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taeghi · 2 months

Text

casual

you thought you could handle being casual with notorious fratboy!heeseung, but when feelings get involved, you soon realize that 'casual' isn't so simple.

PAIRING : fratboy!heeseung x reader

GENRE : smut ( 5 smut scenes lol), fwb to lovers, enemies? to lovers?? & a little angst?? praise & degradation, power control, face sitting, oral lol. also unprotected sex (pls wear a condom@)

WC : 17.7k

MDNI

YOU LOVE CASUAL SEX.

you've always prided yourself on being the type who keeps things casual. it's not that you're afraid of commitment; rather, you find comfort in the simplicity of fucking and then never seeing the person again. there’s no messy entanglements or feelings. it’s a way to satisfy your desires without the emotional baggage that comes with more serious relationships.

you’d rather be alone, but you still have fun with your friends when you go out. you've never been content with surface-level explanations or shallow interactions. you crave depth, in people and experiences. which you have found to be, truthfully, hard in today’s day and age.

you’re sensitive to most things, so you try to cover it up– protect yourself– with all the partying, the drinking, the sex.

and tonight, like every other normal friday night; you’re at a party.

there’s a familiar thump of music and loud chatter around you that you’ve grown accustomed to. yooyeon and gracie, your closest friends are an inseparable couple, are by your side. they've been together for what feels like forever, the kind of relationship that makes you simultaneously envious and relieved you're not in a relationship.

as you continue to sip your drink, yooyeon leans in with her knowing smile, “so, y/n,” teases, “have you decided when you’re gonna settle down? find yourself a nice guy and stop with all these one night stands?”

you roll your eyes playfully, used to this conversation. "never," you reply with a grin, "casual hookups forever, remember?"

gracie chuckles, shaking her head fondly. "come on, yn," she chimes in, her voice warm with affection, “you know it’s gonna have to get boring at some point.”

you shrug nonchalantly, though their words do make you pause for a moment. "maybe someday," you concede, though deep down, you're not so sure. relationships have never been your thing, and the thought of settling down feels suffocating.

"come on, yn," yooyeon nudges you gently, her expression softening, "we love you just the way you are. but don't close yourself off to the possibility, okay?"

you nod, grateful for their understanding. deep down, you know they're right—they always are. but for now, you want to find someone to relieve the ache that’s been in your core all day.

you turn to gracie, the one who always knows all the drama on your college campus, “who is here that i can hook up with?”

gracie rolls her eyes and looks around the crowded frat house, “hm,” she thinks outloud, “well jeongin and bella broke up this week…”

you shake your head, “too soon, i don’t want to be a potential rebound for him.”

yooyeon scoffs and continues to drink, listening to your guys’ conversation.

“how about,” gracie, “mark? he’s real chatty though.”

you groan, “then no.”

gracie goes on a small list of people that she sees around, but none of them suffice. none of them are your type or seem to be able to satisfy you. you tell your friends that you’re going to go get another drink– you’ll need one.

the kitchen table has a handful of drinks to choose from. there’s punch and beer and vodka, half of it has been spilt all over said table.

“the punch is good,” a voice suddenly says from beside you.

when you turn, you instantly recognize him– he’s one of the frat boys that lives in this house, maybe the most popular one of them all.

lee heeseung stands beside you with an air of confidence that is probably more on the cocky side. his posture is relaxed yet demeaning. his hair is tousled and his clothes give off a carefree attitude.

pretty much everyone at your college knows lee heeseung from his parties, his stories, the multiple girls he has slept with. you’ve heard enough stories about him to write an entire book, yet his entire persona is more annoying than appealing to you. his entire act is one that you’ve seen played out too many times before.

“good to know,” you say and grab a beer instead.

heeseung raises his eyebrow at your choice, “i’m heeseung.” his voice is smooth and cuts through the noise of the party.

you take a sip of your beer, “i know who you are.” you reply bounty, not bothering to hide your disinterest.

intrigued by your coldness, “right,” he acknowledges with a smirk, “and i know who you are.”

“congrats," you say dryly, with a fake excitement to your tone.

heeseung suddenly leans in closer to you and whispers into your ear, his voice low, "you're the girl who only does casual sex, right?"

you're taken aback by his boldness, but there's a flicker of curiosity in your eyes. "i might be,"

heeseung smirks down at you at your answer. you let yourself think that maybe the notorious fuckboy is pretty handsome. his complexion seemingly glows, his eyes are full of a flirty playfulness, and his smile is charming enough.

“well, do you wanna have casual sex with me?”

if it wasn’t lee heeseung standing in front of you, you would be surprised.

instead, you let out a groan, your face contorts in disgust, “god no.”

heeseung tilts his head, “why not? i thought you were into that.”

“because you’re like a walking std.”

instead of getting offended like you had hoped, heeseung bursts out laughing in the middle of the kitchen, his eyes squinting.

"damn, straight to the point," he manages between chuckles, clearly amused by your blunt response.

you roll your eyes, trying not to let his laughter get under your skin. "just being honest," you retort, though there's a hint of begrudging amusement in your tone.

“i’ll see you around, y/n.”

you turn on your heel, your back already faced him when you reply, “no, you won’t.”

you walk back to gracie and yooyeon, who greet you with curious expressions. "what took you so long?" gracie asks, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

you sigh, shaking your head with a hint of annoyance. "lee heeseung just asked me for casual sex," you reveal, your voice tinged with disdain.

yooyeon's face scrunches up in disgust, mirroring your sentiment. "ugh, gross,”

gracie nods in agreement, her expression reflecting your collective disappointment. "every girl he gets with is so desperate," she comments, her voice laced with frustration.

"and heeseung is just... ugh," you add, unable to hide your distaste. gracie giggles mischievously. "and hot," she adds playfully.

yooyeon and you groan simultaneously, sharing an exasperated look. you push thoughts of heeseung aside, deciding to focus on enjoying the party with your friends instead. because the thought of hooking up with lee heeseung and becoming another one of his girls makes you want to throw up more than this beer you’re drinking.

later, when the party winds down and you’ve danced and drank and socialized as much as you could, you look around and realize that yooyeon and gracie are nowhere to be seen. when you glance at your phone you notice gracie texted you half an hour ago.

gracie : [yooyeon is throwing up so i’m taking her home, sorry]

you groan, great, they were your ride home.

and now you're stranded at this frat house.

you head out to the porch, contemplating whether you should walk or call an uber.

sitting on the porch, the night air cools your frustration slightly, but you're still annoyed at the situation. just as you're about to say fuck it and call an uber, the front door swings open behind you.

“well, if it isn’t y/n sitting all alone on my porch,” a voice says that makes you turn your head to unfortunately recognize lee heeseung.

you roll your eyes, not in the mood for his games. "what do you want, heeseung?"

heeseung chuckles, unbothered by your tone. "just wondering why the girl who is known for loving one night stands is sitting here alone.”

"don't you have anything better to do?" you retort, crossing your arms defensively.

he leans against the railing, looking down at you sitting on the stairs. “like what? catching an std?”

you scoff, “yeah, exactly that actually.”

heeseung laughs, a low, genuine sound. "come on, yn. don't be so cold. why don't you come back inside? there’s still some people inside."

“no thanks, i’m calling an uber.” you shiver as you finish your sentence, the night air circling harshly against your bare arms and legs.

heeseung notices and his expression softens slightly. "how about i get you a sweater before you leave?"

"no," you reply quickly, but your body betrays you with another shiver.

"come on," heeseung insists, his voice surprisingly gentle. "it'll take two seconds, and you seem so cold. how long have you been sitting out here?"

you sigh, ignoring his questions as you stand up, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. "let's get me a sweater," you mutter, conceding to the chill. "and make sure it's a clean one."

heeseung laughs, a warm sound that oddly makes you feel less irritated. "i promise," he says, leading the way back inside. there’s a few people left in the living room as you walk past it. you don’t miss the way they stare at you following heeseung. you recognize the few boys as other owners of the house– heeseung’s frat brothers. and you’re sure the girl they’re with are their hookups for the night. you feel like throwing up when you realize you look like one of them as you follow heeseung into his room.

heeseung opens the door on the furthest left and gestures for you to enter first.

lee heeseung’s room is exactly what you imagined it; messy, with clothes strewn everywhere and empty whiteclaws piled high on his desk that is definitely ruining the textbooks underneath them. you raise an eyebrow but heeseung just grins sheepishly.

“what? i like the lived-in look,” he jokes, closing the door behind you. he heads over to his closet and rummages through it for a moment before pulling out a sweater and handing it to you. “here you go. freshly laundered, just for you."

you take the sweater, feeling the warmth and softness between your fingers. "thanks," you say, pulling it over your head. the fabric is warm, and you can't help but feel a bit grateful despite your annoyance with him.

heeseung watches you with a bemused smile. "see? not so bad, right?"

you roll your eyes, not looking at him and instead looking around his room.

why so tense?” heeseung's voice breaks through your thoughts. you guess it’s hard to pretend lee heeseung doesn’t exist when you’re standing in lee heeseung’s room.

you finally look at him, leaning casually against his dresser with that annoying smirk on his face. “what do you want, heeseung?”

he laughs softly, taking a step closer. “what do you think? i want to have a good time, and you’re the most interesting girl here tonight.”

“oh, is that so?” you reply, crossing your arms. “and what makes you think i’m interested?”

heeseung raises an eyebrow, “because you’re here, aren’t you? and you’re not exactly running away.”

you hate how smooth he is, how easily the words roll off his tongue. like he’s planned this all along. “maybe i’m just cold and wanted that sweater you promised.”

“maybe,” he agrees, his eyes never leaving yours. “but i think there’s more to it than that. you and i—we’re not the relationship type. we both know it. so why not have some fun?”

you don’t like how close he is to you know. you can feel the back of your bare thighs touching his desk now that he’s stepped so close to you.

“fun?” you echo, half-amused, half-annoyed. “you mean, be like every other girl you’ve been with? you think i’m just another easy girl?”

“not at all,” heeseung says, shaking his head. “you’re different. you’re not looking for anything serious, and neither am i. it’s perfect. no strings attached.”

“perfect,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him. the idea is tempting, as much as you hate to admit it. no strings attached, just two people having a good time. isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? no guy getting obsessed with you after one night. not hurting anyone’s feelings. plus, it would be easier to get laid– you wouldn’t have to rely on gracie to see who’s available.

“think about it,” heeseung says, his voice dropping to a whisper as he steps even closer. “no pressure, no feelings. just... fun.”

you look up at him, his face now inches from yours. you feel like he’s reading your mind. you really think it’s that simple, heeseung?”

“it can be,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “if we let it.”

you hesitate, trying to think of all the cons to accepting his offer but, “fine,” you finally say, your voice steady. “but if you think you can play games with me like all the other girls, you’re wrong.”

heeseung grins, clearly pleased with your answer. “of course not.” he sticks out his pinky finger so it’s in between your bodies, “no strings attached?”

you don’t hesitate to interlock your pinky with his at this question, “no strings attached.”

heeseung’s eyes turn dark at the first feeling of your skin touching, “so, what do you think? should we start now?”

you nod slowly, feeling a strange mix of excitement and apprehension. “yeah. let’s start now.”

heeseung’s hands found your hips, pulling you against him as his lips descended to yours. you could feel the hardness of his muscular body and the heat radiating from him. your lips met, and you hate how you thought of how soft his are against yours. you part your lips, letting his slip against yours.

the kiss was rough and needy and demanding. his lips move early against yours. his tongue traced every corner of your mouth, exploring you for the first time. you kissed him back fervently, your hands staying perched on the corner of the desk behind you.

he tasted like mint and alcohol, and you hated that you wanted more.

the kiss deepened as heeseung explored your mouth, sucking on your lower lip before delving inside again. you found the urge to moan into his mouth.

heeseung's hands left your hips, sliding up your body to cup your breasts, kneading and squeezing gently. you arched into him, your desire growing with each touch and kiss. he broke the kiss, trailing hot, wet kisses along your jaw and down your neck, nibbling and sucking on the sensitive skin, leaving your breath coming in short, quiet gasps.

"you feel so good against me," he murmured, his lips brushing your ear, sending shivers down your spine that you hoped he didn’t notice.

heeseung's hands slid down your body, cupping your ass, lifting you, and you wrapped your legs around his waist. you could feel his hardness pressing into your core, making you ache with need. he carried you a few steps to his bed before lowering you onto the soft mattress.

you lay back, your breath coming in quick pants as heeseung loomed over you, his eyes dark with lust. he hovered above you for a moment, before claiming your lips once more, kissing you deeply. his hands begin to explore, mapping your body with eager fingers. heeseung's kisses trailed lower, nipping and sucking at your neck. you have to tell yourself to not moan.

heeseung pulled back, his eyes glistening as he looked down at you laying in his bed, chest heaving from kissing. he hooks his fingers into the waistbands of your skirt and panties, pulling them down your legs slowly, his eyes staying on your now exposed core.

heeseung kneels between your legs, gripping your thighs so they stay pushed apart, “god you’re so wet.”

you nod at him, figuring that you were since you’ve wanted to get laid since this morning. you waited all day to come to this part, just to end up with lee heeseung of all people. though, you feel exposed to him. your core is pulsating as you watch him lean in, his pink tongue sneaks out to taste you.

you instantly gasp at the feeling, biting your lip to contain any other sounds of your own. you didn’t expect his tongue to feel so good– but you tell yourself it’s because you’ve been needy all day and not because heeseung is an apparent god with his mouth.

“do you like it, y/n?” he asks you, his mouth mumbling into your core. hsi voice is hoarse ashe looks up at you from your legs, “you like my tongue on your sweet pussy?”

you grip his sheets with your hands, determined to not give the cocky lee heeseung a bigger ego boost. you breathe through the pleasure of his tongue circulating your clit. his tongue puts heavy pressure on your clit as he slowly circles it before dropping his tongue to your aching hole. he moans at the taste of your weeping juices.

heeseung slides one of his hands up to your clit to rub it as his tongue fucks you. his tongue does fast motions back and forth in your hole. it makes your squirm and cuss mentally as he brings you close to the edge so quickly.

just as you start thinking you could cum, he stops– completely pulling away from you.

you sit up on your elbows and look at him between your legs, your eyes furious as you pant, “what the fuck?”

heeseung only dryly laughs at you, “you want this, don’t you, y/n?” he murmurs, his hot brath fanning against your thighs, “tell me you want me.”

you bite your lip, your heart pounding in your chest. you don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but your body is betraying you with its needy responses to everything he does, “no.” you whisper defiantly.

heeseung leans in closer to your pussy, just millimeters away, “tell me you want me, or i’ll stop.” he threatens, his hand moving down your thigh, “tell me, and i’ll make you feel so good.”

you blame your horniness for your decision, “i want you.” your voice is full of desire as your body basically cries out for release.

then, heeseung buried his face in your core, his tongue swishing back and forth, wanting to pleasure you. a shockwave of pleasure rips through you, and you cry out, your hand flying to cover your mouth. you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as he began to makeout with your core.

you tried to control your reactions, but your body was betraying you. your one hand stayed on your mouth, preventing any sounds from escaping, while the other hand stayed gripping his sheets.

heeseung glances up and notices your hand on your mouth, “don’t hide your moans, y/n,” he growled, “let me hear how good i’m making you feel.”

heeseung slips two of his fingers into your wet hole as you open your mouth to respond with a snarky answer but instead, a loud moan leaves your mouth. the sudden intrusion makes you buck your hips up, wanting him to find your g spot, wanting him– lee heeseung– to make you cum. “oh, fuck,”

“that’s it, y/n, let me hear you,” he mutters into your core, his fingers starting to thrust in and out of you, “you can’t hide that i’m making you feel good. i can tell by the way your pussy is clenching around me.”

your breath quickened as he spoke, his words only serving to heighten your pleasure. “i hate you, heeseung.”

he hums in response, sending vibrations through your core, you could feel your knees buckle around his shoulders, “you don’t hate this, though, do you, y/n?” his voice is smug as he continues to lick and nip at your throbbing clit. “you can’t deny how much you’re loving my mouth on your pussy.”

“oh god,” his words make you squirm, they’re adding to your pleasure. your hands grip tighter onto his sheets. “i’m gonna–”

“cum for me, y/n,” heeseung demands of you, “let me feel you cum all over my face.”

his encouragement makes you cum with a strangled cry. your body shakes uncontrollably as waves of pleasure crash through you. heeseung doesn’t stop, licking and sucking at your flesh as you ride out your climax. finally, when he thinks you can’t take anymore, he pulls away, a cocky smirk on his face as his chin is covered in your juices and saliva. you tell yourself the image of him has no affect on you.

your chest is heaving as you try to catch your breath, “fuck,” you whisper out, your body buzzing.

“i told you i can make you feel good,” heeseung shrugs nonchalantly.

“shut up.”

“gladly,” heeseung says as he hovers over your body again, his lips meeting yours in a frenzy. he lays you back down on his bed, your tongues colliding, tasting each other. the kiss was sloppy and wet and you’re sure that if anyone saw the kiss they would be grossed out– but it feels so good.

you pull apart, heeseung stands off his bed and starts to undress. you take off your shirt, leaving you completely naked on his bed.

“shit.” heeseung states as he stares at you, not looking away from you as he takes off his pants. it’s your turn to smirk at him, your hand slides down to your clit, rubbing it, feeling your hand get soaked from how wet and sticky your pussy is already. heeseung’s eyes are bulging out of his head as he takes off his shirt, leaving him naked.

now that he’s distracted you take a chance to look at him. his body is lean and tan and he has a faint set of muscles that make you drool. he really is good looking, though you’d never tell him that.

his cock is long and hard and veiny as he points upwards, obvious that he’s turned on by you.

heeseung reaches over to his bedside table and grabs a condom, ripping open the package with his teeth as he continues to stare at your hand pleasuring yourself.

“wow, lee heeseung’s a condom guy– i would’ve never thought.” you speak as he slides the condom on his cock easily.

“yeah, because contrary to what you think, i am not a walking std.”

before you could speak again, heeseung is back on the bed and gripping your waist to spin you around. your face is in his pillows and stomach on his mattress.

“you’re such a bad girl, y/n,” heeseung tsks at you, you can feel the head of his cock nudge at your entrance, and despite your inner debate of if having sex with lee heeseung was a good idea or not, your body craves him. he grabs your hips and pulls you back onto him, burying himself deep inside your waiting cunt with one rough thrust. “you act like you don’t want this but your walls practically suck me in.”

you can tell it’s true by the way he stretches and fills you up, the way it’s so hard for him to pull out completely since your walls are so tight around him, wanting him inside you.

“ahh,” you moan out, your neck feeling limp as he starts to thrust into you slowly.

“fuck, you feel good,” heeseung groans, not surprised at all, “but you knew that didn’t you? knew that your pussy was made for my cock?”

you remain silent, not wanting to give his ego any satisfaction. heeseung begins to move faster, now that your walls have adapted to his size. his thrusts are hard, and his balls slap against your clit with each thrust.

the force of his movements pushed you forward with each impact. the slap of skin against skin filled his bedroom, accompanied by your growing moans as you tried, and failed, to muffle your cries of pleasure.

heeseung leaned forward, his mouth close to your ear again as he whispered dirty words. "you like it rough, don't you, you little slut? you like being taken hard and deep, feeling my cock pounding into your tight cunt."

you found yourself nodding against the pillow, unable to form words as the pleasure overwhelmed you. heeseung's hands slid up your body, gripping your hair in a makeshift ponytail and pulling it back, making you look at him over your shoulder as he continued to fuck you roughly. "that's right, take it like a good girl,”

you whimpered, your breath coming in short gasps as he held on tight to your hair– the pain mixing with the pleasure. heeseung released your hair, your upper body falling flat the mattress again. his hands moving down to grasp your hips once more, “come on, y/n, I know you're close," he grunted, his own control slipping as he chased his own orgasm. "let go for me, come on my cock."

his filthy words sent you over the edge, and you cried out as your pussy clenched tightly around his invading member, milking him as your juices flowed freely. heeseung groaned, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep one last time, flooding the condom with his hot cum.

spent, the two of you pull away from each other as heeseung pulls out of you. you both lay in his bed, catching your breaths from the strong orgasms.

“now,” heeseung says, “tell me why us having casual sex is a bad idea?”

for the first time tonight, you feel yourself laugh (probably because of the post-nut haze not because lee heeseung is funny!), and brush your sweaty hair out of your face.

as heeseung stands up, throws out his condom and throws you his sweater to put back on, you think that maybe this isn’t such a bad situation to be in.

as long as he sticks to your “no strings attached” agreement, everything should work out fine.

right?

you hated all your afternoon classes, and so during them, you would be constantly checking your phone or talking with gracie who always sits next to you. she is scrolling through her instagram feed, her phone is angled so you can see it too. the professor’s voice fades into the background.

suddenly, a post from heeseung pops up on gracie’s screen. she groans softly, rolling her eyes at the way heeseung is posing. “whatever happened when he asked you to have casual sex with him last week?”

you try to keep your voice nonchalant when you answer, “uh, nothing much– i called him a walking std and walked away.”

gracie giggles quietly, careful not to draw the attention of your classmates and professor around you. she returns to looking at his instagram account, swiping through all the cringey fuckboy pics, “but he is kinda good looking though, right?”

you shrug, feigning indifference. “eh, i guess.”

you’re already pinching yourself about lying to your best friend. you don’t mean to keep secrets from her, or yooyeon, but you know they wouldn’t want you to be another one of lee heeseung’s girls. the thought of becoming just another notch on his bedpost makes you already sick to your stomach.

before you can dwell on it any longer, your phone vibrates in your lap.

heeseung : [i need ur mouth asap] [3:48]

your heart skips a beat and you jerk your phone away so gracie doesn’t see it. you were not expecting to hear from him right now.

your thumbs hover over the keypad as you think of an answer.

heeseung : [answer pls i’m so fucking hard] [3:50]

you sigh as you feel his written words make you tighten your legs together.

you : [where r u?] [3:51]

heeseung : [2nd floor bathroom] [3:52] heeseung : [the one with the single stall] [3:52]

you : [i’ll be there in 10] [3:53]

you bite your lip as you glance over at gracie beside, her pretty hair wrapped in twists. you hoped she wouldn’t ask too many questions at your departure. you knew that you wouldn’t be able to lie to your friends for long. you just weren’t that type of person.

“you know what grace?” you whisper to her, “i’m not feeling that great, i’ll see you in the next class.”

gracie’s face etched into one of concern, “oh?” she subconsciously reaches to her bag, “do you want me to come with you?”

you put your hand out to stop her as you sling your backpack over your shoulder, “no, no. i’ll be okay i just need a break– i’ll take some meds and see you in an hour with yoo.”

her lips turned into a frown, “okay y/n. if anything happens just text me.”

after telling her that you would, you briskly leave the classroom as quietly as you could, slowly shutting the heavy door behind you to avoid it slamming. you knew exactly what bathroom heeseung was talking about– you knew it was popular amongst students since it was so private.

you briefly wondered how many girls heeseung has brought to the private bathroom before.

but you are forced to push the thought out of your head as you knock on the door of it quietly. only a second later and it opens, heeseung face appearing and as he sees you, a wicked smirk grows on his face. his hand reaches out and grabs your wrist, yanking you into the bathroom so fast you almost fall. you hear him close and lock the door behind you.

you turn around to look at him, he’s leaning casually against the sink, an annoying smirk on his face as he watches your bewilderment expression turn into annoyance.

his dark is tousled, and the harsh bathroom lighting makes his jawline and cheekbones more highlighted. he’s wearing a baggy black t-shirt that hangs over his lean frame. his eyes are dark and full of mischief as they lock onto yours.

“you know i was in class right?” you ask him, arms crossing over your body.

heeseung scoffs, “so?”

“so, i can’t just always leave class or something else for you.”

heeseung feigns a pout, “but i couldn’t stop thinking of what your mouth would feel like around my cock.” you feel the air leave your lungs as he walks closer to you, his hands reaching out to grab your hips, holding you still. “would it feel just as good as your pussy?”

he leans his head down to press a kiss on your lower jaw, “tight?” another kiss under your ear, “warm?” his lips attached to your neck and suckle on it for only a second, “like heaven?”

you look up at him as he pulls away, he can see that your eyes are just as full of lust as his own.

“i guess you’ll just have to see then.” you speak, your voice coming out quieter than you expected.

heeseung’s smirk widened, "get on your knees, then, and show me what your mouth can do."

your breath hitched as you sank to your knees, your eyes never leaving his. you could see the desire in his gaze, but also satisfaction as he realized he had won this round between you.

you reach out and start to pull down his blue jeans and boxers. his hard cock springs out, red and hot and heavy, and so long.

“that’s it,” he encouraged you,” his hands tangling in your hair as you leaned forward, your mouth mere inches from his hardening length. "you're so hot when you hate-fuck me.”

you wanted to protest, to tell him that you didn't hate-fuck, that this wasn't about love or emotions—it was purely physical. but his cock was so close now, and you couldn't deny your craving to taste him, to feel him on your tongue.

wrapping your hand around the base, you guided him to your waiting mouth and moaned softly as you tasted him for the first time. heeseung hissed above you, his hips bucking slightly as you swirl your tongue around the head, teasing the sensitive slit.

"fuck," he groaned, his hands tightening in your hair. "take me deeper, baby."

you obliged, relaxing your throat as you took him inch by inch, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked. heeseung's breath quickened, and he began to move his hips in a slow, steady rhythm, fucking your mouth gently.

"that's it, take it all," he encouraged, his voice hoarse. "you try to hate me, but you can't get enough of my cock, can you? you're my little cockslut, right?"

his degrading words and the way you’re literally on your knees for him makes your pussy clamp around nothing. you hummed in response, the vibrations sending shudders through him. you couldn’t deny that you loved the way he dominated you.

heeseung began to thrust a little harder, a little faster, his balls slapping against your chin. "you're so good at this, taking my cock like a pro.”

your eyes fluttering closed as you focused on the pleasure you were giving him. somewhere in this encounter, you realized that game you were playing with yourself; you wanted to prove that you were the best he'd ever had. that he would always crave your mouth. that no one else could compare to you.

“you know, most girls can't handle my cock. they gag and choke, and can only take me in their mouths for so long before they’re pulling away.” he grunts as he speaks, his words sending shivers down your body.

you pulled back slightly, your eyes look up at him as he traces his cock over your wet lips, “i’m not like most girls, heeseung. i can take it. take all of your big cock.”

heeseung slaps his cock against your lips when you’re done speaking. a spark enters his eyes as he watches your spit shine all over his cock.

“i know you can, baby. i’ve heard about your mouth before,” he nods his head at you, his tip teasing your mouth. “heard about how far you can take dick down your throat.”

his statement made your mind race. he’s heard about your sex life from other guys? you’re shocked that they talked about you like that, and even more shocked that lee heeseung, of all people, has heard the rumors about you. a part of it boosts your ego while the other part is so curious about what else he might have heard about you.

“what?” heeseung asks, seeing your perplexed expression, “i told you that i’ve heard about you before. i didn’t tell you how though.” slowly, heeseung starts to slide his cock back into your mouth, your lips happily wrapping around it. “didn’t tell you i heard how much of a slut you are for a big cock.”

despite his degrading words, you couldn’t help but think of it as true.

he takes his cock out of your mouth again, letting it rest on your face, “it’s true, right? you’ll do anything for a man if his cock is big and hard just for you.”

“yes,” you answer, your voice weak already. you can feel yourself submitting to heeseung and you hate that you love it. “anything.”

“is my cock big enough for you, slut?” he asks, slapping his cock on your face. the degrading act gets your face covered with his precum and your saliva.

“yes, it’s so big.”

heeseung smirks at you, “then take it whole like a good girl.”

he allows you to put his cock back into your mouth. you gag as he hits the back of your throat. your eyes water, but you relax your throat and let him in deeper, wanting to prove to him that you can take it. like you aren’t like the other girls.

heeseung pants above you, his control slipping as pleasure washes over him.

"fuck, you're really so good.” he groans out, “no one's ever taken me this deep. your mouth feels so fucking tight."

you moan around his cock in response, his degradation turning into praises makes you wanna whimper. you continue to suck and lick him as he thrusts his cock into your throat. you felt his balls tighten against your chin.

“you’re such a good girl,” he moans out, his hips thrusting involuntarily, “i might- might cum.” you sucked harder then, hollowing your cheeks around him. “oh fuck!”

you felt his cock twitch, and he abruptly pulled out, his hand wrapped around the base as he stroked himself. but you wanted to feel his hot cum hitting the back of your throat. you whimper out before you take his cock in your hand and put it back into your mouth, swallowing around him again.

"fuuuck!" heeseung cried out, his fingers tangling in your hair as he lost control. "take it, god please take it. swallow my cum for me, baby.”

his words sent a thrill through you, and you sucked hard, milking him harder. he let out a strangled curse as his orgasm hit, his hips jerking as he shot his cum down your throat. you swallowed eagerly, reveling in the taste of him.

heeseung leaned right against the bathroom wall, breathing heavily, his eyes closed as he savored the aftermath of his release. you thought that that would be an image for you to think about later. you sat back on your heels, a sly smile on your lips, your chin glistening.

"damn,” he panted, opening his eyes to look at you. "that was..."

“the best you ever had?” you smile up at him playfully.

“i’d say close to it.”

you smile is replaced by an annoyed look and you immediately stand up and bend over the sink, washing your hands free of saliva, cum and bathroom floor.

“oh come on, y/n,” heeseung nudges you, smiling at your annoyed expression. you don’t look at him, instead you fix your hair, that he’s messed up, in the mirror. “i was joking! of course it was the best– i got to cum in your throat, remember?”

you slam the sink taps off and look at him, your expression makes him burst out laughing. so, you turn and unlock the door, stepping out of the cramped bathroom. the air feels lighter but your mind is still spinning.

“so, does this mean we’re on for later?” he asks, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

you roll your eyes, annoyed. “don’t push your luck, heeseung.”

he chuckles, enjoying your frustration. “you know, you’re kinda cute when you’re annoyed.”

“shut up,” you mutter, turning to leave.

heeseung’s laughter follows you, but then he calls out, “wait, you still have my sweater, by the way.”

you pause, glancing back at him. “oh,” you forgot you even had it, “i can give it to you at the end of the day.”

“okay,” he agrees, his eyes glinting with amusement. “meet me at the parking lot.”

without another word, you walk away, leaving him standing in the bathroom with his jeans still undone at his hips.

at lunch, you, yooyeon, and gracie are sitting in the cafeteria, a lucky find considering how busy it always gets at this time. yooyeon is complaining about her morning class, something about how she hates her professor, she’s waving her fork around for emphasis.

“i swear, if i have to listen to professor kim drone on about supply and demand one more time, i might just lose it,” she groans, stabbing at her salad with unnecessary force. “it’s like he enjoys torturing us.”

gracie laughs, taking a sip of her iced coffee. “well, at least you’re not stuck with professor park, she assigns so much reading, i can barely keep up.”

as they continue to talk about professor, your eyes start to drift and wander around the busy cafeteria. and of course, your eyes can’t help but land on lee heeseung across the room.

heeseung is wearing the same clothes as earlier, but now they’re fixed and worn right again. he’s leaning against the wall, arm over a girl’s head, as he traps her back against the wall. you can tell they’re flirting by the way the girl is giggling and hitting his chest lightly and of course, he’s wearing that annoying smirk.

a strange feeling starts to boil up in your chest as you watch them. it feels like anger and hurt, but you know that can’t be right. this is lee heeseung, the notorious fuckboy. you can’t be angry that he’s flirting with another girl, that’s all he ever does! plus, there are no feelings between you and heeseung. you’re just having casual sex.

you take a deep breath, reminding yourself to be chill, reminding yourself of who you are. you’re the girl who only does casual sex, who doesn’t get attached. this shouldn’t be bothering you. but still, the sight of them together leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“are you feeling better, yn?” gracie asks you, “you still don’t look so good.”

you turn your head back to look at your friends. concerned etched on their face. your bitter expression must have been obvious on your face.

“i’m alright, guys. don’t worry,” you smile at your loving friends.

yooyeon’s eyes narrow as she glances at you, always so damn observant. “why were you looking at lee heeseung?”

your heart drops. gracie’s head snaps up, curiosity written all over her face. “what? you were looking at lee heeseung?”

you shift uncomfortably, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “what? no,” you say, too quickly.

yooyeon isn’t buying it. “are you sure? because as soon as you looked over in that direction your smile dropped.”

you sigh, knowing you’ve been caught. lying to your friends has never worked; they’re too good to you. “fine, okay, i was looking at him.”

gracie’s eyes widen. “what? why?”

you take a deep breath and come clean, “i might’ve hooked up with him last weekend.”

both of your friends jump in their seats, shocked. “why? what the hell?” gracie exclaims.

“you know how he treats women! you literally make fun of him and the girls that hook up with him all the time!” yooyeon exasperates.

you bury your face in your hands. “i know, i know. it’s part of the reason why i didn’t want to tell you guys.”

gracie’s eyes softens. “you didn’t want to tell us?”

you look up, seeing their concerned faces. “well, i didn’t want you to judge me and call me a hypocrite because i’m already doing that myself.”

yooyeon reaches over, grabbing your hand. “we would never do that, y/n. we were just shocked.”

gracie nods, her expression serious. “yeah, as long as you’re being safe and having fun, we don’t care. we love you.”

“i love you too, guys.”

yooyeon grins mischievously. “okay, but tell us more about you and lee heeseung.”

you sigh and look over to where he was last standing and realize that him and the girl have left. you briefly wonder if he’s taken her to the bathroom where you sucked him only an hour ago.

“uh, we hooked up at the party after you guys left,”

“is his dick really as big as they say?” gracie chimes in her, eyes twinkling.

yooyeon elbows her, “why do you look so excited to hear about lee heeseung’s dick size?”

“sorry, sorry,” gracie apologizes and kisses yooyeon on the cheek. “but y/n, was it?”

“yeah, it’s pretty big.”

“oh my god,” gracie can’t help but giggle out, yooyeon has to elbow her again to get her to stop.

yooyeon turns to look at you, resting her elbow on the table, “and have you seen him since?”

“uhh, yeah.”

“when?” yooyeon tilts her head, interested.

“um, an hour ago?”

“what?!” gracie jolts, shocked from your confession. “is that why you left class early?”

you smile sheepishly at your friends in response. gracie covers her mouth as yooyeon rolls her eyes.

“it’s just casual between us, though. we’ve made an agreement of no strings or feelings attached!”

gracie and yooyeon share a look before yooyeon asks, “so when are you seeing him again?”

you think about it for a second before you see his sweater peeking out of your backpack, “after our next class- i have to give him back his sweater.”

“ouuu,” gracie moves her eyebrows up and down, “you wore his sweater?”

“oh my god stop!” you laugh at her, “it’s casual! nothing serious— i was cold and he let me borrow his sweater!”

yooyeon and gracie share a look again that makes you roll your eyes at them.

you check the time on your phone, “we should get going, class starts in ten minutes.”

the three of you start packing up your bags and lunches and the two follow you out of the cafeteria.

“i can’t believe we’re friends with one of lee heeseung’s girls,” gracie giggles out playfully.

“oh my god, grace,” you groan out, “i am not! it’s chill and casual, i’m not gonna turn into one of his stalker fan girls.”

“you’re one of his girls, y/n, and that’s alright!”

“no, i’m not.”

“yes.”

“no.”

“yes!”

you groan inwardly. the very thought makes your stomach churn. you would never end up in the same category as all those girls you make fun of. you shuffle ahead, not meeting their eyes, as yooyeon and gracie follow behind, giggling at your obvious annoyance. you know their laughter is a gentle tease, but it still doesn’t fix the frustration you’re feeling towards yourself and lee heeseung.

did he have to be so hot?

after class, you head to the back parking lot where heeseung told you to meet him. you say goodbye to your two friends as they drive home together without you. you told them that you’ll just walk home after meeting with heeseung.

you wait outside the college for longer than you expected. almost everyone in the school has left at this point and you start to think that heeseung had forgotten your plan to meet up and give him his sweater.

when there was only a few more cars parked in the parking lot you sighed, annoyed and frustrated. you figured he had left if he hadn’t showed up by now. you felt almost embarrassed to be standing there by yourself for so long.

you throw your bag over your shoulder again and step off the sidewalk, planning to walk home now since your friends had left earlier. you were already plotting your next words to heeseung for making you wait after school for him for no reason.

“y/n!”

you turn at the sound of your name.

the back door of the school was swung open as heeseung rushed to step outside, his bag thrown over his shoulder as he waved at you. you huff, stopping to wait for him to catch up to you. when he reached you, you could tell he was a bit frazzled.

“i’m so sorry, i had a surprise test i had to do,” he says, a hint of genuine apology in his voice.

you huff, reaching into your bag and pulling out his sweater, handing it to him. “here.”

he takes it from you and you feel a sudden drop of water on your hand. both of you glance up at the sky, noticing that the clouds are starting to turn gray and a few more water drops are starting to fall slowly.

“great,” you mumble to yourself. just your luck.

“do you have a ride?” heeseung asks, noticing your growing frustration.

“no, i was hoping to walk home before the rain started.”

heeseung suddenly feels bad that you had to wait so long for him. “i’ll give you a ride,”

you hesitate at his offer. you eyed him suspiciously, wondering his intentions; did he want to drive you home because he was being nice or did he want to fuck you in his car? you wondered if people doing casual sex with each other drive each other home?

he sees your hesitation and further explains, “it’s just a drive and it’s raining. come on, get in my car.”

you sigh, weighing your options. you felt the rain start to increase, “fine,” you finally say, giving in. he leads you to his car, a black, shiny, expensive-looking one, and you slide into the passenger seat.

you look around his car. it’s clean and sleek. and you internally debate if this is what you expected from him or not. he gets in the driver's seat and starts the car. he turns on the heat and you instantly realize how cold it was with the rain hitting you, drenching your hair slightly.

heeseung notices and adjusts the heaters to aim at you, letting you warm up quickly before he’s even pulling out of the parking lot. you tell him your address and give him a few directions on how to get there. hopefully this drive doesn’t take long.

“do you have any roommates?” heeseung asks you, trying to break the silence.

“yeah, i’ve got one. she’s cool.”

“is she one of those girls that you’re always with? the ones you were sitting with in the cafeteria today?”

you pretend to not be shocked that he noticed you in the cafeteria earlier, “gracie and yooyeon? no, they live together. they’ve been dating for a while now.”

heeseung hums, “oh, i never realized they were dating.”

you scoff slightly amused at the possibility that lee heeseung could ever realize something about you or your friends, “hm, yeah. i guess you’re too busy hangin’ with your annoying frat bros.”

heeseung laughs over the steering wheel. his laughs makes a small smile crack on your face. it’s a pure, hearty laugh that echoes loudly in the car.

“hey! my frat bros are not that bad!” he mocks your use of words, “actually they’re some of my closest friends. they've helped me a lot.”

you nod, taking in his words. you wondered how they have helped him before that would make him speak of them so admirably. “which one are you closest to?”

heeseung things for a second, “probably jake. but, he's a year younger than us.”

it goes silent again besides a few directions you give him to get to your apartment. your mind starts to wonder about seeing him with the girl at the cafeteria earlier. you hate to think about him taking her to the bathroom you were just in with him. or worse, taking her to the backseat of the car you’re currently in. you wonder if there’s going to be more girls like her that you’ll have to see him with during the entire time you’re being casual with him.

you gulp, taking a breath before you ask him, “will you be hooking up with other girls as we're like, being casual?”

you keep your eyes out the window once your words are out, watching the rain droplets trail down it. you couldn’t possibly look at him right now.

finally, he speaks, “no, probably not if i have you.”

you force yourself to keep your head turned to the window now. you cannot let him see the smile that creeps along your lips. his words make your chest and heart settle. the girl in the cafeteria is no longer in the back of your mind.

“will you?”

his questions make you turn to look at him, not expecting it. but you keep your face expressionless, keeping your cards close to your chest. “maybe, if they have a bigger cock than you.”

you don’t expect him to burst out laughing again, his voice interrupting the rain landing on the car. it makes you laugh along with him. his eyes squinting as he looks at you with a large smile.

you realize that no matter how hard you try to keep heeseung at a foot length with your usual insults, it doesn’t work. he never gets offended or hurt like all the other guys you’ve hooked up with before. it’s something you commend him for. but it also makes you worry for your own heart.

“good luck trying to find that.”

you grin at him, looking out the window and pointing to the apartment for him to stop at. he puts the car in park and lets you gather your things as you reach for the handle to leave.

“thanks for the ride, heeseung.” you tell him with an earnest smile.

“no problem,” you open the door as he continues, “oh and by the way, it’s your turn.”

“my turn for what?” your face is scrunched up in confusion.

“your turn to text me when you’re needy.”

you roll your eyes at his answer, “yeah, whatever.”

you get out and slam the car door behind you, pretending to not be amused at his words. you walk up the front sidewalk to your apartment, almost to the door when you hear him again.

“thanks for the blowjob, y/n!”

you turn around your jaw dropped as he rolled down his window to yell at you, his annoying smirk on his face. you stick up your middle finger at him from the door, you could hear his laughter as he starts to drive away.

you hope none of your neighbours heard him.

tonight you’re rolling around on your bed, fingers hovering over the keyboard as you contemplate your next move. you lock your phone, staring at the ceiling, thoughts racing. after a week without seeing heeseung, you thought he would’ve caved in by now, but he hasn’t.

sighing, you open your phone again, hesitating before typing out the words. finally, you hit send on a simple message.

you : [can i come over?] [8:38]

he responds almost instantly, as if he was waiting. heeseung : [ yes ] [8:39] heeseung : [ ;) ] [8:39]

you smile to yourself, standing up off your bed and grabbing your coat before leaving, heading straight to the frat house that has held too many parties to remember.

you have only one thing on your mind tonight : make lee heeseung beg for you.

you knock on the frat house door, and it swings open almost immediately. heeseung stands there, shirtless and in sweatpants. you have to remind yourself to be cool and not completely stare him down like you’re ready to pounce on him.

he squints at you, a smirk creeping onto his face. “i actually applaud you for waiting so long to text. i thought you would've caved in sooner.”

you scoff, brushing past him into the house. “i thought the same about you.”

“nope,” he replies casually, closing the door. “i told you, it was your turn.”

rolling your eyes, you respond sarcastically, “well, here I am.”

heeseung steps closer, his hands finding your waist as he leans in with that signature smirk. “let’s go to my room.”

you can’t help but feel a mix of annoyance and excitement as you follow him.

inside his bedroom is the same, messy and chaotic, but his bed is clear and clean. you wonder if he had just made it before you came.

heeseung comes up behind you now that he’s closed and locked the door. he wraps his arms around your waist, his bare chest flush against your back, “did you miss my cock, baby?” he whispers into your ear.

you feel yourself melt against him as you nodded, looking over your shoulder to look at him directly. his eyes were darker and his bangs had fallen over his forehead and eyes as he looked at you. he smirked at your answer and then suddenly pushed you onto his bed.

you lay with your head on his pillow as he gets on his bed and hovers over you. before you can speak his mouth crashes down on yours, his tongue demanding entrance. you moan into the kiss, your hands clutching at his shirt. his hands start roaming your body possessively, keeping you close to him.

heeseung pulls away from your lips to start pressing kisses down your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin. you take your chance and flip over his body so now he was under you, his head where yours was previously.

you’re straddling his waist as he chuckles, “you wanna be on top, baby?” his voice is teasing and almost mocking.

you glare at him, trailing your hand over his abs and stopping over his hardening cock in his pants. “i’m gonna be on top.”

he raises an eyebrow, a challenge sparkling in his eyes. "go on, then. show me what you got."

your confidence surges as you lean down, your lips brushing his ear. "take off your clothes," you whisper, nibbling on his earlobe. "i want to see how hard your cock is for me."

heeseung listens and pulls down his pants and boxers. when he’s finally naked, you bite your lips, admiring his muscular chest, flat stomach and the small trail of hair leading below his navel. but it's his hard cock, so red and veiny, that catches your eye.

you wrap your hand around the base, pumping slowly as you lean down to press a kiss to the tip. "mmm, you taste so good," you purr, licking up a bead of pre-cum.

heeseung's breath hitches as he threads his fingers through your hair, but you gently bat his hands away. "no, no. i'm in charge here, remember?"

"oh, yeah?" he smirks, his eyes glittering with amusement. "let's see how long that lasts.”

you scowl at him, but it only fuels your determination. tightening your grip, you begin to stroke him faster, using both hands to cover his length. his hips bucked involuntarily, and he groans, his eyes fluttering closed. "fuck, that feels good."

"you like that, hee?" you ask, your voice sultry. "you like it when i take control?"

"yeah, baby, I do," he admits, his breath coming in short gasps as your hands continue. you hate that the pet name makes you shiver. you hate how fast he seemingly submits to you.

a you take the tip of his cock into your mouth, he threads his fingers through your hair, guiding you along his length. you hollow your cheeks, sucking and bobbing your head up and down, relishing the taste of him on your tongue. "oh fuck, baby," he murmurs, his hips jerking involuntarily. "please don’t stop."

you hum in response, the vibrations sending him wild. heeseung tangles one hand in your hair, holding you in place as he begins to thrust slowly, fucking your mouth. you let him take control for a moment, enjoying the way he uses your mouth for his pleasure. you can tell he’s getting close, that he’s starting to feel like he’s the one controlling you right now.

but then, you grab his hips, pulling him out of your mouth with a loud pop.

heeseung opens his eyes, a questioning look on his face. you respond by grinding your clothed core against his hardness, eliciting a low groan from him. "i want to ride you," you whisper, your voice full with desire.

his face contorts into one of begging,. “please, need to feel your pussy so bad."

you don't need to be told twice. quickly shedding your clothes, you straddle his lap, lining him up with your entrance. slowly, you lower yourself onto his thickness, moaning as he stretches you deliciously. heeseung's hands grip your hips, guiding you as you bounce gently a few times to adjust to his size.

once you've taken all of him, you pause, relishing the feeling of being filled so completely. "fuck, heeseung, you feel so good inside me," you pant, leaning forward to press your breasts against his chest.

"you like that, baby?" he teases, his hands squeezing your ass. "you like my cock buried deep inside your tight pussy?"

you nod, biting your lip as you begin to move, rising and falling on his shaft. his hands slide up your back, tangling in your hair as he pulls you down for a hungry kiss. you moan into his mouth, your hips picking up the pace as you ride him with abandon.

suddenly, you pull away, rising up on your knees to give yourself more leverage. you remember what you were thinking when you came here. you remembered taking control of lee heeseung and proving to him that you can make him feel good. heeseung's eyes widen as he realizes your intent, but he says nothing, watching you with a mixture of arousal and curiosity. you lean forward, wrapping your hand around his neck, and begin to choke him, cutting off his air supply slightly as you ride his cock.

you can't believe how submissive he's being, allowing you to take control like this. it turns you on even more, and you find yourself bouncing faster, your core clenching rhythmically around his shaft. heeseung's eyes roll back slightly, and he moans, his hands tightening on your waist. the sight below you, with his cock hitting deep inside of you with your hand around his throat, makes you bounce harder, making him grunt, “fuck, baby, you're so tight. i'm not gonna last long."

a sense of pride courses through you at hearing him say that, but you have no intention of letting him finish just yet. slowing your movements, you grind your hips in circles, feeling the sensation of his cock rubbing against your sensitive walls. heeseung whimpers, his body thrashing beneath you as he tries to buck his hips up to chase his release.

"please, baby," he begs, his voice hoarse. "i need to cum. let me fuck you, please."

you grin down at him, loving the sight of the so called confident, cocky lee heeseung reduced to begging and submitting. but you're not ready to give up now.. "no," you taunt, bouncing harder on his cock. "who's in control here, heeseung? hmm?"

"you are, baby," he pants, his eyes glazed with lust. "but please, i need to be inside you when I cum."

hearing him say that sends a thrill through your body, and your pussy clenches tightly around him. but your knees are starting to ache from the constant bouncing, and your energy is beginning to falter. your bouncing gets sloppier and slower, his dick still hits your g spot.

heeseung realizes that you’re getting tired, and takes advantage by quickly flipping you onto your back, his cock staying lodged inside of you when he does. he pins your body to the bed before you can realize.

your hands fly to his shoulders for support now that he’s hovering over you. “hey!” you pout, at him, “i was riding you!”

heeseung chuckles, his hands gripping your thighs as he begins to thrust deeply into you. "i know you were, baby, and you did an amazing job. but now, let me take over. let me make you cum."

his words make you whimper as he sets a punishing pace, pounding into you relentlessly. you groan as your plan to dominate lee heeseung failed, but the way he’s fucking into you seemingly makes you even forget your plan in the first place

his hips slam against yours, his balls slapping against your sensitive flesh with each deep thrust. "fuck, heeseung," you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders. "harder!" you submit to him so easily, letting him do whatever he wants to you. it just feels so good.

heeseung grunts in response, but he fucks into you harder anyways. his cock slides in and out of your drenched pussy, the slick sounds of your sex filling the room. heeseung leans down, capturing one of your nipples with his mouth, tugging and sucking it between his teeth as he continues to pound into you.

you cry out, your back arching off the bed as pleasure courses through your body. "that's it, baby," he encourages, his breath hot against your skin. "cum for me. Let me feel that tight pussy clenching around my cock."

his words are your undoing, and you shatter around him, crying out his name as your body convulses with pleasure. your body felt so spent as he continued to pound into you through your orgasm.

the feeling of your walls clenching around him, your juices flowing out of you and around his cock, make heeseung cum soon after. he grunts out your name as he spills deep inside of you. his hips stuttering as he fills you with his release.

collapsing onto your chest, he peppers kisses along your collarbone as he catches his breath. you’re too busy coming down from your orgasm to tell him that that’s too intimate. so instead you revel in the feeling of his weight on top of you. your chests heaving as you catch your breath together.

heeseung gently pulls out of you and gets up. you watch as he leaves his bedroom, leaving you naked and sweating on his bed.

he comes back with a damp cloth from the bathroom. his bare back muscles flexing with each step. you can feel a subtle change in his bedroom now. it’s more softer and intimate. and it scares you.

you know the cloth is to clean up the mess between your legs so you reach your hand out for it, “thanks.”

but heeseung doesn’t give it to you, “it’s okay, i can do it. you’re tired, y/n. let me take care of it.”

you open your mouth to protest, to insist that you can do it yourself, but you realize that you are in fact exhausted. your knees ache from being on top.

heeseung leans down between your legs again. he gently starts to clean you, his touch is feather light. he hums gently to himself as he makes sure every substance is off your legs.

you’ve never let anyone clean you up after sex before. it’s always you that takes care of things afterward, alone. there’s something vulnerable and exposing letting someone else do this for you. but heeseung’s touch is so tender that you find yourself relaxing into it. you think that maybe it’s okay just once to let someone else take the lead.

once he’s done, he kisses your inner thigh, his lips brushing softly against your sensitive skin, and you suppress a shiver.

he hands you a soft t-shirt, helping you slide it over your head, his fingers grazing your skin gently. you inhale the fresh scent of the fabric. heeseung pulls on a pair of sweatpants that cling to his lean, muscular frame.

heeseung lies down beside you, his body warm against yours. its silent in his room and the lights are still on. you realize that you’ve never just laid in bed with a guy before without it leading to sex.

after a while, you break the silence. “i should go,” you say, starting to sit up.

heeseung sits up too, watching you, “you should stay. it’s late, and your knees hurt.”

you hesitate, but the truth is, you’re tired, and your knees really do ache from holding your body up. you nod, and lay back down. your heart thumping in your chest.

“okay,” you whisper.

heeseung smiles and turns off the lights, plunging the room into a soft darkness. you both lay there in his bed. a meter apart is between both of you. it’s silent and uncomfortable.

heeseung breaks the silence first. "you okay?"

you nod, even though he probably can't see you in the dark. "yeah, just... not used to this."

"used to what?" he asks, turning slightly to face you.

"this," you gesture vaguely around the room, "staying after."

he chuckles softly. "so, i'm your first?"

you scoff, rolling your eyes. "don't flatter yourself, heeseung."

"i'm serious," he says, and you can hear the genuine curiosity in his voice. "you've never stayed the night with anyone before?"

"no," you admit quietly, "i haven't."

both of you go silent again, thinking. you’re only wearing his t shirt and the thin sheet on his bed isn’t keeping much heat in. your legs shiver against the bed.

you feel heeseung move beside you, “come here.”

“what?”

“come here if you’re cold.”

you hesitate for a second before scooting closer to him. he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you against his chest. it’s warm and so much better for your half naked body. it’s intimate, and you try to keep your breath steady as you breathe in his cologne and fabric softener.

"better?" he asks, his voice a low rumble in your ear.

"yeah," you murmur, "better."

you lay there for a while, in his arms. you try to fall asleep, but it feels strange. and you keep debating if it’s a good strange or a bad strange. heeseung starts tracing lazy circles on your arm, and you find yourself relaxing.

"you know," he says softly, "you're not as tough as you pretend to be."

"oh, really?" you challenge.

"yeah," he replies, "you're actually kinda sweet."

you snort at his compliment because when have you ever been sweet to lee heeseung?

you close your eyes again. thinking more about heeseung and everything you know about him and everything he knows about you. the things he might’ve heard about you before you even met. and you think about how sweet he’s actually been to you.

"heeseung?" you say after a while.

"yeah?"

"thanks for letting me stay."

"anytime," he replies, his voice soft and sincere.

you feel his grip tighten slightly around you, like you might leave.

but even though there’s a voice in the back of your head telling you to run; you don’t. you stay in lee heeseung’s bed with his arms wrapped around you until you both feel your eyelids grow heavy and drift off to sleep for the night.

as you drift off, you realize that maybe, just maybe, there could be more than just casual hookups between you and lee heeseung.

when you and heeseung wake up the next day, the sunlight filtering through the blinds, you both groan at the early hour. heeseung stretches, his arm brushing against you as he yawns.

"we gotta get to class," he says, rubbing his eyes.

"yeah," you agree, sitting up and swinging your legs over the side of the bed.your knees feel better this morning.

heeseung gets up first, grabbing a t-shirt from his closet and slipping it on. "i can drive you home if you want," he offers casually.

"thanks," you say, standing and smoothing out your clothes. "i'll get changed."

heeseung nods and heads for the door. "i'll wait downstairs.”

you quickly change into your clothes from yesterday, trying to shake off the strange mix of emotions from the night before. once you're dressed, you head down the hall towards the stairs, but stop when you hear your name.

when you and heeseung wake up the next day, the sunlight filtering through the blinds, you both groan at the early hour. heeseung stretches, his arm brushing against you as he yawns.

"we gotta get to class," he says, rubbing his eyes.

"yeah," you agree, sitting up and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. you feel a slight ache from how you slept, but it's not too bad.

heeseung gets up first, grabbing a t-shirt from his closet and slipping it on. "i can drive you home if you want," he offers casually.

"thanks," you say, standing and smoothing out your clothes. "i'll get changed."

heeseung nods and heads for the door. "i'll wait downstairs. take your time."

you quickly change into your clothes from yesterday, trying to shake off the strange mix of emotions from the night before. once you're dressed, you head down the stairs, but stop when you hear your name.

"when did yn leave last night?" a boy's voice asks.

"uh, she didn't," you hear heeseung reply.

there are multiple gasps of confusion. "she slept over?"

"she's upstairs?"

"yeah, so what?" you hear heeseung say, a bit defensive.

"what's going on between you two?" someone asks.

"nothing-- we're just casual," heeseung responds.

his final response hurts you more than you expect. you don't even know why it stings so much, but it does. you take a deep breath before you walk down the stairs. in the kitchen you can see the group of frat boys who live there all gathered around. they look at you curiously.

heeseung smiles at you. "ready to go?"

you force a smile and shake your head. "nah, i'm just gonna walk, it's okay."

he starts to argue, but you cut him off. "bye," you say, turning and leaving quickly, closing the front door behind you.

as you walk home, a mix of confusion, hurt, and anger churns inside you. you wonder why he was so nice to you the night before. how he cleaned you up so intimately and made sure you were okay. you weren’t use to such niceness. you were usually the one to kick someone out after sex or leave before you do get kicked out. why did he let you stay if he thinks it’s just casual between you.

you remind yourself to be chill. there's nothing between you and lee heeseung.

but the feelings linger, refusing to be ignored.

days later and your professor ended your afternoon class early. you pull out your phone to ask yooyeon and gracie where they are. but you see a text from your mom instead.

mom : [your dad and i have broken up. please call me when you get the chance] [2:46]

your heart sinks, and you stop in your tracks, trying to hide the sudden wave of sadness and panic that washes over you. you quickly turn into a quiet hall. you don’t want anyone to see you like this. you curse your mom for picking such an awful time to tell you this.

you keep staring at her text, the words blurring as your eyes fill with tears. you knew they were having problems, knew they were talking about divorce, but you didn't think they'd actually do it. just as the first tear escapes and trails down your face, a voice speaks up, startling you.

“what’s wrong?”

you turn and see heeseung, his expression full of concern. you quickly wipe at your face, trying to pull yourself together. "everything's fine. see you later," you say, trying to walk away.

he stops you, gently taking your arm. "you're crying. what's wrong? you can tell me."

you sigh, not being able to process the new information yourself yet. you feel like you can’t think or speak straight. you hand him your phone, etting him read the message. his eyes scan the screen, and then he looks at you with understanding and sympathy. "i'm so sorry."

he pulls you into his embrace, his arms wrapping around you tightly. "it's going to be okay," he murmurs, his voice soothing. he kisses your forehead, and you pull away slightly, shocked.

"what if people see?" you ask, worried about the implications.

heeseung shakes his head. "who cares?" he says, pulling you back into his embrace.

you melt into his touch again, the confusion and hurt still there, but his presence brings a strange sense of comfort. why is he doing this? you can’t help but feel a little more at ease, even aw your mind races with questions and doubts.

“are your parents divorced?” you ask him as you pull away.

heeseung shakes his head, “nah, they’re coming to the house this weekend actually.” he pulls out his own phone and looks at the date.

“oh really?”

he shrugs, “yeah, they wanna see where i’m living this year and see the other guys.”

“oh,”

in the quiet hall it’s silent again and you have so much on your mind you forget to even speak until heeseung does again.

“want me to drive you home?”

you smile up at him, “please?”

he wraps his arm around your shoulder and guides you out of the school to his car where he can warm you up again.

heeseung texts you again to come over. something that’s been happening for weeks now. you’re at his house more often than not. and now, you don’t hesitate to go to the frat house you once hated.

heeseung meets you at the door, a lazy smile on his face as he knows exactly what the both of you are thinking. you step inside and the surroundings are now familiar to you. heeseung shuts the door, his eyes burning with desire as he takes a step towards you. without a word, he pulls you into his arms, and your bodies fit together perfectly, as if they were made to slot together just like this.

"i've been thinking about this all day," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "want you so fucking bad, y/n."

you feel his hands roaming over your body, cupping your ass and pulling you against his growing erection. he's not shy about what he wants, and you love how forward he is. moaning softly, you tilt your head back, giving him better access to your neck as he plants eager kisses along your sensitive skin. his hands are everywhere, slipping under your shirt to touch your bare skin, making you ache for more.

"fuck, you feel so good," he groans, his voice thick with desire.

you pull back slightly, looking into his dark eyes, sparkling with lust. "then take me to your bedroom, hee."

“please, take her to your bedroom.” a voice says from inside the house.

you turn and see jake sitting on the couch, his eyes begging as he had to watch and hear the interaction between you and jake. you giggle out at his reaction– jake too– is something you’ve become familiar with during the past few weeks.

heeseung only smirks and takes your hand, leading you both towards the familiar path to his bedroom.

as soon as the bedroom door shuts behind you, heeseung is on you again, this time much more desperate.

he pushes you against the door, his mouth crashing onto yours in a hungry kiss. you respond eagerly, your hands tangling in his hair as you deepen the kiss. he moans into your mouth, his tongue seeking yours, tasting and teasing until you're both breathless.

he breaks the kiss, trailing heated kisses along your jaw, down your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin. "want to taste you, baby. Want you to sit on my face."

you whimper at his words, feeling your core clench with need. heeseung kneels on the bed, his eyes burning with intensity as he watches you undress. slowly, you peel your shirt over your head, enjoying the way his eyes roam over your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin. You kick off your shoes, wiggling out of your pants, and step out of your underwear. his eyes never leave you.

heeseung licks his lips, a hungry look in his eyes. "so fucking gorgeous, y/n."

you blush, but the heat in your core overrides any embarrassment.

once on the bed, he lets you take control, enjoying the show as you straddle his face, your pussy hovering over his waiting mouth.

"you gonna tease me again, baby?" he asks, his hot breath fanning your core, making you tremble.

you don't answer, instead, you lower yourself onto his mouth, moaning as his tongue swipes against your wet folds. he groans in appreciation, his hands gripping your thighs as he pulls you closer, his tongue delving into your slit. he's eager, lapping at your juices, sucking on your clit, and making you see stars. you grind your hips, riding his face as he eats you out with enthusiasm.

"oh, fuck, heeseung!" you cry out, feeling your orgasm building already. "feels so good, baby!"

He doesn't hold back, using his tongue to bring you pleasure, licking and sucking until you're a quivering mess. You cry out his name as you climax, your juices flooding his mouth. He laps it all up, humming in satisfaction as he continues to lick you through your orgasm.

As the pleasure subsides, you collapse beside him, panting heavily. Heeseung, however, is not done. He kisses his way up your body, pausing to suck your sensitive nipples into his mouth, making you mewl with pleasure. His hands roam over your body, caressing your curves, molding your body to his.

"i need to be inside of you," he says, his breath hot against your ear.

You feel a rush of heat between your legs at his words. That possessive, needy side of him is what draws you in, what makes you ache for him. You nod slowly, your lips parting to speak, but no words come out.

instead, you turn over and and lean forward. you place your palms on the bed and push yourself up on your knees, exposing yourself to him.

heeseung's eyes darken as he takes in the sight of your round ass and your pussy, glistening with your juices. He reaches out, his fingers trailing lightly over your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

he teases your entrance, circling it lightly, making you whine and rock your hips unconsciously.

"you're so wet for me, y/n," he says, his voice like velvet. "are you ready for my cock?"

"please," you whisper, your voice thick with need. “need your cock, hee.”

with a growl, he grabs your hips and pulls you back, positioning his hard length at your entrance. you both moan as the tip teases your hole, then he slowly starts to push inside. You gasp as you feel yourself stretch around him, inch by incredible inch. heeseung's cock is thick and long, and you feel deliciously full as he bottoms out.

he doesn’t need to pause to let you adjust to his size anymore. you clench around him, your pussy gripping him tightly, and he groans, his head falling back. "fuck, y/n, you feel so tight. So fucking perfect. could stay like this forever."

he pulls your body back onto him, and then he begins to thrust. slow and deep at first, he sets a steady rhythm, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back into you. you cry out with each thrust, your body rocking back to meet his. his balls slap against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your core.

he leans over you, his chest pressing against your back, his breath hot in your ear. "that's it, baby, take it all," he grunts, his voice strained as he picks up the pace. "your tight pussy was made for my cock, wasn't it?"

you moan, your head falling back as he thrusts into you. "fuck yes, heeseung, it was," you pant. "it was made just for you."

His hands squeeze your hips as he slams into you, his hips meeting your ass with a loud, satisfying smack. The force of his thrusts rocks your body forward, and you brace yourself, pushing back against him, meeting his fierce rhythm. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room you’ve memorized by now.

Heeseung's breath is ragged, his grunts of pleasure filling your ear. "You like that, baby? My cock pounding into your tight hole?"

"Yes! Harder, Heeseung! Fuck me harder!" you scream, your body on fire, desperate for release.

He obeys, gripping your hips so tightly you'll have bruises tomorrow. But you don't care, the pain only adds to the pleasure. He slams into you with such force the bed shakes, and you cry out, throwing your head back, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm. You clamp down on his cock, milking him, your juices flowing as your body pulses with pleasure.

"Fuck, y/n, you're making me cum," he groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as he loses control.

You reach underneath yourself, your fingers finding your clit as he continues to thrust. You rub circles around it, riding out your orgasm as you crave for more. "Cum for me, Heeseung," you pant. "Fill me with your cum."

He growls, his body tenses, and then you feel it. His cock pulses and twitches as he releases, his warm cum shooting inside you. He groans your name, his hands grasping your hips tightly as he rides out his peak.

As his thrusts slow, he pulls you back against his chest, his arms wrapping around your body possessively. You can feel his heart pounding against your back, his breath still ragged as he recovers. it feels intimate with him. his cum deep inside of you while his cock softens, and he keeps you so close to him.

when both of you catch your breaths, heeseung falls into his new routine of cleaning you up and making sure you’re okay before he lays back down in bed beside you.

the routine is repetitive and comforting. you feel safe and cared for while your with heeseung. it’s something you’ve never felt with anyone before. and you especially never though you would feel this with lee heeseung.

but over the past few weeks that you’ve been hooking up with him, the more you’ve gotten to know him– the things he likes, hates, some personal things that he’s never told anyone before except for you.

you feel like heeseung has become someone you can rely on. he’s been there for you more than your friends have been recently. he’s there when you’re sad, frustrated, stressed and happy. you’ve seen more sides of him than you thought he even had during the weeks you’ve been tangled in his sheets with him.

you’re scared that you’ve started to catch feelings for lee heeseung.

the thought is almost too much for you. you instinctively stand up from his bed and start to pull on your clothes. heeseung stayed laying in his bed, his arm draped over his head on the pillow. he watched you start to dress silently.

“you know,” heeseung smirks playfully, “it’s so great you’re not clingy.”

you froze, looking back at him. "what do you mean?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. you hear a sense of sarcasm in his tone, his eyes hold a look of teasing.

heeseung shrugged casually. "you're not clingy like other girls. it's refreshing."

the words stung more than you'd care to admit. "yeah, sure," you replied, your tone colder than you intended. the thought of him being with other girls besides you makes you tense up. it reminds you of what you and heeseung really are. you are not in a relationship at all. he can freely hook up with other girls all he wants. he’s not yours.

heeseung seemed to take your response lightly. "i mean, no drama, no expectations. it's perfect, right?"

something in you snapped. "perfect?" you echoed, you turn to face him, standing in only your panties and t shirt, pants in your hand. "is that all you see this as? some drama-free convenience?"

heeseung frowned, clearly taken aback by your sudden change in tone. he sits up in his bed when he answers, "what's with you? you're overthinking this."

you scoffed, feeling your frustration boil over. "i'm not overthinking anything. i'm just... i don't know, expecting a little more respect maybe?"

heeseung rolled his eyes dismissively which only fueled your anger. "oh, come on. don't be like that. we agreed this was casual, no strings attached."

"yeah, we did," you snapped, grabbing your bag. "but that doesn't mean you get to treat me like i'm some disposable... i don't know, thing!"

heeseung sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i'm just joking, okay? you're taking it too seriously."

"just joking?" you repeated, your voice rising. "god, you really don't get it, do you? i'm not asking for much, just a little acknowledgment that I'm a person with feelings."

heeseung stands up, his own annoyance beginning to show. "look, if you want to end this, just say so."

you stared at him, hurt and anger mixing into a painful lump in your throat. "maybe I do," you said, heading for the door. "maybe I don't want to be just another convenient hookup for you."

you hear him try to stop you by calling your name, but your hand was on the door knob and pulling it open.

only then, you freeze in place. standing in the hallway were two older adults, looking at you with curious expressions.

“oh, hello,” the woman said, her eyebrows raising slightly.

you felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment. “um, hi,” you stammered, glancing back at heeseung, who was now standing behind you, only in his boxers and you with your pants in your hand.

“heeseung?” the man, presumably his father, spoke, looking over your shoulder at his son. “is this your friend?”

before you could say anything, heeseung stepped forward, putting his arm around your shoulders. “yeah, this is yn,” he said smoothly. “mom, dad, this is my girlfriend.”

you blinked in surprise, looking up at him with wide eyes. girlfriend?

“nice to meet you,” his mom said, smiling warmly. “we’ll just wait downstairs while you two… get dressed.”

they turned and walked back down the stairs, leaving you standing in the doorway, stunned. you closed the door and whirled around to face heeseung. you were embarrassed, frustrated, angry and confused.

“what the hell was that?” you hissed, trying to keep your voice down.

heeseung shrugged, looking a bit sheepish. “they always want me to have a girlfriend. and you were in my bedroom, so… just play it cool, okay?”

“play it cool?” you echoed, groaning in frustration. “this is so not cool, heeseung.”

he raised his hands defensively. “look, it’s just for now. they won’t stay long. just go with it, please?”

you sighed, rubbing your temples. this was the last thing you needed right now, but you were stuck. “fine,” you muttered. “but you owe me for this.”

once you and heeseung were dressed, you made your way downstairs. his parents were waiting in the living room, and they both stood up when you entered. you could tell they were slightly disgruntled from the mess that was in the frat kitchen. but what could they really expect from five frat boys living together?

“it’s so nice to meet you properly,” his mom said, pulling you into a warm hug. you stiffened slightly, not used to this kind of affection from someone else’s parents. his dad followed suit, giving you a firm handshake.

“how long have you two been dating?” his dad asked, looking between you and heeseung.

“only a few months,” heeseung answered smoothly.

“are you in college as well?” his mom inquired.

you nodded. “yes, i am.”

heeseung glanced at his phone and then at his parents. “actually, yn has to get to class soon anyway.”

“it was lovely meeting you, yn,” his mom said with a warm smile. “we’d love for you to join us at our beach house this summer. heeseung always has a great time there, and we’d be delighted for you to meet the rest of the family.”

you glanced at heeseung, who raised his eyebrows, silently urging you to play along. “yeah, sure,” you said, forcing a smile. “it was so nice meeting you both.”

you made your way to the door, feeling the weight of the situation settle in. as you stepped outside, your thoughts swirled with confusion. what was happening between you and heeseung?

his words and reminders of your no strings attached deal shouldn’t bother you; but they did. and the fact that you were here, meeting his parents and getting wrapped up in his family plans, only made things more complicated.you knew deep down that you wouldn’t be hurt by his words if you weren’t catching feelings for him. you realize that for once, you were the one breaking the no-strings-attached deal.

you were sitting in your dorm room with gracie and yooyeon, the three of you sprawled out on the floor with snacks and textbooks scattered around. you needed to be with your friends after the morning you had meeting heeseung parents.

“so, how’s heeseung?” yooyeon asks you over her biology textbook. it’s like she could read your mind.

“he’s uh, good.” you reply, your eyes not leaving your notes.

“are you still hooking up with him?” gracie tilts her head to look at you. you nod in response hesitantly, because after today you weren’t sure if you were. “what’s wrong? i can tell you’re upset.”

you sigh and put your papers down, looking at your friends. their faces are etched in concern as they look at you. they know you so well.

“well uh, i think i’m catching feelings for heeseung,” you admitted, glancing down at your hands. you find it hard to look at them as you tell them the secret you’ve been hiding from them.

gracie immediately frowned. “yn, he’s a loser. he doesn’t deserve a great girl like you.”

yooyeon nodded in agreement. “seriously, you can do so much better.”

you groan and cover your face with your hands. you throw your head back so it rests on the backside of the couch. “i know, i know. but, sometimes he can be… sweet. but then today we fought, and he just- i don’t know. he doesn’t have feelings for me and it hurts.”

just then, your phone rang, interrupting the conversation. gracie’s eyes widened. “is that heeseung, now?”

you looked at the caller id and nodded. “yeah, it’s him.”

“well, don’t answer it,” yooyeon said firmly. “he doesn’t deserve your time.”

you sighed, feeling a pang of guilt as you put the phone down without answering it. the ringtone stopped, leaving an awkward silence in the room.

“i know you have feelings for him,” gracie said gently, “but you deserve someone who feels the same way about you.”

yooyeon added, “you’re worth more than some guy who only wants sex.”

you forced a smile, trying to push away the lingering disappointment. “thanks, guys. you’re right.”

you sat back and tried to enjoy the night with your friends, but your mind kept drifting back to heeseung. despite your best efforts, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than what he was showing you. that maybe in another universe lee heeseung could like you back.

the next night, you lay in bed, you’d skip the entire day of classes. you’d told gracie and yooyeon you were sick, but you knew they saw through the lie. your mind was a tangled mess of thoughts and feelings for heeseung. you couldn’t stop thinking about how sweet he was with you, how he took care of you, listened to you, and comforted you. he made you laugh when you were sad, and that meant more than you ever wanted to admit.

suddenly, your phone buzzed with a new text message. it was from heeseung.

heeseung: [i'm sorry about yesterday] [9:38] heeseung: [but i really need you] [9:38] heeseung: [i'm so hard right now] [9:39] heeseung: [i keep thinking of your pussy] [9:39]

you stared at the message, your heart racing. memories of your conversation with gracie and yooyeon the day before played in your mind. they were right, heeseung was a player, and you knew you shouldn’t be getting so attached. but despite knowing this, your heart ached for him.

after a moment of hesitation, you sighed and typed out a response.

yn: [i’ll be there in 30] [9:42]

as you hit send, you tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest, telling yourself it was just casual. but deep down, you knew it was more than that for you. you threw on some clothes, grabbed your bag, and headed out, trying to convince yourself that you were making the right choice.

you show up at heeseung’s house, and he lets you in, leading you up to his room. unlike all the other times, it feels awkward. the usual comfort and ease between you two is missing, replaced by a tension that is seemingly suffocating.

heeseung closes the door behind you, and you both stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do or say. finally, he breaks the silence.

“i’m sorry about yesterday,” heeseung says, his voice low. “i was just trying to joke because you got up from the bed so fast. i didn’t know how to respond. you were leaving so quick.”

you nod, understanding but still feeling a bit hurt. “i get it. it just... caught me off guard, that’s all.”

he continues, “and thanks for pretending with my parents. i just, always disappoint them, and i didn’t want to this time. i knew they’d love you.”

you smile shyly, feeling a mix of emotions. heeseung steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. his touch is warm, and you find yourself leaning into him despite everything.

“come on, smile for me,” heeseung says softly, trying to lighten the mood. his eyes search yours, and he leans in, and you let him. you let him press his lips against yours in a soft, gentle kiss. a kiss that shouldn’t be done between two people who have a no strings attached agreement.

the kiss is tender, different from all the others. it feels like he’s pouring all his unspoken words and feelings into it. you melt into his embrace, the awkwardness slowly fading away. for a moment, everything feels right again.

"i need you," he murmurs, his eyes searching yours as he pulls back slightly.

you lean in and capture his lips in another kiss, pouring all your feeling into it, wanting him to know without a doubt how much he affects you. heeseung's hands roamed your body, caressing your curves with a tenderness that made your heart melt.

as you kisses grew more heated, you realized how badly you wanted him now. you needed to fele him inside of you. you let him push you down onto his bed. neither of you talk as you both rush to get undressed. ripping off your clothes and throwing them onto his floor into one big messy pile.

without even thinking, you turn onto your knees. you know heeseung loves fucking you from the back by now. he’s told you over and over again how it’s his favourite position. it allowed him to take control and watch his cock slide in and out of your wet pussy.

heeseung’s hands wrapped around your hips, you could feel him lean down and press a soft kiss onto your back, “can i fuck you in missionary? i wanna see your beautiful face.” his compliment makes your cheeks turn red, but you let him turn you over so your head is in his pillow.

heeseung positioned himself above you. your legs on either side of his waist as he guided his hard length to your entrance. you gasped as he slowly sank into you, his eyes never leaving yours. the expression on his face was one of pure adoration that made your heart skip.

heeseung’s hands gripped your thighs, holding onto you as he thrusted into you. “you feel so fucking good," he groaned, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before snapping back open to look at you. "i love watching my cock disappear inside that tight pussy."

you moaned at his words, your head falling back as pleasure washed over you. but you quickly brought your gaze back to his, wanting to drink in the sight of him losing control. his eyes were dark with desire, his usually cocky smile softened by a look of raw need.

heeseung’s eyes don’t leave you. his hands trail down your stomach, “god you’re so beautiful- so soft.”

you whine in response, loving how gentle he was being with you. it was different from all the other times you’ve had sex. it was slow, and passionate.

his fingers reach down where your bodies are meeting and starts to rub slow circles on your clit, making you cry out.

heeseung leans over your body and presses his lips onto yours. the kiss isn’t sloppy and wet like his usual kisses during sex. it’s full of something that you aren’t sure of. it’s sweet and gentle.

his cock continues to thrust into you, filling you up. the intimacy between you makes the coil in your stomach start to unwind quicker than ever. it all feels so close and almost, loving.

“heeseung,” you whimper out against his lips.

his eyes flew open, locking with yours as you continued to move together in perfect sync. you could see the passion and intensity in his gaze, and you felt yourself falling even deeper.

"cum for me, baby," he urged, his voice hoarse with longing. "let me feel you tighten around me."

your breath hitched as you felt your orgasm building. heeseung quickened his pace slight. your hips starting to move to meet his as you both chased the release that was so close.

"that's it, baby," he encouraged, his eyes never leaving yours. "cum for me. let go."

with a cry, you surrendered to the pleasure, your body shaking as you fell over the edge. heeseung followed soon after, his eyes rolling back in his head as he filled you with his release. cumming together even felt more intimate this time.

heeseung pulls out of you and moves to lay beside you. both of you are catching your breaths. it feels overwhelming for you. his touches are gentle as he traces his fingers down your arm. he’s pressing soft, lingering kisses into your shoulder. this doesn’t feel like something casual; it feels like love, like a relationship. a relationship that you suddenly realize you want. but you know heeseung doesn't want the same, and that realization hits you like a ton of bricks.

you feel like you have no other option than to jump out of his bed. to get away from him. you start trying to get dressed quickly, but tears start to fall, blurring your vision. your breaths are hitched as you try to grab your clothes.

behind you, heeseung sits up, concern etched on his face.

“what’s wrong?” heeseung asks, but you ignore him, the emotions are too raw and painful. “please, tell me,” he continued to pry, his voice breaking with worry.

you start to head for the door. your heart and head telling you two opposite things. but when you reach the handle, heeseung has already stood up and grabbed your arm. he spins you around so your body is pressed between him and his door. he’s pulling you close to him so you’re forced to look at him through your tears. “did i hurt you, baby? i didn’t mean to if i did, you couldn’t told me to stop, i-”

you dryly laugh, because his concern that he may have physically hurt you makes you fall for him harder. he’s too gentle with you, too sweet.

“no, you didn’t,” you say, choking on your tears.

“then why are you crying? tell me, baby,” heeseung pleads, his eyes searching yours.

you take a shaky breath, finally letting the words tumble out. “because i want more than this, heeseung. i want a relationship. i want you.” he stays silent as he stares at you, “but i know, we made a no strings attached deal. so i understand that we don’t want the same thing anymore.”

heeseung’s eyes widen in surprise, and he gently sits you back down on the bed. he wipes your tears away, his touch tender and comforting. part of you wants to melt into his touch, and the other part is screaming at you to leave.

“yn, i’ve loved you since i met you at that very first party,” he confesses, his voice soft but sure. “i didn’t think you’d ever feel the same about me. i mean, i had heard so many times that you’re only into casual sex, so i didn’t think i’d have a shot.”

you look at him, your heart swelling with relief and joy. “really?”

“really,” he says, smiling. “i was an idiot for not telling you sooner.”

you laugh through your tears, “we were both idiots.”

heeseung leans in, and you both share a sweet, deep kiss. the first kiss that doesn’t have any hidden intentions. both of your true feelings were out in the open, allowing you to feel them in this kiss.

heeseung pulls back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “so, does this mean i can call you my girlfriend now?”

you laugh, playfully shoving him. “shut up, heeseung.”

he grins, pulling you into another kiss.

the sun was setting over the horizon, casting a warm, golden hue over the beach. you, gracie, and yooyeon are lounging on beach chairs outside heeseung’s family beach house. the soft sound of cicadas from the day were quieting out.

gracie sips her drink and looks over at you with a teasing smile. “why didn’t become casual with heeseung sooner, yn?”

yooyeon nods in agreement. “yeah, we could’ve been spending our summers here all along. this place is amazing.”

you laugh, “because he was the “walking std” remember?” gracie and yooyeon laugh and clink their drinks together before drinking from them.

as you’re laughing at them for celebrating your relationship, you feel a pair of arms wrap around you from behind, and you squeal in surprise as heeseung kisses the side of your neck.

“well i guess you were right,” heeseung says in your ear.

“about what?” you question him as you look upwards.

“being casual with me wouldn’t work out.”

everyone bursts into laughter. you lean into heeseung’s embrace as he sits down beside you, feeling his warmth and comfort that have become so familiar to you.

“yeah, i think we figured that out,” you say, smiling up at him.

heeseung kisses you again, and you close your eyes, savoring the moment. surrounded by your friends and the boy you love, everything feels perfect.

you love being in a relationship.

you’ve realized the finding someone special, who makes your heart race and brings joy to your life is easier than pushing everyone away. you’ve learnt to find comfort in the depth and connection that comes with a committed relationship. there’s something beautiful about sharing your life, dreams, and fears with someone who truly cares. you no longer want any fleeting encounters with no meaning.

and you’re happy that you’ve found that with lee heeseung (even if he is kind of annoying).

@ taeghi, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway.

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY, AS LIKES MAKE IT HARD FOR WORK TO BE SPREAD AND ENJOYED BY OTHERS :)

stay safe everyone :)

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mypoisonedvine · 1 year

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𝖇𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖙𝖘 | professor!jonathan crane x batgirl!reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 | it can be difficult, living a double life: spending your days as a scholarship student at gotham university, and your nights as batgirl, the legendary heroine, fighting alongside batman and robin. though it proves to take a toll on you mentally and physically, flunked term papers and missed lectures will be the least of your problems when you encounter the scarecrow somewhere in the shadowy alleyways of gotham...

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 | 7k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 | NONCON SMUT (18+ only; violent/rough sex, use of fear toxin, degradation, semi-public sex/exhibitionism, bondage), professor/student dynamic (therefore implied age gap), some angst and depiction of ptsd/aftermath, reader is dating robin/tim drake

“And so,” Professor Crane continued, looking towards the class from the board, chalk in hand, "this triggers the fear response, and all that comes with it. You're probably familiar with the symptoms of fear: heart rate increase, cold sweat, overall heightened arousal."

A few giggles could be heard at that, and he rolled his eyes.

"Not that sort of arousal, necessarily," he frowned.

Everyone else just brushed off the childish humor of the moment, but you narrowed your eyes, getting a sense that the word necessarily was doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence.

He returned to his lecture, drawing lines in chalk over his crude diagram of the human brain, explaining how each area of the brain contributed to fear and the fight-or-flight response. As he spoke, you re-read the handout he’d given today— and you chewed on your lip absent-mindedly as you reviewed the bibliography.

"Dr. Crane?" you raised your hand, interrupting his lecture mid-sentence. "I had a question about some of the studies you reference here."

"Yes?" he returned, turning to face you with a slightly confused expression.

"Well you cite a paper out of Berkeley from 2002, to support the conclusion that exposure therapy is the best response to aggressive phobias— however, if you actually read the paper—"

"I read the paper, Miss," he interrupted sternly.

"Then, if you actually understood the paper," you continued, a few students gasping and laughing softly at your insubordination, "then you would see that the conclusions indicate the perceived decrease in fear response comes at the expense of long-term stability. Don't you think that negates any positive implications?"

The silence in the room was tense: everyone was waiting for how he would respond to your critique. Instead, he just smiled at you slightly. "I think you may have more context for how research is conducted, and reevaluate your conclusions, when you get a chance to organize your own research— in about a decade."

"Actually, Professor, I'll be leading my own experiment this quarter," you corrected, just as he was about to turn away from you and keep lecturing. "I'm the recipient of the Wayne Enterprises Collegiate Scholarship— which pays for my education here and also comes with a fifty thousand dollar research grant."

“Ah,” he said, bitterness dripping from his tone as he set his hands on the desk and leaned forward a bit. “May I ask what topic you hope to explore with your research?”

“Crime,” you explained, “and criminal behavior.”

“Hm,” he nodded, frowning slightly in an impressed sort of way, taking his weight off the desk. “And it doesn’t bother you that you’re here studying psychology?”

You lowered your brow, confused by his question. “I’m sorry?”

“Criminology is a subfield of sociology, which is related to but distinct from psychology,” he explained.

“Would you recommend that I switch majors, Doctor?” you asked simply.

“Well, it’s no secret that you’ve set the curve on our last two exams,” Dr. Crane smiled, tilting his head slightly. “So, no— I think I’d rather keep you here.”

You straightened up slightly, taken aback by his wording.

“Plus, while you’re still in my department,” he continued, “I have a better chance of talking some sense into you.”

With that, he returned to teaching, and you noticed how the other students were watching you before you sighed and tried to listen to the rest of class.

You caught up with him on a long stretch of hallway, just as he stepped up to his office door. “Professor!” you got his attention, and he turned to you with a slightly smug look as he held his hands together.

“Ah, yes,” he greeted, “I see you’re here to apologize for how you spoke to me in class today?”

You knew he didn’t actually expect that, he knew better after having you under him for the last two quarters— um, so to speak. “Just as soon as you do,” you offered with a smirk in return, shifting your weight on your hip.

That was what moved your button-down slightly, and his eyes drifted down to your neck— when they did, confusion and concern suddenly painted his expression. “My,” he gasped a little, pulling on the collar of your shirt with one finger to expose a healing scrape on your chest; his fingertip brushed over your skin and the golden chain of your necklace, and you jumped away slightly. “How’d you get that?”

“It’s nothing—” you blurted out, blinking quickly, “I tripped, on campus, actually.”

“That wonky step up to the Commons?” he assumed. “I’ve filed two complaints about that loose brick…”

“Yes,” you agreed quickly, smiling. “Yeah, I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I didn’t catch myself well while holding my books—”

“Hm,” he nodded back, “that’s a shame. A girl as smart as you, forgetting the Commons building doesn’t have brick steps— or steps at all, in fact.”

You swallowed thickly, glancing away.

“You sure were eager for an explanation, though,” he smiled. “How’d you really get such a nasty scrape? It does look like concrete, but I’m guessing it didn’t happen on campus—”

“It’s no matter,” you assured.

“It wasn’t that boyfriend of yours, was it?” he pressed. “Mr. Drake, as I recall?”

“Wha— no!” you gasped.

“He’s not your boyfriend?”

“Well, he is,” you explained, “but he didn’t—”

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Crane offered, lowering his voice slightly.

“Of course,” you sighed, “but there’s nothing to tell. Things are fine with Tim, I promise.”

“He shared your interest in criminal studies, didn’t he?” Professor Crane recalled. “Clearly, he didn’t share your scholarly aptitude, though, seeing as he’s dropped out.”

“H-he was smart enough,” you justified, “he left because of stress.”

“Ah,” the Professor nodded, “and he doesn’t take that stress out on you at all?”

“C’mon, Professor, Tim’s a good person,” you promised.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Crane replied, “but it’s the ones that act the kindest that have the most to hide, isn’t it?”

You knew there was another meaning to that statement, but there were so many possibilities that you couldn’t settle on one.

“You understand that if I suspect anything, I’m required to alert our student wellness services,” he reminded you. “They’ll have a counselor reach out to you—”

“Listen, Dr. Crane— I didn’t come here to speak to you about my personal life,” you reminded him, “I wanted to ask you about my performance in the class so far, in your opinion.”

He paused before sighing in relent. “I’m a little concerned, actually,” he admitted, “about your most recent paper.”

He pulled it from the folder under his arm and handed it back to you— covered in red ink. You blinked at him, biting your lip in confusion. “I thought these wouldn’t be returned until—”

“I worked on yours first,” he explained quickly, even though that explanation only brought more questions than answers. “It’s still very strong, but it’s not what I expect from you at this point. It feels rushed.”

Rushed— yeah, I remember this one. I wrote it all the night it was due because I spent the three days before recovering from that fight with Falcone’s thugs at the docks—

“I’ll let you rewrite it,” he offered, “if you can get it back to me before I return the rest of your classmates’ work.”

You laughed a little, looking at the paper in front of you, and Crane knitted his brows together. “You know, Professor, sometimes I can’t tell if I’m your favorite student, or your most hated.”

He smiled a little, glancing down briefly at the floor in a sort of self-effacing way. “I don’t have favorites,” he assured, unconvincingly. “You’re not my best student, or my worst— you’re an entirely different kind of student. You’re nothing like those other… juvenile, moronic co-eds looking in the exact wrong place for an easy A.”

Your eyes widened a little, seeing the way he let a little irritation— disdain, really— paint his tone. He snarled a bit as he spoke, his nostrils flaring; like he was holding it back, how much resentment he really had for your classmates.

As quickly as it came, he seemed to shake it off, and then he smiled again… but it was tight, and forced, you could see that just as easily. “You challenge me,” he finished quickly. “I appreciate that as much as I detest it.”

You smiled back, somewhat genuinely despite the icky feeling that suddenly wiggled in your stomach. “I suppose I feel the same way,” you admitted.

He opened his mouth, hesitating slightly, before tilting his head the other way and starting over. “Could you come into my office for a minute?” he asked suddenly, a strange glimmer in his eyes behind the thin silver glasses. “I’d like to show you my latest work— I think you’ll find it quite intriguing…”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a ring of keys and started to unlock his office door, and you didn’t feel too excellent about it.

Just then, a group of students walked by, and you heard them talking amongst each other as one looked at a text message on her phone. “Oh my god,” one said as she explained to those around her, “my friend’s at the bank right now— she said someone’s holding up the place…”

“What?” another student asked, and you tilted your head a bit to hear them better.

“Yeah, the one on Main and 57th? The police aren’t there yet— she said they have guns…”

Your heart started to race. Sounds like a job for Batgirl.

Crane was in his own world, though, about to open the door. “Maybe I can even convince you to change some of your conclusions about the study of fear,” he posited.

You stepped back, motivated to leave just as much by a strange suspicion of Professor Crane as the opportunity to stop the nearby bank robbery. “I-I have to go,” you said, before you’d thought of a good excuse— and that hadn’t gone well for you last time, but hopefully he wasn’t going to quiz you on campus architecture again to trip you up.

He looked confused, a little sad even, as he turned to you again. “This won’t take long,” he promised, “I’d just like to show you—”

“Sorry,” you blurted out as you kept backing up, “I gotta… you know, um… buy tampons.”

Hoping something that awkward would get him to stop asking questions, you turned on your heel and darted off down the hall, looking for the best way off campus and to a secluded spot where you could pull your Batgirl get-up out of the false compartment in your bag and get to work.

“I don’t like you going out there alone,” Bruce said flatly, not looking up from his hands clasped in his lap.

“Wow, really?” you rolled your eyes, feigning surprise. “News to me.”

“You’re too young, and it’s dangerous,” he continued anyway.

“Doing all the greatest hits tonight, huh?” you smirked. “Next you’ll say you need to keep up your identity better, study hard so no one suspects you and then finish it off with don’t touch the Batmobile.”

He sighed and shook his head. “You can touch it, you just can’t drive it.”

“Right,” you agreed flatly, sighing as you adjusted in your spot on the couch. You’d taken up shop here in the Wayne Manor private library: something about your interaction with Professor Crane yesterday made you want to study off-campus for the afternoon…

You knew Bruce had a point about working alone— you didn’t really want to be alone, you were certainly safer when you had Batman by your side. The problem was that you were too safe… Bruce protected you so well that he hindered you; you’d accused him of wanting you to just stay behind and patch him up after fights rather than actually helping. He denied it, obviously, but actions speak louder than words— and there was such a difference in the way he treated you and Robin was obvious.

In fact, that itself had driven a wedge between you and your boyfriend— one of many reasons Bruce had implored you both not to get involved in that way, but it was sort of unavoidable. You can only do such high intensity, high pressure work alongside someone for so long before the tension is too much to bear…

Then again, that very tension that made your relationship with Tim threatened to break it, and you knew that— you felt that, even now, as he looked at you with a sympathetic sort of stare. You cleared your throat and focused on your book again.

“Please don’t go out without us again,” Tim asked— softer, sweeter, lacking that father-figure-sternness Bruce was always trying to muster.

“I think the people in that bank are pretty happy that I did,” you replied with a snarky smile.

“We were on our way—” Bruce began.

“It was a one man job!” you insisted.

“There were seven men on that heist team— and two more parked outside,” Bruce explained, getting more frustrated as this discussion continued. “It doesn’t matter. We work as a team.”

“Except when you go out alone,” you reminded him.

“I’ve been doing this longer,” he explained, standing up, “I’ve been doing it better, and I’ve been doing it on my own since you were still in high school.”

“Then why did you take me in?” you returned sharply, knitting your brows together in confusion and frustration. “Why did you train me, why did you bring me here and tell me the truth?”

“Because I saw your potential,” he answered as he began to walk away, “not because you’re ready to save the whole fucking world by yourself.”

You shook your head in frustration— almost disbelief, except of course he would do this— as Bruce shut the door behind him. Conversation didn’t go his way, he just left— that was normal. Ironic, for a man who interrogated criminals on the street almost daily.

“He’s right,” Tim informed you after a pregnant pause, and you glared at him.

“Would you excuse me? I have to study,” you explained sharply as you motioned to the textbooks and notepads laid out on the table, as you’d had them before you were interrupted by these two, “because apparently the best thing Batgirl can do is not be Batgirl.”

“Hey,” Tim sighed, “he doesn’t mean it like that… he just wants you to keep focusing on your studies, that’s all.”

“I just think it’s funny—” you began.

“I bet it’s not gonna be very funny,” Tim noticed with a frown.

“— that Bruce thinks it’s so important that I keep my grades up so nobody knows what I’m doing at night— so nobody knows that I’m not getting any goddamn sleep— but you got to drop out and that apparently wasn’t going to make anybody suspicious?” you noticed. “You know, I had a professor ask me about you today— wondering what was up with you leaving so suddenly. Why is nobody worried about that?”

“We worry about you because we care about you,” he explained.

You tossed your books aside, standing up to face Tim properly. “That’s bullshit,” you spat.

“You think I don’t care about you, seriously?” he asked.

“I know you care about me, but you don’t respect me,” you explained, “neither of you do. You two go off and do what you want, you’d rather me be your nurse than actually be out there— when you know damn well that you need me!”

“I need you,” Tim promised, “in so many ways. That’s why I can’t let anything happen to you—”

“Well, things need to happen to me sometimes! Isn’t that what life is, things happening to you?!” you laughed exasperatedly. “I mean, shit, why do I go to school at all? Why don’t you guys just lock me at the top of Wayne Tower and I’ll never ever leave and you can just climb up my hair when you wanna come visit!”

“Christ,” Tim groaned, “you are so fucking ridiculous sometimes— what are you trying to prove? Why do you need to be out there every night beating up bad guys, whether Bruce tells you to or not?”

Instead of answering that, you simply accused: “He obviously likes you better than me.”

“Is that really what this is about? You want Bruce to like you?!” Tim scoffed. “Are you that shallow?”

“I want him to trust me!” you clarified. “I want him to understand what I’m capable of!”

“You know what you’re capable of,” he replied, grabbing your shoulders. “I know. Is that not enough?”

You let out a long breath, looking down at the floor.

“I love you,” Tim sighed— but it didn’t sound very sweet when he said it like that, it sounded sad.

“I love you too,” you replied instinctively, but it felt oddly hollow leaving your lips.

“Please,” he breathed as he pressed his forehead to yours, “please stay safe. You’re stronger than me, you can take a lot more than I can.”

You were about to ask him what he meant by that, since you both knew he was physically stronger and more resilient than you, walking away from fights that could’ve put you in a stretcher. But before you could ask, he spoke again.

“My heart can only take so much.”

But that only proved your point, though you didn’t tell him out loud: that what him and Bruce wanted you to do had nothing to do with your strength, and everything to do with their weakness.

In your defense, you took the night off.

But the next night, you had to get out there— Bruce and Tim told you to stay behind so Batman and Robin could go save the day, and you? You were holding down the fort, keeping the couch warm. What a fucking waste; there was more evil in this city than two men could purge— there was more for you to do. As tempting as it was to meet them at the rendezvous location they’d figured out and try to help clear out the gangsters there buying an illegal weapons shipment, you knew that would just lead to the same fight again. This time, the plan was to go out, kick some criminal ass, come back, and leave Bruce none the wiser.

You scanned police radios patiently, waiting for just the right thing— small enough to fix on your own, big enough to matter. You wished, sometimes, that you had less to choose from…

Units respond, units respond — 10-79 reported at West Main and 88th.

Bomb threat. That felt manageable, and you were pretty handy with defusal in case that threat had any credibility. You turned off the radio and stood up, looking down over the city from your vantage point on a highrise fire escape. It was beautiful, in its grimy Gotham way: a light rainfall coated everything in a fuzzy static like old film; it made the concrete reflect the neon lights a little clearer, the whole skyline sort of slick and steamy.

Running and jumping to the next roof, you made a path to your destination and navigated the city unseen, like any good Bat-person would.

You were nearly there when you stopped on a roof above an abandoned manufacturing plant— well, that’s the thing, it wasn’t as abandoned as you thought. There was a glass sunroof, and even though it was dark and rainy, the light inside brought your attention to a group of men inside. Not to profile or anything, but 4 bald guys with guns standing around is usually a good sign that someone’s up to no good…

Trying to get a better look at what was going on inside, you carefully lifted one of the glass panels and slipped inside, sneaking around the metal scaffolding as the sound of the rain was muffled and replaced with distance, echoing voices.

You crouched in the rafters, watching with narrowed eyes as the group of men faced against a figure you couldn’t make out with the shadows and pillars in the way.

“So, are we good for this deal, or what?” the leader of the group asked.

A modulated, deeper voice answered: “This is half of what we agreed.”

“My team had some… road bumps, trying to bring this to you,” the man explained, stepping forward slightly. “We lost some of the compound. This is what we’re offering, take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” the shadowy figure agreed. “How much for what’s left?”

“The same price we discussed.”

“For half the amount? How does that work?”

“It’s a flat rate,” the smuggler— that’s what he must have been, right?— explained with a smug smirk. “In fact, I should charge you more— call it hazard pay, for what my men had to go through to get this here.”

“I see,” the deeper voice replied. “How about this: I kill all of you, and take it.”

Your eyes widened; isn’t this guy alone? He’s sure got some balls…

The group of men paused before beginning to laugh. “You?” the leader repeated. “This skinny guy in the suit is gonna kill all of us?”

“I can do worse than that— I’ll make you beg for me to kill you.”

Feeling the tension of this discussion reach its breaking point, you realized you needed to intervene now: leaning over to make sure you had the right spot under you, you took the grappling hook off of your belt and pointed it down.

Firing it with a metallic whooshing sort of sound, the device grabbed one of the men and yanked him up into the shadows of the ceiling with you. Everyone on the ground looked up in shock and fear, pointing their guns aimlessly into the darkness. Before he could even really react to what had just occurred, you dropped the man back down— onto one of his friends, of course, which incapacitated them both but saved him from a much worse fate than if he’d landed on that concrete warehouse floor.

“What the fuck?” the leader of the group yelled as he tried to fire indiscriminately up at you— but you were already running along the steel beam, following one of the men as he tried to make a dash for the exit.

A blast from your long-distance taser gun brought him to the ground instantly, and as the last one left searched for the source of your attacks, you jumped down to the ground just behind him, landing in a crouched position. As soon as he’d turned around to face you, you’d grabbed a loose metal pipe from nearby and hit him over the head with an oddly-satisfying bong noise.

You knew the other man was still somewhere in the dark nearby, and you called out for him: “Whoever you are, stop hiding in the shadows: that’s kinda my thing,” you informed him.

He stepped forward in the cool, gray light: a man in a torn and tattered suit, with a burlap mask that had massive stitches like scars. Batman had just warned you about this guy, what was his name again?

"My," he purred with pleasant shock, his voice clearly deepened electronically by something in that sack on his head. "If it isn't Batgirl. Nice outfit, very… shiny."

"Yours looks pretty rough," you noticed.

He shrugged. "It does the job."

You smiled back, remembering finally who you were dealing with. "Not with me. I'm not scared of you, Scarecrow."

"You will be," he promised.

You swung first, a roundhouse kick right at his head, but he ducked and came back up at you— he tried to grab you but you slipped away.

Instead of going after you again, he ran— grabbed one of the suitcases off of the palette nearby, whatever this ‘shipment’ was, and bolted for the door into the alleyway. You almost laughed, impressed that he thought he could outrun you, but then again this was the guy who threatened to kill four armed men straight to their face.

You chased him right out the door, but as you dashed into the alley behind the manufacturing plant— the one that faced the northern street— you learned a moment too late that he hadn’t run at all, but was waiting for you there.

He sprayed something in your face, and you coughed as a cloud of vapor filled your lungs. You assumed it was pepper spray at first, but it didn't burn— actually, it smelled a little sweet, sort of herbal. But the effects were almost instantaneous, the pounding in your chest and the sinking feeling in your gut, the world spinning around you.

The fear response: heart rate increase, cold sweat, overall heightened arousal.

Instantly you felt old memories rushing in— awful, horrifying ones, and even worse than you remembered them. For a moment, there was fear with no real object, just the feeling… until he grabbed your face and forced you to look at him, at the wicked mask that seemed impossibly close— that seemed like it could swallow you whole. You screamed, trying to turn away or shut your eyes or something, but nothing assuaged the terror.

"Please," you sobbed. "Make it stop! Please!"

“Nothing can stop it now,” his voice returned— even rougher and darker than before, the deep bass of it making you shiver. “This is who you are. Give in to the fear.”

If nothing else, he had a point that fighting it wasn’t proving very useful— but giving in meant letting the world collapse in on you, letting the darkness pull you back… the darkness you’d fought so hard to make into an ally was becoming your enemy again.

He grabbed your mask and tugged it away; even overwhelmed with primal terror, enough logic remained for you to reach up and try to cover your face.

But he simply grabbed your hands and shoved them away. You heard a laugh behind that horrible mask, just before he suddenly took it off.

The toxin changed his face, too— his smile was wider and his teeth sharper, his eyes totally black— and you couldn't recognize him at first. Only when he addressed you by name did you finally put it together; "Professor Crane?" you realized with a horrified gasp.

"I imagine you haven't finished rewriting that paper yet?"

"Oh god," you sobbed, "you— you're— how can you do this?"

You struggled against him again, but he held you back effortlessly. “I said I liked you because you’re a challenge,” he remembered with a laugh. “But out here, you’re no challenge at all. Just a stupid little girl in a mask.”

He slapped you hard across the face, making you stumble even more as you lost your balance, colliding with the damp black asphalt.

He descended onto you, turning you on your back when you tried to hide your face in your arm as an escape from the terrifying visions. “I’ve been waiting for a chance to put you in your place,” he admitted with a growl as he started to pull your armored clothes off of you roughly. “You act a little too fearless for my liking… good to know it’s all an act.”

You cried, shaking and flailing beneath him, but you couldn’t actually put up a fight like this— the darkness throbbed around you, shadows reaching out to pull you into their abyss. “Please,” you begged again, “no! Stop, please!”

You weren’t even sure yourself if you were talking to him or to the hallucinated, anthropomorphized energy in the dark, but neither stopped. He struggled at times to get your clothes off, they weren’t exactly designed to come off quickly but you shuddered violently from the cool night air when your chest was exposed. You heard a deep growl from him, and you whimpered loudly as his hands ran over your skin. “What are you so scared of?” he asked, sounding amused— but in your mind, those hands were claws that could shred you to pieces at any moment, and you breathed so fast that your chest just spasmed and quaked. “I think you’ve been needing this for a while…”

He roughly turned you onto your stomach, face down against the street, and started to tug down your pants. You were too scared to even beg him to stop, to try to bargain or reason with him— you just shuddered and cried, hiding your face and hoping for relief from the dread.

He smacked you on your bare ass, once it was exposed, and chuckled to himself at your whine in response. The next thing you heard was the sound of a belt opening, a zipper unzipped…

Was it the toxin that made you afraid he would rip you in half, when he pressed his erection against your thigh? Or was that just common sense?

You grimaced when you heard him spit into his hand, but it fell into a whining cry as he pushed his tip against your opening. With your pants only down to your knees, you couldn’t even spread your legs at all, making you feel even more like there was no chance he could fit. The sick, anxious fear felt a little different now— maybe not as strong, but mostly just something new… something deeper and subtler and heavier. It wasn’t visions of monsters or memories of suffering, it was just this inevitable violation and the sureness that you were completely helpless.

He pushed his hips forward sharply, making you scream out and instantly reach back to try to grab his hips and push them away. He ignored it and kept going forward with a low groan. “Mm, you can take it,” he promised gruffly. “Fucking take it.”

You cried as he put a hand on your shoulders, keeping you pressed down painfully into the ground, as he slid the rest of the way in.

It stung, it stretched you in an awful way and went far too deep… but you were wet, you could feel it. Overall heightened arousal… not that sort of arousal, necessarily. He obviously noticed as well, growling a bit. “You like this, hm?” he accused.

“N-no,” you managed to slur, but it was hard to even breathe with his weight pressing you down. You pushed back harder against his thighs through his undone trousers, but he growled and grab your hand to pin it down above your head. He brought the other up beside it, and quickly pulled his belt out from the loops to tie around your wrists. “Professor,” you pleaded under your breath, feeling your warm tears mix with the cold rain on the ground.

But he was already inside you, it was too late for that— and with your hands conveniently out of the way, he breathed heavy as he started to pull back and shove back in.

There was no build-up after that, he just fucked you as hard and fast as he wanted with no regard for how you cried and struggled under him. He grabbed your hair and forced your head back awkwardly as you sobbed.

“Say my name,” he ordered, apparently irritated by the title of ‘Professor’ — but you didn’t know for sure if he wanted to be addressed as Jonathan or Scarecrow, and you feared the consequences if you chose incorrectly.

Still, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “J-Jonathan,” you spat out hoarsely, and he grinned happily before dropping you back onto the ground. You struggled against the belt around your wrists— not actually expecting to get out of it, and not having any plan if you did, just mainly out of instinct. All it did was dig the sharp edge of the leather into your skin, making you cry harder.

It rocked you back and forth on the ground, those rough thrusts— the friction inside you was hot and fast, and each time he slammed all the way in, you heard the clapping of skin on skin and felt his tip ram against the deepest places inside you. You didn’t even realize it was possible to be bruised inside like that, but you knew you would be by the end of this.

He didn’t slow down, really, but he changed his rhythm slightly and found an angle to go even just a bit deeper into you, until you whined pathetically with every pump into you. It seemed like the toxin was wearing off, in that you weren’t seeing things anymore, but there was still obviously a sick feeling in your stomach, and an unreliable beating in your chest, and a deep throbbing in your ears.

“You’re getting even wetter,” he noticed with a low chuckle, and you whimpered as you hoped not to have to acknowledge that. “Fucking soaking me— poor girl, I don’t think you can help it…”

At least it made this hurt a little less, but no amount of wetness could prevent him from holding your hips painfully tight and fucking you so forcefully it seemed hateful. You whined loudly with every movement, fingers curling into shaky fists even when it was useless with his belt restraining you.

When you turned your face to the side, you saw figures at the other end of the alley— not hallucinations, nothing scary, just passersby on the street— and you reached out for them instinctively as hope flooded your chest. Blinking the tears from your eyes, you could see them clearer: a man and woman, older, well-dressed. “P-please,” you croaked out in a broken voice, “please, help me— call the police—”

They heard you, and they turned and looked at you, only to grimace and turn away; the man pulled his date closer, shuffling her away with him as they kept walking. You whimpered pathetically, and Crane laughed above you. “That’s Gotham for you,” he mused. “No one wants to get involved. These are the people Batgirl wants to save?”

They weren’t the only ones who saw, either; later, a small crowd of young men in bandanas and baggy pants passed by— some of them looked young enough to still be in high school. You prayed to anything that would listen that they would move along without noticing, but one of them saw and pointed at you two with a scoffing laugh. Feeling as if you could throw up, you shut your eyes tight and heard the chorus of jeers as they realized what they were seeing. They laughed and hollered; what the fuck, dude! and ohh shit and hey, she’s pretty hot declared in juvenile voices between raunchy chuckles. You saw flashes of light when you blinked your eyes— were they taking pictures of this with their phones? You wondered if Jonathan would be forced to stop them, if he was concerned about evidence, but he didn’t react at all… he didn’t even slow down.

Once they’d gotten an eyeful and the sight had lost its shock, they wandered away— you could still hear their voices echoing around the buildings for a moment until it all faded in with the ambient sounds of the city: sirens, horns, footsteps, and that perpetual Gotham drizzle.

“I can feel it,” he whispered to you suddenly, “it keeps squeezing me. Such a needy fucking cunt.”

You didn’t know if the ‘cunt’ was referring to your anatomy or to you as a person, and either option made your throat a little dry— but dryness was the least of your problems between your legs, in fact you were pretty sure you were dripping now, you could feel how slippery and sticky you’d become. Your thighs were coated, it was even running down over your swelling and neglected clit.

He lowered himself a bit, resting his arms beside your head and breathing close to your ear. He even brushed some of your hair out of the way with his hand, wanting to get a better look at your face, and you shut your eyes.

Increasingly loud groans and sighs above you made you realize what was about to happen, just as much as the throbbing feeling inside you.

“F-fuck,” he let out in a scratchy voice. “Fuck!”

You whimpered yourself just as you heard him choke out a sort of high-pitched, shaky moan, and his thrusts went from erratic and desperate to slower and uneven. He twitched inside you, and you felt the flood of heat in impossible contrast to the cold ground under you.

“God…” he groaned, his hand on your shoulder tightening and digging a little too deep into your skin. Then he laughed a little as he finally came to a stop— breathless, light, almost making him sound impressed. With you or himself, it’s hard to say; it sounded like a laugh of relief.

A lump formed in your throat as you considered what you were supposed to do now— he’d just come inside you, raw, and it made your stomach sink (but it made your walls clench unexpectedly, too). As he carefully pulled out, you whimpered at the way it reawakened the sting of his first entrance— especially when he first pushed inside. He sighed heavily when he finally got himself out of you completely, and then his hands— hot, a little clammy, and strong— came into view to free your aching wrists from his belt.

He stood up over you, and you heard him readjust his trousers before zipping them up and putting back on his belt. “Was it good for you?” he asked with a quiet, but smug, chuckle.

Bringing your hands nearer to press against the ground, you tried to lift yourself up on shaking arms. When your torso was only a few inches off the pavement, Jonathan put his polished shoe on your back between your shoulder blades and pushed you back down. You whimpered as he looked down at you, tilting his head while he admired your helpless form.

“Stay down,” he ordered.

Finally taking his foot off of you, he picked his mask up from the ground, sighing as he shook some of the raindrops off of it and put it back on.

“Well,” he began with a sigh, his voice modulated by the sack over his head again, “I’ll see you in class. I look forward to seeing what you do with that paper.”

You didn’t watch him leave; you just heard the warehouse door shut again. Your eyes were looking blankly forward, blinking away stinging tears, looking at the way the neon lights of the buildings across the street reflected in the puddles on the ground.

You jolted, much more than necessary, when someone knocked on the bathroom door; it made the water in your bath ripple, though the fluffy white surface of the bubbles was hardly disturbed. “Can I come in?” you heard Bruce’s voice.

“Yeah,” you answered, but he stopped when he opened the door.

“You’re not decent,” he noticed, turning away.

“There’s bubbles everywhere, you can’t see anything,” you sighed, and he stepped the rest of the way in. A pause that both of you pretended wasn’t awkward occurred.

“Tim told me that you came back roughed up,” he said eventually.

You said nothing.

“I told you not to—” he began.

“I know.”

He sighed; you kept staring forward at the white tile wall in front of you. "What happened?" he asked simply.

“I know Tim told you already— two guys, probably Falcone’s— they went at me in a tunnel by the Southside,” you explained with a sigh. “I was just following a stolen van, I didn’t know who took it— I would’ve called you if I knew. I just wanted something I could handle on my own.”

You knew the story didn’t add up; Falcone’s men would’ve probably given you a black eye, maybe a broken nose, and bruises on your stomach from kicks and punches. Instead what you had were concrete scrapes on your cheek, fingerprint-sized bruises on your hips and thighs, and thin abrasions all around your wrists. Not to mention the jitters and auditory hallucinations from working Crane’s toxin out of your system— his voice, still in your ear: just a stupid little girl in a mask. You’d stopped looking over your shoulder by now, but your heart still raced every time.

You knew the story didn’t add up, but you knew it didn’t matter, because Bruce was going to buy it. He wasn’t ready to imagine the truth yet. This time, when you heard Crane’s voice, it wasn’t a hallucination but a memory: you sure were eager for an explanation.

Bruce nodded and began to walk out of the bathroom. “Alright,” he said. “Rest up.”

You scoffed to yourself as he left quietly— for a detective, he still had a few blindspots. Surely, we all do.

Left alone in the bathroom again, you were surrounded by silence once more. In silence, it was easier to hear his voice in your ear. Just a stupid little girl in a mask.

The shrill sound of your cell phone startled you, and you awkwardly leaned out of the tub just far enough to grab it off of the pile of towels you'd left it on.

"Hello?" you answered, irritation obvious in your tone.

“Hello, ma’am, this is Tracy from the Gotham University Student Wellness Center,” the sweet, lilting voice came from the other end of the line. “We recently received notice of concern that you may be experiencing domestic violence. We’d love for you to come into our office to discuss this and receive complementary counseling, when’s a good time that we could—?”

You hung up and tossed the phone away, sinking down into the water.

#cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy x reader #scarecrow smut #scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane dark fic

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fairyysoup · 7 months

Text

his hands

pairing(s): hairdresser!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: How do you make getting a haircut an erotic experience? You have Eddie Munson as your hairdresser, of course.

cw: explicit, smut, unprotected piv sex, mirror sex, workplace sex, hand kink, choking, dumbification, dom!eddie, touch-starved!reader, semi-sort-of subspace happenings, referring to genitals with gendered pronouns, slight body worship, getting weirdly horny over a head massage, sexual tension, negative self talk, hair cut/style mentioned but no description of hair color/type, the aftercare is the haircut lol, implied 90s au, eddie's like 30, reader's age unspecified, eddie is employee of the month in my heart, not proofread, no beta we die like men

a/n: this is weird. and came from an interesting experience i had at the hair salon. and yes that is corpse's hand in that pic i didn't want to spend all day looking for a header pic shut up shut up shut up

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Your hands twitch on the copy of Elle magazine in your lap. The familiar waiting area of your local salon has new furniture, which still smells a bit like the cellophane it came wrapped in, and hasn’t been worn out by patrons just yet. You’d asked for your usual stylist, Melissa. Except, you haven’t been here in so long, and apparently Melissa doesn’t work here anymore.

“We have a new stylist in her place,” the greeter at the front desk told you kindly. “I could fit you in if you’d like that same station?”

The station doesn’t matter to you; they all look the same and have the same tools. Obviously, when it comes to getting your hair cut, the stylist makes the difference. But, since you’re a couple months too late to catch up with Melissa, a new stylist is who you’ll be working with.

The PA still plays some sort of weird pop-rock fusion that mixes Nat King Cole with Billy Idol, but you just try to focus on it to keep your leg from bouncing. You always get anxious like this when you come in for an appointment, even though you always tell yourself the same thing. It’s just hair. If you don’t like it, it’ll grow back. Or, if worst comes to worst, you could always shave it.

You hear your name being called, and you look up to the person who’d just approached the waiting area around the partition that blocks off the styling area. You blink, your mind going fuzzy as you try to make sense of what you see.

“Looks like I’ll be cutting your hair today,” the man standing at the end of the row of chairs says, with a grin that puts boyish dimples on his cheeks. “I’m Eddie.”

Eddie the Hairdresser is a bit more than you can handle right now. Between his long, curly hair, and the shirt he wears that gives you a view of the tattoos crawling up his arms, you think your knees might already be made out of jelly as you try to stand. But then he sticks out his hand for you to shake, and he’s wearing big, chunky rings that glint in the light, and you think you might swoon like a Victorian damsel.

“I’m, uh–” you begin intelligently, as you fit your hand into his big one. He squeezes just the tiniest bit and smirks at you. “I– I’m trying to, uh–”

“First time?” Eddie asks you with a tilt of his head. His brown eyes crease at the edges with mirth.

“Oh, um, no,” you mutter, looking everywhere but at his dimples. He has a tattoo on his neck of a dragon. You stare at it for a moment too long. “I used to come and see Melissa, forever ago.”

“Oh! Yeah, Melissa was great. She trained me,” Eddie starts jabbering as he tilts his head and leads you around the partition. You’re met with the smell of hairspray and the sound of blow dryers getting louder. “She’s a hard act to follow, but I hope I can do well enough. Let’s get you started with a wash, hm?”

You smile as he winks at you conspiratorially. You always feel a little bit awkward as you sit in the chair for the wash sinks, but Eddie ushers you into it with a little wave of his hand and gently– more gently than you can remember even Melissa being– lifts the ends of your hair and places a soft towel around your shoulders.

“What kept you away all this time?” Eddie asks pleasantly as he tests the water temperature. “Melissa’s been gone for a while.”

“Yeah, I, uh, I was working a lot,” you stumble into an explanation, your cheeks heating up a bit. It’s hard not to feel like you need to repent for not coming in to get a trim every month. “Last time I came in, I got my hair cut really short, so it wasn’t like I needed to come in for a trim for a long time, and by the time I really needed one it was long enough that I could do it myself… so, I just kept doing that.”

“So, what are we doing today?” Eddie inquires as his fingertips brush along your temples to tuck your hair back behind your ears and into the wash basin. With gentle prompting, he tilts your head back into the bin and begins to wet the ends of your hair.

“I figured it’s time I go short again,” you tell him, more confident than you really feel about it. It was a split second decision, one that you made because the reflection in the mirror was looking back at you with such a dead expression that you decided you needed a change in a bad way. For a lighter note, you supplement, “I’m tired of brushing tangles out of my hair every morning, and the other day I had a whole bird’s nest at the back of my neck, y’know.”

“Pssh, I know all about tangles. You saw my hair,” Eddie chuckles as the lukewarm water touches your scalp. Goosebumps rise on your arms while he rambles on, “I have to comb my hair wet or else I look like I got electrocuted. I never used to care about that sort of thing before I went to school for this, but once you start learning about proper treatment it’s kind of hard to ignore. I used to wash my hair with bar soap. Dry as hell, no conditioner. I’m surprised I got it long to begin with.”

You find yourself smiling just thinking about it. “Bar soap? With those curls?”

“Don’t tell anyone, my reputation will be ruined,” Eddie leans down and whispers to you while he reaches for a bottle of shampoo. You hear a crack of a bottle cap, and then his hands are in your hair again, working the sweet smelling soap into your roots. “I’m trying to get employee of the month, but they’re never gonna give it to me if they know I used to sabotage my own hair with Irish Spring.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you tell him sweetly, but you’re barely paying attention to his words anymore. His fingers are pressing into areas on your head that haven’t had a proper massage in forever, and months of tension headaches are being brought to the forefront of your mind.

You never consider how oddly intimate having someone wash your hair is until you’re in the thick of it. Eddie’s thumbs massage circles into your occipitals with just a perfect amount of pressure, and the muscles down the back of your neck slowly melt and relax, moving with the swell of his fingertips. You suddenly feel very relaxed and very sleepy, and your eyelids drift closed as Eddie’s thumbs trace the line of your skull up to your hairline.

It even takes a moment for you to tune into the fact that he’s humming. Under his breath, he’s singing along to the notes of the song on the PA. He’s doing it in such a way that you’re sure he’s not even aware of it, himself, and you’d comment on it if you weren’t afraid that you’d embarrass him. His fingers are massaging circles around your temples now, and while you’re trying to focus on the sound of him harmonizing with the music, your mind is again trying to distract you with the feeling developing at the base of your spine. A ticklish, warm feeling spreads between your hips, disrupting the lull you find yourself in and forcing you to blink your eyes open.

Oh, no. We’re not doing that right now.

You can’t say you’re surprised that this is your response. His hands are all over your head and you haven’t been touched by anyone in… well, a very long time, to say the least. You’re probably a little starved for it, all things considered. But this is really the wrong time and place to be getting turned on by a guy’s touch.

You shift in your seat, trying not to be too obvious about it when Eddie pulls his hands away and begins rinsing your hair again. Crossing your legs would be a dead giveaway, but the warm feeling is turning into a subtle throb between your legs, and Eddie’s hands are back on your head, now gently combing the conditioner through the length of your hair as though he’s petting you.

After a few torturous minutes of trying to ignore the blooming arousal deep in your gut, Eddie cuts the water and wraps your hair in the towel to secure it.

“Now comes the hard part,” Eddie says, probably not meaning to make it sound so suggestive, but your mind seems to be taking its sweet time loitering in the gutter.

You stare dazedly up at the ceiling. Now is the hard part?

Eddie leads you to what used to be Melissa’s station, and swings the swivel chair around for you with a flourish. “Step into my office, sweetheart. I’ll get you all dressed up in a sexy robe and everything.”

You stifle a giggle as you slide into the seat. His “office” is one table in a row of other tables, and two feet away an older woman is getting her hair bleached by a girl with an undercut. As Eddie spins you around, the stylist shoots him a look.

“He’s a shameless flirt,” she tells you, making eye contact with you in the mirror. Eddie lays a smock across your front and buttons it at the back of your neck.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve been minding my manners very well,” Eddie huffs with feigned indignation as he unwraps your hair and tosses the towel onto the table in front of you. He still winks at you in the mirror when he leans around you to pick up a comb. “So far.”

You can’t help the way that your jaw clenches. He’s really not going to make this easy on you. You wonder if he knows where your mind has been for the last ten minutes.

Eddie moves around to the back of your chair and presses on a lever to raise it up, but nothing happens.

“Dammit,” Eddie curses under his breath, and turns to his coworker, who’s still loading tinfoil into the woman’s hair until she looks like something from Close Encounters. “I can’t believe you gave me the crap chair.”

“Early birds get the good chairs,” the stylist replies.

Eddie sighs and turns back to you, and finds you looking at him curiously in the mirror. “This is the only broken chair in the whole salon, and everyone hates it, so it tends to move around. You never know if you’ll get the crap chair.”

“That’s sabotage,” you giggle.

“I know! So I have to bend down to style you, I’m sorry.”

“I think I can handle it.” You watch him give you a look in the mirror that makes you shift in your seat again.

“So,” he begins, looking down at your head as he begins detangling your hair. “We’re going short?”

“That’s the plan,” you say with a puff of your chest. Please, god, don’t let it be horrible.

“How short?” he prompts, eyeing you in the mirror. “Shoulder length? Close cropped?”

You reach up a slightly shaky hand and pinch the length that you want between two fingers. “Here’s good.”

Eddie nods, looking somewhat pleased. “Are we doing layers?”

“Yeah, I think layers would be good for the long term.”

“Gives you more flexibility,” he agrees. He picks up a pair of scissors and begins measuring out the length that you want. “I’ll start with the length and then we’ll move to bangs, all right?”

“That… sounds good.” You’re temporarily discombobulated by Eddie taking the sides of your head and tilting your head down just the slightest bit.

“Stay just like that for me, okay?” he says quietly.

You blink down at the table in front of you, feeling your mouth go dry. “No problem.” Your hands nervously twitch beneath the cover of the smock across your body.

He goes back to humming along with the music on the PA, and you don’t have the heart to interrupt him. You’re trying to focus on anything but the nerves in your system and the way his touch keeps making you want to jump out of your seat.

After a moment, he stops humming and dusts a bit of hair off of your shoulder. “There we go. Good girl.”

You blink up at Eddie in the mirror, and then see the transformation from long hair to short on your head.

“How does it feel?” Eddie asks, leaning down to pinch the ends of the front and measure the evenness of the length. You stare at his fingers, and the tattoo of a bat just above his thumb on his left hand.

“Ten pounds lighter,” you joke. It feels like you’ve swallowed a lump of hot coal, but he doesn’t need to know that. Eddie grins, and his dimples make a glorious reappearance.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs, and again positions your head where he wants it, staring directly forward. “Honestly, even if you wanted to stop here, it would suit you. I don’t think there’s a way to make you look bad, sweetheart.”

“You’ve never seen me with a hangover,” you scoff, trying to ignore how your heart skips a beat.

Eddie smirks at you in the mirror while he starts working on giving your hair layers. “My guess is that you still look just as cute, but with a bit more of a grumpy look around here.” He gestures to your brow with one finger, and reaches over to set aside the texturizing scissors.

“So, what I’m hearing is, you think I’m cute?” you say, still trying to play up the confidence that you don’t really have. Your hand squeezes your thigh under the smock you wear, your nails digging in for purchase.

“No, I think you’re gorgeous,” Eddie says swiftly, like it’s just a matter of fact. “But, I think you’d also be cute when you’re hungover. Plus, with this hair, you’d probably look all unkempt and I love the mental image that’s creating.”

His hands fluff the layers that he’s put into your hair, ruffling them gently and carding his fingers through them to measure their length. You’re sure that he’s not aware of the moon-eyed look you’re giving him in the mirror.

Except, then he moves around you to start working on your bangs, and the smirk that comes across his face when he looks down at yours is enough to make you lose your composure. He knows everything that’s going on in your head, you’re sure of it.

Cocky bastard.

“I like your tattoos,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear over the music and the sounds of blow dryers all around you. He’s face to face with you, so close that you can count the freckles on his pale face.

Eddie’s eyes light up. “Yeah? What about ‘em?”

“Well,” you lick your lips, your eyes flicking down to the one on his neck, and the one peeking out of his collar. “They’re colorful, and they look like you put a lot of thought into picking out each one. They’re pretty.”

“Hmm. You flatter me,” he remarks, trying to hide his grin and failing. If you look closely, there’s just the slightest pink tint to his cheeks that wasn’t there before. He finishes trimming your bangs, and just before he stands up, he chucks you lightly under the chin. “Keep it up and you might get a freebie.”

A free what? You’re imagining he means some sort of a free hair wash or something, but you can’t keep your mind from going to unprecedented places.

“All right. Bear with me, I’m gonna blow dry you now.” He turns your chair away from the mirror to get you a bit closer to the blow dryer, and for a few minutes, there’s a lull in the conversation.

Then, all at once, the blow dryer shuts off, and Eddie leans down towards you. “Ready, sweetheart?”

“Eddie, you’re gonna make me nervous.”

“Well, we don’t want that.” You just barely turn your head to look at him; just enough that your noses barely brush. You steal a breath that comes from his mouth, and then, Eddie turns you to the mirror. “Like I said,” he murmurs, “There’s not a way to make you look bad.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe. And holy shit is right– he’s done a complete number on you. Your hair is voluminous, framing your face in a way that you haven’t seen it before.

“What do you think?” he asks, and for a moment, you think it’s a rhetorical question.

“I think you’re way better than Melissa,” you tell him, once you realize that it’s not rhetorical and he’s really asking you what you think. You’re sure that he’d make adjustments if you needed, but you don’t need him to. He’s read you like a book. He’s made you look better than you could ever have hoped for.

“I’m gonna need that in writing,” he tells you, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen. “For employee of the month, and all.”

“Tell me where to sign.”

He jerks his head, and all at once the fog lifts. You follow him to the front desk like a lost puppy, feeling like you don’t actually want to leave. You want to sit in his chair while he cuts your hair until you have none left. You want to keep his attention on you and stare at his smile, his hair, his eyes, his tattoos, for the rest of time.

“I look forward to next time, princess,” he tells you, but you’re hyperfocused on the touch of his hand to your lower back.

You watch him telling something to the girl at the front desk, his hand wrapped around the edge of the table and distracting you for the umpteenth time. You watch his silver rings glint in the light, and you think about them weaving through your hair; you think about his fingers and how they’d feel on places besides your head.

“So, when did you want to schedule an appointment?”

You blink a few times, and in a dazed glow you come back to where you are. At the front desk. Paying for your haircut. “Sorry, what?”

“The… next appointment? For your trim?” The secretary tilts her head, smiling at you kindly. “When did you want to come in?”

“Oh,” you murmur, looking down at the keyboard that she’s typing on. Eddie has disappeared back around the partition with a sweet smile and a wave cast in your direction. You just want him to come back again. “What would you suggest? Y’know, for this kind of a cut?”

“Hmm,” the girl hums, and sizes you up. Not in a way that makes you doubt yourself, but in a way that tells you she’s taking your question seriously. “Probably about four weeks. See if the length is something you’re happy with?”

“Great. Four weeks from now. With Eddie.” You peer down at the rack of business cards on the deck, and pick up the one farthest to the right.

Eddie Munson, Stylist. Set an appointment today!

By four weeks, your hair has already reached your shoulders, and the ease of maintenance is starting to wear off. When you get a call reminding you about your appointment with Eddie, your head reels with the knowledge that you’ll see him again.

You calmly assert to yourself that this time, there will be no mooning over him. He’s just your hairdresser. You figure he just has a job to do, tips to earn, and so on. You don’t know if he’s available, you don’t know if he’s single or if he even likes you the way that you like him. You don’t know anything about him, really.

False. You know that he used to wash his hair with bar soap.

You snicker to yourself as you sit in the waiting area yet again. The only available slot for him today was 6:30; pretty close to closing time, but for a Wednesday you figured it was best for you to come late, since you’d have time to get yourself together after work.

You’ve never been in the salon so late. It’s getting dark outside, and the overhead lights cast a semi-yellow glow around the waiting area. Business is dying down now. Not as many people love the idea of getting their hair cut so late, you suppose, but it was either this or wait another week to get an appointment with Eddie, and with the rate that your hair is growing, you’d probably be going insane by then.

“Hey, you,” Eddie says, popping his head around the partition with a grin that makes you nearly melt in your seat. His curly hair hangs in a curtain out in midair, and his long neck stretches out for you to take a gander at. “Just couldn’t stay away, huh?”

You smile at him. “Well, you’re the only person I trust with my head.”

What the fuck did you just say?

Eddie smirks, glowing pink around the ears. “I’ll keep that in mind, princess. Let me clean up my station real quick and I’ll getcha goin’, all right?”

You swallow back the lump in your throat. “Yeah, sure, no worries.”

When Eddie disappears again, you slide down in your seat and clap your hand across your eyes. You’re sort of glad that nobody was in the waiting room to see that ridiculous exchange, but you still have to sit with your embarrassment while Eddie cuts your hair. Again.

There will be no pining. There will be no getting weirdly turned on by him washing your hair. Nope, not happening this time.

This time, when Eddie ushers you back behind the partition, there’s only one two other stylists who are there cleaning their stations. The PA has been turned way down, so you can barely register what it’s playing at all.

“You actually came at a good time,” Eddie tells you as you trail after him toward the wash station. “You’re the last person for the night, so I can really take my time with you.”

“O-oh.. really?” You beat back your perverted thoughts with a stick. “To do what?”

“Oh, y’know,” Eddie shrugs as he lays a towel around your shoulders again, just as gentle as he was the last time. “We could do something totally crazy. Who knows what’ll happen?”

His voice is animated, pleasantly filling the empty space where your thoughts might become too much if you let them wander.

Over the past month, after you’d recovered from your last meeting with Eddie, and as you were preparing for this one, you came up with a few things that you could ask him about– just to keep your mind from going to places you didn’t want them to. To save yourself the embarrassment and the ordeal of having to play whack-a-mole with your libido, and all.

“Did you get employee of the month?” you begin with.

Eddie laughs, and then sighs. “No, our manicurist got it. I’ll get it this time, I just gotta stay on my A-game.” His blunt nails rake your hair away from your forehead and temples, and a lukewarm stream of water hits the crown of your skull.

You nearly want to jump out of your skin at the feeling. “Was it because they gave you the crap chair too many times?”

“Probably. But I got here early today, so the good news is you don’t have to sit in the crap chair this time.”

“Aww, I kind of liked the crap chair. Kept me grounded.” You hear him huff a laugh as he starts lathering shampoo through your hair. Trying to keep your mind running so you don’t focus too hard on how good his rings feel scraping against your scalp, you ask, “How’d you get into this line of work?”

“Honestly, it’s kind of a weird story,” Eddie starts, beginning to massage his fingertips into your skull in a way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. You tighten your hands on the arms of your chair and take a deep breath. “So, it took me three tries to graduate high school, right? I was terrible at it. And, y’know, I figured I’d only end up working in a garage or something for the rest of my life. But I was cutting my mane all on my own, and eventually I started cutting my friends’ hair too, because they were all in college and it’s cheaper than going to a salon. I mean–” he chuckles, and begins rinsing your hair– “believe me. I know all about it. And it just came to me really easily, ‘cause I used to be great at drawing and crafting and stuff. And it’s kind of the same thing– once you learn the medium, it’s smooth sailing from there.”

The salon has gone eerily quiet, and by the time Eddie wraps your head and sits you up, you realize that the other stylists have gone, and you and Eddie are the last people in the building. You’d be a little nervous about it, but you got Eddie on a roll, and honestly, he makes it so easy to listen to him.

“Anyways, one day my friend Robin says to me, ‘You should totally get your credential for this,’ and I said, ‘You have to go to school for this shit?’” You blow a raspberry of a laugh, no longer feeling anxious as he sits you down on his not-crap styling chair. He drapes a smock over you, and cracks a grin at you in the mirror. “I know! So, I’ve never been great at school, and I can’t afford to pay for beauty school tuition on the pay I was making at the time, so my friends… they pooled together some money to at least pay for my first semester. And then– get this– I got on the fucking Dean’s list.”

“No way.”

“I did! Yours truly!” He does a little bow, and while you’re still giggling, he begins detangling your hair. “So, I got grants. And I finished top of my class, because as it turns out, when you don’t hate what you’re studying it’s really easy to do well. I got my certification framed and everything. Show that to my damn high school principal.” He shakes his head, but the smile is still on his face when he says, “But now I just have to get that fucking employee of the month.”

“Anything I can do to help?” you offer, admiring his face in the mirror again without even realizing you’re doing it. You love seeing him grin, showing off his dimples and the smile lines around his eyes.

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs with a cute scrunch of his nose. “Just make sure you write my boss a letter saying how fantastic and amazing I am and how there’s no other hair stylist like me and how you’ll never find anyone as cool and sexy anywhere else. Something subtle like that oughta do it.”

“Shouldn’t be difficult,” you tell him smoothly. “I already had that one drafted.”

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling when he reaches for his scissors, but you still notice the faint blush on his cheeks that he tries to hide behind his curtain of hair. “Flattery. You know what that gets you with me.”

A freebie. You hear his voice echoing in your head, and you swallow past the dryness in your throat. “Like… what? A mohawk?”

“Would you want a mohawk?” he asks you, pausing his movements to peer at you. “Because that’d be metal as hell, I’d be so down.”

You laugh. “I appreciate it, but I think… probably not today.”

Eddie hums, and returns to smoothing your hair back away from your face. “So we’re just doing the same as last time?”

“Yeah, not too flashy.”

“Gotcha. It’s a shame, though. I’m always up for a challenge.”

“Well, I think that short hair is just easier to maintain,” you tell him, at a loss for what else to say. He glances up at you in the mirror, and locks eyes with you. “And it doesn’t make my neck look as stumpy as it is.”

Eddie tilts his head with a confused pout, and then he reaches down and wraps his hands loosely around your throat. Your breath stalls in your chest, your eyes focused on the sight of his hands on you, his thumbs gently stroking the nape of your neck and his ring clad fingers pressed just below your chin. His fingers link and hold you, creating a necklace that you’ll never be able to find anywhere else.

Oh, shit. Oh, fucking hell. Everything below your waist draws up tight and hard, your thighs clamping together like that’s going to somehow will away the hold that Eddie has on you.

You lift your eyes and find his in the mirror, dark and focused in on you. You hold each others’ gaze for a prolonged moment, not saying anything, you barely even daring to breathe. You can’t imagine what the expression on your face looks like. You’re too busy staring at the one on his– like there are a million thoughts running through his head, and you’re desperate to know every single one of them.

“Nah, I think you’re perfect.” And just like that, Eddie moves on like nothing happened, picking up his scissors again. Like he didn’t just fry your brain. Like you’re not halfway to cardiac arrest.

You’re dumbstruck as he starts trimming the ends of your hair. You told yourself there would be no mooning over him. No pining. But here, you are, turned on beyond belief, and having to deal with the heartbeat pulsing between your legs, and not shift around, because you don’t want to fuck him up.

When he pinches the ends of the front to see if they’re level, you’re staring directly at him in the mirror. Not even trying to hide it, either. If you did try, you’d most certainly fail. Eddie frowns in concentration, a bit of a crease to his brow as he peers at his hands.

Eddie tuts. “I’m trying to figure out– is it–?” He grabs the back of your chair, and suddenly you’re being swiveled around to face him. “Sometimes these mirrors don’t even help a guy out at the worst goddamn times…”

Your breathing is way heavier than it needs to be. Is it hot in here? Did they crank up the heat in this place specifically to spite you? Eddie’s face is so close to yours, and you’re not sure if the fact that you aren’t in the crap chair is helping. You’re higher up now, and he doesn’t have to bend down as far to get level with you, and his eyes are the color of dark chocolate, and you–

Eddie’s hand comes up and snips the tip off the right side. “There we go. One side was all fucked.”

“Well, we don’t want anything getting fucked, do we?” you mutter under your breath. What’s left of it.

Eddie pauses and his eyes flick up to yours. His eyelashes are long and flutter as he holds your gaze again, while you try hard not to look away. There’s that unreadable expression on his face from earlier, morphing slowly into something like amusement, but that could also just be your mind playing tricks on you. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his li–

“Screw it.” Eddie tosses his scissors to the ground and his hands come up to grip your face, smoothing your hair back tenderly before he kisses you.

You open your mouth and Eddie is in it, searching, feeling. His hands hold your head firm and you feel the metal of his rings digging into your cheeks, and you’re splitting apart at the seams from the way he’s completely invading your senses. He smells like warm, spicy cologne and hairspray. He tastes like cigarettes and cherry coke. He moans into you, and the sound is like heaven.

You lift your legs and wrap them around his waist, and he grunts before he pulls away just the tiniest bit to give you breathing room.

“This is highly unprofessional, Mr. Munson,” you whisper to him, as if you don’t have him caged in with your thighs.

“I don’t… actually fucking care,” Eddie admits, his nose just nudging against yours. “Got so fuckin’ hard the minute I saw you. What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“Dunno,” you murmur against his mouth, “I’m waiting for you to tell me.”

“C’mere.” He pulls you out of your seat, and you practically trip over the smock he clipped around your neck.

“Get me out of this thing,” you giggle, letting your forehead fall onto his shoulder. You inhale a deep breath of his cologne, feeling his chest shake with his laugh.

“Aww, but you look so cute,” Eddie coos, but his hands come up to undo the button at the back of your neck. The fabric slides to the ground, and Eddie kicks it aside as he crowds you back against the table. Your ass hits the edge of it and your hand falls onto a comb when you try to steady yourself. He pulls you flush to his body, his hands caging you in. Eddie’s tongue dances over your bottom lip and you moan, lifting your hands to tangle in the fabric of his shirt.

He ducks his head to help you pull his shirt off before he tosses it somewhere to the side. You’re distracted by his tattoos, each one of them beautiful and detailed, standing out against his pale skin.

Then, you remember something that he told you earlier, and you connect some dots that you hadn’t even realized were there. “Did you draw these?”

Eddie’s grin could blind the sun. He blushes pink down his neck and shoulders. “Yeah, I did.”

“They’re gorgeous. I meant what I said before– I really like them.”

He sucks in a deep breath, and then his lips are on you, everywhere they can manage. On your face, your neck, trying to get at your collarbone but your shirt is in the way. He fists it in his hands, making a petulant noise in the back of his throat. “Help me out here, sweetheart.”

Your shirt lands somewhere near his. You don’t see exactly where, because he’s pulling the straps of your bra down your shoulders so that he can mouth kisses across your breasts, pulling down on the cups until he can graze his teeth over your nipple. It takes you so off guard that you bite back a squeal, tugging at his hair and rubbing your thighs together to stave off the incessant throbbing between them.

When you look down at him, his eyes are so dark that they’re almost black. Your heart thuds erratically in your chest, your breath not coming even though you gasp and pull at the air with everything you have. You can’t really fathom why he has you so worked up– just that it’s been so long since anyone touched you like this, and now that you have it it’s like every little point of contact is on fire.

Eddie grazes his teeth across your breast, and your knees nearly buckle out from under you. You grab his face, guiding him back up to you.

“What were you thinking when you grabbed my throat?” you ask him, your voice hoarse in the back of your throat.

His hands are on you now, grabbing at your waist and hips, squeezing like he’ll never let go. “I can show you, if you want,” Eddie answers, and he sounds just as wrecked as you. Maybe more.

There’s absolutely no way you’re going to refuse that. Not with the way you’ve been lusting after him since meeting him. You nod. “Eddie, please–”

He kisses you hard again before mumbling against your lips, “Turn around and take off your pants.”

You do what he asks without a second’s hesitation. You watch him in the mirror as he follows your movements, undoing his own belt, and you kick your jeans and underwear off without thinking about why you’re here, without wondering about the repercussions. You figure you can probably do that later.

Right now, Eddie’s smoothing his hand up your spine, and the feeling of his fingers dancing along your skin sends shivers through your body. His fingers weave through the hair at the nape of your neck, and he pulls just slightly, until you bare your neck.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your heart hammers as you watch him, dark eyes and hair and rosy cheeks in the mirror, his carnation colored lips twisting into a wicked grin at you. He kisses your shoulder so gently it’s like the fluttering of a feather.

“‘Stumpy neck,’” Eddie scoffs under his breath, and you tremble. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

He bends you forward until you’re face to face with yourself in the mirror– but you’re looking at him, gazing into your eyes while he teases himself at your entrance.

“Oh my god,” you groan, dropping your head almost immediately at the feeling. Your head is spinning, your body rigid with anticipation and breaking out in a cool sweat already.

“Mm-mm,” Eddie hums condescendingly, and a hand clamps around your throat, hoisting your head up again. A gasp tears from your lips. In the mirror, his eyes are blazing. “You look at me while I fuck you. That’s the only way this is gonna happen. Got it?”

You nod. You want to shrink away from the heat in his gaze, but you want him to fuck you way more than that. You shudder as he leans forward, pressing in until his chin nearly rests on your shoulder.

“I need to hear you say it, baby.” His thumb strokes lightly along your pulse point, and you make a soft noise in the back of your throat without thinking. “Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” you tell him, barely a whisper, but he hears it all the same.

“Good girl.”

Eddie grins, kisses the nape of your neck, and pulls back. When he does, you’re barely able to take a breath before he pushes his hard cock into you, and the noise you make is almost embarrassing in its volume.

“Ohhh, you’re absolutely soaked, baby. She’s practically dripping– is this just for me?” Eddie murmurs in your ear, grinding his hips up against your ass for emphasis. The lewd noise that it makes has your toes curling and the tips of your ears burning.

“Fuck,” you moan, ginding back against him to push him deeper. He’s so thick and you’re so sensitive that your mind is completely blanking at the feeling.

Eddie notices, and he chuckles as grabs your waist with one hand as he thrusts his hips forward. “I’ve barely gotten my cock in you, princess. Don’t go getting all dumb on me already.” His voice goes straight between your legs and your cunt pulses around him, making him hiss through his teeth. The hand on your throat tightens just slightly. “I asked you a question.”

You keen, your mind reeling as you search for words. You manage to nod, babbling out, “Yes, it’s– it’s all for you, Eddie, been wanting you so bad, s’all I can think about–”

Eddie coos, grabbing your chin to shut you up while a particularly hard thrust of his hips knocks the wind out of you. He turns his head and grazes his lips against your cheek, eyeing you in the mirror as he says, “I knew it.”

Your eyes are on him, on his hand around your neck, on his rings pressed into your skin. All that your fucked-out mind can think is that it’s hot, and you like him and his strong hands and his pretty eyes and the way his cock is reaching places inside you that make thoughts really difficult to come by.

Eddie whispers something against your skin, and you miss it because you’re hooked on the way his eyelashes flutter for just a moment while his lips are pressed against your cheek. You lift your hand, until it rests over his against your throat, his fingers just barely laced with yours.

“Again,” you say– it comes out like a command, but you mean it like a question. You don’t know what the fuck he just said.

“You’re so beautiful,” he repeats, and his voice nearly cracks with the desperation in it. His sweat slick chest is pressed against your back, his thrusts rocking your hips into the table and jostling it into the wall, but his voice is so tender. “So perfect for me.”

Your mouth falls open, your hand tightening on his. You pull, until he loosens his grip and his hand comes away with yours. You kiss his palm, then his fingertips, holding his gaze in the mirror as you slowly, gently swirl your tongue around his middle and forefinger.

Eddie’s eyes narrow coyly at you, while his thrusts make you mewl and clutch at the table with your free hand. You suck his two fingers deep into your mouth, earning a pleased groan from him in your ear– a sound which you want to hear again and again, no matter what it takes.

“Look at you, sweet little thing, gettin’ my fingers all wet like that,” he whispers to you, biting his lip as you grind back against him. “Wanna do something with ‘em?”

You moan, letting his fingers slide from your mouth with a wet pop. You guide his hand down your chest, down your stomach, until his fingers slide between your legs.

“There you go,” Eddie coos, taking over from your guidance as his fingers start rubbing small circles against your clit. “Atta girl, showin’ me what you want. Just needed me to fuck you stupid first, hm?”

Your cunt pulses, and you cum with a loud moan that echoes off of the mirror in front of you and around the empty space. Eddie cries out, and you feel his warmth fill you as he cums. He slows until he stills inside you, and then he holds you, panting against your cheek, his arm wrapped around your middle and his hand on your throat.

You haven’t moved your hand away from his, you realize, after a few moments of bliss in the aftershocks. You drop your hand to the table with a thud, earning a soft, breathless chuckle from him.

“Can I take you out to dinner?” Eddie asks you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“I think you can do whatever you want with me,” you murmur dazedly, just barely shifting and making him hiss. He’s still inside you, trying to hold you steady while he calms himself down.

“Good.” There’s a kiss to your cheek, and Eddie grunts as he slowly eases out of you. “I still need to finish your goddamn haircut.”

“Eddie, we’re naked.”

“And?” His hands are moving quicker than your mind is, yanking a kleenex from the table so that he can bend down and wipe the insides of your thighs. You jump at the sudden touch, but he clamps a hand around your hip to hold you still. “The sooner I finish your hair, the sooner I close up, and the sooner we go get dinner. You like Italian?”

“I didn’t think your pillow talk would involve finishing my haircut,” you grumble, but there’s a smile worming it’s way onto your face even as you say it.

“That’s the name of the game, sweetheart,” Eddie says, tossing the tissue into the trash. He picks up your underwear, and the smock from the floor. “Now, sit your cute ass down. I’m not gonna get employee of the month by dishing out orgasms and not bangs, y’know.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #roses*#eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things fanfic

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kyuuppi · 2 years

Text

How they react when you're jealous

Ft. Wanderer (Scaramouche); Xiao; Zhongli; Childe; Venti; Albedo; Tighnari

(gender neutral reader but Childe refers to them as "princess"/"prince" once)

⭐ Wanderer

+ This man is actually insufferable, good-fucking-luck

+ He acts so smug 'cause of course you'd be jealous, he's revered and worshipped by the masses!! (he's not)

+ Will probably cockily tell you you'll just have to get used to it, he's a god afterall so it's expected that he'll have many loyal fans all vying for his attention—

+ It's all a farce

+ In reality, he's kind of in shock that you'd really be jealous over him, the useless puppet discarded by his own mother—but that's his unresolved insecurity and mommy issues talking

+ He'll keep up the façade and tease you for a while until he realizes you're genuinely upset—then he'll find some roundabout way to tell you that you have nothing to worry about, he only has eyes for you...of course he'll never directly admit that, though

"Hah, you're jealous? What a foolish human emotion—of course I'll be adored by thousands..."

The Wanderer cuts himself off as he takes in your tense form, brows furrowed and eyes looking anywhere but him as you quietly seethe. His chest clenches in that weird way it only seems to do when you're involved.

"Wait...don't tell me you're actually angry...?"

You don't show any signs you even heard his question and the Wanderer sighs dramatically, averting his own gaze to hide his reddening cheeks as he mumbles his next words.

"You have nothing to worry about, idiot...you're way above any of those other weaklings anyway."

⭐ Xiao

+ I'm sorry but he literally is incapable of understanding that you're jealous

+ Like...he can barely even process that you like him, let alone recognize the advances of another random human who is interested in him. The time he even spends with others is extremely limited unless you're involved so there aren't many chances for anyone to talk to him

+ If it's something like another adepti or half-adepti, like Ganyu, who he's been spending a lot more time with lately training, you might feel insecure by your own mortality, which Xiao can somewhat understand but still doesn't get the jealousy part

+ Tries his best to try to comfort you though, even if it means shyly asking Zhongli or Verr Goldet

+ Surprisingly ends up coming to the best solution—spending more time with you

You nearly jump out of your skin when you turn to find the figure of your boyfriend standing behind you on the balcony of Wangshu Inn. You're certain he wasn't there just five minutes ago.

"Huh? Shouldn't you be training Ganyu today...?" You ask, feeling slightly sick at the mention of the pretty half-adeptus girl. She was a sweetheart and a great friend but you can't help but to think about how much time she's been spending with Xiao. You're sure she doesn't have any ulterior motives but you can't help but to think about how much prettier and stronger she is compared to you. Surely Xiao sees it too...

"We agreed to take a break for today," Xiao immediately answers, slowly stepping forward until his cheat is nearly touching the back of your arm, so close you can smell the faint traces of his natural scent—something fresh and crisp like the mountain air.

"Instead...I want to spend some time with you—if you'll allow it." He says softly. You momentarily freeze, not used to Xiao initiating dates. Unperturbed, he continues speaking.

"I thought we could do that mortal activity you told me about before. I think it was called...a picnic?"

⭐ Zhongli

+ The god who has ruled over humans for over 2,000 years—of course he's familiar with such a common emotion like jealousy. Even if he himself has yet to experience it

+ He would never assume you were jealous unless you openly tell him about it

+ But then he's quick to assuage your worries and maybe even propose some sort of compromise that can satisfy you both

+ Spends a night absolutely spoiling you until you hardly remember you were ever jealous in the first place, if that's what you so desire

"Ah, it seems you may have misunderstood my relationship with the funeral director, I apologize if I caused you any discomfort," Zhongli tells you earnestly, gently holding your hands in his own, much larger ones and holding your gaze so intensely you find it impossible to look away.

"Now tell me, my dear, how may I settle your worries? Perhaps we should take some time away, just the two of us?"

⭐ Childe

+ Idk how you even got jealous in the first place cause this man is glued to your hip

+ Slightly flattered when he recognizes your signs of jealousy cause he just sees it as proof of how much you care about him

+ It may feel a bit demeaning at first but he will not take your jealousy seriously. He baby talks, pinches your cheeks, and teases you but will not show any genuine concern—not because he doesn't care about your feelings, but because he's so sure that he only has eyes for you that he thinks your jealously is completely unreasonable in the first place

+ As a big fan of PDA, he takes the advantage to be more touchy and affectionate with you in public under the guise of "showing everyone he's yours"

+ If anything, he's the one whose always jealous when another person takes so much as a second of your attention—but you don't need to know that

"Aww, is my prince/ss pouting now? Ahaha, don't look at me like that!" Childe effortlessly dodges the elbow you aim at his ribs after he pinches at the fat of your cheek for the third time today.

Not perturbed in the least, Childe sticks himself to your side and continues to grin down at you, uncaring of the strangers who glance at you two with strange looks as you make your way through the busy streets of Liyur Harbor.

"Here, how about I make it up to you and we go on a lunch date? My treat!"

⭐ Venti

+ Another one who doesn't take your concerns seriously

+ However, unlike most of the other men, it's pretty reasonable to be jealous with how Venti talks to everyone

+ He's naturally romantic and seems to possess no clear boundaries, leading to him saying things that could be construed as flirtatious without him even realizing it

+ When he's tipsy on dandelion wine, it's not unusual to see him belting out ballads and serenading anyone nearby willing to give him the time of day—though, in reality, his love songs are all actually written about you

"Oh, my windblume is feeling a bit jealous?"

You don't bother providing a response but Venti doesn't seem to need one.

"Ehehe, so cute," he coos, shamelessly wrapping his arms around you. Any feelings of jealousy you hold are quickly being replaced with embarrassment at how other patrons in the crowded bar frequently glance at you and your loud boyfriend.

"No worries, my love, this poor bard's heart only beats for you! I'll even prove it with this song I wrote..."

⭐ Albedo

+ It's Sucrose, isn't it?

+ They spend all those hours locked up in a small lab room in the depths of Dragonspine—its only natural that you'd feel suspicious right?

+ Wrong

+ When he's not with you, Albedo literally only thinks about his experiemnts or drawing. In fact, the times you and Albedo are together are really the only time anyone ever sees Albedo actually listen to someone outside of the Knights of Favonius and talk about things that aren't directly related to alchemy

+ As the so-called "chalk prince," it's not that uncommon for people to find him physically attractive and try their luck—but any deeper feelings usually vanish when they realize he has no interest in them. That and his blank stares can get rather unsettling...

+ If you do get jealous about Albedo being around anyone, it will eventually go away on its own as you realize this man is literally incapable of recognizing flirting

+ (Also, Sucrose is literally an angel and would never jeopardize your relationship. Like, she actively ships you guys together, pls—)

"...which is a particularly unique property for this chemical given it's electronegativity. In fact—oh, [Name], what are you doing here?"

You try very hard not to laugh at the relieved expression the woman Albedo was previously lecturing shoots you. She wastes no time slipping out of the lab while Albedo is distracted, his ocean deep eyes staring at you with a mix of surprise and quiet adoration.

"Ah, it's about lunch time and I don't have any commissions today so I thought we could go get something to eat together. Sorry if I'm disturbing you—"

"Not at all," Albedo interrupts, quickly putting away the glass vial he previously held and removing his latex gloves.

"A visit from you is never a disturbance," Albedo admits plainly, oblivious to the way his words make your chest squeeze.

"Now let's go. If we hurry, we might be able to make it to that place you like before they get crowded."

⭐ Tighnari

+ Lmao what are you jealous of, a flower?

+ This is another Science Man™️ who literally sees nothing but his work. Unless there's a rare sentient species of seductive mushrooms in Sumeru with it's sights set on fennec fox boys, you have nothing to worry about

+ Collei sees him as something akin to an older brother figure and Tighnari is too sassy for anyone else to get close unless they're interested in joining the forest watchers

+ If you tell him you're jealous, he's probably going to call you an idiot for even thinking he's interested in anyone else

Tighnari looks almost annoyed at your confession, glancing up from his journal only to shoot you a glare.

"Hah? Did you accidentally eat some hallucinogenic mushrooms again? I don't have enough time entertain things like that. What a ridiculous accusation."

Annoyance bubbles up inside you but, before you can act on it, Tighnari is already standing from his desk, striding over to you quickly to gently pull you along with him.

"Now come with me. I found an interesting flower on the outskirts of camp I think you'd like."

The proud grin highlighted by the sparkle in his eyes as he looks up at you quickly cuts off any protests you were going to make.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #albedo x reader #Tighnari x reader #venti x reader #childe x reader #genshin scenario #genshin imagine #genshin hcs #genshin fluff

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after-witch · 8 months

Text

Fever Pitch [Yandere Geto Suguru x Reader]

Title: Fever Pitch [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Synopsis: Geto’s been hit by a lust curse, and you take what little control you have to avoid him snapping. Follow-up to Bus Stop.

Word Count: 3200ish

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, dubcon, sex, some mentions of past degradation

It’s funny, the way you can get used to anything. When you were first taken, you would have sworn--on your heart, your soul, on blood from a cut on your palm--that you would fight, hiss, and spit at Geto until the day you died.

And now here you are, nestled on a seat cushion in his sitting room, quietly reading a book while he’s off collecting curses and doing favors that aren’t really true favors at all. The person assigned to you today is a familiar face, someone you don’t entirely detest, if only because they are content to keep an eye on you without emanating visible hatred towards your existence at every second.

They were even kind--or what classifies as “kind” here--enough to lend you their scissors a few weeks ago, when someone stuck a wad of sticky bubble gum in your hair as they passed you in a hallway. Sure, they kept an eye on you the entire time in order to make sure you weren’t trying to stab yourself (or anyone else); but they said nothing as you hacked at your own hair, eventually giving yourself a passable pixie cut.

Geto had raised his eyebrows when he came back that day, and had a quiet word with your keeper. But you didn’t get punished, so that was that. Cutting off your hair felt good, even. Like you were cutting out whatever part of yourself was still simmering in pointless anger at your situation. Why be angry, why be in despair, when nothing you did mattered? You ran once. He found you. If you bothered to run again--not that you’d get the chance--he would find you again. And again.

It was better to find something like enjoyment instead of wallowing.

Wasn’t it?

Besides, even Geto had been different since the day he found you. He seemed content for you to be a quiet pet again. He no longer visited you in the night, touching you, forcing pleasures and sounds you didn’t want to experience from his fingers, even as he commanded you to always keep your arms away from him. He was allowed to touch--but you weren’t allowed to touch him. You hated it.

But he hadn’t touched you in the slightest intimate way since that day. Unless you counted the condescending head pats as intimate, which you certainly did not.

You hear Geto’s footsteps, and your muscles tense in preparation. You carefully set a bookmark in your book and set it aside; he didn’t like it when you paid attention to a book instead of him. Especially when he’d been gone for most of the day.

But something’s wrong. Something’s different.

These are not the orderly footsteps of Geto returning to his rooms at the end of a (horribly) productive day. These steps are staggered--hesitant.

Strange.

Your current keeper stands when Geto enters, but he simply dismisses them with a wave of his hand and an unusually curt: “Leave.”

They hazard a glance at you--it almost feels kind--before swiftly grabbing their bag and walking away, hurried steps echoing in the hallway that leads to his suite of rooms.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Geto begins to shed his clothing. Now this wasn’t unusual. He preferred to wear only a casual outfit around you, some trousers and a light top most of the time. What was unusual was the undignified manner in which he did it, simply peeling away his layers and tossing them on the ground, all the while his breath seemed to come in quiet, stuttering pants.

It’s enough to make you break your gaze from the floor and look at him.

Geto looks… ill. His cheeks are flushed and yes, his chest is heaving a little as he takes in short, frenzied breaths. Even the skin of his neck and collar had a slight glow to it, like he’d been exercising vigorously or done something terribly embarrassing.

“Geto?” You ask, hesitantly. You flick your eyes back down to the floor, where you’re told they belong until he says otherwise.

He doesn’t answer. The final layers of his robes drop to the floor.

Normally, he would approach you now, calmly. He might tilt your chin up with his hand and ask what you did today--if you were good, if you behaved.

Instead he staggers away, catching himself on the corner of a table.

“Geto?” You try again, voice higher, more concerned.

You look up to see him with both palms splayed on the table, breaths coming in deeper huffs. His skin is still flushed--it’s so strange--and you swear the room feels warmer than it did a few moments ago.

His fingers curl against the table into a tight fist, then release, then curl again. His breath comes in more ragged by the moment. There’s an unmistakable soft groan--in pain? Discomfort?

“Are you… all right?” You ask, and do the boldest thing possible in your present situation, which happens to be standing up on shaky legs and taking a step towards him.

“Don’t.” The word is practically growled out, and your muscles freeze for the moment, keeping you in place.

He turns to look at you, but instead of looking angry, he looks… desperate. His eyes roam over you and his lips part, and you see the edge of his tongue reach out to lick a dry patch as he struggles to regain control over his breath.

The expression hits you and it’s oh-so familiar and you don’t like it at all.

Geto isn’t sick.

He’s aroused.

You reach up to clutch at your shirt, fidgeting with the fabric like it might actually provide comfort in this unsure situation.

“What… happened?”

He doesn’t answer at first. His mouth twists into something like a grin, but it’s twitchy, uncontrolled. He chuckles slowly.

“A curse. I should have taken a closer look, but--” He lets out a pained sigh and squeezes his eyes shut. “I was distracted. Foolish. Stupid.”

You--perhaps foolish, stupid--take a step forward. Little pieces find themselves fitting together in your brain, trying to create a plan for what will come ahead. It’s how you’ve managed to survive so far, isn’t it? Taking in everything about your situation and acting accordingly to preserve your health and sanity?

“What… kind of curse?” You ask, and take more steps, until you’re close enough that you can feel some of the unnatural warmth from his body.

He looks at you slowly, his eyes almost rolling in a way that makes your stomach turn. You perhaps don’t need to actually hear the answer. It’s become clear, with the way he’s panting, the way his skin is flushed, the awful warmth from being so close to him. But it’s best for him to admit it, anyway, and confirm it to your whirring brain.

“Lust.”

Something seems to roil through him and he leans down, groaning in an uninhibited way that makes cold fear crawl up your arms, despite the warmth from Geto’s body. This close, you can see the sweat beading on his forehead, and when you glance down, his hardness is evident through his trousers.

Oh, you’re going to be fucked by the end of the night. You know it. It’s an inevitability.

What if it’s like before? When he would be rough and fast, and it would feel good and terrible all at the same time? When you felt like you had no control over what was done to you, and what you were made to do? The shame that would spread through your body afterward was nearly unbearable.

No… it was better to take charge yourself, wasn’t it? The only other option was to wait for him to snap. And if he was influenced by some lust-filled curse, there’s no telling what he might do.

So you’ll take care of him before he can reach that breaking point.

“Geto,” you say, and your hand reaches out slowly, like he’s a wild dog (perhaps he is) until it rests just above his back. Close enough for him to sense you. Although attempting to touch him without permission would normally have earned you a slap on the wrist and a reprimand, Geto leans into your palm, letting out a soft, pleased noise, as if your palm resting on his back was something far more wonderful.

“Let me… take care of you,” you manage, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth before you force it loose to say the words. He doesn’t answer, breath still coming out in a pant.

“Let’s go to the bedroom.” You speak louder, more firmly. More sure of yourself, even if a large part of you is wondering if this is a terrible idea after all. But it’s better to get it over with; to do this on your terms, or as much of your terms as you can manage. You can at least admit that.

Geto doesn’t answer, and you’re about to say something else when he grabs your wrist--it’s too tight, his palm is sweaty--and begins to pull you towards the bedroom. Your house slippers scuff on the floor from the unsteady force of his grip, but you manage not to fall.

Later, you will wonder--if you did trip in that moment, would he have simply taken you on the floor? It was a distinct possibility.

But you don’t fall. You make it to the bedroom and he lets go of you, stripping off his clothes with a frenzy that is completely unlike him. You don’t wait for an order to remove your own clothing. He might not have even been in the right frame of mind to remember that you’re normally supposed to wait for his order on everything. Or perhaps it has been so long since he’d touched you this way, he didn’t even think of giving it in the first place.

When he turns around, both of you are naked. His hardness is evident, erect and pressing against his flushed body. You can see wetness around his tip and something between your leg twinges in both pleasant anticipation and worry at what this curse-induced arousal might mean for the both of you.

“Well?” He says, voice thick and low.

You swallow against your throat, against the worries that normally come with seeing Geto naked. You remind yourself that this is different. That you’re taking control, as much as you can get, with him so afflicted. It won’t be like before, surely, when he would use you and leave you alone like the toy that you were afterward.

“Lay on the bed,” you command. Your body flinches instinctively at the audacity of it. “Please,” you add, but he doesn’t seem to mind your forwardness in this moment. He crawls on the bed and leans back against the pillows, keeping himself half-upright as he watches you.

You glance down at his cock. It twitches, ever so slightly, and you feel yourself twitch between your legs to match it. Was it because it had been so long? Or because you were the one telling him what to do? Or some awful mixture of both, and more besides?

It was hard to tell what was normal and what wasn’t in the fucked up state of your existence.

“Get on the bed.” It’s his turn to give a command, and you’re quick to obey it. For as much as you’re taking the initiative, you can’t let yourself forget who owns you, perhaps literally. Even if he’s currently flushed and woozy and subject to the demands of the arousal forced upon him by some wayward curse.

You climb on the bed and crawl until you’re positioned with your knees on either side of his hips. It’s the first time you’ve been above him. It would be out of the question, you think, before. He liked to remind you where you belonged in the literal sense, and that had extended to sexual positions.

Instinctively, your hands go behind your back, folding primly. You’re not supposed to touch him during sex. You know that. It’s been the rule; it was one of the first things he drilled into your head when he began fucking you. He was allowed to touch you in any way he wanted; stroking and pinching and whatever else fell within his whims. But you? You keep your filthy hands to yourself.

And so, it’s with your hands behind your back that you carefully begin to lower yourself onto his erect cock.

He gasps and groans, and you do, too. Your twinges were not enough to get you properly wet, and it hurts as you lower yourself down. But the flush on his face and the feeling of being full after so long begins to grant you the warmth necessary to produce your own slickness, easing the passage just a little as you take all of him in. Not enough for it to be painless. But it’s not like that ever mattered before.

“Fuck,” he spits out, throwing his head back from there mere sensation of your pussy taking in his erection. You feel yourself clench him and he hisses in delight. It makes you feel a bit giddy, to affect him like this, with so little.

Your fists clench behind your back as he bottoms out inside you, and your own groan joins his as you steady yourself, keeping your balance as you sit on top of him. His cock twitches inside you and you let out a sigh, leaning forward. Your hair tickles your ears.

He’s looking up at you, hips writhing in a way that makes you gasp.

“Touch me.”

You think you must have misheard him.

“I said touch me,” he says, more forceful, the arousal pulsing through him giving his voice a thick tinge. He thrusts his hips and you bump upwards, in discomfort yes, but also a growing sense of your own arousal at the fullness and friction inside you.

“All--” You gasp when he thrusts again, and perhaps the idea of taking too much control was an illusion. “All right!” Your hands slowly come out from behind your back and with a hesitation that comes from months of being trained otherwise, you slowly lower your hands to rest on his hips.

Slowly, you trail your hands up to his chest, eyeing his nipples. How long had they been erect? Was it before or after you lowered yourself on him? It doesn’t matter. You begin to pull yourself up, timing your own movements with his now-shallow thrusting. As you do, your hands rest on his nipples, rubbing them slowly with your palm--the way he sometimes does to you, if he’s not pinching them harshly to make you squeal.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Just… just like that. Good pet.”

And there again, the sight of his pleasure from your touch, his raise, makes you clench… which makes him hiss in pleasure, which makes you giddy.

It’s a wonderful cycle, and so different from all of the other times he’s fucked you. This is almost nice, in its own way. To be above him, mostly in control of how fast you move, how much of him you take in and out as you lift yourself up and down on his cock.

“Faster,” he says, and you don’t mind obeying. One of your hands still toys with his nipple while the other reaches between your own legs and thumbs at your clit. It’s audacious, really--you’re not supposed to pleasure yourself without his permission.

But he doesn’t tell you to stop. Instead he simply watches the way your thumb rubs against your clit; does he enjoy the sight of his cock inside you, the way your pussy takes him as you use your leg muscles to thrust up and down?

He must, because you can feel your own arousal mixing with his, see the way his chest rises faster. Tell-tale signs that he’s getting close.

“Stop,” he orders suddenly. “Get off me.” His voice is still low, still filled with lust, but there’s something else in it. Something more familiar.

“Geto?” You ask, confused, your own voice coated with arousal that’s just about to reach its peak. It’s disappointing to stop now, but you know better than to disobey. Even right now, or perhaps, especially right now.

He seems to regain a stronger semblance of himself. “Get off,,” he commands, and you do.

It doesn’t take long to realize why he gave the order. He swiftly grips your arms and flips you on the bed, your back pressing against the sheets that are warm with his own unmistakable body heat.

Now this is familiar. Geto above you, naked, flushed, aroused. And you, beneath him. But this time your arousal was of your own making, and there’s a sort of power in that, you think.

He’s back inside you and by this time you’re wet enough that it simply feels good to be filled again. His wrists keep your own pinned and you murmur a plea, you were so close, Geto--and to your surprise, one of his hands leaves your wrist to begin playing with your clit.

Arousal builds quickly this time, and you come without ceremony, your muscles clenching around him and legs kicking helplessly on the bed as he continues to touch you through your orgasm.

Familiar patterns set in, and as your own orgasm begins to fade out, you know what will happen now. He’ll fuck you faster and pull out as he comes–he refuses to finish inside you–and then leave you to yourself.. Maybe he’ll have to go another round to deal with the effects of this curse, but whatever change had been over him before, allowing you greater freedom, was surely gone.

Only… maybe not.

Because as you feel the familiar sensation of Geto pushing inside you harder and faster as he nears his release, something new happens. Something different. Something that makes butterflies and battery acid flutter in your stomach all at the same time.

He leans down and presses his lips against yours, tentatively at first, then harder, until you open up your mouth and let his tongue inside.

Geto kisses you. It’s a surprisingly passionate kiss, and you let out a yelp of surprise when he grips your chin and kisses you through his own orgasm.

He doesn’t even pull out. You feel his seed inside you for the first time, a liquid warmth. It’s uncomfortable and strange and you wonder how angry he’ll be, later on, that he did this.

He doesn’t stop kissing you until you’re breathing heavily through your nose, and when he pulls away you take in a gulp of air.

He stares down at you with something that looks like wonder. At himself… or you?

“Good pet,” he murmurs. But there’s no condescension in it today.

There’s an awful, naked vulnerability that washes over you.

Geto let you touch him. Geto kissed you.

Geto, Geto, Geto…

Was he going to be mad when this curse effect wore off? Would he get rid of you for making him violate so many of his own rules?

You don’t have time to think about it, because you realize he’s still hard, and he begins to thrust shallowly inside your overstimulated pussy.

He’ll have to go another round.

Afterward, sleep came without warning. You had simply closed your eyes when Geto finally pulled out and that was that.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you open your eyes, blinking away the grogginess of an unexpected nap.

There’s a soreness between your legs, which you expected. There’s the feeling of your body being used, a low openness that combines vulnerability and humiliation in a bittersweet mixture; which you expected.

You don’t expect to blink and see Geto sleeping beside you, his arm slung around your waist, keeping you in place.

Geto never slept with you like this. He would fuck you and use you and sometimes tell you that you were a good pet if he was in a jovial mood--and he would leave.

You’re afraid to move. If you wake him, will he be angry? Will he be annoyed that he let himself fall asleep beside you? Annoyed with himself for allowing it, or annoyed with you for being there?

You don’t move, but it doesn’t matter. His eyes flutter open and you feel the warmth of his breath on your face as he takes in the sight before him, as you just did.

He doesn’t furrow his eyebrows in irritation or fling himself out of bed or reprimand you for existing like this in his space. Instead he pulls you closer, until your face is pressed closer to his chest. It makes you feel something--warmth? Affection? Relief that you weren’t being yelled at for being bad?--and your hand slowly leaves your side to curl up against his chest.

He allows it.

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs.

And you obey.

#yandere geto #yandere geto suguru #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #yandere #afterwitch writes

2K notes · View notes

celestemona · 2 days

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⋆˙⟡ — TANGLED FATES

pairing: kinich, kaedehara kazuha, wanderer x reader

cw: soulmates! au. characters may look ooc. approximately 3k words. no pronouns mentioned though "my lady" is said in kazuha's part. fluffy, angsty, lovely. not beta-read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

Kinich

Kinich had always felt a subtle pull toward something—or someone—just beyond his reach.

From the moment he was born, the thread that connected him to his soulmate had been a delicate shade of translucent red, often fading to the point of nearly vanishing. It was a constant reminder of the distance between them, a tangible sign that his soulmate was far away, perhaps even in another nation.

The people of Natlan revered the concept of soulmates, believing that every thread was woven by the hands of fate itself. Kinich, however, was not the type to wander beyond his homeland in search of this elusive connection. The rugged beauty of his tribe, the thrill of hunting, and the camaraderie of his people grounded him. He found comfort in the familiar rhythms of his life, though sometimes, during quiet moments beneath the canopy of the trees or while gazing at the stars, the thought of his soulmate would flutter in his mind like a restless bird.

Yet today was different.

As Kinich navigated the vibrant festival of the Scions of the Canopy, filled with laughter and the smell of roasted meats mingling with the sweetness of ripe fruit, he couldn’t shake a strange sensation. He glanced down at the red string on his finger, and to his surprise, it was brighter than he had ever seen—deep crimson, like the fiery sunsets that painted the sky at twilight. The sudden vibrancy sent a jolt of energy through him, and his heart raced with possibilities. For the very first time, it felt that his soulmate was closer than he had ever imagined.

The thought barely settled in his mind when a commotion broke out nearby. Kinich turned to see a crowd gathered around the bungee jumping platform, a popular attraction that had people leaping into the air with exhilarating abandon. The sight of the participants soaring through the sky brought a fainted smile to his face—until he noticed one figure preparing for a jump.

His heart seemed to stop as he caught sight of you, your hair whipping in the wind, laughter mingling with the cheers of the crowd. You appeared fearless, but as the countdown began, Kinich noticed something off: the rope seemed frayed, a dangerous instability in an otherwise thrilling endeavor. Panic surged through him as the countdown reached zero.

Before his mind could catch up to his body, he reacted. The faintest snapping sound echoed in his ears as the bungee cord gave way—a horrified gasp echoed from the crowd, but Kinich was already in motion. With a practiced flick of his grappling hook, he shot toward you, the hook catching a solid anchor just as you fell.

In the heartbeat between falling and impact, you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist, jerking you from the void. Time seemed to slow as the world spun and your eyes locked onto his—the man who had saved your life.

Kinich landed gracefully with you in his arms, his grip steady and reassuring as if it were second nature. As the adrenaline pulsed through you, your heart raced not just from the near-death experience, but from the realization that your strings—both of yours—were now glowing vividly, a striking red.

The connection between you was undeniable, even if the situation was surreal.

“That was... close,” you murmured, still catching your breath, your voice trembling with disbelief.

Kinich’s usual nonchalance wavered momentarily as his eyes lingered on yours. He gently set you down, his hand brushing against yours as the string on his pinky tightened, pulling you two together subtly but magnificently. “You’re either very brave or very reckless,” he said, his voice low but calm, the faintest trace of amusement playing on his lips.

You couldn’t help but smile, even through the lingering adrenaline. “Maybe a little of both.”

He let out a quiet hum, stepping back slightly but not breaking eye contact. “Seems I’ll have to keep an eye on you, then.”

Before you could respond, a pitched voice cut through the air. “No! I though you’d finally gonna get yourself killed, Kinich. Shit! It seems I was wrong again.”

Kinich’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he muttered under his breath, “You wish.”

You blinked, wondering where the voice came from and noticing the sudden change in his demeanor, but before you could ask, Kinich’s focus returned to you. His intense gaze softened as he extended a hand, offering it to you with an unexpected formality. “It seems fate has brought us together in the most dramatic of ways.”

You laughed softly, the tension easing. “Seems that way. And here I thought I’d get a thrill from jumping, not falling.”

“There are safer thrills,” he answered, his hand still holding yours dearly. “One that doesn’t involve falling from cliffs.”

You bit your bottom lip in a failed attempt to hide a smirk, the soft flirtation in his voice making your heartbeats go faster. “Oh? Like what?”

He let his gaze linger on yours, his thumb gently tracing the back of your hand. “Perhaps we’ll find out together.”

The red string between you entwined, as if urging the two of you closer. For the first time in a long while, Kinich felt more than just duty or the thrill of a adventuring—he felt the warmth of something that had been distant for too long.

And for you, the world around you seemed to quiet as the only thing that mattered now was the connection between you and the man fate had quite literally sent to catch you.

Kaedehara Kazuha

From the moment of birth, the faintest whispers of your soulmate begin to form in your mind, weaving through your thoughts, and growing clearer with time. The voices aren’t constant, but they drift in and out, as if carried on a breeze, reminding you of the presence of someone far away yet intimately close. Sometimes, it's a word spoken aloud, a laugh shared with a friend. Other times, it’s a fleeting thought, as private as a breath. And from childhood, this voice becomes an indelible part of your life, a companion whose face you have never seen but whose soul you know deeply.

Kazuha was still a boy when he first heard the voice. He was playing alone in the gardens of his family’s estate, surrounded by the quiet rustle of leaves and the gentle murmur of the wind. And then, as soft as a whisper, he heard it—a voice that wasn’t his own.

It was delicate, like the sound of water trickling over smooth stones. A voice so pure it carried the sweetness of a lullaby. At first, he thought it was part of the wind, some trick of the breeze, but as the days went on, the voice returned. Sometimes it sang, sometimes it hummed a tune that was unfamiliar yet soothing. And when it spoke, Kazuha listened, enchanted by the rhythm of the words, even if they weren’t meant for him.

Years passed, and the voice became a familiar presence in his life. He learned to recognize its tones—the way it brightened when it was happy, or softened when the person behind it was lost in thought. Even when he left the security of his childhood home, embarking on his wandering journey, the voice followed him. It was a constant companion, a tether that connected him to something beyond the world he knew.

The voice belonged to an opera singer from Fontaine, though Kazuha would only come to know this much later. As children, you’d hear each other speak, often unaware of the impact your words were having on the other side of the world. You’ve been singing since you were small, your voice a bright light in the waterside streets of Fontaine, and Kazuha had come to love the sound of it—first as a soothing melody in the background of his thoughts, and later as a force that brought him comfort during his travels. He could sense your emotions through your voice—the joy you found in your craft, the occasional frustration in your rehearsals, and the quiet moments when you’d murmur your thoughts to yourself.

You, too, had been listening to him. From the first haikus he had whispered into the wind as a child, to the quiet contemplations of a young man growing into his own. Though Kazuha was never one to speak much, the moments when he’d recite poetry or talk to the wind were enough to fill your heart with a sense of companionship. His voice, calm and steady, was a comfort to you as you navigated your own world of art and performance.

Neither of you knew exactly who the other was, but your voices had become a part of each other. Even without a meeting, you had grown up together—two souls connected by the invisible threads of fate.

As Kazuha grew older, his understanding of the voice deepened. He’d often find himself drifting off to sleep, only to wake with the faint echoes of your songs still lingering in his ears. He marveled at how perfectly your voice blended with the world around him—the wind, the sea, and the rustling of leaves in the forests he wandered. Your voice had become a song in the symphony of his life, and he cherished it.

For you, his words were like the poetry he often whispered to himself—a gentle, constant reminder that somewhere out there was someone who understood the world the way you did. You often wondered what he looked like, what kind of person could speak so softly yet carry so much meaning in his words.

Years passed, and though your connection remained strong, you never rushed to meet. There was no urgency, no desperation. Just the quiet understanding that one day, you’d find each other.

It wasn’t until Kazuha’s travels led him to Fontaine that your worlds finally began to merge. The hydro nation was a place where the beauty of the arts and the depths of the sea intertwined. Kazuha had no intention of seeking you out immediately. He had learned patience long ago and trusted that the wind would guide him when the time was right.

But as he wandered the streets of Fontaine, drinking in the sights and sounds of the city, he heard your voice again—clearer than it had ever been. This time, it was no distant whisper but a melody that floated on the air, rich and vibrant. You were rehearsing for an upcoming performance, your voice filling the opera house with the same beauty that had once echoed in his dreams.

He stood at a distance, watching you from the shadows. You were every bit as graceful as your voice, your movements fluid and elegant. Your presence commanded the space around you, yet there was a softness to you that drew him in. You were speaking with one of the directors with enthusiasm as you discussed the details of the upcoming opera. And though you didn’t know it, the man you had shared your thoughts with for so many years was standing just a few feet away, watching with quiet reverence.

Kazuha’s heart swelled as he took a deep breath, allowing the wind to guide him forward. It was time.

With the same grace that had carried him through countless battles and journeys, he approached you, his steps light and unhurried. When you turned, eyes meeting, the recognition was instant. The voice that had been a constant presence in your lives was now matched with a face.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. It was as though the world had stopped, leaving only the two of you standing in the fading light of the afternoon. And then, with a soft smile, Kazuha spoke.

“My lady,” he said, his voice as gentle as the breeze that stirred the air around both of you. He took your hand in his own, bowing slightly as he lifted it to his lips. The soft kiss he placed on the back of your hand was filled with all the quiet emotion he had carried with him for so many years. “It is an honor to finally meet you.”

Your smile widened, warmth rosing on your cheeks. “The honor is mine. I’ve heard your voice for so long… I almost thought I was dreaming when I heard you recite your poems for the first time.”

“As did I,” Kazuha replied, his crimson eyes soft as he gazed at you. “Your voice has been with me for as long as I can remember. Hearing you sing now… it feels as though I've been waiting for this moment my entire life.”

You laughed softly, the sound as musical as the voice he had come to love. “And I’ve been waiting for you. I always wondered when our paths would cross.”

“They were bound to,” Kazuha said, his tone warm. “The wind always carries us to where we are meant to be.”

With his and your hands still gently intertwined, you stood in the heart of Fontaine, the city alive with the murmur of art and life around them. But for the two of you, the rest of the world had faded, leaving only the echo of the voices that had connected you for so long.

In that moment, you knew that your journey—though long and winding—had led you both exactly where you were meant to be. Together.

Wanderer

In Teyvat, the concept of soulmates wasn’t something everyone discussed openly, but it was an unspoken truth understood by all. It was a tragic but beautiful reality for those people: no one ever dreamed—at least, not until they met their soulmate. The first and only dream a person would ever experience was a shared one, an intimate meeting with their destined one. This dream wasn’t bound by time or place, often filled with subtle moments, quiet connections, and profound understanding. But the dream itself didn’t mean immediate union. Many spent years after their dream searching, wondering when—or if—they’d ever cross paths with their other half in the waking world.

And not all believed they deserved a soulmate.

Wanderer had learned of the legend when he was still known as Kunikuzushi, back in the early days when he was newly formed and still discovering what it meant to exist. He hadn’t thought it applied to him, a puppet—a hollow being without a true heart, someone who was neither human nor divine. But one night, long ago, when he was still innocent and full of hope, he had a dream.

In that dream, he met you.

It wasn’t a vivid or wild vision. It was quiet, serene. You walked in a vast wheat field, your steps so rhythmic as if you were dancing between invisible trails that only you knew where it’d take you. Your back was turned to him but the sound of your laughter was a song that played like a lullaby in his head. When you looked up, your eyes meeting, something inside him stirred—a sense of calm, of being understood without words.

There were no grand gestures, no spoken promises. Just a glance, a soft smile, and a feeling that warmed him from the inside out. You were real, and for the first time in his short existence, he felt connected to something outside of himself.

When he woke, the memory of that dream stayed with him, lodged deep in his mind like a forgotten melody. He tried to dismiss it, thinking it was some strange byproduct of his flawed creation. How could he have a soulmate when he wasn’t truly human?

Years, centuries passed, and Kunikuzushi became Scaramouche, and Scaramouche became Wanderer. He fell deeper into darkness, fueled by bitterness and anger. Yet, despite the walls he built around himself, the memory of the dream never fully faded. It lingered in the back of his mind, sometimes emerging in his quietest moments, like a long-lost hope he didn’t want to admit to. He believed that dream was lost to time, and that he had been undeserving of it. He had resigned himself to solitude, pushing away any notion that he might still have a connection to someone out there.

But everything changed the night he wandered the streets of Sumeru.

The night was calm, and the air was thick with the fragrant scent of flowers. It was one of those evenings where the city was still alive, bustling with life even under the veil of darkness. The marketplace glowed softly in the distance, filled with the sounds of chatter and laughter. Wanderer had no purpose being there, only walking aimlessly, his mind drifting between thoughts.

Yet, for reasons he couldn’t explain, the memory of that dream began to surface. The image of you, twirling in a field, returned with startling clarity. He could almost see the light in your eyes, feel the quiet comfort of that moment. His steps slowed as a strange, almost magnetic pull tugged at his chest, drawing his attention toward the marketplace.

And then he saw you.

You stood at a vendor’s stall, your profile illuminated by the soft lantern light. His breath hitched. It was as if time stopped. You looked exactly as you had in the dream—your presence both familiar and startling. He blinked, convinced his mind was playing tricks on him. After all this time, how could you be here?

You turned slightly, inspecting some trinket on display, completely unaware of him. The world around him blurred, all the noise fading into a distant hum as his focus remained solely on you. He felt his heart—did he even have one?—thunder in his chest.

A storm of emotions raged inside him. He hadn’t prepared for this. Could this truly be real? After all he had done—his mistakes, his hatred, his isolation—was it possible that fate hadn’t given up on him? Was he still deserving of a soulmate?

He found himself rooted to the spot, too stunned to move. He couldn’t approach you, not yet. How could he, knowing what he had become? A part of him was relieved, though—relieved that you existed, that the dream hadn’t been a cruel joke. But the hesitation that lingered was undeniable. What if you saw him for who he truly was and walked away? What if, after all these years, he was no longer the person you had dreamed of?

You moved away from the stall, and at that moment, your eyes swept over the crowd, casually scanning the area—until they locked onto his.

The recognition was instant, like a spark between two halves of a long-separated whole. You blinked, clearly processing what you were feeling as if the dream had come flooding back to you all at once. The same quiet understanding he had felt in the dream now passed between you in reality. Your expression softened, and though you seemed uncertain, you didn’t look away.

You took a tentative step toward him, your curiosity was evident. His heart raced again, the walls he had built around himself suddenly feeling fragile as if a single word from you could shatter them entirely.

And then you spoke.

“I saw you once upon a dream,” you said, your voice gentle, filled with the same warmth and wonder from the dream. There was no accusation in your tone, no judgment—just simple truth.

He swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, yet none of them made sense. All he could manage was, “Did you?”

You nodded, your gaze unwavering. “I thought it was just a trick of my mind, but… seeing you now, I know it was real.”

He stood frozen, a mix of doubts, disbelief, and relief swirling inside him. The person he had dreamed of, who he thought was forever out of reach, was standing in front of him. And you remembered him.

His voice was quieter than he intended when he finally spoke again. “I never thought I’d find you.”

You stepped closer, a soft smile forming on your lips. “Neither did I. But… here we are.”

The warmth in your eyes was something he hadn’t felt in so long. It made the walls around his heart tremble, threatening to crumble. He wanted to say so much, to explain the years that had passed, to tell you how unworthy he felt—but none of it mattered in that moment. You were here, and you had dreamed of him, too.

Perhaps, despite everything, he still had a chance at something real. Something good. And for the first time in his long, fragmented existence, Kunikuzushi felt a flicker of hope.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin x reader #kinich #kinich x reader #kaedehara kazuha #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kazuha x reader #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #wanderer #wanderer x reader

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buttercupblu · 1 month

Text

Satoru's Psyche|Surfacing

"Power dynamics, they're fluid."

Session 1 of 10|Next Session

🗂️Patient Chart Update: Routine patient visit and care performed. Patient is stable, mostly corporative, and only mildly rowdy today. Vitals are clear, appetite is normal, nothing of interest to report other than slightly abnormal behavior resulting in the [REDACTED] incident, pending Nurse deliberation on how to proceed with patient disciplinary action. 📋 Length of Session (w.c): 5.2k out of "we will cross that bridge when we get to it 🤠" 💊Intake Chart (tags): this is a full-blown AU with a slowww build-up, yandere-ish behavior, pet names, angst, compulsive flirter Gojo (he literally cannot help it), mentally unstable Gojo, Nurse!Reader ✏️doctor's angel’s note: there’s something very, very special about how this story was born. extended author’s note at the end of this chapter if you’re curious|kk I'm done talking - enjoy Satoru’s Psyche. 🎼 Waiting room music: Child's Play|SZA

They all worshipped the strongest.

But no one saw the man; no one noticed the cracks until it was too late.

The first appeared after the Star Plasma Vessel mission—Gojo's near-death experience and first awakening.

Then, it was his best friend, Suguru Geto. His betrayal, death. Murder.

The blood on Gojo's hands left such a deep mark.

Devastation. Irreparable damage.

No matter what Gojo did after that, death followed him like a loyal dog.

And when the final crack happened in the Prison Realm, with no distraction from his own thoughts and burdens and painstakingly harsh reality, Satoru Gojo bent..then snapped.

He can't remember what happened after being unsealed.

All he knew was the blood that came afterward.

Apparently, he went on a rampage, but in his psyche, it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered.

And he didn't feel guilt—not in the slightest.

They must have gotten what they deserved, right?

The thoughts were deafening.

But Gojo’s natural tendency to play the hero was even louder and got the best of him. The realization of what he’d done was haunting—plaguing and persuading him like a Devil in his ear until he turned himself in to shut the voices the fuck up.

Once again, good ruled over evil and the world was safe.

In Gojo's own sick and twisted way, he had once more saved the day.

And as a thank you? He's here, in a fucking straitjacket, seals all around to make his cursed energy dormant. At least, that's what those old fools believe…

Gojo can't help but scoff, recalling all their nonsense.

“You're unstable. The mind needs to be healed.”

Blah fucking blah. What a load of bullshit.

However, society never took too kindly to a little mass murder, so fine.

Gojo will play nice... for now.

And for the most unexpected reason why.

His grin only deepens, a borderline predatory look as he hears those familiar footsteps.

Ah...how wonderful.

“There you are.”

The man waits by the door, shoulder framing your entrance and leaning on the wall. Welcoming, warm and expectantly, before the locks can disengage.

Like many times before, your eyes meet through the window pane. A dull blue under snowy white lashes, heavy and following yours, but barely piercing the plastic—small and artificial—only a thin layer of careful separation, but you both see right through it. Neutrality on your face but wavering sharpness in your eyes. And a glint in his as the familiar buzz! ushers you into his world.

“How’s my favorite nurse?” he asks like a broken record. All casual-like, as if his arms aren’t meticulously tucked into tight restraints that work hard against his muscled frame. “Missed your favorite psychopath?”

He couldn’t sound more arrogant, but still has to smirk watching you brush past him—expecting nothing less—but feels a different air.

There’s a pep in your step, carrying you into the stark white room and making it impossible to miss the subtle sway of your hips and dangling supply bag on your arm. Naturally fluid as if you’re oblivious to its sensual nature.

Gojo rarely saw you wear any emotion on your sleeve, let alone what he thought was hints of joy, but something was slipping through the cracks.

And what’s that? A slight grin on your face?

What exactly do we have here?

This attitude is foreign. Better than the blank slate or frequent exhaustion you usually walk in with, but this was a side of you that was unfamiliar.

What’s got you in such a mood, he wonders? And what else could it be, if not him?

It’s all because today is an “okay day”. And in places like your ward, “okay” is as good as gold.

Rounds have been fairly simple in the usually chaotic hospital—a small win if you put things in perspective, but it’s enough for you to feel good about it.

Hell, with the way things usually go around here, it feels like Christmas came early and you got just what you wanted.

A big, whopping present called “all of your co-workers showing up to work”. The standard for most workplaces but here, such miracles only exist in your daydreams to get through your usually fucked schedule.

But not today. Today, the angels personally visited your ward to carry your burdens and lighten your load. For the first time in months, you didn’t groan the second you saw your patient roster for the day and instead had to do a doubletake because the list was surprisingly short. Only your regulars sat on it and that could only happen if the ward was fully-staffed.

You thought it was a mistake when you checked the schedule this morning, but no, everyone’s name sat prettily on the sign-in sheet at the front desk—a sight you hadn’t seen since orientation and was confirmed with every familiar and slightly foreign face you passed in the halls.

There were no call-outs, no extra work, and the best part, no unexpected shift changes.

Overtime would not get its hands on you today and the thought alone made you feel lighter because enough time is spent in these melancholy walls as is.

With thoughts on the week’s end, you found yourself drifting through the day on autopilot. Wondering if you should make plans—doubtful you’ll see them through—and time seemed to be flying by with your thoughts. Following the rarely-seen routine you know like the back of your hand helped you blaze through the morning and grow closer to sweet rest for your already aching feet.

Miracles were coming in left and right, proof that today just might be your day. It’s still early, but no one had broken out of their room or flung any property around yet. Guards sit comfy and reclined at their posts, lounging around more than they’re being called, and you haven’t even had to run off to the lockers to change your scrubs that are usually ruined by now. Luck is keeping you high and dry—free from accidents or patient tantrums, both of which are all too common. And always seem to have your name on them.

But the cherry on top, second to none, pièce de résistance.

Is a possibility.

Just the teeniest, tiniest, sliver of a chance…to walk out of these doors early.

Be still your beating heart.

Early release?? Unheard of. You almost skipped through the halls thinking about it. Dreaming of the reclaimed time—the deliciously healthy heap of rest.

With no signs of trouble, aside from forcing yourself to chug a wildly unhealthy energy drink to fight off tendrils of sleep, you just may be in the clear.

Things seem steady in the sleepy ward today. So sure, you’re in a relatively good mood.

But is it good enough to deal with Gojo?

It puzzles you, how he always knows you’re coming before he sees you. How he sort of announces your presence before you get the chance. Like the honor belongs to him.

The psychopath.

Your head tilts at the diagnosis, hearing it come from his lips for the first time. Even if unseriously.

He’s self-aware, at least. Not that the confession makes your visits any easier.

Over time, after working so closely with a personality like Gojo’s, you’ve learned to take everything he says with a grain of salt. Especially when it comes from such shameless lips.

Answering his question with an eye-roll, you set your supplies down to pull out your clipboard and check his vitals. Something that once upon a time made your palms sweat and throat dry, but never showed on your face. You knew what the role required, what it would need for you to survive—intimidation and cowardice were not a part of it—and eventually, after you banged that into your head enough, even if you had to fake it til you made it, you became used to the routine.

As has Gojo, complying with each step on the checklist like it was second nature. Walking over to his favorite spot to be taken care of, the bed. Lifting his tongue to take his temperature. Offering his arm to check his blood pressure. Noting that his eyes aren’t bad today—not needing to wear his blindfold due to the security system. Doing it all without needing you to say a word. All within his control.

But the one thing he can’t get a grip on is how his heart begins to beat. Every time like clockwork the moment you lay a hand on his back to listen to it. Racing in his chest—thumping through your stethoscope—while he wears the calmest face.

Curiosity called you after noticing it a few times once you determined it wasn’t a condition. Guaranteed to start up with the gentlest touch that he was surely used to.

So, what exactly goes on in his mind in these moments? Despite hiding it so well?

What could possibly be making Tokyo’s most unhinged, mass-murderer, so flustered?

You never have much time to think about it because it won’t matter in the next few seconds anyway. Sitting still enough to get through vitals was as serious as Gojo gets, making the quickest part of your visits with him the easiest.

Everything that follows the second you put your kit away is pure…surprise.

“So…are you gonna undo the straps this time, sweet nurse? My arms are sore.”

He pouts. Sweetly. So devilishly charming. As he did so often with a flash of those cerulean, blue eyes that could make and break hearts.

You sigh. One could almost forget that by society’s standards, he’s a “dangerously unstable individual.”

Something you’re acutely aware of. And trained for. Which is why you don’t mind the coquettish jabs he throws your way—and why he keeps on throwing them.

You aren’t aware but these hourly visits, along with his agreement to stay put, are the only reasons why he’s still here despite being Satoru fucking Gojo and simply walking out. It’s not like anyone could stop him if they really wanted to, and he knew that.

Truth is—it pissed Gojo off, being stuck here. Cooperative. It was fucking irritating, to say the least.

He’d rather be tortured than bored and might’ve second-guessed his decision to surrender if he knew the punishment would be…this.

But lo and behold, here you are. Relief in the flesh while he bides his time. One that he wasn’t expecting.

“You sure are possessive today.” You hide a smirk, draping the stethoscope around your neck, his heartbeat returning to normal after losing your touch. “Am I really your favorite?” The leather straps hug his pale skin a bit tightly, but his mobility is good enough to ignore his request to loosen them. That would be suicide.

He tsks, eyes sparkling at your words—a warning glimmer hidden beneath the icy gaze.

Chilling. But the least bit surprising.

Gojo and cattiness go together like love and war—and he wears it with his whole chest.

Even when unprovoked, he’s known for being….testy. Trying his hand again and again until he gets some kind of reaction. Waiting to see what makes someone bite.

But there was something disingenuous about this petty quirk. The repetition and how it seemed to lack a goal. How he seemed almost…desperate for interaction—attention—any attention.

Eventually, once you sat in his face long enough to learn how to disassociate with a straight face, you figured out that he just loves to hear himself talk. Like that one kid in class who’s always inserted themselves into every conversation and made it about them.

He rarely gives you a hard time though—less than most of your other patients in fact—and usually sends more kisses than cuts. Occasionally, when you find them…okay, or tolerable enough, you indulge him and this charade between you two—like the high school crush it resembled. Strict. But harmless.

And you’re only entertaining him now because he’s one of your last patients for the day. A fact not lost on him, but disregarded nonetheless. Even if you were just playing along, he knew there had to be more depth. All the masks in the world couldn’t hide that smile on your face.

His laugh breaks the tension. “I'm a yapper, not a liar...Am I yours?” He raises a brow. “You didn’t answer me earlier.”

His low tone carries an unspoken weight. Cryptic. Eerie. Needy. Almost calling you like a possession more frequently than ever.

It isn’t lost on you that his affections have blossomed as you’ve spent more time together. Visits are supposed to be 10, 15 minutes tops—collect vitals, serve meals, give meds, and avoid accidents. But Gojo? He drinks up your time. Going on 30, sometimes 45 minutes of routine maintenance and “extra care”. This wasn’t standard practice, but they didn’t tell you that, among other things when you accepted the position.

Every time you cross Gojo’s threshold, you’re reminded that you’re not actually supposed to be here. You’re just a nurse after all, not a therapist, and lacked the credentials to even begin to handle a patient like Gojo. But in the end, qualifications don’t matter when his staff has a famous history of running away.

A fate shared by his previous nurse and therapist. Both fell victim to Gojo’s whimsical and relentless personality and suffered a mental breakdown from hell before quitting the ward. Capacity for hospitality completely shot, they nailed the coffin shut by ditching the healthcare industry altogether.

And that was after only a few hours.

In the beginning, you had absolutely no faith in yourself. Swore it was a sick joke as you couldn’t begin to fathom why they would even consider you for the job.

You??

Gojo the Psycho’s nurse? It would’ve been easier to turn in your resignation right then to avoid living in hell.

You wondered how your life would change as you got to know the world’s most hated man.

How long you would last—if he would let you.

Anxiety and nausea gnawed at the back of your throat as time grew closer to meeting him. But eventually, after running the scenario in your head a million times over and trying to come up with some sort of plan or plea for your life, the day came, and you stood before the unpredictable man who looked like he saw right through you.

Just the idea of being in Gojo’s presence is enough to let you know it’ll be unnerving.

But the moment was…odd.

Naturally, you wanted rely on book smarts and previous patient experiences to get you through what you knew would be a short and traumatic failed attempt at connection. But then you took a second to really look at Gojo, not study, but a kind of look that catches something…a conflict in his eyes—and instantly knew he was no ordinary patient.

He was something you’d never met before, and any attempts to use a cookie-cutter facade would quickly be chewed up and spat out.

So, you went with your gut—hoping to escape with some remnants of your sanity at least.

Who knew you’d end up surprising not only yourself but also the Director and all the other staff in the ward who watched with held breaths?

Gojo practically welcomed you with open arms. Flashing his pearly whites and dimples in a closed-eyed smile. You could hear a pin drop.

He didn’t bark, he didn’t bite. Only teased, feeding you sultry words with cunning lips until your face visibly flushed with blush. They didn’t warn you about charm. Debatibly the “worst” part about working with the blue-eyed lady-killer. Or that his devilishly handsome face would make you second-guess his sanity and guilt.

But you knew what this was. Or at least what it wasn’t and quickly put on blinders to every distraction he threw. Holding your breath the whole way through and surprising yourself every time you walked out his room. After your trial period had run for a few days with no mishaps—the opposite, really— you were promoted. And given a big, fat new check (certainly not for collateral).

You didn’t know whether to breathe a sigh of relief or concern.

Congratulations! You were now in charge of Gojo’s physical AND mental health.

Which meant longer, more thorough visits.

The idea was nerve-racking for weeks, to say the least. And because he has the nerve to be a karate-chopping ‘sorcerer’ or whatever it is that makes the man so dangerous, he needs careful safeguarding. Which means having his very own wing and accommodations in the ward. The only barriers between Gojo and doing whatever the hell he wants is one guard stationed near the entrance and some type of security system they can’t disclose to you. It’s supposed to suppress his abilities or something, you don’t quite understand itself yourself, but most importantly, it keeps him tame.

Still, choosing to grace his space almost daily always feels like tempting a snake.

But somebody has to do it.

And in a way, by his own means, offering a satisfied grin and all, Gojo had chosen you.

Even in the confines of a cell, with seemingly nothing left to live for and no room for emotions, you, this wonder, have managed to catch his eye. In a way that made him want to sink his teeth in and soak up your attention. For reasons you couldn’t be more unsure of.

“It would break my heart if it weren’t true,” he continues, sitting in the only chair in the room, “You’re my entertainment, you know? My doll to play with.”

You scoff, arms folding. The word doll echos in your ear like a chamber. That was a new one.

“You sure talk a lot of game for someone in your situation.”

“I love games.” He leans, eyes drinking in his favorite powdery blue scrubs that hug your frame in an all too professional manner. “Play with me, Nurse.”

Time belonged to Gojo, and he chooses to bide it with a little fun until release—or escape. His ever-changing mind hasn’t decided yet but it was far from a concern. Because the truth of this truce was painfully obvious. He knew he wouldn’t be here forever. And is quick to mention that he’d love to take you with him.

“If you can handle me.” He licks his lip. “Unless I’m too much for you.”

And there it is. That cool smile that sends shivers down spines. Irresistibly stirring your core every time he parts his lips.

You hated it—no one could deny his charm or his intimidating presence. Even in chains, shackled and restrained, he maintains some kind of control: crumbling walls with his charisma, waving around his amorous, overassertive reputation like a big red flag.

But you’ve already proven to not be like the rest, easily swayed or reduced to puddles. Your wall is firm. Solid. He baits you time and time again—a smile here, a sinful gaze there—only to be met with dismissive yawns. Rousing something inside of him that deemed you a challenge. Something worth exploring. You were…difficult.

You’re the one who laughed this time, shaking your head and tucking a hair behind your ear. He oozes confidence from every fiber of his being—and bores you.

“Are you going to tell me what you’d like to lunch today or just keep bothering me?”

And goddammit he has the audacity to grin. To tuck his lip under his teeth slow enough to make you catch it.

Your insolence is adorable, yet maddening; a cocktail he drinks with delight before realizing how much he loves the taste.

You were becoming really good at it, beating up his ego and turning a blind eye to his silly little flirts, but interest never faded from his gaze no matter how careless you seemed. Or were trying to.

He tsks. “C’mon, Nurse. If I can’t have fun here, where can I? Besides,” Sunlight streams in from his barred window as if on cue. “You’re the only thing here worth talking about.”

Butterflies? Knots? Maybe both fill your stomach.

Neither can be good for you in a situation like this.

The dreamy words whisper sweet nothings into your ear, and stroke your ego with a delicate thumb. Soft and gentle—and from a shell of a man.

A good turned evil.

And you don’t have to look too far to remember how he got here—to remember why the enchanting man before you is dressed in heavy white restraints and public enemy number one.

Guilt tugs at you for even joking around with him sometimes. You picture his victims. The lives forever changed. And how he didn’t seem sorry for it.

Besides, even if Gojo wasn’t a basket-case, it’s hard to look past how childish he is anyway—something you heard has always been a part of him. Something you couldn’t imagine dealing with for too long, even casually. It certainly wasn’t your taste, and under different circumstances, you’d no sooner fall for him outside of these walls than you would now.

But above all of the boundaries, restrictions, and pep-talks you give yourself, is the simple fact that you aren’t the day-one nurse he once knew. Now, you have a backbone and don’t hesitate to remind him.

“You’re such a flirt, Patient Gojo.” You make sure to catch his eye when you say it, “But compliments only get you so far.”

Patient.

It hangs in the air. Brisk and stale. A bit sour on the tip of your tongue. And acid in his ears.

With that, Gojo sits back, resting his cheek on a propped-up arm, gaze long and longing. Breathing slow as he thinks and nerves buzz between you two. Then his request comes, simple and direct.

“How about sushi? Raw and fresh.” And a psych ward delicacy.

He’s the only patient in the entire facility with such privilege—envy-worthy and used to his heart’s content. With full-scale unlimited access to all the gourmet treats and fine dining he could ever want, his meals are often better than the ones you bring to work. Gojo is above common hospital dishes, of course, and his indulgent appetite would accept nothing less.

But it wasn’t just about the food, no, negotiating that was too easy and barely worth mentioning.

This is a conveniently constant reminder that he is still capable of influencing things and making decisions with ease, from those he’s allowed to have access to him, down to his choice of meal.

It intrigues you. How he subdues himself to the masses but finds meaning in smaller wins. What he finds significant.

But none of that mattered right now, you’d finally been given an order and another win, even if it felt like pulling teeth. For now, it’s time to feed him and let him believe whatever he wants.

You pick up his tray from this morning, scanning the room to make sure no cutlery or dishes are missing. “Sushi it is,” you wink and call to be let out.

None of his staff are allowed the room key as a preventative measure to keep his chances of escaping to a minimum. As if a door would stop him but a key does exist and you’ve only seen it on the day the Director introduced you two, and it looked nothing like the keys used for other rooms.

When you come back with lunch, Gojo grows curious. Noticing how your body has relaxed over time, getting used to his presence every time you come in. Little nuisances like how you breathe a little easier in his space and sometimes smile with your eyes when he tells a stupid joke. The air is…changing. He wonders just how comfortable have you gotten?

“Finally back? I started to miss you.” It’s light but he can’t possibly resist testing the waters. “Would you like to eat with me, pet?” And it takes everything in you to suppress a visceral reaction.

He’s on a roll with the names today and you wonder what his affections might have been like in his life before. Sure, he’s a talker and a flirt, that much is obvious, but you wonder what his actual love was like? How did he show it if he ever got to? And if so, if he ever left anybody behind?

“You know the procedure, Gojo.” You wait with the tray in hand, brushing the thoughts away. Though the temptation savor what you knew would be premium cuisine begs you to do it, you know better than to start breaking boundaries now.

He deflates, brows furrowing. “Is it…really so necessary?” He knows the answer, of course.

You gesture for him to turn around but he holds your gaze, having a little stare down like he enjoys the silent confrontation. You raise an annoyed brow. “The food’s getting cold,” and tap the tray.

“It’s sushi.”

You huff.

He smirks before finally facing the wall, stilling his body in the tight jacket. When you’re sure he won't move, you set his food to the side and slowly approach to attach him to the latch on the wall.

Skilled fingers reach across his waist and you have to crouch a little to glide the heavy chain towards the loop at his hip. His skin flushes at your warmth, your proximity, as he can’t help but enjoy the intimacy of the routine power shift. Even if it was a sham, it was still one he reluctantly agreed to. To play nice. To be weak.

But this exchange, giving himself over to your authority, was oddly invigorating—like placing himself in his victim’s shoes to get a minuscule taste of his own medicine.

“Well, don’t look so happy about it,” he chuckles. Relief finds your face as you gently tug on the chain to make sure it’s secure, amusing the man towering over you.

The thoroughness is cute, all a part of a job well done and strict boundaries that drive a heavy wedge between you two. But it doesn’t bother Gojo. Because he’s certain, he knows, that your guarded walls will crumble sooner than later. All it takes is patience.

“Remember, Nurse,” he doesn’t turn around, “Power dynamics….they’re fluid.”

And you can almost hear the wink—the implied warning living on his slick tongue that pokes and prods with every interaction and sends heat to your rosy cheeks.

“You have a way with words, Gojo.” Again your eyes roll as you reach for the key to his restraints. The shackles fall to the ground, shrilling in the mostly empty room to allow him to feed himself.

A mix of groans and relief escapes his lips as he relishes the freedom from the stiff leather. He sighs, “Thank you, Nurse.” and rubs his tender wrists before abruptly filling your space. Nearly knocking you off your feet, but stopping just shy of your face. The monstrous chains strain against the wall, playing tug of war with the beast of a man and the florescent lights cast a spotlight on the sudden distance between you two.

You had never been this close.

“But don’t forget, I can turn these roles around. Anytime.”

Twinkles play in his eyes, dazzling you with a shine so bright you can see your reflection. But you also see the unhinged nature behind them just as easily as he sees the quiver of your lip feeling his breath graze the curve of your neck and raise goosebumps on your skin.

This isn’t just idle banter. It’s a stark reminder of Gojo’s capabilities that you had grown comfortable enough to forget. That you thought maybe you had become the exception to.

As he steps back and leans against the wall he could’ve torn down, there’s an unmistakable silence filling with tension. Hot and sharp like pins and needles. But instead of pushing you to run for the hills, to quit while you’re ahead and savor what’s left of the life you know, for once, your unrelenting mind dares to wonder where this twisted ballet will go.

It kills you to admit that their is something interesting about cat-and-mouse game he thinks you’re playing. Just as his affections have grown, your thoughts push you to imagine what could happen if you were actually…caught..

It’s idiotic, you know. You don’t need a sign telling you not to play with your life.

This is Satoru fucking Gojo, for Godsake. The murderer. The villain. A literal stain on the face of humanity.

Forget about what he may have been before. You never saw that Gojo, and he’ll never be seen again.

Your motto has always been that everyone is redeemable—but these types, Gojo’s type, are so beyond saving that it feels more like babysitting than redeeming a mentally unstable murderous toddler who could destroy a city in seconds.

Even for a man who speaks so carelessly, but teases a sugary-sweet tongue, it’s easy to see how and why he ended up here. Life had made him an example.

Proving that too much of a good thing will always spoil.

And as you watch him turn a wink and begin to casually snack on his meal, completely unconcerned with you or your reaction or response, it’s plain to see that his “affections” spare no one. Not even you.

You clear your throat and steady a breath. With the lightest voice you can muster, you remind him, “Empty threats are the best you can do, patient.” And turn to leave.

“I’ll be back later for your bath. Or maybe send someone else. Since you’re so excitable today.”

He pauses. “Oh?”

Is that a challenge?

His laugh echoes around the room like something out of a cartoon, fading away just as quickly as it came. He leans back, hair blending into the wall as he licks bits of rice off his thumbs—gaze sharp despite the jest.

Because the stakes are clear and you’re both aware.

But in case you don’t know the consequences he asks, “Do I seem threatened to you?”

You shift your weight. If Gojo is anything, he’s always playful. The man does not have a serious bone in his body, which makes him damn near intolerable sometimes, but it’s something you’re used to it. But not this tone. This tone has rocks in it, hard and heavy as he calls your bluff.

“Because my threats—,” he continues eating, “—are never empty.” He pops the last roll into his mouth. “You sure you wanna do this?”

There’s no denying the chill running up your spine at those words—playing out like casual banter over lunch instead of the battle royale it was.

As if the question were rhetorical, he adds, “Okay but like,” and coughs up another laugh, as if finding the entire idea ridiculous. “Who’d be dumb enough to replace you?”

To feed or not to feed? Now was a chance to bail out.

“Don’t worry about that.” And you don’t as you call to the guard, hoping to catch your break on time. “Just behave yourself.” Gojo would keep you here playing 20 questions all day if he could.

A bemused smile settles on his face and he shakes his head at your antics.

You were becoming increasingly enjoyable to interact with. And steadily digging yourself into a hole. You’ve been sitting front-row to the darkness within him enough times to be sure it is, in fact, very real, but still it’s impossible to ignore that there’s something driving you to pick up the shovel.

It isn’t just his pretty face and boyish charm. No.

It’s like he wants to get under your skin. In the best way.

Yeahhhh, this death wish is turning you every way but loose.

It’s silly, so stupid to even think about. Giving Gojo a smidge of an inch just because you feel there may be something more. Like there’s depth to his pretty words and clashing ways. Who's to say any of it is “real” anyway? He is insane after all.

Your mind and the door shut behind you, and you turn to peer at him through the small window. A mischievous yet bored look rests on his face.

You think you actually will send someone else. Just to show him what happens when he crosses the line. To reinforce business and boundaries.

You could also use a break yourself—Gojo is starting to feel… claustrophobic these days and if you aren’t careful who knows what could happen.

“Choose wisely,” came his voice from within the room,. “Every move you make counts. And cheating has consequences.” Footsteps approach the door. “You may think tagging out is all it takes to avoid our game, but let me tell you something…” He stops. “...you underestimate how quickly I can escape confinement before I’m noticed.”

And suddenly, this isn’t just a game anymore. And Gojo isn’t just some harmless tease.

Your throat is too tight to swallow and you fidget with your lanyard as if responding to his words.

Of course, he’s capable of breaking free. That’s not what’s worrying. But if it was because of you poking the bear, you trying to get on even ground with him and have the upper hand, would you be responsible if he did?

“No matter where they send you or who they send instead—” And Gojo’s comment makes it crystal clear.

“—I promise you, you’ll end up right back here.”

extended angel's note: first and foremost, just to give credit where credit is due, this is a chatbot i turned into a short story🧍🏾‍♀️. it was actually my first time dicking around with janitor a.i. back in like...april? and i came across this gojo bot with a suuuuper interesting prompt. [all of the prompt idea and calibration credit goes to the original creator.] i didn’t decide to actually get serious and start creating a story until around the end of part 2 - i realized i was having too much fun and was in too deep 🙇🏾‍♀️. SO after my decision to indulge madness, i didn't want to run up 10000 messages on janitor a.i. and decided to create the rest of the story on my own from there. everything after the prompt are my own words and i've had to weave every last bit of part 1 and 2 into a coherent story but everything afterwards is all me.

you can find the chatbot and play around with it yourself here but i strongly recomment doing so after finishing this short - think of it as a choose your own adventure afterwards in case you want my head on a stick after the ending 🤠.

tags list p.1: @reddiamondjazz @blkkizzat @kiwismoother @rune1920 @suguwife

@xerroe @enthyn @gloomuri671 @startatdawn @heijihatsutori

@inluvkai @ixqiix @strawnanamilk @rosso-seta @05-simply-06-simping

@sims-4lifers @bratidol @hyunsuks-beanie @luna-v-roiya @neteyamsluvr111

@supsiii @natadecoco30 @chiyokoemilia @ririoutspoken @kyoxko

@strawberrymilkshakes-posts @nen-nyy @cinnamorochiroll @kazeniya @maybe7tommorow

#bluuharem #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #jjk smut #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojo smut #jjk gojo #satoru x reader #satoru x you #satoru x y/n #Satoru Psyche

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nyrasvoid · 20 days

Text

Through Love and Sorrow

♡︎ Gwayne Hightower x Fem!Reader

𖤓 Summary: After the joy of expecting their first child is shattered by a devastating miscarriage, Gwayne Hightower returns home to find his wife consumed by grief.

⚝ Warnings: Angst, Miscarriage, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy Insecurities, Emotional Trauma.

⚝ A/N: this fic also includes a kinda mother-son relationship between reader and Daeron,btw sorry I haven’t posted anything in like two weeks lmao

-Word count: ≈4.4k

This fanfic is a request from a while ago (link)

You sat in your room, the sunlight pouring through the tall windows. Your hands moved skillfully with the needle and thread, working on a small attire—a delicate onesie you had lovingly made for your child, your first with Gwayne.

As you finished the final stitch, you glanced at the door, eager for Gwayne’s return. You had planned carefully how to share the wonderful news with him, and now the moment had arrived.

The door creaked open, and Gwayne stepped in, looking tired but his face brightening when he saw you. “My love,” he greeted, coming over to kiss your cheek. “You look especially happy today. What’s going on?”

You smiled and took his hand, guiding him to sit beside you. “I’ve been working on something,” you said. “And I want to show you.”

Gwayne watched as you pulled the small onesie from behind your back and placed it in his hands. His brow furrowed for a moment in confusion before realization dawned on him. He looked up at you, his eyes wide with disbelief and excitement.

“Is this…?” he started, his voice full of wonder.

You nodded, unable to keep the smile from your face. “Yes, Gwayne. We’re going to have a babe.”

He stared at you for a moment, the onesie still in his hands as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

Then, without warning, he pulled you into his arms, laughing with joy. “A babe! We’re going to have a child!” His voice was full of emotion, his grip on you tightening as he buried his face in your neck. “Gods, I’m the luckiest man alive.”

You laughed with him, feeling the warmth of his love surround you. He pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hands as he kissed you deeply, then gently placed his hand on your belly. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered, as he got on one knee to kiss your barely swollen belly

“We’ll have a little one running around soon, with your beauty and wit,” Gwayne continued, his voice thick with emotion as he caressed your belly, where your child was beginning to grow. “We’ll teach them everything—how to ride, how to wield a sword, everything. I’ll be by your side through it all.”

You smiled, leaning into his touch. “And I’ll make sure they know how to be kind and strong, like their father.”

Gwayne laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with the kind of happiness that made your heart swell. “And stubborn like their mother, I’m sure.”

The days following the joyful news were some of the happiest of your life. Gwayne was attentive and loving, always making sure you had everything you needed, always talking about the future and the life you would build together. But as time went on, you began to be more worried and insecure.

The other ladies at court had spoken to you, sharing their experiences with childbirth—how their bodies had changed, how their husbands had sometimes seeked comfort elsewhere during those vulnerable weeks after the birth. They’d laugh softly, as if it were just a fact of life, but their words dug deep into your mind, planting seeds of doubt and fear.

You found yourself pulling away from Gwayne, unsure of how to voice your fears. He would come to you with that familiar smile, eager to talk about the babe or to spend time with you, but you would turn away, offering only brief responses, avoiding his touch.

It was not that you loved him any less—if anything, your love for him had only grown deeper—but the fear of losing him, of not being enough, was paralyzing.

One night, as you lay beside him in bed, the silence stretched on longer than usual. Gwayne finally turned to you, concern evident in his voice. “Darling, what’s wrong? You’ve been so distant lately. Have I done something to upset you?”

You stared up at the ceiling, your heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to reveal the insecurities that had taken hold of you. But Gwayne was insistent, turning onto his side and taking your hand in his. “Please, my love. Talk to me.”

The words came slowly, hesitantly, as you struggled to express your feelings. “I… I’ve heard the other ladies at court talk,” you began, whispering.

“About how their bodies changed after childbirth, how they couldn’t… couldn’t be with their husbands for weeks, sometimes longer. And how their husbands…” You swallowed hard, unable to finish the thought.

Gwayne’s grip on your hand tightened as he waited for you to continue, his eyes fixed on your face, his worry deepening.

“They said their husbands sought comfort in other women,” you finally confessed, your voice breaking. “In whores. And I—I’m afraid, Gwayne. I’m afraid that I’ll change, that I won’t be… enough for you anymore. That you’ll look elsewhere.”

For a moment, there was silence. You didn’t dare look at him, too ashamed of the words you had spoken. But then Gwayne did something you didn’t expect. He started to laugh—a soft, warm chuckle that caught you off guard.

You turned to him, confused and a little hurt. “Gwayne, this isn’t funny—”

“No, no, it’s not that,” he said quickly, his laughter fading as he saw the tears in your eyes. He leaned in, brushing his lips against your forehead. “It’s just… the thought of me with anyone else is absurd. My love, you are my heart, my soul. There is no one in this world who could ever compare to you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he silenced you with a gentle kiss. “Listen to me,” he said, his tone serious now. “You are the only woman I want, the only woman I will ever want. The idea of seeking pleasure in someone else when I have you is ridiculous. Those other men—they’re fools. I would never betray you, never.”

You felt a rush of relief at his words, though the doubt still lingered. “But what if—”

“No what-ifs,” Gwayne interrupted, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “I swear to you, on every star in the sky, that I will never stray. And if any man tells you differently, I’ll knock his teeth out.”

A small laugh escaped you, despite yourself. Gwayne grinned, his eyes twinkling as he saw the smile return to your face. “See? There’s that smile I love so much. You’re going to be a wonderful mother, and we’re going to be a wonderful family. No matter what changes, I’ll be right here, by your side.”

That night, the two of you found solace in each other, and as you drifted off to sleep, you felt the fears that had plagued you begin to disappear, replaced by the strength of your bond and the love you shared.

---

A few weeks later, you, Gwayne, and Daeron sat at the dining table, enjoying a simple meal. Daeron was telling you about his day, his young face alight with enthusiasm as he described his lessons and adventures. You smiled fondly at him, listening intently as he spoke about a new bird he had seen in the gardens.

“And then it swooped down, right in front of me! I almost thought it would land on my shoulder like the falcons do on their keepers,” Daeron said, eyes wide with excitement.

Gwayne chuckled, ruffling the boy’s hair. You laughed softly, reaching out to squeeze Daeron’s hand. “You’re already quite the little adventurer. Perhaps one day you’ll ride with your uncle on his journeys.”

Daeron’s face lit up at the thought, and he looked eagerly at Gwayne. “Will you take me with you one day, Uncle?”

Gwayne smiled, “One day, certainly. But I’m afraid I have to leave again in three days’ time for an important matter in Blackcrown. I’ll only be gone for a month, maybe less.”

You felt a pang of worry at his words, though you did your best to hide it. You had hoped he wouldn’t need to leave again so soon, but you understood the responsibilities that came with his position. “Just promise me you’ll be back well before the babe is due,” you said. “I don’t want to have to deliver without you.”

Gwayne took your hand across the table, squeezing it reassuringly. “I’ll be back in plenty of time, I promise. Nothing could keep me from being here for you and our child.”

Daeron looked between the two of you, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and curiosity. “You’ll come back safe, right, Uncle?”

“Of course, Daeron,” Gwayne replied with a warm smile. “I’ll be back before you even have time to miss me.”

True to his word, Gwayne departed three days later. You and Daeron saw him off, Daeron clutching his uncle’s hand until the very last moment, and you pressing a kiss to Gwayne’s lips, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in your heart. As Gwayne rode away, you couldn’t help but feel a little sadness, but you reminded yourself that he would be back soon, that everything would be alright.

In the days and weeks that followed, you busied yourself with preparations for the babe. You spent hours knitting tiny clothes and blankets, imagining the child that would soon be in your arms. Daeron often kept you company, helping you with small tasks or just sitting nearby, chatting about his day.

One afternoon, you decided to take a walk in the woods with Daeron. The two of you had grown close over the years, and you cherished the bond you shared. As you walked along the familiar paths, Daeron spoke of his lessons.

“Auntie,” he began after a moment of comfortable silence.

Just as you were about to respond, a sharp, sudden pain shot through your abdomen, stealing your breath. You gasped, clutching at your belly as the pain intensified, bringing you to your knees.

“Auntie?” Daeron’s voice was laced with panic as he rushed to your side. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

The pain was unbearable, radiating through your entire body. You could barely find the words, but you managed to gasp, “Daeron, get help. Quickly.”

Daeron hesitated, his face pale with fear, but then he nodded. “I’ll be right back. Stay here, I’ll get help.” With that, he sprinted back toward the keep, his small legs carrying him as fast as they could.

You were left alone in the woods, the cold earth beneath you as the pain continued to wrack your body. You knew, deep down, that something was terribly wrong. Fear gripped you as you realized you might be losing the baby. Your heart ached with the thought, but there was nothing you could do except wait.

By the time help arrived, the miscarriage had already happened. The maids and guards who found you tried to help, but the damage was done. The life that had been growing inside you was gone, leaving you with an overwhelming sense of loss and emptiness.

Ignoring the advice of the maesters, who urged you to rest and be carried back to the keep, you walked on your own, numb to the world around you. The only thing on your mind was the baby you had lost and how Gwayne would react when he found out. You couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the disappointment in his eyes, even though you knew it wasn’t your fault.

Once you reached the keep, you went straight to the nursery. The small room that had been filled with so much hope and joy now felt empty and desolate. You sat down on the edge of the small bed, your hands trembling as you picked up the half-finished blanket you had been knitting for the babe.

Days passed in a blur. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave the nursery or eat. The maids came and went, offering food and kind words, but you paid them no mind. The world outside the nursery seemed to fade away, leaving you alone with your grief.

Daeron was the only one who could get through to you, even if just a little. He would visit you every day, sitting beside you and talking about anything and everything. His presence was a small comfort, a reminder that you were not entirely alone, even in your darkest moments.

One afternoon, Daeron came to the nursery as usual. He looked at you with concern. “Auntie, you have to eat something. The maesters say it’s important. Uncle Gwayne wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

You shook your head, still clutching the blanket. “I’m not hungry, Daeron. I just… I can’t.”

Daeron sighed, sitting down beside you. “I know you’re sad. I miss the babe too, even though I never got to meet them. But Uncle Gwayne will be back today. Maybe… maybe he can help you feel better.”

You didn’t respond, the weight of your grief pressing down on you. But Daeron’s words lingered in your mind. Gwayne was coming home. You weren’t sure how you would face him, how you would tell him about the baby, but you knew you couldn’t avoid it forever.

Daeron leaned in and gave you a hug, his small arms wrapped around you tightly. “I love you, auntie. And Uncle Gwayne does too. Don’t forget that.”

His simple words brought tears to your eyes, and you hugged him back. “I love you too, Daeron. Thank you.”

Daeron smiled up at you, his eyes full of warmth and understanding. He squeezed your hand before standing up to leave. “I’ll go and make sure everything is ready for Uncle Gwayne’s return. I’ll come back later, alright?”

You nodded, watching as he left the room. Alone again, you stared down at the blanket in your lap, running your fingers over the soft fabric. You had poured so much love into this tiny piece of cloth, and now it felt like a cruel reminder of what you had lost.

Hours later, you heard footsteps approaching the nursery. Your heart clenched with a mix of dread and longing. The door creaked open, and Gwayne entered, his expression filled with concern and urgency.

“My love?” His voice was soft, but it was filled with worry. He rushed to your side, kneeling before you as he gently took your hands in his. “Daeron told me… told me what happened.”

The tears you had been holding back finally spilled over, and you couldn’t stop them. “I lost the babe, Gwayne,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “I’m so sorry… I’m so, so sorry.”

Gwayne’s eyes filled with pain, but he quickly pulled you into his arms, holding you close as you wept. “Shh, it’s not your fault, my love. You have nothing to be sorry for,” he murmured, his voice soothing as he stroked your hair.

“I feel like I failed you,” you sobbed, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you grounded. “I couldn’t protect our child…”

Gwayne pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own filled with unwavering love and determination. “Love, listen to me. You did nothing wrong. Nothing. You could never fail me, and this… this is not your fault. It was beyond our control, and I don’t blame you for a single moment.”

You searched his face, looking for any hint of disappointment or anger, but all you found was love and compassion. He kissed your forehead, his lips lingering there as he whispered, “We’re still young, my love. We have time, and we will have children—many, I hope. But right now, all that matters is you. I’m here for you, and we’ll get through this together.”

His words were like a balm to your wounded heart, easing some of the pain that had consumed you. You nodded, resting your head against his chest as you let out a shuddering breath. “I love you, Gwayne,” you whispered.

“And I love you,” he replied, holding you tightly. “More than anything in this world. We will get through this, I promise you that.”

Gwayne held you close for what felt like an eternity, letting you cry, letting you release the pain you’d been holding onto since the miscarriage. His presence was a steady comfort, a reminder that you weren’t alone, that he would be there for you no matter what.

After a long while, Gwayne pulled back slightly, brushing the tears from your cheeks with his thumb. “Come, my love,” he said gently. “Let’s get you out of here. We don’t have to stay in this room. We can go anywhere you’d like—anywhere that will bring you peace.”

You hesitated, looking around the nursery. The room had once been a place of joy and anticipation, but now it felt suffocating, a reminder of the loss you had suffered. You nodded slowly, realizing that staying here would only prolong your grief.

“Alright,” you whispered, letting him help you to your feet. You wavered slightly, still feeling weak, but Gwayne was there to steady you, his arm wrapped securely around your waist.

As you left the nursery together, you found yourself leaning on Gwayne more than ever before. He didn’t mind, guiding you gently through the halls of the keep, away from the place that had brought you so much pain. He led you to your chambers, where a fire had been lit, casting a warm, comforting glow over the room.

Gwayne helped you sit by the fire, then knelt beside you, taking your hands in his again. “You don’t have to be strong right now,” he said softly. “Let me take care of you.”

You nodded, too drained to argue, too weary to pretend that you could handle this on your own. Gwayne stayed by your side, talking to you quietly, telling you stories from his travels, stories meant to distract you, to bring a small smile to your face. He was patient, understanding, never pushing you to talk about the miscarriage, but always offering comfort in whatever way he could.

A few days later, when you had gathered enough strength to leave your chambers, Gwayne took you out to the gardens. The air was crisp, and the scent of blooming flowers filled your senses. It was a welcome change from the stifling atmosphere of the keep.

As you walked together, Gwayne kept his arm around you, his presence a steady reassurance. You were quiet for a while, lost in your thoughts, but eventually, Gwayne broke the silence.

“Do you remember the first time we walked through these gardens?” he asked, a hint of a smile in his voice.

You looked up at him, nodding slowly. “I do. You tried to impress me with your knowledge of every flower and plant.”

He chuckled softly. “And I failed miserably, didn’t I? You knew more about the flowers than I did.”

“You were charming, though,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I fell in love with you that day.”

Gwayne’s smile widened, and he pressed a kiss to your temple. “And I’ve been falling in love with you every day since.”

As you continued to walk, you felt some of the tension ease from your shoulders. The pain of losing the babe was still there, and you knew it would take time to heal, but with Gwayne by your side, you felt a glimmer of hope.

Later that evening, as you sat by the fire in your chambers, Gwayne brought out a small wooden box. “I have something for you,” he said, his tone soft, almost hesitant.

You looked at him curiously as he handed you the box. When you opened it, you found a delicate necklace inside, the pendant a small, intricately carved locket.

“It belonged to my mother,” Gwayne explained. “She gave it to me before she passed, and I’ve kept it all these years. I was waiting for the right moment to give it to you.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you looked at the beautiful locket, your heart swelling with emotion. “Gwayne, it’s beautiful,” you whispered.

He took the locket from the box and fastened it around your neck, his fingers brushing against your skin as he did so. “I wanted you to have something that reminds you that you’re never alone,” he said, his voice filled with tenderness. “Whenever you feel lost, or when the grief feels too much, just remember that I’m here, and that I’ll always be here.”

You touched the locket, feeling the cool metal beneath your fingers, and nodded. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I’ll treasure it always.”

Gwayne smiled, as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, a kiss that was filled with the promise of a future together, a future that, despite the loss you had endured, would still be full of love and hope.

In that moment, you knew that with Gwayne by your side, you could face whatever challenges life threw your way. The grief would not disappear overnight, and the road to healing would be long, but you would walk it together, hand in hand, and eventually, you would find peace.

P.S: i’m sorry my paragraphs look so separated but I have bad eyesight and I can’t read it well if I don’t separate lmao

#gwayne fanfic #gwayne hightower #gwayne hightower fanfic #gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne hightower x you #gwayne imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #gwayne x reader #gwayne x you #house of the dragon s2 #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd

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