many of the Twin’s famous love potions before.

“A love potion? Don’t you already have several different kinds?” She asked, curious as to where this was leading.

“Not just any love potion, this is specifically for our older couples. You know, to help them spicy up their lives.”

“Like Viagra?”

Fred raised an eyebrow, not understanding what that was. He quickly shrugged it off, turning back to his sales pitch. “No, no. This is better than any muggle product.” Moving behind her, he put his hands on her shoulders. “What’s the number one reason most people get divorced?” He gave a second for her to think before answering for her. “That’s right, lack of passion. Imagine how many people we could help if we sold passion in a vial. How ‘bout that?”

“Work on your sales pitch, but I do like the idea.” placing a hand in her chin, she observed the vial closely. “I figure you want me to test it?“ Looking over her shoulder she sees Fred nod. “Have you tested it on anything else?”

“Tested a few drops on some plants, didn’t kill them so it should be fine for human consumption.”

“That sounds promising.” She teased, sliding away from his grasp. “What’s in it for me?”

“Besides being so horny there’s no way you won’t have an amazing orgasm once you go home?” He teased, before continuing his pitch. “Usual price, 50 galleons and unlimited supplies if you so need it.”

Fred stuck his hand out, waiting to see if she’d take his offer. After pondering for a few seconds, she reached out with her free hand shaking it. A deal with the devil, some would say.

Uncorking the vial, she pressed it to her lips, swallowing the liquid. Luckily, he had been able to get it to taste more pleasant than his other attempts, reminding her of fresh strawberries with cream. Her eyes moved to look at the ceiling, waiting for the desired effects to happen. Awkwardly she began to look around the room to pass the time, feeling a little weird to test this kind of potion in front of her friend, but money is money. And she trusted that Fred would not kill her.

As she took a look behind him, her attention was drawn to his work station. Her eyes were drawn to the ingredients he had used, haphazardly tossed about. There were the components to making a love potion, a rather simple potion. No, what caught her eye was the other ingredients he had mixed, a good amount well known aphrodisiacs along with an odd collection of ingredients that have her an uneasy feeling in her stomach. Walking over, she got a better look at them, understanding why she felt so uneasy. Mixing these ingredients together are well known for causing the person who took the potion to die if certain conditions weren’t met.

Wide eyed, she snapped to look at Fred, her body feeling warm as she felt it begins to take effect. He seems none the wiser to his fatal error, his arrogant smirk pissing her off. Throwing the empty vial at him, she turned on her heel to face him.

“You fucking moron.” She spat, panic raising in her voice, her legs subconsciously clenching together as that heat began to grow between her legs. “You didn’t make a better love potion, you made an aphrodisiac with poison.”

Fred’s face contorted, not understanding why she seemed so ticked off. His brows pushed together, as he walked over to her, trying to better understand the situation, while also a little ticked off she had thrown the small vial at him. He began to watch her more closely than before, thinking that something about his potion had caused her reaction.

Trying her best not to act on the deep ache, she moved farther from Fred. The feeling was almost too much, her hand subconsciously moving toward her crotch, wanting to swirl circles to dull the ache. Instead, her other hand moved to hold the other one, interlocking her fingers together behind her back.

“What are you on about?” Fred asked as he moved closer.

“Fred, this potion is going to kill me. How fucking dense are you?” (Y/n) ran a hand through her hair, tugging at it to try and regain her focus as her thoughts grew more perverse.

“You’ve gone mental. Don’t tell me you never been horny before, love?” Fred teased, watching the way her face flushed like a virgin.

“I’m being serious.” She said, fanning herself as she felt her body warm up. “You’ve basically just signed my death warrant if I don’t get shagged as soon as possible.”

“So you’re saying, you need dick not to die?” He laughed, almost not taking her seriously.

“Shut up.” She spat, moving away from him as he moved closer.

“Have you gone sick in the brain?” He asks, reaching to take her temperature, which she skillfully dodged. “Honestly, woman, if you wanted me that badly you didn’t need to make up such an insane lie.”

“Fred, fucking listen to me.” She said, stepping forward and grabbing his face to look at his ingredients. “Think real hard about what these ingredients do. I know potions wasn’t your strong suit, but fucking think.”

As Fred surveyed the ingredients, he tried his best to recall his potions class. As his mind ran through all the things Snape had said, he came to the same horrifying conclusion she had come to moments ago. His head whipped around, noticing how want she looked, her eyes struggling to stay locked on his face, and the way her legs shook as they clenched together.

“Oh, I fucked up.” He mumbled, his brain racing as he tried to think of an antidote. Fred bolted from his spot, looking at what ingredients he had left. His mind was racing trying to figure out how to make an antidote before his potion killed her.

Her eyes watched him, panic rising through her body as she felt how the heat began to rise within. The potion Fred had brewed was a lot more fast acting than she was expecting. Even though her brain was being quickly consumed with impure thoughts, she began calculating how much time she had before it would inevitably kill her, but her thoughts kept getting interrupted.

Her eyes trailed down his body, wanting nothing more than to pull his trousers down and go wild with him. It felt insane, she had known him since they were teens and they had never once come close to hooking up, despite all the rumors that had swirled saying otherwise. Speaking of rumors, her mind couldn’t help but focus on the rumors of how good Fred was in bed, remembering how they spoke so highly of his ability. How the girls he did hook up with swore he was the best fuck they had ever had.

Letting out a drawn out whine, she stomped her foot, closing her eyes tight as she tried to fight back from thinking of him like that. It felt so shameful, like she was no better than a common pervert to think that way about Fred. Shaking her head, she used all her brain power to push the impure thoughts out, which she was successfully able to do.

Given the large amounts of aphrodisiacs he had mixed in, she figured they had less than 30 minutes before the effects became irreversible. No matter how fast her and Fred worked, she would still be dead before he figured the correct concoction. The only solution was that they had to have sex now. Eyes widening, she felt a new emotion besides instensely building lust, dread.

“We don’t have fucking time,” she cursed, her breathing becoming more labored as she tried to speak, “we have to do it.”

“It?!”

“It!!!” She shot back, already moving to throw her shirt off her body, exposing him to the way her chest heaved.

Fred nearly had a heart attack seeing her chest. It wasn’t like he was a virgin or anything, he had seen his fair share of tits, but this was his best friend. His insanely hot best friend he has had a massive thing for for years now, but still his best friend. His best friends who was surprisingly good at removing her clothes as fast as she can, most of her clothes now thrown about his office. His best friend who looked as if she was going to jump him any second now.

“We don’t have time for you to guess who to brew the antidote, unless you’d rather I die than fuck me.” Her voice was strained, trying hard to focus on her words than succumbing to the lust.

Fred didn’t respond immediately, causing her to look at him, worried he might just let her die rather than fuck her. Most of her clothes were already thrown around the room, she felt way too exposed for a serious moment like this. Raising her eyebrows, she shot him a concerned look, silently pleading that he wouldn’t just let her suffer for his mistake. It seemed to have knocked some sense into Fred, who quickly responded.

“Right,” he stuttered out, “you’re right.” He quickly said, beginning to unbutton his shirt, his mind racing with a million thoughts. “I am so bloody sorry, (Y/n).”

“Shut up, if you get all sad and shit it’ll be difficult for you to get hard.” She replied, trying her best to seem cold and calculated. Her thoughts were only occupied on getting this done as soon as possible, no need for feelings. “You can think of ways to make this up to me after I’m no longer dying.”

“Wait,” Fred said, making (Y/n) stop in her tracks, “let me just…” he reached over, pushing her close to him before apperating them both into the apartment above the store, right in his room. “This will be better.”

The environment from his office to his room was definitely better, no longer could they hear the muffled sounds of customers from within the store. Fred’s room was messy, clearly he hadn’t assumed this would be how his day would be going. As he threw his clothes onto the floor where the rest of his laundry seemed to end up, he tried to think of sexy thoughts to get himself aroused. But looking back at his friend, who was giving him the most fuckable bedroom eyes he had ever seen did the trick.

(Y/n) ripped off her underwear, tossing them into the room before laying on the bed, crawling backwards as she let out a shaky moan, her mind unable to fight off the lustful thoughts anymore. Her hand reached between her legs, trying to relieve some of the pressure, but only making her more needy. Some part of her felt humiliated, to be reduced this easily from a potion, no longer able to spit out any kind of insult at him as she stared up at him. All she was able to do was speak directly from her lust, not able to cover it up with any kind of quick witted reply as she normally would.

“Fuck,” she shakily moaned, her eyes then locking onto Fred’s, “need you. Badly.”

Now, here’s how Fred’s usual hook ups turn out. He charms them into his bed and then shows them how it’s done. Never in his life had he ever been lost for words, yet a situation like this rarely occurs. So you must forgive him for not knowing what to do watching his best friend of over ten years touch herself and talk to him like that.

Fred made his way to the bed, sliding in between her parted thighs. He felt like a total prat for even struggling to take control of the situation and fuck her. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Fred steadied himself, reaching down to stroke himself a few times. His cock stood tall and proud, making her clench in need as she looked down.

As he lined himself up with her entrance, he found the situation awkward given their history. She deserved better than a standard fuck, a little romance and, though he hates to say it, a little passion. Looking down at her, his hair falling perfectly over his face, he spoke.

“Can I kiss you?”

(Y/n) looked at him incredulously, already completely naked in front of him. The rational part of her brain wanted to tell him no, to keep their feelings out of this and just do what they have to to keep her from an early grave. But god, did she want to kiss him. To not feel like this decision is inevitably going to ruin your friendship.

She quickly nodded her head, her lust answering for her as she shot forward, wrapping her arms around his neck.

It should’ve been awkward, like kissing a sibling. They both should’ve hated the kiss, but instead it was electrifying. Their mouths melded perfectly together, as if they were meant to be.

As they made out, Fred got to work, rubbing the tip of his cock against her cunt, trying to coat it in her slick before he slid in. His eyes almost rolled back when he felt just got wet she already was, groaning into her mouth as his hips subconsciously pushed forward. (Y/n) whined against his mouth, her eyes screwing up as the tip of his cock bumped into her inflamed clit, mumbling out his name.

It was all too much, her body felt on fire as she began to beg him to fuck her, tears welling as the potion came to a head. Her head was swimming with lust as she felt his length press against her.

Fred began to push in, trying to go as slow as possible. God, it felt way too good to be true, as if she was meant for him the way she perfectly sucked him in. As he pulled back from the kiss, he couldn’t help but watch the way he stretched her open.

“You feel s’good,” Fred groaned as he was fully sheathed in her.

“Fred-,” her voice called out, the air from her lungs having been knocked out from the feeling. Her nails were digging into his back as she felt him bottom out, his words almost too much to hear at the same time. “Move. Move now, need it,” it would’ve sound like her usually bossy tone if it wasn’t as whiney as it had been.

His hips moved back, almost agonizingly slow before snapping forward with enough force to move her up the bed. She couldn’t tell if it was the potion or if Fred was actually this good in bed, but it was driving her crazy how good she felt. A part of her feared she may be ruined for life, that nobody else would ever make her feel this good ever again. Not that she’d ever admit that to him, his ego already too inflated for his own good.

“Need me that bad that you’ll beg for it?” He smugly spoke, his hips snapping forward to accentuate his point. “Need me to fuck you nice and hard?” He teased, clearly not feeling as awkward as he once did.

Reaching out, his finger masterfully found its way to her clit, swirling around it. (Y/n) threw her head back, loudly whining as she ground against him. Her hands went to cover her face, embarrassed that she knew the potion wasn’t entirely to blame for how horny she felt in this moment. That fucking her best friend was better than any rumor she had ever heard.

“Come on, tell me how good you feel, (Y/n).”

God, did she want to smack him upside his smug head, to wipe that grin off the cocky bastards face. But she couldn’t hide the way his words made her feel, how he cunt clenched tightly around him each time he spoke. Bringing her arm over her face, she attempted to hide from him, too flustered by his dirty talk. Nobody had ever talked to her like this and she definitely didn’t expect Fred would be the one to do so.

His hips started to slow, causing her eyes to snap open. Panic began to rise in her chest, both sides of her brain not wanting this to stop. It was a bluff, he felt way too good to stop. And he didn’t want her to die either.

“Need you to tell me how bad you want this cock.”

Exasperated by his sudden need to hear her, she let her lust driven brain speak freely. Throwing her head back, she didn’t even filter her thoughts out.

“Please fuck me, need to feel you fill me up. Feels so fucking good, Fred.” Her hips attempted to grind up against his, but felt his hand hold her down. “Wanted this, wanted to feel you stretch me out for so long.”

“You’re so bloody perfect.” Fred’s his snapped back into hers, a new sense of vigor taking over as he pounded into her. “Gonna make this pussy mine.”

His eyes met hers and for the first time they saw each other since this whole mess started. She stared up at him with her pupils blown out in lust, but with so much trust in him.

His hips stuttered as he felt unbelievably close, his mouth opening as his eyes shut, letting out a groan. “Oh, fuck. Feels so good. Not gonna last much longer.”

As he spoke, her hips began to rise, grinding against his groin as she met his thrusts. The deep need to release filling her mind to the brim. Her head moved to look at the clock on the wall, but Fred’s hand moved to stop her from looking.

“Focus on me,” he spoke, his voice deep as his hips began to hammer into her harder, “just focus on me.”

Looking into his eyes, seeing how he looked at her for the first time was eye opening. All the love and adoration he felt for her as his hips continued to pound into her made her legs lock around him, keeping him in place. Throwing her head back, her vision turned white, her voice cracking from the intensity she felt as her body tensed up around him, finally releasing.

And Fred was right, this was one of the best orgasms of her life. Mind shattering, earth breaking, pure bliss from such a tiny vial of poison.

His hips began to slow as she clenched around him, sucking him deep. Feeling him twitch inside her as he shot his load into her, his hips pressing firmly against hers as he released his seed. Her eyes clenched shut and her nails dug into his shoulder blades, hard enough to leave marks.

Unexpectedly, he leaned down, pressing a passionate kiss to her lips, his hips still pressed firmly against her. (Y/n)’s hands flew to his hair, tangling into his ginger locks as she kissed back, riding out their climaxes together.

Once the emotions came down, he rested his forehead against hers, savoring the remaining moments before he had to pull away. Looking back down, he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, then pulling out, apologizing as he saw her wince at the feeling.

As Fred pulled out, (Y/n) felt her body begin to feel normal again, no longer under the control of the potion. Between the mix of sweat and the feeling of his cum leaking out of her, she felt that her thoughts were finally hers, no longer clouded by lust. Looking over, she saw Fred running a hand through his hair, seeing him in entirely new light than before. And suddenly everything made sense to her.

All those failed dates, countless nights spent wondering why nobody ever made her feel like this. It all clicked into place in her mind.

They were both laid in Fred’s bed, staring at the ceiling, coming to terms with everything they just did. No longer with the looming threat of death, it gave them a moment to reflect on what this meant for them. It was clear that they could not ignore this and move on from it, not when they both felt the same.

Fred makes the first move, moving closer to her, doing that thing where he pokes at her head when she’s over thinking. He gets one of those smiles that just lights up the room before he speaks to her.

“Soooo… round two?” Fred half heartedly joked.

Her hands reach to grab her pillow and push it into his face, softly smothering him. She playful pulled away from his embrace, needing to run to the bathroom to clean the mess.

“Shut up, I need to get cleaned up.” She spoke, trying to sound irritated but the smile on her face betrayed her.

He playfully reached out, missing her warmth next to him as she searched the room for something to cover herself with.

“Hopefully that afternoon crowd will keep George busy, because I’m not done with you.” Fred yells after her, laughing at her embarrassment as she wrapped a blanket around her and ran down the hall to his bathroom. “I have years to make up for not doing this.”

“Yeah, you can think of ways to make up for nearly killing me while your waiting.”

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#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley smut #writes #hp x reader #fred weasley x fem!reader

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ja3yun · 5 months ago

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On the Roof || S.JY

stranger!jake x fem!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, oral (f.rec), cream pie, fingering, marking and biting, sex with a stranger, weirdly fluffy, petnames (princess, baby), mentions of bad relationships with parents, alcohol, comforting, do not have sex with strangers you meet on a roof, not proofread, anything else lmk! w.c: 9.7k synopsis: when you stumble across a boy on your apartment rooftop, you can't help but invite him to stay. a/n: hi! it's me. this is my first work back and honestly, it's not great but i just needed to get back in the swing of things so please be kind. I missed you guys a lot and the time away was exactly what i needed. thank you all for understanding, and i love you unconditionally!

The winter air tickles your senses as you push open the large, unfairly heavy door to your complex’s rooftop. It might be bitter, but it’s welcomed - your body creating unnecessary heat from both the walk up the three flights of stairs and the discomfort of your day.

Your shift was hard, too hard. Considering it’s a brand new year, you had stupidly thought that people would be a lot nicer to public service workers, yet you were proven wrong. With countless patients’ loved ones screaming down the phone to you, doctors barking demands at you because they see you as lesser than them, and not to mention the one man who decided that spitting in your face was a rational reaction to you politely telling him that he can’t see his grandmother who was in the middle of an operation.

Safe to say, you’ve had better shifts as a hospital receptionist.

But there was always one place you could count on to take a deep breath and reset. The rooftop. It’s quiet, overlooks the city, and helps you put into perspective that murder is not the answer to your life problems. But sometimes, God, you wish it was…

Gravel crunches beneath your feet as you make your way to the chairs you so perfectly placed underneath the solar-charged fairy lights, which hang half-arsed off the unused 1990 aerials. It’s not really how you would like to decorate the place, if you had it your way, you would have it looking reminiscent of the rooftop from Wish You, the same one you committed to memory as Lee Sang kissed In Soo for the first time. But since you’re not even supposed to have access to this part of the building, you’ll count the pathetic attempt at creating sanctuary as a win.

The lights guide you to your seat when you see a figure hunched over, one hand holding a beer and the other holding his head. This is not what you were expecting to see. No one comes up here, not past 10pm anyway. There is one neighbour who occupies the premises when he needs a smoke without his wife knowing, but he works the night shift. So this person is new.

“Um,” you begin, clearing your throat ever so softly to alert them of your presence without giving them an acute heart attack. “Hi?”

Their head jolts up from their hand, eyes wide and face shocked. Clearly, they didn’t expect to have company tonight either.

You focus on the figure in front of you – a boy, no older than yourself – scrutinising his features with a careful eye. As a woman, being vigilant around unfamiliar men has become second nature, an unfortunately ingrained habit of self-preservation you have mastered since before you can remember. So, your mind ticks through the usual checklist: is there a need to run? Are your shoulders getting that deep tingle that crawls up to your jaw? Is your gut making you want to vomit? None of those alarm bells ring. Instead, you’re met with something else entirely - uncertainty, maybe even sympathy.

The boy seems…fine, at least on the surface. No initial gut-wrenching unease claws at your insides. Emboldened by the absence of any red flags, you take another ginger step closer, studying him in detail.

His large, tired brown eyes peer out from behind thick-rimmed glasses, the weight of exhaustion evident. The glasses sit securely on his pretty thick nose. His lips, naturally full and a muted pink, are set in a neutral line, though the light could be softening their actual colour - it’s hard to tell beneath the hood’s shadow. Greasy, near-black hair clings to his forehead, unkempt but thick.

His outfit doesn’t fare much better to be honest; a mishmash of layers that hints at desperation more than deliberation. Faded grey jeans hang loose and crinkled, clearly worn more than once without a wash. Over a white t-shirt sits a black hoodie, topped off with a jacket far too big for him, the kind of size that suggests it doesn’t belong to him at all. The entire image strikes you in a way that leaves concern pricking all over your chest.

Steeling yourself, you step closer again, your voice soft but firm. “Are you okay?” The question is sincere, meant to come across as a kind gesture - like when you let a cat sniff around your hand before you just go in for the pet. Your eyes meet his, offering as much warmth as you can muster. There’s something about the way he sits, cold and crumpled, that pulls at your humanity.

At first, his expression flickers, betraying something fragile beneath the surface. But it doesn’t last. In an instant, his jaw sets, and his shoulders square in a defensive shift. His cheeks hollow as his tongue presses against them, words unspoken but clearly brewing. The moment hangs in the air, heavy and awkward.

It’s as if your simple question has poked at a bruise, tender and raw. You’ve touched something buried, and for reasons you can’t yet work out, his reaction irks you. Of all things to take issue with, why this? What on earth had he expected - for you not to ask a very valid question? Perhaps it’s the day you’ve had that’s caused the unnecessary offence on your behalf.

He averts his gaze, the connection between you severed. Instead, he tips back the beer bottle in his hand, his focus shifting to the cityscape below. The quiet glug of liquid slipping down his throat is the only response you get, and it grates against the care you offered.

A flicker of irritation sparks within you. Perhaps it’s the brush-off, or maybe it’s the contradiction in his actions. He’s sitting here in your space, looking like the embodiment of a cry for help, yet recoils at the smallest act of kindness. Still, you don’t back down. Instead, you shift your weight and tilt your head, keeping your tone neutral but unwavering.

“Fine, If you don’t want to talk, that’s sound,” you say, folding your arms against the cold. “But sitting out here, looking like the world’s chewed you up and spat you out…people are going to ask questions like ‘are you okay’ or ‘what’s the matter’. Just saying.” You huff out and follow his gaze to the city. People are having a much better day than you out there, and envy jabs at you.

For a moment, you think he’ll continue ignoring you; his shoulders remain tense, his grip on the bottle firm. But then he sighs, the sound long and weary, like air escaping a deflating balloon, one being pinched and controlled. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough, a surprising Australian accent whistling through the wind.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, though the words lack conviction. His eyes remain fixed on the horizon, steadfastly avoiding yours.

“You’re a terrible liar,” you counter, letting a small, dry smile tug at your lips. “And you’re also not allowed up here.”

A tense silence follows, broken only by the chug of a train in the far distance. It’s not exactly comfortable, but neither is it unbearable. You find yourself wondering who he is and what’s brought him to this specific rooftop.

“You can’t get up here unless you’re a tenant,” you blurt out, trying to get any morsel of information from him. You figure the quicker you find out what he’s doing here, the quicker you can find a solution for him to leave and then have your safe space back to yourself. You might have sympathy for him, clearly having a hard time of life, but so are you - and your comfort outweighs a total stranger who can’t even bother to look your way.

“Okay,” he says bored, sipping his beer again.

“That’s your invitation to either tell me that you moved in recently, or, your queue to leave because you’re trespassing.”

“Invitation declined.”

He is so rude, you think to yourself, though you wonder whether you should just call him out for it and at least gain some reaction for him.

Instead, you park yourself in the seat next to him, huffing as you drop down. “Well I’m not leaving until you do,” you state matter-of-factly, attempting to not let his presence ruin your mood even further. You suppose, if he sits and shuts up, you can at least pretend he isn’t here invading your space.

Though technically, you’re invading his, but you get the idea.

The boy side-eyes you, a small, angry smirk etching onto his cold rosey face. “Yeah? Well, you’re gonna be here for a long fucking time.” He spits his words out, frustration laced within each syllable, though you can tell it’s not directed towards you. The boy is so far in his own head that you begin to realise that any discontentment he might have has less to do with you and your presence, and more to do with the reason he’s hibernating on your rooftop.

So, you sit back, and leave him be. To be honest, you’ve dealt with far worse and crabbier people today, in comparison, this boy is like rainbows and kittens.

Closing your eyes, you let the white noise of the night take over you, infiltrating all your tension and disdain towards the day, and settling you into a comfortable silence. The fairy lights above add a serene atmosphere that you crave after work, the faint lights providing some fake warmth. They were not easy to get up there, but a few falls and tangles later, you realised that all the scrapes and twirls were worth it.

The hooded boy beside you peaks over, finally taking you in as more than an inconvenience. He notices how you breathe in deep, exhaling with a sigh of relief and a cloud of warmth that combats the freezing air.

It doesn’t take him a minute to realise that you’ve had a bad day too, and a pang of guilt hits him. He’s being unfair to you when you probably just want to relax under the night sky and here he is taking up space.

He takes up too much space.

Reaching down at his feet, he picks up a bottle of beer from his case, the clinking not even disturbing your quest for serenity. He pokes your thigh with the bottom of the bottle, gaining your attention. When your eyes meet once again, there’s a sorrowful look on his face, the alcohol a form of apology for being an arsehole. It’s an apology you’ll gladly accept.

“You look like you could use it,” he murmurs, offering a tight smile as he waits for you to take the brown glass bottle.

You wrap your hand around the base and lift it up in thanks. “I could use ten sambucas and a pint of tequila to wash them down,” you snort out a sarcastic chuckle, beginning to unscrew the cap. You need to thank whatever genius decided that bottle openers were too much hassle and gave people a much easier and more practical way to open a bottle of beer. You hope they’re having a good night.

The boy lets out a laugh, short but genuine, raising his own bottle to his lips. “That bad, huh?” he asks, voice muffled slightly by the glass.

“It gets like that,” you shrug, taking a long pull from the bottle, barely savouring the taste, routing around for the effects of calmness that it will bring rather than its pallet. “Comes with working in a hospital.”

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity momentarily overriding his gloom “Nurse?”

“Receptionist.” You correct him, hissing out as you absorb the alcohol. Beer is not your favourite taste, a Sex on the Beach is much more appealing, but you would down a tank of gasoline if it meant you could get rid of this stress.

He sucks in an empathetic breath, whistling low as he leans back against the seat. “Yeah, you need a gun, not alcohol.”

The comment catches you off guard, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, you laugh - really laugh. It bursts out of you, raw and unrestrained, carrying away the weight of the day. Life isn’t inherently awful, but it’s lonely sometimes. Working back shift in the hospital makes it hard to keep friends or any semblance of a social life. The most interaction you get that isn’t disgruntled patients or angry phone calls is on twitter with your online friends, but even then, it’s a rise-and-repeat conversation cycle of ‘for real’ and ‘same’ replies to posts you make about Jang Kyungho when no one is looking.

Not exactly the deep human connection that people need.

So this, being able to laugh and have a bit of understanding for even a second, is comforting. It almost makes you feel bad for cursing the boy out in your head.

Smiling, you extend a hand to him, “Y/N.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second before taking it. “Jaeyun,” he replies, offering you a smile in return. It’s faint but sincere, a crack in the armour he’s wearing so tightly.

As he grips your hand in his, you feel the ice-coldness on his skin, a clear indicator that he has been up here for quite some time. Or at least out in the open air. It only makes you more intrigued - and with him being a little slither more open with you, you decide to take the nugget and run with it.

So you talk, and talk, and talk. It feels like forever but it’s actually only two hours. Not a lot is said, but you learn some things about him; hobbies, interests, friends, his favourite TV shows and Films. All surface-level stuff, yet it feels like you’re speaking to an old friend. He learns about you too - the same stuff, with added anecdotes about working in a hospital.

But there is one thing that you are dying to know.

“So,” you begin, twisting your patio chair to face him fully, the legs scraping along the asphalt of the roof. “You can guess I’m here after a bad shift…why are you here?” Your face is expectant, waiting for an answer while you drink your beer.

But Jaeyun’s face is overcome with a flash of rage, partly due to your question, but more the fact that your question made him think about the reason he is here. Though, as quickly as his face shows agitation, it dissipates just as fast. Instead, he opts for an obtuse response. “Just wanted to enjoy the view. That’s all.”

“Couldn’t do that from your own building, no?” you tease lightly, humour softening the prodding tone. But your persistence nudges too close to something real. “Oh... did your girlfriend kick you out?” The words tumble out before you can stop them, too sharp and intrusive.

Unfortunately, it’s a habit of yours to be so nosey that it comes off inconsiderate or produces ill-timed questions. In this instance, it’s both.

His grip tightens on the neck of the bottle. The knuckles whiten, the tension visible. For a moment, he studies the label, reading the same ingredients over and over as if they hold the secret to life's greatest mystery - what happened on that fishing trip in Gavin and Stacey.

“My parents did. Yeah.” His confession is sharp, devoid of emotion

Your stomach drops. “Oh...” It’s all you manage, guilt prickling at the edges of your thoughts. You’re so stupid for poking Y/N! You inwardly scold yourself. Obviously, this issue is so much bigger than you can process. Still, your mouth will continue to flap around.

“Yep.” He pops the p with bitter precision, his tone teetering on the edge of sarcasm. “Apparently, I need to ‘get my act together.’” He says with accompanying quotation marks from his fingers.

“As in?”

“As in I need to be their perfect little boy and follow in my brother’s footsteps - be a lawyer.” The words fall flat, heavy with resentment.

Nodding along, the pieces form enough for you to make your own solid conclusions. “And I guess you don’t want that?”

“Fuck no.” Jaeyun scoffs out a bitter laugh. “I’m more likely to need a lawyer than be one.”

“Ohhh a bad boy huh?” you wiggle your brows, trying to interject some semblance of humour into the moment while sussing him out, to lighten his load even just a smidge. You can’t begin to imagine what his parents said or did to him once he rejected their concept of a perfect life, and you don’t really want him to dwell on it right now either.

He laughs despite himself, a quiet sound that momentarily lightens his expression. “Maybe.” It’s a noncommittal answer, but he seems content to let you spin your own version of events.

Honestly, he is not bad in any shape or form. But when he says he would need a lawyer rather than being one, he means that that career is so absurd that even a goody too shoes like him is more likely to get in trouble before he stands in a suit.

He just wants to live his life without this great expectation, without people demanding he ‘do better’ when he knows he is doing just fine; he’s in a great University, studying music and production, and has a decent part-time job at the record store, which isn’t loads of money, but enough for him to pay his mum and dad digs and still have a life outside their constraints. He’s doing fine, or so he believes.

But fine isn’t enough for his parents. Their love towards their own son is tied to the weight of their expectations, ones he can’t - or won’t - carry.

“So they just…kicked you out?” you ask carefully, noting the sorrow in his features as he turns the events of the past few months in his head. Sympathy creeps back into your chest, any lingering annoyance dissipating along with the last sips of your beer.

“Yeah,” he confirms, sighing and shrugging. “It’s fine.”

“Are you staying with friends or…” You don’t finish the question because you’re scared of the answer; the dishevelled clothes and hair are enough to semi-confirm.

Jaeyun looks up, his gaze catching the glimmer of the fairy lights, their soft glow reflected in his dark irises. “I was, until a few days ago. You can only couch-hop for so long before people start to feel like you’re intruding.”

He holds no malice towards his friends, no bitterness in his tone, and honestly, his best friend Sunghoon said he could stay for as long as it took him to save up for an apartment of his own. But he doesn’t want to take advantage of his kindness, the boy already doing more for him than most would have. Even Jay, his other friend, offered to loan him the money for the first month's rent on a flat uptown.

But Jaeyun’s pride wouldn’t allow him to take advantage of their kindness. He would manage on his own, no matter how hard it got.

Seeing the pity in your eyes, he waves his hand to brush off your concern. “It’s fine, I’ve scraped up enough money to get rent now. I just need to find a place,” he smiles softly, appreciative of your sympathy even if he doesn’t want it. “I’ll be fine. I’m going looking tomorrow.”

There’s a sense of relief that his words bring you. Although his predicament isn’t ideal right now, it looks like it could be on the turnaround, and for that, you’re thankful.

“If it’s only for one night, do you want my couch?” The offer spills out before you can stop it, surprising even yourself.

Jaeyun laughs heartedly, eyebrows knitting in disbelief and amusement. “You’re fucking stupid.”

“Huh?!” you exclaim in shock. It’s not really the response you were expecting. A yes? Sure. A no? Absolutely. But an insult to punctuate your act of kindness was a curveball.

Sitting up straight, he places his beer on the ground, an amused smile softening his features. “I’m a random man you’ve known for a couple of hours. I could do anything to you in your own home, and you don’t seem the slightest bit worried about that.”

Okay, maybe he has a massive point. You don’t know him and he could literally attack you at any moment. And considering earlier you had to assess him before approaching, it shows that you do have the common sense not to let him stay with you.

But he poses no threat, none whatsoever. He’s just a boy in a fucked up situation, and your kind heart can’t see him freeze; god knows how many nights he’s been out. He’s already reminiscent of Jack Dawson turning into a block of iced body parts.

“Well, you won’t right?” You throw the question back to him. “I mean, to be honest, I’ve let men in my bed for a lot less than a tiny conversation and a beer.”

As soon as the words tumble out of your mouth, your cheeks flush to match his cold ones, neck tingling in embarrassment. You’ve just confessed that your standards are abysmally low - you’ve slept with men who didn’t even have the decency to buy you a drink nevermind learn your name.

Jaeyun stifles a laugh, rubbing at his eye. “For your pride, I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.” The smile on his face is so beautiful that you’re caught off guard a little. Now you wish he was one of the men you let roll around on top of you for a compliment and a ride home.

His expression shifts, returning to a more serious note, though the smile lingers. “Seriously, Y/N. Thank you for the offer, but I only have” - he glances at his watch - “six hours before sunrise anyway.”

“Seriously, it’s no trouble-”

“I’m serious too,” he interrupts gently, slouching back into his seat. “You should go in. It’s cold, and after the day you’ve had, you need sleep.”

“I-”

“Y/N.” His tone is firm but not unkind. “I’m fine. Go. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

His refusal stings in a strange way, the rejection of your kindness more personal than it should feel. But you know better than to argue with someone so resolute. It never ends well. So, with a resigned nod, you down the last of your beer and stand.

“Okay,” you reply, setting the empty bottle aside. “I’m in 4A if you change your mind. I can grab some blankets? Pillows?”

Jaeyun places a hand over his heart, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Thank you, Y/N. Truly. But I promise I’ll survive.”

And so, you leave him there, your heart tugging at you to insist, to argue, to make him take shelter in your tiny flat. But your feet keep moving, respecting his wishes.

As you reach the door, you glance back one last time, the words caught in your throat. You just hope he’ll be okay.

_____

The rain lashes, jolting you awake. It’s not the pretty white noise rain that you enjoy, it sounds like hundreds of tiny little pebbles being pelted at your window. Strange. It was forecast as clear skies until at least Tuesday.

You blink groggily, groaning at the interruption. You can’t have been asleep for more than two hours - if that. Begrudged, you turn your back to the outside, shielding yourself from the rain that cannot attack you. Yet, an unsettling feeling stews in the bottom of your stomach, the kind that makes your heart beat faster and your mouth gain moisture.

It’s not uncommon for you to have random spouts of anxiety, all your life you’ve suffered from it, but this isn’t your typical ‘my brain is going to bring up that one time I peed myself in primary 2 and had to be sent home’ anxiety. This is something more.

Fuck.

Jaeyun.

The thought hits you like a bolt of lightning and your body moves before your mind can catch up. You fling off your pastel pink duvet, slide your feet into your beloved fuzzy slippers, and throw on a housecoat to cover your half-naked form. If you had the right mindset and not half asleep and half in panic, you would have grabbed a rain jacket and some trainers instead.

Thought, without thinking about your own state, the chilly air cuts at your skin as you make your way to the roof. The rain, now mixed with hail, pelts down hard, each sting enhancing your concern. Your eyes roam around near the seated area, one of your hands shielding your eyes from the brutal hailstones, each one nipping your hand in anger.

"Jaeyun?" you shout, your voice cutting through the storm, only to be drowned out by the constant rain. You get closer to the seats and see nothing. Panic overwhelms you, hot and stifling. "Are you still here?"

As you spin around, your eyes finally land on him. He’s slumped up against the rooftop enclosure which acts as a headboard to an uncomfortable concrete bed. His jacket and hoodie are doing as much to protect him as a candyfloss blanket, each soaked through and clinging to his skin. How can he sleep like this? It makes you wonder if he lied about just how long he had stopped couch-crashing and living out in the open.

Quickly, you drop to your knees beside him, ignoring the puddle that entrenchs your legs, and place your hand on his shoulder as you shake him awake. “Jaeyun?” you bellow, loud enough for him to startle awake and instantly put a guard up.

“Huh?” he mumbles, voice thick with confusion.

“Come on, I’m not leaving you up here,” you inform. This time, it isn’t a question but a demand. You have too much compassion to willingly leave him up here any longer.

Jaeyun’s eyes squint through his water-splattered glasses as he takes in your figure. “Y/N? What the fuck are you doing? You’re soaked,” he states the obvious, yet oblivious to his own state. “Go back inside.”

“Not without you,” you fire back. “Grab your things.”

“But-”

“Either that or I stay up here with you,” you cut him off, voice firm though only kindness shines through.

You can see the conflict in his face, his concern for your drenched state outweighing his stubbornness. He sighs, defeated, and finally nods. “Fine.”

If there is one thing Jaeyun hates to be is a burden, but it seems no matter what happens, he will inconvenience you in some way - might as well choose the drier option.

Standing upright, you extend a hand, offering him some help up, but he refuses. Instead, he grabs the duffle beside him and clumsily gets up, following you down and into your apartment.

As soon as he walks into the warmth, his bones leap with excitement and his shoulders relax in contentment. You flick on the lights which allows him a better view of your personal space. And it is exactly how he imagined it.

Your walls are covered in art and photos of you and your friends, lyric posters from bands he has never even heard of, and a shrine to TO1 in the corner. It’s cosy, lived in, and he feels a massive pang of envy.

“You can use my shower,” you say while subconsciously tidying up, removing the cups and wine glasses that have piled on the coffee table. “Luckily for you, I like wearing guy’s clothes on my period so I’ll see what I can find to fit you.”

“Seriously, Y/N. I’ll just, dry off with a towel or something, No Stress.” He doesn’t like the fuss but he can’t deny he doesn’t feel a little fuzzy as you make space for him.

Scoffing, you turn around with a perplexed look on your face. “A towel? Jaeyun, you’re soaked to the bone. You need a shower and then you can have a towel, okay?”

A grateful grin adorns the boy’s face as he takes his shoes off. “Okay. Thank you, Y/N. Seriously.” Jaeyun nods, clutching his damp duffle as he trudges towards the bathroom.

You point out the way, adding a quick, “Towels are on the rack, and there’s shampoo, soap, and more in there. Just use whatever you need, okay?”

With another muttered thank you, he waddles to your bathroom, suddenly enthralled with how the night has panned out. It’s been a while since he had a decent shower, and the ones in the Uni’s lockeroom are made more for a quick wash down than a deep cleanse.

As he disappears into the bathroom, you let out a sigh, glancing around your apartment. It isn’t a mess by your standards, but you suddenly feel self-conscious about the clutter. Usually, when people are up, it’s those who are either only making their way to your bedroom or those who do not care and have known you long enough to understand that you like a bit of mess.

A messy home is a home loved.

The sound of running water echoes from the bathroom, and you take the moment to rummage through your wardrobe. You pull out a pair of joggies and an oversized hoodie that has seen you coming every cycle for the past three years. You can’t get much more comfort than these. They’ll be a bit loose on his slim frame, but they’re warm and dry.

Speaking of which, you glance down at your own rain-soaked state, grimacing. The slippers squelch faintly with each step, and the damp housecoat clings unpleasantly to your skin. Without hesitation, you pull out a baggy t-shirt and some old pyjama shorts, slipping into them after quickly drying off your hair with a towel that’s close by. It’s not inherently clean, but it serves its purpose, so that’s good for now.

Satisfied, you place the clothes Jaeyun will borrow on the sofa before heading to the kitchen. The kettle hums to life as the storm outside continues its symphony, the hail getting more dangerous and cutthroat. A hot cup of tea feels like just the thing to chase away the chill, after all, there’s little problems in life that a good cuppa can’t fix.

Just as you reach for the tea bags, the creak of the bathroom door pulls your attention.

Jaeyun steps out, his damp hair falling messily over his forehead, droplets of water glistening on his skin. A towel sits promiscuously low on his hips, and despite yourself, your gaze trails downward. The delicate silver chain around his neck catches the light, the cross pendant resting at eye level with his pretty brown nipples. Your eyes wander further, taking in the faint definition of his toned abs, the subtle dip hinting at a v-line. And his cock is outlined perfectly to give you an idea of his size and width but you can tell it still doesn’t do him justice.

You realise with a jolt that your mouth is slightly open, and the train of your thoughts is taking a decidedly inappropriate detour. Heat rushes to your cheeks as your mind conjures up scenarios you’d never admit aloud. A pang of guilt follows swiftly - this boy has been through hell, and he’s come to you for solace, not to be gawked at.

“Sorry,” Jaeyun says, breaking the spell. His voice is soft, a mix of embarrassment and strange pride, as he catches your lingering stare. “I’ll get dressed. I just…didn’t know where the clothes were.”

“Oh!” You clear your throat and nod toward the sofa, purposefully keeping your gaze above his shoulders. “Yep, just there. Help yourself. I think they’ll fit.”

As he moves to retrieve the clothes, you busy yourself with literally anything else - studying the ceiling, adjusting the kettle, anything to avoid the moment and stop trying to catch glimpses of his cock.

You don’t hear the rustling of clothes though, instead, you just hear yourself breathing, which piques your interest. Why isn’t he changing?

Subtly, your eyes glance over to him and then you see it, the look on his face as he stares at the clothes. You’ve had that look before too, the one that comes with the mixed feelings of disbelief, shame, sadness, hope, and every other conflicting emotion that arises when you’re down and out.

“Thanks,” he whispers, “For all of this.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you reply, taking a few small steps forward. But Jaeyun shakes his head, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“No, really,” he insists. “I…I don’t think I’ve met someone as kind as you in a long time.” His voice breaks on the last word, and he quickly looks away, ashamed of the vulnerability slipping through.

He has his friends, they are kind and generous much like yourself, but being kicked out of his own family has also shown him the darkest parts of humanity, the ones that he doesn’t let others know that he’s experienced. Truthfully, he’s just a scared boy who needs his family.

The admission punches through your chest, leaving no room for hesitation. You glide over to him as your arms wrap gently around his shoulders.

If a cuppa can fix most things, a hug can fix them all.

At first, he stiffens, unsure how to respond, but then he relaxes, his head lowering slightly against you.

“It’s okay,” you murmur softly. “You’re going to be okay. Maybe not right now, but soon.”

Jaeyun’s arms tentatively come up to return the embrace, and for a moment, the storm outside fades into irrelevance. His eyes close and for a change, he believes that it will be fine. This moment isn’t going to last forever, once the morning blooms, he’ll be out of your life and trying to get back on his feet, but he’s thankful for the reassurance and hope right now.

Pulling back slightly, his arms still lingering around you. His eyes, uncertain and yearning, flicker between your face and your lips. Then, without a second thought, he leans in and presses his lips to yours - a fleeting, hesitant kiss that seems to catch even him off guard.

His lips retract from yours as he draws back, his face flushed with embarrassment and horror. “Sorry,” he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. Why the fuck would he kiss you without consent when you’ve been so kind towards him? He thinks. His hand twitches at his side, as though unsure whether to retreat or reach out again. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Would it make you feel better?” you interrupt gently, your voice soft but steady.

His brows furrow, confusion flickering across his features. “What?”

“Would it make you feel better?” you repeat, tilting your head slightly. There’s no judgment in your tone, no hesitation. “To kiss me?”

“Really, no, it’s okay-”

This time, you close the distance, your lips capturing his before he can finish the sentence. It’s slow, deliberate, a kiss that tells him you’re here for him despite still being strangers. His initial surprise melts into something deeper, something warmer, as he responds cautiously at first, then with more certainty.

It actually is making him feel better, the human connection, it’s nature's balm.

So he follows your lead, his arms tightening around your waist, holding you impossibly close as his hands splay over your back, covering most of the surface. The way his plump lips move against yours is magnetic, sucking and pulling you into his world. You’ve been kissed more times than you can count - shamelessly to say - but his mouth feels a little different; a little less icky than the others and a lot more like they’re meant to be on yours.

With that feeling charging your bloodstream, your hands fly up to his damp hair, craving to have him on each of your senses. You can’t get enough of him, his taste of beer from the numerous bottles he downed on the roof, the touch of his silky locks that are in need of a haircut, his scent of your strawberry milk body wash mixing in with his own musk, how he sounds when he growls into your mouth, showcasing that he’s just as desperate as you are for this.

You need him…

Swiftly, your hands trail from his head, down his neck, your nails lightly scratching down his collarbones until you reach the veins just above where you were unabashedly looking not 10 minutes ago.

Jaeyun pushes your ass against the sofa, bucking up into you, hips deliciously working to place your hand on his cock. God, it feels beautiful, even with the fluffy barrier.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he moans deeply into your mouth, passing the need from himself into you. Your hand grips his covered shaft as you palm him teasingly. “Don’t do this if you don’t want to.”

Honestly, he doesn’t want to say anything that will make this stop, his body pulsing with the desire to have you wrapped around him. But he also believes in consent, and while you both might be horny-induced 22-year-olds, you’re also strangers.

Shaking your head adamantly, you grip his dick harder, smiling at the whimper it draws from him. “I want this, Jaeyun.”

“I suppose, men have been in your bed for a lot less, right?” he chuckles into your mouth. And while it could come across as an insult to some - that he’s essentially throwing back your own slut-shaming dialogue from earlier - you feel no degradation or malice behind his words. You can tell he’s playful, under all the dreary circumstances. He’s a boy who has light and laughter built into his DNA.

Maybe it’s delusion, maybe it’s a soul connection, or maybe it’s the fact that you need to bounce on his cock within the next five minutes or you’ll perish that’s clouding your judgment.

Either one, you let it slide.

So, playfully, you slap his chest and break the kiss. “Keep talking and you won’t get the chance to see my bedroom.”

“That’s okay, I can fuck you here,” he replies quick-witted, suddenly hoisting you up on the back of the couch, the wood and material digging into your ass not uncomfortably.

You laugh and so does he, looking into each other’s eyes, and it all feels so right.

Bringing your hand up to his face, you push his hair off of his forehead and reveal his eyes - the light from your living room dancing in his pupils, much like how they had been on the rooftop, but this time, there is an abundance of happiness that adds to the shine.

“You’re so pretty,” you confess, that no-filter brain coming into full effect once again. Granted, a much better consequence of it.

A faint, rose blush crawls across the apples of his cheeks and the tip of his nose, a bashful grin on his mouth. “Thank you. Personally, I think you’re prettier so…”

“Guess we can be pretty together, huh?”

“Pretty good together you mean?”

Another laugh jumps out of you and you cup both his cheeks, the warmth of them comforting and worth cherishing. You peck his nose. “I should have known a pretty boy like you would be a charmer.”

He shrugs, kissing your nose back, not bothering to rebut. Instead, his hands guide your legs to wrap around him, hands finding your ass, and he lifts you up. You can’t ignore his cock now semi-hard pressing into you as he bounces you into a comfortable position.

Securing yourself, you circle your arms across his shoulders and kiss him once again, letting him lead you down your hallway, anticipation and greed passing through your breaths and tongues.

“Which one?” he pants out, squeezing your ass as he does so.

“This one on the right,” you point half-arsed, too lost in the moment to give it a full thought.

Awkwardly due to your wriggling body, Jaeyun opens the door, trying to view a path to which he can reach your bed without falling over your clutter. Shoes and more lay abandoned over your carpet, creating an obstacle, but one he refuses to lose.

Jaeyun finally reaches your queen-sized bed and gently places you down, his cock pressing into you even more.

It’s only then that he realises that along the way from your living room to your bedroom, his towel has fallen down, leaving his exposed cock rubbing against the fabric of shorts. “Jesus fucking christ.”

You look at him and see the pleasure on his face, biting his lips as his eyebrows knit together, rubbing against you again. It makes you giggle, you don’t know why, but he just brings it out of you.

The sound from your lips draws his attention back. “What?” he breathes out heavily, cock thumping with need as he humps you again.

“Maybe you should be inside of me while you thrust - kinda how this whole sex thing works,” you playfully jab, biting your lips together to stop from laughing. But he laughs for you, resting his forehead on your chest and shaking his head in amusement.

“Shut up, I’m just excited.”

“I can see that, yeah.”

It’s easy with him, you’re noticing, like you’ve somehow been in a relationship for years and you’ve just come home from a couples date with your married friends, two bottles of red wine consumed, and adoration palpable in the air. You have two dogs, maybe three if you can get your way, and you are the annoying pair that people hate to hang out with because your love for one another never dwindled, not even after all those years.

Maybe you shouldn’t be fantasising about a life with this random man you met on a roof, but that’s where your brain immediately goes each time you banter or giggle with one another.

He’s different.

Jaeyun stands up, letting you see his cock as he pumps it gently, getting it to full mass. The fact that it’s standing at 5 inches already and still growing causes an ache in your stomach. Fuck, it’s going to feel so good inside of you, your walls are already leaking out for it, staining your pyjama shorts.

His hands grip your shorts and peel them off, hurriedly throwing them on the floor, only adding to the chaos. Your legs instinctively spread and the juices from your excitement gleam in the moonlight, looking like a ripe fruit just ready to be devoured.

And devoured it will be.

Hoisting you down, Jaeyun positions you at the end of the bed until your ass is almost hanging off, kneeling down between your thighs. Not exactly how you thought the turn of events was going, but you are the furthest from mad at it.

“You look so fucking delicious, Y/N.” Jaeyun’s comment makes you feel exposed but not in a bad way, yet, you still want to hide from him. As your legs try to close, he places his large hands on your thighs, shaking his head. “No, princess, the only way you're shutting your legs right now is if you’re clamping my head between them.”

“Jaeyun…” you whine, both at the petname and his breath ghosting over your hardened clit, making it weep again - much to Jaeyun’s delight.

“I know, princess. You need it, huh?” Jaeyun whispers, kissing up your inner thigh and around the area you crave him most.

The heat in the room is electric, any cold you both felt from the rain now disappeared from your bones and replaced with scorching intensity. Your hips follow the blow of his breath in search of connection but he simply places a chaste kiss on your clit before pulling away, a smirk on his face as he sees you whimper and squeak.

“You make the prettiest noises when you’re desperate, Y/N,” he gloats, though it’s prideful and not arrogant. He means it, and that’s why he keeps teasing you softly, puckering at your folds and giving you just enough to have you humping the air and arching into him.

“I’m never letting you use my shower again,” you laugh in discontentment, your arm flying across your face as you hide in the comfort of your bicep.

Jaeyun huffs a laugh, echoing your own amusement before he speaks. “I know, I’m being so mean considering you’ve been so kind, huh? You’re just so cute when you’re like this.”

“I’m about to become a bitch if you don’t do something,” you warn lightly, peaking down to look at him under your arm.

“Well, I better get to it then right?”

And with that, his thick tongue stripes up your folds, gathering and savouring your wetness. Your back arches off the bed and pushes just enough onto him that his nose catches your clit. “Fuck!” you bellow.

The tip of his tongue searches for your nub, and once it hits the spot and your hands fly to his hair, his lips suction around it, almost making out with it.

He’s not real you think to yourself. You can’t help the jealousy that rises inside of you as your brain works overtime to imagine just how many girls he has had to go down on for him to be this good at eating you out. If there was ever such a thing as a pussy eating contest, you know he would win hands down because he’s already got you chanting his name, punctuated by profanities.

“Right there, Jaeyun…fuck…”

His pride swells and he grows more confident, tongue flicking quickly over your button as he drools over your cunt. It’s safe to say that Jaeyun loves pussy. If he could have it morning, noon, and night, and elevensies, he would without hesitation. Especially yours. The taste of your tang and sweetness is enough to put him in a frenzy, long forgetting about his aching cock and focusing solely on drinking you up.

He humps the air though, as he always does, resembling a dog in heat as he slabbers and grunts into your cunt. He nibbles at your clit and soothes it with his wet muscle, a smile plastered on his face with each movement - your noises urging him on.

He brings his middle and ring finger to your pulsating hole as it clenches around nothing, deciding to give you some more relief. As he plunges in, you scream out in joy, an open-mouthed smile on your face as coherent words get lost in your throat. You clearly don’t get eaten out as often as you deserve, and that just spurs Jaeyun on more to be the best you’ve ever had.

“So wet for me, princess. Taste so fucking good I want to be here for hours.”

And while that sounds nice in theory, you need him inside of you now. His fingers, thick and beautiful, are nice for now, but that 6-inch, throbbing cock is calling your name. So, you pull him away much to your pussy’s weeping plea for him to keep going, his mouth covered in your slick which is perhaps the most beautiful sight you have ever seen - and you’ve seen the Northern Lights on a crisp autumn morning.

His fingers never stop though, just curling inside of you slowly, beckoning your climax still. “What’s wrong?” he asks, concern weaving in his tone.

Sitting up on your elbows, you smile and pant, trying to maintain a steady voice while the tip of his fingers presses against your soft spot inside, jaw slacking each time he holds it for a little longer. “I need your cock so back, Jaeyun. I’m so serious.” The words are desperate and real, shamelessly desperate.

“You sure you don’t want to cum right now? I can do it.” It’s not like he can’t make you cum over and over again anyway.

Shaking your head, you sit up, hunching over to cup his face. “Please. I really need you to fuck me.”

A primal desire flickers past Jaeyun’s eyes and a quick nod tells you that he needs it too. His cock jumping for joy at the thought of being enveloped in your tight cunt. So, he withdraws his fingers and licks them clean, pulling on a show as his tongue weaves through his digits, wide eyes looking up at you with sheer longing. It stirs something inside of you, something that suddenly makes you want to grow a cock and have him choke on it.

But you quickly shake those thoughts, pulling him up by his hair and kissing him deeply. His tongue now tastes of you and you are so glad you love sweet juices and decided that for the past three weeks, cranberry spritz has been your favourite.

Jaeyun makes quick hands of stripping you of your t-shirt, leaving you both naked and clawing at one another.

“You got condoms?” he asks between kisses, trailing down your neck as his hands grip your hips so tightly that the skin turns white.

But you don’t want that. You want to feel him. Raw and unfiltered. Is it stupid? Of course, it is. But some would say letting him inside your home never mind inside your body is already wreckless, so, what’s another reckless abandonment on your list tonight?

“No. No condom, please,” you mumble against his hair as you kiss the top of his head, your conditioner filling your senses.

Jaeyun freezes his mouth and darts up, eyes seeking yours to make sure he heard you right. “Huh?”

“No condom. I’m on the pill,” you stroke his cheek tenderly, “Please, Jaeyun. Do this with me just once, yeah?”

For some reason, that ‘just once’ pangs in the boy’s chest and he hates the feeling more than anything. He doesn’t want this to be once, he wants this to be again, and again, and then some more. Jaeyun isn’t one to believe in fate but considering he chose your flat complex rooftop out of all the others in the city, and it decided to pour down - even though it’s been dry for the past two weeks - which led to you coming to get him and practically drag him into your home; he would say that doesn’t happen by chance.

Although, instead of getting in his head, he agrees, lust overpowering his responsibility to be safe. “I want it too, so fucking badly,” he leans down, rubbing his leaking cock on your slit, mouth moving to your ear. “I can’t wait to cum inside you, fill you up and make you suck me in.”

Does he know where this confidence came from? Perhaps it was the way you whispered into the air his name over and over again how good you felt while he ate your pretty little cunt, or maybe it's the fact that if this is your only time under him, he will damn make sure you’re thinking about him for the rest of your life.

The heels of your feet move with his ass as he gyrates his hips, allowing his cock to snag on your clit and elicit a hiss from both of you. Your lips messily leave open-mouth kisses over any skin that you can reach; his neck, cheek, lips, forehead, all of it, the feeling of his glistening skin on your lips addicting.

“Please, Jaeyun. Fuck me. Right. Now.”

Your pleading snaps him into full throttle, his hand guiding his cock to your entrance, his bell expanding and contracting as he slips inside of you. Your groans of pleasure harmonise in the winter night, both your bodies connecting fully as he bottoms out slowly, balls meeting your ass as he pushes in to the hilt.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, burying his face in your neck, and you lock him in there, fisting his hair and bucking your hips for friction. He fills you up so good you wonder why humans are born empty and not with a permanent cock up their pussy.

You never want him to leave.

“Move, Yunnie, please.” The tone of your voice doesn’t carry much conviction but portrays your desperation for him. The nickname falling off your cock-drunk tongue much to his happiness. If anyone ever calls him Yunnie again, and it overtakes the way you whimper it out, he will commit murder. Only you can call him that, call him whatever you want, call him by his name, ever again.

Obeying your wishes, he begins to pull back his hips and move them painfully slow back into you, feeling each bump of your walls and how they meld perfectly with the veins of his fat cock.

While he loves savouring the moment of you taking him in, feeling how your hole adapts to his girth and length, creating way just for him. “Faster, Yunnie. God, please.”

“Asking God to help get what you want is crazy considering it’s me you should be begging,” he chuckles, never increasing his pace.

“Shut up, please,” you whine out, grabbing his ass and trying to physically move him to speed up.

“You can ask me to shut up but not beg me to move faster?” he tuts, going even slower, “C’mon, princess. Ask me nicely.”

You want to slap him, a dry laugh coming from your throat as you fight between your pride - telling you never to do as a man says - and your need for him to start jackhammering into you.

Well, you suppose you can let your pride have a night off for a chance.

“Jaeyun, please, move faster. I’m begging you. Fuck me faster and harder.”

Those sweet yet filthy words send Jaeyun into orbit, and he grants your prayers. With his hands pushing down your hips, he begins to thrust with ferocity, the tip of his cock not punching into your cervix. It’s much more delicious than you ever could have imagined, the way he snaps into your cunt with no restraint, your pussy taking a beating in the best way possible.

This is heaven.

“Yes, Jaeyun! Yes! Don’t fucking stop, please.”

And stop he does not. In fact, he lifts your legs over his shoulders and folds you in half, the new angle somehow reaching so deep you can feel him poking your stomach. You have never felt this good in your life. A cock has never made your brain turn to mush or made your hands literally peel the skin from your partner’s back before, yet here you are, chanting incoherent words into his ear and clawing up his shoulder blades.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good, princess. Taking my cock so well.” Jaeyun breathes into your neck, nipping at your skin and he marks you right back. His praise makes you smile, kissing all over his face in appreciation for the pleasure he is giving you right now. “Such a good girl, Y/N.”

You could cum that minute, and he feels how you clench around him, sucking him in further, making him tip his head back and move even faster. He wants you to cum together, and with how good your pussy feels, he isn’t far from it.

“You sure you want me to cum inside?” he asks again, trying to gauge whether you could have changed your mind. But you grip his hair and stare into his eyes.

“If you don’t, I’ll kick you out back into the rain.”

Jaeyun laughs. Hard. Your threat is meaningless because you clearly would never leave him out there again to drown in the winter hail, but it does get your point across. You don’t just want his cum, you need it. And luckily for you, he is happy to oblige.

So, with your consent, he works on getting you both to the edge, his right hand coming down to your clit and rubbing it in smooth circles, a juxtaposition to his harsh thrusts. And you begin to see stars, constellations, as you arch your back and wriggle under him. The coil in your tummy burns with the insatiable pull.

“I’m cumming! Yunnie, I’m cumming,” you warn, happiness filtering the air as you buck your hips and match the rhythm of his shaft penetrating you. “Cum with me. Please, baby.”

Baby

His balls tighten at the petname and groans loudly. “Call me that again.”

“Baby, cum inside me,” you repeat within a moan, forcing your eyes open to lock onto his. “Cum with me.”

And just like that, with the final clench of your walls around him, he spurts his white seed inside of you, a primal roar escaping his lips as each rope coats your canal. You cum with him, his name falling from your lips over and over again as you chant out in hymn.

“Squeeze it, princess. Take it all like you want.” He validates you without ridicule, a grin of glee etching onto his face as his body shakes with the euphoria he feels. You were right, cumming inside of you is much better than a condom.

After a while, both your hearts begin to slow down and his body collapses onto yours. His lips lazily kiss your sweaty skin on the top of your breast, your fingers threading through his now dry hair, the only wetness coming from persperation. Its intimate, despite the newness of the situation, and you can’t help but plaster a smile on your face.

It feels so right.

And you’re not the only one who believes so.

Jaeyun gathers some strength to lean on his arm, cupping your face as he strokes your cheek. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.” His voice is wavering due to exhaustion, but it’s overshadowed by sincerity.

Placing your hand over his, you titter slightly, the sound making Jaeyun’s stomach knot and cock pulse inside you once again. “You mean having sex or staying in my house and abusing my shower privileges?”

“Both.” He murmurs earnestly, pinching your cheek. “I also want you to abuse my shower…when I get one.” The last part of that sentence falters slightly, his voice dipping as if suddenly comping back into his reality.

But you won’t let him dwell in it. Instead, you reach up to kiss him gently, lips expressing the reassurance you worry your words might not. And it seems to do the trick because, in an instant, he’s kissing you back with passion, taking each swipe of your tongue against his as confirmation that you want to have this again and see where it goes.

It could lead to nothing but it could lead to everything.

And he needs to find out.

#enhypen smut #enha smut #jake smut #aj writes #jake x reader #jaeyun smut #jaeyun x reader #enha x reader #enhypen x reader

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trainer-from-unova · 3 months ago

Text

lab rats

Ⓢ english ao3 Ⓢ spanish ao3 Ⓢ masterlist Ⓢ

ship: bob reynolds x afab!reader

summary: you and bob are imprisoned until you two have sex with each other. yup that's it.

a/n: first time writing about sex pollen and fuck or die vibes, also english isn't my first language and I wrote this before watching the movie

cw: au, pre-canon, human experimentation, lab sex, consensual sex, oral sex, piv sex, semi-public sex, sex pollen, drugged sex, noncon drug use, implied drug addiction

word count: 2559

When she entered the cold, empty, white room padded all over, pushed by the security staff the only thing she was wearing was a plaster on the part of her arm where a doctor had pricked her minutes before and handcuffs on her wrists in front of her. Luckily the position of her arms meant that she was able to cover her most intimate parts. She didn't understand why she had been handcuffed, undressed and taken there, but she wasn't the only one — there was also Bob, also pricked in the arm, naked and sitting with his back against the soft wall. He stood up as she turned to look at the people who had taken her there, but they closed the door before she could say or do anything, and she turned again, looking worriedly at her partner.

"What are we doing here?" She asked, unable to stop her eyes from scanning him up and down, reaching for her partner's crotch for a second as he slowly approached her, though keeping his distance so as not to make her uncomfortable. She didn't feel embarrassed, it was natural thing to do that if you have a naked man in front of you, and he couldn't help but do the same with her breasts either, which she understood and didn't mind. None of the pyjamas they usually wore did justice to them, but at the moment she was more focused on why they were locked in there.

"I don't know," he replied. More than confused or nervous, he looked defeated — tired of being an abused lab rat, locked in there.

"How long have you been here?" She asked glancing around the place: there were cameras in every corner of the ceiling and something resembling a fire extinguisher, and of course the lights.

What they didn't know was that it was expelling sex pollen to provoke them into having sex, so that she would become pregnant. They wanted to try their luck and see what would come out of mixing their blood — hopefully someone as powerful or even more powerful than their parents.

"Two minutes or so," he replied catching his partner's attention, making her look at him again. "Why are you handcuffed?" He looked down, staring at the handcuffs at her crotch.

"I don't know," she answered lowering her gaze to take a quick look at them.

Her nipples became hard, she assumed it was because it was cold — not just because she was naked, but because it was cold in there. She wanted to hug herself, not to cover her breasts but to keep herself warm, but because of the handcuffs it was impossible. The other one did under the envious gaze of his companion, and he couldn't help but feel bad about it. An idea crossed the man's mind, and he dared to offer it aloud for he meant no harm, and he believed she knew him well enough to know he meant no harm.

"Um... Do you want me to...?" he asked opening his arms, assuming correctly that she would understand what he intended.

She looked at him doubtfully for a second, but she knew it was the best, if not the only option to warm up, so she swallowed and accepted the proposal, nodding her head in silence and moving closer to him. She raised her arms, folding them and putting her hands around her own neck, on her shoulders. When she reached him she stood shyly, resting her forehead on his right shoulder, and he leaned over her, wrapping his arms shyly around her.

They both closed their eyes and sighed deeply. It felt good, not only to share their body heat but also because it had been so long since they had last hugged and been hugged. She wished she was untied so she could return the gesture by wrapping her arms around him as well, and honestly so did he, but he understood her situation.

For some reason unknown to her, her insides ached — it was as if they were crying out to be filled, and that was the only way for the pain to pass. And for better or worse, something similar happened to Bob — the physical contact made his body too excited, and probably not helped by the sex pollen or the energetic drugs he had been injected with minutes before being locked in there. She noticed this, opening her eyes and looking down as she took a step back to look at the erect member pointing at her. He did the same, distressed and blushing.

"I'm sorry," he apologised nervously in case he had made her uncomfortable, "I don't know why, I can't help it. I'm really sorry," he said looking down in embarrassment.

"It's alright, I understand," she laughed softly, "I mean, I feel the same..." she whispered biting her lip, looking him up and down. When he looked up, confused and surprised by the information his partner had confessed, he was even more surprised to see the way she was looking at him. Now she was the one who was sorry, and her cheeks blushed as well. "I'm sorry," she said embarrassed, holding her hands to the top of her head as she turned and took a few steps around the room, "I don't know what's wrong with me," she said as he looked down at her buttocks. He was embarrassed again, he didn't know what was wrong with him — he wasn't normally like that and at that moment he looked like an animal in heat.

"Aw, how cute," suddenly said a sarcastic female voice, already quite familiar to both of them locked in there. She wasn't there, it was coming from the ceiling, probably from what looked like the fire extinguisher or the cameras. "You make a good pair."

"You!" she said angrily, looking up at the cameras on the ceiling as she lowered her hands. "What are we doing here?"

"We need to study all your side effects and how they affect every aspect of your body," said Valentina, and she wasn't partly lying — she was just omitting information, "so get comfortable and do what you want to do, you won't come out until you do it. Several times," she quickly added. It was part of the plan, and if she didn't get pregnant that day they would try another time until she did.

She looked down, her eyes wide as she took in the information she had just received. He was the same, only looking at her. When she turned around their eyes connected, but they quickly averted them out of embarrassment; not that they didn't want to do it, but they didn't want to be watched or recorded, and above all they didn't want to be forced or make the other feel awkward and uncomfortable.

"...What do we do?" he asked daring to look at her again.

"I suppose we have to do what we are asked to do," she said doing the same, confused and shrugging her shoulders.

"Do you want to?" he asked, now even more confused than she was.

"Do we have a choice?" She asked, now she was the defeated one. "Not the best conditions, clearly, but... Anyway, I think we're both in the mood," she said raising her arms to point to her erection, "so..." she said as she shrugged her shoulders again, slowly moving closer to him. "Good thing you're already erect, because I can't do much with my hands," she said putting her arms around her torso, reminding him that she was handcuffed and deciding to take the situation with humour, which was her best defence mechanism. "I guess they put them on me in case I resisted..." she whispered, rather to herself.

"God," he said, horrified at the idea. "This is ridiculous."

"Yeah, well..." she sighed deeply, looking down at the floor. "Shall we begin?" She looked up into his face, then looked down at the member pointing at her. "The sooner the better, the sooner we get out of here."

"Um... It's been a long time since..." he said embarrassed as he watched her move closer to him, getting dangerously close.

"Don't worry, neither have I," she said averting her gaze to his lips, correctly assuming that the best way to break the ice between them was with a kiss.

Aware of where she was looking and what was likely to happen in a few seconds he hesitantly placed his hands on her waist, noticing how she stood on her tiptoes to move closer to him. He looked down at her lips as well, and slowly and shyly moved closer to them until they merged.

The kiss began as such; slowly and shyly, but as they did, it quickly grew hotter. Unconsciously she moaned and brought her hands to his shoulders, almost to his neck because of the handcuffs while he brought one of his hands to one of her cheeks, and with the other he pulled her closer to him. Before they parted for lack of air, she bit his lower lip.

"The pyjamas don't do you justice," she said as she slid her hands down his muscular chest, smiling playfully as she watched him.

"What did you expect?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

"You said you were a drug addict so I assumed you were anorexic," she said as she bent down and drove one knee into the soft ground, "but I see you're in shape," she said driving the other, now with both knees driven into the ground and giving him a quick glance at his member before looking up and back at him with a playful grin. He did the same and lay back on the floor as she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.

With each passing second the drugs and pollen were having more effect, and they no longer cared about being watched or anything else, they just wanted to satisfy themselves once and for all, following their most primal instincts. Probably later, when the effects wore off, they would regret it and feel more ashamed.

With the tip of her tongue she brushed from the lowest to the highest, sending a shiver down the young man's spine. When she reached the tip she sucked it like a lollipop, causing the young man to stifle a moan at such pleasure and bring his hands to his partner's head, grabbing her hair and pulling her head down wanting to feel more. At times she couldn't help but moan, and she noticed her own crotch getting even wetter, albeit in a different, more natural method than the one she was using.

When she got tired, which was often due to lack of practice, she would separate and he would massage it with his hand. Before reinserting it she dropped saliva which she collected in hee mouth to moisten it, to make her lips slide better. He clenched tighter as his breathing hitched. Out of curiosity while listening to him she looked up to see what state he was in, and saw that he was with his head up, staring at her.

"Oh, so you like to stare," she said with her mouth free, swallowing saliva and trying to wipe the corners of her lips with her hands as he leaned his head back against the floor. Tired of using her mouth so much and wanting to feel more, wanting to feel him again from the inside but in another part of her body, she lifted herself up and climbed over him, sitting on his crotch — literally on his cock, but not inserting it.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, blushing as she rested her hands on his belly and began to rub herself against him, eliciting sighs from both of them. "Can I touch your tits...?"

"You don't even have to ask," she replied laughing at how shy and afraid he was at the thought of making her uncomfortable. She had to admit she found him adorable, and very attractive too.

He brought his hands to her breasts and massaged them until she lifted her hips a little, and assuming correctly what she intended to do but was prevented from doing by the handcuffs, he helped her by grabbing his member so they could merge once and for all as they most desired.

She brushed her entrance with his tip wet with his pre-seminal fluid and her own saliva, and she bucked her hips carefully to press the tip against her entrance, slowly entering. It felt so good, neither could help but moan in pleasure. As she settled in and became accustomed to his presence fully inside her she brought her hands back to his belly and began to ride him, feeling his hands on her hips, very close to her buttocks. He closed his eyes and then she slid down on top of him, bringing their torsos together again and resting her hands under his neck. She was so wet that sometimes they couldn't help but separate by accident, but when they came together again they merged with need.

To her surprise, he wrapped his arms around her back and rolled her over, changing positions — now she was lying down and he was on top. She wasn't doing badly, but he could go much faster and be more effective in that position. He put his arms at her sides and she wrapped her legs around his back. His hips crashed against hers quickly and hard, making her moan more as they heard his hips crash against her buttocks, and most of all, the wetness inside her.

He had his head to one side, and he listened to her moans and gasps in his ear as he tried not to cum inside her, but it was very difficult; it felt too good to feel how hot and wet she was, and bringing him even closer to his own orgasm. She was the same way, beginning to feel a warmth inside her belly and down to her crotch while moaning loudly and endlessly as she spasmed, uncontrolled movements that caused her to pull her legs away from his back and arch her back and fingers. That was the straw that broke the camel's back, causing him to quickly spurt out of her and cum on her belly. Then, as he sighed, he lay exhausted beside her as they caught their breath and remembered they were being watched by the cameras on every corner.

"Sorry... for cumming in you," he said with bated breath and embarrassed, looking up at the ceiling.

"Don't worry, better out than in," she replied laughing tiredly, her breath also hitching and embarrassed, staring at the ceiling.

"Did you like it?" he asked turning his neck to his right to look at her.

"Of course," she said turning her neck to her left, still smiling, "isn't it obvious?" He blushed and looked away quickly.

"Me too," he whispered, and she thought that if she hadn't been handcuffed she would have held his hand.

"Um... Can I... cuddle with you...?" she asked, now shy.

"Oh of course, sure!" he hastened to confirm while turning on his side, wanting to make her feel good with the aftercare and warm her up again.

"Thank you," she whispered, leaning closer to him.

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