#effort gratitude smiles
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♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧ 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮'𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱'𝘀 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 ♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧
: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mdni 𖥔 sukuna is a mafia kingpin 𖥔 teasing grumpy x sunshine 𖥔 pregnancy trope 𖥔 he'll burn the world for you 𖥔 "my wife" 𖥔 he's a great dad 𖥔 mentions of miscarriage 𖥔 mentions of physical and sexual assault 𖥔 mention of parental death 𖥔 major fluff 𖥔 sexual content 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 he loves eating you out 𖥔 anal play (yup.) 𖥔 last warning: mdni!
: ̗̀➛ words: 6.0k
: ̗̀➛ notes: no bc i love you all so much. it's insane how much you guys have supported my toji fanfic & and my nanami fanfic. i'll def be writing a part two to both of those masterpieces (yes i have self-confidence). as someone who's always imagined sukuna as a mafia leader, i decided to say fuck it and write it. please leave a comment, like, and reblog! thank you & ily. enjoy! (p.s. pregnancy trope>>>)
You never thought you'd be married to Sukuna Ryomen, let alone carrying his kid again. Yet, four years deep into this forced marital mess, thanks to your father owing a hefty debt to the kingpin of the underworld crime syndicate, here you were.
“Look at you, Mrs. Ryomen, radiant as ever!” chirped one of your husband’s associate's wives. You had studied a name list last night, but it all escaped your memory after you passed out from sheer exhaustion.
Sukuna wasn’t keeping a hawk's eye on you like he used to when you first stepped into the public eye. Gone were the days of his glares if you messed up a name. Never once had he laid a finger on you at home, despite your assumption that forgetfulness would earn you a beating.
“Thank you." You forced a smile at the woman, your patience waning as the mayor's birthday party stretched on. It was almost the end of the night, and your feet were protesting from traipsing around in flats. All you craved at that moment was your bed, pronto.
The woman and her husband attempted to capture Sukuna's lukewarm attention through political discussions and expressing gratitude for the illegal artillery shipments from your husband's syndicate. They made no effort to acknowledge your existence by his side.
Your hand rested on your belly, a mere eight months into your pregnancy—a new personal record. The first time you conceived, Sukuna demanded an heir, and you willingly agreed, knowing that the child would provide some distraction in the expansive estate that felt like a cage. Unfortunately, at the two-month mark, you experienced a miscarriage.
Feeling Sukuna's knuckles lightly tapping your back, you straightened your posture momentarily, only to slouch again almost instantly. It was futile. The discomfort of your swollen and cramped belly made it nearly impossible to maintain a poised demeanor in the midst of the party.
Disobeying Sukuna meant facing inevitable death, a fact well understood in his dangerous domain, and you had never dared to challenge that.
"Let's go," Sukuna said, cutting through the incessant chatter of the couple. He didn't grasp your hand, only your fragile wrist, a gesture you didn't mind. Yours was not a typical love; he, Sukuna Ryomen, a most feared monster in the criminal underworld, and you, a sacrificial lamb, a trophy collected three years ago, a means to his heir.
"I'm sorry," you whispered as you exited the venue, heading towards the limousine surrounded by fifteen armed guards under Sukuna's command. "I'm so sorry—"
"Get in the car." He held the door open for you, signaling his guards to disperse and take their positions in the Jeeps parked behind.
Silencing yourself, you cautiously settled into the back seat, and Sukuna joined you, slamming the door with force. His anger was discernible, and the memory of that night, losing your second unborn child to a kidnapping, plagued your dreams. You were uncertain if the nightmares were about Sukuna's wrath upon finding you or the horrors his enemies inflicted on you during your 48-hour captivity.
Sukuna noticed your struggle with the seatbelt and contorted his body toward you. Your fingers released their grip on the belt, allowing him to pull it taut and secure it snugly around your midsection. Click. He withdrew, distancing himself from your face that had been mere inches away.
“Tedious fucking party, anyway,” Sukuna grumbled, his left ankle casually perched on his right kneecap. He always adopted a specific posture, his elbow leaning against something, cheek resting on his knuckles, and his narrow eyes a rich brown that could almost pass for a deep shade of red. He exuded an unrelenting air of intimidation.
"I agree," you unintentionally voiced your thoughts, earning a sidelong glance from him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
His attention barely lingered on you as the car roared to life. You breathed a sigh of relief, stretching out your legs and leaning your head back against the seat's shoulder. Your palm absentmindedly traced circles on your belly. Goosebumps peppered your skin from the frigidness in the car, stirring an involuntary shudder.
"Turn on the heater," Sukuna ordered the driver in his smooth, languid baritone.
"Yes, sir."
As warmth gradually surrounded the backseat, you hummed a small "Thank you" and closed your eyes, enjoying a few moments of peace.
Disorientation clouded your senses, and you dispelled it by rubbing your eyes and using your knuckles to prop yourself against the headboard. A couple of contractions ripped through your gut, causing you to groan and hiss through gritted teeth.
The enormous room was devoid of Sukuna, its black silk sheets hinting at the luxury covering you. The fireplace casted a warm glow, and a soft, dim golden light spilled from the lamp onto the floor.
In the first year of your marriage and pregnancy, your bedroom was located three doors away. You were tended to by on-site nurses and doctors, surrounded by an entourage of maids for company. Days were spent aimlessly wandering the estate, occasionally crossing paths with one of Sukuna's mistresses, their curious smirks evident as they exited his room.
The second year brought a subtle shift. You still slept alone, but now there was a surprising addition of joining Sukuna for dinner. Positioned diagonally from him, an air of restrained silence hung above your head. Yet, between the utensils clattering and quiet chewing, Sukuna's glances toward you and your five-month-old belly revealed your anticipation for the impending arrival of your child.
One of your maids had been instructed to lure you into a private conversation in the back garden, and before you could react, a group of men clad in black drugged you and forcibly removed you from the cage, which in that cruel moment felt like a sanctuary.
Most details of the monstrosities forced upon you in that warehouse have been compressed by your mind—the merciless physical and sexual assault endured for hours. They callously bragged that raping Sukuna's Ryomen's wife was a personal victory, cackling like bloodthirsty hyenas as you bled from your legs. In the thick of your suffering, you lost your second child in a pool of your own sweat and feces.
When Sukuna discovered you, when he annihilated every man along with their bloodlines, you were left as a mere shell of a woman, practically lifeless. You've existed as a walking corpse for quite some time now. Following that dreadful night, you attempted every conceivable means to end your own life—drowning, leaping out of windows, creating a makeshift noose from bed sheets and tying them around balcony railings, teetering on the edge—but every attempt proved useless. Sukuna consistently interfered at the last minute, sweeping in and enveloping you in his arms as you wept until unconsciousness claimed you for days.
Therapy provided some relief, as did the medications. Sukuna heightened security measures tenfold, keeping only those workers who served during his father and grandfather's reigns. He moved your belongings into his bedroom, sleeping by your side with a gun beneath his pillow. There were times when you would doze off in the library while reading, only to wake up in his room.
Two years seemed like an eternity in the slow process of healing, both physically and mentally, from the torment that had befallen you. Stepping into the garden was a reminder of the progress you had made, yet the hope that blossomed in your womb now filled you with a different kind of fear.
You needed your baby. Even if it meant risking your own life during childbirth. The only thing that mattered was the precious life you carried within you, and as long as your baby took that first breath, you'd welcome death with open arms.
Sukuna's bedroom door creaked open, revealing his presence.
Mink-colored tendrils of hair obscured his eyes, disheveled from their usual spiked stance. The stark white of his dress shirt was marred by the unmistakable stains of someone else's blood, and a gun dangled casually from his grasp. In the subdued lighting, his facial markings, inked tattoos designed to mask the scars of his tormented childhood, appeared more ominous than ever.
Without acknowledging your ogling, he briskly entered his bathroom.
You slipped back under the covers, pulling the comforter up to your chin, soothing the sharp twinges in your belly. The rhythmic sounds of his shower served as a background melody. Sukuna took an eternity to freshen up, nearly two hours passing before the door finally creaked open. You had kept a close eye on it, lost in your own world and trying to ignore the persistent contractions. No complaints, though – you were at the eight-month mark, and this baby was determined to make its entrance into the world.
Draped in a sleek black silk robe, Sukuna strolled toward his side of the bed, his eyes locking onto yours. "Why are you still awake?" He tilted his head as if studying an unfamiliar creature. He always regarded you with a curious interest, unearthing some new revelations about you.
"Cramps," you whispered in the dimness, even though the first rays of morning sun began to seep through the curtains.
Sukuna strolled to his side of the bed, lifting the comforter to settle down. "Do you take any medication for it?"
You shook your head. "I don't want to take any risks."
"So you're just going to endure the night with a migraine?"
Your husband seemed oblivious to the concept of cramps. He hadn't bothered to educate himself about your pregnancy or even familiarize himself with basic menstrual cycle terminology. You hesitated to bring attention to his title and position, but he was, after all, born from a woman.
How could he not know?
"Answer me," Sukuna demanded, fixing you with a cold, indifferent gaze. How could two simple words carry such a heavy, intimidating weight? Your entire body shuddered, and you swore you felt your child kick in response to his attitude, causing you to clench your teeth.
"Cramps . . . are something women experience during their period and pregnancy. They're sharp, unpredictable pains in your gut and back," you explained, finding a position that eased the cramps and calmed your baby. "It's worse when you're pregnant—like someone attached a taser to your body without a switch to turn it off."
Sukuna's brow furrowed, and he seemed pissed off as if he held a vendetta against cramps. "Will it have any consequence on the baby?"
You were really trying to be patient. “The baby is the reason why.”
He ran his hands wearily down his face, casting a stern gaze at the ceiling, his breath quickening. "Is there any way to relieve the pain? Besides medication?"
“Well,” you said slowly, “when I first started menstruating, my mother used to place a warm rubber bottle on my stomach.” The recollection of nights spent groaning, tossing, and turning with your hand clutching your stomach brought a smile. After her passing in high school, you found yourself managing the household, dealing with your drug-addicted father, and taking care of yourself all on your own.
"Come here."
Startled, you shifted your focus to your husband, who raised the comforter like a makeshift tent with one arm. "You don't have to—"
"Come here."
With caution, you edged closer, lying flat and holding your breath. Sukuna propped himself up on one elbow, resting his temple on his knuckles while adjusting the blanket up to your neck. His left hand glided up your sweater and settled on your swollen belly.
An immediate sense of relaxation cocooned you, your eyes closing as warmth radiated from his palm onto your skin. The sensation passed through to your child, who quit kicking within seconds, seemingly recognizing their father's touch. It dawned on you that Sukuna hadn't touched you since you conceived, and you hadn't realized the volume of your misery and longing until this moment.
"Feeling better?"
"Mm-hmm." You nestled your face close to his neck. All you managed to whisper, your voice tinged with brokenness, was, "Please, don't let go."
Sukuna responded only with silence.
You'd woken up screaming bloody-mary.
The security team and maids hurried into the bedroom, their eyes widening at the sight of blood staining your clothes and darkening the black sheets. In a swift response, the doctor and her team of nurses rushed in while Uraume, Sukuna's trusted aide, calmly called for your husband from a corner of the room.
In the heat of your excruciating screams, five nurses attempted to guide your breathing and encourage you to follow a pattern. Guards carefully lifted you into a sitting position, and Uraume decisively cleared the room of all men. The doctor swiftly removed your sweatpants and panties, covering your lower region with a sheet, and instructing you to push.
Your body felt numb, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and a black vignette closing in on your vision. Your head swayed left and right, on the verge of dropping if not for Uraume's unwavering support. Despite the intensity of your grip, they held steady, their only reaction being a stream of muttered curses amid the chaotic scene.
"I can't—Uraume—"
"You will, Mrs. Sukuna. You have come this far. Giving up now is not an option."
"I don't want to die," you whispered akin to a prayer.
"You won't," they softly replied. "He won't allow it."
Uraume, a silent figure from the past, now stood by your side, offering support and encouragement. The connection with them had been minimal, limited to the formalities of a marital contract signing. They had simply muttered, “He’s not half as evil as they say,” to you before packing up the papers and leaving you in the room with Sukuna.
The room buzzed with affirmations, reassuring you that they could see the baby's head and urging you to push with each breath.
The sound of the baby's cries stirred you awake.
You snapped to attention at the sweet, reassuring sound, realizing that your baby was close to arrival—alive and ready to face the world. Following two heartbreaking miscarriages and the pain endured as Sukuna's wife, the bearer of his lost children, you were finally on the cusp of welcoming motherhood.
"Two more pushes!" The doctor's voice cut through the air.
"AGH!" A guttural growl escaped your throat as you grappled with the harsh sensations. Your body trembled, and waves of fiery discomfort overflowed through your core as you exerted yourself to bring your baby into the world.
"Come on," Uraume whispered. "You can do this, Mrs. Ryomen."
You let out a powerful cry and strained with effort, bringing forth new life. The baby and you were crying at the exact wavelength, competing against who could be louder. The nurses and attendants, familiar faces from your previous pregnancies, clasped their hands in prayer for a safe delivery. Tears of relief streamed down your face as you pushed for your own well-being.
"Blanket!" the doctor urgently called out, prompting a nurse to rush over with a soft cream blanket. "Push!"
With a final, determined push, the weight lifted suddenly.
The slippery sensation of delivering the child and the immediate release of pressure left you slumping against Uraume's shoulder. As they laid you down, the doctor directed the staff to tend to you while the baby's cries filled the air.
The doctor approached through your hazy sight and gently laid your newborn on your chest. Overwhelmed with emotion, you showered your baby with kisses, tears of joy streaming down your face. Your little one was here. They were finally here.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Ryomen," the doctor announced as the cries of your newborn gradually faded into the background. "It's a girl."
You drifted into unconsciousness.
The soft cadence of Sukuna's voice filtered through the foggy boundaries of sleep, causing you to slowly come back to life.
“Why is this brat refusing to sleep?” you heard your husband grumbling.
With a laborious effort, you rubbed your eyes, summoning the strength to lift your head from the comfort of the pillow. The scene unfolded before you—Sukuna, the most feared criminal, pacing at the foot of his bed, cradling your crying newborn daughter in his arms, unsure of how to handle his little foe.
"What do you want? Food? You don’t have any teeth yet, little miscreant."
"Sukuna . . ." you whispered, a gentle plea for attention.
Your husband's gaze snapped in your direction, relief washing over his features as he realized you were conscious. "Thank fuck." Moving swiftly, he approached and took a seat at the edge of the bed.
His brown-reddish eyes lingered on the delicate scene unfolding before him—the intertwining of your index finger with your daughter's tiny, rattling fist. A calming magic seemed to stem from your touch, instantly soothing the cries to soft sniffles.
"Already playing favorites, I see," he remarked with a teasing tone, a wry smile on his lips.
"I have to feed her." Your voice was hoarse from the relentless screaming during the delivery. A series of deadly wheezes followed when you coughed, frightening your baby once more. Her cries started again, blending with the impatient curses of her father.
He gently placed her in the cradle, his strength used to prop you up against the headboard. The room carried the scent of coconut soap, your body freshly washed, the sheets beneath you brand-new. You were also dressed in a new set of panties and a nursing bra.
"Are you sure you have enough nutrients in your body to feed her?" Sukuna asked, holding your baby girl as you unclipped the front left cup. Rather than wasting your breath on a response, you focused on helping your daughter latch onto your nipple.
You winced once she caught it, then melted back as she started drinking. “I’m fine,” you finally answered. “Body . . . hurts.”
"No shit. You pushed an eight-kilo baby out of you." Despite the crude sarcasm in his tone, Sukuna tenderly caressed his knuckles over his daughter's cheek.
"Did you want . . . a girl?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I'm sorry," you mumbled, adjusting your baby onto your lap. "I assumed you'd prefer a boy as an heir."
"I'm not my father," he declared, putting an end to the conversation. "She's got your eyes."
Your daughter gazed up at you with a curiosity remarkably similar to yours. You smiled down at her, grateful she had made it. Grateful that Sukuna wasn't throwing a tantrum over the gender of your child but instead cupping the top of his baby girl's head and brushing his thumb across her forehead.
“You got a name for her?” Sukuna asked.
“Yes, but we can brainstorm if you don’t—”
“You carried the child, you birthed her, you will name her. Whatever it is, I agree.”
Something dead stirred inside your chest. Swallowing hard, you shared the chosen name, "Nobara."
He nodded in approval, and as he pronounced her name, Nobara responded with a wailing cry. "Her tantrums will be the fucking death of me." Sukuna took her into his arms again.
"Support the back of her head and rub her back. She needs to be burped," you advised.
He grunted but followed your instructions. Moments later, a tiny burp from Nobara made you chuckle, earning a slight eye roll and a hint of a smile from him.
"I'll take the next few weeks off to help you recover from the aftermath and the stitches," he announced, rising and walking towards his work desk, where he settled into a large leather chair, cradling your newborn.
You nodded appreciatively, easing yourself down.
"Oh, before I forget," Sukuna mentioned as you settled into bed, "I've arranged a new doctor for you."
“Did you fire the last one?”
“I fired at her, yes.”
Your eyes widened. "What? Why would you—? What?"
He shrugged, cradling the back of your newborn's head. "She suggested an additional stitch for you. Said it would make things 'tighter' down there for me."
Your face flushed. “So . . . you killed her?”
"Yes," he confirmed, his gaze fixed on you with those penetrating eyes, "I don't need a mere doctor questioning whether I'd still enjoy having sex with my wife after she gave birth to our child."
“But . . . you have mistresses. Don’t you?”
He lifted a brow. “I had mistresses up until . . . ”
Up until the kidnapping.
Sukuna never spoke of the crime after he’d saved you. Instead, he expressed his commitment through actions: sleeping beside you, teaching you how to handle a handgun, keeping a protective arm around your waist at social gatherings. Occasionally, you swore you felt him run his fingers through your hair as you slept.
"I wouldn't mind if you did," you admitted, a voice inside contradicting your words. "Given what my body has been through, I would find myself repulsive for pleasure, too. I understand if you feel disgusted."
Sukuna halted the gentle strokes on your daughter's back and straightened up. "What the fuck did you just say?"
An icy shiver ran through you, momentarily numbing the pain. "I-I just assumed—"
"You know, you make a lot of assumptions about me, wife. It gets under my fucking skin that you'd ever believe I could raise a hand on you. Day and night, every hour and minute, even now, in your presence, my mind is consumed with ways to kill the fear that's taken root in you.” He was infuriated yet vulnerable, with Nobara sleeping peacefully on his shoulder. “Everyone I’ve ever met has done nothing but fear me like I’m a curse on their soul, and while I’m flattered of the monster they’ve painted me out to be, I refuse to let my wife and daughter see me in that light. Do I make myself clear?"
You . . . nodded.
“And for your information, I had mistresses up until I married you.”
You took in a sharp breath, processing the confession. "But those women—"
"Spies," he clarified, his voice low and steady. "They operate undercover in my clubs, keeping an eye out for potential threats. I haven't fucked anyone since the day I put that ring on your finger." He offered a small, almost imperceptible apology to your baby for cursing.
"Oh."
All you ever heard were twisted stories about the Sukuna Ryomen, a young man who, against all odds, slaughtered his own father to ascend the throne of the underworld criminal realm. Whispers spoke of a chilling childhood, where a mother's desperate attempt to suffocate her son in his sleep. The scars etched into his skin, concealed beneath a tapestry of dark markings, bore witness to the brutal initiation rites inflicted by vengeful uncles. In his domain, everyone prayed to see him buried six feet under.
Which is why you felt sympathy for your husband. He was lonely. Too lonely. Despite all the riches and influence surrounding him, he was stuck in a fortress where danger lurked around every corner. He had no friends, no one he could truly confide in—except perhaps Uraume. Opening up about his emotions wasn't in his nature. He kept the tough exterior, convinced that being a monster, a curse, was the only path to earning respect and recognition.
But just now, when had cut himself open in front of you and bled a human color, he was Sukuna. Your husband. The one who just became a father. A man wrapped in a comfortable robe with his hair combed down and his skin clean of dirt and blood as he held his daughter, as he gazed at you like you two were the only people meant fighting for in his treacherous world.
Sukuna noticed your silence, tuned in to your steady breaths, and lowered his lashes. "You'll ask me to touch you. Not just for the sake of having another child but for your own pleasure. If I'm not around and you need me, you will call, and I'll rush home. If this little brat gives you any trouble, I'll handle it. Hell, maybe I'll let her in on a bit of the family business for a head start."
"No," you murmured, absorbing everything he'd just said. "Not now. I want her to enjoy a proper childhood."
"Is that a demand?" Sukuna tilted his head slightly, another method of asserting authority. Yet, after all he'd shared about dropping everything for you, about making love to you, the fear in you started to dissolve bit by bit.
"Yes," you affirmed. "It's a demand."
A small smirk played on Sukuna's lips as he rose from his spot, circled the bed, and settled down beside you, with Nobara resting peacefully on his chest. Summoning all your strength, you turned to run your fingers over your baby's soft cheek and tiny, parted lips.
“She sleeps like you, Mr. Ryomen.”
“Sukuna,” he corrected, his arm covering his eyes as he breathed with a slightly open mouth. “My wife will call me Sukuna.”
Teasingly, you asked, “Is that a demand, Sukuna?”
His arm shifted low, and his reddish-brown eyes softened, stealing your breath. “Only from my wife and daughter.”
You smiled, closing your eyes. “Goodnight, Sukuna.”
In response, he wrapped his strong arm around you, pulling you close to his side, his two girls snuggled against his body.
In the beginning, you knew you didn't belong in the hell Sukuna ruled. Your father's mistakes, pilfering drug shipments and peddling them locally, had sealed both his fate and yours. With thoughts of fleeing the disgrace your father brought upon your family, you had started packing, desperate to escape the clutches of your old man.
The following night, Sukuna and his henchmen barged into your cramped apartment, wreaking havoc on every piece of furniture. Rocking in the corner of your room, Sukuna casted his shadow over you like the God of Death, bathed in your father’s blood.
Crouching down to your eye level, he tipped your chin up, leaving a splotch of blood. He used the collar of your sweater to wipe it away. In a hushed confession, you revealed the hidden drugs under the sink and floorboards, along with your father's buyer list folded in the cereal boxes. Sukuna grinned and ordered his underlings to retrieve the concealed items. Then, the chilling question hung in the air: "Are you going to kill me, too?"
"I'm tempted," Sukuna replied, "but not to kill you." His gaze fixated on your left hand, and he raised it, studying your ring finger. "You will pay for your father's crimes with your life." He held your hand in front of your face. "You will take my last name." His smirk widened, revealing perfect teeth. "Isn't that the cruelest form of death, love?"
Unconsciousness claimed you then, but after seven years of marriage, enduring unimaginable hardships, and finally welcoming a baby into the world, your answer was clear. The true torment wasn't caused by the man you once perceived as a monster but rather by his enemies.
"How am I supposed to know if Mr. Munchkin wants more tea? He's a fucking stuffed toy. Can't talk, you know?"
"Sukuna," you warned, perched on the armrest while busy crocheting baby socks for your little one on the way.
Nobara, wielding a rubber, squeaky hammer, stood up from her seat, giving her father a bonk on the head each time he let out a curse. And you often heard the squeak of the hammer around the house.
Nobara's tiara was slightly askew, frustration evident in her curled lips and bared teeth. She was growing increasingly irritated with her father's lack of understanding about the rules of her tea party. "Mr. Munchkin wants tea, Papa. Give him tea! Give him tea! Give him—"
"Fine, I surrender. Here, you little bastard. Take the whole fu—damn pot." He shoved the plastic teapot towards Mr. Munchkin, a well-loved cat stuffed toy you had gifted Nobara on her last birthday. "Happy?"
"Cup," she insisted, pointing at the tea cup in front of Mr. Munchkin.
Sukuna sighed and poured the water from the kettle into the pink plastic cup.
"Me too," Nobara added, settling back in her kiddie chair. Sukuna had barely taken his seat before she had him on the floor. "Hurry!"
"May I pour for the other toys first, Your Highness?"
"Not toys. Friends."
Sukuna shot you a helpless glare, eliciting a chuckle from you. He filled the table with tea, and Nobara, holding her small cup, clinked it with her father's, followed by her collection of stuffed animals. Sukuna reluctantly mimicked the gesture. Instead of sipping the tea, he downed it like a shot.
“Papa!”
“Sukuna, come on.”
There wasn’t any winning with his girls.
Sukuna reluctantly poured himself another cup, sipping it with an air of reluctance that mirrored a princess. Despite his resistance to the make-believe tea party, you couldn't ignore the genuine affection he showed toward his daughter. He would nod attentively when one of the stuffed animals "spoke," laughed along with Nobara, and even beautified himself with a glittering tiara, a feathered pink scarf, and deep purple-painted nails.
Sukuna was, without a doubt, a fantastic father. It came as no surprise that Nobara's first word was 'Brat.'
That night, you kissed your daughter goodnight and tucked her into her bed. Sukuna joked that he’d spent every last bit of his wealth decorating the brat’s room, filling it with the latest toys, and stacking her closet with whatever clothes she laid her finger or eyes on. She was truly the princess of her father’s heart.
"She's asleep," you informed him.
"I'll give her a kiss in a minute. Just need to finish this," Sukuna replied, pouring over his documents.
Letting out a sigh, you shuffled over, rolled back his chair, and settled onto his lap. He continued reading as you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your cheek on his shoulder, peering at him through your lashes.
"I want you," you murmured.
Sukuna paused, lowering his gaze to meet your cheeky smile. "Later."
"It's late."
"I have to finish—" He halted as you began kissing his neck, moving up to his jaw and cheeks, tracing the contours of his face tattoos.
"Please, Sukuna," you whispered near his ear.
How could he refuse you anything when you appeared so stunning, radiating with the joy of expecting another child in your four-month-old belly?
“Take off your robe and get on the bed. Spread your legs for me.” He gave your ass a little smack as you happily skipped away, shedding your clothes and clearing the bed to settle in. With a grin, you opened your legs, propping yourself up on your elbows.
Sukuna stood up from his seat, loosening his robe as he did. He sighed, watching the moisture forming between your legs. Pregnancy seemed to heighten your lusts, and Sukuna was always ready to fulfill your needs.
“What pretty, wet cunt,” he whispered softly, leaning in to kiss your chest, trailing down to your stomach, your hips, your calling clit.
Over the years, you realized Sukuna enjoyed pleasuring you more than the opposite. He feasted on you like a starved man, whether it happened in the back of the limo, in a guest room during a party, or just minutes before a crucial meeting in his office. He insisted it was his way of relaxing, often pleading with you to spend a full hour on his face as he ate you out and drank every drop of your release. It had turned into a daily routine for him. And for you.
“Oh, Sukuna, yes, yes. Right there—ah!” Your back arched off the mattress when his tongue drove into your hole, flicking and exploring your clamping walls. His mouth was latched to your pussy, sucking it in, his cheeks hollowing rapidly. Your fingers tightened in his hair, hips voluntarily grating against his face, his sharp nose rubbing over your swollen clit.
Sukuna drew back as you came down with a muted cry behind your hand and lapped at the flow of your juices pouring out of you. His lips shone as he leaned over and gently kissed you, allowing you to taste yourself from his tongue. “If I don’t fuck you now, I will die.”
“Hurry, then.”
Sukuna pushed himself inside you, and that first wave of pleasure hit you so strongly that you sank your nails in his back and cried out heavenwards. He groaned and grunted, thrusts growing speed, his plump balls smacking against your ass. You loved that he fucked harder, faster, driving you to the brink of ruination.
After you'd healed from Nobara's birth, he would always make sure to get at least ten orgasms from you. From midnight to early morning, he'd fuck you in every possible position. But his favorite was always missionary, where he could have his eyes on you, writhing and whimpering beneath him, telling him it’s too much, he's too thick, all while using your heels to draw him in even closer.
Sukuna curled his arm around your waist and sat you up on his lap, thrusting up into you as you coiled yourself around his neck. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Your cunt was made for me, love. Your cunt was fucking made for me.” His hand threaded to the back of your head, grasping your hair and drawing your face back so you were looking him in the eyes without wavering, without bowing your head. He needed to know you didn’t fear him when he fucked you like this. It was an unspoken check-in, and when you smiled drunkenly, only then did he let you return to embracing him.
“Are you close?” you whispered.
“Not yet. I want to come in your ass.”
You shivered despite how scalding and sweaty your bodies were. “Do it.”
“Yeah?”
You nodded. “Please.”
Sukuna dragged you off his cock so you could get on all-fours, raising your ass up for him. He’s only ever been in your sacred spot a handful of times but never finished himself inside it. It appeared that tonight you were both a little extra spellbound.
Mounting himself behind you, Sukuna unfurled your ass and spit on his fingers, stroking the puckered hole. He gathered the creamy liquid dripping out of your pussy to lubricate the spot. His middle finger stretched you out, followed by his ring fingers, pushing in and out until he knew for sure you were prepared for him.
Sukuna’s steel-hard cock pushed into your tiny hole. The sight of it expanding to swallow his girthy size almost made him come right there and then. He started to move in sluggish movement, grabbing onto your waist. His hips cruised, brushing against your ass, making you impatient and push yourself back.
“Understood.” He chuckled and dug his nails into your skin, dragging out to the tip and shoving himself inside. Your face pressed into your pillows, crying and trembling as he abused your asshole non-stop. “You’re taking me so well, my love. Oh, fuck, fuck.” He rutted into you like a beast, claiming your body, rubbing your clit from the front, spanking your ass, brandishing you over and over again.
You both snapped in unison.
Sukuna sagged over your spine as he bucked in every last bit of his sloppy seed. His lips kissed your shoulder blades, holding you up by one arm. Gently, he pulled out, his cock growing floppy until you flipped onto your back, hair sticking to your sweaty, flushed face, belly slightly swollen, your tits larger in size, his release mingled with yours seeping out from your holes.
“Fuck, I love you,” he whispered, cupping your face like he didn’t just fuck your soul out of you. That smirk you’d come to love appeared on his lips. You reciprocated back, stretching out your arms so he could lean down and kiss you sweetly on the lips and cheeks and toss in a praise or two for what a good girl you were as he slid into you again, slower and more intimate with his game. “I fucking love you, Y/N.”
You smiled against his lips that continuously whispered the three beautiful words and said, “I love you, too, Sukuna,” before sealing it with a long, lasting kiss.
#mamas i’m afraid i ate with this#sukuna ryoumen x reader#sukuna ryomen#sukuna x reader#sukuna imagine#sukuna x female reader#sukuna smut#jujutsu kaisen x female reader#sukuna x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jjk imagines#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk x you#jjk x female reader#ryomen sukuna#sukuna x y/n#zaraswriting
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completed.
EDIT: this has now, as of this edit, reached over 2,000 notes. And I have started doing the things. My life is still far from perfect, but I genuinely do scroll through all the replies and reblogs and watch people get other people to help and reassure me and check on me and it makes me feel so much more loved than i normally do. i'm even going to bed earlier because you said i should. i love all of you so much, and i owe you 2,053 times. all my love, witch.
ORIGINAL POST:
ok here goes. i haven't taken enough care of myself recently. so here we go
if this reaches 100 notes i will start doing yoga again, to help with my anxiety COMPLETE (how you guys are insane)
if this reaches 200 notes i'll start studying more and putting in more effort COMPLETE (o my gosh)
if it reaches 500 i will actually try my best to exercise for the right reasons, instead of random bursts of self-hatred/body hatred COMPLETE (i posted this yesterday evening)
if this reaches 700 notes i will try my absolute best to fix my sleep schedule COMPLETE (ok this is insane)
if this reaches 1000 notes i will be more honest with my therapist COMPLETE (dammit you guys ilysm but this is gonna be hard)
if this reaches 2300 notes i will be more honest with myself about why i am turning to tumblr for this kind of thing and write a poem about it. (this one is a joke since i think 5000 is impossible, and i will write a poem for you guys anyway. i love you) (i’ve now changed this to a more reasonable goal - one really close to what i have now - because honestly i want you guys to succeed because the fact that people are still on this post is insane and it makes me smile.) AND COMPLETE! (i love every person who interacted with this post so much it isn’t even funny. all my gratitude and adoration, witch)
this ends at the beginning of may. you can spam i guess i have 35 followers it prob wont even reach 100. but go ahead, tumblr, do your thing. lol
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I was feeling a little silly :3 (I wrote a whole ass fanfic on Sub! Francis Mosses :|)
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You sighed, the sound of your door unlocking echoing in the vast silence of the hallway. Stepping inside your apartment, you closed the door behind you, before taking off your coat. A breath of relief escaped your throat. Work had been particularly unforgiving today, and you were glad to finally be home and away from it all.
You hung your jacket on the hook that stood on the plain wall before you. You slipped your shoes off your aching feet, a delightful scent wafting your way. You perked up. A smile tugged at your lips. Despite the hardships you faced daily at your bore of a job, you could always count on one thing at the end of the day: your beloved husband, Francis Mosses.
“Darling?” a call resounded from the kitchen, enunciated in that tired, gravelly voice that you had grown to love.
“I’m home! Just give me a second, dear,” your response was short lived, as you heard hurried footsteps in your direction.
Before you could blink, two warm arms had wrapped themselves around you, breaking you away from the real world if only for a couple moments. And just as soon as they had appeared, they were gone. You could feel your beloved husband dutifully remove the rest of your work attire before those same warm hands guided you towards the living room.
“How was work, my love?” a gentle tone graced your hearing, followed by a ginger peck on your cheek.
You let out a tired chuckle, “The same as always,” you sighed, taking a seat on the couch, “John can’t keep his mouth shut and Mary’s always on my trail.”
There’s a droop in Francis’s tone. “That woman from HR?”
You’re too tired to speak so instead you just nod in response, the weight of your day creeping up on you.
“Well, don’t worry about that now, love,” you feel his palm cup your cheek, heat bouncing off his skin and onto your own as he turns your head ever so gently. Your gazes are locked together now; a faint sparkle in Francis’s.
“I made your favorite.” the words are uttered so softly that you would not be able to catch them if you weren’t paying full attention to him. The tenderness of the moment overwhelms you, and you can do nothing but smile at the man that had stolen your heart. He returns the expression whole-heartedly.
You feel his warmth break apart from you abruptly, and your eyes trail after Francis as he heads towards the kitchen. The aroma is much stronger now.
You can’t help but feel a sense of gratitude as you get up to follow him.
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“Hic—wait—not there-mmgf~!” your husband’s eyes roll back into his head for the umpteenth time tonight, a dizzying flush coating his body.
Your hand is wrapped relentlessly around Francis’s cock, erect and leaking uncontrollably. He lets a gasp as your thumb begins to rub over his slit, a keen clawing at his throat. Your touch glides almost painfully slow across his tip, and the poor man doesn’t know whether to buck into your touch or away from it…it’s just too good.
Instead, his hands paw uselessly at your sides. A series of hiccups escape him from all the crying he’s done, and you lap up the sounds like a man in the desert. You absolutely loved how vocal Francis was. He bites down on his bottom lip in an effort to silence his cries, flush coloring his cheeks out of embarrassment. It doesn’t work, of course.
“Ngh! F~uck…why..”
“Why what, darling?” you crooned, relishing in his state, “Use your words.”
Francis’s mind goes blank. A helpless whine leaves his mouth, and a shaky breath exits him when he feels your hand tighten around the base of his ruined cock.
He lets a sob, “Hnng! I can’t stop..leaking! S-shit~” tears begin to wet his face once again, rolling down to frame his features in a way that you never imagined up until now.
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…was that OOC—:0
imagine him falling apart in your lap, his back pressed up against your chest, squirming in your grasp...twitching with whiny moans and drool dripping down the side of his mouth with fat tears in the corners of his eyes. turning back to look you asking if he did a good job ......
AHHHHHH. u did so amazing anon, not ooc at ALL. REAL FRANCIS IS SOOOOO SUB CODED. like he's so inexperienced it hurts and it just makes me wanna UGHHHH.
#francis mosses#francis mosses x reader#sub francis mosses#milkman#that's not my neighbour#you did great!!#love this so much.#ncrescent asks
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After-Action Patch-Up starters
"Hold still, [name], this might sting a bit."
"You're lucky it's just a few scratches. You need to be more careful!"
"Don't be such a baby. It's just a flesh wound."
"I can't believe you jumped into that fray without thinking! What were you trying to prove?"
"Here, let me help. I've had my fair share of battle wounds."
"Ouch! Warn me before you start cleaning those cuts."
"You're a mess. How did you even get into this situation?"
"I never thought I'd see you so vulnerable. It's strange."
"Let's patch you up before anyone else sees you like this."
"You really need to work on your combat skills. I can't keep playing nursemaid."
"I've got the first aid kit. Sit down, and let me take care of those injuries."
"You did well out there, but you're not invincible. Let me help."
"I told you not to charge in without a plan. Now look at you."
"It's nothing serious, just a few cuts and bruises. You'll be fine."
"I can't believe you're complaining about a little pain. You should see what I've been through."
"Hold on, I'll get the antiseptic. This might sting a bit."
"You're surprisingly fragile for someone who fights so fiercely."
"You really know how to ruin a perfectly good day, don't you?"
"I never expected to see you in need of my care. Life is full of surprises."
"I suppose I should thank you for saving me, even if it means playing nurse now."
[CLEANS] The sender takes a cotton swab and gently cleans the dirt and blood from the receiver's wounds.
[BANDAGES] The sender carefully wraps a bandage around the receiver's forearm, securing it to protect the cuts.
[SCOLDS] The sender scolds the receiver, shaking their head as they tend to the injuries.
[REACTS] The receiver winces as the sender applies antiseptic to a particularly nasty cut on their cheek.
[COMFORTS] The sender reassures the receiver, offering comfort while tending to the injuries.
[DISINFECTS] The sender pours antiseptic on a wound, causing the receiver to inhale sharply at the stinging sensation.
[INSPECTS] The sender inspects the wounds, noting any deeper cuts that might need more attention.
[LECTURES] The sender lectures the receiver, advising them to think before acting to avoid future injuries.
[SMILES] Despite scolding, the sender smiles reassuringly, trying to ease the tension in the room.
[COMPLAINS] The receiver complains about the pain, prompting the sender to roll their eyes and continue their work.
[WORRIES] The sender expresses worry, sharing their concern for the receiver's well-being.
[TREATS] The sender skillfully treats each injury, showcasing their competence in basic first aid.
[ADMONISHES] The sender admonishes the receiver, emphasizing the potential severity of the situation.
[ASSESSES] The sender assesses the overall damage, silently noting the toll the fight took on the receiver.
[DISAPPROVES] The sender expresses disapproval, stating that putting oneself in danger is not acceptable.
[ASSURES] The sender assures the receiver, claiming that despite appearances, the injuries will heal quickly.
[HESITATES] The receiver hesitates as the sender reaches for a needle and thread to stitch up a deeper cut.
[SYMPATHIZES] The sender sympathizes with the receiver, acknowledging the pain while praising their efforts.
[SCANS] The sender scans the receiver's body for any hidden injuries, ensuring nothing was overlooked.
[GRATEFUL] The receiver expresses gratitude to the sender for taking care of them amid the discomfort.
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sunshine
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
summary: a love-struck steve cooks you dinner for the first time
warnings: cursing, alcohol, bit of backstory, oversimplified summary, steve's parents kinda suck (when do they not), best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, soft!steve
an: i think this is my favorite thing i’ve ever written. i'm so in love with these two. i hope you all enjoy this one as much as i do. * don’t copy my work * (also pretend there's a big city near hawkins for the sake of this pls)
wc: 6.0k
“Ow!” Steve hissed, nicking his finger yet again as he made his best effort to dice pesky onions. The knife was razor-sharp as it was fresh out of its packaging, having never been used yet. Frustrated, he squeezed the band-aid he'd spent a solid ten minutes looking for, tighter on his finger, earning a harsh sting.
"Goddamned knife," he whispered, tightlipped, but as soon as the complaint left his lips he wished to yank it back in. It was the chef's knife you'd bought him along with many other thoughtful housewarming gifts to celebrate Steve moving into his first apartment. Steve had insisted that you return some of the gifts, noting that "one gift was more than he could ever ask for".
In spite of his pleas, you didn't return a single gift. Of course, you didn't. You had bought items you knew Steve would need but would ultimately forget to buy for himself. Just to name a few, you'd gotten him a trash bin for his bathroom, a record player, and the best utensil set that the rest of your Family Video paycheck could buy.
Peering at the odd assortment of household objects you'd lugged into his barren apartment with a bright smile pulling at the corners of your lips, an expression of gratitude and bewilderment claimed his face. Steve's round, chestnut-brown eyes ogled yours as you ranted and raved, explaining your thought process behind each purchase.
The record player was for nights like these. Peaceful nights indoors, simply enjoying each other's company without the tense presence of his parents who would shout for him to turn that damn music down if he even thought about letting the needle hit the groove of the record.
"Now we can play music as loud and as much as we want to," he remembered you saying, blushing at your use of the word "we". Though you two were only best friends and have been since grade school, Steve couldn't help but fantasize about a life with you. You, drowning in one of his bigger-than-you t-shirts, prancing around the apartment as you listened to some your favorite records.
He'd begun pondering on how he would rearrange the bit of furniture he had, that'd allow for space for your belongings as well, before you lured him out of his thoughts, defending the bin.
From what he gathered, you bought the garbage bin due to his burning inability to keep his bathroom clean. Steve was someone who took great care of his appearance, always well-kempt and attentive to even the smallest of details.
His bathroom did not reflect this, whatsoever. He had a bad habit of harboring empty cans and bottles of Farrah Fawcett spray that littered the already limited counter space he had in his en suite bathroom.
Steve was such a boy when it came to tidiness.
Everyone knew that about Steve, though. What they didn’t know, however, was how skilled he was in a kitchen. After being left to his lonesome whenever his parents would venture off to one of their many business trips, Steve spent his nights learning to cook after his allowance dwindled and he couldn't afford pizza delivery anymore. The second he'd clock in for his shift at Family Video, he'd make a beeline to where you stood, stocking VHS tapes, and instantly began buzzing and bustling about the new recipe he tried the night before.
You had begged him to let you come over one night to taste one of his home-cooked meals, but his response was always the same. "You can't rush perfection, sweets. But I promise, when I'm ready to grace the world with my master chef skills, you'll be the first to know."
You would roll your eyes dramatically at him but admittedly, you felt a sense of pride wash over you whenever Steve would tell you about his cooking endeavors. It may not seem like a big deal to others, but you knew how much his parents being so negligent, so often, bothered him.
Though they were never the most warm and affectionate, there seemed to be a colder chill and heavier sense of loneliness in the house when they were gone. That's why you never denied Steve whenever he'd call late at night asking if it was okay to spend the night at your house.
He always felt at home there.
Steve learning to cook for himself meant that his parents' absence was finally beginning to help him grow; no longer craving validation and tenderness from his family. He got that when he was with you. That's what the utensil set was for. A silent sign saying that though his parents weren't there, you were.
"Don't get me wrong, sunshine, I love the gift, but why's this knife so funny looking?" Steve asked, squinting his eyes at the sharp object that looked like it was from some alien universe. It had three square-like holes infiltrating the blade, and the tip came to an up-turned point that split in two. The handle was the only average looking part about it.
"That, my friend, is a cheese knife," you answered matter-of-factly, gazing at the box that had all of the included utensils neatly labeled.
"They make knives specifically for cheese?"
"Apparently, yeah," you snorted, tossing the empty box off to the side of the room with the other discarded cardboard that you made a mental note to move to the recycling bin on your way out. Steve never recycled. Bad habit he picked up from his parents, you figured.
"Well, I can't wait to use my weird new knife. Thank you. Seriously," Steve smiled softly as he watched you with those big brown eyes that voiced his gratitude and sentiment louder than his words ever could.
"The best weird chef has to have the best weird equipment. You're welcome," you grinned, toying with the loose thread dangling from your distressed band tee, as your eyes collided with Steve’s.
Looking at Steve was hard.
In the midst of quiet and almost intimate moments like these, the nerves bolting through your body screamed at you to look anywhere else, but the greed of your heart yearned for you to keep drinking in the deep chocolate pools that were Steve Harrington's eyes.
The two of you gazed at each other for another second, though it felt identical to a blissful eternity, until Steve furrowed his eyebrows after registering what you'd just uttered. "Did you just call me weird?" He asked, hand on his hip as if he's offended, though he truthfully isn't because he's positive you're infinitely weirder than he is, and he's more than willing to debate with you for hours on that topic.
"Nooo," you sang, quickly turning away to distract yourself with some unpacking that Steve had called you over to help him with, which you happily agreed to. A little extra time with him was time well spent.
"Yeah, okay," he rolled his eyes. He happily tucked away the flashy silverware he'd poached from his parent's kitchen into the darkest corner of the drawer, leaving the less flashy but much more appreciated utensils you bought him, front and center, ready to be shown off.
"Oh those? My best friend got them for me. Aren't they nice? Did you know they make knives for cheese?" He imagined himself saying, hoping he'd get the opportunity to boast about them to his guests some time soon.
Steve smiled to himself at the memory, angling the cutting board that harbored a pile of diced onions that he'd at last conquered, into a bowl, sliding them off with the blade of a knife that was a lot less odd shaped compared to his trusty cheese knife. It didn't even have to be that specific memory. It could've been any imagery of you being the effortlessly sarcastic, intelligent, breath-taking person that you were, and it would be the warm light to inevitably guide him out of whatever dark mood that dared to plague him.
Steve was so helplessly in love with you.
April 14, 1978, he could never forget the day, was particularly dreary. So dreary it made Steve begin to question why the spring time was thought to be such a radiant, pleasant season when all it ever did was bring rain and provoke people with allergies. Steve slammed his blaring alarm off with a groan, never bothering to pry open his tired eyes.
The sky was dark and dreadful, concealing the golden rays of the sun he yearned to see. As he trudged through the house, reluctantly gearing himself up for yet another torturous day of middle school, Steve silently prayed for some unorthodox happenstance that would call for the canceling of school.
But much to his dismay, that wasn't the case.
When the bell pierced through the classroom speakers, alerting the beginning of Steve's favorite class, P.E., he rushed to the locker room, jumping into his gym uniform, as he was determined to continue his unfaltering streak of dodgeball victories.
Steve was in the zone, taking out his opponents left and right as if it was nothing. If dodgeball was an Olympic sport, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he could've won multiple gold medals.
Then you came.
Sauntering into sixth grade gym class, adorning a lengthy, bright yellow dress with your hair done up, looking as anxious as can be. It was your first day at Hawkins Middle and you'd just transferred halfway into the semester, all thanks to your parents decision to move to the small town, leaving New York City and all your friends behind.
Everyone turned their curious heads to peer at you, whispering amongst each other, prompting you to clutch your books tighter to your chest as if to shield yourself. Your soft smile as you looked around at your new classmates instantly made Steve's chest and stomach warm and gooey inside, making him want nothing more than to walk up to you and convince you to be his friend. Steve hated how gossipy his classmates were, as it clearly made you uncomfortable, but he couldn't bring himself to look away either.
The way the illuminous medallion hue complimented your skin tone was nothing short of art. To him, you were the sun personified. The sun he was so eager to see.
Due to your lack of sports attire, Coach Daniels had you sit on the bleachers, watching as the other kids resumed their game of dodgeball after mumbling a "warm" welcome to you, per Coach's request.
Steve lost his first game of dodgeball that day. He just couldn't seem to focus when you were perched just a few feet away, thumbing through your withered book, looking like one of the prettiest girls he'd ever laid his adolescent eyes on. Steve, or the boy with the hella good hair as you dubbed him in your diary later on that night, was too enamored with you to be bothered by the taunts coming from his friends. He jogged over to you, offering to keep you company until fourth period began, which you happily accepted.
And ever since then, the two of you have been as thick as thieves.
"Hawkins PD, open up!" Steve recognized your muffled voice, though you deepened it, to imitate a police officer. Your signature three knocks followed, urging butterflies to erupt throughout his stomach, as he longed to see you. It couldn't have been more than twenty-four hours since the two of you had last seen each other, but even one hour without you was an hour way too long for poor Steve.
"It's open", Steve called, tossing a hand towel over his shoulder, setting the stove ablaze, planting a pot over the flame. Right on time, he thought.
"Hey, Harrington," you smiled as you struggled to enter, cradling two bottles of rosé wine and your purse in your arms, pushing the door open with the help of your hip.
"Hey, sunshine. Lemme get those for ya," Steve offered, stowing your bearings on the counter gently, while you kicked your shoes off, mumbling a "thanks".
A warm amber light casted from the ceiling of the kitchen spilled into the shadowy living room a few feet away, like a neglected can of paint. The only thing that remained un-melted by the darkness was the quiet record player, as if the generous light knew you'd be looking for it the minute you walked in.
"How was your day?" Steve smirked as he watched you rush over to the object he swore was the only reason you liked to come over, sifting through the vinyl's searching for your favorite one. What’s Love Got To Do With It by Tina Turner. Steve spotted it before you did. Absentmindedly, you responded, “Not too shabby, ya know? How was yours?”
“Yeah, it was alright.”
You crouched down to the two tier storage table, running a finger across the spines of the records, searching for your beloved song. It quickly became the song you most adored when you'd bought the tape for your Walkman a few years prior. Your days weren't complete unless you played the song at least twice, so much so that Steve found himself quietly humming the song to himself whenever he'd miss you. He even caught himself doing that dumb little finger dance you normally did whenever you listened to a song you really liked. He'd never tell you that, though.
Much to your dismay, you couldn't seem to spy that sneaky record. You dropped your hand disappointedly, faintly fearsome that it'd been misplaced. Steve's apartment wasn't huge, but it wasn't exactly tidy either. “It’s right there, sweets. To your left.” So you diverted your attention to the left. No Tina Turner. “No, your other left.”
“Here?” you pointed. Steve hummed in confirmation.
“Well, that’s not the left, Steve. That’s the right,” was your response that you punctuated with a roll of your tired eyes. Apart from knowing how to get to Skull Rock with his eyes closed, the boy had zero sense of direction. It was something you found both endearing and infuriating. It depended on the day, really.
“Potato, potahto.” Oh, Steve. Melting butter into the burning pan in front of him that he almost completely forgot about, all thanks to your beautiful presence, he began sautéing his diced onions along with some fresh garlic. "Well, speaking of 'potahtoes' you need to be cooking some, 'cause you promised me dinner tonight," you smiled tight-lipped, cocking your head at an angle.
You felt the unpleasant sensation of your stomach growling, cursing you, at the heavenly thought of food as your shift at Family Video earlier today was unforgiving to your non-existent breakfast. You fumbled with the vinyl a bit as the mouthwatering aroma of home cooking stormed your senses and Steve spoke once more. "Feisty today, aren't we?"
"Just a tad," you laughed quietly.
"Well, I hate to disappoint you but tonight we're not having potatoes. I'm making your favorite," he pointed, shuffling the pan to give it a gentle stir. He made sure to turn to face you in time to see your hopefully delighted reaction. "Alfredo?!" you spun around with a glittering grin, almost knocking over Steve's plant. A fake one, of course. A real plant was a bit too much responsibility for him.
At the nod of his head, your cheesy smile soften to a smaller, less toothy one as you watched Steve while he resumed cooking. What you failed to share with your best friend was that the last phrase you'd actually use to describe your day was "not too shabby". Besides waking up almost an entire hour past the start of your shift (Keith made sure to give you an earful about that) and everyone and their mother in town deciding to be at Family Video today, it seemed like your day was never-ending. The only thing keeping your mood from turning stink to sour was the idea of going to see Steve.
Steve was kind of magical in that way. Anger, sadness, anxiety, you name it, it was no match for Steve. Though he was no poet, he had this way with words that would never fail to make you feel so comforted. So safe. Any instance where Steve had to talk you out of whatever mental turmoil you were enduring, it felt you were being endlessly wrapped in a cozy, tight blanket, sheltering you from all the darkness.
How Steve knew you were having a shit day and needed your favorite meal along with your favorite boy? Lord knows. His ability to read you without even needing to be near you was nothing short of wizardry. But like you said. Steve was magical.
"You're the best," you proclaimed, prompting a mumbled sly remark from your chef for the evening, before the music began. Being here, along with the divine sound of Tina's ethereal voice and pasta boiling in water, was more than enough to make you feel like you were right at home, though your true address was miles away. When the time to depart would make its cursed arrival, it was never easy to leave, especially with the way Steve begged for you to stay, using those unfairly adorable puppy dog eyes that paired beautifully with his lengthy lashes, against you.
And it always worked. Well, not always. You had some degree of self-control. But more times than not, you couldn't help but to cave in to his protests. How could you resist? It was Steve.
With a satisfied grin that carved deep smile lines into his blushing cheeks, he'd tuck his sheets snug around your body, repeatedly asking you if you were comfortable enough. His bed was cloud-like, plush and doughy and his pillows smelled like his shampoo and conditioner, a hint of cologne on his comforter. It was like you were trapped in a cocoon of Steve. You wanted to tell him you were beyond comfortable, that there, in his bed, you were in just about your favorite place on Earth but, habitually, you concluded that a simple nod would suffice.
Crawling onto the empty space beside you, he made sure to face you, leaving a soft squeeze on your shoulder before humming "G'night, sunshine," closing his eyes and tucking his hands under his head. And like always, Steve was a perfect gentleman, dead set on never getting under the covers himself when you'd sleep over.
Guilt would disrupt your relaxation at the sight of the brisk night chill building little hills on his freckled arms, though you selfishly loved the way he'd cuddle up to steal some of your body heat. His plump lips would part as he drifted into a peaceful slumber, light snores and chirping crickets being your lullaby.
You hoped to have another night like that soon.
In the midst of times like those, storms of wonder and doubt raged on. Was Steve like this with everyone else? Were you being silly thinking that you and Steve could be more than friends? Being Steve's best friend for nearly a decade, you knew he wasn't exactly a prude. His King Steve era was honestly one of your least favorites. Though he reserved his usual tenderness and affection all for you, you've witnessed a whole slew of girls enter and leave Steve's life, and none of them looked like you.
You wanted nothing more than to be one of the girls he'd have leaned up against his locker, arm resting next to their head, cheeks fanned by his minty breath as he whispered honeyed words. You craved dates at the drive-in theater in Steve's burgundy 1983 BMW only to neglect the movie and end up making out, like he did with other girls.
When Steve would bring his latest lover around, desperately, you did your damnedest to bury your jealousy and and fill its grave with merriment for him, because if anyone deserved to be happy, it was Steve. But the girls at school only wanted to be with Steve because of his status and all the flashy things he could buy them.
The flashy things were dull to you, though.
You wanted to be with Steve because you wanted to hold his hand and press soft kisses to his cheek. To hug him a little tighter and little longer than a best friend normally would. To run your fingers through his fluffy hair whenever he would grow stressed because you knew it calmed him down. To make him breakfast in bed when he was sick and even when he wasn't. To love him your fullest potential.
But you had to settle for this. Calves tucked under your thighs with a blanket draped over your legs as you stared off into space, longing for someone you thought you couldn't have, not knowing he was stealing glances of you wondering what was running through your pretty little head.
Resting your arm against the back of the sofa, holding your head up, your lips were downturned in a pout, eyebrows pulled together as you studied the throw pillow a few inches away from you. A little pillow can't be that interesting, something has to be bothering you, he thought. He was unapologetically curious to know if pressing his lips against your own would make that frown melt into that sweet smirk you usually had.
Steve hated when you were unhappy. It made his mind race. Did someone say something to you? Did someone do something to you? Did you eat today? How was your shift? Why did you lie when you said your day "wasn't too shabby"? Obviously it was shabby. Look at your face. That tired and troubled, cute little face. What can he do to fix it? You were his sunshine, you deserved to be happy, always.
Giving the pot a final stir and turning the flame off, Steve carelessly tossed the grease-stained hand towel flopped over his shoulder, down by the sink, strolling over to where he'd earlier set down the two bottles of wine. White Zinfandel. Neither you or Steve were wine connoisseurs, but when you called Nancy panicking about how extensive the selection at the liquor store was, she swore by it.
Balancing two glasses and a single bottle of the rose-tinted alcohol, Steve took an extra glance at your face, deciding to scoop up the second bottle into his arms. By the looks of it, it was gonna be one of those nights.
You tried to hide your smile as you noticed he was coming over, a slight grin on his face as he set the glasses down. You and him both knew he was only coming to cause trouble. He set the delicate haul down on to the thrifted wooden coffee table in front of you, slipping you one of those comforting 'Steve smiles' he usually did.
Like the forgotten towel, he threw himself down on the couch next to you, warm hand having a much softer landing on the plush of your thigh; a familiar and welcomed touch. Habitually, you curled up closer to him, no longer able to hide your smile.
"Why so glum, chum?" He tilted his chin down, slightly poking his bottom lip out, as he looked at you through batting eyelashes.
Laughing through your nose and subsequently parading a grin that displayed nothing but teeth and hollow happiness, you remarked, "What do you mean? Don't you see me smiling?"
You were fooling absolutely no one. Steve knew you were sad. And, goddamn it, he was gonna get it out of you.
"You know exactly what I mean, you weren't smiling just a few seconds ago until I came over. You're welcome, by the way, I'm flattered that I have such an effect on you," he smirked, placing a hand on his chest in gratitude.
"Okay, now I'm glum again," you roll your eyes at his not-so discreet cockiness. You hid your face in your hands, resting your forehead on Steve's shoulder. It was hard with muscle, but soft with tenderness and safety. "I was smiling at the wine, for your information."
The palm of your hand that pressed against your face muffled your words, but Steve could still understand what you said, it was evident in the way your tone was laced with satire.
"Ah, yes, that makes way more sense" Steve replied, monotone. His thumb began coasting along your skin as he urged you, "Alright, jokes aside. How are you really feeling?"
Hoisting your head up, you almost answered before he continued, "And don't give me that 'not too shabby' crap 'cause that frown you had going on earlier already snitched on ya."
When the hell did he get so observant? Steve was no idiot, but sometimes things needed to be spelled out for him. But come to think of it, you never had to spell things out for Steve whenever it came to you. He just always had a way of knowing.
"I don't know, Steve. Honestly. Some days are just a bit tougher than others. Today was one of those days," you murmured, avoiding the attentive gaze he was burning into your shifty eyes.
He slowly nodded as he processed your words, head falling on top of yours as you again found comfort on his shoulder. His eyes fluttered shut as you began mimicking the affection he was giving you on your thigh, rubbing his arm through the creamy cotton material of his crewneck. You hadn't seen it before. This one was new. So were the jeans he'd paired with it.
"Why're you dressed so nice, Harrington?"
He laughed more to himself than to you. "Well, the food can't be the only thing that looks good, you know? Wanted to look nice too. It's our first dinner together, after all," he mumbled the last bit.
Steve felt the skin around your eyes tighten against his shoulder as your eyebrows scrunched together. "We've had dinner together before, though."
"This one's different," he replied, almost instantly. You'd hoped Steve's eyes were still closed so that he wouldn't see the bashfulness you were weathering, plucking the corners of your lips into a soft smile.
A silence fell between the two of you. Not unusual. Not awkward. Never unusual or awkward. There was a mutual cherishment of moments like these. Shamelessly invading each other's personal space on the couch as if it was made to only fit one person, music playing lowly the distance, but preferring to listen to the sound of the other's breathing.
"How can I make you feel better, sunshine?" Steve questioned, voice still hushed. The volume of your voice wasn't much louder as you responded, thoughtlessly, "You don't have to ask me that. You make me feel better without even trying."
"Oh yeah?" He craned his neck so that his head was impossibly closer to yours, awaiting your confirmation. Steve knew that you enjoyed his company, as he did yours, but he was only joking earlier when he gushed about having such an effect on you. It was now his turn to hide his blush, when you hum, nodding your head fervently.
These were the warm moments that confused you so much more than any subject in school ever did. And unbeknownst to you, it messed with Steve's head too. He'd never been this close with anyone before. Especially not with any of his "girlfriends" in the past. Sure, they'd cuddle and talk about their feelings. But it never felt the way it does with you. Steve was in love with you. It was hopeless.
And he had to make it known. Soon. If not, he swore he'd explode.
"Ready to eat?"
"Mhm," you buzzed, untangling yourself from the envelop of Steve. As he pressed his knuckles into the sofa, willing himself up, you reached for the bottle of wine and a glass, but your hand only made it so far until it felt the sting of a petty swipe from the boy next to you. "Ah ah, missy, dinner first. Lord knows how many hours its been since you last ate."
You snorted, "Relax, it hasn't been that long."
"Oh yeah? When was the last time?" He looked at you with raised eyebrows and an expression that said he already knew your answer was going to be ridiculous. And if there was anything you learned tonight, it was that Steve was highly skilled at knowing when you were lying, so instead, you left him with a goofy smile and giggle that told him he was absolutely right in his assumption.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," the spot where he sat went cold as he left to the kitchen, fixing two plates for the both of you. You moved the drinks and glasses over to the dining table, using a nearby lighter to ignite the accompanying lavender and vanilla scented candles. Tina Turner's vinyl was replaced with Tears for Fears' album Songs from The Big Chair instead, as Steve used his elbow to dim the kitchen lights, hands full with heavy plates of pasta.
"Oh my gosh, this looks so good! Good job, Stevie," you cheered, as he set your plate down in front of you, pouring you a much needed glass of wine. Your hands shook with hunger or excitement, or both, as you picked up your fork, ready to dig in. "Yeah, don't get too psyched yet. Let's hope it tastes as good as it looks."
"I'm sure it does."
His knee rests against yours as he sits adjacent to you, gathering food on his fork, though his eyes are peering at you, awaiting your verdict. The mouthwatering smell of garlic, butter, cheese and other heaven-sent elements overwhelm your nose and you feel like you can't eat it soon enough. You pause for a beat and so does his heart, hand over your messy mouth as you chew. Steve's hand twitches as he contemplates wiping the sauce from the corners of your lips and licking his finger clean.
"Steve," you begin, eyes flickering shut. "I'm gonna need you to cook for me every night. This is so fucking good." The tension in his face eases at your palpable delight, mission well accomplished. He was proud of himself. Very proud. Almost as much as you were of him.
You throw your head back, the purest form of satisfaction consuming you. "I'm glad you like it, I've been trying to nail it for weeks," Steve laughs, finally taking a bite for himself.
"Well, you've succeeded," you beam, washing it down with a sip of wine. Everybody Wants to Rule the World begins playing and you smile at Steve, knowing it was his favorite song at the moment. You nod your head along as Steve hums. A truly peaceful pocket in time.
Through the large windows opening the living room to the rest of Hawkins, you had the perfect view of the bright lights and mountainous buildings from the neighboring city. It was like the sky had flipped on its axis and the stars weren't in the sky anymore, they were among the trees and high rise properties.
"Steve, look how pretty," you point towards the window as his gaze shifts from you to raindrop-riddled glass. "I love being able to see the city so close. Sucks that we can't see the stars, though. I've always wanted to go stargazing."
"Yeah, I remember you mentioning that a while ago. We gotta go one of these days," he replied, shoving a forkful of alfredo into his mouth.
"Oh, did you wanna go too?"
He shrugs his shoulders, chewing before speaking, "Eh, I'm not really a big stars guy. Besides, if I wanna see a pretty little light, all I gotta do is look at you," he says inattentively, going right back to eating as if he hadn't just said the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you.
"Shut up, Harrington," you roll your eyes, letting out a half-hearted laugh as you take your last bite. How could he flirt with you so easily? So carelessly? Couldn't he see that you loved him and that whenever he says things like that it does something to you? Clueless boy.
"I'm serious. Why do you think I always call you sunshine?" He replies, not a hint of irony in his face.
"Steve," you warn, sitting back in your chair. You didn't know where this conversation was going, and you'd be damned if you got your hopes up for what you always got whenever you did: absolutely nothing.
"It's why I love when you wear yellow. Reminds me of the first time I ever saw you," he pressed. He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Clueless girl.
"Steve," your voice wavered. "What? Why do you keep saying my name like that?" He laughed, dryly.
He grew worried that he was saying too much. Saying things that a person shouldn't say to their best friend. He took a sip of his wine. Then another. Then another. He was considering just downing the whole glass. Maybe he was saying too much.
Screw that, he was in love with you.
"What're you saying to me right now?" You charged, voice a little harsher than what you'd intended, but you demanded an answer. A straightforward one. "I'm saying that I'm done hiding it."
"Hiding what?"
"That I love you."
The revelation yanks your parted lips shut, unsure of what to say next. You had dreamed for what felt like a lifetime for Steve to say those words to you and at last, it was no longer a dream, but instead reality. The rapid pace of your heartbeat could be felt in your chest and ears, and the butterflies in your stomach were more wild and untamed than ever before.
Steve's eyes didn't leave yours, though the stillness from you was killing him. The silence between you two that was once never awkward or unusual, was now painful and nearly unbearable.
Your dilated pupils scanned over his face, relentlessly. The jokey, teasing grin that he often sported when he was messing with you was unaccounted for. Holy shit. The gate to your thoughts opened once more. "You're serious," you whispered.
"How could I not be?" Steve watched you with adoring eyes, the warm light of the candle giving the melted chocolatey pond the sweetest infusion of honey.
"Kiss me."
Forks and butter knives fall to the ground with several, loud unpleasant clanks as Steve leans over the square dining table, hungrily pressing his lips against yours. His lips are garlicky and a little chapped, as yours probably are as well, yet the kiss is nothing short of perfect.
His mouth does a passionate dance against yours as you follow his lead, embracing the plush little pillows with your own. It was both everything you've imagined it'd be and nothing like you'd thought at the same time. You already knew Steve was an amazing kisser. Anyone who went to Hawkins High knew it. But experiencing it for yourself was completely different and new. It was euphoric.
The two of you have to reluctantly pull yourselves off of each other to catch your breaths. This moment was a long time coming.
Steve's hands are still holding onto to either side of your face, unwilling to let you go just yet. Truly savoring every second of the present. His breath fans across your cupid's bow, as he smiles against your lips. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"
Giggling, you wrap your palms and fingers around his wrists, rubbing your nose on his. "Sorry," you shrug, feeling his thumbs caress your warm cheeks.
"Don't be," he shakes his head, engulfing your soft lips into another kiss.
message from jojo: pls comment and reblog if you enjoyed! it means a lot <3
#stranger things#steve harrington#steve and sunshine#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x black!reader#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington fic#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington x you#steve harrington headcanon#soft!steve harrington#stranger things 4#joe keery#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington x poc!reader
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Mixtape - Mattheo Riddle
. * ꙳ ✦ ⊹Pairing : mattheo riddle x fem!reader
Warnings : fluff, use of y/n y/l/n, happy ending
Summary : who knew mattheo could be so patient?
Song : Somethin' Stupid - Frank Sinatra, Nancy Sinatra. * ꙳ ✦ ⊹
Mattheo Riddle's reputation preceded him: notorious for his quick temper and razor-thin patience. His tolerance for delays could be measured in mere molecules. For most, the prospect of having Mr. Riddle wait on them was akin to receiving a rare blessing or witnessing a miracle. Yet for Y/n, it was just another day in the life.
However, if you were bold enough to confront him about it, he would vehemently deny it, insisting that he never waits on anyone.
"What do you mean you don't wait on anyone, mate? Y/n's got you waiting like a dog on a leash," Blaise quipped, earning chuckles around the Slytherin table. Mattheo shot his friends a glare, a familiar grumpy expression settling upon his face at their teasing. It wasn't anything new.
"Aww, look at the state of you, you big softy!" Pansy's laughter and jest seemed to aggravate him further, evident in the forceful grip on his fork, which tightened by the minute. Theodore observed his friend, noticing something amiss. Mattheo would typically retort with a snarky response, but now he seemed so lost in thought.
Noticing his unusual change in demeanor, the group silently decided to shift the topic, directing their attention to Berkshire, who had become the target of their ridicule.
Lorenzo had recently found himself in an embarrassing altercation with the revered potions master. It marked one of the worst instances of public humiliation he had ever endured. Picture this: he was already five minutes late, had brought the wrong set of books, stumbled over his words while responding to Snape, AND managed to blow up his and his potions partner's cauldron.
Naturally, this series of blunders led to a sassy and cold scolding from Snape. To say that Lorenzo was left blushing scarlet by the end of class would be an understatement.
"Hi Matt!"
Clang! The loud sound of the fork hitting the cool stone floors of the grand hall echoed through the room, accompanied by Mattheo's accidental knee bump in surprise, drawing everyone's attention at the table. If that fork could talk, it would likely express gratitude for your sudden appearance, saving it from the clutches of Riddle's vice-like grip. As Mattheo turned toward you, the frostiness in his gaze thawed, replaced by a gentle warmth in his brown eyes.
Just a moment ago he was lost in his thoughts about you. Did he think of you so much to the point he had conjured you up in front of him? Where the hell did you come from?
Nott smirked at the interaction, Merlin's beard, this guy is whipped.
"You seemed to have dropped your fork, here." you remarked, catching his attention once again. His eyes followed your movements as you gracefully crouched down to retrieve the utensil from the floor. Standing back up, he met your gaze through his long, soft eyelashes while you held out the fork for him to reclaim. And in a trance-like state, he slowly reached out and took it.
Your hands touched. In that moment, a foolish part of him yearned for more, to pull you close and envelop you in the warmth of a hug, to allow himself to be vulnerable for once.
The soft snickering of his friends broke him out of his trance, and with a quick motion, he turned away from you.
"Thanks." His response was brief, but it brought a smile to your lips.
Despite the sudden change, he had subtly shifted along the bench, creating space beside him. It felt like a silent invitation for you to join him. So, without a word, you took your place and set down your plate, inadvertently brushing the back of your hand against his. Perhaps it was unintentional.
Mattheo froze once more, wrestling with his impulses. It took considerable effort to restrain himself, but there was something about you that stirred a tumult of emotions within him. Something that tempted him to lean in and shower your face with kisses. It was beginning to unsettle him.
He withdrew his hand and discreetly tucked it under the table, his gaze fixed downward, brows furrowed in frustration at the escalating intensity of his emotions. His friends looked at one another knowingly, before they continued to chatter about other topics.
As you settled beside him, he couldn't help but notice the subtle fragrance of your perfume, a scent he seemed to encounter every time you were in close proximity. It carried notes of vanilla, with a delicate hint of cherries. The aroma enveloped him, not in a way that hurt his nose, but in a way that stirred a dizzying sensation within him. His heart quickened its pace, and a tightness settled in his chest, each breath seeming to draw in more of your intoxicating essence.
Like smoking a blunt, but knowing it’s good for you.
You joined the chatter, contributing your opinion to whatever topic the group was discussing, he turned his head in your direction. His gaze traced every curve and detail of your face as you spoke. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you laughed in response to something Pansy had remarked, and he felt his own lips instinctively mirror the gesture.
He was going to say something, a witty remark or anything to get you to smile even further. But somehow he couldn’t find his words, his attention consumed by your captivating presence as he struggled to form a coherent sentence. Every gesture, every word you uttered seemed to mesmerize him. You’ve made THE Mattheo Riddle, speechless.
Suddenly, Cedric Diggory approached, clad in his yellow and black robes. Mattheo felt a pang of discomfort stir within him as he watched your attention shift to the newcomer, your smile widening in greeting. He clenched his jaw, his gaze flickering between the two of you, a knot forming in his stomach.
“Y/n, would you like to continue our herbology project? We could get started early.”
His statement abruptly halted the lively conversation around the table. The group exchanged puzzled glances with one another before collectively turning their attention to Riddle. The air grew tense as the weight of his words settled over them, leaving everyone momentarily speechless. Except you, who smiled and chatted with the boy.
A profound sense of jealousy surged within Mattheo, causing his smile to form into a narrow line. You were too nice and oblivious to even notice the abrupt hush that fell over the group.
It wasn't that they disliked Diggory—far from it. It’s just that the group was well aware of Mattheo's possessive tendencies, especially when it came to the girl Cedric was currently chatting with. Their concern wasn't about Diggory himself, but rather the potential for Mattheo's jealousy to stir up trouble.
They all watched the boy closely, anticipating a cutting, sarcastic remark to shatter the silence. But it never came. Instead, he merely averted his gaze, displaying an unusual patience. As you stood up to resume your herbology project and leave, he offered you a gentle smile, a stark contrast to the tension everyone else felt.
The silence deepened after you left, each person at the table coming to their own realization. He didn't just like you. It became evident to all of them that Mattheo was deeply in love with you, so much so that his usual bad behavior seemed to dissolve in your presence. His rough edges softened, revealing a side of him they had rarely seen. It was incredibly uncharacteristic of him, unsettling his platinum blond friend.
"Gods, so it's true then, you love Y/l/n." Draco scoffed and broke the silence, his voice a mix of bewilderment and surprise. Pansy quickly turned and swatted the back of his head, offering Mattheo an apologetic look. Mattheo appeared to be on the verge of exploding, his emotions barely contained as Draco's words hung in the air.
"Oh, fuck off, you ferret," he retorted, his voice laced with irritation. His words were sharp, cutting through the tension as he struggled to keep his temper in check once you were gone.
Malfoy's eyes widened as he coughed, his face flushing a deep red in response to Mattheo's remark. It was clear that the notorious "ferret" incident was something they would never let him live down. The group burst into laughter at the joke, everyone except Mattheo. He remained silent, still grappling with the complex emotions he felt towards you, unable to join in their mirth.
"And so he returns. Y/n leaves for a moment, and the devil horns sprout back," Blaise remarked, his words drawing Mattheo's attention. Mattheo's brows knitted in confusion—what did Y/n have to do with any of this?
"What are you all implying?" He gently shook his head, scanning the faces around the table. Each one met his gaze with a sly smirk, leaving him increasingly puzzled by their shared secret.
"You've got it bad for her, Mattheo. It's painfully obvious," Pansy declared, her words echoing the unspoken sentiments of the group. All eyes turned to Mattheo, anticipation hanging in the air, as if they were silently urging him to acknowledge what they all saw. Perhaps hearing it from someone else would finally make him realize the meaning of what he had felt.
“I like her?”
FLASHBACKS. * ꙳ ✦ ⊹
After a few hours at The Three Broomsticks, the group collectively decided to walk home because of the growing crowd at the pub. In the midst of Hogsmeade’s bustling streets, Mattheo trudged along with his friends, their laughter filling the air. Yet, despite the light atmosphere, Mattheo felt the weight of a particularly bad day settling upon him, rendering him silent.
He’s had a day full of disasters. From sticky butterbeer being spilled onto his sweater, to losing his favorite mixtape. The night sky filled with stars seemed to look upon him with pity, so much so that a sudden downpour of rain drenched the group. They shrieked and laughed as they ran away, leaving behind a Mattheo Riddle who also wanted to run, but noticed the untied state of his shoelaces.
Mattheo quickly bent down to tie his shoelaces with a loud sigh. Raindrops pelted his back, adding to his already dampened mood. While his tipsy friends were away from his sight, Mattheo's thoughts lingered on the frustrations of the day, his mind clouded with a sense of fatigue and discontent.
He observed the droplets as they splashed around him, forming a small puddle beneath his scuffed Converse shoes. Without so much as a glance at his reflection in the water, he stoically continued to tie his shoelaces, his expression unreadable. As he moved to tie his other untied shoe, a sudden shadow eclipsed his vision, drawing his attention away from the task at hand.
With furrowed brows, he lifted his gaze, a blend of surprise and confusion crossing his features. However, his expression swiftly transformed into one of astonishment as he registered whose presence it was. There you were, holding your leather jacket aloft to shield Mattheo from the relentless rain. Stunned by your unexpected act of kindness, he found himself momentarily frozen in place.
“Well come on, hurry up!”
Mattheo found solace from the Slytherin party amidst the rows of books, his headphones nestled snugly over his ears. Lost in the melody of his music, he was oblivious to the world around him, the rhythmic sounds escaping from his headphones and gently permeating the tranquil atmosphere.
Beside him, you sat down to accompany him. The library was completely silent, everyone else was probably at the party your friends had thrown, rendering the place empty. However, the muffled strains of Mattheo's music began to seep through his headphones, dancing faintly in the air.
You listened quietly as Mattheo sat with his eyes closed, completely engrossed in the soft melody emanating from his headphones. A gentle smile graced your lips as you watched his relaxed demeanor, his lips slightly parted while his chest rose up and down, the soothing music seemingly transporting him to a quiet state of mind. With his wounded nose, and bruised knuckles, who would’ve guessed he was listening to this kind of music.
You tilted your head, you didn't recognise this kind of music at all. Same as to the tape you found in the courtyard. Curiously, you tapped Mattheo’s shoulder, scaring him out of his tranquil state.
“Shit! Y/n, don’t sneak up on me like that.” Mattheo cursed in surprise, quickly pulling down his headphones and turning to face you, a mix of caution and annoyance in his eyes.
“What are you listening to?” you asked, genuine curiosity evident in your voice.
Mattheo hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his response. Finally, he met your gaze and replied, “Somethin’ Stupid, by Frank Sinatra.”
“Muggle music?” you questioned again, intrigued by his choice.
Mattheo sighed, turning back to face the table and crossing his arms. The solitude he had been enjoying was now broken by your company. “Yes, muggle music,” he replied, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “You wouldn’t know it.”
You silently absorbed his vague answer, a soft smile forming on your lips. Bending down to pick up your bag from the floor, you rummaged through its contents until your fingers brushed against what you were searching for. With a sense of anticipation, you pulled out a small, box-shaped mixtape. Scrawled across its surface in marker were the words, "The Smiths."
“Muggle music huh, like this I presume?” You held the mixtape up within his eyesight. Mattheo's eyes widened slightly in recognition as he realized that the mixtape you were holding was his own. He uncrossed his arms, a mix of surprise and gratitude washing over his annoyance.
“You found it,” he breathed, his voice tinged with relief.
You nodded, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. “It was lying in the courtyard. I figured it must be important to you since you’ve mentioned before that you liked muggle music.”
Mattheo's expression softened, tilting his head with a smile, touched by your gesture. “You remembered?.. It is. Thank you.”
As he took the mixtape from you, his fingers brushed against yours, sending a jolt of warmth through you both. In that fleeting touch, a connection seemed to spark between you.
You've always been friends, but it was always just friends. Not close friends, or bestfriends. Just friends.
The library's quiet enveloped you once more, but now it was accompanied by a newfound sense of comfort and understanding. As Mattheo took out the previous tape, and put in his favorite one, you couldn't help but feel that this chance encounter had brought you closer together in an unexpected way.
Mattheo paused, a thought forming in his head.
"Do you wanna.. listen with me?"
The flickering light from the cauldron cast long shadows on the potions classroom walls. Mattheo stared in frustration at his potion, which was bubbling in all the wrong ways. He let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his tousled hair.
"That's it. I can't do this. I’m a lost cause," he muttered, pushing the textbook away and slumping back in his chair.
You shook your head, a determined smile on your face. "You’re not a lost cause. Come on, we can work on it together. Potions is tricky, stop being so hard on yourself."
Mattheo looked at you, doubt etched in his features. "I’ve tried and tried, so many times I’ve lost count. It’s hopeless." He thought of Malfoy and his other friends who had tried countless times to help him pass this project, only to give up defeatedly.
You leaned in closer, your eyes filled with encouragement. "It's not hopeless. Let’s go through the instructions again, step by step."
Tucking your hair behind your ear, you grabbed the book and turned it toward him again, pointing at the list of ingredients. "Remember, you need to add the crushed pearls after the rose thorns. Not before."
Mattheo glanced at the instructions, "How do you remember all this?"
A smile spread across your lips as you chuckled softly. "I actually really enjoy this class. It reminds me of cooking. But enough about me, focus Riddle."
He turned his gaze to you and laughed softly, watching as you explained the potion once more. He noticed the twinkle in your eyes as you talked about a subject you loved, the way your hands moved to make gestures, and how your hair framed your face perfectly, even as the cold wind tried to blow it away. You looked like his favorite mixtape—captivating and cherished.
Snapping out of his thoughts, he turned back to focus on the potion. Despite his earlier frustration, he found it hard to concentrate when you were all he could think about now. But he wanted to impress you.
With your patient guidance, Mattheo carefully measured out the ingredients, adding them in the correct order this time. As he followed your instructions, the potion started to change color, transitioning from a murky brown to a shimmering gold.
A flicker of hope sparked in Mattheo’s eyes. "It’s actually working."
You smiled brightly. "See? I knew you could do it."
A loud laugh of triumph escaped from Mattheo's throat, and as he continued to brew the potion from memory, the shimmering gold color shifted into a soft beautiful pink, with a mother-of-pearl sheen.
"Well Mr. Riddle, I think we have a love potion."
He looked at you with gratitude in his eyes, acknowledging your role in the successful creation of the potion. You could've very easily given up on him, but you didn't.
"Give it a sniff!"
Mattheo leaned over the cauldron, inhaling deeply as the Amortentia potion began to release its powerful scent. His eyes widened in surprise, then softened with confusion. He straightened up, a puzzled look on his face.
"That's odd," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "I don't smell anything distinct, no new smells."
You furrowed your brows, leaning over the cauldron yourself to sniff the potion. Yet, no new smell arose. All you could smell was Mattheo's scent, and all he could smell was your scent. Both that have already been lingering in the air the moment you stepped into the classroom together.
"Huh, maybe I brewed it wrong?" He defeatedly sighed.
Mattheo was on his way out of the common room, ready to meet up with his friends for their usual late-night hangout. The laughter and chatter of Blaise, Draco, and Theodore echoed faintly from down the corridor. He was just about to push the door open when something made him pause.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a familiar figure curled up on the couch by the fireplace. You were fast asleep, a textbook resting open on your chest and a few loose parchments scattered around you. The soft glow from the dying embers of the fire cast a warm, flickering light across your tired face.
Mattheo hesitated, torn between joining his friends and staying behind. His eyes softened as he watched you, noticing the way your hair fell gently across your face and how your breathing was slow and steady. You looked so serene, a contrast to the usually bustling common room.
Unable to help himself, he quietly walked over to the couch. Carefully, he gathered the loose parchments and placed them in a neat pile on the table beside you. He gently closed the textbook and set it aside, making sure not to disturb you.
Instead of leaving, Mattheo decided to stay and look out for you. He settled himself beside you, carefully plopping himself down to sit. You stirred slightly in your sleep, and Mattheo smiled softly, reaching out to adjust the blanket draped over you.
With you resting, Mattheo decided to make himself comfortable as well. He shifted slightly, allowing you to rest your feet on his lap. He pulled out his headphones, making sure his tape player was at a low volume. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes peacefully at your presence and the music playing in his ears.
END OF FLASHBACKS. * ꙳ ✦ ⊹
"Earth to Riddle," Draco said, waving a hand in front of Mattheo’s face. "Where are you, mate?"
"I like her."
Mattheo opened his mouth to speak more, but then closed it again, feeling a rush of clarity. He liked you. No, it was more than that—he realized he was falling for you. All those moments together, your kindness, your patience, your laughter—it all made sense now.
Without another word, he stood up abruptly, his friends laughing at his late realization. "I have to go," he said, his voice firm with determination.
"Yeah! Go get her tiger!" Theo cheered.
Mattheo ran out of the Great Hall, his heart pounding in his chest. He needed to find you. He needed to tell you how he felt.
The cold air nipped at his ears as he ran down the corridors, but he didn't care. His mind was consumed with thoughts of you. He recalled the softness of your voice, a soothing tune to his often restless thoughts, like the songs he uses to escape. He thought about everything he loved about you—the way your eyes sparkled with understanding, your infectious laughter, and the small gestures that showed your kindness.
Your patience with him stood out the most, especially during times when he struggled and felt like giving up. You always believed in him, offering encouragement and support even when he couldn’t find it in himself. Each memory of you fueled his determination, propelling him forward through the chilly air.
He sprinted down the corridors, ignoring the curious looks from other students. He knew where you’d be—near the Herbology classroom. As he burst out of the castle doors and ran toward the greenhouse area, he saw you standing there, leaning against the wall, completely unaware of the whirlwind of emotions that had driven him here.
You turned as Cedric pointed at Mattheo, a confused look both on your faces at the sight of him running toward you, when suddenly he shouted,
"Hey Y/n! I love you!"
My first upload received so much attention, I DID NOT EXPECT THAT AT ALL. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone who commented and reblogged. It means a lot to me that people enjoyed my writing, and I hope you all enjoy this one too. To be honest, this work could've been better and I've been putting off finishing this since like forever. But @taylorisamastermind 's kind words inspired me to finish. Again, if you notice any grammatical mistakes, no you didn't!
Thank you everyone! xx
[my masterlist⋆｡°✩]
#mattheo riddle#mattheo riddle x reader#slytherin boys x reader#slytherin boys#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo riddle imagine#fanfiction#fluff#mattheo riddle oneshot#mattheo riddle x y/n#slytherin#harry potter#wizarding world#oneshot
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Warmth Ensnared.
✧ Room Content: Dom! Top! GN! Reader x Yan! Selkie! Sub! Bottom! Neuvillette, no gendered terms used for reader, reader has a cock, unhealthy obsessive and possessive relationship from Neuvillette, inexperienced virgin Neuvillette, blowjob (Neuvillette giving), mentions of marking and biting. Leave a note if anything was missed out.
✧ Retrieved Notes: [The torso and right paw of the fortune cat appear on the front desk.]
The heavens weep their cold tears as you make your way down the coastline, an umbrella in hand. The raindrop pelts harshly against the cheap plastic of your umbrella as the moonlight weakly lights the path ahead of you from behind the clouds.
You’re not quite sure what compelled you to venture out in such heavy rain or what keeps you from turning around and walking home but when you see the unfortunate sight a couple steps before you, perhaps it was a good idea you came out after all.
Frustrated growls and gruff barks reach your ears as a large seal thrashes around on the shore, struggling to free itself from the net that ensnares its flippers and tail. Its efforts are in vain as it seemingly tangles itself more and more in the net with every movement, its vocalisations growing increasingly distressed.
You rush over, determined to free the poor seal. Sensing a potential threat, the seal looks straight at you approaching amidst its struggle and tries to shuffle away, frightened.
“Hey, hey, it’s alright, I’m trying to help you out.” Your words seem to soothe as it cautiously observes you when you slowly move in closer, making no attempts to try to attack you. While you try to work its flippers out of the net, you realise that the earlier thrashing had complicated the entanglement, resulting in multiple knots and loops that are too hard to undo with one hand.
Sighing, you set your umbrella aside to free up your other hand, angling it and propping it up in the wet sand so as to block as much of the rain as possible. Despite your umbrella, the chilling rain gradually starts to seep through your clothes as you aid the seal. It eyes you curiously, surprisingly calm, even going so far as to lifting the flipper you’re working the net off of.
Now that you’re a lot closer, you also take the time to examine the seal for any other injuries. Its fur is a shade of silvery grey, with some symmetrical markings or patterns on its belly that almost glow in the dim moonlight.
After a couple minutes, the seal is freed from the net entirely and you bundle the fabric in your arm to dispose of properly later, your other hand holding your umbrella again. Standing, you watch on as it hurries to the shoreline and ventures beyond the waves, going back to its watery habitat. Swimming further out, the seal suddenly stops and turns back to stare at you for a second. Then, it nods towards you, as if thanking you for your help before quickly diving underwater.
Assured that the seal is safe now, you turn and begin to head back home. Although you’re soaked to the bone, a pleasant emotion arises in you from your good deed and the supposed show of gratitude you received in the end. And maybe the heavens are smiling upon you! The downpour immediately starts to clear up, the rain clouds dissipating from the sky, revealing the moon hiding behind them and lighting your way home.
(Unbeknownst to you, a sharp pair of pale lavender eyes emerge from the depths, eyeing you as you leave.)
The next time you find yourself strolling along the beach, the evening sky is mostly clear, save for a few heavy rain clouds that look to be gathering at the edge of the horizon, slowly rolling in. You recall the seal from before and there’s an unexplainable tugging to go back to that location, even though you’re not exactly sure what you hope to find.
After that night, you’ve looked for information regarding seals congregating along that coast but unable to find any records or news about seals in your local natural ecosystem, you dismissed it as some sort of cosmic coincidence that your walk would end with you freeing a seal.
The seal would be nice to see once more though what you actually do see instead is a little stranger than anything you were expecting.
There’s an odd person loitering near the water where you freed the seal. Bizarrely enough, he’s donning a sopping wet yet extravagant fur coat. Water drips from his long hair however, he doesn’t seem to mind it at all. He’s incredibly out of place but his face doesn’t show it, even as you try your best not to stare. Rather, he opens his mouth to ask, (you get a flash of fangs), his voice a soothing timbre.
“Apologies. I'm new around here and I seem to have gotten lost. May I trouble you for directions?”
A couple questions zip around in your head: How did he end up at the beach? Did he go swimming in his fur coat? Is he not cold? Realising that you’ve been staring at his fur coat all this time and not speaking, you awkwardly clear your throat and ultimately settle with saying, “I think we'd better dry you off first before you catch a cold.”
Thankfully, there’re still cafes open along the more crowded area of the beach. After getting him a hot drink of his choice to warm himself up (an order for a cup of hot water definitely raised some eyebrows), you ask him to stay put before going to fetch a couple towels from a nearby beach kiosk for him to dry off.
“Thank you for all the help you have extended to me despite this being your first time meeting me,” he says, his tone sincere as he dries his hair, having finished his cup of water.
“It’s no problem really, I’m pretty sure most would’ve helped you out too. How did you end up so soaked in the first place?”
“Ah, it’s a bit much to talk about-” he cuts himself off, “-Where are my manners, I have not introduced myself yet. I am Neuvillette.” A quick handshake, introductions and small talk exchanged, a friend gained.
The two of you talk until you’re ushered out by the cafe staff and agree to meet again next week at this cafe to spend more time together.
You find yourself looking forward to the days with Neuvillette, no matter the activity. (Strangely, on the days you’re unable to meet up with Neuvillette, the weather forecast never matches up, the skies always overcast with dark clouds.)
An additional fun treat is that every time the both of you meet, he never fails to regale you with fantastical tales, with myths and legends from the unfathomable depths of merfolk and sea monsters, each tale more and more outlandish and wondrous than the last. The details that he injects to his stories are so intricate that you’d almost believe he was recounting them from personal experience itself.
The agenda for today’s hangout: Bring him around the local aquarium! A leisurely stroll whilst admiring the sealife, listening to his informative explanations on how the marine ecosystem functions, how everything has a crucial part to play in it. But your day gets a lot better when your Neuvie mysteriously draws the attention of the seals when the both of you walk past them. The lovable blobs bounce up to him, as near as possible, gleefully barking away, trying to get his attention.
You laugh as you watch on at the display, “Looks like I’ve managed to catch myself a seal prince!”
His face heats up at your remark, a light hue of pink dusting his cheeks at the commotion from the seals. He musters up a weak chuckle as he meets your eyes.
“And perhaps you have.”
The seals glance between the two of you and somehow manage to bark even louder, some even clapping their flippers against their bodies. Once you’ve decided that it was enough embarrassment for your poor Neuvie, taking his hand in yours, you lead him off to the next section of the aquarium. Your hand brushes against the sleeves of his fur coat that he constantly wears. (His fingers entwine with yours, his grip secure.)
By the time you finish touring the entire aquarium, it’s the late evening, the street lights already lit as the dinner crowd mills about for a place to dine in.
Over the course of dinner, he sneaks little glances at you between bites of his food, smiling slightly when you catch him red-handed but never saying what’s on his mind. It’s only when the two of you are walking out of the restaurant, he works up the nerve to ask.
“We have been seeing each other for some time now, and I hope that I am not overstepping to suggest,” his cheeks flush, “that perhaps we could take this to another level…”
His breath catches when he feels your hand finding his as you say, “My place then?”
The instant you lead him into your home and room, you press your lips against his and revel in the small clipped moan you manage to drag out of him. Neuviellette doesn’t seem to be experienced, given the sloppy way he kisses you back and how you can feel him beginning to grind against your thigh between his legs. When you pull away, he’s panting, pupils dilated as he chases after you.
“Your first time, Neuvie?”
“Ah. Yes… my deepest apologies if I do not manage to satisf-” You stop him before he can finish his sentence, shushing him with a quick kiss.
“Shush, Neuvie, it’s nothing to apologise for. If anything, I’m honoured to be your first,” you tuck a hair behind his ear, leaning in to whisper, your tone teasing, “In fact, I think teaching you allll about it might just be even better ♡”
Soon, you have him knelt between your legs as you sit on the edge of the bed, guiding your cock to his lips.
“Watch your fangs now, Neuvie.”
He flicks his tongue out, swirling it around the head, licking at it before his lips close around your tip. True to your words, he’s careful about his fangs as slowly, he takes you into his mouth. A low groan filters through the air when you feel his tongue press up against the underside of your length.
“Ngh, that’s great, Neuvie…” Your hand caresses the side of his face, his skin warm where you touched, “So good at this already.”
The sight of him peering up at you from his spot, how he’s engulfed your every inch (does he not have a gag reflex?), his eyes slowly glazing over, it sends lust coursing through your veins. He’s so perfect for you.
“Do you think you could move?” Neuvillette hums in agreement, the vibrations stimulating as he starts bobbing his head, obedient as he even tries to occasionally swallow around you when you hit the back of his throat. The wet sounds of slurping only serve to arouse you even further, joined by the moans Neuvillette lets out, as if savouring the taste of you.
“Ah! L-Let me pull out Neuvie-?!” At your words, his hands suddenly clamp tightly onto your thighs before he takes you as far as he can, sucking hard as he feels your cock twitch on his tongue.
It’s not long before you cum, spurting your load down his throat that he devours eagerly, moaning at the taste. When he frees you from his mouth with a lewd “pop!”, his tongue lolls out, showing that he really did swallow everything you gave him.
Cupping his face in your hands, you bring him up to lock lips with him, making out fiercely, more tongue than anything.
“So greedy, Neuvie, why didn’t you let me pull out?” He just gives you a light ditzy chuckle before ducking back in for another kiss, unable to be separated from you. You drink in all his muffled noises, your hands roving over his body as he indulges himself in your warmth, your everything.
And you’re so caring too, taking the time to constantly check in on him as you thoroughly prep him so his first time wouldn’t hurt. Your fingers coated in lube, you gingerly work him open as he lets out unrestrained whines. A keen rips from him when the tip of your finger bumps against his prostate, the unfamiliar pleasure a very welcome one.
You treat him so well, how could he not be drunk on your love?
“Tell me everything you feel Neuvie,” your tip breaches his rim and it has him seeing stars behind his closed eyes.
“Hah! So good-!” He’s embraced in your arms, his heaving chest against yours as his heart races at the ecstasy you’re granting him. Inch by inch, you sink into his hole. Your skin is sticky against his and he presses himself onto your body, wanting to feel all of you. His breath comes out in pants as you reach deeper into him, your cock filling him up even more.
“Look at you, Neuvie, such a treasure.” Your praise pushes him closer to his tipping point. And when you graze past his prostate, his vision whites out instantly.
“Hgnk! Cumming- AH!” Clinging onto you even tighter, his cum splatters onto his skin and yours, unconsciously grinding your cock deeper into him as he rides out his high. He collapses against you, burying into the crook of your neck when he feels you press a kiss to the top of his head and smile.
Neuvillette has always been so used to the indifferent coldness of the open ocean, the unyielding pressure beneath the waves. But you’ve changed him, he’s addicted to the warmth you’ve shown to him ever since your first fated meeting. (Never mind that you still don’t know that the seal you rescued was him, you will understand in due time.)
Now that he’s with you, swapping fur for skin, trading water for land, the happiness he feels when he’s yours is incomparable. He’s become enamoured with all of you. He’d give up anything else to stay by your side like this forever. Anything to be with you.
The next morning, Neuvillette is rather lively but you chalk it up to the intimate session last night. It was his first time after all, and you’re just glad that he seemed to enjoy it. But he’s a lot clingier with the way he has to be near you at all times, be it wordlessly tailing you around your home or sitting next to you whenever.
As the both of you cuddle, still too lazy to get started with the day since you’re entangled in each other, he suddenly peels himself off of you. Neuvillette sheds his fur coat, folding it neatly, then presenting it to you.
“I want you to have this,” there’s a jovial lilt in his voice, almost akin to a seal’s chirp, “Do you accept it?”
“Are you sure? You wear this everywhere and it’s probably important to you, I couldn’t take it.” Neuvillette shakes his head, firm in his stance.
“I insist you have it. It is important, but,” he looks into your eyes, in them, a raw frenzied sincerity swirls like whirlpools, “That’s why I want you to have it.”
“When you put it that way,” you take the coat from him, experimentally draping it over yourself, sighing when you realise truly how soft it is.
“Thank you Neuvie.” The tender moment is broken when he leans in, ensnaring you in a ravenous kiss. Darting your tongue into his mouth, he’s no longer shy like yesterday, letting out needy whimpers as he deepens the kiss.
“You didn’t, hah, finish in me last night, my love,” he huffs during stolen breaths in between kisses, “You need to. Pleasepleaseplease!”
He’s dragging you back into your room and soon enough, you have him under you, the fur coat draped on your back as you rut into him. His walls clench down on your shaft, his legs locking around your hips to make sure you don’t pull out of him when you climax.
A dizzying mixture of mania and desire floods through his system when you suck a hickey onto his pristine skin. He feels your scorching breath fan across his collarbone and when your lips make contact with his skin, he jolts, aware of every pleasurable sensation you’re flooding him with right now.
And it’s only fair if he gets you to mark you too. Claiming you as his other half, his destined partner. Sharp teeth pierce and break past your skin as Neuvillette bites down on your shoulder.
He recalls his moments with you: How you miraculously showed up in his time of need. Helping him time and time again. The other seals rowdily congratulating their prince on finding a mate. And finally, how you accepted his pelt.
How you accepted him.
He laps at the bitemark when he detaches, a sense of fulfilment bubbling up in him. A particularly deep grind drags him out of his thoughts, an unabashed moan escaping him.
“Thinking about something else, while- ah! -I’m here fucking you?”
“N-No! Only thinking- ghk?! -of, of you! Only y-you!” Neuvillette blubbers out, sensing every movement of your dick in him.
“I’m close! Going to- hnn! -cum!” Hearing your words, his words tumble out of his mouth unintelligibly.
“In me! Hah- ah! Cum in me! Please, love! In me- need it, need you-!!”
Pressing your hips into his, you finish in him as per his request, his legs looping around you even tighter, forcing you to reach further in him.
The stretch drives Neuvillette wild and when he feels the warm bliss spreading in him, his eyes roll into his skull and he throws his head back, letting out an animalistic growl as he cums.
"I love you I love you I love you I love you!"
Later, when you’ve wiped the both of you down, the cuddling resumes. Cracking an eye open, you see Neuvillette snuggling into the fur coat.
“See, you’re still attached. I couldn’t take it.”
“No, no, my love. You’ve already taken it.” He flips over to face you, “Do you know the ‘legend’ of selkies, my love?”
At the shake of your head, he begins to speak. You listen as he recounts the tale, how important their sealskin is to them, the symbolism of owning a selkie’s precious pelt.
His voice is otherworldly, mesmerising, as if it were the gentle lull of a fishing boat on the water.
“The tales usually spell the misery of a selkie who has had their pelt taken forcibly against their will. I’ve seen it happen to my subjects in the past. But I am fortunate.”
…His subjects?
When your eyes open again, (you didn't even know they closed in the first place), a selkie lays before you. His fur is a shade of silvery grey, with some symmetrical markings or patterns on his belly that almost glow. His webbed hand tipped with claws captures yours. His eyes are brine pools and his fangs are trident-sharp when he speaks.
And he says.
”So take me, and I'll give all of myself up for you.”
[> You add a fur pelt to your collection.]
Thank you kindly for reading. Consider supporting on kofi if you enjoyed this or visit the other doors.
#📜.Shapeshifting Hallways#📜.qi writings#📜.qi musings#genshin x reader#genshin smut#sub genshin#neuvillete x reader#neuvillette smut#sub neuvillette#selkie smut#sub selkie#yandere selkie#dom reader#top reader#kinktober
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Just One Kiss
Summary: You & Charles are just best friends but when he wins in his home for the first time, things might change
Song: Reflections - The Neighbourhood
Author’s note: Congratulations to Charles Leclerc for winning in his first home Monaco Grand Prix! This is my first F1 story and I recently started following F1 so please give constructive criticism.
Word count: 2.4k
Your best friend was racing across the last track, and you held your breath, anticipating the outcome. The crowd was on their feet, cheering and shouting as the finish line approached.
As he sprinted towards the end, you could see the determination behind his helmet, the sheer will to win. And then, in a burst of speed, he crossed the finish line, victorious.
The stadium erupted in applause, celebrating his incredible feat of athleticism and the months of hard work and training that had led to this moment.
His victory at the Monaco Grand Prix was not only a personal triumph but also a historical moment for his team. It marked his first win on this iconic track, solidifying his status as a rising star in the world of Formula 1 racing.
The streets of Monte Carlo were filled with joy and excitement as fans and fellow drivers alike celebrated his remarkable achievement.
As you joined in the jubilant celebration, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and admiration for your best friend. You had witnessed firsthand the countless hours of dedication and sacrifice he had poured into his career.
From early mornings at the gym to late nights studying data and analyzing race strategies, he had truly given his all.
And now, as you stood among the crowd, you knew that this victory was just the beginning of an extraordinary journey that would undoubtedly lead him to even greater heights in the world of Formula 1 racing.
As soon as he parked close enough, he jumped out of his racing car and ran over to his team with happiness. They embraced him with open arms, their faces beaming with pride and joy.
Together, they celebrated this monumental victory, knowing that it was the result of their collective effort and unwavering support. The atmosphere was electric, and the moment will forever be etched in their memories as a symbol of their shared triumph and unbreakable bond.
You squeezed through the crowd, determined to catch a glimpse of your best friend before he headed for the podium. Finally, you spotted him, his face still flushed with the adrenaline of the race.
You shouted his name, waving your arms to get his attention, and when he saw you, a wide smile spread across his face. He made his way towards you, and in that moment, you felt an overwhelming sense of pride and happiness for his incredible achievement.
As he ran over to you, a surge of joy and excitement overcame both of you. He engulfed you into a tight hug, lifting you up off the ground.
You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on tightly as the exhilaration of the moment washed over you. The crowd roared in applause, their cheers blending with the sound of your friend's racing heartbeat, creating a symphony of triumph and friendship that echoed through the streets of Monte Carlo.
Placing you back down, you both looked at each other in silence, something you two started doing recently. It was as if words were no longer necessary to understand each other's thoughts and feelings.
"You did it," You whispered, unable to control the tears gushing down your face.
Charles grinned, "Yeah, I did, with you by my side," he said, his voice filled with gratitude and emotion.
While you played with his hair on the back of his head, you smiled back at him.
As if something had possessed you, you quickly leaned in and placed a quick kiss on Charles' lips.
Both of you were shocked by your actions, your eyes widening in surprise as you pulled away from the unexpected kiss.
What have you done?
The atmosphere around you seemed to pause for a moment, as if time itself had frozen, before the crowd erupted into a mix of gasps and cheers, unable to believe what they had just witnessed.
Charles heard his manager call him, and as he quickly glanced back, his eyes met yours. He smiled, a mix of excitement and uncertainty in his expression, and said, "I'll talk to you when I come back, promise."
He left the embrace and followed his manager, disappearing into the crowd as he made his way towards the podium. As you stood there, still in shock from the unexpected kiss, you couldn't help but wonder how this moment would change everything between you and Charles.
The crowd continued to cheer, but in that fleeting moment, you both knew that something had shifted between you, and there was no going back. . . . .
You couldn't help but feel a tinge of guilt as the laughter of Daniel echoed across the room as you explained your issue to him. It was clear that he found the situation amusing, and it made you question whether confiding in him was the right decision.
"Come on, don't be so hard on yourself," Daniel replied, his laughter subsiding.
"It's not every day that you accidentally kiss your best friend. But hey, maybe this could be the start of something amazing between you two."
You sighed, still unsure of how to navigate the complex emotions swirling within you. "I don't know, Daniel," you said softly. "I'm just worried that this kiss might ruin our friendship."
"Don't worry too much," Daniel reassured you. "Who knows, this could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship."
"Exactly, maybe finally my favorite ship will get together," Oscar added, coming out of nowhere to join the conversation.
You lightly punched Oscar's arm for his comment, trying to hide your blush and dismiss his teasing. Deep down, though, you couldn't help but wonder if he was right, and if this unexpected kiss with Charles could truly lead to something more than just friendship.
"Just think about it, you two would look too cute together!" Oscar said while holding his arm in 'pain'.
"This is not what I meant when I asked for advice," you muttered, keeping an eye out of the Monegasque.
"Our advice is to ask him out, no ifs or buts," Daniel started.
"But," you interrupted, "what if he doesn't feel the same way? I don't want to risk losing our friendship."
Daniel sighed, understanding your hesitation. "I get it, but you'll never know unless you try. And if there's a 100 percent chance he says yes, then maybe it's worth taking the leap."
"But what if there's also a 100 percent chance he says no?" you countered, your voice wavering with uncertainty.
Daniel paused, considering your question. "Well," he finally said, "then at least you'll have closure and can move on without any regrets."
As the boys left you, you couldn't help but mull over their advice. The idea of asking Charles out was both exhilarating and terrifying, but deep down, you knew that regretting never taking a chance would be even worse.
It didn't take you long to find out that Charles, along with the rest of his team, were celebrating their victory by the dock.
His smile was enough to make you retreat. The warmth in his eyes and the genuine happiness he exuded made you momentarily remember about doubts of asking him out.
Maybe, just maybe, you were content with keeping things as they were for now, cherishing the friendship you had with Charles.
The party was a lively affair, with colorful decorations adorning the dock and laughter filling the air. Families, drivers, and workers mingled together, sharing stories and celebrating the team's victory.
The aroma of delicious food wafted through the crowd, enticing everyone to indulge in the festive feast. The atmosphere was filled with a sense of camaraderie and joy, as people danced to the upbeat music and raised their glasses in cheers.
It was a true celebration of hard work and success, and you couldn't help but feel grateful to be a part of such a vibrant and supportive community.
As you observed the lively celebration from the corner, you took a moment to gather your thoughts and plan what you would say to Charles when you finally had a chance to speak with him.
Having given up on love, you found yourself scrolling through the online world looking for signs that he might be interested in you and what to say when you want to confess your feelings.
Maybe instead of relying on online advice or searching for signs, it might be best to have an open and honest conversation with Charles.
Find a quiet moment during the celebration to approach him, express your feelings sincerely, and ask if he would be interested in exploring a romantic relationship. By directly communicating your emotions, you can avoid misunderstandings and have a clearer understanding of where you both stand-
As you were lost in your thoughts, suddenly your chin was raised up and your eyes were forced off your phone and look into the eyes of Charles. His gaze was intense, and you could see a hint of curiosity and intrigue.
He then leaned in closer as he tilted your head up, his lips brushing against yours for seconds, and you could taste the salty sea water from when he jumped into the docks.
You were taken aback by the unexpected kiss, the taste of salty sea water lingering on your lips.
"Hey, can we talk somewhere else in private?" Charles asked desperately.
"Ye- Yeah," you stuttered, having Charles lead you with his hand in yours out of the party. Your heart raced with a mix of excitement and nervousness as you followed him, wondering what he wanted to talk about in private.
As you stayed silent, your mind raced with possibilities of what Charles wanted to discuss in private. Was he going to reciprocate your feelings? Or was there something else entirely on his mind?
The anticipation and uncertainty only fueled your curiosity as you both entered the closest empty room.
Charles let go of your hand as soon as the room was secure, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. It was as if the connection you had just shared was abruptly severed, leaving you longing for his touch once more.
"Are you going to start or should I?" Charles asked as he leaned against a piece of furniture, his eyes never leave you.
The intense eye contact he made made you feel as though your legs were suddenly giving out.
"I don't know what you're talking about?" you muttered, avoiding his eyes at all costs.
"Well, I'm thinking about the kiss you gave me in front of national television," he stated. His voice was filled with a mix of amusement and disbelief.
The realization hit you like a wave, and you couldn't help but blush at the thought of the millions of people who saw that intimate moment between the two of you.
"And I can't stop wondering if it was just in the moment or if there's something more between us."
You shake your head vigorously, denying any deeper meaning behind the kiss. "It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean for it to be taken seriously."
There could never be anything between the two of you anyway. The public would never allow it. Just deny it.
"Mon chérie, are you sure? Because your expressions say otherwise," he teased as he started to walk over to you, his playful smile revealing that he saw through your denial.
The way he closed the distance between you made your heart race even faster, and you couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was a possibility for something more between you and Charles after all.
Charles always loved to tease you in every way possible. Either it was placing your cup on the top shelf or holding your phone in the air, he was always determined to tease you these days.
But this was different.
"No, Charles, I'm certain. It was just a momentary lapse in judgment, nothing more," you insisted, desperately clinging to the denial. Deep down, you knew that pursuing anything with Charles would only lead to heartbreak and disappointment.
It was better to keep your feelings buried and maintain the illusion of friendship.
As Charles stood in front of you, barely any space between you two, his eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made it hard to maintain your denial.
The air crackled with tension, and despite your best efforts, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, there could be something more between you and Charles.
"Want to try again to see if it was just a 'momentary lapse'?" he asked, raising your chin again. His words sent a shiver down your spine, tempting you to give in and explore the possibility of something more.
His lips were hovering over yours, teasing you with the possibility of what could be. The air between you was charged with anticipation, and it took every ounce of willpower to resist the temptation and maintain your denial.
"Just say it," He muttered, "Just say it and I'll do the rest."
But as you looked into his eyes, you couldn't deny the truth that they held. They were filled with a longing and desire that mirrored your own, and in that moment, you knew that your denial was futile.
"I want you," you finally whispered, surrendering to the undeniable connection between you and Charles.
Charles captured your lips with such hunger, his kiss filled with the years of unspoken longing and desire that had been building between you. In that moment, you both knew that there was no turning back, and that the possibility of something more had become an undeniable reality.
Your hands wrapped around his neck as you deepened the kiss, losing yourself in the intoxicating passion that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.
In that moment, you both knew that you were no longer able to deny the magnetic pull between you, and that surrendering to this forbidden love was inevitable.
"I love you," you whispered, your voice barely audible in the midst of your passionate embrace.
Charles's eyes softened, filled with a mix of joy and relief, as he murmured, "I love you too," sealing your fate in a love that had been yearning to be acknowledged. . . .
#charles leclerc#charles leclerc x reader#scuderia ferrari#leclerc#carlos#cl16#cl16 x reader#cl16 imagine#cl16 x you#cl16 one shot#max verstappen#mv1#formula 1#formula one#f1#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#monaco gp 2024#f1 fic#oscar piastri#formula racing#carlos sainz#leclerc x reader#grand prix#ferrari
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when you compliment them | earthrealm edition
pairings: raiden, kung lao, kenshi & johnny x reader (all separate)
synopsis: compliments are a long milestone for you, and yet only recently have you eagerly given them to liu kang's students
notes:
- reader is general neutral :]
- i did NOT anticipate becoming so invested in mk !! hope you enjoy these headcannons with a grain of salt. lmk if they're too out of character
RAIDEN
-> Raiden’s stunned for a moment. Don’t take it personally. He did not expect you to be blunt about it. It makes his heart flutter. You’re someone he admires dearly. And to have you look upon his talents with such delight brings a smile to his face. Raiden will quickly regain his composure and kindly thank you. He’s a humble farmer. He’ll show you gratitude in your words. But the small moments when he’s gazing at you across the Wu Shi Academy make him think back to your compliments. “Your efforts at the Wu Shi are quite admirable, Raiden,” Can you tell how flustered he is? How easily do you make his brain go haywire? If you questionably tease him, Raiden will avoid the topic as much as possible. His eyes won’t even meet yours out of pure embarrassment. And all he could imagine were the smug faces of his friends in this dilemma.
[ raiden ] : i- uh appreciate all that you have done for me (name).
[ you ] : (laughs) as earthrealm's champion, you deserve as much.
KUNG LAO
-> He is smug about it. Are you recognizing his talents? It bloats his ego, and he loves it. Kung Lao will use your praise to alleviate himself in any situation. When he’s about to fight Raiden for the seat of the Chosen One, he uses it to one-up his friend. Your approval is his number one trophy and shield from the rest of his friends. It’s in his pride that out of everyone in the Wu Shi, you’re the one to have looked at him. Honestly, he will always hold it over your head if you two argue. And maybe it takes things too far and results in you taking it all back (and puncturing his self-confidence). It all comes crashing down when he ultimately feels guilty about all the sarcastic criticism and teasing. Eventually, he’ll apologize and express how much you mean to him. Therefore the next time you commend his actions, he’ll take it down a notch
[ kung lao ] : i'll beat raiden soon enough. don't you wait (last name)!
[ you ] : impress me, first then we'll see if you can beat raiden.
KENSHI TAKAHASHI
-> The swordsman chuckles and genuinely enjoys your attention. “I’m flattered,” He utters your last name as a sign of delight. Of the four, he’s not afraid of what you have to say, criticism and compliment-wise. Kenshi strives for improvement. And having you admire his great efforts is comforting. His time with the yakuza was rogue and remorseful. The things he had to do for his clan’s survival were unforgivable. However, he’s made it to work, thanks to Liu Kang. By extension, you are seemingly always there to support his efforts to win his clan back and help Earthrealm. It’s your constant presence that makes his feelings known. You’re extensively supportive of what he does; what can he do to repay the favor? Of course, there will be times when he jabs at the others about it. You’re the one who started the whole fiasco. It’s evident in your favoritism. To say the others are not having it.
[ kenshi ] : what sento has given will help me restore my clan tenfold.
[ you ] : then i wish the best for the taira clan and its new leader.
JOHNNY CAGE
-> Approval is something he’s accustomed to. From movie ratings and down-to-earth interviews, Johnny is no stranger when someone cheers on his efforts. He lavishes on it as much as he can til it’s stale. It’s just how the movie industry works. He takes in criticism and heedlessness like it’s part of the job. It’s the attention he adores. Yet when his entire career is put to a stop for Earthrealm, Johnny has fewer things to worry about. His acting career is on hold now he’s practicing to become one of Earthrealm’s champions. It’s odd for him - to prove his self-worth at face value. He’s a superstar; what else does he have to show? It wasn’t until you arrived, with the goodness of intention from Liu Kang, that made him wonder what someone like you was doing here. You’re sweet and honest when talking to Johnny. It’s like the things he wanted to hear come easily to you. And when you particularly remark on a move he did on Kenshi, his entire day feels fresher and brighter. You know the words to make anyone feel complete and content. And he can’t help to tease you about it later. Johnny absolutely adores you for it. “Doll, you’re killing me with these compliments. How about a drink later?”
[ johnny ] : come on! i know sweet talk when i see it.
[ you ] : has being one of earthrealm's champions gone over your head, johnny?
#mortal kombat#mortal kombat x reader#mortal kombat 1#mortal kombat 1 x reader#mk1 2023#mk1#mk#mk 1 x reader#mk x reader#raiden#kung lao#kenshi takahashi#johnny cage#raiden x reader#kung lao x reader#kenshi takahashi x reader#kenshi x reader#johnny cage x reader#can you tell i'm obsessed#ive never done this before#is this how headcanons work#is tumblr ok
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Revelation | C.Sc
Pairing: Seungcheol x Reader
Genre: fluff, angst, office romance
Summary: What started as an office romance escalated quickly when there are news about Choi Seungcheol, your boyfriend, is suddenly the heirs of the company where you both work.
You grumbled as you opened your eyes, feeling the chill on the other side of the bed where Seungcheol had been sleeping. Unconsciously, your lips formed a pout, not quite pleased with Seungcheol's disciplined approach to work, which often meant leaving you alone in the mornings. But you knew he was just steps away, getting ready in the bathroom. Despite the fever weighing you down, you summoned the willpower to rise and prepare for the day. However, your feverish body rebelled, refusing to cooperate as you attempted to prop yourself up. It was the same cold that had brought Seungcheol to your side last night, yet now it seemed to mock your efforts to start the day.
"Getting better, love?" Seungcheol's voice drifted from the bathroom as he emerged, shirtless, a towel loosely draped around his lower body. You managed a nod in response, feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt for his concern.
As he drew closer, his hand instinctively reached out to touch your forehead. His expression soured at the lingering heat. "You're still burning," he remarked with a furrowed brow.
"Let's call you in sick for today."
You shifted your body fully to watch him, a smile spreading across your face as you admired his effortless grace in dressing. "Maybe it's because my boyfriend is so hot that I'm burning," you mumbled playfully, the words audible to Seungcheol as he adjusted his pants.
Seungcheol chuckled, turning to you with a raised eyebrow. "Really? Am I that hot?" he asked, a hint of playful vanity in his tone as he pulled back the duvet covering your body, his ego clearly enjoying the compliment.
"Really hot, to the point where I can't help but work to protect you from other women," you teased, preparing to rise from the bed. But Seungcheol was quicker, gently pushing you back under the covers with a soft yet firm touch, his concern evident in the way he hovered over you.
"I'll order you some food for breakfast. Let's have you rest for today, love," Seungcheol suggested, his voice soft with concern as he hovered near the bed.
You raised your brow, a flicker of worry crossing your features. "Didn't you say you had to pay for rent? Don't use that money for me," you reminded him, your concern for his finances clear in your tone.
Seungcheol met your gaze with a warm smile, brushing off your concern. "Yes, but it's okay," he reassured you, his eyes reflecting his affection for you.
Shaking your head slightly, you insisted, "You know I can pay for myself, right?"
Seungcheol nodded in understanding, his expression gentle. "You've told me that thousands of times already," he reminded you with a soft chuckle.
"Baby, if you need anything, you have me, alright?" you affirmed, reaching out to him with reassurance. He responded by pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his actions speaking volumes as he nodded in agreement.
Seungcheol headed off to work after ensuring you had a healthy breakfast on the way. He reassured you that he'd already taken care of the payment, urging you to simply enjoy the meal and remember to take your medicine afterward. As you sat at the dining table, a pang of guilt settled in your stomach. You couldn't shake the knowledge that Seungcheol was facing financial challenges of his own, yet he never hesitated to take care of you. The thought weighed heavily on your mind as you contemplated his selflessness, a mix of gratitude and concern swirling within you.
Reflecting on the journey you and Seungcheol had taken together, you couldn't help but marvel at his unwavering determination and work ethic. You both started as interns at the company, navigating the challenges of entry-level positions while trying to make ends meet. But while you struggled to find your footing, Seungcheol dove headfirst into every task, his relentless drive and dedication setting him apart.
You watched with admiration as he worked tirelessly, often taking on extra shifts and projects to support himself financially. Despite the long hours and occasional setbacks, his perseverance never wavered. And it was this unwavering commitment to his goals that slowly but surely began to capture your heart.
As you got to know him better, you realized that behind his stoic exterior was a heart of gold. Beneath the surface of his determined facade, Seungcheol was kind, compassionate, and fiercely loyal to those he cared about. It was these qualities, coupled with his unyielding work ethic, that drew you to him like a magnet.
And now, as you sat at the dining table, contemplating the sacrifices he made for you without a second thought, you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with love and admiration for the man who had stolen your heart. Despite the challenges you both faced, Seungcheol's unwavering support and dedication had never faltered, and for that, you were endlessly grateful.
"I must have gone to war in my previous life, right?" you mused aloud, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips as you opened the meal and began to savor it.
***
As you stepped into the elevator, the buzz of morning gossip greeted you, swirling around the confined space like a whirlwind of speculation and excitement. Your colleagues chattered animatedly, their voices rising and falling as they eagerly exchanged the latest news. You stood at the back, content to listen rather than participate, silently absorbing the juicy tidbits being shared.
One particular piece of gossip caught your attention, causing you to perk up with interest. The grandson of the President Company was set to become their director. The news rippled through the elevator, eliciting a mixture of surprise and curiosity from your coworkers.
You had never been particularly interested in the inner workings of the company's hierarchy or its familial ties, but you couldn't deny the significance of this development. The President Company, a prominent entity within the Choi Corps conglomerate, held considerable influence over the various companies under its umbrella, including the advertising agency where you worked.
The mention of Mrs. Park potentially being replaced by this new director sent a ripple of anticipation through the elevator. Mrs. Park, the current director of Choi Ads, was notorious for her strict demeanor and cutthroat management style. The prospect of her departure was met with a mix of relief and excitement, evident in the hushed whispers and knowing glances exchanged between your coworkers.
Should everyone throw a party then?
"You can't believe what happened yesterday!" Soonyoung exclaimed as he approached your table, his excitement palpable.
"I heard it in the elevator," you replied calmly, shooting him a look that silently urged him to lower his voice.
Soonyoung cleared his throat and glanced around before continuing, his voice now subdued. "Everyone was taken aback but relieved at the same time that Mrs. Park and Mr. Yang won't be here anymore."
Your brow furrowed at the unexpected news. Mrs. Park and Mr. Yang, both gone? It seemed the changes within the company ran deeper than you initially realized.
"Mr. Yang too?" you asked, seeking confirmation from Soonyoung, who nodded in response.
"Everyone is finally getting into their proper positions! Mrs. Kim definitely deserves the general manager position. And you, Ms. Assistant Manager, should be a team manager," Soonyoung continued, his enthusiasm undiminished as he recounted the events of the previous day.
Despite Soonyoung's animated explanation, your mind struggled to process the flurry of changes that had occurred in just one day. Replacements, promotions, announcements—what had you missed during your brief absence?
"I'm glad that I treated Seungcheol with all my heart, or should I start calling him Mr. Choi?" Soonyoung mused aloud.
You threw a glance to him, "what do you mean? Seungcheol? Mr. Choi? I'm not following, Soonyoung," you admitted, furrowing your brow in confusion.
Soonyoung's eyes widened in disbelief. "Girl! Assistant Manager Choi is the President's grandson. He was here to announce it. The formal announcement will be held next week, and I'm in charge of the event."
Your jaw dropped in shock, and you instinctively reached out to grasp Soonyoung's arm for support. "What?!" you exclaimed, barely able to contain your surprise. "You're kidding, right?" Your eyes widened, and your breath caught in your throat.
Soonyoung rolled his eyes, a wry smile playing at his lips. "Oh, babe, I wish. But I'm happy for him. I thought he was just some hardworking dude at work. Turns out he's the heir to this company," he explained, his tone a mix of astonishment and admiration.
As Soonyoung's words sank in, your mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions. How could you have been dating Seungcheol for four years without knowing such a significant detail about his family background? The realization left you feeling stunned and incredulous, as if a veil had been lifted to reveal an entirely different side to the man you thought you knew so well.
Images of Seungcheol flashed through your mind—his warm smile, his unwavering support, his tireless dedication to his work. You had always admired his resilience and determination, but now, knowing that he was the grandson of the company president, it added a new layer of complexity to your relationship.
Questions flooded your mind, each one more pressing than the last. Why hadn't Seungcheol ever mentioned his family's connection to the company before? Did he deliberately keep it a secret, or was it simply an oversight on his part? And most importantly, what did this newfound revelation mean for your future together?
As you grappled with the shock of this unexpected discovery, a sense of uncertainty crept in, mingling with the lingering warmth of affection you felt for Seungcheol. Despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you, one thing was certain—you needed to have a conversation with him, to clear the air and uncover the truth behind his hidden identity as the grandson of the company president.
As you made your way through the office, your mind still reeling from the bombshell revelation about Seungcheol's true identity, you were taken aback when you almost collided with a familiar figure—Seungcheol himself. The shock of seeing him, coupled with the knowledge of his impending promotion to director, left you momentarily speechless.
The surprise etched on your face didn't go unnoticed by Seungcheol, who seemed poised to offer an explanation. But before he could utter a word, he was intercepted by a member of the company's secretarial staff, beckoning him away with an urgent summons.
For a moment, you stood frozen in place, torn between the impulse to confront Seungcheol and demand answers, and the realization that now was not the time nor the place for such a conversation. With a heavy heart, you watched silently as he walked away, the weight of the unspoken truth hanging heavily in the air between you.
As he disappeared from view, a whirlwind of emotions swept over you—confusion, disbelief, and a gnawing sense of betrayal mingling with the remnants of affection and longing. You couldn't shake the feeling that everything had changed in an instant, and yet, in many ways, nothing had changed at all. With a sigh, you pocketed your phone, the call to Seungcheol forgotten for now as you grappled with the complexities of your newfound reality.
***
As interns at the company, you and Seungcheol had embarked on your professional journey together. You were the only one accepted after a rigorous testing and trial period, while Seungcheol's presence in the internship program had come as a surprise to you. However, at the time, you were too focused on the competitive nature of the training system, which dictated that only one intern would be chosen every six months. It hadn't occurred to you to question Seungcheol's sudden appearance.
Seungcheol's reputation as a hardworking man preceded him, and it was evident in the way he threw himself into every task with determination and grit. While you didn't doubt your own work ethic, you couldn't help but acknowledge that you often relied on your natural talent to excel. Gifted in design, management, administration—there seemed to be no limit to your abilities, while Seungcheol had to work tirelessly to match your level of competence.
Despite your differences, the company saw fit to keep both of you on board. You found yourself assigned to the design team, while Seungcheol carved out a niche for himself in PR. Despite being the youngest members of your respective teams, you and Seungcheol soon found yourselves spending nearly every night in the office together, preparing for presentations, brainstorming ideas, and tackling whatever tasks the higher-ups threw your way.
In that year of late nights and shared struggles, you and Seungcheol had seen each other at your worst—unbathed, hair unkempt, with ketchup stains from French fries or coffee splattered across your shirts. But through it all, you found solace in the fact that you only had each other in this relentless corporate world.
A significant project had brought you together once more—a short film project to advertise a makeup product. As the clock struck 10 p.m. and the office remained deserted save for the two of you, Seungcheol was deeply engrossed in mind mapping ideas for the presentation in two days, while you found yourself daydreaming about your warm bed.
Seungcheol's voice cut through the quiet of the office as he watched you begin to tidy up your table. "You're going home?" he asked, disbelief coloring his tone.
You nodded, exhaustion creeping into your voice. "I need my seven hours of sleep to come up with a better idea," you explained, already feeling the pull of fatigue tugging at your eyelids.
But Seungcheol wasn't ready to give up just yet. "You haven't contributed anything, Y/n. Let's work a little longer until we find the perfect premise," he pleaded, his determination evident in the furrow of his brow.
A pang of guilt gnawed at you as you drew closer to him, trying to catch a glimpse of the ideas he had jotted down on his iPad. With a scoff, you remarked, "Is that all you can come up with?"
Seungcheol's glare pierced through you, his frustration palpable. "So you have a better idea? Go ahead, miss," he retorted, handing you the iPad with a challenge in his eyes.
You settled yourself into Seungcheol's armchair, dangerously close to him, as you pulled the iPad towards you, eager to share your ideas. As you wrote down keywords like "Lips Product," "Lips stain", "Backstreet," "Office romance," and "steamy," you glanced up at Seungcheol, seeking his reaction.
"What do you think about office romance?" you asked, your voice laced with curiosity.
Seungcheol slowly shrugged, his gaze meeting yours. "Never experienced it before," he admitted, his tone neutral.
You sighed softly, mumbling to yourself, "Me either."
"Many people find office romance exciting and adrenaline-fueled. But why?" you continued, your words growing more animated as you delved into your idea. "Because they're often secret relationships, hidden behind work contracts and professional facades."
Seungcheol listened intently as you explained, his expression thoughtful. "And what's the closest thing a couple can do in the office?" you posed the question, your eyes alight with excitement. "Kiss. Yes. A kiss leaves a stain—a lingering mark of passion and desire."
As you continued to speak, Seungcheol found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on your words. His gaze lingered on your lips, drawn irresistibly to their sensual movements as they formed each syllable. The proximity between you felt electrifying, your perfume mingling with the scent of his cologne, creating a heady atmosphere of intimacy.
Despite his best efforts to focus on the conversation, Seungcheol's heart raced faster than usual, his senses overwhelmed by the closeness between you. He tried to shake off the sensation, willing himself to concentrate on your words, but the allure of your presence proved too strong to resist.
Suddenly, you stopped speaking, and Seungcheol realized with a start that your faces were only inches apart. Your whispered question sent a shiver down his spine, and he met your gaze with a mixture of surprise and anticipation.
"Seungcheol..." you breathed, the sound barely audible in the quiet of the office.
His brows raised in response, but his eyes remained locked on yours, unable to tear himself away from the magnetic pull of your gaze. "Hm?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Do you still want me to be here?" you asked softly, your words hanging in the air between you.
Seungcheol bit his lip nervously, his eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips and back again. "Do you want to be with me here?" he countered, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
"I guess," you replied, your own voice barely audible as you closed the gap between you and Seungcheol, surrendering to the undeniable chemistry that crackled between you.
***
Seungcheol cautiously slipped into your studio apartment, his heart racing as he finally had the chance to face you after the whirlwind of work and avoidance. He knew he had to explain everything, but deadlines and commitments seemed to conspire against him. Now, on the eve of the announcement event, he couldn't delay any longer.
You weren't home when he arrived, so he took the opportunity to prepare a simple dinner, hoping to ease the tension that hung heavy in the air. As you walked in, the aroma of food greeted you, mingling with the unexpected presence of Seungcheol.
"Go change, I'll wait for you here," he uttered awkwardly, his hands fidgeting as he busied himself setting the table.
Minutes crawled by like reluctant snails as Seungcheol anxiously waited for your return. When you finally emerged, he straightened up, trying to compose himself as he watched you take your seat and begin to eat.
"Thanks for the meal," you said, your tone tinged with a hint of detachment that didn't escape his notice.
Seungcheol felt a pang of guilt gnaw at him as he realized the extent of the hurt he had caused you. He longed to reach out, to bridge the growing chasm between you, but the weight of his own mistakes anchored him to his seat. All he could do was watch, silently hoping for a chance at redemption.
"I can't do this," you uttered, setting down your utensils with a heavy clink, your hands reaching up to rub at your face in frustration.
Seungcheol's heart plummeted at your words, a cold dread creeping over him. Was this it? Were you about to end things between you? The thought sent a shiver down his spine.
"Can you— please don't show your face when I'm around," you pleaded, your head bowed, unable to meet his gaze.
Seungcheol felt like he'd been punched in the gut, the weight of your request crushing him with guilt and regret. He had hoped for a chance to explain, to make things right between you, but now it seemed like an impossible feat.
He sighed heavily, the weight of his mistakes bearing down on him like a leaden cloak. He knew he had let you down, had failed to prioritize your feelings over his own ambitions. The truth he had meant to share with you, about the sudden change in his circumstances and the responsibilities thrust upon him, now seemed like a feeble excuse in the face of your pain.
As he looked at you, your expression filled with hurt and disappointment, Seungcheol realized the depth of his folly. He had let his own ambitions blind him to the needs of the person he cared about most, and now he was paying the price. All he could do was nod silently, a silent acknowledgment of the chasm that now separated them, knowing that he had brought this upon himself.
"Are you—" Seungcheol began, his voice tentative, his heart pounding in his chest as he braced himself for your response. Was this the moment when everything would unravel between you?
Before he could finish his question, you let out a piercing scream, the suddenness of it jolting him to his core. Confusion etched across his features as he watched you dramatically cover your ears and sink to the floor.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his concern evident in his voice as he reached out to you, but you shook your head vehemently, your actions and words shrouded in incomprehensibility.
"No, don't talk to me!" you exclaimed, your voice muffled as you buried your face in your arms, your distress palpable.
Seungcheol knelt down in front of you, his brow furrowed with worry as he tried to make sense of your outburst. You muttered something indistinctly, your words lost in the folds of your arms. He leaned in closer, urging you to speak louder, desperate to understand.
"Don't talk to me, it's so embarrassing! I'm embarrassed!" you finally managed to articulate, your cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment.
Seungcheol's shock morphed into a mixture of surprise and amusement as he processed your words. He couldn't believe you were feeling embarrassed when, in reality, he was the one who should be hanging his head in shame.
"I feel so stupid right now. How could you—" you started, your voice trailing off as you hid your face once again, leaving Seungcheol hanging on your unfinished sentence.
A soft chuckle escaped Seungcheol's lips as he watched your adorable display of shyness. He couldn't help but find your reaction endearing, a welcome relief from the tension that had gripped the room moments ago.
"Hey, it's okay. What do you want to say, love?" he reassured you, pulling you gently into his embrace, his heart swelling with affection at the sight of your pout.
You met his gaze with a mixture of bashfulness and sincerity, your words tumbling out in a rush. "I'm feeling stupid right now because I've been treating you like shit when you technically own the company where I work!"
Seungcheol's laughter bubbled up from deep within him, the absurdity of the situation washing away the remnants of tension between you. He cupped your face in his hands, his eyes twinkling with fondness as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.
"You have nothing to feel stupid about, darling," he whispered, his voice warm with reassurance.
"And no, you're not. You never treat me like shit," he insisted, his smile softening the edges of his words.
But you shook your head, your embarrassment still lingering like a stubborn shadow. "You don't understand! I've been insisting on paying the bills every time we go on dates. I even casually offered to pay your rent. Oh my god!"
Seungcheol's laughter grew louder at the revelation, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "That's what you were worried about?" he exclaimed incredulously.
You let out a heavy sigh, the weight of your embarrassment pressing down on you like a leaden blanket. "This whole week, I've been thinking about how many times I've hurt you by paying for your groceries and dinner. Your masculinity isn't hurt, right?"
Seungcheol's hands were gentle as they cupped your cheeks, his touch a comforting reassurance amidst your swirling emotions. "Thanks for everything, my love. Now your boyfriend will be the owner of the company you're working for. Let him treat you like a princess," he said tenderly, his voice laced with sincerity and affection.
You melted into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his love enveloping you like a protective cocoon. "I love the sound of it," you whispered, your heart swelling with gratitude for his understanding and support.
Seungcheol held you close, his arms wrapped securely around you as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. "Let's finish your dinner, and I'll get you your favorite dessert from that expensive bakery you showed me last time," he suggested, his eyes sparkling with excitement at the thought of spoiling you.
You smiled up at him, feeling a rush of love and contentment wash over you. With Seungcheol by your side, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would always have each other to lean on. And in that moment, surrounded by his love, everything felt right in the world.
#seventeen fanfic#seventeen imagines#seventeen angst#seventeen scenarios#densworld🌼#seventeen series#seventeen fanfiction#seventeen imagine#seventeen drabbles#scoups fic#scoups fluff#scoups imagine#scoups smut#scoups imagines#scoups x reader#seungcheol fanfic#seventeen seungcheol#seungcheol smut#seungcheol fluff#seungcheol scenarios#seungcheol x reader
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for you, anything
JOEL MILLER X READER
summary: joel do what he does best, smuggling and taking care of you
warnings: fluff, soft!joel, domesticity, established relationship, reader caught a cold, sick fic
wc: 900
—
After spending years and years fighting to survive a cordyceps apocalypse and tolerating a totalitarian government regime, you were no stranger to hardship. But it seemed like one thing has finally gotten to you, something that had you weak and bedridden for days now, something so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but it happened—you had managed to catch a common cold.
Okay, maybe you were being a little dramatic, but the combination of a sore throat, the inability to breathe, the stuffy nose and constant chills was making you feel awful.
The door opens and on a normal day, you would’ve been alert and ready for any potential intruders but you had no energy left and besides, you knew who it was just by the creaks of the floorboard.
You peek out from the corner of your eyes and Joel was leaning against the wall at the end of your bed, looking at you in pity.
“Shut up,” you groaned, pulling the thin blanket over your head.
That garnered a small chuckle from him. “Didn’t even say anything,” he said.
“You didn’t need to,” you murmured.
Feeling the bed dip with his pressure, he pulled the cover away. “How are you feeling today?”
“Like shit,” you replied as he brought his hand up to feel your forehead. “I can feel a major headache forming,” you added with a pout.
“Poor baby,” he cooed.
You gave him a weak punch in the arm. “You dick, if you’re here to make fun of me just leave.”
He snickered for a bit, clearly enjoying this before mellowing. “Here,” he said, handing you a paper bag you didn’t even know he was holding.
Raising an eyebrow in suspicion you took a peek inside. “Joel,” you gasped, “How did you manage to get these?”
Because inside the bag were different envelopes of white pills and packets of powdered electrolytes, everything you needed to help you get through a cold—probably way past its expiration date, but still, these were highly prized. You would have had to work months just to get enough rations for these items. And Joel just handed you these…
“Are you seriously questioning my skills?”
You scoffed. “No. But you really didn’t have to get all these for me. I would have gotten better with time.” And you know that he knows it too, but he still got these things for you because he knew it would help alleviate the pain even if it was for a little bit. And no matter how much he downplays it, you know how hard it must’ve been for him to get these items. You know because you’re in this business with him.
You couldn’t help the smile that was tugging at your lips. “But… Thank you. I appreciate you doing this for me.” For always taking care of me.
He hummed and looked away, embarrassed at the gratitude you were giving him. Getting up, he headed to the living room and grabbed you a bottle of water.
“Let me,” he offered, before placing the bottle on your bedside and helping you sit straight. He popped the medicine onto your palm and you swallowed them down. And maybe it was the placebo effect but you were feeling better already—or maybe it was just the fact that Joel was here.
Sometimes, he really was the best medicine.
Suddenly, he pulled out something from his pocket. “Here.”
You frowned in confusion before a surprised expression spread all over. “Joel…” you whispered.
Turning the package in your hand, you examined its content and the slight wrinkles of the plastic. He had managed to find you a bag of those hard fruity candies that you once loved when the world wasn’t in ruins—something you had forgotten until now. Something meaningless you told him all those years ago when you first got to know each other and reminisced about the good old days.
You wanted to cry. He went through all this effort just to make your life a little easier and joyful when you know it made his life a little harder.
When you looked up at him, he gave you a shy smile. “Thought it might make you happy.”
You were beaming. And if you weren’t sick, you’d kiss him.
He started taking off his shoes when you stopped him. “Joel, I’m sick.”
He scoffed, as if you said something absurd. “Move over,” he grunted, hogging the spot next to you and getting underneath the covers.
He crossed his arms and closed his eyes.
“I kinda miss this you know,” you whispered. Because even though you were wrapped in his jacket he gave you a few days ago, in which he insisted you wear because your blanket was too thin, it just wasn’t the same.
He made a noise in agreement and minutes later, he was snoring.
It’s been three days since you caught a cold, hence, three days since you’ve been fully in his presence. It only occurred to you now that he didn’t stay away because he was scared of catching it, but that he spent all that time working and doing what he does best. All because of you—all for you.
All you could do was admire him as moonlight gently graced the features of his face.
When you got better, you’d give him that kiss he deserved.
#self indulgent bc i am sick and feel awful#joel miller x y/n#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fic#joel miller imagine#joel miller one shot#joel miller fanfic#pedro pascal x reader#joel miller fluff#pedro pascal x you
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against the kitchen floor (law x reader nsfw)
you push law to his breaking point. he bends for you.
18+, mdni, nsfw wc: 2.1k masterlist
cw: afab!reader, established relationship, toxic relationship dynamics, arguing, law is bad with feelings, ultimatums, angst with a happy ending (?), emotional roller coaster, make up sex, confessions, fingering, law has control issues, emotional manipulation, edging
tagging some law kissers: @eelnoise @ragethebunny @sanjisprincesswifey @willowhaze26 @risenwrites
Tension hangs low and thick in the air. The early, dreamlike glow that illuminates the sky shortly before the dawn breaks is far too weak to break beneath the waves, leaving the inside of the submarine quiet and dark—as murky and clouded as his demeanor as he pours himself a cup of coffee in silence. You eye him carefully, dancing gracefully along the line between staring intently and getting lost in the labyrinth of your own mind; the wheels were turning fast enough that Law could hear the cogs turning inside your head. He knows. He knows this conversation, the one that remains unspoken but hangs in the space between the two of you is imminent, though it doesn’t prevent him from attempting to avoid it. Feigning normalcy, he pours a splash of cream into his mug, and more than a splash into yours, sliding it across the counter towards you.
For a moment, there’s a respite from the painful tug on his heartstrings as a familiar sense of gratitude graces your features, though there’s a sad undertone in the smile you give him, as if this were the last time you’d be partaking in this daily ritual with him. He was far from a fool—he had seen your bags partially packed in your room, and though the gift of a cup of coffee was nothing out of the ordinary, something deep in his heart prayed that the simple gesture was enough to salvage things. Far from an ideal partner, Law was closed off, blunt, and stubborn, though he had thought you admired those qualities in him; however, here you were, on the verge of jumping ship into the cold depths of the unknown without so much as attempting to talk things out with him. As he sips from his mug, he watches you closely with his intense, molten stare; your lips part once, twice, three times without a single word escaping them. Vexed by your hesitation, he almost implores you to spit it out already, and bring your hidden woes out into the open so the two of you can fight about it, but he loses his nerve right as your voice breaks the silence.
“Do you love me?” you whisper numbly, all hint of emotion wiped from your face. The timbre of your voice betrays your pain as it wobbles and warbles, and almost fades into the stale air of the submarine.
Hitting his eardrums sharply, your words pierce straight through the thin membrane and send needles of pain into his head. He had attempted to prepare himself mentally for this conversation, but the reality crashing down on him like a violent, stormy wave is too much for him to handle, overwhelming him before his head even falls underneath the cool water.
“Of course I do. Have I given you the impression that I don’t?” he says; it’s curt, tense, and straddling the line between dismissive and disinterested as Law makes a last-ditch effort to shut the conversation down before it begins.
“Could have fooled me.” you rasp out, nearly choking on the short phrase. The tone that spills out of your throat says more than four simple words ever could, and Law knows full and well what you’re trying to tell him. You’ve never told me that you love me. You’ve been neglecting me. You never open up to me.
None of these sentiments were objectively untrue, but they anger Law nonetheless; his inner world was nearly entirely occupied by you, doubly so during long stretches underwater when a sense of stagnancy enveloped the Polar Tang, leaving the crew with nothing to do but float. As he wakes, his first action is to pull you closer to his chest and place a soft kiss to the back of your head. His time spent locked away in his office studying, drawing up plans, or organizing shifts for the crew is inefficient and takes far longer than it should on account of the visions of you dancing in his mind, distracting him from the dullness of necessary paperwork. Each tick of the clock in the evening is an incessant countdown to the time left until he can pull you close under the comforting confines of his sheets, drifting out of consciousness with you safely tucked into his side.
But how were you supposed to know? He never expresses those feelings, verbally or otherwise, and instead masks his affection for you with an unbreakable stony façade, concealing his feelings in an attempt to preserve his dignity.
He takes a while to speak, jaw clenching so hard he nearly hurts himself. “You’re not leaving.” he says lowly, with authority, and no room for argument, placing the venting of your frustrations on the backburner; Law could address those later, behind closed doors when his overwhelming fear and trembling dies down, but he can’t lose you—not without losing his own mind in the process.
“I didn’t say anything about—” you start, attempting to steer the conversation back to its original course with no avail.
“I saw your bags.” he spits out, unable to mask the pain in his voice. Your jaw snaps shut as your face burns red with the embarrassment of being found out as he continues. “Were you even planning on telling me? Or were you just going to slink off at the next port and disappear on me?” The sheer concept of abandonment has his dark eyes brimming with more pain than you’d ever seen in them, his stare holding a compounded sense of loss and agony.
“Law, I don’t want to go, but—” you whisper, whiny and almost verging into a desperate wail. His glare is dangerous and pins you in place, the edge of the counter digging into the flesh of your back.
“But what?” he hisses, venom and hurt coating his words as he cages you against the counter, arms on either side as he towers over you, puffing himself up in an attempt to plant your fleeing feet to the ground and make them stick.
“I can’t do this anymore if you keep me at arm’s length.” you say, voice wavering far more than you had intended it to; the words you had so carefully crafted in your head felt like daggers crawling up your throat, scratching the fleshy, mucus covered column to break skin along each stretch of their ascent. The last thing you wanted to do was leave him, but you couldn’t go on any longer giving pieces of yourself to a man who wouldn’t—or couldn’t—reciprocate the sentiment.
You needed his heart to spill, leaving pooling blood around your feet as proof that he was alive and beating.
As Law glares down at you, his grip on the counter causing his knuckles to turn a crisp white, he knows the time for bargaining for a lighter sentence had long since passed; it was either spew his guts for you to pick at like a vulture, or lose you to the soft roll of the tides. And so, with a deep breath, he’s forced to tell you why saying those three little words is so difficult for him, how the last time he heard them before you came along was from Corazón’s lips, and how he replays his death in his head every time he hears the phrase I love you, Law. He tells you, tears in his eyes, how he loved his parents, his sister, his neighbors and classmates, and that he fears that loving you—speaking it into existence—would condemn you to the same fate.
He tells you that he loves you, and that he has been loving you silently all this time.
It was the most emotion you had ever seen from Law in the many years you had known him, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and threatening to roll down the plane of his cheek. His confessions were more than enough to sate your need for trust and vulnerability from him, and seeing him so rattled left you with nothing in your chest but the intense need to soothe him. And so, your lips latch onto his, both of you murmuring a muffled I’m sorry into each other’s chapped and cracked mouths. Law had never pressed himself to your body harder as he threads a hand through your hair, digging his nails into your scalp to pull you closer. Coaxing your tongue to entwine with his by dragging gentle stripes along the wet muscle, he takes you, consuming your soul whole with each drag of his lips against yours. He’s messy—sloppy and messier than he’s ever been as he pours himself into you, each twitch of his tongue another confession too fragile to speak aloud.
“You’re not fucking leaving me.” he growls, placing his knee between your legs, “Not now, not ever.” Unable to temper his patience, his hand grasps harshly into your soft thigh, creeping upwards under your nightgown towards your core.
“I’m not—I love you, Law.” you whimper against him, allowing him turn the sounds dripping from your lips from devoted assurances to lewd mewls as he sinks a finger inside of you. His cold skin shocks the warmth of your insides, doubly so when he adds another digit and curls both upwards into your sweet spot.
“I love you too.” he whispers back; the sentiment still feels alien, and in a sense terrifying as it falls from his lips, though the discomfort is well worth its weight in platinum if it means keeping you wrapped around his fingers, his waist, and his heart. “Dripping wet for me—you needed this, didn’t you?” he murmurs, holding only the slightest bit of characteristic teasing in his voice, too mentally exhausted to do much besides act on instinct.
“Needed you. I always need you, Law.” you mumble between gasps as the press of his fingers inside of you brings heat pooling to your cheeks. Scissoring his fingers inside of you, he keeps you straddling the edge, a form of punishment for gaining control of him emotionally, enough to force him to divulge things he’d sworn to keep buried deep in his chest under heaps of cold, dense snow.
A heated whine settles in your throat as he slows down right before your precipice once more. "Lemme come…” you plead, your fingernails digging into the groove of his waist as you cling to him. Denying you the mercy you were expecting, he withdraws his fingers from you and pushes your shoulder down harshly, satisfied as he watches you sink to your knees, back dragging along the metal cupboards. He drops to your level unceremoniously, silently coaxing you to lay down, flush against the floor as he pins you below him like a lowly piece of prey. Latching his lips to yours again, he props himself up with one hand and lets the other roam, harshly grasping at your breasts, trailing down your sides and splaying out over your stomach, and finally settling between your legs, teasingly dragging along your slit, causing you to whine and grind against him. Giving into the sweet song of your begging, he circles his thumb along your aching bud, slowly working you up; tongue buried deep in your mouth, he intends on getting you close but not too close, wanting to keep you panting and writhing beneath you for his own benefit for a while longer. As you whine at the loss of contact against your clit, he undoes his zipper and lines himself up with you, slathering the head of his cock in the slick arousal that coats your folds and inner thighs.
The connection between you had been signed in consummating fluids and deep sighs hundreds of times over, but this is the first time that Law truly makes love to you. He slides into you, keeping his lips firmly on yours, his mind swirling with intimacy he thought himself incapable of. Full of newfound initiative to make you snap as soon as possible, his hand is quick to return to the needy, aching spot you need it most; his movements are practiced and hold precision honed over countless sessions tuning himself to your needs, but each touch is imbued with something novel, intoxicating, and foreign—as you turn red hot and flutter around him, Law is intent on showing you how much he loves you, sealing your promise to never leave him and using his flowing affections to keep you locked into that decision.
Law promises himself he’ll be better to you moving forward, that he will reassure you more, and take care of you in the same way you care for him, but in this moment, he places improvement on the backburner for a short while—all that mattered to him right now was you falling apart for him against the kitchen floor.
#one piece x reader#law x reader#trafalgar law x reader#trafalgar law smut#law smut#law x you#trafalgar law x you#law x y/n#trafalgar law x y/n#trafalgar law#x reader#one piece fanfiction#one piece smut#one piece scenario
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jamil, who loves showing affection by cooking food for his loved ones, making sure the curry is seasoned to perfection and your favourite dessert to go along with the meal.
and you, with zero spice tolerance but so incredibly overwhelmed with gratitude and affection for how hard jamil's worked. and with your favourite dessert right there enticing you, you're determined to finish every drop of curry on your plate.
...
it doesn't go too well.
indeed, you have finished every drop of curry. but you've also downed around 12 cups of water, and the burning in your mouth is still unrelenting. jamil visibly looks concerned with how much water you're drinking and it's unavoidable you address your non-existent spice tolerance.
jamil sighs, and his eyes show a hint of exasperation you often see when he's following kailm's whims. you avert your gaze to the floor, upset at yourself that you've disappointed him and maybe he hates you now how could you not like his fo-
flick!
ouch! your hands reach up to shield your forehead, and your eyes meet his. not exasperated, maybe slightly, but amused and... loving??
"dummy, don't go forcing yourself to eat what you don't like," he sighs
you timidly explain you could never do that with how much time and effort he puts into his cooking
his smile widens slightly.
"for now, i guess i'll be making more desserts for you then,"
he chuckles at the way your eyes light up.
"here," he feeds you a spoonful of the chilled dessert. "is your mouth still burning?"
oh. you don't think it is anymore.
but your heart sure is.
#inspired by that time my crush made me spicy noodles and i finished all of it bc🥺💕💕#psa!!! drinking too much water at a time can kill you so be careful!#another snippet for my zero spice tolerance ppl!! jamil has to work around that little issue hehe#hes totally planning to learn other non spicy dishes and cuisines#but for now he'll focus on dessert hehe#this is written kinda messily oops#its 3am and jamil wouldn't leave my mind jade is getting mad so here#rinna rants#twstnexus#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#disney twisted wonderland#twst wonderland#twisted wonderland jamil#jamil viper#jamil viper x reader#twst jamil x reader#twst jamil#twst jamil viper
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you're a pain in the neck. (literally.)
premise. in which you make a nuisance of yourself in every train ride you share with scaramouche. (inexplicably, he doesn't stop sitting next to you anyway.)
note. we pretend i didn't disappear for months :D enjoy
Neck pain has been increasingly common in Scaramouche's life these days.
The cause of which is sleeping peacefully on his shoulder, snoring softly as the train rattles past. The way you remain deep in slumber despite the constant lurching is impressive, but your knack for unwittingly making yourself a menace to society is even more spectacular.
Scaramouche takes a deep breath—Kazuha always did advise him to be more patient—yet the moment he does, tufts of your hair curl against his skin. A flush rises to his cheeks, body caught between freezing in place and jolting out of his seat, but he digs his fingers to his thighs and wills himself to dispel the urge to shoot upright, in fear of...
In fear of what? Shocking you awake?
Nonsense. He's never been that considerate.
(Still, once the tension bleeds from his body, he lets his shoulders drop, fitting your head snugly against the crook of his neck. He grabs your phone from your loose grip, tucks it securely in your pocket, and allows himself to stare at the dark circles beneath your eyes.
He can let himself worry for a bit.)
--
“What's wrong with you?” Kazuha's concerned gaze settles over Scaramouche's hunched figure, slumped miserably on the desk. His head is craned in a particular angle, and Childe, obnoxious as he is, had erupted in boisterous laughter when Scaramouche entered the lecture hall tilted the very same way. Unfortunately, Scaramouche had been too sore to swat away Childe's phone as he took a picture of him in a zombie filter.
“Got a crick in my neck.”
Kazuha frowns. “Did you sleep badly again?”
Scaramouche scoffs in defeat. “You could say that.”
The next time he sees you enter the train, you're drenched.
You make an effort to dry yourself, wiping rainwater out of your hair with a handkerchief and packing your wet jacket in your bag, but you're still undeniably soaked. Some passengers don't bother to hide their distaste, scooting away to other vacant seats as they shoot you a scornful look. Others aren't so cruel, offering packets of tissues and initiating small talk over the worsening weather. Scaramouche watches as your apologetic expression turns into one of gratitude, sheepishly admitting to the nice aunties you forgot to check the forecast.
Scaramouche doesn't quite give you a spare towel or send you a reassuring smile, but he broods silently from where he sits beside you, scowling at the impudent lot now sitting far, far away. Insolent fools, tactless jerks, ill-mannered garbage—a barrage of insults fly in his head, ones he has learned not to verbalize lest he gets in trouble for his crass mouth again.
When the train pauses to his stop, he pulls out a foldable umbrella from his bag, still seething. He hands it out to you, not making eye contact as he's still glaring at the woman giving you a side-eye. “Take this.”
“Uh...?” Perplexed, you hesitantly accept it. “But...”
“It's fine.” He slings his backpack over his shoulder, walking toward the sliding doors. “So don't come here drenched in the rain next time.”
He doesn't get to hear your response as he speeds off.
--
“I'm an asshole.”
“Is this your moment of self-discovery?”
“Congratulations.”
Scaramouche's eyebrow twitches, but he's much too panicked to make a snarky quip to fire back. It's his fault for picking the wrong people to talk to, anyway—Heizou is a smartass and Xiao has a perpetual stick up his ass. He should've confided to the empathetic Aether instead, or to Venti who gives surprisingly good advice when you least expect it.
“So what made you realize it?” Heizou bites down on a pork cutlet, apparently finished with his daily quota for pissing him off and now fulfilling his obligations as a friend. “Did something happen?”
“Does it have anything to do with how you arrived soaking wet to class?” Xiao adds, poking the tofu on his plate.
“Perhaps you tried stealing an umbrella on your way here?”
“You got it backwards, dumbass. I gave away mine,” Scaramouche scowls.
“That sounds like you did a good thing, then. What's wrong?”
The way he gave it away so roughly. The way he said you could use it so condescendingly. How he'd forgotten to offer words of comfort, no matter how painful or awkward for him, because he'd been so absorbed in pointless matters. How he'd completely ruined his chances of being friends with you by acting like an indifferent jerk.
All because he was too embarrassed to say he's worried you'll catch a cold from the rain.
--
When Scaramouche takes the train the way home, it's him who's dripping rainwater everywhere.
Karma had gotten his new umbrella stolen from the rack, it seems. He just bought it from the convenience store, damn it.
So now he stands by the doors, too reluctant to go any further inside the train. His wet sneakers squeak beneath his feet, hair sticking uncomfortably on his forehead. His shirt clings to him like second skin, and the only thing retaining his modesty (because of course he falls prey to downpour the one time he wears a white button-up) is a heavy sweater vest soaked in water.
“So much for telling me not to come here when I'm drenched.”
A small towel drapes itself over his head, and Scaramouche quickly turns on his feet. Your mouth is curled into a grin when you step to the spot by his side, but not unkindly—you aren't here to mock him or return his cruel words.
Scaramouche grabs the towel sitting atop his head, drying his hair with it. As he does so, you make no move to leave even with plenty of vacant seats remaining unoccupied.
“... Aren't you going to sit?”
“Hm? No.” You're already holding onto a handrail, staring ahead.
“...Why not?”
“I'm keeping you company.”
???
“Oh, and your umbrella.” You fish it from your bag, holding it out for him to take. “Cute pattern, by the way.”
“Wha-” he's about to say ‘what are you talking about,’ but then he sees the cute star print, the gold sparkles bright against navy blue, and his hair rises on end, face flushing a deep red. Nahida was the one who packed it for me...!
“...Cute.”
“I heard you the first time,” he grumbles under his breath, accepting it from your hand.
An endeared smile crosses your face, one that he doesn't see as he stuffs the umbrella into his backpack.
I wasn't talking about the umbrella.
Scaramouche has always made it a habit to take the train before rush hour, but his report is due today, and so he slept for a grand total of two hours last night just to finish it. It wouldn't even be two hours if he hadn't slept through his alarm, but he wishes he'd woken up earlier; if it meant he could've avoided a crowded train, he could stand to lose some minutes of sleep.
“Can you move a bit?”
“Ow, ow...”
“Sorry, I stepped on your foot!”
“I hope nobody comes in at the next stop...”
Scaramouche empathizes with the last remark in particular, because he really couldn't handle it any more.
Presently, he's staring at the ceiling, praying for divine intervention. His neck is starting to hurt but he forces himself to face upwards, otherwise he would...
“This is tough, isn't it?” You laugh awkwardly, your chuckle turning into a wince when an elbow digs to your side. The train car is packed at full capacity, and you wouldn't be exaggerating if you were to say you felt like you were drowning in a sea of people.
“That's a massive understatement,” Scaramouche replies, wishing for death.
“Sorry. I can't go any farther than this.”
“It's fine.”
Actually, nothing is fine.
Scaramouche is trapped against the wall in the farthest location from the exit, surrounded by people from all sides, his stop is two stations away, and he has no idea how he's going to swim all the way through the doors.
Oh, and he's caged between your arms, pressed against your body, and feeling very much like a pervert for sniffing your scent, but it's simply impossible not to smell you at this close proximity (however, it's entirely his fault for thinking you smell good and trying to pinpoint what cologne you use).
Your head is resting on his shoulder, and Scaramouche learns quickly this position is a lot more embarrassing when you're conscious. And fuck, this time he can feel you breathe directly against his neck, puffs of hot air blowing on his reddened skin, and he can only hope for the best you can't sense his racing heartbeat.
You're too goddamn close, even though he can tell you're exerting your utmost effort to create some distance between your bodies. Your arms are straining pushing on the wall just so you wouldn't crush him under your weight, and as much as he should appreciate it, he can hardly think straight over the sound of his pulse in his ears. He's hanging precariously over the edge, and if he crosses his limit, he might just pass away on the spot.
Hell, if he so as much looks down, he's close enough to kiss your forehead, and-
He really shouldn't be thinking about that right now.
So yeah. Scaramouche may look like an idiot facing the ceiling, but at least he isn't at risk of cardiac arrest.
It's fine. This is fine. I'm one stop away. I can survive this. Just a little more.
But the gods above must hate his guts or something because the train screeches to a rough halt at the station, the car rattles violently, and you're squirming underneath him, his hands instinctively wrapping around your waist to steady you, but your head moves to look up at him and-
Scaramouche very nearly astral projects to another plane when he feels your lips graze against his chin.
“Hey, you okay?! Did you hit your head on the wall or something?”
He feels like he did. He's so dizzy and the world is spinning around him, but at the same time you're the only one he can see. This must be unhealthy, Scaramouche thinks, and he wonders how much blood has rushed to his head, coloring his cheeks bright pink, and if he can die from losing too much blood this way.
“Kuni?”
How do you know my name, Scaramouche isn't sure if he really says it, mind still whirring with thoughts, and oh god his hands are still on your waist-
“Your umbrella had a name tag...” You squint at the neon letters displaying the current station, “Hey, your stop is here, isn't it? Excuse me! Coming thro....”
He vaguely remembers your hands pushing him forward and the crowd parting obediently to make way for him when they see his face becoming visibly ill. The rest passes in a blur, and when Scaramouche finally comes to, he's already outside the train station.
For a brief moment, he stays frozen. Then by the corner of his eye, he notices the shopping center.
He stares at the pastel decor from the cosmetic store, approaches the vanity mirror, and if possible, his mind turns even more blank.
A faint kiss mark is stark against his chin, the same color as the lip tint you wear everyday.
“I'm not going.”
Venti sighs, disappointed but not surprised. “You never go to drinking parties with me. Why do you always head straight home after class?”
“Reasons.” Scaramouche closes his laptop and slides it inside his bag, making quick work of packing his things. “In your case, I'd advise you to go less. Being an alcoholic isn't a good look.”
“My liver is strong,” Venti insists, a cheeky grin dancing on his lips. “But seriously, what's up? Don't tell me you have a secret girlfriend you meet up with after class?”
“I was starting to think the same thing,” Aether pipes up, matching curious looks with Venti. “Or maybe you have a boyfriend? Either way, what are they like?”
“I have neither,” Scaramouche grumbles, coming off more pitiful than spiteful. “And I'm coming home early today because Nahida wanted me to get something for dinner.”
“Ehh, that's boring.”
“You're the ones making assumptions by yourselves!” Scaramouche snaps, treading towards the door. “I'm leaving. Don't call me to pick you up when you're wasted, it's Xiao's turn this week.”
“Okay, enjoy your date~”
Scaramouche doesn't even bother replying.
--
You get on the train scheduled for 4:15 everyday.
It's not that Scaramouche deliberately researched this information; he really did just catch the same train rides by chance. Over time, he began to recognize you as a familiar face, and eventually, he even became your headrest.
Not by choice, but he supposes he just has to live with it.
It's not that Scaramouche intentionally takes the same train so he could see your face. At least, that's what he tells himself as he silently pressures the retail cashier to scan his items faster and practically flies out the convenience store to rush for the train.
He glances at his wristwatch. 4:11. I'll make it. He breathes a sigh of relief, and checks the shopping list Nahida texted for good measure. Curry mix, milk, a carton of eggs...
A notification sound rings from his phone.
‘Sorry for the late notice, could you get pudding for dessert too?’
Shit.
Panic flares in his eyes and he spins on his heel, returning to the convenience store. Do I sprint? No, it's still not humanly possible to buy pudding and go back in four minutes... But I could try. Wait, wasn't there a line of customers behind me earlier? I'd still have to wait in line.
Finally, he stops running. This is stupid. Why am I working so hard just to catch this train, anyway?
Before he could even properly sulk about it, Scaramouche bumps into someone hurrying for the train. “Oh, sorry! I wasn't looking-”
Much to his surprise, your face comes into view when he looks, chest heaving for breath. You look like you've been running for a good while, hair in disarray from the wind, the reading glasses perched on your nose askew. And that's how Scaramouche knows you're in a real hurry, if you didn't even have the time to put on your contacts.
“It's okay,” Scaramouche quickly replies, stepping aside out of your path. “The train is still there, don't sweat it.”
He turns to the convenience store, mood lifted. I got to see them, so I guess this way is fine, too.
--
When Scaramouche returns from shopping, he comes back to a strange sight.
“Huh?”
“What are you looking at?”
Good question.
Why was he looking at your figure, still waiting for the next train to come by?
“No, well...” The plastic bags in his hand crinkle when he tightens his grip on them. Scaramouche blinks repeatedly, trying to see if you'll somehow fizzle out of existence if he closes his eyes enough. “You definitely could've made it in time for the train, so why are you still...”
Your lips stretch to a small smile. “I didn't.”
No. You definitely did.
You were at a distance where it'll only take three minutes max to reach the train even if you walked the same pace as a turtle. So why...
“Your face can be surprisingly expressive sometimes, Kuni. You're practically a walking question mark right now.”
“Ku-” He stops himself from speaking before his voice could crack.
“Sorry, you don't like me calling you that?” You're tilting your head at him, putting on puppy eyes. Oh no.
“...No. It's fine.” Damn it. Aether was right—he really is a softie.
However, he's still busy pondering. Sure, it's a stroke of luck and Scaramouche won't look a gift horse in the mouth, but why didn't you take your usual train? You were even running towards the station, arriving with wind-tousled hair and disheveled clothes.
“I was waiting.”
Scaramouche blinks. “For what?”
You stare at him in disbelief, like you seriously can't believe he doesn't know. That's when Scaramouche notices some things about you are a little different from earlier.
Your hair is fixed now, no strands randomly sticking up in the air. Your clothes are neat and tidy too, creases patted down. Your glasses are gone, and Scaramouche isn't sure if it's just his mind playing tricks on him or the color of your lips appears more vibrant from earlier.
He flinches when a sigh escapes you. But then the frown on your face is replaced with a dazzling smile, exasperated but fond.
“Who do you think I'm waiting for, dummy?”
BONUS: A look into the future.
“Has anyone ever told you your chin is really sharp?” Scaramouche grumbles under his breath, movements heavily restricted when your arms are wrapped tightly around his torso and the edge of your chin is stabbing his neck. Cooking breakfast proves to be a lot more of a challenge when a koala is clinging on his back.
“No,” you chirp, grinning ear to ear as you watch him stir the pancake batter over his shoulder. “Has anyone ever told you how cute you look in an apron?”
Scaramouche glowers. “No.” If a living person actually did, they wouldn't be for long.
“That's good.” If possible, you squeeze him even tighter, nuzzling against his face. “I want to keep the adorable Kuni to myself.”
“Disgusting.”
So he says as he leans his head closer when you peck him on the cheek.
Some things just never change, he guesses.
#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin impact imagines#genshin impact fluff#scaramouche x reader#wanderer x reader#scaramouche x you#wanderer x you
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Hi! I love your writing so much!!
Can I request something for Leah Williamson? Like Leah and Popstar!reader has been in a secret relationship and in the reader’s music video she has to kiss/being intimate with an actress (sort of like “Justin Bieber - Mistletoe”music video) Leah become jealous, although reader has explained that the song was for Leah and it was just acting. So in the next music video (I pictured it like “Dan + Shay, Justin Bieber - 10,000 hours” music video) Leah be in the music video and kinda hard launch to the world about being married to the reader.
So, maybe cute jealous Leah and fluffy ending?
(You don’t have to use the same music video reference, it just what gave me this idea☺️)
Thank you, and if you don’t want to write my request it’s okay.. no pressure!
hard launch - leah williamson
leah williamson x reader
description: in which your wife gets jealous when you kiss a man in your music video for your new album, so you give her a special one instead
warnings: swearing, jealous leah, slightly angsty idk
a/n: hiya, lovey! i hope you don’t mind but i switched the request around a teensy bit just for plot! ily and thank you for the love and request❤️ mixed feelings again lmao
⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆
you and your wife, leah were each other’s biggest fans, but in a relatively secret manner, only the people closest to you knew about the two of you and that was how you liked it.
you and leah met at the brit’s years ago when you were seated next to each other. someone on stage said something quite unhinged and you both glanced at each other in disbelief.
“what the fuck?” you mouth to the girl next to you, she places a hand over her mouth to conceal her laugh but both of you break out into silent giggles.
after that, you both followed each other on instagram and she miraculously got your number. you both started chatting, finding out you lived 10 minutes from each other. you always met up for lunch or anytime whenever the two of you were free and it steadily progressed into a romantic relationship.
you’d been together for over 7 years, wanting to keep your lives private as you were both highly influential people in the media. you, a popstar and leah, a star football player.
and like the media always does, they ruin things. often. so, you and leah made an agreement to keep your relationship a secret, your wedding was quiet, your nearest and dearest all in attendance.
—
you and leah brought out the best in each other, and everyone noticed it. everytime you and leah got interviewed, it was one of the top comments that you and leah respectively were much happier recently. both of you always saying, “it’s just a happy day” with an identical smile.
if people did put two and two together, you and leah wouldn’t confirm nor deny your relationship. you and leah would put on subtle disguises when supporting each other, whether it was at an event or a football match, the two of you would make an effort to be there no matter what.
you both genuinely loved each other and that was all that mattered to the both of you. through a large, mutual respect and trust with one another, it worked.
—
when leah tore her acl, she was at home all the time, you took some time off music to support her and she was eternally grateful for you. when she’d cry, you kiss her cheek and tell her everything was going to be okay.
you took her to rehab, to training, to get late night snacks. whatever she wanted, you did it for her, knowing well enough that she would do the same.
all the time at home together made you both giddy amongst all the sadness of the injury. leah claimed she wouldn’t have been able to do anything without you, expressing her gratitude everyday through lazy kisses and prolonged embraces that had your hearts synched in unison.
in an attempt to express your unconditional love for your wife, you decided to make a secret album dedicated to her. once she was asleep, you would slip out of her embrace and write songs until your hand was tired and your eyes were sore.
leah was by far your biggest inspiration and you wanted her to know that.
when you would finish writing for the night, you’d hop back into the welcoming arms of your wife. she’d immediately settle on your chest, her body rising and falling as she slept soundly.
you worked on the album the entire duration of recovery for leah, impressed with how you were able to keep the secret for so long, considering she always had the ability to coax something out of you when she’d give you that attractive smirk as she’d tower over you.
once she’d recovered and made her comeback, you knew the album needed to be released, so, you put out a poster advertising it on instagram, a major yet subtle nod to leah, featuring one of her newest tattoos.
leah sees you’ve posted something on instagram since she has your notifications on, her heart stops when she recognises her tattoo, she smiles brightly that day, rushing home from training to ask you all about it.
—
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yourname: my new album, ‘home’ is coming very soon! dedicated to a special person in my life, my biggest inspiration ever, i love you xx
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—
“baby!” leah calls out from the door, her keys clanging on the kitchen counter as she searches for you. you’re sitting in the living room on the couch, bundled up in one of her hoodies while you drink a tea.
“hi, love” you smile lazily at her, she looks at you full of adoration, sitting next to you on the couch and carefully taking the mug from your hands and placing it on the coffee table. she takes both of your hands in hers, leaning forward to place a kiss on your lips.
“hi, beautiful” leah smiles against your lips, placing little kisses there before pulling away to look at you. “has my girl been making an album without telling me?” leah narrows her eyes at you, placing a hand on your thigh when you kick your legs into her lap.
“maybe” you shrug teasingly, causing the blonde to groan in annoyance. “oh come on, man!” leah huffs, you raise your eyebrows at her amusingly, kissing her cheek affectionately causing a little smirk to play on her lips.
“alright i’ll tell you,” you give up when she gives you her best puppy dog eyes, “the album’s for you, i’ve been writing it throughout your recovery and a couple of songs are coming out over the next three days before i release the full thing” you inform her, fiddling with the fingers of her free hand.
“it’s for me?” leah breathes out surprisingly, attempting to move closer so she was pressed up against you, “it’s for you” you affirm, puckering your lips up for a quick kiss.
she instantly closes the gap, the kiss more passionate than you expected, causing you to whine into her mouth when she pulls you to straddle her lap. the kiss is bruising, it makes you both dizzy with affection when your lips and tongues move against each other.
in need of air, she pulls away and rests her forehead against yours, her breath fanning against your lips as she holds you close. you lean back to look at her, pushing away the stray hairs adorning her face that had fallen from her loose ponytail.
“i’ll take it you’re excited then?” you tease, placing a hand on her cheek and smiling softly at her, she nods and moves her head to kiss the palm of your hand, “more than excited” she teases back, moving to kiss you again and taking your breath away completely.
—
it was the day one of your first songs got released, labelled : ‘softly’ (by clairo - highly recommend this banger, listen and check out the lyrics!!). the music video was filmed months ago and it was cute. you thought she’d love it, but the girl sitting next to you while she watched wasn’t overly excited as much as you thought she would be.
the song was beautiful and she loved it, it was the music video that had a funny feeling bubbling in her chest. in the music video, you and a close friend of yours, a male actor had been exploring a random part of london, goofing off, slow dancing in the street, sharing a coffee and leah was fine with that, it was ‘whatever’. until the very end of the video where you shared a quick kiss before the screen turned black.
leah had an unreadable expression on her face, sitting next to you, cross-armed while her eyes were trained on the tv in your shared living room. she prods her tongue on the inside of her cheek before she clenches her jaw.
“lee, baby” you say nervously, testing out the waters, she doesn’t look at you, her eyes still on the tv. “leah?” you place a hand on her shoulder and she shrugs it off, standing up to run off to the bathroom.
she was fuming to say the least, she knew it meant nothing but there was just something about seeing you kiss someone else that made her immensely jealous and she couldn’t admit it to you.
you sigh when you hear the bathroom lock click, she never does that. you say to yourself you’re giving her space but it took you the span of 1 minute to rush to the door and sit down in front of it, your back pressed against it while you waited for her.
you hear the distant lull of the shower and you pout, picking at your nails at the thought of her being upset with you. when she was done, she opened the door and you fell back, staring up at her with wide eyes before scrambling to get off the floor.
“you okay?” you breathe out, the blonde just nods, moving past you and sitting on the bed, her back resting against the headboard while she scrolled on her phone, reading all the comments on your song.
all of them talking about how cute the video was, a couple confused as to why you casted a man as the love interest for a song clearly about a female.
you breathe out shakily before sitting next to her, picking at your nails again until leah broke the silence, “don’t do that” she reprimands softly, looking down at her phone again. “sorry” you mumble, head hanging low as you stare at your hands in your lap.
“have i done something?” you question nervously, the girl just shakes her head, placing her phone down and looking at you. her scowl was gone and instead somewhat of a pout was hinting on her lips.
your eyes slightly widen when you take in her appearance, she was jealous. you fight extremely hard to conceal your smile as you watch her amusingly, ready to see her crack under the pressure.
“did you really have to kiss a man?” leah clenches her jaw with a roll of her eyes when she hears your stifled giggles escaping your mouth. “baby-” you start, promptly interrupted but a frustrated looking leah, “a man? the songs about me!” leah scoffs in disbelief, crossing her arms over her chest as she looks at you expectantly.
“don’t smile” leah grits out, but you can’t stop, moving to sit in her lap as she frowns.
you try to untangle her arms but she’s extremely strong, deciding to place a hand on her shoulder while the other cards through her hair. she tries incredibly hard not to hum at the contact, staring into your eyes through her furrowed brows.
“the song is about you, i kissed a gay man by the way, i just thought he’d be a good fit for the video but the song is clearly about a certain pretty blonde that i love” you say sarcastically, leah untangling her arms and pinching your hip warningly.
“i love you and i only love you” you say reassuringly, peppering her face with little kisses which causes her to break out in a little smile.
“i liked the song” she sighs, leaning into your body for comfort that you happily give to her.
“i’m glad” you smile, nudging her nose with your own and giggling when it crinkles up.
“still doesn’t change the fact that you kissed a man when you have a wife” she exaggerates, her scowl making its way to her face again. you smile at her affectionately, “a gay man” you groan, “are you sure? you’re really hot and could easily make someone question themselves” leah says simply, checking you out shamelessly.
you roll your eyes and give her a chaste kiss, “yes, leah, he’s gay and i’ll happily kiss my wife that i love so much” you smile cheekily, making the blonde huff out a laugh and pull you closer into a passionate kiss.
it completely takes your breath away when she pulls away, you pant and just look at each other for a moment. she’s happy for a second until she remembers you locking lips with that man, she doesn’t care if he’s gay, it scarred her.
“so grumpy” you mumble, reaching up and running your thumb over the wrinkled skin. “i don’t care, it should’ve been me,” she huffs, she’s completely unaware of what you have under your sleeve. “i love you” you quip, she replies without skipping a beat, “i love you too”
with a couple more shared kisses and reassuring words, leah got over it.
—
two days later, the video you’d been excited yet nervous about was finally about to be released. you’d been working on not only the song but the music video extremely hard.
the song was called ‘leah’ (actually ur so pretty by wasia project), it was different from your usual music but it felt right. you nervously sat with leah on the couch, bundled up under a blanket together as you cuddled.
leah could sense your nervousness, she’d run her hand up and down your arm in attempts to calm down but this was literally a hard launch and you didn’t know how she would react.
the video gets uploaded and you nervously move the remote towards the video to click on it.
“leah?” the girl mumbles in slight shock, you lean into her, kissing her cheek quickly before pressing play. the opening chords of the piano had leah’s heart already lurching.
the video is an edited video of you and leah throughout the years. all of them filmed by you. it had videos from your dates, at home, cuddling, sleeping, kissing, everything.
‘you’re so pretty, when you smile it kills me’
your voice sings out, leah immediately tenses against you. tears were already filling in both of your eyes, leah holds onto you tightly, completely engrossed on the screen and your voice.
‘can’t stop thinking, about the way you kissed me, under the stars’
leah laughs fondly at some of the silly videos in video, a full play by play of your relationship presented to the world in the most beautiful way. when it gets to the more recent moments of your relationship, leah squeezes you gently, her breath hitching when footage of your wedding plays. you’re both crying at this point.
‘you’re the only person left, so hold me. don’t leave me’
your song finishes, the final clip you and leah sharing your first kiss as a married couple, smiling brightly with each other and walking down the aisle together excitedly before a picture of you and leah is left on the screen and then turning into a black screen.
you in leah sit in silence just crying, she pulls you into a tight embrace, her face tucked into the crook of your neck as her tears pool out of her eyes.
“i love you, i love you so much” she cries, holding onto you tightly like you could disappear at any moment.
“i love you so much, lee” you sniffle with an affectionate giggle, cradling the girl’s head to you as you held onto each other tightly.
after the long embrace, she pulls back to look at you, kissing you sweetly before pulling away again to smile lovingly at you. “sorry for the hard launch” you giggle, wiping the remnants of tears on her cheeks with your thumb. “thank you for the hard launch” she teases, kissing you again.
“the rest of the album is out” you remind and she perks up, “what are we waiting for then?” she exclaims, making you lie on top of her while she plays the album.
“there’s 10 songs, lee, we don’t need to listen to all of it now” you say sheepishly, “such a sap, lovey, 10 whole songs for me? i’m so lucky” she teases, kissing the crown of your head. “of course we need to listen now, i need to support my official wag” you smile up at her, kissing her gently while the sounds of your album drown out in the background.
⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆
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leahwilliamsonn: stream my WIFE’S new album she made for me, best present ever
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yourname: my wifey
↳ leahwilliamsonn: my pretty wife
yourname: remember when you got mad i kissed a gay man
↳ leahwilliamsonn: time out.
#woso#woso community#woso fanfics#woso one shot#woso x reader#woso imagine#leah williamson x reader#leah williamson
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Sweet Dream Was Over
pairings: lionesses x young!arsenal!reader / beth mead x arsenal!reader / vivianne miedema x arsenal!reader
warnings: swearing. reader acts hostile with viv after being knocked out of the nations league by the netherlands.
author's note: wrote this right after the match to deal with the heartbreak :(( but proud of all of them anyway!
masterlist
•••••••
December, 2023
''They scored a last-minute winner- we're out.'' The staff member read out loud, the scoresheet open on his phone.
The huddle, once filled with echoes of celebration, now hung heavy with disappointment. Their Olympic dreams were over, even after winning the match 6-0. Their win at Wembley had given them hope that they could do it, but the Dutch team pulled through, winning their fixture against Belgium 4-0.
One goal.
One goal is what it took for Y/N's world to fall apart.
Teammates exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting the shared sense of loss. The collective effort and triumphs all seemed to dissipate into the air, leaving behind a bitter taste of what could have been.
She could feel Lucy next to her falling to the ground, her older teammate groaning as she took in the news. Y/N patted her shoulder, a lame attempt at comfort.
Sarina started speaking, but she wasn't listening. Her head replayed each moment in their six matches where the young player could have made a difference, but didn't. Y/N knew deep inside that she was not solely to blame for their early exit, football is a team sport and they all had the carry the burden of ''what if”.
As the team dispersed, players walked toward the section where the dedicated fans had stood, expressing their gratitude for the unwavering support they had given them throughout their UWNL journey.
Y/N could feel an arm wrapping around her shoulders, suddenly feeling the warmth of another individual.
As she glanced aside, she smiled at who she found next to her. ''Hey, Beffy.'' The youngster mumbled.
''Hi, darling,'' The Arsenal star sounded just as dejected as she did, ''how you feeling?''
“Not good.” Y/N's usually monotone voice lacked its usual humor, a reflection of the heavy atmosphere.
The winger nodded in understanding. “I know, me too.” She pouted, sharing in the collective disappointment. ''At least we'll get a break next summer.''
''I don't want a break, I wanna play.'' Y/N immediately objected, her tone almost sounding like how a toddler would whine.
Beth remained quiet, knowing that nothing she would say could cure the current heartbreak going through her teammate at the moment. Sometimes, silence spoke louder than words.
In the midst of said silence, Beth gently squeezed Y/N's shoulder, offering a supportive presence.
The next day, the car ride back to North London wasn't the traditional gossip session it normally was. Beth carried the conversation, her younger housemate nodding or muttering a single word once in a while. As they drove through the familiar streets, Beth tried to lighten the mood with a subtle joke or two, attempting to elicit a smile from Y/N. The atmosphere in the car, however, remained heavy with the weight of the recent defeat.
The ringing of Beth's phone interrupted her thoughts on the upcoming Chelsea game, however, a soft smile appeared on her face once she saw who was calling her.
''It's Viv,'' She announced, briefly glancing at her teammate, ''hey, sweetheart.''
Y/N turned her head, attempting to admire the view, but the English weather was making it hard for her. She sighed loudly, the name of the Dutchwoman bringing her back to the group huddle of the day before.
''She's sitting next to me,'' Beth's words pulled her out of her trance, ''sure.''
The blonde tapped her arm, making Y/N turn back around. ''Hmm?'' She confusedly hummed.
''You wanna say something to Viv?'' Beth asked, sweetly.
The teenager simply shook her head, shifting in her seat so she could look out the window again.
The older one frowned at the action, expecting her to want to talk to Vivianne. ''Uh, Viv, she's sleeping, sorry.'' Beth lied, coming up with the quickest excuse she could find.
''Oh, that's okay, I'll see her soon.'' The Dutch striker answered, slight dejection audible in her voice.
They talked for a couple more minutes, but Y/N drowned their conversation out- daydreaming about the day she actually gets to play for Team GB, and winning the gold medal with them.
It was again Beth who took her out of her haze she was in. ''Hey, you okay?''
''Yeah, just tired. Don't feel like talking.'' It had been the longest sentence she had said all day.
Beth nodded understandingly, deciding not to push further, occasionally glancing at Y/N, who seemed lost in her own thoughts.
Eventually, they made it home and their chauffeur helped them with their suitcases.
As soon as they stepped into the house, Y/N swiftly retreated to her room without much interaction. Beth, sensing the weight of the recent disappointment, decided to give her space.
The house felt unusually quiet without the usual banter and laughter. Beth, while sympathizing with her need for solitude, couldn't shake off the somber atmosphere. She figured she would wait for her partner, who wouldn't arrive home for at least another hour.
Beth settled on the couch, flipping through the channels on the television absentmindedly. The sound of a key turning in the front door signaled Vivianne's arrival.
The Brit immediately got up, greeting her girlfriend with a warm embrace.
Vivianne reciprocated, sensing Beth's need for comfort. They held each other for a moment, finding solace in one another's arms.
They moved to the couch, catching up with one another and either offering each other consolation or congratulations. Vivianne noticed the lack of noise in their home- their teenage teammate usually filling the space up with whatever had happened to her that day, and if it wasn't her voice, it was the music from her speakers.
''Is Y/N taking a nap? She must have barely slept if she was already sleeping in the car.'' She asked Beth, frowning.
Her partner sighed at the question. ''Uh, no, she's just… she's having a hard time with it. She really thought we'd gone through to the final four,'' she explained, resulting in a sullen look on Vivianne's face, ''she was actually awake in the car, but she wasn't in the mood to talk.''
Vivianne's expression shifted to one of understanding, but also concern. “I get it, it's tough for her right now.”
''Maybe you can go check on her? We've been home for a while now, maybe that's helped.'' Beth suggested, believing the youngster to have come to terms with it by now, or at least more than in the car.
The striker gently knocked on Y/N's bedroom door, but there was no response. She cautiously pushed it open, finding Y/N laying sideways on her bed, scrolling on her phone.
''Hey,” Vivianne spoke softly, ''can I come in?''
Y/N didn't take her eyes off of her phone, not a single acknowledgement. ''Don't feel like talking.''
''I understand, just wanted to check how you were doing.'' The Dutchwoman sighed.
''Hmm.''
It's like pulling teeth, Vivianne thought to herself.
She hesitated for a moment before deciding to sit on the edge of Y/N's bed. Her eyes stayed fixated on the teenager, hoping to find a sign of openness or willingness to share her feelings.
''Football is cruel. We all wanted to win, and have a chance to qualify. It hurts when it doesn't happen.'' Vivianne tried her best to convey understanding, her voice gentle. ''I wish all of us could go next year.''
It was quiet for a few seconds, the uneasy tension growing. ''Yeah, but we can't.'' Y/N responded, an uncharacteristic harsh tone in her voice.
Vivianne was taken aback by the sudden change, never having heard that tone come out of the girl's mouth. ''I get it, it hurts.''
''You already got to go to the Olympics. It's not fair.''
The older woman sighed at the frustration steaming off of her younger teammate. ''I know it doesn't feel fair, but you have to keep pushing forward. There will be more tournaments, more chances.''
''I wanted to go with Beth. She didn't get to go last time.'' Y/N wasn't directly answering to what Vivianne was telling her, still present in her own world of disappointment.
The older one could sense the resentment. ''Y/N, I get it, I really do. It's not the end, though. You'll have more opportunities, and you'll get to share those moments with Beth.'' She spoke softly.
''Who even says that? The next one is in 2028, Beth might not even play by then anymore.'' The teenager retorted.
''2028 is still a possibility. She has a lot more football left in her, and I'm sure you'll get to experience all of it together.''
Y/N rolled her eyes, dismissing Vivianne's attempt at reassurance. “Just save it. Your team already ruined our chances. Don't pretend like you care about my opportunities.”
“Come on, don-“
Y/N seemed stuck in her moment of frustration. It was hard to think about the future, when the present had become such a huge letdown. ''Viv, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but can you please leave? You're just making me more upset.''
It felt equal to being slapped in the face, in Vivianne's opinion. However, she nodded and gave Y/N's foot a little pat before quietly leaving the room.
Beth noticed Vivianne emerging from Y/N's room with a weary expression. “I think I made it worse.” Vivianne admitted, sitting next to Beth on the couch.
“Why? What did you say?” Beth asked, concerned.
“That it's tough, and that I wished that all of us could go. She just thinks it's really unfair that I already went to the Olympics, meanwhile she and you have never been.” Vivianne explained, her tone dejected.
Beth furrowed her brows, a mixture of frustration and empathy in her eyes. “She's not in the mood to listen, huh?”
Vivianne nodded, “Yeah, she's being a bit… resentful, I don't know.”
The Brit wrapped her arm around her partner, pulling her in as she caressed her arms. “Just give her a bit time. She'll come around. Losing hits her hard. I think it's been a bit much with the World Cup and the Champions League.”
Vivianne agreed. “Yeah, you're right.”
As dinner time approached, the Dutchie decided to prepare a meal, hoping it might lift the heavy atmosphere in the house. She opted for Y/N's favorite dish, a small attempt to lighten her mood. However, the teenager remained in her room, showing no interest in joining them.
Beth decided to bring the plate to the youngster's room, figuring she still wasn't ready to be in other people's presence.
A soft knock on Y/N's door preceded Beth's gentle voice, “Hey, I brought you some dinner.”
Y/N, still upset but hungry, mumbled an acknowledgment.
Beth smiled, and put the tray of food on her desk. “I thought you might be hungry,” she said, trying to break the tension. “It's your favorite.”
Y/N glanced at the food, her expression softening slightly. “Thanks, Beth.”
“Viv made it.” She revealed.
The younger one chuckled. “Yeah, I figured that out pretty quickly.”
“How come?”
“It looks and smells nice.”
“Hey!” Beth jokingly slapped her arm, offended. “You liked that omelet I made you a few weeks ago.”
“I was being polite, Beffy.” Y/N said, a small grin on her face.
The offended woman rolled her eyes. “Whatever, enjoy your nice-smelling food.”
Beth lingered by the doorway, wanting to see her younger companion eat the food with her own eyes.
“You know, Viv spent quite some time making sure it's perfect.“ She spoke up once she noticed Y/N just picking at the food.
Her gaze shifted from the plate to Beth, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. “That's very sweet. I'll thank her later.”
Beth smiled, appreciating the subtle shift in her youngster's demeanor. “I'm sure she'd like that. She put a lot of care into it.”
As Y/N began to eat, Beth hesitated before speaking again. “You know, it's okay to be upset about the game. We all are. But you don't have to take it out on her.”
The teenager looked up, meeting Beth's gaze. There was a moment of vulnerability in her eyes, a silent admission that the disappointment weighed heavier than she let on. “I know,” she whispered, “it's just too much at the moment.”
“I understand, lovey,” Beth stepped away from the door, walking over to Y/N, “we're here for you, okay? You can come talk to us when you feel ready.” She pinched her cheek, hoping her affection showed her genuineness.
Y/N couldn't help but crack a small smile. “I know, Beffy. Thanks.” She mumbled between bites, grateful for the comforting presence of her older teammate.
“You can come and put your plate in the dishwasher once you're done, and maybe apologize to someone…” Her eyebrow was raised.
The Arsenal prodigy chuckled, knowing exactly who Beth was referring to. “Yeah, I will.”
“She doesn't like when people are upset with her, especially you.” Beth admitted.
“I'm not upset with her. I just wasn't ready to be told that everything would be fine and that there would be more chances to go.”
Beth smiled at Y/N's words. “She cares about you a lot, you know? I understand it was a little too early- I'm also still upset. But she meant well, she hates it when you're sad. She wasn't trying to tell dismiss your feelings or anything, she just wants to be here for you.”
Y/N sighed, appreciating her perspective. “Yeah, I know. I'll talk to her later.”
“Good. Now, enjoy your meal, and take your time.” Beth said, leaving Y/N to her dinner and thoughts.
“Does she like it?” Vivianne asked as soon as her girlfriend walked back into the dining room, eager to know the answer.
Beth nodded. “She's eating from it, and said she would thank you later.”
Her partner smiled, a mixture of relief and satisfaction crossing her features. “I'm glad. It's hard seeing her upset.”
“She's still young. You know how these young players get when they lose.” Beth noted.
“Yeah, but still. She also deserves a chance to go to the Olympics, I'm sad for her.” Vivianne knew how much the teenager worked each day, one and off the pitch.
“I know, but we knew from the start that it was only gonna be one team.”
Vivianne nodded. “I just hope she'll understand that it's not about her abilities or efforts. Sometimes, it's just the way things go in this sport.”
Beth squeezed her hand in reassurance. “She knows deep down.”
The couple started their own dinner, taking their minds off the last couple of days and just focus on one another.
It was about two hours later that the Arsenal homegrown came out of her room to go put her plate in the dishwasher- most of that time was spend trying to find the right words to apologize to her Dutch housemate.
As she walked into the living room, she could see that the tv was running, but neither half of the pair was there. Y/N hesitated for a moment, debating whether to disappear into her room again. However, she resumed her walk to the kitchen, not wanting a dirty plate in her room.
In the kitchen, she was met with Vivianne, who had her back turned while being busy trying to make tea.
The teenager awkwardly moved to the dishwasher, and put her plate in, closing it afterwards. The noise startled her teammate.
Vivianne turned around to where Y/N was standing, her hand on her heart. ''Jezus, you scared me.'' She sighed, taking a deep breath to calm herself down.
''Sorry.'' Y/N nervously smiled.
The older woman simply shook her head. ''Don't worry, you just caught me off guard.'' She chuckled.
''Oh, okay.'' The youngster cringed internally at her tense answer. Vivianne offered a smile at the kid's obvious distress, but went back to focusing on her tea-making.
The kitchen atmosphere felt slightly awkward, although it might just have been all in the youngest's mind. Y/N cleared her throat, attempting to break the silence. “Uh, thanks for the food. It was really nice.”
Vivianne turned to face Y/N, her expression softening. “You're welcome. I'm glad you liked it.”
''Uhm, Viv,'' she started fiddling with her hands, ''I'm sorry for earlier. I was upset about the outcome of the matches, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you. You and your team really deserve to go to the Olympics. I'm really sorry.''
The Dutchwoman appreciated the apology, relieved Y/N recognized her behavior. ''Thank you for saying that. I understand it's a tough situation, and I would have had a hard time with it as well, so don't worry about it.'' She told her with a warm smile.
''Thanks, Viv.'' Y/N moved from where she was standing, approaching Vivianne and wrapping her arms around the striker's waist. ''And congratulations, by the way. I'm really happy for you. You worked really hard.''
Vivianne welcomed her hug, reciprocating with a gentle squeeze. ''Thank you, that means a lot to me.''
The tension from earlier had disappeared, and Y/N could feel all the anxiety from earlier, leaving her body.
''Oh, mijn meisjes!'' (''My girls!'') Beth broke the silence, running over and joining the embrace, relieved to see Y/N having followed up on her words. ''I'm so happy to see this. Only smiley faces!'' She exclaimed, her infectious enthusiasm spreading through the room.
''Beth, we were having a moment.'' Vivianne said in a monotone voice, but with a smile on her face.
The Brit jokingly rolled her eyes. ''I'm joining your moment.''
Y/N and Vivianne gave each other a glance before speaking. ''No!''
ideas are always welcome for this series!
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