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gyuranhae · 2 years

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Oppa | (dino smut)

Pairing: BadBoy!Dino X Reader Synopsis: You should not even be friends with your brother's best friend. But it felt so good to tease Lee Chan about his need to be called oppa. Genre: smut Word Count: 5.6K Warning: HUGE MASSIVE EXTREME GIGANTIC OPPA KINK FROM DINO'S SIDE. protected sex. masturbation (f). teasing. dirty talk. praise. name calling (whore, slut). oral (f receiving). squirting. petnames (doll, pretty, baby). degradation. some level of possessiveness. pretty romantic smut. jeonghan smokes and dino drinks. Tag: - A/N: I could say that I'm sorry but I'm not I fucking love this one. also i'm a sucker for mullet dino

"C'mon, don't get so mad, oppa" You said, a large grin spread across your face "That grumpy look doesn't fit your handsome face" If looks could kill, you would have been dead long time ago, or maybe now, giving that Lee Chan looked through you as if he wanted to burn a hole in your skull. And he wanted badly.

"Will you ever call me in the proper way without making it sound like I'm a joke to you?" He clenched his teeth, opening the beer can with rather force and gulping down hard on the burning liquid.

"Who says you aren't a joke to me?" You smiled, earning a violent cough from Dino as he choked hard on his drink. You were the most impossible, insufferable, annoying, persistent, bratty person Chan had ever met. You were mean to him for no other reason than being funny, and he hated that he couldn't pay back. He always claimed he couldn't because you were his best friend's little sister, that he would never do anything because Jeonghan might kill him. You half wished it was true, and half wished it was because he liked you and tolerated your behavior for the sake of love. He cleaned his mouth on his shirt, breathing heavily as his patience was running out very quickly.

"Good to know you see someone older as a joke" He sounded serious, and you wanted to die out of laughter "Good to know that respect is the least of your concerns" He tapped the counter, looking back with almost fire in his eyes as his anger boiled his insides with rage. You could see his tense jaw.

"Oh please, I save respect for those who deserve it" You smirked, knowing you just had hit the sore spot. Earning it. Dino was known for being more than just competitive, for earning his spot on your brother's bike gang. He was known for doing anything to earn what had to earn, whether it would be money, respect or some random girl he found pretty. You weren't jealous, no. You could see the red rising on his skin, his fingers gripping back on his hand as he clenched his jaw even more, sharp eyes almost cutting you with his gaze.

"Oh… So I don't deserve your respect, Y/N?" His voice dropped an octave, and you could feel your legs pressing against each other. Thank god the counter covered your figure from the waist down "Interesting… It appears like I'm going to have to show you how deserving of your respect I am"

"Maybe" You shrugged, sounding uninterested on his offer to earn you "I guess you could show off how amazing you are and try to get me impressed so I can finally call you oppa without wanting to laugh" Your smirk was almost as annoying as your brothers, almost as punchable as Jeonghan's devilish smile. To Dino, it was more "Your need for my respect is… what do they call it? Ah! Cute"

“Cute?!” Before any of you could do anything, the door of the kitchen opened with one motion, well, with one kick as your brother entered the room, cigar in the corner of his mouth and two other dudes behind him. Seungcheol and Joshua, you knew everyone in his gang at that point. Dino adjusted his posture, bowing in a 90º angle towards Jeonghan, making you chuckle lightly “Sir Jeonghan” The politeness that dripped from his voice almost made you laugh out loud, if it wasn’t for the fact that it made Jeonghan laugh out loud.

“Sir Jeonghan? Do you think I’m like fifty five or something? You can call me hyung, kid” Your brother slapped Chan in the back, making his whole body jolt forward as the younger one gave him an embarrassed smile. Turning his whole body towards you, Jeonghan took the cigarette off of his mouth, putting it out on the little trail on the corner of the counter you were currently in “We’ll be gone for like, some hours. I’m leaving you some money and if you need anything…” Jeonghan slapped Dino’s back again, the clear pain being visible on the boy’s face “Lee Chan won’t hesitate to come right to your service, right Chan?” Your brother’s smile was as sarcastic as it could get.

“Y-Yeah, I’ll come right away…” He sounded embarrassed, as if he wasn't almost shouting at you like two minutes ago.

“Yeah, that’s all. You know the drill, just doing some races for the money. I’ll be back before four AM. Let’s go guys” Jeonghan gave you a tight hug and handed you the cash, indicating the door to the others as he pulled another cigarette from his pocket, ready to light. You and Dino exchanged looks, his filled with rage, yours filled with excitement. He couldn’t help but mouth “I’ll kill you when I come back” before leaving, making you giggle like a child.

You were extremely tempted, Dino’s number on your screen looking more delectable than ever. One move and you would cause Chan’s temper to burst out of rage, you knew how much he loved to be on those races, along with your brother’s gang, the feeling of being on a motorbike, speeding up and earning money from doing so. You knew he would never forgive you for taking away the experience of finally feeling like he belonged somewhere, even if the older one’s teased him all the time. You grunted, frustrated that your morals and stupid heart were speaking louder than your head, not letting you call Lee Chan and ruin his night. It was not your fault that you liked his company, even if ninety percent of the time he was annoyed by you.

Throwing your phone to the side, you jumped on the bed, laying spread as you stared at the ceiling, sighing loudly. You just couldn’t get him out of your head. His slicked back mullet, a hair strain that always seemed to fall on his exposed forehead, his strong eyebrows that furrowed everytime he got concentrated on something, his lip piercing that every now and then would get caressed by his tongue as he licked his lips. You were obsessed with the way he dressed too, you swore you never saw someone as stylish as him, his leather jackets and tank tops making your head spin in circles. And how could you forget the way he looked when he was on top of his motorbike? Gloved hands gripping on the handles, the way he took off his helmet, hair always a bit sweaty from the adrenaline of running around. Dino was a walking temptation to you, and it was even harder because he was your older brother’s friend, which meant he was off limits.

Lost in your thoughts, you failed to miss the way your hand automatically traveled south, diving inside your pajama shorts and panties, fingertips lightly rubbing your sensitive clit, a soft moan escaping your lips as you closed your eyes and thought of the one you loved. Everything about Chan was too good to you, his piercing gaze as his dragon eyes looked you up and down with disapproval, his strong arms that tensed up as he gripped onto something to control himself, his clenched jaw as he bit his tongue and let you make fun of him. He was so handsome, even when angry, and that made you crazy. You let a finger slide inside your folders, imagining it was his long fingers, toying with your pussy and making you moan, your other hand grabbing the pillow underneath your head.

“C-Chan…” You let out, hips arching away from the bed as you let another finger dip into your heat, your walls clenching from the thought of him being with you, rubbing your cunt and dragging you into a messy kiss. You dreamed of kissing his lips, yearning to know how it would taste, would his piercing make everything taste like iron? Would his plush tongue dive into your mouth, making you feel the taste of his favorite can beer? Would he drag his kiss across your jaw, biting and sucking into your skin as your hips rode his hand, his calloused fingers curling up inside you and brushing up against your sweet spot? Your back arched as you felt the coil underneath your stomach appear quickly, your fingers working inside of you just like they did every night. Your mouth stood hanging open, whines and moans erupting from your throat as your folds gripped around your hand and wet your fingers.

“O-Oppa… P-Please…” You would never say it out loud, that you liked calling him oppa. That you were into the visual of seeing him getting full of himself as you finally addressed him the way he wanted with proper respect. That the idea of calling him oppa as he dived into your body got you turned on. You would never ever admit to him, nor to yourself, that you loved calling him like that, that you wanted to call him that while he railed you in any position “O-Oppa, I’m so close…” Your head was thrown back, eyes starting to gather tears as your fingers pumped in and out of your pussy. The gushing sounds should make you embarrassed, but they only turned you on even more, just the thought of being this wet because of him making you moan out loud again. Thank god Jeonghan wasn’t home. The coil on your stomach got tighter, your legs closing as a reflex as you chased your high desperately, needing that sweet sweet release. It wasn't long until you felt yourself squirting, ruining your underwear and shorts, your mind going blank as the wave of pleasure cruised through your body and made your legs shake, your chest moving up and down rapidly as you tried to compose yourself. Your fingers lingered a bit too long on your heat, the little shock of overstimulation making your hips halt as you stabilized your mind back to reality, eyes slowly opening to stare at the ceiling again. You wished everything you had just imagined was real.

“Y/N?” You froze. Your mind was too foggy with the lust you were feeling, that was it, it wasn't Lee Chan’s actual voice calling for you, right?

“Y/N… did you mean to call me?” It was his voice, coming from your phone, that got tossed to the side like one of your clothes. You rushed, fumbling around with your covers and with your messy hand, cleaning on a towel you had for these occasions before grabbing your phone. You were on a voice call with him, and you don’t know how long he had been hearing you.

“U-Uh, C-Chan! Good that you picked up! I need you to pass to my brother, need to talk to him!” You tried to cover your embarrassment, swallowing thick as you hoped he bought the idea that you called him to talk to Jeonghan. Your hands trembled, the anxiety washing over you as he took a little bit too long to answer you.

“... Are you sure you want to talk to him?” The emphasis on him made you bite your lip, your heart beating fast. He had noticed your little plan “... I can come back if you need something. Jeonghan is busy” You froze again. Lee Chan was offering to come back? The Lee Chan that always whined and complained when he needed to get you something? “Besides, he told us that I would come back if you needed something, right?”

“... Right” Your voice was above a whisper, your body had sunk on itself as you sat on the floor of your room, back resting against the foot of your bed. Your body was numb, both from your orgasm and from the talk.

“Jeonghan-hyung!” You heard him call your brother, his voice sounding a bit more far away “Y/N said she’s not feeling very well, I’ll come back to check on her okay? Don’t know if I’ll be able to come back… I’ll be there in twenty” His voice sounded closer to the phone on the last bit, the call ending shortly after, leaving you holding your own phone while staring blankly at the wall in front of you. You couldn’t tell how much Dino had heard, nor what his reaction was. You hoped you weren’t screwed, the last thing you needed at this moment was the boy you liked becoming distant because he heard you masturbating and moaning his name.

Those were the slowest and most agonizing twenty minutes of your whole life. You walked from side to side in the living room, checking the wall clock every five seconds as if that was going to make the time stop, wishing that Chan never arrived so you wouldn’t have to face him at all. But at last, you heard the bell of your house ring, a breathy sigh leaving your lips as you turned your body towards the front door, praying for it to not be him, or for him to not look you in the eye. Your hand twisted the door knob, opening just a little bit of it and slightly looking through it, your gaze being met with Dino’s as he looked back at you with an indecipherable look.

“Hm… Can I come in?” You couldn’t figure out what the tone was, if he was disappointed, worried or just calm. You opened the door whole, turning yourself away from him and walking straight to the kitchen, not wanting to look him in the eye. You sat at the stool from the counter, hearing his steps as his boots stomp their way into the kitchen, a sound of plastic shuffling around caughting your attention. You looked back, seeing as he placed a plastic bag on another counter, checking the content on it and then turning himself at you. You quickly looked back to your front, ears and cheeks burning red from the embarrassment and feeling of being near him after what happened.

“Ignoring me is not gonna help, y’know” He sounded calm, opposite from you at the moment. You swallowed thick before looking back again, head low as you could barely look him in the eye. He was laid back against one of the counters, elbows holding his torso up. You couldn’t see a trace of grossness or rage on his face, remaining quiet as he looked back at you, up and down “... Did you mean?”

“W-What?” You wanted to curse at your body as your voice cracked, your hands gripping against the fabric of the pants you had changed to.

“Did you mean to call me at that moment? Or did your dumbass accidentally call me?” Hearing him curse you felt more natural, a bit of the tension on your body leaving as you relaxed a bit. Hopefully he was still the Dino you knew.

“Of course I meant to call you! I said that I wanted to speak to Jeonghan” You pouted, crossing your arms as you tried to keep the narrative from earlier on. You wished he would bite it.

“... So you wanted Jeonghan to hear his little sister moaning one of his friends' names while she touched herself?” Your face dropped. He had heard everything. He even had deducted perfectly what you were doing, not that it was hard to with your moans and whines. He straight his posture up, crossing his arms and walking closer to you. You sunk against yourself again, looking up at him as he stared at you with clouded eyes “I’m not saying I liked it but… I got kinda disappointed when you stopped”

“H-Huh?” Your voice got caught in your throat, your confused eyes searching on his for some clear answer. What did he mean by that? Did he enjoy hearing you?

“Don’t play dumb, doll” One of his hands gripped your jaw, holding your face still as you watched the light on his eyes shift “You were moaning my name and calling me oppa while fucking yourself. Don’t tell me I heard shit wrong cause we both know what was happening” His voice dropped an octave, your thighs rubbing on each other as a reflex “I kinda wished you kept going, I was really enjoying hearing you desperately calling me like that. Needy and ready to take me” His words made you want to whine, but you held back, still scared of what he would think of it, even if he had just admitted getting hard from listening to you.

“I…” You could only muther, mind still trying to process all of the new information. His lips smirked, the piercing shining against the light of the kitchen. He let out a big sight, letting go of your face and making you lean a bit into his touch, wishing he had kept his hand there.

“But I guess I can do nothing, since I’m not deserving of your respect, right?” His smirk grew larger as he noticed your face drop even more, your words from earlier lingering across your mind. Your mouth opened to protest, but no sound came out of it, your head burning to find an answer quick enough “What? Did the cat finally get your tongue?”

“Chan, please…” You didn’t even notice your current state as your voice pleaded for him. Your puppy eyes looked up at him, glazed with a shiny coat of tears that threatened to fall from the corners. Your legs were squished together, heat searching for friction, while your hands gripped tightly on your pants, fingers fumbling with the soft fabric. The view of you in such a vulnerable state, begging for him, made a sharp sting run across Dino’s cock, his turn to swallow hard as his bulge became even more visible through his tight pants. He straight himself, looking you up and down yet again before holding your jaw once more.

“... You’re gonna be nice and do everything oppa tells you to do?” He arched an eyebrow, watching carefully as the light in your eyes shifted too, your throat swallowing the lump it had formed on the bottom of it.

“Yes oppa” There was a tremble, a breathiness in your tone that made Chan hiss, fingers gripping tightly your face. He was quick as he grabbed one of your wrists, pulling you up and dragging you out of the kitchen, not before grabbing something inside of the plastic bag and tossing it in his pocket. You couldn’t even process before he threw you inside of your room, somehow managing to close the door as if your brother could come inside at any minute. His aura as he approached you, so intimidating, making you feel small, at the same time so inviting and making you want to beg for him. The feeling of his arms wrapping around your waist was wonderful, his body gluing to yours as his lips searched for yours.

Making out with him was more than just heaven, it was borderline addicting. His lips felt so soft, with just the right hint of roughness whenever his piercing pressed against your own lips. He tasted like the most amazing mixture of alcohol and snacks, a lingering sensation of beer with a mixture of caramel, and when he moaned against your mouth, gosh, you felt your legs almost give in, being secured in place by his strong embrace. Your fingers tangled with his soft locks, feeling the texture of his slick back hair, pulling ever so slightly whenever he bit into the kiss, a soft whimper coming out of your mouth and just fuelling Dino even more. His tongue overlapped yours as you two got lost into each other's touch, his need for dominance and control making your folds get slicker and your thighs to press against each other, your balance already betraying you and only pushing you further into his arms.

“You’re so annoying…” He said between the kiss, teeth slightly biting your bottom lip as he pulled away softly, diverging his attention to your jaw, dragging his tongue across the line of your face as you shifted your neck, allowing him more access “Always poking fun of me and making me mad…” He bit and nibbled your skin, leaving a trail of reddish marks as his kisses traveled south, the feel of his warm tongue leaping along your neck making your head spin in circles. Was this really happening? “But gosh, you couldn’t be more beautiful and tempting, could you?” His words made you blush, the crimson tint spreading across your flushed face and ears, a whine leaving your lips at the praise “Just the most gorgeous person I’ve ever met… And so funny too, just so fucking annoying, and only with me” He pulled away, fingers gently pulling your chin so you could met his fiery gaze. A mixture of lust and passion, his vision seemed clouded, filled with you, just like your senses were filled with him “Tell me, Y/N, why do you love to annoy me?”

“Want your attention…” Your head didn't have control over your mouth anymore, your thoughts spilling from your lips without hesitation as if you were under some sort of spell casted by Chan. Your eyes looked up at him, asking for more “I want you for me…” A smirk grew on the corner of his lips, the arm hooking around your waist pulling you even closer, his hand dangerously close to your ass, where you wanted it to be.

“Oh pretty, you already have me all for you” His confession made your heart thump loud in your chest, your hands gently squeezing his shoulders “Wouldn't want anyone else but my sweet little Y/N. Even if Jeonghan chops my dick off” You chuckled lightly. Sure, Jeonghan did said to all of his friends that if they touched you, they were dead, but he would never get in the way of your happiness “I’m all yours, baby” He whispered, pulling you into another intense kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as his body guided you towards your bed, laying you down as he climbed on top of you. Your legs easily spread open to allow him access, his hands caressing you through the fabric of your pants, his fingers gently squeezing your thighs the closer he got to your heat. He broke the kiss momentaneously, searching in your eyes for consent to take them off of you, eyes growing cloudier with lust when you nodded a bit too eager in agreement. His fingers hooked in the waistband, dragging the piece of clothing off slowly from you for the tease, enjoying when he saw the pout grow in your lips at your impatience. You’ve been waiting so long for this, and so was he, but he wasn’t going to give in that easily. He was gonna pay back all those years of teasing you made him go through.

Your lack of underwear made him curse under his breath, and the wetness adorning your folds made him lick his lips, dragging a thumb across your cunt, making your hips buckle out of sensitivity. He took the wet thumb to his mouth, licking it while keeping eye contact with you, the sinful view of him humming and smirking directly at you making a breathy moan escape your lips, your fingers daring to move towards your pussy and gently touch your sensitive bud.

“Don’t worry princess. I’ll take good care of my little slut” He sounded so endearing, all while adjusting himself between your legs, strong hands holding your thighs open with enough force to leave bruises. You could feel his breath close to your folds, your head getting thrown back when he licked a stripe across, your mouth not holding back sounds as his wet muscle skilfully worked on your heat. He gave open mouthed kisses, capturing your clit between his lips and sucking on it, one of his hands releasing your leg and scooting closer, fingertips teasing your hole with shallow touches. The feeling of the cold piercing dragging along your hot cunt sent a shiver down your spine, your mind starting to get fuzzy as he introduced a finger inside your hole, slowly prepping you while his mouth continued to eat you out like the finest dessert. His eyes kept fixated on your image, soaking in all the information, from the way your breath hitched when he curled his fingers, to how you whined when he flicked his tongue on your swollen bud, to how you were fighting to not close your thighs around his head, legs shaking from the way he dived into you with his mouth. Dino could feel your walls clenching around his finger, smoothly adding another one to the mix and scissoring them, a brief smirk growing on his glistening lips when you moaned his name as he hit yet again that spongy spot that made you see stars. He could tell you were short from cumming, his tongue dragging across your slit, only to plant a wet kiss on your sensitive spot and abruptly stop, fingers leaving you empty. You flushed your eyes open, the red tint that spread across your face and covered chest looking a bit too adorable to Lee Chan.

“W-Why did you stop?” You whined, wanting to close your legs but being stopped by his hands. He spread them open even more, making you sink in embarrassment as you felt exposed to his eyes, your hands trying to fly to your face to hide the shyness.

“Don’t you dare to hide your face” He sounded so stern, a tone that you definitely weren't used to hearing from him “Want you to cum on my cock. I can make you cum on my tongue another day pretty” You felt yourself contracting around nothing again, a whimper being your only response as he started to take off his own clothes. He was as fit as you dreamed, his toned torso calling out to you, your arm stretching and fingers grazing lightly on his abs, his skin felt soft yet so warm. You fumbled to take off your own top, the cold breeze hitting your skin and making you hiss, the view of your exposed self sending another sting run through the shaft of Dino’s dick, his hands desperate to take off the leather pants and boxers that confined his hard on. His hand immediately flew to his cock, pumping it a few times to spread the pre cum that leaked through his tip.

He was bigger than you imagined. He had good girth, and his tip was blushed in a pretty shade of red and faded pink, the veins popping out from how hard he was. You could feel your mouth salivating at the view, the thought of having him on your mouth making you sigh. Before completely tossing his pants on the ground, Chan rummaged through one of the pockets, grabbing what he had brought on the plastic bag earlier and finally allowing you to see it, your face covered in red. He ripped the package of the condom with his teeth, his long fingers working fast and rolling the latex across his shaft.

“Really bad timing but…” You could see the concern on his face, his eyes shifting between your exposed groin and your face “Are you a… virgin?” Lee Chan bit his lip, clear anxiety adorning his handsome features. His concern was sweet to you.

“This may make you upset but no” You said with a little embarrassed smile. Sometimes you wish you could turn back time and have your first time with him, but you wouldn’t have the knowledge you have to please him. His face relaxed, a grin slipping through his lips.

“Not really, could not give two shits about your body count. I’m confident that you’re not gonna want anyone else after this” His confidence gave you butterflies on the stomach, your wet folds pooling liquid.

“As if I wanted someone else” You rolled your eyes playfully, earning a light chuckle from him. His smile took away all of the angst and evil boy image he had, your heart filling up with content. Dino adjusted himself, his tip teasing your hole and making you wiggle your hips a bit. He held you with one hand, strong grip pinning you down.

“Behave Y/N” His cut-through gaze looked back at you, his hips finally moving and length diving into your heat. You two hissed at the feeling, your walls clamping around his dick like vices, the wetness welcoming him in and making you swallow him whole in a single thrust. He was right, you would never want anything else than the sensation of Chan inside you, his cock filling you up just in the right way and resting perfectly there, as if you were made for him. He supported himself by putting both his elbows on each side of your face, his strong build caging you underneath him and pushing a few more inches inside you, your head thrown back and eyes rolling back to your skull. His lips glued to your neck, leaving wet kisses and even more hickeys across your skin as his hips started to move, slowly coming out and snapping back at full force, your whole body jointing with the movement.

Your hands grabbed his biceps, nails leaving red stripes and moon-shaped indents on his muscles while his gripped the pillow underneath your head, the tension making his forearms veins pop. Your moans filled his ears and gave goosebumps on his skin, the sensation of being the one making you almost scream in pleasure fuelling him further and making his hips pick up the pace, pistoning in and out of your cunt with force. You could feel your walls gripping him, yearning to milk him dry and to keep him inside till he couldn’t stand, the effervescent sensation running through your pussy and pilling up underneath your stomach, a coil quickly appearing as his thrusts kept typing you over an impossible edge. Dino’s mouth kept glued to your torso, his sloppy pecks and licks spreading across your chest as he spoiled your breast with attention, teeth nibbling at one of your nibbled before taking one of your boobs on his mouth, sucking and licking with no shame. Your hands traveled to his muscular back, the fire feeling of you scratching down bloodshot lines and marks shooting pleasure stings directly to Chan’s dick, balls swelling in the need to cum, his own coil bubbling right above his groin.

“Such a whore…” His voice sounded raspy, hands massaging your chest as his lips continued to work wonders around you, head fuzzy with the sensation of him on you “My whore, right baby?”

“Y-Yes, oppa” The title made both of you moan, your eyes barely open to see how his aura got fuller of itself, knowing he had managed to make you cockdumb within a few minutes.

“Good girl, all mine…” The cold piercing dragged across your neck, his teeth biting your skin and leaving marks that would last for days. His hips started to get quicker, the sound of skin to skin having your cunt wetter and gripping harder around him, your coil starting to get tighter, just like his. His low grunts and breathy moans became louder, following right along your chants of his name and dragged out whines, your bodies tensing up as your orgasms approached faster than expected and washed over you two like a wave. The white out spread throughout your vision, the shock of such an intense climax making your legs shake and cunt clench impossibly hard, begging for Dino to cum together, which he did. His own body took a screenshot, dick shooting ropes of cum onto the protection as he moaned your name on your ear, his melodic voice gracing your hearing before he let his body relax, gently laying on top of you like a blanket.

There was a few minutes of silence, just the two of you picking up your breaths, the sudden feel of heaviness and tiresome sinking down and settling on both of you. Your hands caressed his hair, your arms half hugging him while his did the same, caging you in a tight hug. He placed a kiss on your shoulder, lifting himself through his forearms before looking back at you. The image of him sweaty, hair falling into his forehead, blow out pupils and puffy red lips, cheeks tinted with light pink made your walls cramp again, a hiss coming out of his mouth.

“I just…” He tried to search through words, not knowing how to express his feelings properly without sounding either corny or cringy “There’s no other way of putting it. I love you, Y/N” Your heart thumped yet again loud inside your chest, your fingers caressing his face gently before pushing him in, mouth clashing with his in a heartfelt kiss, your actions saying much more than words could. His smile while kissing made you smile two, the lovey dovey atmosphere being almost dumb. Before Dino could continue further, you two heard a loud crash coming from the other side of the house, your bodies freezing.

“Y/N-yah! Dino-yah! I’m home! I bought some stuff for us to dine on!” Jeonghan’s voice made you bite your lip, the task of muffling a laugh failing as soon as your gaze crossed with Chan’s, you two giggling like teenagers. He slowly pulled out of you, the feeling of being empty leaving you a bit sad, but also eager to have him once again. Dino threw the used condom on the bin next to your desk, rummaging for his clothes and quickly dressing up so he could go talk to Jeonghan. Before leaving the room, he opened the door, lookin at you up and down with a hungry gaze, lips sliding upwards in a devilish grin.

“We’ll continue this later, baby. You’re not sleeping tonight”

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divinerulerluvr · 3 years

Text

Lovers Rock

Where Warren Lipka decides to end your fight with the only way he knew how.

Pairing - Warren Lipka x fem!reader

Words - 2.0k

Warnings - smut, angst, slapping kink, idk it's just very dirty

A/N - I decided to do an angry sex fic today and figured I'll do a Stoned Kit Walker smut sometime over the weekend. So enjoy this filthy smut piece because had fun writing it :)

Inspired by Lovers Rock by TV Girl

- - -

It was around one in the morning on a Wednesday when you were hunched over your desk in your dorm room studying for your test.

A loud knock sounds through your room, causing you to jump. Standing from your chair, you open the door to your dorm room. Warren Lipka stands in your doorway, his lips pulled into a weak smile.

You sigh, looking off to the side as you prepare yourself for the future moments. “Can I come in? Please?” he asks, his voice softer than usual due to the fact you were in a community dorm hall.

Nodding, you let him into your room and close the door behind him. He sits on your bed, looking up to you with his beautiful, puppy dog eyes. You could tell he was tipsy. It had become a sixth sense to you. Detecting when he was drunk or high.

“What did you do this time?” you ask right away, your room still dark and the only light being from your desk lamp. Warren’s head falls and he stays silent. “I didn’t do nothing bad. I just… wanted to see you again. I needed some-some courage, you know?” he says, looking up to meet your gaze.

You cross your arms, feeling bad for having been so hard on him when you last saw him. “You gotta go, Warren. I have to study and I don’t have time for your shit today,”

Warren had been a completely different person lately. He gets drunk way too much, is stoned every hour of the day, rebellious, and plain old stupid.

“Baby, please,” he says, standing from your bed. “I was drunk and didn’t know what I was doing and--”

“That isn’t an excuse for cheating,”

He sighs, running his hand through his hair. “I dropped out of that scholarship,” he says, his voice flat and void of emotion. Your head snaps up, his words setting off an alarm in you. “Dropped out?” you repeat.

Nodding, you groan. “Fucking Warren,” you mumble. “Why did you do that? You’re fucking nineteen. You gotta find something to do with your life. Weed and alcohol won't always be there for you,”

“It was stupid. It’s not my fault I don’t wanna be at college on a fucking sports scholarship,” he rebuttals quickly, his voice rising to match your tone.

“You’re fucking stupid,” you insult. He glares at you briefly before closing his eyes. “I don’t want to contribute to corporate America, Y/n. I’m not a sucker like you. I’m not wasting four years of my life in school. High school was hell enough,”

“A sucker like me?” you echo, your eyebrows raised in question. Warren catches what he was saying and presses his lips together. His silence was patronizing. “Elaborate, please. You always talk about ‘contributing to corporate America’ and yet you’re the biggest contributor I know,”

“How’s that?” he asks, his head tilted in offense.

“You just are. Stop complaining and practice what you preach,” you huff, your voice raising even more as you get heated.

You stare at each other for a moment, the silence slowly cutting away at the words you both just said. “Get out, Warren. I was clear about what I wanted yesterday and I still feel that way,” you say in a quiet voice, your eyes failing to meet his.

He sighs, biting his lower lip. “Y/n, come on,” he tries.

“Get… out,”

Begrudgingly, he walks away from you and towards the door. You sit down on the edge of your bed, your head falling as you rub your dry eyes. Not hearing the door open or close, you instead hear Warren inhale sharply.

“I’m not fucking leaving,” he digs his heels in. Your eyes snap up to look at him, a look of both confusion and anger on your face. “What?” you ask incredulously.

“I’m not leaving because you clearly don’t want me to,”

“So the phrase ‘get out’ now means to be an ass and act like you know me?”

He stares at you for a second, his eyes locked relentlessly on yours. “You don’t want me to leave,” he insists. You roll your eyes, looking away from him. The next thing you know, he has his hand wrapped around your throat as he stares down at you.

“I hate you,” you seethe as he squeezes the sides of your neck. He smirks, chuckling softly. “I hate you more,” he plays along. Using his leverage on your throat, he pushes you back onto your bed.

You gasp, watching him tear off his shirt and undo his belt buckle. You pull your own clothes off as well, stripping until you were in just a bra and panties.

He wore just his boxers as he got on the bed and leaned over you, his lips sloppily meeting yours. You could taste the beer on his lips but you didn’t mind much. The kiss was hot and aggressive which only turned you both on even more.

Your hands go down to his waist but he quickly grabs your wrists, pinning them above you on the bed. His grip hurt but it felt nice. It had been a few days which was a long time in Warren’s world so he was especially riled up.

Using his free hand, he pulls off your underwear in one swift motion. You stay silent, not wanting to boost his ego by moaning, whimpering, or begging. He doesn’t do what he normally would do like tease you with soft touches or kisses and instead jumps straight to fucking you.

Your eyes screw shut as he pushes his dick into your pussy. It hurt since he wasn’t even trying to be nice. But you liked it. Hell, you enjoyed it. The way he was just using you recklessly.

Holding back from making noise, Warren starts snapping his hips back and forth, creating a brutal yet pleasurable pace. Your eyes flutter open as he groans softly, seeing the angelic look on his face that made you not want to hate him.

The way his brows furrowed and how he bit on his lower lip. The lust in his dark eyes and how his hair fell over his face.

Your hands squeeze into fists, his hand still binding your wrists together in a vice-like grip that would definitely leave a mark. A soft moan escaped your lips and you feel a sharp sting on your cheek where he had slapped you.

His hand grips at your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eyes as he fuck you mercilessly. You feel embarrassment flood your body as his eyes meet yours. “Shut up,” he orders darkly. You pathetically nod, biting your tongue.

It was difficult to keep quiet and Warren knew this. That was the whole point. He felt so good inside of you that you were destined to moan at least once.

And that’d just warrant another slap.

The bed creaks with each thrust he makes, the noise an obvious signifier to other kids in the dorm hall of what was going on. Warren liked the noise your bed made. Because he knew that in turn, you were embarrassed by how loud the creaking could get.

Your body shudders, each nerve ending electrified as you relax in an attempt to keep quiet. Warren made noises just to brag about being able to make noise. Soft groans and grunts and whispers of curse words.

“You hate me, huh?” he taunts, his lips grazing your cheek as he leans over you. “Why are you dripping then?”

Your eyes flutter shut, a heavy exhale through your nose being the only sound you could make. He appreciates your reaction, fucking you as hard as he could. Which, to be fair, was pretty hard.

“It’s because you love being used, isn’t that right?” he continues taunting, speaking in rhetorical questions to further agonize her inability to respond.

You were unreasonably wet for him. Being used like this turned you on more than it should. Anything Warren did was hot. Anything he said, anything he suggested. You were willing to do anything if he wanted to. Not because you’re a sucker, but because he’s so good at it.

The hand on your jaw trails down your body, his hot and possessive touch making your skin break out in goosebumps.

He presses a kiss to your jaw, his lips dragging across your warm skin until he reaches your ear. “My sweet, good Y/n,” he whispers teasingly. You let out a weak moan, only earning another sharp slap to your cheek, the opposite cheek from before.

Silencing yourself, you feel your orgasm coming with each thrust Warren made. He could tell, too. By how you began to thrash underneath him. He pulls your bra down, revealing your chest to him.

His lips meet your nipples, the sensation making it even more difficult to stay quiet. Your walls clench around his dick, your orgasm coming quicker than you expected.

“Do you think you deserve to cum?” he antagonizes.

You nod weakly, your breathing heavy as his thumb replaces his mouth on your nipple. “But I thought you hated me? If somebody hates somebody else, they usually don’t want to cum from them,” he counters.

Your skin had become sticky with sweat, Warren’s chest pressed against your only creating a furnace between you two. “I-I don’t hate you,” you try.

His thrusts slow down, edging you off the edge of an orgasm. You groan, looking at Warren who wore a snobby smile. “I said no speaking,” he whispers, his lips grazing yours. You rock your hips slightly, trying to take advantage of how he was still inside of you.

Removing his hand from around your wrists, he snakes his hand under your back and flips you around so he’s laying on the bed and you’re saddling his waist. “Work for it and you can make all the noise you want, pup,”

With a quiet whimper, you start moving your hips back and forth instead of up and down due to how tired you were. “No, no, no. Do it like you mean it,” he corrects by grabbing your hips and guiding your up and down movements.

A cool burn spreads through your thighs as you ride him. Warren removes your bra completely as your head falls back and breathy moans leave your lips.

He watches you ride him with a proud smile, his hands roaming your body freely as you indulge in your own pleasure. You bring yourself to the edge, a wave of pleasure consuming your body as you orgasm.

A moan of relief falls from your lips as you collapse on his chest, your legs feeling like rubber underneath you. You felt bad about not letting him finish so with the little bit of energy you had left, you trailed your lips down his body until you reach his dick.

His head falls back as you start giving him a blow job. His fingers thread through our hair as you bob your head up and down on his dick.

It didn’t take long for him to cum in your mouth. A sharp exhale leaves his lips as he places his finger under your jaw and pulls you from his legs so you’re back on top of him. He pulls your chin down, opening your mouth to see his cum pooling on your tongue.

With a smile of satisfaction, he pushes your mouth closed. “Swallow,”

You obey his order, swallowing his slightly salty cum. He runs his thumb over your lips, pulling your mouth back open to make sure all of his cum was swallowed. When he saw it was, he pulled you off him and into his side.

Resting your head on his shoulder, your hand traces his defined abs. “My parents got a divorce,” he says randomly. You look at him, your brows furrowed in question.

“You wanna stay with me for a bit?” you offer.

“Nah. Spencer and I have some plans we’ve been going over. We’re about to come into a lot of money,” he smirks at you.

You smile thinking it was something good.

It wasn't.

#evan peters #american animals #warren lipka #warren lipka x reader #smut #fic #ahs #kai anderson #tate langdon

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amiwritesthings · 3 years

Text

title: should have known better

pairing/characters: demon!dean winchester/claire novak

rating: 18+

Tags/Warnings/Advertising: extremely dubious consent, smut, age difference, size difference, size kink, fighting, a little blood, mild choking, spanking, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, name-calling/degradation, biting, comeplay, multiple orgasms

Word Count: 4,675

Created for: @j3bingo - Square "Fuck off."

link to ao3

The bar is almost empty when Claire enters which suits her just fine. If the demon is here, it’ll be so much easier to lure it outside without an audience.

She scans the room, and she huffs a laugh when her eyes land on the lone figure at the bar, broad back, dirty blond hair, red shirt. Figures one, if not both, of them would be involved in this hunt.

She walks over, slides onto the empty barstool next to him. “Little past your bed time, isn’t it, old man?” she quips by way of greeting as she bumps her shoulder against Dean’s.

Dean takes another deliberate pull from his beer before setting the bottle down and slowly turning his head to look at her. His eyes rove over her face, dip down to the tight fit of her tank top for a second.

“Could say the same for you, little girl,” he finally drawls when he brings his gaze back up, tongue darting out to flick over his lips. “Whatcha doin’ here, Claire?”

She shrugs, leans in to steal his beer. He just raises an eyebrow at her, but she can feel his eyes on her, burning a hot trail down her throat when she tips her head back to empty the bottle. Her skin prickles, with what she’s not sure.

“Hunting,” she answers as she pointedly slides the empty bottle back to him.

“Oh yeah?” Dean sounds amused, eyes glinting with humor and something else she can’t quite place, and part of her bristles.

“Yeah,” she says, “a demon. Real nasty son of a bitch, too.”

Dean hums in response, takes a moment to give her another once-over. She crosses her arms over her chest on instinct, pulls the flannel tighter around herself.

“So I’ve heard,” Dean says, shaking his head at the bartender when he asks if they want another round. He jerks his chin at the guy, and the bartender glances at her before giving a nod and disappearing out of the side door at the end of the bar. There’s no one left but them.

“So whatcha gonna do when you find this demon, huh?” Dean turns in his seat, straightens, faces her fully, and even seated Claire can’t help but feel small. She shrugs, nonchalant.

“Exorcise it. Send the thing back to where it came from. I’m surprised you haven’t managed to yet. Really losing a step there, Dean.”

There’s a smirk pulling at his lips, eyes dancing dangerously. She startles, just a bit, when his hand suddenly comes up to brush a strand of hair out of her face with the index finger. His eyes are burning into hers and she swallows nervously, shifts in her seat.

There’s something off about the intensity in his face, that expression that looks like he wants to have her for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

She’s about to move, get to her feet, when his fingers take hold of her chin, digging in hard enough to hurt, forcing her to look at him.

“Where do you think you’re going, princess?”

She opens her mouth for a sassy retort but all that comes out is a gasp as she watches Dean’s eyes go black, demon black.

“Get out of him,” she manages to get out through the vice-like grip he still has on her jaw, and she hates herself for how weak and fearful it sounds, the tremor in her voice that betrays the determination in her eyes.

He smiles, all teeth and unfamiliar snarl of his lips, tilts his head to the side, considering. “You got it all wrong, darling. I’m not possessed, this is all me,” he drawls, deliberate, leaning in so close that she can smell the sour stench of beer on his breath, gets an intimate view of the endless black of his eyes.

It can’t be, Claire thinks, he’s lying. Demons lie.

The grip on her face eases and she flexes her jaw a couple of times to ease the pain, watches warily as Dean pushes to his feet, towering over her.

It’s Dean, in there somewhere, she reassures herself, even as her heart skips in her chest, pulse rabbiting loudly in her ears, the black of his eyes still haunting her, he’s not going to hurt her.

“The things I wanna do to you, princess, you can’t even imagine.” He rubs his hand down his jaw, drags a thumb over his own lip. “Tried to be appropriate before, you know? ‘Be a mentor, don’t take advantage’,” the demon mimics – Dean, himself, she doesn’t even know at this point.

Her blood runs cold when he steps close to her again, right into her space, lifts her chin with a single finger to make her look into his eyes. They are back to green now, but still dancing with sadistic joy, and she shivers when they drop to focus on her mouth.

“But now-,” he says, quietly, and she can feel his hot breath on her skin with how close he is. She tries to turn her away, but he won’t let her, fingers digging in either side of her chin again. “-nothing’s stopping me.”

His head dips and there’s a surge of panic, pure adrenaline flooding her system. He reels back when her forehead connects hard with the bridge of his nose and Claire uses the little space it creates to slide out of her seat and run, throbbing in her head be damned.

She can hear him laugh behind her as she weaves between the tables and she almost makes it to the door before he cuts her off, his big frame blocking her way.

“Feisty,” he says, a little nasally, his hand going to his nose. “I like it. It’s just gonna make me enjoy this so much more.”

She glances at the door again, calculating her chances and quickly realizing the odds are against her. She has to take two, if not three, steps to match one of his, and there’s no way he’s going to let her get anywhere close to the exit if the black of his eyes is any indication.

Claire grounds herself into her stance, like Dean had taught her, and he barks a laugh, rolls his shoulders back as he bounces on his heels.

“You wanna fight, little one? Come on then.” He crooks two fingers in a come-hither motion and Claire can’t help a snarl, her lip curling, as anger surges.

She takes a couple of steps around the table between them, keeping light on her feet, her mind racing a mile a minute to try to figure out the best plan of attack.

He’s loose, not even bothering to get his hands all the way up to block anything, grins at her with glee, and she bristles. She might be small, but she’s still taken out her fair share of monsters, alone, without help. She keeps carefully out of his reaching distance, hands up.

“What? All bark, no bite?” he taunts, and when he swings at her, it’s sloppy, telegraphing from miles away and it’s almost too easy for her to duck and get in close for a sucker punch to his kidney, get away behind him.

He doubles over, sucks in a breath and Claire quickly scans her surrounding, grabs for the nearest chair. She puts all her strength behind it, swings for Dean with the chair and it hits his side, shoulder, just as he turns. It splinters into pieces and Dean- Claire growls in frustration when Dean laughs, like it didn’t even hurt, like this is fun.

He brushes splintered wood off his sleeve, and Claire uses the opportunity to dash back to the bar, grab for the empty bottle, smash it against the edge of the counter. He’s almost at her back when she turns, broken bottle out in front of her and he backs up, if only a step or two, smirk still on his face, arms out to his sides. “Alright, princess. Come one. Go for it, free shot.”

Claire is shaking, with nerves and adrenaline, her knuckles going white around the neck of the bottle. He’s just watching her, waiting, raising an eyebrow at her when she doesn’t move and her muscles curl tight. Dean doesn’t even flinch when she lunges, sharp edges ahead.

Don’t lunge at a taller opponent, her mind screams, too late, in a voice that sounds too much like Dean’s.

He catches her wrist easily, twists cruelly, and she loses her grip on the bottle before she’s even close enough to hurt him. She bites her lip to stifle the cry that wants to escape, struggles with everything she has when he easily spins her and pulls her into his body, arms like a vice around her.

“You know what, it’s your lucky day, Claire,” he says, right against her ear and she stiffens at the closeness. “You admit to me you’re afraid and that you want me let you go, I’ll let you go, free pass.”

She squirms when his teeth nip at her earlobe, stubble rasps against her neck. The words are at the tip of her tongue, begging to be said, her heart racing.

“Hm?” he prompts again, and she kicks at him, gets him squarely in the shin, can’t help a grin when he hisses.

“Guess that’s a no then, huh, princess? Too proud to admit you’re scared, baby girl?”

She tries to kick again but they’re flush by now, so close together there’s no room, and she freezes when he grinds up against her. He’s- Dean- no, not Dean, the demon- he’s hard against her back, and she renews her struggles but all it gets her is a dark chuckle against the shell of her ear.

“C’mon now, Claire, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” he breathes, and she shivers, just as much from the words as the ghost of his breath over her skin.

“You may act tough, little huntress,” his lips brush her temple, and she tries to turn her face away to no avail, “but beneath it all you’re just a slut looking to be fucked like all the others.”

She swallows against the panic rising in her throat, tries to think of a clever comeback, but all she does is shudder, from fear, from- no, it’s fear, she’s pretty sure.

“Ain’t that right, princess? Look at you already shaking in your boots.”

He groans softly in her ear when she tries to struggle again and inadvertently pushes back into his hard dick. “Bet you’re already dripping for me, huh? Just waiting for me to-”

Claire interrupts him with a frustrated cry of his name, her body finally going slack against Dean’s.

“You don’t have to do this, please, Dean-,” she tries, pleading, already knowing the answer.

“You know the magic words, princess, just say them and you can go.”

It’s tempting, right about now, but she’d be damned if she admitted defeat now. For all she knows, he’d just go and do whatever he pleases anyway. Demons lie. And she’s not going to give him the satisfaction.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” His arms around her loosen but she doesn’t have the chance to break away before she’s manhandled to face him, her back digging into the edge of the counter, his body looming over hers, hands either side of her.

“Just do what you gotta do, get this over with,” she spits, sounding way more confident than she feels, as she rubs her wrists, finally free of his bruising grip.

It’s unsettling, the way he just looks at her, hungry, silent. Her body vibrates with the awareness of how his eyes keep dipping to her mouth and she steels herself for what she knows is about to happen.

She can handle this, it’s just Dean, underneath it all, and she trustsDean, with her body, with her life, with- she makes a soft noise in the back of her throat when his mouth presses to hers, hot, demanding, biting at her lip, nipping his way inside.

And suddenly she finds she doesn’t know what to do with her hands, curls and uncurls her fingers at her side, then brings them up to his chest on instinct, to push him away, but he doesn’t budge, not an inch.

His fingers tangle in her hair, tug none-too-gently, and it makes her scalp sting. She bites the tip of his tongue in retaliation, and he draws away with a small hiss, leaving her with the metallic taste of blood in her mouth.

Dean’s eyes go black as he growls and that spike of fear is back again, making her body shake when he hauls her in, till they’re flush, the bulge of his erection pressing into her lower belly. He licks a sticky-wet stripe up her neck, whispers “naughty, Claire,” into her ear, low and dirty, grinds into her with a groan.

And as much as Claire hates it, her thighs still clench in response, fear and adrenaline mixing in her blood to a low thrum of something she refuses to name, even as she turns her face away to avoid his lips on hers again.

She gasps when his hand closes over her neck, long fingers spanning over the vulnerable expanse of her throat, fingertips digging into her jaw, forcing her to look at him.

“I’m going to wreck you, little one,” he promises as his fingers squeeze lightly, making it just a bit harder to breathe. And God knows, she should try to struggle, get away, but she looks Dean straight in the eye instead, presses her hips forward into him.

“Do it, then, Dean,” she breathes out against the resistance of his hand, defiance in her eyes. He’s not going to kill her, she’s ninety percent sure.

He cocks his head, considering, and she trembles when his fingers flex against her throat, anticipation mixing with the trepidation.

She exhales sharply when his other hand skirts down from her shoulder, trails the edge of her tank top, teasingly, before Dean palms her breast, thumbing at her nipple through the soft cotton. He chuckles when it pebbles under his touch, a smug sound that makes her hackles rise.

Still, Claire arches into the sensation, bows her back as much as she can, her head tipping back, makes it look good.

“Just a little slut after all,” he muses, more to himself than to her, his fingers tightening on her jaw when he brings her back in for a kiss. She lets him this time, lets his tongue plunder her mouth, trace her teeth. He tastes like beer and whiskey and still a little like blood and Claire wishes the little whimper that escapes her when he pulls away was just for show.

She can feel him smile, smirk, against her skin where he’s trailing wet-hot kisses down her neck, his hand finally dropping away from her throat to curve over her hip, run down to cup her ass.

Her hands fly to his shoulders when he lifts her without warning, both hands on her ass now, palming her, pressing her closer into his body. She bites her lip when he settles her right against his hard dick, grinding up into her once, twice with a pleasured groan.

It’s going to be a tight fit, Claire thinks, half-worried, half- no, she’s not giving him the satisfaction.

She twists her hands sharply into his hair, the strands longer and easier to grip than usual, dips her head to lick the swell of his lower lip, until he opens, lets her take what she wants.

She’s dimly aware that he’s moving, walking them somewhere, fingers kneading her ass, and she feels light-headed when they separate and Dean drops her onto – she blinks through the haze on her brain, licks her lips – the edge of the pool table, the felt rough underneath her palms.

He’s grinning again, eyes green now, but pupils blown wide, and she realizes only belatedly that he’s undoing her jeans, button, zipper, fingertips ghosting over the cotton panties underneath.

Part of her wants to stop him, the part that makes her squirm, tense her thighs.

He clucks his tongue in disapproval, one big hand coming down on her inner thigh to keep her leg splayed to the side.

“No going back now, princess,” he says lowly, and Claire shivers but straightens and drops her hands to the buckle of his belt anyway. The metal clinks as she undoes it with unsteady hands, and he draws in a sharp breath above her when she cups him through the denim.

“Wasn’t planning to,” she says, breathlessly, as she starts to work on the button. A groan rumbles up in his chest, and he stills her a moment later, makes her lean back so she has to put her hands back on the table to support herself.

“Up,” he orders as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of her jeans and she barely manages to lift her hips before he’s tugging, sliding the jeans down her legs, taking her panties right with them. They tangle around her ankles and Dean growls in frustration when it stops him from spreading her thighs.

He roughly pulls off one boot, laces barely undone, frees one leg, a satisfied grin pulling his lips wide when his hands return to her thighs.

She feels exposed, nerves fluttering like butterflies in her stomach at how dark his eyes are, how hungry when he looks at her. She jerks, in surprise and pleasure, when he brushes her clit, softly at first and then with more pressure. “So sensitive, princess,” he goads and God, she wants to say something snarky, she really does, but all she manages is a breathy whine.

Her world shifts again, suddenly, as he lifts and turns her, gets her belly down on the table, his hand running appreciatively down her back. He pushes at her flannel and tank top, rucks them up to expose more skin.

Her body tenses when he palms her ass again, uses his grip to pull her wide, enjoying the view. “Get on with it,” she grits out and he smacks her ass for it, flat palm stinging against her skin.

“So impatient,” he chuckles, and she jumps when a finger trails down into her folds without warning. The pad of a finger presses against her opening, slick, despite the situation, and he teases, for long, long moments, before he finally dips one finger into her.

And Claire, she’s not a virgin, but she quickly realizes that one of Dean’s fingers feels almost as thick as two of her previous boyfriend did.

She bites her lip to hold back a moan when his finger curls inside her with precision, making her hips jerk back into him.

The finger is gone a moment later, and Dean hums, lips smacking with a pleased groan. “Taste so sweet, princess.”

She feels her cheeks heat at the words, at the realization that he- she never gets to finish her thought when two fingers sink into her without preamble, pumping steadily, and she tries to hide her face, the flaming blush that comes with the obscene squelch of his fingers through her slick.

“Mmmh, so wet for me, aren’t you? How long you been thinking about this, huh? Thinking about me fucking you like the good, little slut you are?”

Claire grits her teeth, can’t keep her hips from pushing back. She makes an indignant noise when the finger suddenly still, resting just inside her opening.

“How long, Claire?” he prompts, and Claire mewls softly; she can feel the flush spreading down her neck and chest. She clenches around his fingers, gets a smack to her ass in return. “Answer me.”

She wets her lips, the felt of the pool table rough against her cheek.

“Long enough,” she finally bites out and is rewarded with the deep plunge of his fingers, the pleasure curling low in her belly at the fullness.

The peak of pleasure hits her out of nowhere, body going taut with an airless gasp as she clenches around his fingers, and he groans, low and throaty, sending her shivering through an aftershock when his fingers curl up into her once more.

Something close to a sob escapes her lips when he pulls out, and she can feel herself clenching on nothing. There’s the clink of the belt buckle and then only the rustling of denim.

She can feel her heartbeat in her throat, can taste the blend of anticipation and still the slightest hint of fear in her mouth.

He groans softly, and then comes the sound of skin against skin, wet, and she trembles with mortification when she realizes he’s spreading her slick all over himself.

She pushes up onto her elbows, the curiosity, the urge to see too strong, but he unceremoniously pushes her back down with a hand between her shoulder blades.

She expects him to say something, to snark at her about being a slut, but he remains silent, the only noise a rush of air when he finally presses into her.

“Holy shit,” Claire gasps, scrambling up onto her toes, at the pressure, the feeling of the thick head splitting her open. “Dean,” she breathes, almost a plea, “oh my god, I can’t-”

He’s unrelenting, coaxing her soft and open to accept him with little thrusts, impatient, the slick slide of flesh echoing loudly in the empty room. “C’mon, princess, just a little more,” Dean cajoles, groaning loudly when her body gives and he finally sinks in further, “there we go.”

Claire thinks she maybe forgets how to breathe for a second when he slides in to the hilt, the fullness and the stretch almost too much, muscles fluttering against the intrusion.

Dean churns his hips, grinds in impossibly deeper, and Claire moans brokenly when she feels his finger trace where she’s stretched open around him.

“Look at that,” he laughs breathlessly, pulling out just an inch before fucking back in a snap of his hips that sends her all the way up onto her tip toes, her feet almost leaving the ground, “the little slut that could.”

“Shut up,” Claire says weakly, her back arching when he drags almost all the way out just to sink back in without missing a beat.

She scrambles for purchase on the pool table, finds none. Dean’s fingers are digging into her hips bruisingly tight, pushing and pulling her to his liking, as he strokes into her long and deep – so fucking deep – and Claire whimpers as he bottoms out again.

She clenches around him, on purpose, as much as the stretched muscles allow, feels his rhythm falter for a moment. He fucks up into her that much harder on the next stroke, his body bending over hers. He brushes her hair out of her face, out of his way, mouths hotly down her neck, with the slightest hint of teeth. “So tight, Claire,” he growls into her ear, “gonna feel me for days.”

There’s no doubt in her mind that she will.

“C’mon,” she urges, voice thin, and when she tightens around him again, his teeth dig sharply into the nape of her neck as he sets a punishing pace.

She cries out, from the sting of teeth, the building pressure in her abdomen, curling tighter and tighter with every snap of his hips.

She’s going to come like this, she realizes, hanging off Dean's dick like a ragdoll, with his teeth in her shoulder and his filthy whispers in her ear.

She feels her toes curl, the pleasure building and building until she pulses around him, lips parting in a gasp as she trembles through her orgasm, vision going white for a few moments.

“That’s it, princess,” he praises, letting her orgasm ripple over him before he starts moving again, and Claire groans weakly, exhausted, oversensitive and still so full.

His pace is slower now, dragging all up inside her with every stroke and she shivers against him, tries to clench, get him to hurry up.

“Think you can give me one more?” Dean asks, all sweet and soft, like he cares, but when Claire turns her head, his eyes are black, demon black, a nasty grin on his face. She shakes her head weakly, hides her face into the crook of her elbow with a soft whine.

She jerks when a calloused finger circles her clit, and Dean groans above her. “C’mon princess, one more.”

He’s merciless, dick stroking, finger rubbing, and Claire thinks, this is it, fucked to death by a demon and I don’t even hate it, as the tension keeps building, coiling her body tighter and tighter, and finally Dean’s hips stutter into her, rhythm shot, as the tension in her snaps like a rubber band, sending her tumbling over the edge again. He pulls out with a curse, and she feels her insides flutter at the sudden emptiness, her hipbones digging into the edge of the table now that her feet touch the floor again.

The wet slide of flesh-on-flesh echoes loudly in her ears, and God, how is he still not done.

She tries to move, rubbery legs and all, but finds herself pushed back down almost immediately, Dean’s hand pushing her clothes further up her back. Dean’s breath hitches, and the wet noises stop, start again, like it’s too much for him, too, and Claire wiggles her ass with the last strength she can muster.

Dean groans, low and guttural, and Claire feels the first warm spurt of come on her skin, on her lower back, another, and more on her ass. She can feel it pool where spine dips, trickle down from her ass to where’s she soft and broken open. Dean hums contently behind her, a blissed-out sound, and then his fingers are on her again, rubbing the mess he's made into her skin.

And if she had any strength left, Claire would complain, make some smartass comment. As is, she lets Dean touch her, do as he pleases.

Now that the last waves of bliss are slowly dissipating, she can feel the aches set it, her sore muscles, the sting of the bite mark on her shoulder, the bruises she’s sure will be blossoming in dark blues and purples on her hips come morning.

She startles when he slaps her ass, and she pushes to her elbows. Her legs are shaking, as she tries to stand, and she steadies herself on the table. Claire grimaces when her shirts fall down her back, over the sticky-wet mess on her skin. Behind her, there’s the clink of a belt buckle and she slowly turns, watches as Dean rights his red shirt, runs a hand through his sweaty hair.

He lets his eyes travel down her body, from her messy hair right down to her panties and jeans still twisted inelegantly around one ankle. Dean smirks, wipes his thumb over his lip. “Been a pleasure, princess. You know where to find me if you want more.”

Her thighs clench, involuntary, and she narrows her eyes at him.

“Just fuck off, demon.”

It comes out only half as pissed-off as intended and Dean laughs, throws his head back with it, but turns to leave just the same, his hand coming up in a mockery of a wave.

Claire releases a shaky breath when the door falls shut behind him, wobbles on one foot to get back into her pants. She’s going to be so sore tomorrow; she can already feel it.

She fishes out her phone from the front pocket of her jeans, the screen cracked but still functional. She scrolls through her contacts; hits dial as she settles gingerly against the edge of the pool table.

It only takes a few rings for her call to be answered and she tries to keep her voice as steady as possible as she says “Sam, we need to talk about Dean.”

#ami writes #j3bingo #deanclaire #PLEASE HEED THE TAGS #i beg you #also i am 100% blaming decadent-prince for this #demon!dean x claire #writing #i did a thing

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19tozier · 4 years

Text

wish you were sober (richie tozier)

warnings: underage drinking, mentions of sex, angst, pining, reader is an unreliable narrator at best

inspired by the song wish you were sober by conan gray

[losers + reader are 16+]

if someone were to ask you when you fell in love with richie, you don’t think you’d be able to answer them.

was it when you met him, thirteen and wild and so magnetic you couldn’t stay away from him? was it when you followed him into a sewer, endlessly terrified but trying to be as brave as he made you think you could be? was it when you looked at him and realized he had grown up right in front of you, and you hadn’t realized? or was it all the little moments in between, the mundane and the electric all in one?

you have no clue. all you know is this: you’re in love with richie tozier, and there’s nothing you can fucking do about it.

you bring your cup to your mouth, the edge of it pressing into your bottom lip. you don’t take a drink from it; you’re already a little buzzed, and you’re reluctant to get any drunker. you don’t want to do anything you’ll regret.

across the room from you, somehow perfectly visible despite the mass of dancing bodies separating you from him, richie leans against the wall, his arm around the waist of his girlfriend, who isn’t you.

you exhale as slowly as you can. inside of your chest, your heart feels like it is poised to shatter.

it shouldn’t shock you anymore. richie has a new girlfriend seemingly every month, a revolving-door of pretty girls that giggle when he kisses them and wear his jean jacket around school but ultimately never stay long. richie never offers explanation as to why they break up and you never ask. you’re afraid of whatever it is he might say. you’re afraid of knowing you’re not good enough for him if all of them weren’t.

you sigh. you’re such a fucking cliche. falling in love with your best friend, silently pining away as if it’ll make him notice you? you’d gag at the thought if it wasn’t your life.

a shoulder brushing against yours distracts you from your thoughts, and you glance over to see stan’s expectant face. he raises an eyebrow at you. “you alright?”

you want to scream. no, you’re not alright. you don’t think you’ve been alright since before you were officially a loser. but you can’t say that to stan, not without being perfectly honest, so you arrange your features into something resembling a smile. “what’s up, buttercup?”

stan scoffs. “you’ve been spending too much time with richie.”

will it ever stop hurting, the constant reminder of how close you are with richie but never close enough? “or he’s been spending too much time with me,” you say, sniffing arrogantly. the facade you put on sometimes is easier than breathing.

stan rolls his eyes. “sure, that’s it.” he pauses, squinting at you. “are you sure you’re okay? you look… upset, i guess.”

you snort, taking a sip of your drink as an excuse not to respond right away. your heart is in your throat at the idea of being caught. “you guess? gee, thanks stan.”

he narrows his eyes at you, his nostrils flaring slightly. behind him, bill is jumping onto mike’s back, laughing loudly. “shut up, you know what i meant. are you alright? seriously.”

you don’t give yourself time to hesitate. stan has a sixth sense for when he’s being lied to and won’t stop pestering you until you tell him the truth, and you’d like to not confess to him tonight. “yeah, stan,” you grin, feeling the lie like sawdust in your mouth. “i’m all good.”

he gives you a skeptical look, searching your face, but eventually he just sighs and nods. “alright, fine. if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

you nod back, glad you managed to escape that. “thanks, dude. hey, i’m gonna go grab a different drink, i’ll be right back.”

you don’t wait for him to say anything, or for anyone else to come with you. you just slip away, using the hordes of drunk teenagers to your advantage until you manage to get to the kitchen.

your shoulders slump, the smile you’d painted onto your face slipping away. slowly, you pour the rest of your shitty beer down the sink, opening the fridge and rifling around until you find a soda, stealing it before you can talk yourself out of it. whoever’s house this is won’t care, and besides, you think you need it.

when you leave the kitchen, your eyes fall to the spot where richie had been leaning. the wall is empty now.

pathetically, your eyes fill with tears. of course you know richie has a lot of sex, considering the self-satisfied smirk he’ll wear after getting fucked combined with the rumors that follow him like the perfume of whatever girl he’s seeing. the worst part is they aren’t even bad rumors; you’d lost count of the amount of times you had heard of how good a lover he is, or how his dick is as big as he’s often bragging, or how he does this thing with his mouth that feels like absolute heaven—

you’d heard enough. too much, probably. and it burrowed into your brain like the most insidious of weeds, sprouting thoughts you never should have let take root.

but of course richie was off fucking his girl. she was gorgeous, after all, easily one of the prettiest girls you’d ever seen, all smooth tanned skin and long blonde hair and hourglass figure. the kind of girl that richie deserved to have on his arm. the kind of girl that you would never be.

you knew this would happen. still, the pain of it takes your breath away.

you manage to stumble your way back over to the losers, greeting them with a smile that feels entirely too wooden. you play the part, laughing with bev and leaning into ben’s shoulder and gossiping quietly with eddie. you stick to your script, even when richie stumbles down the stairs sometime later with the girl tucked under his arm, both of their clothes in disarray and richie’s curls a wild mess. you’re such a seasoned professional that you barely miss a beat with eddie, even when your eyes find the hickey sucked under richie’s jaw and stay there.

for the rest of the night, you do your best to stay away from richie, always at least one loser between you two. you doubt he notices, too wrapped up in his girl. you think her name is sandy. she’s so beautiful it hurts.

eventually, you think it’s probably late enough that you can leave without raising much of a fuss. all of the other losers are still there, but bev’s already dozing against ben’s shoulder and bill is fighting a losing battle with his own drooping eyelids. you can probably slip out now, you figure, before you fall apart.

you manage to say your goodbyes as quickly as possible, waving as you turn to leave. you drove here with the others in stan’s car but it’s not too far of a walk. besides, the cold might do you some good—

a hand wraps around your wrist, jerking you back against a broad chest. when you turn, you come face to face with one richie tozier.

god, years later and he’s still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. his jawline is sharp and square, his shoulders broad and sturdy, a whisper of the strength he will carry as a man but no less impressive now. gone are the days of the dorky kid you first met; he’d long ago traded in his hawaiian shirts for jean jackets and ripped jeans, silver rings glinting around his fingers and a chain hanging into the open collar of his t-shirt. again, you are reminded of the rumors that constantly follow him. you’re just angry they didn’t think he was hot from the very beginning.

“where are you going?” he asks, his words slurred. he’d been downing the shitty spiked punch earlier like it was his job.

you sigh, tilting your head back to look at him. there’s another hickey just to the left of his adam’s apple. “home,” you say, simply. “i’m tired.”

he frowns, stepping closer to you. the heat radiates off of him. “but i haven’t gotten to talk to you all night,” he whines, pouting ridiculously. “i missed you.”

it shouldn’t affect you. richie flirts like breathing, with anyone who will entertain him. it’s just how close you two are that means his flirting is usually aimed at you. “sorry, rich,” you say, and you find that you mean it. “next time, okay?”

his fingers release your wrist, only to catch on the curve of your waist and pull you close. the heat of his hand burns through the flimsy material of your top. you’re so focused on trying to stay upright just from that simple touch that you almost miss what he says next.

“can i come with you?” his voice is low, rough, more of a growl than anything else.

you blink, stupefied. usually you’re quicker than this, able to keep up a banter with him that’s rivaled only by him and eddie. now, you’re left tongue-tied, the endless wanting inside of you threading around your throat and choking you. “what?”

“can i come with you?” he repeats, looking down at you with his pretty eyes. his glasses slide down his nose. you fight the urge to push them back up. “we can take my truck. this party’s kind of a bore, honestly.”

you swallow, feeling your heart stutter. “what about sandy?” your mouth is so dry your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth.

richie shrugs, casual as all hell and infuriatingly attractive. “she can last without me for a bit. i’d rather hang out with my favorite girl.” he grins at you, his dimples curving into his cheek.

it makes you want to scream. he says things like this all the time, calls you doll and baby and love like he has the fucking right, constantly says you’re the most important person in his life. and yet, he doesn’t feel the same way for you as you do for him. and he never will.

still, you’re a sucker for him. your lips curl into a weak smile. “sure, rich,” you whisper; any louder and your voice will crack. “let’s get out of here.”

he doesn’t even stop to say goodbye to anyone else, just crowding against your back and walking behind you the entire way out the front door. he’s so close that his chest brushes against your shoulder blades, his fingertips grazing over your hip. you focus on not tripping.

once you’re outside, you hold your hand out, not looking at him. “keys,” you command.

he laughs, full and bright as he digs his keys out of his pocket. “yes, nurse ratched,” he teases, dropping them into your hand. “right away, nurse ratched.”

you scowl at him, turning away to stomp your way down the block to where richie parked. it’s not a long walk but the late autumn night is chilly, especially through the thin material of your top and your skirt. you shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself.

before you can really react, richie’s shrugging off his jacket, settling the heavy denim over your shoulders. he’s just wearing a plain black t-shirt underneath, the cotton clinging to his biceps and chest, and you can’t tear your eyes away, even when he murmurs, “should’ve said you were cold, doll.”

the jacket smells like him: the apple of his shampoo, the warmth of his deodorant, the smoke from his cigarettes. it shouldn’t be a pleasant scent but it is, because it means comfort. it means home. it means your best friend and the love of your life.

your shoulders slump, your hand trembling when you finally reach his truck and reach for the driver’s side handle. “thanks, richie,” you breathe, climbing into the car before he can answer.

you don’t really know what he had in mind when he asked to leave with you, but you’re too overwhelmed to handle being alone with him for too long. already, having him this close is fogging your brain. you need to get away from him so you can fall apart in peace.

you decide to just take him home and walk from there. it proves to be the best choice, because not even a minute into your drive his chin is dropping down to his chest, his eyelids closing in longer and longer blinks until finally, he’s dozing in the front seat, big body curled in your direction. it fills you with so much warmth you think you are burning from the inside out.

it should be ridiculous, how much you love him. you should be at your limit for how much you have to give, capped out a long time ago, but everyday you fall for him a little bit more. whenever he does something particularly sweet, or funny, or attractive, you feel a little more of yourself crumble away to lay at his feet. at this point, you’re more fracture than glass, crushed into a fine powder under richie’s foot.

by the time you pull into richie’s driveway, he’s snoring lightly, his glasses knocked askew on his face. part of you wants to let him sleep, but the bigger part of you knows you need to get him into the house. you already slack on your best friend duties by secretly being in love with him, you don’t need to leave him out in the cold too.

sighing, you turn the key and shut the car off, getting out and walking around to the passenger side. you shake his shoulder, gently at first, then rougher when he doesn’t respond. he grumbles, swatting at you. you can’t help but laugh, shaking him again.

“rich,” you croon, shaking him with both hands. he groans, scrunching his face up. you snicker. “c’mon asshole, you’re too heavy for me to carry.”

he pries one eye open, glaring at you. “or you’re too small to even try,” he taunts back, sticking his tongue out.

you roll your eyes, tugging him out of the car. he goes easily enough, stumbling a little bit leaning into your side as you lock the car behind you.

you weren’t kidding when you said he was heavy. he’s just so much bigger than you, tall and broad and undeniably masculine. you try your best to take some of his weight with an arm curved around his waist, but you don’t think you’re really doing anything.

the lights are all off inside, richie’s parents gone for the weekend at some conference for his dad’s work. it makes you feel better about how you two stumble around in the dark, knocking into the walls and tripping over the stairs. finally, without much incident, you make it into richie’s room, depositing him on his bed before he can fall and brain himself on his table. his desk light is on, throwing the room into shadow but just light enough for you to see his face.

his curls spread around him on his pillow, his eyes already closed. he’s on top of his covers but there’s not much you can do about that. the only thing you can do is untie his boots and pluck his glasses from his face, letting him get as comfortable as he can with his clothes still on.

you stop, looking down at him. he’s almost angelic in his sleep, peaceful and quiet for probably the only time in his life. he’s so gorgeous like this, vulnerable, unguarded. it makes you feel like a creep to be looking at this without his knowledge. or his approval.

biting your lip, you turn to the door, only stopping when you realize you still have his jacket. carefully, you shrug it off, going to lay it on his bed when his voice stops you.

“keep it.”

you look up to see his eyes half-open, locked on you. the lamp throws his face into sharp angles and shadow, but the expression on his face is soft. his fingers stretch towards you.

“it looks good on you,” he continues, his voice barely more than a whisper. “you should wear it all the time.”

you don’t know what to say, frozen at the foot of his bed. it feels like everything you’ve ever wanted, before you remember that he’s drunk and out of his mind. he probably thinks you’re sandy. there’s no way he’d ever say that to you.

but he keeps going, his voice rough, smooth velvet over steel. “you look good all the time. makes me feel insane. just wanna touch you but i can’t.”

your heartbeat is pounding in your ears. through trembling lips, you manage to get out, “what about sandy?”

he shrugs, a tiny movement that feels unsure. you’ve never seen him shy like this. the fact that sandy’s likely the reason makes you burn inside. “she’s cool and all, but she’s not you. you’re my best friend, (y/n). i love you.”

you gasp softly, nowhere near loud enough for him to hear. your heart feels like it’s being pulled in two. “i love you too, rich. more than you could ever understand.”

but he shakes his head firmly. “no, you don’t get it. i love you. you’re my—you’re my other half. my partner in crime. i’d be lost without you.” before you can respond, he sighs and whispers, “wish you were my girlfriend. not sandy.”

his eyes slip closed the next instant. as you stand there, simultaneously turned to stone and burning alive, he gives a soft snore, his features relaxing in sleep.

you stare down at him for what feels like centuries, suddenly too old to move. you look down at the jacket in your arms, then back up to him. a loose curl lays against his forehead. your fingers itch to push it behind his ear.

“i wish you were sober,” you whisper. he doesn’t twitch.

you leave the jacket laid at the foot of his bed when you go.

(part two)

#richie tozier #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier fanfiction #the losers club #the losers club imagine #the losers club x reader #my writing

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poptod · 4 years

Note

Hi I hope ur having a great day! I love ur writing so freaking much! This request is a little different than what I’m sure ur used to but hopefully ur comfortable enough with writing it. Could u write a one shot (or headcanons if it’s easier) where Snafu from the Pacific is crushing big time on the reader (like almost in love) and he’s always hitting on her but she never shown any interest toward him. Then a few days in when the nurses come Snafu walks in on the reader making out with one of the nurses. They see each other and he walks out all like CONFUSED and shook and the reader runs after him to swear him to secrecy. He’s still shook and admits his feelings and she comes out as a lesbian to him. He’s even more SHOOK but he’s rly understanding and accepting even tho he’s incredibly heartbroken. Sorry if it’s not what u usually write, as a bi I’m just always a sucker for “I’m dumb she’s a lesbian”

notes: anon i love you you're literally perfect WC: 1.9k

He was used to this sort of behavior when he first met girls – curt and rude, meant to pry his eyes off their figure. Eventually though, after time, he would win their affection through his shining personality (or, at least, that's what he thought happened). Usually it only took about a week or less; he was good at what he did. This was ridiculous, though – he was ranging on the sixth week of knowing you. That's one and a half months, far above his usual score.

But you're beautiful. Even if you won't share a genuine conversation with him, you 'let' him watch you, allowing yourself to become his only source of entertainment on the island. The shine in your hair – always neatly pulled back – is a fantastic distraction from the blisters on his palms and the heat of his sunburnt skin.

You're the last piece of humanity here. It makes sense he would never be able to win you.

Today you're tending to his wounds, an activity he thought he would never love as much as he does. Your fingers are still soft somehow, brushing against the exposed skin of his arms, sliding over the bandages to ensure they won't slip. The concentration evident in your sharp eyes is revealed in the way you bite your lip, gaze never leaving the bloody blisters on his hands.

"Not for nothin' babe, but," he began to speak, voice raspy and dry, "last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid."

You very slowly raise your head, reluctantly meeting his eye with a dead stare.

"Not today, Snafu," you say.

"Tomorrow then?"

You scoff, shake your head, almost laugh, but in the end you say nothing. Instead you return to your work, diligently cleaning the scabs and covering them up. He can't say he minds––whether or not you truly engaged with him, he heard your voice, and felt your touch. That would be enough. For now.

Surprisingly enough, they still get to have movie night sometimes. That doesn't mean the movies are good, but they're generally more entertaining than watching the shore birds. Every now and then, Snafu will even go and join his tent mates, ogling more at the nurses than paying attention to the actual movie. Those are always good nights, and the forest is close enough that it's not a problem if he gets too excited.

Tonight's movie is titled 'Godzilla Goes to College,' and upon hearing the name Snafu knew he would not be able to attend a full hour of it. Instead he wanders around the encampment, watching shadow silhouettes and the movement of the breeze on tent flaps. The sound of shuffling catches his ear, and when he turns, he's pleasantly surprised to find you beside him, drowning in an oversized jacket. He laughs, loud and probably impolite, but the juxtaposition of him being shirtless beside you truly tickles him.

"Evenin', doll," he says through his laughter, stopping you in the middle of the pathway. A soft groan leaves you as you turn to face him.

"And good night," you say in a too-cheery tone, your saccharine smile instantly falling into a dead stare as you go back to walking, a renewed vigor in your step.

"Hey, where y' goin' in such a hurry?" He asks, and begins to trail slowly after you. He allows a decent amount of space to grow between you before he continues with, "stay n' chat a minute, cher!"

You don't even bother to respond once you turn the corner, where Snafu loses his trail on you. He curses to himself, turns back around, and finds several of his mates coming back from the movie rather tipsy. How long have they been there?

"Reeaaaall lucky with the girls, aren't'ya, Snaf?" Burgie asks, and the four of them fall into teasing laughter.

"I'll get her, you'll see," he promises, turning back to see if he can glimpse you between all the tents. "One a' these days, she's mine."

Later that evening he sees you again, through the sheer fabric of your tent, where you've been burning a candle. It casts your shadow clearly against the wall, allowing him to see you perfectly.

Snafu likes to claim he isn't a pervert, but most who know him in any way know that's not really true. Sure, he can be a gentleman, but if no one's looking he doesn't especially care. No one but him will know, not even you. Even if he wasn't a pervert, he still wouldn't be able to tear himself away––you're undressing, peeling the clothes off your skin and he can see the whole of your body. In outline, of course, but there nonetheless.

Fucking creep, he tells himself, calls himself, but he doesn't cease his staring till you've put out your candle. At that point he can no longer see you, and he returns to his own tent with fantasies circling his head like vultures.

It's not that you're particularly rude to him. You just don't engage or indulge any of his bullshit, which is fair enough he thinks. He has a lot of bullshit coming out of his mouth 24/7. Everyone knows that. There's a theory he has, though––a theory he came up with just a little while ago, that you would treat him perfectly normal as long as he didn't come on to you in conversation. If he treated you just like he treated most others, then you might actually be nice to him. You're a good person. You're not going to be needlessly mean.

"Afternoon," he says to you, and he has to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from calling you cher. You quirk one of your brows.

"Afternoon," you repeat back. "Something ailing you?"

"Why'd ya think that?" He asks, slinking into one of the chairs in the aid tent.

"This is a medical tent," you say, and he wants to facepalm himself.

I'm just achin' with love for you, boo, he wants to say, and again, he has to bite his tongue to stop it from coming out. Damn it, he thinks, that's actually a good line.

"So why are you here then?" You ask.

"Better than tryin' ta find somethin' edible in my lunch," he grumbles out, leaning back against the chair and closing his eyes. He lets out a satisfied sigh.

You giggle, you actually laugh from something he did, and say, "understandable. You should still eat, though. Here."

You move from your spot at a nearly-fully stocked tray, instead digging through one of the numerous unlabelled boxes piled like towers in the aid tent. From there you pull out a granola bar, brand name, and throw it at Snafu's face. He nearly falls off balance, but catches it before he loses his cool.

"Thank ya kindly, ma'am," he says with a grin, tipping an imaginary hat your direction. Again you smile; there is nothing better than this, sitting across from you, and being the reason for your happiness.

Eventually he has to leave in order to make room for those who actually do require medical aid, but he leaves singing on a high note. You say good-bye to him this time, for the first time, and a smile tugs at his lips all day. Therein lies the secret to your affection––a blazingly obvious secret that all men should know––that he must treat you as an equal, not size you up to something he can win over, something he can buy with cheap words and undressing eyes.

He thinks it over all day, lets it mull over in his head how he should next approach you. Things get twisted in his mind if he doesn't speak them out loud, and by eveningtime he's convinced that he should meet you tonight, even if it's just him barging into your tent. Politely, of course. A polite barging in.

For a moment he stops, his hand poised above the handle of your tent flap. You're definitely in there––or someone is––as there's shuffling behind the material, a sound he can barely process over the rushing of his heart.

Fuck it, he finally says, and without giving himself a chance to doubt, he pulls open the flap.

You don't even notice him. To be fair, your eyes are closed. And you're a bit preoccupied. Your tongue is pretty far down that nurse's throat.

His mouth falls open as every muscle in his body freezes. It's the other nurse that actually sees him, and she taps you harshly with her wide eyes set on Snafu. You tear yourself away from her touch, turn to the marine, and all the air in the tent goes stagnant.

He leaves. Throws the flap back into place and all but sprints away, wide eyes burning in the cool night air. It's only a second or two of running before he hears the flap open and close again, followed by you yelling something, and ultimately your chasing footsteps.

You end up being surprisingly fast, and you easily catch up to him. Once you do you grab his wrist, tugging him back, and forcing him to face you. Both of your hearts are racing a hundred miles a minute, both of your eyes wide with shock.

"Merriel I am begging you, you cannot tell anyone about this, please, please, you can't, I’ll do anything," you beg him, and it's then he notices there's tears on the edge of your eyes. "Please do this for me, you can't tell anyone. Don't even think about it––just, pretend it never happened?"

He's panting, unable to formulate any response, only able to stare into your panic and sink in the fear pouring out of your desperate eyes.

"(Y/N), I'm––no, I won't," he says at last, and you practically collapse with relief, falling into him with your forehead on his shoulder. He continues in a murmur, awkwardly holding you, "I just... I'm.. I'm in love with you. I––I couldn't do that to you."

"Fuck, I know," you say in a breath, removing yourself to look him in the eye. "But I can't be with you."

You pause, and he waits a moment for you to continue, his brow quirked in curiosity.

"I'm a lesbian, Snafu."

"Oh," he says, but it doesn't process. Not for a minute, anyway. "Oh. Ohh. OHHHH."

"Yeah," you say with a vigorous nod.

"Okay, I thought – I thought I jus’ lost my touch, you're just.. a lesbian, okay," he says, sparking a laugh from you.

"You're not angry?"

"Shit cher, you can't control who you wanna get freaky with jus' as much as I can't," he says, smiling, and the tears in your eyes finally fall. They aren't sad, though––birthed from fear, yes, but falling from happiness.

"You're a lifesaver, Snaf."

As heartbroken as he truly is, none of it really shows in his face. At least now he knows it wasn't really his fault that you didn't show interest in him. Still, disappointment fills up his chest, until you tell him that he makes a good friend. It's then he realizes he can still keep you in his life, a version of modesty and stature and innocence that he can't achieve alone.

He won't ever be able to kiss you, which he does mourn––your lips are painfully soft, and every time he catches sight of them he yearns to press his own against them. Your statement on him works in reverse, though; you're a good friend, and that would be enough for Snafu. But Merriel hides within the bravado, within the suaveness of his voice and actions, and Merriel weeps childish tears that Snafu doesn't know how to wipe away and comfort. Snafu understands the reality of the world, but Merriel will always lament the unfairness of life.

You're the last piece of humanity here. It makes sense Merriel would never be able to win you.

#merriel snafu shelton #snafu x reader #rami malek #the pacific hbo

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enamoured-x · 4 years

Note

Hi dear, could you write 41, 51, 80 and 85 smut with Rio, (not necessarily in that order) please?

I couldn’t fit the last prompt to what I had in mind and this just took on a life of its own. Hope you don’t mind! This was just plain filthy... Enjoy!! ;) (gif not mine)

Warnings: NSFW

You’d be lying if you said Rio’s punishments for you didn’t excite you. Sure there were times where you weren’t able to cum or times where he wouldn’t even touch you. But then there were times like now. You were currently on your way home with Rio from a party. He was silently raging, white knuckling the steering wheel as he drove. All that rage directed towards you. You were practically soaking. You knew what you were doing when you decided to tease Rio at the party. Neither of you wanted to be there but you sucked it up and went for the sake of appearances. It was definitely not your typical house party, unless the typical house party had weed, alcohol, cocaine, and prostitutes. Rio had business and you convinced him to let you go. During the party, you had been trying to convince Rio to sneak off into one of the many rooms for some alone time. Usually he would drag you there himself before you could even ask but he was not having it tonight. He didn’t like anyone at the party and he firmly expressed that he would not appreciate one of them stumbling into the room and getting to see you on display, only he was allowed to see you like that, he had said. But you kept pushing and he kept denying you. He had even used his work tone with you, telling you to cut it out. Eventually you got bored when he started to talk to Mick about something, you excused yourself to the bathroom. You were barely even half way there when you were intercepted by a tall man. You had recognized him immediately, an old friend from college. You were both confused as to why the other was there but you let it go, giving him a hug and starting to catch up. Rio slipped your mind as your friend, Lucas, explained to you what he had been up to lately. You both talked for a good fifteen minutes. You were so engaged in conversation that you didn’t even realize he had thrown an arm around your shoulder as he talked. And out of reflex you placed your hand on his back. You laughed at something he said and then you were both interrupted by Rio. It was safe to say he was angry. Which was what led you to where you were now. He made it clear he didn’t appreciate you pushing him, didn’t like how you were being bratty, as he put it. And he also hated the way you let Lucas touch you like you were his.

When you finally got into the house he was quick to drag you to the couch, sitting down and pulling you over his lap. Your jeans were harshly yanked down along with your panties, but he made no move to move them further than just below your ass.

“You don’t like listening to daddy, do you?” He asked, hands now rubbing at your ass. You groaned, pressing your head against the couch.

“I do.” You whined.

“Then why the fuck don’t you ever do as your told, huh, mama?” He squeezed.

“I’m sorry.” Is all you could say. He chuckled low.

“Nah, it’s too late for that, baby girl. You’re going to take your punishment now.”

You wiggled on his lap knowing what was about to come. You were equally excited and scared, a thrilling combo that had you dripping.

“And I don’t want to hear a single sound coming out of those pretty lips. You hear me?” It was one thing to take the pain, but it was another thing to give up your reactions to it.

“But–” He landed a sharp slap to your ass.

“You make a sound and it’s game over. I won’t tell you again, and each time you make a sound we’re starting over. I can do this all night, baby.” You bit your lip and nodded. You could do it. You hoped. The second slap to your ass was hard but you made sure to choke down your moans. He continued his assault and you weren’t even sure what number he was on. All you knew was that you had to focus on your breathing and make sure you wouldn’t let out even the tiniest sound. It got harder the harsher the slaps were. He got to twenty when he finally said he was done.

“Took all twenty of them like a good little girl. Didn't even make one sound. Daddy’s proud.” He said and you preened at his praise. He rubbed your ass, trying to calm down the burn. But it was in full force and his hands were doing nothing for it. When he slid his hands lower, and his fingers met your clit, you whined out. Finally making a noise.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” It was true. You were sure you were practically dripping on his jean clad thigh. He rubbed through your folds gently, doing nothing more. When he finally slid a finger in you, you gasped and clutched the couch.

“What? Does that feel good?” He asked as he thrusted in one finger a few times before adding another.

“Yes, daddy. Feels so good.” He hummed at your words, adding a third finger. The sting in your ass mixed with the stretch of his fingers was pulling you closer to your first orgasm. But Rio withdrew his fingers. You cried out.

“Up.” He patted your ass and you hissed at the pain. You did as he said and stood up. You shoved your pants and panties down. Rio stood up and rid himself of his jeans and briefs. You helped tug off his shirt and he helped you with yours, and then unclipped your bra. You two stared each other down the whole time, not daring to let the other's gaze go. You liked this game he’d play with you. You liked taking your punishments and getting your reward. Hell, you liked taking your punishments even when there was no reward. You were a sucker to please.

“Sit.” He motioned to the couch and you sat down. He turned to stand in front of you, his length in front of your face. Hard and already leaking. You wanted to take him in your mouth but you kept still, waiting for his instructions.

“Go ahead, mama. Make me feel good.” You wasted no time in wrapping your hand around his length and licking the head. He hummed as you lapped up his precome and placed open mouth kisses to his tip.

“Fuck…” He groaned and then you took him down your throat. He wrapped his fingers through your hair, gently urging you to take more of him. His thrusts made you gag but he’d let you off him for a second before sliding right back in your mouth.

“That’s it, just like that.” He urged you. You lifted your other hand that wasn’t at the base of him, to caress his balls. He groaned at the touch and bucked into your mouth harshly, making you sputter.

He pulled your mouth off him and took himself into his hand. His strokes were fast and you could tell he was close. And as beautiful as he looked, as much as you’d like for him to come on you, you spoke up.

“Don’t ruin the sofa.”

He laughed through his moans and tugged your hair back so you could look up at him. He still fucked his fist, the tip of his member brushing against your lips.

“I’ll just have to come inside your mouth then.” He urged you forward, only enough to take the head inside your mouth. You suckled on it and he was coming undone. You swallowed his come as it coated your tongue. Humming around him at the taste and at the sight of him looking totally blissed out.

“Yummy.” You smirked as the words left your lips. His length twitched in his hands.

“I think you like being bad.” He said, smiling down at you.

“Only for you.” You leaned forward and licked a stripe up his dick.

“Fuck. You’re such a good girl. But,” he tilted your chin up.

“You’re not coming tonight.” Normally you’d protest at his words but tonight you didn’t care. Getting him off was a treat in itself and you found yourself willing to do anything to please him even if you didn’t gain anything from it.

“I understand.” He was surprised by your answer but he jolted when you took him in your hand, stroking him slowly. He was still half hard and you were ready to help him out some more.

“Want you to come in my mouth again.” Is all you said before taking him back in. He hissed but made no movement to stop you.

“Daddy’s good little girl.”

#rio x you #good girls rio #rio x reader #rio good girls

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itswildwinters · 4 years

Text

Seeing as it’s the holidays for me, I’ve had time to read (and re-read) quite a lot of fics, and I felt like sharing some of them with you. It’s my first time doing a fic recs post, so I hope it’s useful and not too much of a mess, especially since it’s quite long!

If you do end up reading any of these stunning fanfics, don’t forget to leave kudos and comments to show your appreciation!

Enjoy!! ✩

✩ baby blue by @soldouthaz (39k)

summary: Harry Styles takes his time coming out to greet them. Louis only knows what he’s seen on file and what he’s heard them talking about, but he fully lives up to the image he had inside of his head.

He saunters down the front steps of the farmhouse in his Levi’s, brown snakeskin boots curving out from underneath the denim Louis’ sure he had specially made. He’s got on a plaid button-down tucked into the jeans because of course he does, curls spilling out from either side of his cowboy hat around his sunglasses and country-tan skin.

“Harry Styles,” he drawls, extending a hand to Louis’ manager, “Pleased to meet ya’ll.”

I loved the dynamic between Cowboy Harry and Celebrity Louis. What I also really enjoyed about this fanfic is that the depiction of farm life was accurate. The way the story is written really gets you into action, so that you can picture everything quite well through the Louis-centric third point of view.

✩ The Space Between by @lads-laddylads (39k)

summary: Harry Styles is the alpha rockstar who can’t sleep and doesn’t know why. Louis Tomlinson is the omega PhD student who helps him figure it out.

A/B/O fanfic. I loved how Alpha Harry acted upon seeing Louis for the first time. You can really feel the tension and attraction through the screen, which is one of my all time favourite things. The way their relationship builds up is a delight, and Louis is a darling and so courageous in the end with how he deals with Harry, even when Harry is being an idiot. The connection they have at the end... just wow!

✩ fae series: Boiling Blood Will Circulate and Warming The Air Of The World by @crazyupsetter (42k and 3k)

summary of Boiling Blood Will Circulate: The wait isn’t long before something starts rustling in the bushes. Harry takes aim, squeezes the trigger, body moving unconsciously. They’re motions he’s done a thousand times before, and his body knows how to do it without the input of his brain now. It’s what makes him such a good shot.

He misses. The shot misses.

Something howls in the woods, a pretty clear indication that Harry hit it, but there’s no telltale sounds of a big body dropping, no animal charging out at him to take him out before he can finish the job.

Something does turn and run, though. “Fuck,” Harry spits out, scrambling to his feet and slinging the rifle back over his shoulder, giving chase. He’s not going to lose this hunt.

The trail of blood goes on longer than Harry thought it would. He doesn’t know how long he runs for, but his muscles are burning, chest heaving with exertion, until the trail just - goes dead. No more blood, just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry says.

I am a sucker for fantasy/supernatural fanfics, and this one is absolutely incredible. The suspense in there is well-built, and the dynamic between Louis and Harry leaves you hungry for more. There’s a lot of blood in this series, so if you’re not into that you should be careful, but for me the author really puts into perspective how complicated and different from mankind faeries are.

✩ With a whimper by @kitundercover (132k)

summary: Dystopian AU. Louis has been alone for too long to remember how not to be, and Harry has too much to worry about to deal with a scrawny, wild, stranger.

---

The man grips his arm tightly. “You’re not going to say anything.” It’s not a question.

Louis shakes his head, his body twitching.

“Fine.” Large green eyes survey him before letting go. “It’s cold. Take this. Wear it.”

Louis can’t help another flinch as the man’s long scarf is wrapped around his tender neck, it’s still warm. He touches the soft material. “Thank you.”

The man bears his teeth. “Don’t thank me. Don’t ever thank me.”

If you are into dystopian works, and doesn’t mind violence, blood and gore, this fic will make your day! I loved the world-building, the way it’s written, how Louis’ character is portrayed and how strong he is. I just couldn’t stop reading once I began. The secrets of the plot, the fear of the characters, and the curiosity that sparks within you as you read contribute into making this fic a unique one that’s so worth the read.

✩ Soaked In The Blood Of Angels by @crazyupsetter (40k)

summary: The boy looks drugged, caught between a man who’s almost twice his size and a girl who looks like she wouldn’t even break a sweat snapping him in half despite her small stature, eyes closed and mouth open as he pants, arching up between them almost as if he’s trying to escape.

Normally, Harry would ignore it and continue on his search for someone to drink from, someone who wouldn’t mind his sharp teeth and rough hands. He’s seen plenty of boys like this one, ones who picked the wrong playmates, and if he stopped to rescue every single one of them he would have died from thirst a long time ago.

This one, though. There’s something about this one, the sheen of his bright blue eyes as he blinks slowly, looks around as though he doesn’t know where he is, the weakness of his hands as he tries to push the girl off of him and make his escape.

Another magnificent creatures/fantasy fanfic. The writing is absolutely exquisite, and I love how hard to get Louis is. The violence between Louis and Harry might bother some people, but to me it really spiced up their relationship and made Louis and Harry, who are creatures of gloom, particularly interesting and even real, somehow.

✩ Play Pretend, Find a Friend? by @angelichl (40k)

summary: They had to pull back for air. Louis surveyed the guy’s face, in awe of his blown pupils and sharp jawline, the way their shared spit glistened on his lips.

“Hi,” he breathed. He blinked, and came back to himself a little bit, blushing at his own boldness. “Sorry. Is this okay?”

The stranger removed his right hand from the curve of Louis’ waist in order to cup his jaw, tilting it up to the angle he desired. He pressed their lips together, murmuring, “Definitely.” And then he kissed harder.

When Louis sees his ex-boyfriend kissing a random girl at a party, he acts out of blind jealousy. He kisses the first guy he can find. It turns into a thing.

Where do I start? I usually don’t like fake-relationship AUs since most of the time Louis and Harry are famous, which make it less fun to me. But in this fic, they’re students and Harry is a frat boy while Louis is a nerd, but it’s not cliché or anything. It’s actually so well-written and the relationship between Louis and Harry takes time to progress which I absolutely love, seeing as I am a sucker for slow burn. Harry is so sweet as a frat boy, and Louis is an angel. Really loved reading this.

✩ at your fingertips by @risthebrave (27k)

summary: He finds himself wrapped up in sheets in bed on Thursday night, staring at the familiar name on a new story that was posted the night before.

His fingers twitch, ready to hit play and surrender to his impulses, saving the regret and turmoil for later.

And still he hesitates, internally praying that he’ll somehow gain the strength to exit out within the next few moments before he inevitably loses his patience and hits the button.

Three…

Two…

One.

Play.

Or, Louis really should have seen it coming.

Besides being well-written, the whole plot is quite original. I absolutely loved Louis in there, especially since all of his insecurities made me relate to him. He’s so sweet, and I’m glad Harry was there to get him to open-up and see how amazing he is. I had so many moments of secondhand embarrassment haha, and they made the fic all the more amazing. Honestly, what really struck me in this fic is how the author managed to make Harry such an amazing person, and how intrepid Louis is while he learns to overcome his insecurities.

✩ Nothing But You On My Mind by @absoloutenonsense (83k)

summary: Louis Tomlinson is a PR manager hired to improve the image of royal bad-boy Prince Harry Styles. Unfortunately for him, that means being faced with the Prince's constant innuendos, incessant dirty jokes, and relentless flirting. Louis just wants to make it to Princess Gemma's coronation; once she's crowned Queen, his contract is up and he never has to see the Prince again.

It was such a joy to read this fic. Even though Harry pissed me off on more than one occasion, I took great satisfaction in how Louis ignored him or replied with one of his witty comebacks. The plot twist was just awesome and Harry’s stubbornness ended up being very much welcome.

✩ push you out, pull you back in by @behisoneandonly (31k)

summary: Harry grips his head in his hands helplessly, yanking the base of his dark curls and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Fucking hell,” he whispers, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping the strands of his hair.

“Hey, hey,” says the petite stranger in front of him, quickly standing up. “Stop, you’re hurting yourself.”

–

Or Harry hates feeling vulnerable. Louis is set on breaking through his tough facade.

Oh my god, this was truly wonderful. The size difference made me go crazy! The smut was just wow too. What really made this fic so incredible is how protective of Harry Louis is, and how Louis seems to just... understand Harry despite his issues. Jealous Harry also! I loved it. Moreover, Louis’ character is literally perfect in this.

✩ thinking about the t-shirt you sleep in by @absoloutenonsense (52k)

summary: Harry's alpha fraternity donates to a local thrift shop (because of Liam's latent crush on a cute beta in his lecture). Louis' financial situation (and confusing omega instincts) lead him to make some interesting fashion purchases. Lots of pizza, feelings, and not-really-lying.

I’ve read and re-read this. I love Louis and Harry’s dynamic, and how they solve their troubles in the end. Harry is such a sweet soul, and Louis deserves the world!

✩ Canyon Moon by @eeveelou (40k)

summary: For as long as Louis has remembered, he has been promised to be mated to Harry, his best friend and the future pack alpha. But Louis’s heart belonged to the forest and to the hunt more than he could ever imagine it belonging to Harry.

Then Harry’s father dies in a violent accident, and Louis’s future alpha disappears on the wind.

An A/B/O Lion King AU

What really drew me in is that I’ve never before seen a larry fanfic on the Lion King, and honestly? It was so beautiful. The way the author made the plot of the cartoon go along with the A/B/O world was truly surprising, and absolutely interesting to read. Also, when Louis is introduced to the modern world? It’s such a sweet part of the fic.

✩ a trail of honey through it all by @yvesaintlourent (27k)

summary: The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

Or, the TPH fic we’ve all been waiting for.

Trailer park Harry? HELL YEAH! The concept has been going on in the fandom for so long that when I saw someone finally wrote it, I was genuinely excited. And I wasn’t disappointed! The writing is wonderful and the way Louis and Harry grow closer is just so sweet. Loved it!

✩ The Healing Song series: The Healing Song and The Wedding by 2204 (111k and 3k)

summary of The Healing Song: Louis was carrying the large stuffed elephant like it was a baby, it’s trunk hanging over his shoulder and down his back and it’s front legs were resting around his neck, like it was hugging him. Said elephant was a present from Louis’ close friend Steve, who had thought Louis needed something to hug on bad days and had gifted him with a stuffed elephant the size of a one year old.

Steve had been right. Some days Louis did need something to hug, and this elephant was as good as anything.

Louis was having one of the rougher days. The harmonious state of the anxiety free life of a fearless Louis had ended the week after he met with Harry. It ended as abruptly as it had started. It was like pushing a button. Lights out. Almost as if the universe said “You’ve had your fun, crazy one, now go be sick” and slammed the door in his face.

Or where Louis is a single father of two, suffering from PTSD, and Harry is there providing soulmatey and loving support while he heals the wounds of past abuse.

God, this fic I swear! This made me cry, laugh, scream... this is a roller-coaster of emotions. It’s quite a hard fic to read, because it deals with past abuse and trauma. And it’s even harder knowing this story is based on real life events that the author went though. But the way it’s written, the way Harry helps Louis through his struggles and issues, it’s so beautiful and inspiring.

✩ Sunrise and Pixie Dust by @moonyblouie (14k)

summary: Harry's taking a walk at sunrise in the forest he knows like the back of his hand when the wind starts blowing, the sky turns pink, and golden glitter starts to fall from the sky. He’s not sure about what’s happening, but when he comes face to face with a gorgeous winged-creature, he can’t help but be immediately mesmerized.

Or an AU in which Harry finds himself crossing the borders between two worlds.

I loved this, the smut is so hot!! But the end... I really hope there will be a sequel! But other than that, the way Louis is written? Wonderful!

✩ Weightless by @smittenwithlouis (25k)

summary: He hopes that Harry still thinks of him. God knows Louis thinks of him every day.

Or: Harry is the best dragon racer the world has ever seen and Louis is an almost-vet who feels like he is carrying the weight of the world.

This was... just amazing, honestly. I loved loved loved every time Louis interacted with dragons, I could picture it and it’s just so so sweet. The way Louis is concerned about Harry’s safety, and Harry’s will to make Louis’ life better, to give him the freedom he deserves... it’s just beautiful.

✩ The Blood of Love by @mugglemirror (25k)

summary: Harry is a nurse and Louis is a painting worth more than a thousand words. As desire and darkness encompasses him, Harry has to learn the secrets of Thorne Hills manor before he succumbs to the mystery that surrounds him.

I absolutely loved this! The plot, the writing, the suspense, the secrets... everything was on spot and left me yearning for more. The atmosphere really makes the reader completely engrossed into what’s going on, and the end doesn’t disappoint. Dark fics have always been something that I enjoy reading, and this one definitely didn’t disappoint. Just wow!

✩ Latibule by @quelquesetoiles

summary: Louis had worked in the infamous resort placed in the median point of all worlds for longer than he could remember. He went through everyday with a soul-crushing emptiness filling his mind, going through the same routine over and over again. Despite all the happenings around him, his soul never wavered, his emotions stayed superficial, and nothing took his breath away anymore.

Nothing, except the intoxicating smell of lavender and the contemplating green eyes that came along for the ride every now and again. His heart always seemed to wake up full force whenever those pretty lips formed around even prettier, yet empty promises, and he felt the magic sizzle in his bones again only when contact was made between the divine body and his own deceivingly normal one. He hated it for the fact he really didn’t.

Or : A Spirited Away AU of sorts where Louis just wants to heal and be left alone, only for all his plans to be destroyed by the hands of an infuriating British God.

I have read this at least three times, that’s how good this fic is. I am a sucker for mythology, like truly, and Louis and Harry’s dynamic in there had me screaming! Jealous Harry is the best thing, and the semi plot twist at the end made my heart jump. But besides the universe we readers are diving into, it’s also the writing that’s left me pleasantly drunk. The words flow together perfectly, at after each paragraph you just long for more. Also the pet names!!! Just beautiful.

✩✩✩

If there’s any mistakes, please let me know!

#fic recs

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xingplytwelve · 4 years

Text

𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝟪 𝓁𝒾𝓂𝒷𝓈

Author’s Note: It’s quite funny, this prompt came to me while I was doing Muay Thai in the gym. If only I have a hot-ass instructor like zyx! Pairing: Yixing x Reader Genre/ AU: Fluff, Smut, Gym AU Rating/ Warnings: NC-17 Word Count: 4.6k

Epilogue

‘What the fuck, y/n! What have you been doing?!’ Your boss raged as he slammed the deck that you’ve been working on, burning the midnight oil for the past few days. You flinched at the impact of his anger, as you looked at him blankly. You did exactly what he had told you to, but he must have forgotten what he had mentioned to you, for the nth time. You had been in this creative agency for the past two years, and sometimes, you don’t even know how you managed the time you spent here. Your boss, though not the worst boss ever, but definitely not the best either. You were getting sick and tired of how you had to handle his ever-changing moods, and how he always told you one thing but expect the other. You remained silent, while your boss shouted over to your colleague, ‘You do it instead!’ She gave you the ‘he’s being crazy again’ look before acknowledging your boss, and you gave her a faint smile. Luckily for you, you knew exactly how to relief your stress through the art of the 8 limbs. Not to mention, you were also crushing on one of your instructors as well. But that’s only normal right? Who won’t have a crush on zhang yixing, the best-looking muay thai instructor around. The girls in the gym were always talking him, about how he’s the hottest and the most attractive. There were even some who joined the gym because of him. But unlike the rest who were head over heels for him because of his good looks and physique, you were secretly crushing on him because of how he’s always so focused, serious, and attentive to each and every student during classes. The way he helped and cared for the students was what caught your attention, and his looks were really just a bonus. You just couldn’t wait for the day to end, so that you can head to the gym and smash some pads, not forgetting to also take a look at yixing.

‘Hi y/n! How are you?’ Yixing greeted the moment you stepped into the gym, as he walked past you to go for a quick break. You nodded at him as a form of acknowledgement, knowing that he was simply being courteous, greeting the regular students. Though you knew that very well, but you can’t help but to feel heebie-jeebies whenever he talked to you. Not to lie, but the way his training attire showcases his lean body was definitely breath-taking. An hour of drilling cardio ended fast, and you started to packed your things lazily, staring into space at times. You had vent out all your frustrations through the bags earlier on, leaving you with little energy to barely do anything. Very soon, you were one of the few students left in the gym, since it was getting a little late. You then gathered your remaining strength and took your belongings, heading to the changing room to take a quick shower before heading home.

You undressed yourself, and drips of water started falling on your skin. This has got to be one of the best feelings in the world, taking a shower after a workout. As you immersed yourself in the shower, you started to think about what happened in class earlier on. As if intensity of the workout wasn’t enough for your heart, you could have sworn your pulse was racing double its pace when yixing looked into your eyes, his soft skin brushing against yours while correcting your techniques. He was simply oblivious to the effect he had on you, or rather, women in general, or so you thought. Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard a voice saying, ‘the gym is closing soon!’ You then got out of the shower reluctantly and prepared to head home, when you saw yixing stepping out of the guy’s changing room. Your heart skipped a beat, not expecting to see him still here. He gave you a charming smile, which you returned with a tight lipped one, trying to hide how flustered you were to see him dressed in casual clothes, which made him even better-looking. You left the gym quickly, and were waiting for the lift when someone tapped on your shoulder. Your heart might have stopped beating for a second when you turned around, to realise that yixing was the one who tapped on you. ‘Hey y/n, are you okay?’ He started off, leaving you puzzled at his question. ‘You were really smashing the bags just now, doesn’t your feet hurt?’ He added, pointing at your legs which were still a little reddish from the impact earlier on. You blushed a little at his attentiveness, as you answered while avoiding his gaze, ‘Just a bad day, I guess.’ ‘You wanna talk about it?’ He then asked, taking you by surprise. You were lost for words, not knowing what is the best answer you could give. You wanted to say yes, so badly, to talk to someone about your problems, and also to spend a little bit of time with yixing. But at the same time, you wasn’t sure if he was just being polite, or was he really extending an invitation to you. You didn’t want to sound silly and desperate for him, even though you were in fact, silly and desperate for him. ‘I’m actually heading for a pint of beer before heading home, do you want to come with me?’ He prompted, seeing that you’ve yet to give him a response. Oh my gosh, he’s not just being polite, you thought to yourself as you try to formulate an answer that doesn’t expose your inner thoughts. ‘I would really love to, can I?’ You answered, as you mustered up your courage to look at him, trying to hide a grin. ‘Of course! Would be nice to have some company,’ he said with a bright smile, showing off his sweet dimples.

‘You know, you’re the type of girl that I won’t expect to see in the gym,’ yixing said, as he took a sip of his beer, leaving some of it’s foam on his lips, his seemingly tasty lips. You can’t help but to stare at them, after which letting a chuckle escaped. ‘I’m sorry, what do you mean?’ You then asked, as you looked at the slightly embarrassed yixing who was wiping his mouth with a napkin. ‘I’m not going to tell you after you laughed at me,’ he responded, as his brows drew together to form a tiny frown. ‘So, what happened?’ He asked, shifting his attention to you. You wasn’t sure how did you managed to feel more at ease with his presence now, perhaps it was that he had abandoned the context of a instructor-student relationship, and the fact that you guys were just chilling at a bar like normal friends, so you started sharing more about yourself with him. You told him how your day went, and how you anticipated to hit the gym everyday just so you can get rid of your stress, leaving out the part where you actually looked forward to seeing him. Time flew past and it was getting pretty late, as yixing took a look at his watch and exclaimed, ‘I’m sorry y/n, I didn’t know it was this late already! Is your boyfriend coming to pick you up? It’s dangerous for you to go back by yourself at this hour.’ You shook your head, answering, ‘It’s fine, yixing. I didn’t realised the time too. And don’t worry, I can go back on my own, I don’t have a boyfriend.’ A familiar expression soon came into your sight, when he asked while frowning, ‘what? Why?’ Why? You knew the answer to his question, but simply shrugged it off. How could you tell him that you’ve been single because you were having a crush on him? Though you did not answer yixing’s question, he was actually pleased with it. He just had to ask, to make sure, before he make any more moves. He stood up, and yanked you off your seat by tugging your wrists. Not knowing how to response yet again, the most you could manage was a, ‘Where are we going?’ Yixing simply ignored your question, till he reached his destination. You guys were at a carpark near the gym, in front of a bike. ‘I’m sending you home, silly,’ was his delayed answer to your question. ‘You don’t have too, really…’ you mumbled, but yixing, as usual, simply disregard whatever you were saying, as he put on his extra helmet for you. ‘Oh, I see that you’re scared of riding bikes,’ he teased, as he gently adjusted the helmet to ensure that it fits you, then clipping the sides together. ‘I’m not, ok!’ Your answer came in a rush. You were always a sucker for such goads, and yixing knew exactly that. He could tell from the way you were when you had your gloves on in the gym. A small smirk appeared on his face, barely noticeable. He hop onto his bike and started the engine, while you carefully got on, placing your hands underneath the seat.

He laughed at your actions, without you knowing since you could only see his back view. But he was determined to make your hands leave the seat, and he knew exactly how to do that. He started off slow, but soon speed up when it was on the expressways, making you tugged onto the hems of his leather jacket. You could feel your heart thumping almost out of your ribcage, at how fast he was going, instantly making you regret your answer earlier. Maybe you should have admitted that you were just a teeny weeny afraid of riding bikes. As he made a sharp drift once the roads hits a turn, you hugged his waist tightly, fearing that you might just fall off the bike if you did not do so. ‘You should have done this earlier on,’ yixing shouted, his sentence disappearing into the strong wind that was blowing against y’all. Fear soon disappeared, since you felt safer holding onto him, and you were starting to enjoy the ride back. He soon arrived at your place, and helped you to take off your helmet once you got down from his bike. He smiled, showing you his lovely dimples as he patted your head, before bidding goodbye and speeding off again. You stay put, looking at him before he completely disappear within your sight, before finally heading back home. You threw yourself down onto the couch, and replayed every single part of the night you spent with yixing in your mind. Not only did you had a proper, and in fact, deep conversation with your crush over a beer, he had also sent you home, and you had also held onto his waist so tightly. Not forgetting that you had also shamelessly exchanged numbers with him earlier on, as you took out your phone and contemplate if you should drop him a text. But what are you going to say? You started crafting your message, but edited it repeatedly over and over again. You just couldn’t think of a way to express yourself without sounding that you were overly infatuated with him. Just as you were about to give up, a notification popped up.

Yixing Z

Don’t worry about me (if you are, even). I just reached home

You stared into your phone unbelievably, and was consumed by your own thoughts before another message appeared.

Yixing Z

I’m guessing you’re asleep already?

It brought you back to your senses as you quickly typed away, and finally pressing send on your carefully crafted reply, hoping that you won’t regret it.

Y/N

I’m still awake, haha. Thank you for the night, I had a really great time just now. And thank you for sending me back too!

Yixing Z

You’re very welcome ;)

What does that wink even mean, you wondered as you looked at his reply. You soon head to bed, and giggled inevitably when yixing flashes in your mind again. The bad day at work turned into a great one after all, you thought, and soon drifted into deep slumber.

Since then, you had undoubtedly gotten closer to yixing, and it was getting pretty obvious among the people in the gym. He was always disturbing you during classes, and you knew he was seldom like this to other students. You didn’t know exactly how he felt towards you, but you had always assumed it to a normal friendship that had blossomed by chance. Even so, you felt contented, and happy, that your crush had somehow became a part of your life, not only as your crush, but as a friend. This whole twist of fate was simply, bittersweet.

You had ended work especially late this day, and since you had already brought your training stuffs out, you figured that you should probably go for the last class, even though you were pretty exhausted from the crap that you were getting from your boss. It was a rather quiet day in the gym, there were barely any students when you stepped in. Typically, there would still be a few students who would still be here, but today, you were the only student taking the last class before the gym closes. Yixing, who had just woken up from his nap, walked out of the resting room reluctantly, but a bright smile soon appeared on his face at the sight of you. ‘Ended work late?’ He asked, as he walked towards you and patted your head gently. You nodded, as you said coyly, ‘I’m so tired, let me off today ok?’ Yixing looked at you in surprise, before asking, ‘How about some light sparring today?’ You returned him with a pout, hesitant about his suggestion before finally agreeing to it since it was a good chance for you to apply the techniques that you’ve learnt during classes. ‘Great! We can take all the time in the world, I’m also the one closing the gym today,’ he added. What you didn’t know was that he actually had some other plans in mind to make full use of the empty gym, though you were pretty certain that you saw a tiny smirk escaping his lips when he ended off his sentence.

You were sure that you were going to get owned by yixing the moment you guys started sparring. You found it hard to focus on the swift movements of his body, when all you could see was the entire universe beneath those beautiful eyes. Yixing noticed that, which he then questioned, ‘Are you okay, y/n? You’re not focusing that well.’ You nodded sheepishly, as you snapped out of your thoughts. You were getting more and more fed up as the minutes passed, no matter what you threw, be it a jab, a hook, or a roundhouse kick, yixing seemed to have predicted everything, in which he dodged all of your attacks perfectly. You, on the other hand, were unable to foresee what he was going to throw. Though he was very soft in his attacks, the fact that you wasn’t able to get a successful hit was beyond frustrating. He then threw a jab that you didn’t managed to dodge, causing his gloves to brush against your cheeks lightly which made you flinched a little. ‘Oh my gosh I’m so sorry y/n, are you alright? That must have hurt,’ he apologised, after which taking off his gloves and placed his hands on your cheeks gently, examining if you’ve been hurt by him. ‘It’s nothing, you didn’t really hit me. I’m alright!’ you replied. Your cheeks were getting heated up, and it wasn’t from the jab, but from the way he was caressing your face. In that instant, all your frustrations were gone and you actually regretted avoiding some of his attacks earlier on, if you had known that he would have done this. That was how much you were craving for his touch. ‘This will lessen the pain ok,’ he said as he stared into your eyes, before giving you a soft peck on your cheeks quickly. Your blood were streaming with hormones by his actions, your pulse racing, as your cheeks gave out how flustered you were with shades of pink. Yixing chortled at his sight, making you extra embarrassed, while your mind went into fight-or-flight mode, in which you fled. You ran off to the changing room, and looking at your reflection made you want to vanish into thin air immediately. Your body had totally given you away on how you’ve felt towards yixing, despite trying to hide it all these while. You took off your gloves and splashed a few drops of cold water on your face, hoping that it’ll ease the blush, still evident on your cheeks. Just then, you heard a knock on the changing room’s door, and yixing’ voice. ‘I’m coming in,’ was what you heard. You remained still nervously, as yixing walked towards you. He took a few steps closer, while you took the same number of steps back, until you found yourself up against the wall of one of the shower cubicles. Great, you don’t even have anywhere to flee off to right now. Yixing had one of his hands up against the wall, while the other one on your chin, raising it up so that you’ll stop avoiding his gaze. ‘y/n ah, you’re so oblivious, do you know that?’ He started off. What does he mean by that? You thought he was the one who had zero idea of the effect he had on women. ‘I know there are many girls who were nuts over me, I just didn’t care. Because I liked you,’ he whispered, looking at you fondly. You almost couldn’t believed your ears, it was as though you were living in a fairytale, whereby the prince that the princess loved so much, loved her back too.

Before you had the chance to even said anything, yixing had playfully lifted the lever right next to him, and warm water was soon pouring on the both of you. You shut your eyes at the impact of the water droplets, and felt yixing’s lips crashing on yours. You were now tasting his lips that was like honey, and that answers your question of how those lips would have tasted like, which had probably came across your mind countless times. The kiss was gentle and affectionate, and you found yourself getting lost in it while drips of water continued to soak the two of you. You opened your eyes the moment he parted your lips, and the sight in front of you was simply mesmerising. His rash guard, already tight-fitting, was now damped thoroughly, allowing you to see how defined his body was. Noticing that you had your eyes fixated on his body, yixing then said, ‘you’re quite a sight yourself too.’ He meant what he said, you were just as soaked as he was, and your top had sank into your skin, allowing the outline of your sports bra to be seen. You could tell that he was extremely pleased with what he was looking at. He then leaned in, tilting his head slightly as he kissed you again. You were expecting him to go soft like earlier on, but instead, he was demanding and harsh. He was literally tasting your lips, and was taking over your mouth like it was his property. You eventually gave in and returned his kisses, releasing soft whimpers along the way. As the two of you broke away, you saw a smirk on yixing’s face. He already had his hands on the curves of your waist, and his touch had set your hormones on fire. His sneaky hands were slowly creeping up to your breasts, followed by him asking, ‘May I, princess?’ You wanted to scream yes, so damn badly. You wanted him to continue whatever he was doing, leave traces of himself all over your body, and to have him inside you so bad. But the way he called you princess so delicately made you weak, causing you to only manage a nod. ‘I swear, I’ll make you feel good princess. So good, that you’ll forget everything else but me,’ he added seductively.

You could already feel your knees weakening merely by his dirty talks, and you just couldn’t wait for yixing to take you however he wanted to. You had your hands tugging onto his rash guard, which you then helped him to remove the moment he ended his sentence. His body was simply a splendid result of his consistent workouts, his abs were so well-defined, and not forgetting his deep V lines. ‘You wanna touch it?’ Yixing asked, extremely satisfied with the way you were thirsting for him. ‘Yes… yes yixing,’ you answered softly, as you reached out for them, but your hands were gently slapped away by him. ‘You have to please me first. Take off all your clothes, now’ yixing ordered. The way yixing switched between his traits of a complete gentleman and a dominant alpha was driving you fucking insane, and you did whatever you were told immediately. ‘Good girl,’ yixing said, as he checked your naked state out, before grabbing onto your hands and placing them on his V lines, as he promised. ‘Yixing, please… take me already,’ you begged, as you bit your lips in desperation. Yixing sneered at how helpless you were, before pressing his body against yours, making sure that you felt his hardening cock, to let you know how much he wanted you, before showering you with sloppy kisses all over. You started moving your hands down his hips, when yixing whispered, his face only inches apart from yours, ‘you have the honour, princess.’ You then helped him to remove his satin shorts, pulling them down entirely with his underwear, as you watched his thick cock being released. ‘How will you like to be taken?’ Yixing asked, as he started nibbling your damp skin, his rock-hard dick rubbing against your entrance. Just as you were enjoying that, he started to suck on your nipple gently, in which you returned with a moan. You’ve yet to answer yixing’s question, which got him to pinch your other nipple that he was playing with with his fingers. You whined, as you ran your fingers through his wet hair when yixing said, ‘I asked you a question, and I expect an answer.’ ‘However you want, yixing,’ you answered breathlessly.

Hearing that, yixing then shoved himself into you immediately without wasting much time, causing you to mewl at the impact of his length. ‘Trust me ok?’ Yixing said softly, as he gave you a light peck on your lips, before carrying you up by the underside of your thighs. You grabbed onto him naturally, and then swing your arms around him so he could have a better grip, in the position that he wants to fuck you in. Yixing then started thrusting inside you slow and gentle, making sure that you’re comfortable. Having his cock inside of you had became very much pleasurable as your clit soon got used to him. ‘Mm yixing…Keep going mm,’ you moaned right beside his ear, which you then hid your face in his neck. Yixing grinned, as he started to intensify his pace by rocking you upwards and down with his masculine arms. Your hands were starting to run wild on his bare back, your nails leaving markings of yourself and your mouth, biting into whatever was available uncontrollably. Yixing groaned as you bit into his flesh, but he clearly enjoying it. He’ll gladly take in anything, as long as it’s from his little princess. Your walls were clenching onto his dick, as you started begging yixing to go even harder. It was exactly what he had been waiting for, to fuck you rough straight up against the wall. He smirked, as he teased, ‘Is that what you want?’ You had your face up to look at him, as you nodded excessively. Yixing then gave you a heated and possessive kiss, before placing you down gently and said, ‘turn around please, princess.’ He had no idea how aroused you get all over again whenever he calls you that, as you obeyed obediently. Yixing had his arm over your stomach, preparing you for the impact as he penetrated into you in one powerful stroke. You squealed from his thrust, as you held onto his arm, your grip tightening as he continued thrusting inside you hard from behind. His name was escaping louder and louder from your lips as you grew closer to your orgasm, and had your other hand up pressing against the wall. ‘YIXING,’ you screamed in pleasure the moment you felt tingling sensations all over your body, and yixing wasn’t too far behind as well. He went even faster, while you were still trying to catch your breath from your high, the sound of his hips slapping against your butt cheeks were nearly as loud the splashes of water that hit the floor. ‘Ahh,’ yixing moaned, and you felt him filling up your insides with his thick, hot cum. He rested his chin on your shoulders for a few seconds, hands running up and down your curves while the two of you overcome your euphoric state, before planting a soft kiss on your nape as he took a few steps back. He took your hand, turning you around so that you were facing him. Tucking your damped hair back so that he could see the whole of your face, yixing then explained, ‘A hot girl like you in a martial arts gym full of boys, I’m a lucky one, aren’t I.’

‘Oh, so that was what you meant back then,’ you answered, as you tried to pinch his cheeks but had your hands slipped off from his wet skin. Yixing chuckled, as he pressed on the shampoo dispenser, and started applying them on you. You were extremely sweeten by his gesture, and noticing that, yixing then said, ‘when I call you princess, I really meant it, ok. It’s not a this only happens during sex kinda thing. Unless you don’t want to be mine?’ You looked at him in disbelief, how could this man even had thoughts like this going through his mind when he had just fucked the hell out of you. ‘Haven’t you just had me already?’ You answered, as you started poking his chest with your forefinger shyly. ‘I want to hear it coming from you,’ yixing said in a firm tone, as he tugged onto your wrist. He had made you giggled like a little girl, as you added, ‘I’m yours, yixing, all yours.’ ‘That’s more like it,’ yixing answered in delight, placing his forehead on yours as he gave you a peck on the tip of your nose. As you attempted to give him a hug, the slippery wet floor had given you the chance to fall into his arms. If he haven’t caught you perfectly, you probably would have been kissing the floor then. ‘Wow, you’re so eager to be mine huh?’ Yixing laughed, holding onto your arms to prevent you from slipping again, as you simply hid your face in his chest in embarrassment. ‘You’re hella cute when you’re shy,’ yixing confessed, before adding, ‘stay over at my place tonight ok?’ You nodded, and you could have sworn hearing yixing said, ‘maybe we could have another go at it, clean and dry this time.’

#exo fanfics #exosnet #exowritersnet #yixing fluff #yixing smut #yixing x reader #yixing fanfiction #yixing scenario #yixing #zhang yixing #exo fluff #exo smut #layonyixing writes

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catwithangerissues · 4 years

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hi! can i request a male haikyuu matchup if you’re not too busy? i’m a 5’2 female (she/her) with long golden brown hair and light brown eyes. curvy figure. baby faced with long eyelashes. i’m an INFJ if that helps at all. i’m quick witted and clever with a very sweet natural disposition. on the other side, when i’m irritated or upset, my bite is extremely sharp. typically patient and slow to anger. i’m a bit too realistic and i don’t sugarcoat anything. i need someone who can take my sass and give it back to me, someone who isn’t too sensitive. i enjoy sarcastic humor and playful battles of wit. i’m not clingy but i can be really affectionate in relationships. i’m a naturally anxious person so i usually avoid loud people and crowds. more than anything, i just want someone to peacefully coexist with, someone who who’s okay with being in the same room, doing different things, and still considers that spending time together. i’m really passionate about meteorology/storm chasing and i’ve been a ballerina for over a decade!

thanks so much. i hope this was enough info for you! 💖

I match you with...

✨SAKUSA KIYOOMI✨

Our resident germaphobe :) It was hard to pick between a few people, but after writing my list I knew it fit with Omi the best :)

-A 5’2 curvy girl next to a 6’2 hunk? I THINK THE FUCK YES. He likes your figure but is shy to say so, so let’s just say he appreciates the height difference greatly :) He secretly thinks it cute that he can see clear over your head and sometimes has to lean down for you, and he’ll never admit it but he adores getting things down for you 🥺 And what can I say? He likes golden hair too 😉 (totally not a sakuatsu shipper here lmao)

-He loves that your such a sweetheart, as much of a sarcastic ass he can be, he really thinks you being so sweet is one of his favorite things about you. You always do special things for him to make him comfortable, like taking extra care to give him space when he asks for it. He definitely repays the favor, leaving small gifts behind when he’s not around. Like a sticky note on the counter or your favorite food suddenly showing up in the fridge. <3 It’s wordless, but you know exactly what it means <3

-He loves your patience, especially with his phobia and anxiety. You’re always so respectful of his needs, and he does his best to thank you for that. You’re never quick to anger with him, always talking out a problem if there ever is one before an argument could commence.

-However, he did see first hand how scary you could be when you’re mad, and he made the mental note to never piss you off like that. He did admittedly think it was pretty attractive, but he totally felt bad for however poked your buttons. He tries his best to calm you down if you ever get this way, but he knows his comfort methods need a little work.

-With you being naturally anxious, he finds himself suppressing his own anxiety to comfort you. He knows what it’s like to feel that way, and if hugging you and holding you is the best way to cheer you up, he’s willing to do so. Even if you tell him that he shouldn’t be pushing his problem to the back burner, he’s a stubborn fella, and he always puts you first. <3

-When it’s comes to battles of sarcasm, wit, and clever quips? Oh it’s on. Not even Komori tries to stop the playful banter between you two. He actually finds it quite entertaining lmao. He likes watching you two go back and forth for what feels like the past 3 hours now and he glanced at his phone and oh fuck it’s 9pm. Omi can definitely hold his own when it comes to these playful fights, but so can you, and it’s something he can’t deny his love for. If he could burn a memory into his brain forever, it would be these ones with you. Even through his mask you can see a small smirk the entire time you bicker, and he doesn’t mind your flustered face either.. <3

-Omi is a pretty straightforward person, and he very much enjoys that you are too. You’re both realists, and don’t sugarcoat things. When you two have a problem, it gets resolved quickly, because you’re both mature enough to talk it out and you know that as long as you keep working towards being better, it’ll all be alright. Your communication skills as a couple are 10/10 babieee

-We all know Omi isn’t the best with physical touch, but quality time? Oh boy, you’ve got yourself a sucker here. He’s is more than content with sitting in the same room doing separate things, just basking in each other’s presence. There’s nothing he enjoys more (other than your playful banter) than just getting to spend time with you. He enjoys the fact that you too don’t always want to be physical and show affection that way, it means he gets to feel more comfortable with himself as well. Not feeling pressured to constantly be pushing himself, but you do provide enough of a push- the one that he needs, but never too much. He loves the balance you bring him, and he’s openly appreciative of that <3

-However, he doesn’t mind showing you physical affection, as in his mind you’re a safe person. He’s thankful his phobia has deemed you this way, and he doesn’t have to worry as much about the germaphobia when he’s with you, in addition to the fact that you two always keep the place clean :) He enjoys post shower cuddles (this is sfw I swear) and he really loves playing with your freshly washed hair. He always compliments whatever scent you choose, and this guy is a sucker for your attention. He’ll never tell you he’s needy but you’ve gotten to know the signs well, so asking him if he wants your cuddles and then seeing him get all blushy and look away? Hell yeah.

-If you don’t like crowds, never fear, Omi fucking hates them LMAO. He doesn’t ever force you to go anywhere you don’t want to, and he damn sure won’t ask twice lol, he doesn’t wanna go either

-You’re a ballerina, and there’s nothing more mesmerizing to Omi than watching you do your craft. He finds it so soothing to watch, and he’ll support you as much as possible if you ever have a show. He’s too shy to say it, but he definitely thinks you look beautiful in whatever outfit you’re wearing for your show or practice, he has a picture of you before one as his background <3 He’s definitely happy to have someone who is passionate about their craft like he is <3 (OMI DATING A BALLERINA IS SUCH A FUCKIN CUTE IDEA I MIGHT WRITE A ONESHOT)

🌱I hope you liked the mu! Thank you for requesting! I really enjoyed this one :) I feel like all I ever see about Omi is about constant cleaning or being an asshole, but as someone who lives with a hardcore germaphobe, it isn’t like that :( Omi needs to be babied i swears it

#haikyuu #haikyu #haikyuu matchup #haikyuu matchups #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #hq sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa headcanons

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emachinescat · 4 years

Text

Murdoc + Ithika + Mac

A MacGyver Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 14 - “I didn’t mean it”

Summary: As an artist, Murdoc prides himself in taking his time with his work - he never loses control. Except one time, with his favorite boy genius. He always imagined that when he finally made MacGyver cry, it would be his finest moment. Now, he’s not so sure.

Characters: Murdoc, Mac, Jack

Words: 3,454

TW: torture, broken bones, Murdoc being his creepy little self

Note: Happy Valentine's Day – the store was all out of chocolate, so I got you Mac whump! ;) The allusions to Ithika are from Homer's epic by the same name, but even more so from the incredible poem by C.P. Cavafy. The muse mentioned, Melpomene, is the Muse of Tragedy.

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this!

Ithika gave you the marvelous journey.

Without her you wouldn't have set out.

She has nothing left to give you now.

- From “Ithika” by C. P. Cavafy

Murdoc enjoyed taking his time.

He was an artist, after all, and artists didn’t slap together a masterpiece in an afternoon – not the ones worth anything, at least. Most spent days studying their subjects, becoming intimately familiar with every line and curve and element – the shading, the lighting, the vibrancy of the colors. The very best didn’t even consider touching brush to canvas until they had developed a personal relationship with their subject – for how can a true artist paint that which he does not know deeply? Why bother recreating that landscape or tea kettle or sad-eyed little girl or bowl of fruit if it could be any landscape, tea kettle, little girl, or bowl of fruit? Why would someone paint something that wasn’t theirs?

Murdoc knew his subject very well. He, like a true artist, had studied it in a variety of settings. He’d watched and learned, dug deep into the core of its being, drawn out every secret and motivation and loss and love. He understood what made his subject tick. He’d even done some brief sketches, practicing each brushstroke with care, waiting patiently for the day he could at last, intricately, evoke that muse sought by the Romantics, that evasive Melpomene, and breathe his masterpiece to life. Or, more accurately, to death.

And now, after years of watching, interacting, teasing, sketching, his time had finally come. Months of planning had been sunk into this particular endeavor. And now, unlike the first time he’d been introduced to his subject, he hadn’t been commissioned by anyone. This portrait was personal, deeply personal. He finally had his subject right where he wanted it. The canvas was bare and waiting for the artist’s touch. Murdoc had chosen his palette, mixed the colors – it might be cliche, but he was a sucker for red, black, and blue.

Now that his moment had finally arrived, however, it didn’t mean that he could rush through the actual creation process. The act of studying one’s subject matter was slow and deliberate. So must be the painting.

***

Murdoc studied his canvas slowly, methodically, unsurprised that it wasn’t exactly blank. MacGyver stood, hands chained above his head, attached to a grate above. His bare toes just reached the cold concrete below. His jacket and Henley had been removed – he shivered slightly from the chill of the basement. Murdoc liked to think it was from fear.

“Oooh, this one’s fun, MacGyver!” Murdoc crooned as the blonde boy wonder eyed him scornfully. It was quite entertaining how expressive his prey’s pretty blue eyes could be. Murdoc briefly brushed the tip of his little finger against the scar of a bullet wound on MacGyver’s chest. MacGyver jerked back from the touch, though his expression remained stoic.

“Jealous that you weren’t the one who did it, Murdoc?” He sounded confident enough, but Murdoc knew his subject quite well by now. MacGyver was shaken. For once, he had no control, nothing to work with, no way to escape. He was at his captor’s mercy – Murdoc could do whatever he wanted, and MacGyver knew that.

“Oh, it’s nothing compared with what I’ve got planned for you, Angus,” Murdoc simpered sweetly, circling his catch of the day, dark eyes darting across more scars and recent cuts and bruises. He pressed directly into the dark center of a boot-tip bruise on MacGyver’s side, relishing the sharp intake of breath it elicited. “Someone on your last mission in Volgograd left their mark, I see.”

He circled back around to face his victim, who did a subpar job of hiding his surprise at the observation. “That was highly classified. How did you–”

“I’ve been watching you for a very long time, MacGyver. But you had to have known I would. After all, you’re my closest friend, and I know where you live. It’s kind of silly that you never moved, but maybe you just figured I’d find you even if you did. I wonder – have you always tossed and turned in your sleep or is that a more recent development?”

True horror flashed momentarily in blue eyes, tugging Murdoc’s lips up into a satisfied smile. “Oh, yes, your nightmares are very entertaining. I do hope the majority of them are about me. Oh, oh, oh! And I especially love it when they’re so bad you have to call your watch dog to calm you down. I wonder how Dalton’s taking your disappearance, by the way? I’m sure he’s in for some nightmares of his own.”

“He’ll find me, if I don’t escape first.” MacGyver’s bravado was both highly endearing and incredibly tiresome. Same old, same old.

“Doubtful,” Murdoc purred. “I mean, I know you well enough not to make stupid mistakes, my friend.”

“I escaped from the sewers, and you’d drugged me.”

“I intended for you to escape that day. I needed to draw your friends in, to focus their attention on finding you while I attended to other business. But this time – you’re mine.” At the fervor in his words, a shudder entirely unrelated to cold clinked the chains restraining his victim. Murdoc smiled, then continued.

“But now, there is no ulterior motive. I grabbed you for no other reason than because I wanted to. You are hidden away quite well, even more securely than last time, I’m afraid. And you will not be left alone, not even for a second. There may be things in this room you could use to escape, but they’re useless to you in your position. And I am not going to take my eyes off of you. You won’t have a chance to wriggle your way out of this one, MacGyver. Ooooh, is that fear I see on your face? No? We really must change that.” He tutted. “Defiance and bravado really are your bread and butter, aren’t they, Angus? What are you, an action hero from a cheesy 1980s TV show?” Silence, though the fiery glare spoke more loudly than words.

Murdoc clapped his hands together. “Well, there’s no time like the present. What do you say, MacGyver? Let’s get started.”

***

Three hours later, Murdoc admired his work. It was a slow process. He painted with precision and care, layering the colors just so, balancing the strokes, the lights and darks and brights. His brushes were many – laid out on the table before him were knives and pliers and blow torches and hammers and whips and cattle prods and other more specialized tools that he liked to work up to. He also had an oversized meat tenderizer, made of steel. He rarely used it – too garish for his refined tastes – but it did look nice and scary looming over the other instruments.

So far, he’d only used his knives and the cattle prod. The masterpiece was starting to come together, but it was hardly complete. He prowled around his artwork. MacGyver’s trembling had increased. He gasped for breath as Murdoc appraised his work – burns and cuts, some deeper than others – made a nice foundation. The drip of blood across bare flesh outshone any Pollock painting. He’d practiced his blending techniques, jabbing the cattle prod directly into the center of the lovely bruise he’d noticed earlier. MacGyver hadn’t been able to hold in his yell of pain.

Music.

“Are you enjoying our time together?” Murdoc asked.

MacGyver uttered a creative string of curse words that made Murdoc proud. He whistled appreciatively. “Who knew the boy scout had that in him? I’m almost impressed.”

“Yeah, well,” MacGyver said, hissing as he shifted and pulled at his many wounds. “Almost is about all you’ll ever be, Murdoc.”

Murdoc had been reaching for his trusty pair of pliers (those toenails could sure use a trim!). He paused, his back partially to his captive, fingers hovering over the tool. He was used to MacGyver’s sass, but what he’d just said hit a sour note that the hit man couldn’t shake. He didn’t know if it was the tone or the words themselves. “Excuse me?” He tried to sound amused, but his voice was tight, as if it had been squeezed out of him.

A clink of the chains, a grunt of pain that didn’t lighten Murdoc’s mood as it should have. Then, MacGyver elaborated. His voice was clipped in pain, breathless, but conviction lined every syllable. “You are doomed to live a life of almost, Murdoc. Nothing is ever going to be enough for you. Why do you think you take so long to get anything done? Why do you spend so much time talking and taunting and watching and waiting?”

Murdoc didn’t move, his hand still inches away from his delicate instrument that caused pain but did no lasting damage. “I’m an artist.”

“You’re afraid.”

“I fear nothing.”

“You fear winning.”

Murdoc laughed, a forced, uncomfortable sound that he’d never heard come from his own mouth. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, Angus. Are you sure the pain isn’t getting to your head?”

MacGyver pressed on relentlessly. “You crave attention. You need a challenge. That’s why you picked me. And you’re afraid of what happens if you beat me. If I die, there’s always that possibility that you won’t find another playmate.”

Still, Murdoc didn’t move. His words, despite their teasing jaunt, had a forced quality to them. “Awfully full of ourselves, aren’t we, MacGyver?”

He could hear the triumphant smile in his adversary’s voice. “I’m just stating the truth, Murdoc. You might torture me, you might have your fun. But at the end of the day, you’re going to slip up somehow. It’s your way of making sure the game goes on. Without that challenge, what are you? Just an angry voice screaming at the sky, no purpose, no point. You say you’ve studied me, Murdoc. You’ve watched me and know me. Well, in doing so, you’ve shown me yourself, too. You’re not going to kill me today. You’re never going to kill me.

“I don’t know what exactly I’ve done to deserve this… honor,” he continued, placing particular derision on the last word, “but you’ve become obsessed with me, Murdoc. Believe me, I don’t like saying this any more than you like hearing it. But it’s how I know I’m going to walk away from this. If I’m gone, so is your fun.”

Murdoc prided himself on maintaining control over his emotions. An artist, though he might express the inner workings of his soul on canvas, could not let his feelings control the brush, control him. Look what had happened to Van Gogh – sure, beautiful work, but his emotions controlled him, destroyed him in the end. Murdoc didn’t make mistakes like that. He waited. He didn’t lash out in anger. It wasn’t because he wanted MacGyver to live, oh no. His fondest dream was to see the blonde boy cry, to watch him squirm and beg for mercy, and then, finally, only when he’d really begged for it, to send him to his death. MacGyver had no idea what he was talking about.

It wasn’t even MacGyver’s words, his cocky belief that he was important enough to his torturer to keep alive, that sent Murdoc over the edge. It was the tiny little voice, way back in the darkest, most depraved corner of his already dark and depraved mind, the one that spoke not in the voice of Murdoc, but one that sounded more like Dennis, the first casualty of Murdoc’s career – himself. The voice said, plainly, without emotion, You know he’s right.

And that was the catalyst for the tsunami of rage that crashed into Murdoc, pummeling his well-practiced and unshakable resolve to take his time. That was what spurred his frozen body into movement, curled his fingers around the handle of the meat tenderizer, that brash, archaic tool, rather than the pliers. That was what spit his next words out of his mouth as if they were poison, words that finally – beautifully – caused Angus MacGyver’s eyes to widen in real fear: “You are going to walk out of here?” A sadistic, mad giggle. “My dear Angus, it will be a miracle if you ever walk again.”

He hefted the heavy steel implement in his hand, pulled back, and lunged. MacGyver tried to back away, the chains around his wrists cackling and clicking against one another in his desperation. They held firm, and the meat tenderizer slammed full force into MacGyver’s left kneecap. Murdoc felt the crunch of bones. He heard the bestial howl, the scream of anguish, the body-jerking, breath stealing cry of a man in so much pain he lost himself. He watched MacGyver’s face drain of color, recognized the moment when the pain became too much, and saw the tear-streaked face go slack, the chin thud against the battered chest and stay there.

For a moment, Murdoc experienced the euphoria one could only find in hurting that special someone in such a catastrophic way. He relished in that moment the scream, the agony, the writhing and loss of control.

Then the moment ended – and far too soon.

Immediately after, the weapon dropped out of Murdoc’s limp fingers. It smashed into the floor below, with the jarring clang that only metal on concrete can produce. He looked at the limp, hanging form before him, and something twisted inside of him – a feeling he’d never known. It wasn’t guilt, nor revulsion.

It was, however, regret.

He didn’t understand it. He should be overjoyed. MacGyver was completely at his mercy. Murdoc could kill him now. Carve that bleeding heart out like a villain in a fairy tale would. But then, he realized, MacGyver would be gone. Forever. Even now, his kneecap had been crushed, shattered into tiny fragments of bone and cartilage, and unless he got treatment of the highest quality, and soon, he’d almost certainly be crippled. Even if he had extensive reconstructive surgery, his career as a Phoenix agent could still be over.

Wasn’t that what Murdoc had wanted? To end MacGyver’s pesky existence, to win at this game of cat and mouse? To create his most spectacular masterpiece with his greatest enemy? That’s what he had dreamed of for years now, what he’d studied and practiced and yearned for. And yet –

What was it that hoity toity Greek poet had written? Murdoc had read “Ithika” long ago, a random page in a poetry book of a man he’d killed. For some reason, the poem had attached itself to his mind and never let go. He could remember it even now:

Keep Ithika always in your mind. Arriving there is what you’re destined for. But don’t hurry the journey at all. Better if it lasts for years, so you’re old by the time you reach the island, wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way, not expecting Ithika to make you rich. Ithika gave you the marvelous journey. Without her you wouldn’t have set out. She has nothing to give you now.

And he understood. The poem was supposed to be inspirational, for fools so focused on their goals that they missed the journey of life along the way – a mundane, silly sentiment. But now Murdoc could see – MacGyver’s destruction was his Ithika. Perhaps Cavafy had a point – maybe he had been a bit of an artist himself. And MacGyver had been right about some things, wrong about others.

He was right in that Murdoc wasn’t ready to end the game just yet. But it wasn't fear that held him back, that urged him to take his time. It was joy. Joy of the journey. The little pleasures of life that are so often passed by in the grand scheme of things – the poet had been speaking of knowledge, of friendship, of love, of experiences. Murdoc’s little pleasures were things like fear, drawn-out suffering, playing with his food and watching it squirm. He relished that joy. He wanted more of it, and if MacGyver died, or was out of commission as a spy, that joy would diminish. Even if MacGyver lived, it wouldn’t be the same if he couldn’t fight back, couldn’t play along.

Murdoc made his decision.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a burner phone. He dialed a number he’d memorized long ago, put the phone to his ear.

A fierce Texas twang answered before the first ring had run its course. “Murdoc, you son of a bitch–”

“Temper, Jack,” Murdoc drawled. He shivered in excitement at the mental picture of the inferno in Dalton’s eyes. “You just assumed it was me – imagine if it were your mother on the other line.”

“I can scent the devil from a mile away.” Murdoc heard muffled voices in the background, knew the call was being traced.

“Don’t waste your time running a trace, you grumpy old hound dog.” His words were light, yet he allowed the slightest hint of urgency to infect them. “I’ve had my fun for today. I’ll text you the address.” He paused. “Oh, and bring one of those fancy whirly-birds you like to use for medical emergencies. I might have been a little… over zealous this time.”

He closed his eyes, gorging on the incalculable levels of hatred in Jack Dalton’s next words. “If you hurt him–”

Appreciation turned to irritation. Murdoc rolled his coal eyes to the ceiling. “Weren’t you listening, you brute? Obviously, I hurt him. Quite a bit actually. You should have heard him scream.”

A short silence. Then – “You didn’t let me finish, you overgrown sewer rat. If you hurt him, I am going to tear you limb from limb. I don’t need any of your fancy tools.”

“Hmm, that was almost intimidating,” Murdoc teased in his most good-natured tone. “But you’ll have to find me first.” He let the words linger for just a moment, then continued: “Anyway, ta-ta for now. I’ll text you the address. I’ll be long gone by the time you get here, but feel free to bring all your little friends for a game of hide and seek. Though I have a feeling that you’re going to be more focused on sweet Angus.”

He hung up, texted the address, then turned to a feebly stirring MacGyver. Pity he was waking up right as Murdoc had to leave. Whimpers that would have torn the very soul out of Jack Dalton erupted unbidden from MacGyver’s lips. Glazed blue eyes cracked open, regarding Murdoc with a mixture of terror and acceptance. Though he had regained consciousness, MacGyver still hung limply from the chains, too weak and in pain to move.

Murdoc stepped forward, eliciting the tiniest of flinches Even that motion made MacGyver cry out. But Murdoc didn’t hurt him again. Instead, he said, “Your friends are on their way.”

MacGyver’s voice rasped in the aftermath of his screams. “You’re letting … me go… Why?”

“Got bored, I suppose.” No way was Murdoc going to let MacGyver know he’d been right, even if only a little bit.

MacGyver didn’t respond – maybe he didn’t know how to respond; more likely, he could barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words, amidst the torrent of pain.

Murdoc started to step away, then turned back, studying his latest draft of the elusive masterpiece that he would continue to dream about and that would fuel his passion and creativity for years to come. He pulled off one black glove, placed his hand on a pale, cold cheek. MacGyver jerked back feebly from the touch, grunting at the pain it produced. Slowly, Murdoc wiped one of the fresher tears away with his thumb. It might have been a power play. It might have been a show of comfort. Even the hit man didn’t know. He glanced down at the shattered knee, swollen and misshapen, a grotesque monster straining to break free from the unrelenting fabric of the khakis.

“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, moving his gaze up from the deformed knee to lock his black eyes with fearful, anguished blue ones, “I didn’t mean it.”

He walked away, casting one final look over his shoulder before he left his art behind for the coming Phoenix agents to admire. “Until next time, MacGyver.”

And despite the extensive search conducted by Phoenix once MacGyver had been loaded onto the chopper, on his way to the best orthopaedic surgeons in the country, Murdoc had once more disappeared, like a ghost.

That night he dreamed about his Ithika, and this time, it was enough.

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jimlingss · 5 years

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The Colour of Our Voices [8]

Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 8.5 OR Chapter 9

➜ Words: 2.5k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

cr.

You don’t speak to Jimin anymore. Ever since the meltdown, seldom do you see him despite being neighbors. He’s probably made an effort to avoid making you uncomfortable. Sometimes you do see him, times when you’re throwing the garbage or coming home from work. And when you do, he always looks tired. Dark circles lined beneath his eyes, lips lopsided in exhaustion. It’s expected considering the show was coming up. Jimin has to be working hard. But you still can’t help wondering what he’s actually doing, if he’s sleeping at all, if he’s eating well. Maybe it’s the guilt speaking inside the recesses of your mind. The remorse has been eating at you alive after all. It was a one-sided rivalry. One-sided resentment. He didn’t know. Jimin really had no idea what he was doing to you. You want to apologize for how the way things ended between you two — but you don’t know if you want to make amends. You don’t know if you can. If you deserve it after what you’ve said to him. The both of you have truly become strangers. It’s like how it always should’ve been. But the ticket he had given you weeks ago still sits on your kitchen counter, abandoned. It haunts you, and reminds you of the past — the many nights shared with Jimin, his sweet words and compassionate personality that never failed to cheer you on. How blameless he really is in all of this. How you’ve single-handedly turned him into a monster inside your head. You can’t eat — your appetite left long ago with your conscience. // You wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. It’s not from a nightmare, the one you usually have where you’re on stage and everyone’s staring while you’re unable to sing. The nightmare of your lips parting but no notes are able to stream out. Rather, it’s a dull pain in your upper abdomen that has shaken you from deep slumber. In the midst of your drowsiness, you peel off your covers from your hot body and barely reach over to flicker on the lamp on your bedside table. You roll out and stumble across the floorboards to your bathroom. You grip the door frame and move to sit on the toilet. After ten minutes, you nearly fall asleep again, but nothing releases from your bowels. You flush, get up, and move to the cabinet. The fever medication is taken with a glass of water and you go back to bed. // “You’re late,” someone from the female ensemble says, not with malice for once. Her voice is ridden with slight concern. You wonder if your exterior is that bad to warrant sympathy from the people who couldn’t care less about you. “You’re already on thin ice with the director.” True to her word, Director Kang is looking at you from the corner of his eye. You nod, breathing out of your mouth. You were late because it took you some time to go up and down the stairs at the subway station. The dull pain hasn’t gone away. “Try not to be late tomorrow. It might be the only excuse he needs to fire you.” “Okay. Thanks.” The coffee run takes you an hour long. You have to go up and down the stairs, balance all the cups of coffee while the world around you is spinning at a different axis. The pain of your stomach becomes increasingly sharper as time goes by as well. And you’re forced to stop a few times, unable to keep walking. Everyone’s disgruntled when they receive their cold drinks, mumbling under their breaths, but you try your best regardless. You have to stop when you’re sweeping too, gripping your waist when the pain shoots through your body. You push through in spite of how much it hurts, of how you’re feeling like you’re being stabbed. When lunchtime rolls around, you can’t take a bite of your sandwich. Even the fresh deli meat can’t compel you to take a single bite. It’s excruciating, and you abandon the food to bumble towards the washroom with hopes of relinquishing the ache. But instead, you feel something stir in the pit of your stomach. You end up running to the nearest stall, vomiting into the toilet bowl. Bile comes up your esophagus, burning, and once your body has calmed down, you flush the toilet. You come out to rinse your mouth, not realizing that Taeyeon was there the entire time. She’s touching up her makeup in the mirror, but spares you a quick glance. “Are you...alright?” “Y-Yeah, I��m fine.” You dab at your forehead with damp paper towels, wiping away your sweat. You’re shivering, suddenly cold, so you hastily run your hands over hot water. “Is it bad period cramps?” Taeyeon asks. “I’m not on my period.” “You’re not pregnant, are you?” She laughs but when you don’t answer, she immediately goes stiff. The pretty girl gasps in horror. “Oh my god. You aren’t, are you?” “That’s not possible,” you tell her with a sigh. The rest of the work day goes over painfully. Literally painfully. You don’t know what it is. The ointment brought from home doesn’t work well. The fever medication doesn’t seem to be working either. It’s not food poisoning, you can’t do anything on the toilet and vomiting has no effect. Yet when you push on your stomach, the pain worsens. It’s a miracle when you manage to drag yourself home, wobbling up the stairs while hanging onto the railing and the other hand bracing yourself against the wall. You use anything possible in your vicinity to steady yourself, but you give up halfway. You are physically unable to continue. It hurts, the pain dizzying. Suddenly, someone’s shaking you. “Y/N?” You look up past your foggy vision, discovering a cute brunette with brown irises rounded like a puppy’s. The boy is gazing at you and tears gather at your lashes, stinging with an emotion of yearning overwhelming you. “Jimin?” “Are you okay?! You fainted!” The back of his hand presses against your forehead and then he withdraws. “You have a fever.” “I...I’m fine.” You get up, but you stumble into him. Jimin catches you against his body. “It’ll pass, I can’t miss work.” “Who cares about work?” he says almost angrily. You can’t argue with him — you’re too exhausted, the pain of your stomach excruciating. You hear your name being called several times, but you grip onto your stomach, unable to respond. And that’s when you feel yourself being lifted up. Onto Jimin’s back. He’s piggybacking you, and in your dazed state, you realize he smells of shampoo and soap scented of fresh oranges. He’s also warm, body radiating heat, his backside firm. You didn’t know his shoulders were broader than they looked. “Jimin…” you murmur his name. “Excuse me!” Once outside, he calls out to a nearby woman in desperation, shouting at the top of his lungs. You can hear the way his voice warbles. “Can you please call a cab for us? She needs to go to the hospital!” The taxi comes within three minutes and he thanks the woman who wishes you both luck. You feel Jimin put you in the backseat, holding onto you tightly. You pull him closer, cold. The sheer agony concentrates on one side of your abdomen and it never stops. “J-Jimin…” If this is how you die — it’ll be so pathetic. More pathetic than how the rest of your life has been. Your parents would be crying tears of disappointment, not sorrow. But he disrupts your thoughts, arms wrapping around your shoulders. “I’m here. It’s going to be okay…” When the pair of you have arrived at the hospital, Jimin coaxes you to hold onto him again and he hoists you onto his back with the help of the female taxi driver. “Can someone help us, please?!” Jimin’s voice sounds far away, but it’s desperate. You don’t know why he’s trying so hard for someone like you — someone who’s said such hurtful things to him. Soon, you’re wheeled away, and when you peel back your eyes, the fluorescent lights passing by blind your eyes. You feel your body being rocked from the force of the stretcher being pushed, disoriented with the strangers surrounding you — but then you hear your name being called again by someone familiar. By someone with a smooth timbre, one that you’ve heard sing many times over. You find Jimin’s eyes and that frown again, the one that messes up his cute features, that makes the knot between his brows. You wish you could press your finger against the wrinkle and banish it away forever. Your hand is squeezed. “I’m here.” You nod, nerves calming, and no sooner are you brought in for an abdominal ultrasound, blood taken, urine tested. They give you painkillers that temporarily take the sharp pain away and you’re able to breathe again. Through it all, Jimin sticks by your side, holding his coat and your own, standing back to listen to every word the doctor has to say. “When did it start to hurt?” “L-Last night.” The doctor hums. “When was the last time you ate?” “I...don’t remember.” You couldn’t eat lunch — you skipped breakfast. Now that you think about it, your throat was parched too. You couldn’t drink water either. “Can you show me where it hurts?” “Here.” Your fingers press against the swollen area. The doctor notes, making some last notes before he puts down his clipboard. “Well, Ms. Y/N. Taking a look at your tests and the ultrasound, I think it’s safe to assume you have appendicitis.” What. “Your appendix ruptured. We’re going to have surgery as soon as possible to get it removed.” You nearly sit all the way up, forgetting about your condition. “R-Right now?” “In five minutes.” The doctor smiles in an attempt to put you at ease. “Don’t worry. It’s a really simple surgery and the success rate is really high. We’re just going to make a small incision about four inches here and we’ll get that sucker out of you. There’s a chance of infection afterwards, but we’ll give you antibiotics and you should be fine. There’s no cause for concern really once we get it out of there.” He briefly goes over what the recovery will look like, how long it’ll take, how fast you’ll be out of here. But that doesn’t do much to lessen your anxiousness. “Thank you, doctor.” Jimin nods and the doctor leaves with the nurse, the latter who will come back soon to prep you for surgery. But you’re not ready. Far from it. “I-I can’t miss work, Jimin.” Your arm reaches out and he grabs your hand immediately, giving a firm squeeze. “He’s going to fire me.” “I’ll talk to the director.” His voice is stern, expression solemn. You’ve never seen Jimin like this before. “You can’t go into work like this.” You want to cry. It’s so sudden. One second you’re on your way home and the next you’re in a hospital, laying in a bed to be brought into the surgical room. “I’m already on thin ice with him.” “He’ll understand. Or I’ll make him,” Jimin whispers calmly, almost upset at how you’re still so worried about work in these last moments. “You can’t just get up and go to work, okay? You have to do this surgery.” “But...I can’t afford it.” “I’ll help you.” His hand gently squeezes yours once more, comforting you. “It’ll be alright.” “I’m scared,” you admit after a moment. “It’s okay.” Jimin leans in close, searching your expression. When your eyes lock with his, you nod. Somehow, you believe him. If he told you that the ocean was pink, you’d believe him. “You’ll be okay. Promise. I’ll be right here with you. You don’t have to worry.” No one is here but him. Out of everyone you know in your lifetime, only Jimin is present. And true to his word, he stays right by you, until the last moment where you’re brought into the surgical room. “Your boyfriend really cherishes you, huh?” the older nurse asks as she’s fiddling with your IV, sighing wistfully with a softened smile. “How long have you been together?” In a split-second, you decide to spare her from the awkwardness, not wanting to put her in an uncomfortable position and have to apologize. “Oh...um….three months?” Your voice is muffled behind the oxygen mask. The anesthesiologist smiles as well. “Young love is always sweet. Alright, Y/N, just breathe in deeply, okay?” You listen, inhaling deep breaths. Your lids become heavier and heavier as if you were drifting off to sleep. The last thing you think of is Jimin. How nice he smelled, how warm he felt, and the way he held your hand.

When you come to, it’s dark outside. You can barely remember anything. It was surreal as if you were still trapped in a dream-like state and now all the memories you have are mashed together. You vaguely recall being woken up by the anesthesiologist, how the doctor said something about antibiotics. But now after a long sleep, you feel more conscious. Your eyes flutter and your heart monitor beeps every time your heart pumps. The IV is still in your arm, but you feel something else on your other hand. The tips of your fingers presses against soft skin that isn’t your own. You loll your head over to look. It’s Jimin. He’s in the same clothes as he was hours ago and he’s fallen asleep in his chair. His head is dipped down, neck nearly snapping and will probably ache when he wakes up. Though for now, he’s in a deep slumber, chest rising and falling at a constant rhythm. His hair shags down his forehead, eyes shut tight. His lips are plump and pouted, cheeks rounded. And his hand is limp in yours, having held it as he drifted off. You wonder if he’s trying to pay back the favour. Maybe he’s trying to make it up to you. You did teach him after all, helped him get into Broadway even when it was against your will. Maybe this to make you both even. Or perhaps he simply felt obligated to help you….it’s not like you can ignore a person who’s fainted in a stairwell…. But you don’t understand why he’s still here. Why he’s stayed by you even when you’re okay now, at this time of night, and when the surgery is over. He has gone beyond the duty of a neighbour, beyond paying back debt. Jimin’s still beside you after all these hours, holding your hand. Even after all the mean things that you’ve said to him. After you told him you hated him. How does he not hate you? “I’m sorry.” A tear escaped down the side of your face, dripping onto the pillow.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jimin fanfic #jimin scenario #jimin fluff #OOOOOOOH

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distoretion · 4 years

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||Love and Corruption|| Rynar the Demon Pt. 1

I’m going to be trying something new here, and I’m not sure how it’ll work out but I thought I’d see how people like it... I’m going to be writing some monster romances because 1) I was inspired by reading @monster-bait ‘s writing and 2) I’m a sucker for this kind of thing in general. Hopefully you all enjoy, so lets get started with a fave of mine, Demon x Human romance!

Edit: This ended up being part one after I realized it was already 5k and we weren’t even close to the end. Next part might end up being a little shorter because of this but I thought I should publish what I had and take a little break instead of burn myself out.

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Dremäk has always been ruled by Demons. They rule competently and firmly, protecting their citizens both demonic and otherwise. Contrary to the popular belief of outsiders, humans are not second class citizens, nor are they doomed simply by keeping the company of Demons, at least not automatically. Thus, despite being one of the few humans living here I’d never really thought to fear them.

Now, however, I can’t keep my hands from shaking as I light the candles lining around the summoning circle chalked into the floorboards. Blinking back tears, I carefully prick my thumb on the small knife I’d snuck out of the kitchen and let a few drops of blood fall inside the circle.

The reaction is immediate, dark smoke and sparks spilling past the lines of the circle, carrying the sharp smell of sulfur and forcing me to stumble back on all fours. A figure rises slowly from inside the smoke, toweringly tall with a broad chest and long horns that curl back over his skull before flicking upwards at the ends. As he steps out I notice cloven hooves and a winding, agile tail that sweeps the floor as he walks.

“Well, this is a surprise...”

The warm, rumbling voice causes my gaze to snap up to his face as he smirks down at me, showing off a row of wickedly pointed teeth. His features are sharp, with a strong jaw and piercingly pale irises that contrast his candy red skin.

“I was expecting a lower Demon or an old Wizard to be my summoner, not a cowering human girl.” He says in amusement, crouching down and reaching out a clawed hand to wipe a tear I hadn’t even noticed was running down my cheek. “First time seeing a Demon, sweetheart?”

Swallowing thickly, it takes me a few tries before I can manage to get any words out. “Nuh, no, I... I was raised by them...”

He blinks in surprise, then laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “And still you look at me like I’m going to eat you! Contradictory much?”

“That’s because you came out of a bunch of sinister, billowing smoke that smelled all weird! I thought you were just going to pop in out of the air, but it was really intimidating!” I shout, pouting defensively as he pokes fun at me. “It’s hard not to be scared at least a little bit.”

“Fair enough. If you’re that shocked by it though, this must be your first time summoning.” He says, standing back up and stretching. Looking around at the rest of the room, he raises an eyebrow at the ancient texts and various spell components scattered around my bedroom. “You pretty much dove right into it, huh? Usually, people try a bunch of smaller low-risk summonings first before they even think about trying it with anything like me. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t burn yourself from the inside out or something else stupid.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered if I did,” I tell him, tucking my legs under me as I sit up and rub away the rest of my tears. “I’m already doomed anyway.”

“Ohhhhh, you’re one of those summonings.” He says, looking back down at me with a sympathetic grimace. “Is it an illness? Some sort of cancer or something? Listen, I can give you a few more years maybe, but I can’t actually cure you. None of us can. You honestly should have summoned a Possessor Demon so it could help you pilot your body as it starts dying. That way you can bind your soul to your corpse and-”

"That’s not it!” I tell him, half shouting the words. I swallow once more, taking a moment to calm myself before trying again, though I’m still shaking. “That’s not it. Please, I... I want you to corrupt me.”

“I... what?” He asks, staring at me with his mouth hanging slightly open.

“I know who you are Rynar,” I say, looking up at him with my soft green eyes. Reaching out, I grab the bottom of his long silken loincloth and cling to it as I silently plead with him. “I did my research. You stay down in the Underworld away from most other demons because you don’t care for the Hierarchy, and you come up only when summoned to give people things they can’t and shouldn’t have. You’re a Corruption Demon, and I need you to do it to me.”

“Okay, look, I... clearly you’ve put thought into this, but usually people ask for actual things.” He says, running a hand through the jet black hair he wears slicked back against his skull. “Luxury sports cars, riches, beautiful women who’ll do anything they ask. I don’t just show up and snap my fingers and boom! Corrupted. They ask for nice shit despite the consequence, not the consequence itself.”

“I know, but, but I need this... My caretakers... all the Demons who raised me, they.....” I wrap my arms around myself for comfort as I shudder, choking back the feelings of dread and terror that rises from my stomach. “I found out last week, they plan on sacrificing me tomorrow... An Innocent offered up to the glory of Imollän.....”

“Fuck... Imollän the Lust Demon?” He asks, a look of horror plastered across his face. “Ravager of Maidens? Scourge of Purity? Popper of Cherries?”

I nod, biting my lip as more tears start gathering at the corners of my eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart. Of course, I’ll corrupt you.” He says, taking my hands and gently helping me up as he smiles down at me. His thumb sweeps the delicate skin beneath the corners of my eyes, ridding me of my tears. “I’ll give you all sorts of lavish, wonderful things you could never afford, I’ll give you a night beyond your wildest dreams and spoil you to death.”

“Now, get dressed and put on a bit of makeup while I go do a little setup.” He says, turning me around and pushing me over to my closet. “And make sure you choose a nice dress, mkay?”

I stumble over to the large oak doors, turning back just in time to see him slip out of the room. I have absolutely no idea where he thinks he’s going, or how he thinks he’s going to get there unseen by one of my many caretakers, but I figure he must be able to take care of himself if he’s survived as long as the books say.

Slipping off my nightgown, I open up the closet and search through it for my best dress, stepping into it and zipping up the back as far as I can. I pull out a pair of heels as well, making sure to pick something low and sturdy since I have no idea what Rynar plans on doing with me. Now fully dressed, I head over to the dresser and sit down fidgeting nervously as I stare at my reflection.

I’ve never been much good at makeup since most of the time I have no occasion to wear it. I’ve been told I have a great foundation to work with though, and I at least know how to do lipstick, blush, and mascara, so I do that instead of a full face. I even take a little time to do my hair as well, putting the long strands of strawberry blond up in two loose buns atop my head, leaving a few locks free to frame my face.

It’s right as I’m spritzing on my favorite perfume that I hear the knock on my door, making me nearly jump right out of my skin as I whirl around to see Rynar poking his head into the room.

“Oh good, you’re decent.” He says, ducking to squeeze in through the doorway as he grins at me. I notice he’s changed as well, having somehow found a perfectly tailored black suit dark as ink that fit his muscular body so closely I can’t help following the lines of the jacket and pants as they hugged his figure. “C’mon, stand up and give me a twirl.”

I do as he says, blushing awkwardly and hoping he didn’t notice my staring. He studies me closely with a critical eye, going from the top of my head to the tips of my toes and back up again.

“Hmmm...” He taps his chin, frowning as he does one last sweep of my outfit before shaking his head. “No, nope, this isn’t going to work.”

“What?” I squeak, not understanding. Is there something wrong with the way I look?

“That dress isn’t nearly sexy enough. I’m trying to corrupt you, not take you to Sunday Mass!” He says, letting out a half-chuckle and crossing his arms over his chest.

My flush worsens as I look down at my dress, noting that it literally is my Sunday best. As modest as all my caretaker approved clothes, it’s well-made and stylish in a way that’s more prim and proper than it is fun or cute. “I, I don’t really have anything better to change into. Everything I own comes down past my knees, and none of it has a low neckline either.”

He scratches his head, sighing as he comes over to take my hand and lead me out of the room. “Well, at least that gives me another chance to corrupt you a bit. C’mon, we’ll find you something obscenely expensive to show you off in.”

We somehow make it downstairs without running into anyone, though I can’t help jumping at every creak of the floorboards and holding my breath at every half-open doorway way we pass in the hall. Before I even know it we’re out in the front garden with the front door swinging silently shut behind us, my first time sneaking out of the house in over a decade of living there a total success.

“Huh, didn’t think we were in Dremäk. No wonder you weren’t as scared of me as most humans.” Rynar says as he looks around, still holding my hand in his. He’s able to envelop my whole hand without effort, hammering home how absolutely huge he is in comparison to a tiny girl like me. I sneak a glance up at him as he gets his bearings, finding I have to crane my neck back to see his full height, which I’m guessing is somewhere around eight feet.

Having situated himself properly, he turns his head to grin down at me, causing me to flush and shift my gaze so I’m no longer staring.

“If I’m right about where we are, there should be a little boutique nearby we can visit.” He says, laughing at my shyness and giving my hand a gentle tug to get me to follow him. “We should be able to find something good there.”

I do, thankful I picked such sturdy heels as it looks like we’ll be walking. Perfectly ready to keep quiet for the walk and let him do the talking, I’m slightly surprised when he starts asking me questions about myself.

“So what should I be calling you, by the way? ‘Sweetheart’ 's gotta get annoying after a while, and it doesn’t seem fair that you know a bunch about me when I don’t even have a name for you.”

“It’s Anna. But I really don’t mind being called something else.” I peek up at him, giving him a small smile. “You seem to like using nicknames.”

“Guilty! I gotta say, Anna does suit you, though. Short and sweet, just like you.” He winks, smirking almost smugly like he thinks that cheesy line is going to make me blush again. I’m ashamed to admit that it does.

He continues asking me questions for the rest of the walk, keeping our pace leisurely and our conversation light. It’s simple things like how old I am (19), what I’m studying in school (I’m actually taking a year off before starting University), and what I like to do in my free time (paint). I don’t even notice we’ve made it to our destination until he pulls me under the awning of a ridiculously fancy shop and holding open the door for me.

I step inside, letting out a soft gasp as I catch sight of all the gleaming jewels and sparkling dresses. Everything in the store looks like it came straight from a red carpet event; like someone paid hundreds of thousands just to wear it for a single night.

“Go ahead and tell the shop assistant your sizes and I’ll have her start picking things out,” Rynar says, stepping up behind me and breaking me out of my daze. “Don’t worry if you can’t decide what to get though, I don’t mind buying you more than one dress.”

“More than one? I don’t think I could even afford a single earing from this place!” I tell him, shaking my head.

“That’s the point, sweetheart.” He winks at me, guiding me over to one of the workers. “Besides, I’m picking up the tab for this, so just relax and let me spoil you rotten. That is the plan after all, yeah?”

Hardly able to argue, I nod and quietly give my sizes to the smiling shop assistant, then wait in a nearby chair as Rynar points out various shoes and dresses he wants me to try. Soon I’m bundled into a changing room with half a dozen options to pick from as I stand awkwardly in front of the strategically placed row of mirrors.

I strip down to my underwear, feeling a slight flutter in my stomach as I slip the first dress over my legs and hips. There’s just something kind of intimate about putting on something a man picked out specifically for me, something he wants to see me wear for him.

Despite being so pretty, the first few dresses I try are incredibly uncomfortable, hugging my curves so tightly I feel like I’m about to pop the seems. I end up having to remove my bra to get into some of them, my heavy breasts practically falling out the top.

Whining softly as I bite my lip and stare at the clinging fabric that leaves me feeling so uncomfortably packaged and on display, I finally go over to the privacy curtain and poke my head out. “Rynar? I um, I don’t think any of these are going to work...”

Moving from where he is leaning against the nearby wall, he comes over and looks down at me with furrowed brows. “They didn’t grab you the wrong size of something did they?”

“It’s... it’s not that...”

“Show me then. I can guarantee there’s no way it looks as bad as you think it does.”

Hesitantly I step out from behind the curtain, the blush crawling up my cheeks as see his eyes heat as he drags them up and down my body, a slow smirk curling his lips.

“Oh baby,” He chuckles, stepping forward and gently lifting my chin as my breath hitches when he leans in. I can smell the subtle hint of spice coming off him, with something darker hidden underneath. “That doesn’t look bad on you at all! In fact, you’re looking like quite the treat from where I’m standing.”

“But it’s- everything feels so tight and clingy,” I tell him, fidgeting uncomfortably as I try to keep the hem of the dress from riding up over my thighs. “I, I don’t feel comfortable like this.”

“Well, if that’s the case...” He straightens, allowing me to breathe normally again as he looks around the shop, calling for the assistant to bring over a stunning red number even brighter than his skin. “Try this one, it might be short but it should feel looser.”

Taking it from his clawed hand, I head back into the dressing room and change, instantly feeling much less like a bunch of meat stuffed into a sausage casing.

The dress is remarkably short, falling only a few inches below my rear, but it flares out nicely at the hips, complimenting my figure without gripping me hard enough to pop. It’s backless as well, the low neckline held up with an adjustable halter strap that lifts my breasts while still allowing me to breathe. The whole thing is done in the sort of pure, fine silk that shimmers softly in the light, caressing my skin in a way that feels all sorts of sensual. It’s still all kinds of embarrassing, but I find myself actually liking it.

“You like it?” Rynar calls through the curtain, and I nod dumbly before realizing he can’t see me.

“Oh, yes, it’s perfect! Thank you Rynar!” I call back, turning around and opening up the curtains with a smile. I almost think I see his cheeks darken slightly as his eyes widen, but figure it’s a trick of the lights when he soon breaks into a grin.

“Well, that’s good!” He huffs, running a hand through his hair as his strikingly pale eyes twinkle down at me. “Go ahead and pick out some shoes to go with it and I’ll have them ring up anything else you liked in the meantime, okay?”

I point out one or two accessories I thought were cute before picking out a pair of pointed white stilettos with red backing to match the dress, making sure they clock in at less than six inches in case we have to do a bunch more walking tonight. Rynar purposely hides the total from me when I get to the register, somehow managing to pay with a gilded dagger of intricate design and insisting that he carry the bags.

When we get outside I find out I needn’t have worried about the heels as he walks up to a shiny black limo and opens the back door, motioning for me to step inside.

“I called it while you were trying on dresses.” He explains, sliding in behind me after I get in. “I’m taking you to a restaurant downtown for dinner so I thought we probably shouldn’t walk.”

“Oh, um, thank you,” I say, very aware of how close together we are in the enclosed space at the back of the limo. It’s roomy enough not to make things awkward, but his large frame takes up enough of the seats that our knees are nearly touching, and I can once again smell his sent, that warm spice layered on top of something deeper I can’t quite put my finger on.

“I also put together something else while you were in the dressing room...” He says, pulling out a thin, flat box from inside his jacket and handing it over to me. “Well, really I bought it, but I figure being the one who picked it out counts for something.”

I open it up carefully, gasping when I see what’s inside. It’s a teardrop diamond necklace on a gold chain, with what look like tiny round rubies strung along its length and a matching diamond and ruby bracelet, all of it gorgeous and sparkling even in the dim light inside the car.

“I noticed you didn’t have pierced ears, so I figured the bracelet would be best.” He says, the rumble of his voice surprisingly soft. “Want me to help you put it on?”

I can only nod, handing him back the box and letting him slip on the bracelet before turning my back to him so he can do the same with the necklace.

He handles it carefully, looping it around my neck and leaning in so he can see the latch properly. His hands linger at the back of my neck as it clicks shut, and his hot breath tickles my ear, making me shiver.

“I like your perfume by the way... We don’t get many flowers in the Underworld.” He speaks in a hushed tone, his hands hovering over my bare shoulders, not quite touching.

“Thank you...” I whisper back, having a hard time finding my own voice with him this close.

“I have to ask, Anna... Can I touch you?” He asks, causing my heart to speed up as his lips brush the shell of my ear, something I’m not sure is an accident. “Not just a light touch against your face, or my hand holding yours, something deeper and more erotic... I know you want to be corrupted, but I can only do it that way if you tell me you’re comfortable with it first.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking with a sort of nervous anticipation as his fingers ghost further across my skin, leaving trails of gentle heat.

“Will you, Anna? I need to hear you say it...” His voice is so seductive and beautiful in it’s strange, bestial way, sending tingles down my spine as I nod.

“I- yes, you can touch me,” I tell him, my breathing already quick and shallow. “It’s, it’s what I summoned you for, after all.”

“In that case,” His massive, calloused hands close over my skin, one running slowly down my arm to encircle my wrist while the other wraps around my waist. “I’ll be sure to tempt you properly.”

His lips find my neck as he pulls me in closer, and the hand on my waist makes its way down to my thigh, rubbing gently and rhythmically before easing into a massage. The hand holding my wrist switches to holding my hand, weaving our fingers together and squeezing gently so I don’t get too nervous right off the bat.

Meanwhile, his lips dot my skin with feathery kisses, working along my neck, to my shoulder, and eventually across my open back as it catches every spot not covered by the silk of my dress.

After a while when my nervous shaking has turned to soft sighs and excited shivers, he lets go of my hand to caress my stomach, coming close to the underside of my chest but never quite touching as his hands move slowly up and down.

It continues like that for ages, with him refusing to touch me anywhere important while at the same time running his hands over every other bit of me he can find. He massages me until my whole body is hot, even going so far as to spread my legs open and press his fingers against my inner thigh without ever getting near the soft lace of my panties, which I can feel growing wet in the middle.

His thumb nearly brushes the side of my breast, and I press my hand against my mouth to hold back a moan, failing to stop the next one when he pulls my hand away.

“I want to hear it. All your cute noises. Your lewd sounds...” His voice is deeper than before, his lips nuzzling into my shoulder before his wickedly sharp teeth nip the skin to draw out another moan, louder this time and more desperate.

“Gods I wish I could take you right here.” He growls, his impossibly long tongue slipping out to run hotly over the spot where he just used his teeth. “I’ve been wanting to at least kiss you since I saw you all dolled up in your bedroom... You were like a perfect princess I wanted to gobble up.”

“I... I thought ya, you...” It’s all I can get out, my voice breathy and small as his claws graze the inside of my leg.

“Oh, you were cute even then.” He says, seeming to know what I’m getting at without me having to finish the thought. “I didn’t think you’d want to be asked for it so soon, but I definitely wanted one.”

“Then... please...” I beg him, craning my face back towards his but he only shakes his head.

“I can’t. If I do it now I really will end up taking all of you right here.” Despite what he says he starts touching me more roughly, still not where I most want it but getting closer than before.

I whimper, my head tilting back as I pant and moan, a sweetness building in that spot between my thighs, and I close my eyes to concentrate on how good it feels.

“We’re here.” He says, his hands suddenly stopping as he pulls himself away from me, smoothing down his hair and clothes.

I open my eyes back up, finally noticing the car has come to a full stop. I look back at Rynar, my back slumping low against the seat and my legs still spread. My face must be burning with the power of a thousand suns by now, but I ignore it and simply stare at him imploringly.

“Stop looking so tasty before I use you to ruin my dinner.” He says, reaching out to lift me into a proper sitting position and adjust my dress into something more ladylike (or as close as a dress like this can get). “Now come on, we’ll miss our lack of reservation.”

I reluctantly follow him out of the limo, having to lean on his offered arm as my legs slowly transition back from jelly into actual flesh.

He brings us over to the passenger window and gives a few instructions to the driver about dropping the rest of my stuff back home, handing over a tip that looks an awful lot like a pair of highly antique pearl earrings.

That done, he walks me up the marble steps to the restaurant entrance, for once not needing to duck to get through the high arched doors. Inside I find yet another sight that takes my breath away, marble walls decorated with gold decals and complimented by dark velvet curtains and sparkling chandeliers. There’s even a small band stage where musicians play calm, classical music that drifts through the venue like a gentle lullaby.

As we walk slowly up to the maitre d’, Rynar slips his arm out of my now much looser grip to place his hand on the small of my back, soon sliding it down to my butt. I look up at him in surprise, and he catches my eye, keeping his face straight.

“If you want me to stop at any time, say ‘Redwood’.” He whispers to me, and when I don’t he finally smirks and gives me a good squeeze.

Making it to his podium in our own sweet time, the maitre d’ eyes us subtly before asking for our names and reservation.

This only makes Rynar’s smirk grow wider, and he casually slips the man something that makes his eyes bulge. “We don’t have any reservation right now, but I’m sure you’ll free something up. Maybe a nice table for two by the window so we can see the lake?”

Suddenly very eager, the maitre d’ has us shown to just such a table near the back of the restaurant, Rynar subtly groping me the whole way there.

He pulls my chair out like the perfect gentleman, pushing it back in as I sit before taking his own. Opening up the menus, I find they’re all written in a foreign language, with only a few words I recognize like ‘fish’ or ‘cake’.

“Want me to order for you? I can pick something you’d like if you tell me your preferences.” He says, clearly seeing me struggling.

“Um, I prefer white meats and fish. Salmon’s great if they have that.” I tell him, trying to hide my flush behind the menu. “And definitely any dessert they have. I like sweet things.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” He chuckles, putting down his own menu and summoning over the waiter. He rattles off a list of things that must include both appetizers and dessert, finishing off with “And a bottle of Champaign, something on the sweeter side of things.”

“Rynar, I’m not old enough to drink!” I half-whisper to him leaning in so I’m sure he hears me. “Are you planning to have the whole bottle yourself?!”

“Corrupting you, remember?” He sign-songs, smugly resting his chin on his fist as he waves away my concerns. “And I can always bribe the staff again if you’re worried about getting caught. Everyone tends to ask fewer questions when you put gold in their pockets.”

“That seems immoral...” I mutter, my brow furrowing.

“It is!” He winks, eyes sparkling mischievously. “But if you don’t like it I’ll stop, and you don’t have to drink if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No, I’m not saying you can’t, I’m just not used to that sort of thing.” I sigh, looking down at my hands as I pull them into my lap. “I’m not used to a lot of things that have happened tonight, to tell you the truth.”

“Your family really did keep you sheltered, didn’t they?” He asks me seriously, and I can feel his gaze as it carefully studies my face. “It’s one thing if they didn’t take you anywhere as fancy and overpriced as this, or bought you designer clothes, but that’s a nice house you live in. You act almost like you’ve never had a night out on the town, and there’s no reason they couldn’t have taken you and your friends somewhere else a little more affordable, especially if it was a special occasion.”

“My caretakers didn’t really take me ‘out’ much. Just on small trips for shopping, and the occasional playdate at a friend's house. Always supervised, of course. We’d have nice parties on my birthday and other holidays, all at the house, and they even had me homeschooled with tutors starting from middle school.” I look up at him, smiling even though it feels strained. “They made it clear they weren’t my new parents, just a collective of lower Demons that wanted to look after a child like the old days. And they are good caretakers, never cruel about anything. I always thought they were overprotective because I’m a human. I’m small and fragile, even compared to them, let alone anyone else in the Hierarchy.”

“And now?” His white eyes burn into me as he stares at my face, seeming to see past it into my mind. “Why do you think your ‘caretakers’ kept you away from everything?”

I don’t want to think about that here, but I’m spared having to admit that to him as the waiter comes back with the Champagne and some rolls of bread for the table. Immediately I grab one to tear off a piece and pop it in my mouth, hoping the subject will have changed by the time I’m done chewing.

“They’re better with butter you know,” Rynar says, passing over a small pat pretentiously monogrammed with the restaurant's name. Pouring us each a glass of Champagne, he hands mine to me and clinks them together in a small toast before taking a sip, urging me to do the same.

It tickles my nose when I lift it to my lips, the taste far sweeter than I thought alcohol might be since the few of my friends who’d snuck some always said it was sharp or bitter. I can’t help taking another sip immediately, humming in delight as it hits my tongue.

“Good, right?” Rynar grins, having already finished his off with one long sip. “Most stuff’s a lot drier than this, so you have to ask if you want it sweet.”

“It is good,” I tell him, allowing myself one last sip before I put it down. “I thought it’d be a lot more bitter.”

“Some booze can be.” He shrugged, nudging my glass of water a little closer in a clear indication that I should have some. “There are bitter beers, and some people think red wine tastes bad because of that kind of thing. Personally, I don’t care as long as it gets me buzzed.”

“Do you drink often then?” I ask, obliging him by taking a long drink of water.

“Only when I get my hands on some. The stuff in the Underworld is super strong and takes a long time to make, so it’s not widely available. And I rarely get to have a drink while I'm up here.” He chuckles then, seeming to remember something. “Unless the person I’m summoned by is an alcoholic.”

“That sounds like a story,” I say, smiling at him as I take another piece of bread.

“Oh, it is.” He confirms, leaning back in his chair and getting comfortable. “See, it all started when this Wizard summoned me to ask for a particular brand of port that had disappeared when the last batch was lost in a tragic shipwreck...”

He continues the story until our food arrives, a course of various small appetizers followed by soup and salad, then finally our entrees, pan-seared salmon in a lemon cream sauce for me and a rack of lamb done ultra-rare for him. Each dish that comes is the best thing I’ve ever eaten, only to be topped by the next thing I try. By the end of it all, I’m almost too full to think about dessert, even though my tongue disagrees.

“You’re looking satisfied,” Rynar smirks, watching as I sigh in contentment. “Thinking about skipping dessert?”

“Absolutely not,” I tell him, patting the corner of my mouth with a napkin to make sure there isn’t any lingering sauce. “Everything’s been so amazing, there’s no way I could turn down having more.”

“Well I only got enough cake for one person, so if you’re gonna be the one to snatch it up, I think I should get something, too...” He says, his smirk turning lustful as I feel his long tail winding up my leg. “Go ahead and lift your hips for me, hmm?”

I’m not sure what he’s planning, but I comply, using my hands to help me lift my butt up off the chair. I hover there for a bit as his tail snakes below my dress and takes hold of my panties, making my eyes widen into saucers as it slowly tugs them down past my hips and legs before slipping them off entirely, finally depositing them in his hand.

“Lace panties, huh?” He says, rubbing the fabric between his fingers with a self-satisfied grin as he watches me with hooded eyes. “Not what I was expecting from a sweet girl like you, but the pure white is spot on.”

I’m at a complete loss for words, my cheeks a flaming pink as I squeeze my legs together, a feeling warmth already starting to flow into that forbidden place. I can feel how naked it is, how exposed and vulnerable, hidden only by the fabric of my dress. And even then, he knows. He knows exactly what’s under there.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give ‘em back eventually.” He says, clearly enjoying himself as he tucks them into the pocket of his suit jacket. “I just wanna keep them for a while, think about how naked your pussy is right now, how easy it’d be to slide my tail up between your legs...”

His tail caresses my calf as he talks about it, causing my nipples to harden and the heat between my thighs to grow hotter. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep quiet when his hand lightly touches my knee, easing my legs back open...

He stops and pulls back when the waiter approaches, causing me to sigh in a mixture of relief and disappointment. As Rynar gets the check, I quickly eat my dessert, no longer thinking about food as I shift and squirm at the growing feeling between my legs.

When we get up to leave he slides his arm around my waist, helping me as I take slow, careful steps to keep my skirt from fluttering. A thrill goes down my spine with every step I take, thinking about how I’m being paraded through a public place without a single stitch of fabric to cover my slit! By the time we step outside my hands are clinging to his jacket and I’m forcing my legs not to shake by sheer force of will.

As soon as we’re away from anyone who might see his hand is back on my butt, massaging lewdly as his lips draw close to my ear and he plants a small kiss against my hair. “Let's go down by the lake. There’s a nice little couple’s park by the shore, and I need to sober you up a little before I take you home.”

“But I’m not drunk...” I protest, eager to get back to my bed so he can stop playing around and finally give it to me properly.

“Even tipsy’s too much.” He insists, leading me down the winding path to the lake. His touching of me continues, light and sensual in a way that has me silently begging for him to go harder. “I need your mind clear, so we know you’re in control of what happens.”

I want to whine that I’m ready now, but a sudden gust of wind distracts me as it lifts the hem of my dress, forcing me to slap my hands down to keep it in place. I can feel the flow of air between my legs, and I shiver, feeling the coolness of it against my heated skin.

“Careful, babe. It’s windy out tonight.” Rynar says, patting my butt as he leads me into the park and over to a stone bench so I can rest my feet.

As I take a seat, parts of my butt, thighs, and even the lips of my pussy make contact with the cold stone, causing me to cry out in shock. I cling to Rynar even more, panting as I try to adjust, the chill of it leaving an intense tingling on my skin.

“Felt too good for a second there?” Rynar asks, and I can only nod as he places a hand against my hip and pulls me into his warmth. He chuckles at my reaction, kissing the top of my head. “At least now I know for sure you won’t be feeling tipsy anymore.”

The hand on my hip begins pulling up the hem of my dress, lifting it up to expose the whole of it to the night air so he can touch it directly, his sharp claws squeezing me and gently pricking my skin. His other hand goes to my breast, his fingers able to splay out and cover nearly the whole thing despite how big it is. Slowly he massages me through the thin red fabric, making me whimper and bite my lip.

“You like the thrill of being naked beneath your dress, don’t you? Of wearing something skimpy?” He whispers to me seductively, his tone laced with amusement. “I can tell from how you got so turned on just from walking through the restaurant.”

“I couldn’t help it...” I whine, moaning as I lean into his calloused hands. “I kept thinking about how you knew... how you’d see everything if I messed up even a little bit!”

“Do you like being seen, Anna?” He rumbles, gripping me more firmly as his thumb and forefinger lightly pinch my hardened nipple. “Like showing off that sweet little body of yours?”

“Yes...! I want you to see me.” I tilt my head back to look up at him, thinking how handsome he looks beneath the moonlight as he gazes down at me with obvious delight. “I want to show you...”

His eyes drink me in, pupils dilated like crazy in the low light as they linger on my chest and thighs. I can feel the latter growing slick, the juices from that spot between my legs trickling down to leave a damp mark on the bench. He notices, and the hand on my hip moves as if to touch me there, but instead he pulls back, his muscles tensing.

“Wait just a little longer, Anna.” He says, his voice rough with lust as he holds himself back from playing with my precious spot right here and now. I whimper just like the last time he denied me, but he only presses a clawed finger to my lips and shakes his head. “Not here. The things I wanna do to you, they’re way too dirty already to do ‘em outside.”

He pulls me up off the bench, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me against his torso as he cups my face, thumb tracing my cheek. The way his eyes gaze down at me, lustful yet tender, has me captivated, my face turning even more red than it’s been all night.

“But I promise, as soon as I get you somewhere private, with a nice, solid, lockable door and a nice, big, soft bed to lay you out on?” He presses his body back against mine, and for the first time I notice his insanely large bulge straining against my stomach as he looks at me like he plans on stripping me down and taking me right there. “I am going to show you all sorts of ways I can corrupt you...”

To be Continued

#monster romances #monster boyfriend #lemon #demon boyfriend #exophilia #nsfc

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darklymelanatedstories · 4 years

Text

A weird idea I had a while ago.

Sucker for pain (ft Frieza)

I slowly opened my eyes as they focused on the ceiling of the dark, cold room. I sat up and slumped against the concrete wall. The pain made it unbearable as every part of my body hurt but I couldn't let that stop me, I need to survive. I had to.

Thirsty. My throat felt raspy and dry. It's been so long since I had anything to drink. One thing I was happy about was losing my constraints. No more shackles. No more chains. That didn't change that I was still a prisoner but it was better.

I heard the heavy metal door slowly open with a slight creak, as the bright white light entered the room. The cold light hit my face, it didn't feel like the warm sun kissing you awake on a nice Sunday morning. No. This was the light that reminded me that I was still stuck here and the silhouette of the monster in the doorway caused a flicker in my eyes. Him.

With his hands behind his back and tail swaying swiftly, he approached me. I rested my head against the wall and stared at the demon incarnate coming towards me. At times, I'd keep my head down and ignore him just to get him bored of me but no, not today. Not today Satan.

"Morning, my dear."he said cheerfully. Morning? It's so dark in here that time has lost all meaning. I turned away from him with no response.

"It's very rude to ignore your captor you know." He bent down and aggressively lifted my chin up to face him. I was unfazed and so, didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing any other expression on my face besides blank and uncaring.

His grip on my chin tightened, moving his fingers up to my cheeks and pulling me closer. I felt his breath hit my lips, fresh but with a hint of wine. Not bad. I thought it'd wreak of the blood of thousands of innocent people he's slaughtered.

"You're quite beautiful you know. Or you would be if you didn't look the trash you are."he sneered. He tossed my head to the side like I was nothing. I really wanted to choke him with his own tail and take his last breath.

With my frizzled hair in my face, I glared at him. He just smiled. He enjoyed this, he enjoyed torturing me but nowadays he seemed to grow quite bored of me. I stopped showing fear, sadness or any emotion in front of him. I know the camera would show them when I was alone but he loved seeing it up close in person. He turned, his back facing me. I stared. He had a great physique, I might add.

Oh, how I it would be a shame to cover his beautiful body with scars and paint it with his blood. Or would that make him look that much magnificent.

"What do you want me to say?"I asked, trying my best not to give away the thirst in my voice.

He glanced at me over his shoulder, his dark red pupils finding mine. He slowly walked over to me and went on one knee. He had an unreadable expression which quickly transitioned to amusement. A large wicked smile formed his lips.

"So you can talk?" He chuckled. "After our little session last week I thought you'd lost your voice."

"It's funny. After all you've done, all you've been through, I've finally caught up to you. How does it feel to finally be in my cells, on the brink of death, after watching your planet and family perish at my hands?"

I think he could tell that I wasn't gonna talk after that because his tail slithered up my chest and wrapped itself around my neck, it didn't hurt like I thought it would but the shock caused a gasp to escape my lips.

His smile grew wider. It annoyed me to see how much he enjoyed this. I gave no reaction which seemed to irritate him more because a scowl replaced his sinister smile.

"Answer me!" His tail tightened around my neck, making the burning in my throat even more unbearable.

I groaned and tried to look away from his glare but his tail held me in place. He's hurt me all over except for my neck or any inappropriate places. I'd say he was being a gentleman but that wouldn't be possible. Doing so would make it more personal, which would be the case now.

I tried to pull his tail off but it wrapped even tighter. I dug my sharp nails into the skin of his tail and I pulled for dear life. He winced in pain but didn't let go. His teeth gritted when my nails got deep enough and reached their limit. By now there was blood. His sweet, sweet blood.

"Hmp." I looked at him and saw a smirk on his face. He enjoyed this, way too much if I must say.

"Let...go of me."I growled. I looked down and took a huge bite at his tail.

"Gah! Bitch!"

I kicked him in the groin before grabbing his arm and pushing him into the wall. All those days training non stop in my cell have paid off.

He gave me a backhand to the face to which I responded with grabbing him and biting his neck. He groaned, I'm not sure in pain or pleasure. Before I could do anything else I felt a sharp pain on my butt. The bastard whipped me, causing me to let go of him. He grabbed my arms, held them in his hand and whipped me with his tail over and over.

It's hard to say but the more he whipped the better it felt.

I couldn't help but smile with every hit, every slash. The pain, the sweet sweet pain.

"That's what you get you pathetic little vermin.",he growled before tossing me on the ground. My ass hurt from the whipping but the adrenaline made it feel better.

I soon remembered that I was in a fight with this son of a bxtch so I formed a fist and aimed for his face. He caught it with his tail. I tried with my other fist but grabbed it with his hand. His other hand got hold of my neck and pushed me against the wall.

"And to think I was actually here to take you out for some fresh air."Frieza said. My eyes widened. "W-what?"

He grinned. "Be a dear and put your cuffs on. I can't take you out looking like a freeloader." He let go of me and handed me the cuffs that took me weeks just to get off. I hesitated for a moment but if he was telling the truth and I was going to breath fresh air, even for a few minutes then I didn't have much of a choice.

"Good girl." He grabbed my arm and dragged me out of my grimy cell. It felt refreshing. I couldn't help but smile. Few minutes of freedom in a while.

"Don't expect me to feed you there. I'm a fair emperor not a charity case."

He led me out of his ship into a beautiful forest of black trees and grass and white barked wood. The sky was a beautiful shade of.. pink? Blah I hate pink.

I narrowed my eyes but I guess Frieza noticed because he asked, "What?"

"Pink hurts my eyes."I said as I looked down. Frieza chuckled. In a few minutes we stopped at a garden like place with a...red waterfall?

I stared in amazement at its beauty. The colour of blood flowing so peaceful, so relaxing, like I just killed all my enemies and didn't have a care in the world.

"Lovely isn't it?",Frieza asked when he saw me.

"Yeah."I said. My voice came out raspy. I didn't realise I was thirsty till then.

"Thirsty?" I nodded. That blood water looked pretty good right now. "Go ahead."he said. I'm pretty sure he could tell that I was about to jump in even if he wouldn't let me.

I sat on my knees and scooped up the water from the blood red stream with my bare hands. I smiled before taking a sip. It tasted amazing, so refreshing. I had to have more. I'll never take water for granted ever again especially if they start giving me this water.

Frieza strolled over to me and lifted my chin up just as I was about to have another sip. He smiled before wiping a bit of the red liquid from the corner of my lip. We stared into each other's eyes, cliche I know but who can resist those ruby pupils.

He leaned closer to me, our lips almost touching. "Why'd you bring me here?"I asked before anything could happen. His mouth gapped as he moved away from me.

"Can't I just be nice?" I cocked a brow at him and he sighed.

"Ok I'll admit I have my own selfish reasons."he said before pushing me into the stream. I struggled to swim up, with the cuffs and all but eventually made it up. I could see the corner of his lip perk up. He found this amusing.

I pulled myself out of the water and plopped down on my back for a breather.

"Oooh. I must say you look divine in red." I scanned myself and found out that I look like the first person that dies in horror movies. Not bad.

I grinned as he got closer to me. "Maybe it'll look better ok you." I said before grabbing him and tossing him in the water. He gasped for air as soon as his head was out of the water.

Even wet in what looked like blood, he looked divine.

He soon got out and glared at me. I just smiled. He sat next to me. It was weird. My captor, torturer, reason for my pain and I were sitting in a comfortable silence on black grass next to a stream of blood red water.

It's a fun game we play if I might say. Another thing I enjoy about our relationship.

We share the bond of pain, love of others suffering, psychopathic tendencies and our weird roleplaying sessions.

Today was a fun one. Prisoner and captor. Next time I'm thinking Queen and slave. He's in for a treat.

Soon I heard a noise. I noted it coming from his scouter.

"Looks like times up."he sighed. "Too bad, I was enjoying having you at my mercy."

He undid the cuffs and rubbed my sore wrists.

"You were weren't you?"I grabbed his chin and pulled him closer to me. I slowly licked his bottom lip before biting it which caused a moan to escape his lips. What a masochist.

"Well sweetie. After we're done conquering Planet Cremona you're in for quite a treat."

"Why do I feel like I should be nervous?",he teased.

"I don't know.",I said as I got up. "Because you should be scared."I said in a menacing tone before walking towards the ship. I stopped and glanced over my shoulder and noticed that he was only a few steps away.

"Be honest, was that real blood?"

"A sadistic man never tells."he replied. Now my curiosity was peaked but in a way I knew the answer.

I'm glad that it's all over though, I needed a bath and this whole acting thing was tiring.

Ah, Frieza my love.

He's a sadistic fxck that's caused me nothing but pain...but what can I say, I'm a sucker for pain.

#frieza #frieza x oc #weird #sucker for pain

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freewithyourtempo · 5 years

Note

Could you write a cherik fic where Erik is this really famous/hot actor who keeps his personal life very private and all of his fans speculate who his wife his and want to date him until he shows up to a red carpet with Charles (in a wheelchair) and shocks everyone and reveals they’ve been together since like childhood

I’m really sorry it took me so long to write this.I hope you’ll like it!

"Are you ever going to tell us who you’re dating?“

The room holds his breath.Erik Lehnsherr smiles, slow and dangerous. Not in a pleasant way.

Well, Emma rectifies, it is still a boiling hot smile - how could it not be, with those cheekbones and that jawline -; but it isn’t meant to be reassuring. She feels her face warming.

Lehnsherr takes his time answering.

He fetches the bottle of water hiding the plaque with his name - as if anyone could not know who Erik Lehnsherr is at a press conference for his latest blockbuster-, long fingers leaving prints on the cloudy glass, and refills his cup.

He tilts the bottle, tendons bulge on his arm. Dozens of eyes follow the spilling water on its way down.

Emma could bet the journalist is already regretting her question, and hides her smirk behind a clever swipe of her lipstick.

Someone coughs in the heavily silent room.

Everyone is staring at Lehnsherr’s working throat, up and down with his Adam’s apple, and Lehnsherr is grinning down at the poor journalist, who, at this point, can only squirm in her pastel tailleur.

Eventually, Lehnsherr puts his glass down and pops his lips. “You’re not my type,” he says.

The journalist looks flabbergasted. “I- What?”

Emma shifts on her chair and uncrosses her legs.

Lehnsherr blinks. “The only reasonable excuse for you to ask me anything about the identity of my partner is that you’re interested in what I like. Because, otherwise, your question would be highly inappropriate. So… I’m saving you time. You’re not my type. Next question?”

The journalist sits back down with no further comment.

Emma raises her hand to ask a question.

***

According to the Internet, Erik Lehnsherr is so hot that staring at him without your sunglasses could send you directly to the Emergency Room with burnt corneas.

But boy, wouldn’t it be worth it.

Your internal eyelids would forever preserve the image of those sharp cheekbones, those sin-inducing lips, those bulb-exploding grey eyes.

But it isn’t just his face, it is his whole attitude.

Brooding, mysterious and confident, with a smile that could slice open paparazzi’s cameras and a taste for dark characters with disputable morals and indisputable appeal.

Every woman wants to do him, and every man wants to–

No, scratch that.

Everyone with a sexual drive has dreamt at least once of his long fingers and rough jaw in the last year, no exception.

Hell, Erik Lehnsherr is so convolutedly sexy that Byron would have had wet dreams about him.

Once Emma saw a video of him smoking and that night she woke up, skin burning hot, with the sheets wrapped around her calves and a tuft of blonde hair stuck to her damp forehead.

And as any self-respecting tormented artist, he is a recluse.

He doesn’t attend galas or parties if he can help it (he can help it pretty often), he has never been photographed with his hands up someone’s skirt in an alley behind a dark disco or been arrested for skinny-dipping in the Trevi Fountain. The last one is a pity.

He doesn’t even have one chatty, bribable relative in all of New York.

Emma would know, she has gone looking.

It is frustrating.

Fundamental questions about his person are still unanswered, and one of them above all torments Erik Lehnsherr’s fans like a rock in their shoes.

A rock the size of Mount Rushmore.

Who is the lucky bastard who has chained him with a wedding band?

Emma is torn between her desire to bloodily maul them and to gift them a star on the walk of fame.

The inscription would be something on the line of: “The unknown sucker that wakes up every morning with Erik Lehnsherr’s ass at arm’s length. Hope you plump him up like a pillow, sugar.”

But the identity of the unknown spouse will in all likelihood stay a secret a little longer.

It is probably the blonde top model who has co-starred his last movie, anyway. Hollywood’s couples are never a big surprise.

***

Logan has a work ethic, even if he is a paparazzo.

Just because he makes money on people’s missteps, heartbreaks and scandals - the snottiest, the better-, it doesn’t mean he can’t be compassionate about it.

That’s why he has come to the conclusion, while squatted behind a smelly trash can in front of Lehnsherr’s trailer, that he will give the actor a heads up.

He will still sell the photos of his imminent cheating to the highest bidder, obviously.

That kind of stuff is worth thousands of bucks, and he is not Gandhi.

But he will magnanimously offer Lehnsherr time to have a heart to heart with his significant other, whoever she may be. Cry a bit, beg for forgiveness, buy diamonds. The usual stuff one does when they are very sorry and not doing that again.

He could put an anonymous letter in the mailbox, maybe.

Yes, Logan thinks, chewing on his battered cigar, that will do it.

He is such a good guy.

He lifts his camera and zooms on the very pretty girl waiting outside of Lehnsherr’s trailer.

Logan sees her knocking twice, then tossing her dark hair on one shoulder and putting a hand on her cocked hip. Her tiny, tiny dress rides up her thigh some more and she doesn’t fix it.

It takes a few moments, then Lehnsherr opens the door in his sweatpants, hair ruffled already.

The girl takes a step forward on her staggering heels, and Logan starts snapping photos of the two like his life depends on it.

He’s grinning like a maniac, the trashcan he’s leaning against squits periodically and his index finger hurts, but there’s no way on Earth he will let this opportunity get away.

Now Lehnsherr will look around furtively, making sure there’s no one in the vicinity, will grab the girl by the arm and close the door behind their entwined figures.

Except that he doesn’t.

Logan can literally feel the bills being taken out of his pockets and he almost wails.

His camera records the evolution of Lehnsherr’s surprised, frowning, distrusting and openly hostile face.

He’s not aroused, he’s not intrigued, he’s not even remotely interested in freeing the entrance of his trailer.

He looks almost offended.

Lehnsherr lifts one eyebrow, syllables something that can’t be anything but a piercing “no” and snaps the door closed. The girl jumps.

Logan captures the moment with a sigh and looks critically at the result.

The next morning the most-clicked tabloids display a full-page picture of Lehnsherr’s unforgiving rejection with a dozen variation of the same question.

“Does he prefer blondes?”

***

Emma wishes fans were fashionable, because Erik Lehnsherr has just stepped onto the red carpet, showered by the frantic flashes of the cameras, and she suddenly feels weak in the knees.

Somebody next to her whistles under their breath, and she totally shares the sentiment.

He doesn’t look ethereal, he looks very, very solid. Tall and self-possessed, straight shoulders and slim waist in a gorgeous oxford-blue suit that makes his legs go on forever.

There’s something less than stoic in the line of his mouth, though, Emma notices.

A nervous flicker of the eye, and then something happens.

He turns around and smiles.

Emma stares.

It’s not his usual smile, sardonic and knowing, charming but in a honed way.It is a flustered smile, face flushed, bright eyes and everything. And it is directed to one man and one man only, who is approaching him with strong pushes of his wheelchair.

Cameras go crazy around them, other actors forgotten.

Lensherr waits for his companion to join him, face so open it looks like it has lost its bark.

Emma can’t see the face of the stranger, only the straight lines of an expensive suit and a mop of rich, brown hair, and almost gets on her tiptoes to have a better view.

The men share a few words under the hungry stares of the journalists, then Lehnsherr rolls his eyes and indulgently bends over to have his bow-tie straightened.

Emma can’t hear anything from where she’s standing, but she is quite sure Lehnsherr has just warringly asked: “Are you happy now?”

The other man answers, Lehnsherr snorts and kisses him on the forehead.

Then he freezes, and turns towards the people gathered as if spotting them only then.

He glares at the journalists, steely eyes back in their place in a clear warning, and straightens back to move forward on the carpet.

Emma walks as fast as she can without breaking into a run, heels sinking into the moquette and jewels tingling.“Mr. Lehnsherr!”She knows he has heard her, because his back stiffens, but he doesn’t turn. She frowns. He’s not getting away from this. “Mr. Lehnsherr!”The man in the wheelchair stops, turns his head and smiles so charmingly at her she feels instantly flattered. “Erik, dear, that lovely woman is trying to get your attention.”

He has a silver-polishing British accent, voice calm and collected.

“She won’t have it.”

“Dear.”

It is an obvious reprimand, one that sounds smoothed by use, and Emma sees Lehnsherr’s shoulders sag in defeat. She smiles smugly at his disgruntled frown when he turns.

His British companion swiftly approaches her, and Lehnsherr follows him a few steps behind like a recalcitrant body-guard.

“What do you want, Frost?”

“Erik!” the man exclaims, scandalized, and glares at him. “Don’t be such a yahoo.”

He delicately lifts Emma’s hand and draws it close to his lips.

He blinks on his blue, blue eyes and looks at her from below, and Emma feels her face redden. “Miss, I apologize for his behavior. He’s usually well-mannered.”

“Charles, you are making me sound like your corgi.”

“Nonsense, dear,” Charles answers, and winks at Emma. “You would at least be a Doberman.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Emma feels scrambled.

Lehnsherr doesn’t smile dreamily, doesn’t get teased and laughs it off. He glares and scoffs and frowns and scares people away. Who is this Charles, and what power does he have?

“You’re gaping, Frost,” Lehnsherr says icily. “Is something the matter?”

He moves closer to Charles and puts his left hand on his shoulder to squeeze it lightly, in an obviously protective stance. His wedding ring shines proudly against the dark fabric.

Charles tilts his head and briefly strokes his cheeks against Lehnsherr’s fingers, equally obviously calming.

“You can’t blame me for being surprised,” Emma shoots back. “He’s too nice for you.”

Lehnsherr sharpens his eyes and assays her, then nods once, imperceptibly.

“Now, now,” Charles intervenes, tone pacifying. “Erik is the best man I’ve ever met, and the best boyfriend I have ever had!”

Lehnsherr looks down at him. “I’m the only boyfriend you’ve ever had, Charles.”

“Well, I’m sure you would have been the best, anyway.”

Something inside of Emma is melting, but she finally remembers that she has a job to do. “High-school sweethearts?”

“No,” Lehnsherr answers, and tightens his lips to show how unwilling he’s to share more on the subject.

“More like childhood sweethearts,” Charles adds. Then smirks. “Erik proposed when he was ten. We had met the previous week.”

Lehnsherr blushes, actually blushes. “You accepted,” he grumbles.

“How could I not? The first time we met, you saved Cerebro. You were my knight in shining armor.”

“Cerebro?” Emma asks.

“His cat. That dunce was stuck in a tree.”

“How can you call him that, you were inseparable!”

“He was silly!”

“He was curious!”

Lehnsherr huffs “A ridiculous cat for a ridiculous man, Xavier.”

Emma chokes on her breath. “Xavier? Xavier of the Xavier Corporations?”Charles Xavier smiles bashfully, and Emma considers it a confirmation. “I’m just a professor, really…”“A university professor,” Lehnsherr corrects. “Yes, but…”“You have been called ‘a prodigy’, If I recall correctly.”“Erik,” Charles mutters, reprimanding. He straightens his tie and clears his throat. Emma looks from one man to the other, blinking. “You’ve just become the hottest couple in the whole city, I hope you know that.” She considers for a moment, then adds. “In every sense.”

#cherik #cherik fic #you asked #erik lehnsherr #charles xavier #actor!erik #emma frost #logan howlett #my fic

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freddiesaysalright · 5 years

Text

Peace Like a River Part 6

A Gwilym Lee x Reader Story

Summary: Reader is a stand up comic with a pretty dark past. She has a three new lights in her life: her daughter, Violet; her anonymous correspondent, Dear Friend; and Gwilym Lee.

Word Count: 3.7K

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @simmisblog, @assembledherethevolunteers, @lookuptotheskiesandsee, @readinghorn, @riddikuluslypotter, @doingalrightt, @misslolasworld, @lemurian-starship, @ravenedges-lies, @painkiller80, @imgonnabeyourslave, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @ixchel-9275, @sincerelygmg If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: The dramaaaaaa! Also a little warning for this chapter! Mentions of abuse and sexual assault please take care loves :)

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V

Part 6 here we go!!!

You answered the letter promptly. You assured him it was fine and said something rather vague about meeting up again sometime. It was a relief to have things back to normal. Well, normal for you. The letters were mostly the same. Plus, you and Gwilym were maintaining a relationship that made you incredibly happy. When your tour lined up with his, you always met up and did something. Whether it was dinner, taking Violet to the park, or just grabbing a quick cup of coffee between interviews.

Violet absolutely adored Gwilym. You were sure the feeling was mutual, as he indulged her every whim. He played any game she wanted, and did whatever she said. It was very sweet. You assured him that he didn’t have to - he could tell her no, but he only gave you an astonished look and continued to follow her orders.

One night, you were getting ready to go out to dinner and Gwilym was waiting for you in your room. You were putting the last touches on your makeup and he was entertaining Violet. You heard her shrieking with laughter and giggling wildly. Gwilym was laughing too and you wondered what they could possibly be doing to make all this noise.

You poked your head out and nearly snorted. Gwil was sitting on the floor at the end of the bed. Violet charged at him, grinning as she hurtled across the room. When she reached him, he took hold of her sides before launching her up in the air, over his head, and she landed with a squeal of joy on the bed behind him. She scrambled off the bed and came around to face him once more.

“Again, again!” she cried.

Her face was red from laughing and her hair was a mess from rolling around on the comforter.

“Alright, lovie, come on then,” he encouraged.

She ran. Up and over she went, with a scream of delight. This time, she lay on the bed a moment to catch her breath. You took this opportunity to end the game. You emerged from the bathroom as you put earrings in.

“Alright, Vi, that’s enough,” you said.

She rolled onto her knees and pouted at you. “But Mommy!”

“Not buts,” you returned. “You stay with Stacy and be a good girl for her.”

“But - but all she does is text her boyfriend!” she complained.

Stacy looked at you like a deer in headlights. You laughed.

“Relax, Stace, you can have a boyfriend,” you said. “Although, I didn’t even know you were dating!”

She chuckled. “It’s no big deal, really.”

“Well, I wanna know more, but we have a reservation,” you said, turning to Gwil. “You ready to go?”

He glanced between you and Violet, who’s lower lip was quivering. He looked conflicted and guilty. An amused smirk claimed your lips as you eyed him.

“Oh, you are such a sucker,” you teased.

“She looks so sad!” he returned.

“She’s faking it!” you shot back.

“Ahhhh!” Violet cried, running over and latching herself onto Gwilym’s leg.

She let out a soft moan and sniffle. You rolled your eyes. Gwilym looked at you and disbelief before lifting your daughter into his arms and hugging her close.

“Oh, you poor dear,” he cooed. “What a mean mummy you have!”

Your mouth fell open. “What?!”

“She’s so cruel to you,” he continued, ignoring you.

Violet nodded in agreement and you groaned.

“Alright, enough ganging up on Mommy,” you said. “Violet, Mister Gwilym will come and see you another time soon, okay? But we’re going to dinner and you’re staying with Stacy.”

“But -”

You cut her off. “No, ma’am. No arguments or you’re going to bed without dessert.”

She whimpered and buried her face in Gwilym’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said gently. “But what Mummy says goes. And she’s right, I’ll come see you again soon.”

He carried her over to the bed and tried to set her down, but she clung to his neck.

“Violet!” you warned, shooting her a sharp look.

With another whine, she let go and shoved her face in the pillows. You heard her release a fake sob, and Gwilym shot you a horrified look. You shook your head.

“You’re a monster,” he whispered to you.

“She’s faking,” you repeated. “Look.”

You both turned eyes on your daughter and saw she had stopped “crying” and was peeking out from the pillows. When she saw you were watching she turned back and started the ruse again.

“You see?” you said, raising an eyebrow at him.

He chuckled. “Fine. But how do you know the difference?”

“Believe me, you know a real cry when you hear it,” you told him.

You both bid Stacy goodnight, and said goodbye to Violet, who ignored you. When you stepped out into the hall, Gwilym stopped you before you could continue toward the elevator. You furrowed your brow as you looked at him.

“You look beautiful,” he said simply.

You beamed. “Thank you.”

You walked together, hand in hand, to the restaurant. It was an upscale place (or you would have probably just taken Violet along) with a large wine menu and a bit of a romantic atmosphere. It really felt natural, like you were on a date with your boyfriend of many years. Yet, there was still a barrier. That fear of not being enough for him. And his ignorance about your correspondence.

You ordered and sipped your wine. You looked curiously at Gwilym.

“So, how are things with Dear Friend?” you asked, knowing the answer.

“Just fine,” he said assuredly. “I’m thinking of inviting her to London for Christmas.”

“That’s romantic,” you returned, trying to sound casual. You weren’t sure you’d be ready to reveal yourself by then.

“I thought so too,” he said with a smirk. “So, how are you planning on spending your holidays now that you’ve cut your family off?”

You shrugged. “I actually usually only went for Thanksgiving. Christmas is a day Violet and I spend together, just the two of us.”

“Well, perhaps you could come to London too,” he suggested. “I’d love to see you and I think you and Dear Friend would get along. You’re so alike.”

“You think so?” you asked, genuinely surprised. You felt like a completely different woman when you wrote to him as Dear Friend.

“Yes,” he said. “She’s not quite as funny as you, but you have similar opinions on things and the same values.”

“Interesting,” you said. “Although, I’m relieved to know that I'm the funniest person in your life.”

He chuckled. “Naturally. All the more reason to come to London. You can keep her amused when my wit fails me.”

“I’ll think about it,” you said.

It was an interesting idea. And you’d love to spend Christmas with Gwilym. Just the thought of it warmed you from the inside out. But, there was still the matter of Dear Friend.

Suddenly, he frowned at you. “What’s that?”

He pointed to a dark spot on your collar bone which you were normally careful to cover with clothes or makeup. Somehow, you’d forgotten. Instinctively, you moved to cover it with your hand.

“Nothing,” you lied.

“That embarrassing is it?” he joked.

“In a way, it is,” you said seriously.

He looked at you with understanding. “Henry?”

You nodded. Several jokes popped into your head that would get you out of this conversation were you in the company of literally anyone else. But you didn’t have to protect yourself from Gwilym.

“He burned me,” you said. “With a cigarette.”

“Jesus…” he breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

“That was the night Violet was conceived actually,” you went on, unsure why you were sharing this detail.

Outside of lying about his sexual prowess to Helen at the gala, you and Gwilym had not discussed anything regarding sex.

“Why did you -”

“I didn’t want to sleep with him,” you said, answering his question before he could finish. “But I was afraid if I didn’t, it would only be worse for me.”

“Can I ask you something deeply personal?” he wondered.

You met his gaze and nodded.

“Why did you wait so long to leave him?” he asked. “You were married to him for years. What finally pushed you to go?”

You took a deep breath. You hadn’t told this story to anyone.

“After a particularly brutal night, I ended up in the hospital,” you began. “A nurse came in and told me I was pregnant. She asked me point blank if I was being abused. I thought about my baby and what I wanted for her and I broke down. I told her what Henry had done to me. I told her I wanted out. So she helped me.”

Gwilym looked at his plate and inhaled deeply, pushing down what you recognized quickly to be a flash of anger that crossed his face.

“Can I ask you another?”

You nodded.

“Why is he not behind bars?” he asked. “If he was that bad…”

He didn’t need to say it. You cleared your throat.

“I made a deal with him,” you explained. “If he would give me the divorce and sign away his rights to Violet, then I wouldn’t press charges. And he could never contact me or my daughter again. He didn’t want to lose his job or go to jail, so he agreed.”

“And he’s stayed away?”

“So far,” you said. “He tried to call me a few times the first year, but gave up pretty quick. I changed my name back to my maiden name and moved across the country. I wanted it to be clear there was no chance of reconciling.”

“You are incredible,” he said. “Really.”

“I did what I had to do for Violet,” you said.

“One more question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why didn’t you do it for you?”

You knew the answer but you didn’t want to say it. It was a shitty, awful thing that you still wrestled with and was the cause of so much, including your hesitation with giving yourself to Gwilym.

“He made me believe I wasn’t worth it,” you said, swallowing a fresh lump in your throat. “I still...I still don’t know if I am. But I know my daughter is and all I can do is protect her.”

“You are worth it,” he said. “I know so.”

His eyes were genuine and soft. You were struck once again with overwhelming gratitude that Gwilym never looked at you with pity. His eyes and gentle smile were so sweet you almost believed him. You considered blurting out the truth now, just so you could tell him you loved him and kiss him hard.

But you didn’t.

“Thank you, Gwilym,” you said, holding back from another snappy retort that would have effectively evaded this emotion you were facing head on. But it wasn’t quite as scary with your best friend at your side.

“Do you believe me when I say that?” he questioned.

You took his hand. “I’m starting to.”

In one of the sweetest gestures anyone had ever shown you, he brought your fingers to his lips and kissed them. It was light, but friendly and warm. It made you feel like you were in a Jane Austen novel or something. It made you feel like Dear Friend.

The rest of the evening was spent in happier spirits. In fact, you laughed a lot. You found that it was true what Violet said - when Gwilym was around, you were usually smiling. Although, getting vulnerable with him was becoming second nature to you now. You knew that you had to open yourself up and let him in if you were ever going to get to a place where you could be loved by him.

He walked you home and all the way up to your door. You paused outside. You faced him, a dopey smile plastered on your face. You wanted to blame the wine, but you knew it was the company.

“Thank you for yet another great evening,” you said.

“It’s my pleasure,” he returned, cupping your face in his hand. “Thank you for opening up to me. It makes me feel close to you when I understand you better.”

You placed your hand atop his. “I feel cared for when you listen.”

He gazed at you. You were certain his blue eyed stare could stop your heart and melt icebergs. It was that warm and deep. You thought for a moment, he might kiss you. Part of you hoped that he did. Another, stronger part of you knew he shouldn’t. It seemed he felt the same way because after a few moments, he pulled away. He kissed your forehead instead.

“Good night, Y/N,” he whispered.

“Good night,” you replied.

With one last smile, he left. You watched him disappear down the hall and sighed. You wanted him so badly it physically pained you. But each time you thought you could confess to him, your Henry shaped roadbock got in the way.

Shaking your head, you unlocked your hotel room door and crept inside. Stacy and Violet were asleep. You walked around to Stacy’s side and gently shook her shoulder.

“Stace,” you whispered. “I’m home. You can go back to your room now.”

“Okay,” she yawned. “Did you have a good time?”

“A wonderful time,” you assured her. “But I’ll catch you up tomorrow.”

“Alrighty,” she agreed.

She carefully rolled out of bed and bid you goodnight before sneaking out. You went to the bathroom to take off your makeup and brush your teeth. As you did, you thought about Gwilym. He seemed to only get more perfect the more time you spent with him. It should have made you feel worse, but oddly, your confidence was growing. You felt like you could be raw and real, without following up with humor just to hide away. You were feeling healthy.

You changed into your pajamas and crawled into bed beside your daughter, who stirred and just barely opened her eyes to look at you.

“Sorry, baby,” you said. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Did you have fun, Mommy?” she asked sleepily.

You smiled. “So much fun. But we missed you so much.”

She giggled. “Really?”

“Really,” you assured her. “We said ‘You know who would make this night soooo much fun? Violet.’”

“I missed you too,” she replied. “I don’t really think I have a mean Mommy.”

You pulled her close with a laugh. “I’m glad to hear it, sweetie.” You kissed her head and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Would you like to go to London sometime?”

She yawned again. “London? Where the bridge is falling down?”

“That’s the one,” you said, chuckling.

“Are you coming too?” she wondered.

“Of course,” you said. “And Mister Gwilym would be there.”

“Yes!” she gasped.

“You really like him, don’t you?” you teased.

She nodded. “Don’t you like him, Mommy?”

You poked her nose to make her laugh. “Very much.”

She snuggled closer to you and you wrapped her up in your arms. After telling Gwilym what you’d gone through for her...you felt extra affectionate towards her and wanted to hold your little girl all night. You didn’t need a father for her. You were a family all on your own. But you couldn’t help but feel it would be nice if Gwilym was there too.

The next morning, you woke to an unfamiliar ringtone. And when you rolled over to grab the phone it was coming from, you realized two things: Stacy had left her phone in your room and that it was about four in the morning. The call must have been from her boyfriend since there was just and H with a heart beside it as the contact. It annoyed you for her that he felt a need to call at this hour, but you weren’t one to judge. You swiped to answer it so you could tell him you just had to walk the phone over to her.

“He-”

“You don’t know how to answer a goddamn text?” demanded the voice on the other end.

His voice completely froze you. The accent, the tone, the aggression in it. It was unmistakable. Especially to you.

“Henry?!” you gasped.

He paused. You could feel the tension through the phone. Fear gripped you with iron hands.

“Y/N?” he questioned. “The fuck are you doing answering Stacy’s phone?”

“The fuck are you doing calling Stacy’s phone?” you shot back.

“Don’t be like this, just bring her the phone,” he said irritably.

You got up, grabbed your hotel key, and walked out of the room so you wouldn’t wake Violet. When the door closed, you took a deep breath to try and calm yourself.

“What the fuck are you doing calling my assistant?” you insisted.

“She’s my girlfriend,” he said as if it were obvious. As if it were something that was even somewhat okay. “I don’t see how it’s any of your busin-”

You hung up. Trying to gather yourself as you stepped over to the next room over, you took another deep breath. You were feeling so intensely...something. Rage. Hurt. Shock. Terror. All of them at once. Your whole body was trembling with what you had to do. With no other outlet for the emotions, you took two fists and pounded on Stacy’s door.

“Wake up!” you shouted. “Wake up! Wakeupwakeupwakeup!”

She finally yanked the door open, frantic. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

You glared at her, absolutely livid that she had the audacity to be your friend and care for your child, all while having an affair with your ex husband. The man who had abused you, tortured you, and still affected nearly everything you did. And she knew about all of it. You had confided in her. Not as much as you had confided in Gwilym but she knew enough to know that this was wrong.

“We need to talk,” you said, unsure how you weren’t just shrieking at her and throwing her across the room. But you were not Henry.

“O-okay,” she replied nervously, opening the door wider to allow you inside.

When she closed it behind you, you whipped around to face her.

“How long, Stacy?”

“How long what?” she returned, and you could see she was genuinely confused.

“How long have you been fucking my ex-husband?”

The color drained from her face as you glowered at her.

“Wh - how did you - I didn’t - I’m so sorry!” she cried, her eyes welling up with tears.

“I found out because he called you a minute ago,” you snapped. “He told me you’re his girlfriend!”

“Y/N, I know it’s hard to understand, but -”

“Oh, no, I understand,” you cut her off. “He may seem charming and sweet now, but just wait a few years. All that goes away and he’s the abusive piece of shit that I told you he is!”

“He’s different now!” she cried. “He’s changed!”

“That’s a story I’ve heard before!” you returned. “But this isn’t about that. How could you do this to me? You know what I’ve been through with him! And you brought him to Boston, didn’t you?”

“I - I’m sorr-”

“Didn’t you?!”

“Yes!” she cried.

“How dare you!” you yelled. “You brought that man within feet of me! And my daughter! You put both of us at risk!”

“He’s changed, Y/N, really!” she tried again.

“I promise you he hasn’t,” you returned. “Did it ever once occur to you that he was using you to get to me?! Did you use your fucking brain?!”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. You didn’t feel the least bit sorry for her.

“Please, let me explain,” she begged.

You crossed your arms over your chest and looked expectantly at her. “Fine. Explain, then.”

“We met through Facebook,” she said. “It started off casual, but he wanted to be more than friends. I didn’t even know he was your ex.”

“Okay, and?”

“We started talking and it got flirty, and then we exchanged phone numbers,” she went on. “I met him in New York when I had a few days off and we decided to become exclusive. It was then that I found out he was your ex.”

“And so you decided that was okay?” you snapped.

“No!” she insisted. “I talked about it with him. He said he had gone to therapy and anger management was working on himself. He just asked that I give him a chance.”

“And you believed him?”

“Well...yeah.”

“You have your job on your Facebook profile, right?” you asked.

Her eyes went wide. “I...yes, I do.”

You shook your head. “That’s what I thought.”

“You think he only reached out because I-”

“Yeah, Stacy, that’s exactly what I think,” you snapped. “No, I know that’s why he reached out to you. What other reason would he have?”

“He said he thought I was beautiful…” she said quietly.

“There are thousands of beautiful women in New York City,” you said. “Why the fuck would he reach out to a random woman living in Los Angeles who also just happens to work for his ex-wife?”

Her bottom lip trembled. “But -”

“You’re fired,” you said simply.

“What?!”

“YOU’RE FIRED!” you screamed and hurled her phone across the room.

With that, you stormed out. You heard her crying as the door closed behind you. Tears stung your own eyes as well, and you couldn’t be sure why. There was so much swirling around inside you. You hurried back into your own room. Violet still slept soundly and a pang of fresh fury went through you. Stacy had brought Henry so close - so fucking close - to her. Your precious girl. You snatched your own phone from the nightstand and went into the bathroom. With shaky hands, you dialed Gwilym. You needed him. Now more than ever.

It rang a few times and for a terrifying moment, you feared he wouldn’t answer. It was ridiculously early, after all. But then, you heard a soft click.

“Y/N?”

His caring voice on the other end of the line made you weak. You opened your mouth to respond but only managed to sob into the speaker.

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