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caesium-55 · 2 months

Text

—seven days. [ iii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: hi hello welcome to part three. i flunked the quiz. lemme know what you think. NOT BETA READ. NOT EDITED. this chapter kinda sux. can't believe i went through a breakup just last week and i still cant write decent post-breakup scenes.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab hope i didn't forget anyone.

masterlist.

you: *sent a link*

him: ?

him: what's this

you: benefits of crying

you: read it it's enlightening

him: some people do not cry over a breakup you know and that is totally okay

you: why crying helps.

you: 1. tears release toxins, stress hormones to be specific. it is good to let all the bad energy out.

you: 2. it aids sleep. no need for further explanation.

you: 3. crying releases oxytocin and endorphins. i know you don't know what an oxytocin or an endorphin is but they're happy chemicals.

you: 4. crying helps you receive the support you need from the people around you. EMOTIONAL VULNERABILITY is okay, max. stop treating it like an STD.

him: it feels like an std

you: pussy

you: emotional vulnerability is a thing and it's normal so stop trying to be a big strong man when you're barely holding it together.

you: you may look fine now but i know you

him: please stop

you: no

you: 5. crying has a self soothing effect. very nice actually. it activates the rest and digest system.

him: what even is that

you: the parasympathetic nervous system

him: ??

you: this is why you shouldn't have dropped out of high school

you: education is important yknow

you: youre already lacking in three forms of intelligence, academic, emotional n social intelligence

him: fuck you im smart

you: fuck you 2 and yeah you're smart but only in geography

you: you probably can't do your taxes

him: im dutch so the company's account department do it for me by default

him: the american system is just weird

you: cant argue w/ u there

you: also, 6. crying helps restore emotional balance

you: see? you need that

you: yknow now that i think abt it you should consider seeking therapy

him: what makes you think i’m not in therapy right now

you: well have you considered getting MORE therapy?

You stand in front of the body mirror, holding the Red Bull polo shirt against your body to see how it looks on you for one last time. On your right sleeve, the word MANAGER is written in bold, white text. Because that was what you were. Just a manager.

In another universe this is not the shirt that you’d be wearing. The MANAGER would have been ENGINEER. In another another universe where your family has been well-off enough to continuously send you to karting school and you would have been the one driving the fucking car by now.

You know, if Max has even tried talking to Horner and suggested that you should be moved into the engineering team, then you wouldn't be stuck wearing this god-awful polo that burned your skin every time you wore it for work. Everybody reduced you as Max’s American manager and because you are American, most of them kind of just assumed that you're dumb, you know?

Does the world even know how smart you are? That you graduated top of your class, got the best thesis award, and that you had finished your masters just this year? Did they even know that a Japanese car company wanted you on their research team? That a NASCAR team wanted you on board as one of their engineers? Does Max even know?

Fuck no. He only knows that you're the best at ironing clothes and organizing his Google calendar and memorizing his entire coffee order by heart. He knew you're good at extinguishing kitchen fires and kicking ass in YSL Opyum heels. You doubt he knows that you can do Calculus in your sleep.

You can take it if the world puts you down for your appearance. But if the world puts you down because of your intellect? That's a different story. You'll take any insult to the face but not to your intelligence.

You have four days left in Monaco so you have begun packing already. You're right, everything did fit into three suitcases. Also, you haven't told Max yet. For some reason, you’re too anxious. Which is shocking to say the least because you never ever gets anxious when it came to Max Verstappen. You wouldn't have lasted this long working alongside Max if you were a pussy.

Max Max Max Super Max Max—

“[Name] here. Need anythin’, champ?”

Hearing a sob on the other end of the line immediately activates your fight or flight response. Your eyes widen and you toss the Red Bull shirt aside. Your legs leads you to the nearly empty shoe rack stationed beside the front door, grabbing the pair of shoes at the very top of the tiny shelf and throwing them on.

“I’m comin’ there. Hang on, Max. You wait for me, okay?”

He doesn't answer, just continuing to sob and the sound absolutely breaks your heart.

You run to his penthouse at a speed that will even put the RB19 to shame. Not even bothering to knock, you barge in and yell his name in the empty halls of his penthouse. You search in the kitchen. He's not there. The living room. Not there either. The room where his simulations are. Not there. You run to his bedroom upstairs.

The door is locked. Dammit. Panic overflooded your system.

“Max, sweetheart, you there?”

No answer, but you can hear a faint sound behind the door if you press your ear against the wood. Firefighter training covered how to open a fucking door when it was locked so this once again becomes a situation where you're grateful that you did that tiring and borderline suicidal volunteer work.

Max keeps a fire extinguisher inside his penthouse as per your advice. There is one stationed in almost every room inside his house. You knew there is one inside his room and another one just at the end of the hallway. You make a quick run for it and once you have the extinguisher in your hands, you run back to his door.

“Step away from the door!” you instructed while your mind mentally calculates your payment plan as you hit the door knob with so much force, the walls tremble at your strength. You're functioning on pure adrenaline. Your instincts only yell one thing and that is: go to Max. No one and nothing in this world will keep you from him. It isn't long until his bedroom door broke down. With one last final kick, it crumbles down from its hinges and you forcefully pry it open and sprint inside.

Max tucks himself in the tiny space in the corner of his huge bedroom, his knees shoved up to his chest. A 181-cm tall man trying to make himself as small as possible.

This is it. This is the bottled-up emotions he's been storing since Abu Dhabi. You cannot say you have not anticipated this. Max is bound to explode sooner or later.

Panic attacks have made a home in Max’s body since he was a child. That's what one gets when they’re parented by someone like Jos Verstappen. He killed Max’s soul and made the boy a machine and for what? To shape a child into a man, a racer that he wanted to be but failed to become at the cost of Max's mental health and childhood.

When Max looks up with that heartbreaking look on his face, you almost crumble. Almost, because you cannot crumble. Not when Max needs you.

Sometimes, you forget what it took for Max to become the champion that he is today. A childhood sacrificed for his dominance on the tracks. A whole lot of hatred from the people to become a WDC. And now, a love lost for his third consecutive championship.

“You came,” his voice cracks towards the end.

Your eyes soften, “You called, Max. Course I’ll come.”

You barely brace yourself for the impact that is Max’s body wrapping around yours in a tight hug. The man have literally launch himself from the floor to you at sixth gear speed. You stumble backwards slightly, holding his bed for support so the both of you won't fall down.

“Max—”

“No,” he whispers and his grip on your tightens as if he's afraid that you’ll slip away if he even tried to give your lungs space to breathe. “Don't speak. Stay.”

What Max wanted, what Max would get. So you shut your mouth, shuffle slightly so he'll be in a more comfortable position and allow him take whatever he wants from you. This will be the last chance he’ll ever do it anyway because in four days time, you’re flying to Texas.

You stay for what is probably hours in that position. Crumbled together on the floor, leaning against the side of Max’s king-sized bed. Your shirt is completely damp from his tears but you cannot even bring yourself to care about it.

“Your shoes…” It's the first time Max has spoken since the start of his meltdown.

“Hm?” you turn your head and your nose nuzzles against his hair, making you scrunch it up a little. His hair is tickling your nostrils. If you lean a little forward, your lips will meet the skin of his temple.

“They’re mismatched.”

Brows furrowed, your eyes move to your feet and see that Max is right. Your shoes are indeed mismatched. On your left is one of your Adidas slides and the other is your slip-on Skechers. You ran from one building to another in mismatched shoes. Fucking embarassing.

“Ignore them.”

Silence.

“You good now?”

“No.”

“Okay,” you say. “If you want to talk, I’ll listen.”

You hear Max let out a shaky breath, “Just stay for a while. Don't leave me alone.”

“Okay.”

Eventually, you manage to talk Max out of the hug. You're beginning to feel claustrophobic but you do not want to say it out right so you try to negotiate instead. That's how you and Max found yourselves inside his kitchen again. You're trying to replicate your Abuela's cheesecake, which she was known for back in Austin, and Max is…well, he's Max and he’s trying to be helpful in any way he can. If it's some other day, you'd have shoved him out of the way because you prefer working alone in the kitchen. Having eyes on you gives you anxiety. But given today’s circumstances, you do not have the heart to make Max leave so you task him with doing the little stuff like mixing things and throwing shit to the trash can nearby. And he does so splendidly.

“Thank you, by the way.”

“For what, baby?” You internally wince at your own slip of the tongue. Damn that habit of yours of calling people with affectionate call signs. Thankfully, Max seems to have not noticed it.

“For coming here.”

You shrug.

“I only did what you did for me in 2021.”

Again, your breakup with Leo was bad bad. You spent a month crying for a love lost and Max was there for you. For the most part, at least. You want him to focus on winning and winning alone that you pushed him away a lot of times but you appreciated how he was more obedient to your commands, that he held his tongue so he wouldn't piss you off even though he was not liking your words, and that he was considerate of you.

“I hope you won't go into fights though,” you chuckle. “Like I did after my breakup.”

He smiles, shaking his head lightly and you know he's recalling the memory. 2021 is a hilarious year for you, the Red Bull manager. You went viral after getting into a cat fight with a girl and a whole fist fight with her boyfriend.

You and Leo called it quits a week before Monaco and even though it had been four races since then, your heart was still in a quite fragile state at that specific race weekend. One minor inconvenience was enough to ignite a wild blaze of fire within you and nobody could extinguish the flames.

After Silverstone FP1, you were leading Max to the cool down room to brief him with Horner’s relayed instructions and someone had thrown a glass bottle towards the both of you while walking. Originally, Max was the main target of the bottle but you happened to have moved towards the line of trajectory and the bottle landed on your temple, hard enough that you stumbled upon impact.

You barely heard Max’s shocked gasp and shout of panic over the sound of glass shattering on your foot because the only thing you could register was the terrifying feeling of a thick liquid trickling down the side of your face and you didn't even need to see it to know it was blood.

The only thing you saw was red and it was on fucking sight.

Fucking Hamilton fan. Fucking Hamilton. He’s in Max’s way. He’s in your way. He’s the wall that was dividing you from your dream position in the engineering team.

You shoved the iPad you were holding to Max’s hands and marched down to the woman wearing the Merc #44 merch, swiftly jumping over the barricade and grabbing her by the collar of her pristine white Versace top.

The events that followed were too fast. You grabbed her collar. She pulled your hair. You also pulled her hair. Someone pulled her away from you. You tried to grab her, clawing her bare arms with your manicured nails. She screamed. You screamed back. You pulled out some curse words in Spanish as well because cursing her in one language alone is not enough. Her boyfriend appeared. A quick punch to your cheek. You fell to the ground.

The world stood still. There was a sting on your palm because your skin got torn from the hard surface of the concrete ground. You let a bloodcurdling war cry and your Dad would definitely be disappointed at you for using the boxing techniques he taught you for self defense purposes only to fight a guy two times your size.

Everything was a bigger blur from there. But you did remember the sensation of Max’s strong arms around you, stopping you from lunging forward again. He was saying sweet words to your ear to calm you down but your brain failed to intercept them so you could hear the words, could hear his voice, but not understand any of it. You remember Christian Horner's disappointed face that haunted you even two years later. You remembered feeling so terrified as you sat outside Christian Horner’s office waiting for the final verdict while he and Max and a few of the Red Bull higher-ups argued about your future with the team. You remembered hearing Max’s loud snarl on the other side of the mahogany door: “Did you see her face?! There was blood everywhere! On her nose, on her mouth, on the fucking side of her head!” You remembered the girl taking the case to court. You remembered fearing that you’d be sent to jail. You remembered that she lost the case because it was ruled as self defense and your injuries were grave. You remembered discovering that it was Max who used all his power and got the best lawyer to fight your case. You remembered the atmosphere in the Red Bull garage shifting when you entered it a few weeks later and everyone stared the bandages and bruises. Everyone thought one thing: of course, it would also take a monster to manage a monster like Max Verstappen. You remembered Lewis Hamilton, seven-time world champion, apologizing personally for the fight caused by his own fan. He didn't need to but he was so sincere with it that you cried when he handed you the apology flowers. God, how could you even hate this man? Your anger towards him was misplaced.

You’d been living with the guilt ever since, that you were horrifyingly violent for a day, that you were capable of killing for a day. And it could happen again. One day. God, you hoped you wouldn't have to see that day. You knew all your coworkers have been careful with angering you ever since. They're terrified of you even. Max should be, too. But then again, why would he when he already saw the horrors done by his father’s hands ever since he was a child? He was used to it.

“I won't,” he says, smiling at you. “I wouldn't want to add anymore problems for you to clean up.”

But you will not be the one cleaning it up because you resigned. You didn’t tell that to him though. Not right now. He just had a meltdown over Kelly leaving him and the news of his manager leaving him too will destroy him.

The cheesecake is a little burnt when you take it out of the oven but it actually adds more flavor to it so yeah, that's a win.

“We should drink,” you suggest.

“It’s mid-afternoon.”

“We drank at mid-afternoon yesterday,” you give him a blank stare. “With Alex and Charles, remember?”

He doesn't say anything as you make your way to his fridge and pull out two bottles of beer. Max has champagne stored somewhere but you have enough of those expensive champagnes. You need beer. Beer is good. Beer is nice. You're a beer type of person and it is time Max becomes one, too.

“I’m no scientist,” you begin, biting off the beer’s bottle cap. “But according to chemistry, alcohol is solution.”

Well, technically, edible alcohol or ethanol is not a mixture. Rather, it's a pure substance that happens to be a liquid at room temperature and typical atmospheric pressure. Pure ethanol is not a solution. Hard spirits though? That's a solution.

Beer is not a hard spirit. It's more of a fermented drink. But Max doesn't know that, though, so you don't bother explaining the science behind it.

Somewhere down the road, the two of you move to his living room. You use the Youtube app in his TV to search karaoke video and have the bestest time of your lives. You're screaming along some Daddy Yankee and El Alfa songs and Max doesn't know how to speak Spanish so he’s just vibing to it.

At 5 PM, you pull out Max’s expensive vodka bottle. Now this is the real shit. The ten bottles of beer? Those are just pregame. Max is already drunk with just those because he’s a pussy but you’re no pussy, so the only right answer is vodka! Viva la vodka or whatever.

Your throat gets tired of singing and Max gets tired from dancing, too, so you both decide to just go entertain yourselves in other ways. First, you introduced Max to beer-pong. He loses, of course. He sucks at everything not racing. Then, the two of you move onto chess. Max gives up mid-game. He cannot understand the rules. Then, lastly, you move to the billiard table Max owned. He only used it when the other guys are over and you do not even know why he bought it when he sucked at playing billiards.

“You know what Kelly said the morning before the race?” Max suddenly says and you look up at him, brow raising slightly. He’s drunk; his skin is flushed and he is all giggly and smile-y as he sits on the billiard table’s side rail and using the billiard stick as some sort of support stand to keep him from falling. You hope he won't accidentally poke himself. You're no better, too. Ten beer bottles and a few glasses of vodka. But you’re not as drunk as Max, and you still have a straight vision and you can still sink the colored balls into the pockets of the billiard table.

“Hm?”

“That it was unfair for her.”

You raise a questioning brow, “Why?”

“I bought shoes and they don't fit her.”

You blink. He laughs at himself as if he has uttered the funniest joke in the world.

“Three years of relationship gone because of a single pair of shoes,” he continues. “She wanted those shoes, too.”

Kelly….what the fuck?

“But that's okay. She….She made me open my eyes, you know? She made me realize what I truly love.”

“Racing.” It's not even a question. It's the truth.

Max stares at you, long and hard, and you look away first because you fear that if you allow yourself to stare too long, you’ll drown in those beautiful blues. This is enough heartache for the day. No need to add more.

“Hey [Name],” he begins. “If I asked you to kiss me, would you do it?”

#manager!reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #formula one #fanfic #angst #mv1 #mv33 x reader #mv33

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vivwritesfics · 2 months

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Soo, I have an idea, bear with me, it‘s pretty specific (and slightly self-indulgent) but I think it could be nice

Basically, reader has been with Lando for a while already. She played piano as a child but for whatever reason stopped but when Charles releases his piano songs it inspires her to get back to it and Charles ends up helping her practise and they become really good friends (but honestly purely platonic, maybe even siblings vibes) over it. Cue a little bit of angst when Lando gets worried about his girl spending so much time with another guy. But ta-dah, happy end, it turns out that Charles helped her write a song for Lando as a birthday or anniversary present

I absolutely understand if you don‘t want to write this, I just had a little daydream about it and thought you‘d be the perfect person to write it!

Lots of love for you and your works <3

I made the reader Jules Bianchi's little sister

F1 Masterlist

Ever since Jules' tragic passing, Charles had felt a certain sense of protectiveness over his little sister. Everybody thought they were going to start dating, that Y/N Bianchi and Charles Leclerc were destined to be together.

Just like her brother, her life was motorsport. She wasn't a driver, that had never been her desire, but she knew everything there was to know about Formula One. She followed Charles around the world like she wanted to with her brother, supporting him like she would have Jules.

She found love at the race track, but not with Charles.

It was 2019, his rookie season when they met. She had been walking through the paddock, making her way to the Ferrari garage, when she bumped into him. In his McLaren shirt and orange hat, nineteen year old Lando Norris was adorable. It took maybe two years before he finally asked her out. They had been happy together ever since.

Something that most people forget when talking about Y/N Bianchi was her love for music. She had been playing since she was a child and it was something she had used to get through her brothers passing.

She could play several different instruments. While Jules was karting, she was practicing violin, piano, and more. But piano was her favourite of them all.

She still practiced regularly, but it was at the back of her mind as life went on.

But then lockdown happened. She and Lando had just started dating, so she was stuck at home in France, left to call him regularly. She called Charles, too, since he was like an older brother to her. As they talked he walked her around his apartment, setting her up against different surfaces as he did something.

"Charles, is that a piano?" She asked as she looked past him.

He took her closer to it, showing her the new piano he had bought over lockdown.

That was what sparked her playing again.

They didn't have much of a chance to practice together after the season started up again. They still showed each other videos they had taken of themselves playing, but they never played together.

Not until just before Lando's 24th birthday.

Actually, it was the summer break, several months before. But she liked being prepared. Lando had been so fucking excited to spend summer break with her, but she had to blow him off, told him to have fun without her.

Instead she was in Monaco with Charles. They were spending a few weeks in his apartment, writing together until they had a song. Charles had booked a studio, where they recorded together.

***

On the day of Lando's birthday he was woken up with a kiss, breakfast, and a good ol' shag.

"I got you something really special this year," she said as she walked in from the bathroom, using a towel to dry her hair. "Do you remember over summer break, when I stayed in Monaco with Charles?"

Lando's expression darkened. "Yeah, I remember," he grumbled. He knew the nature of her relationship with Charles, but he'd also seen what had been said about the two of them.

Sitting beside him, Y/N ran her hands through his hair. "C'mon, Lan, what's up?" She asked, pouting at him.

Lando threw his head back, exposing his throat as he groaned. "I get sent the articles of you and Charles back from before we started dating at least three times a week. And then you spent summer with him in Monaco and-"

Suddenly she put her hand over his mouth, and Lando softly bit her palm. "I was putting together your birthday present in Monaco. That's why I spent the entire summer with him," she said and pulled up her phone.

Lando sat patiently as she pulled out the song she had written for him. He listened to the piano notes she had put together, to the lyrics she had written. It was, to put it simply, beautiful. He could listen to it on repeat for the rest of his life.

"I... holy shit," he said when the song finished. "I fucking love you," He said. "That was incredible."

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut #lando norris x you #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula one #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #ln4 #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader

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cupidsdolll · 1 month

Text

word count: 1.1k

summary: harry’s angry at the world, himself included and he makes it everyone’s problem but there might be a light coming in the middle of his storm

notes: this is part two of this fic so it is still considered a dark fic. it contains mentions of drinking to cope with his grief, violence inflicted onto others and a brief scene of it as well.

masterlist

- - - -

To say that Harry’s been miserable lately would be a huge understatement. He’s been absolutely insufferable in the past two weeks. He spends all day drinking and holed up inside his office, he’s grumpy and snappy with everybody and he’s even more mean whenever he has to take care of someone. It’s his release in a way, the one safe space he can let out his anger at the world, at the Gallegos for taking away his love, at himself for not doing more.

“Goddamn! Fuck!” He screams in the confines of his office. He down a shot of whiskey and quickly pours himself another one, the burn going down his throat is welcoming — encouraged is the better word for it. His chest rises and falls harshly as he stares at the picture of her. One he had taken a couple of months into knowing each other, a bright smile on her lips and her hair and dress flowing in the wind behind her as they walked through a park. She had wanted a picnic and he was a sucker for her smile, so of course he’d do it for her. It was all worth it in the end, to see the smile plastered on her face and the excitement in her eyes

He misses her terribly, the past week has been the hardest week ever and he doesn’t know if it’ll get any better. He allows the tears to fall freely, to stain his cheeks and the mahogany oak of his desk. It seems as if his tears are never ending, just becoming a permanent addition to his appearance. He can’t bring himself to care, too busy wallowing in his guilt and pain. He guesses he deserves it in a way, none of this would’ve happened if he’d been paying more attention, if they would’ve stayed home or better yet if he’d never given her his number.

He huffs sadly as he wipes his tears away the best he can, he can’t do anything about the stains left on his cheeks. He takes another shot of whiskey and heads towards his office door, he figures now is as good of a time as any, and really he just can’t wait to let out some tension. He walks out the room and down the hall, ignoring the eyes of the few employees gathered around the desk before rolling his eyes as they start whispering.

“Don’t you all have a fucking job to do? This isn’t Barbie’s show where we all sit around and look pretty.” He huffs before mumbling under his breath, watching them with crossed arms as they scramble to find something to do.

He continues walking then, taking deep breaths to try to hold back the tears threatening to fall. He can’t look weak in front of them. He walks past the framed pictures on the wall, past the rooms where clicking and the occasional scream filters through the closed doors until he gets to the last door in the hall. The dark wooden door detailed with swirls and large black handles is heavy as he pushes it open, but he enjoys the pain. His own form of punishment he guesses.

The room is filled with different tools and weapons, lights scattered all over the ceiling but still keeps the room dark enough. He prefers this environment to feel more like a horror movie than just a simple killing room, and wants it to feel eerie and depressing. He wants the room to inflict absolute sheer terror and feet into anyone who just so happens to end up strapped to the chair. His dress shoes click against the concrete floor, echoing around the room and he watches happily as the man strapped to the chair begins to squirm and try to break free. It’s no use though, he’s mastered the best knot to tie around the body and the chair tightly to keep them from moving but also to inflict pain when they try to escape.

“Well, well, well. Not happy to see me?” He asks in a sickly sweet voice, too sweet to be used in such a setting. The man shakes his head violently as he tries rocking the chair side to side, his screams are muffled behind the tape. Harry simply chuckles, he’s always amused at their useless attempts.

“Now, I just have a couple of questions for you. I just need some information and I believe you should be able to help with this.” He says as he leans down so his face is right in front of the man with tears filling his eyes. The man shakes his head and Harry grabs a handful of his hair, firmly holding him in place.

“So you don’t want to leave? I was gonna let you leave if you answer… but since you don’t think that’s fair.. you’ll be stuck here.” He says and he watches as more tears fall from the man’s eyes and Harry just laughs, everyone wants to be all big and bad until they have to confront their behaviors. They think that no one will be able to catch them, they always underestimate his dedication. He’ll search every corner of the internet and the world just to find someone, and he’s been doing that lately. Searching for hours and hours on the internet to find someone.

He pulls himself back as he smiles, he’s gonna enjoy himself through all this. He starts off small, a few punches and rough tugs of the hair, and he relishes in the muffled cries of the man in front. He rips off the tape and the man screams.

“Who wanted my girl dead and why?” He asks and the man shakes his head.

“I don’t know man!” He says through his tears and shakes his head as if he’s disappointed.

“Such a shame.” He says as he walks to a table full of various weapons and tools of all sizes, he grabs a pair of pliers and walks back to the man, hitting the pliers against his palm.

“Maybe this will ring some answers for you, for every question you don’t answer and I’m not satisfied with the answer I’ll pull one of your teeth out. How does that sound?” The man cries and shakes his head.

“Please man, I’m serious! I don’t know anything!” He cries out and Harry sighs.

“Already onto a bad start, my friend.” He says as he yanks the man’s jaw open as he decides which teeth to pull. As soon as he picks one, the door opens and EJ’s voice rings out.

“Hey boss, sorry to bother you but you have a phone call, it’s important.” Harry shakes his head. He should know better than to interrupt him. He’d hate to have to fire him.

“Uh, I’m busy. Tell them I’ll call back later.” Harry replies back, sarcasm and annoyance dripping from his voiceand the door still stays open.

“It’s the hospital, Y/N. She’s alive.”

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles one direction #harry styles fan fic #harrystyles #harry styles one shots #harry styles sad #harry styles angst #harry styles x fem!reader #brief mention but i think i should still tag it #harry styles x y/n #my writing

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chrollohearttags · 9 months

Text

sweetest release • e. jaeger

“I touch myself just thinking of you…”

it’s never easy having a bad day, but your best friend is more than happy to help you get over it.

content + themes: phone/FaceTime sex, mutual/guided masturbation, fluff + angst, pillow humping, plus size, black!fem reader, praise kink, some sweet affirmations, slight mentions of body dysmorphia + sexual harassment and discrimination (racism and intersectionality are touched on too..yeah I got a little deep in this 😭) eren being the sweetest dom :(, squirting, crying from reader (not dacryphilia), cumshot

📝: and just so we’re clear, this is not me downplaying these topics or desecrating them for just sex. This was just something I wanted to touch on a bit because I was having this conversation with someone not too long ago and it’s based an audio I heard that just made me cry so yeah 🥹

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·. .·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·. .·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·. .·:*¨¨* ≈

“I told you, I’m fine. No need to worry about me, babyboy..promise.”

“You sure? Because I don’t think you are. You’ll feel better if you talk about it.”

“And bore you half to death with my stupid ass problems? I’d rather not.”

back and forth banter ensued in the now thirty minute conversation between (y/n) and the only person you’d allow to be on your line at this time of night..

“(Y/N), don’t ever say some stupid shit like that ever again. What do you think I’m here for?”

as you exited your bathroom, swaddled in a fluffy, warm towel and a bonnet atop your head, you’d listen to the sound of clicking buttons on the other end. Eren, your right hand and long time best friend was nearly fifty miles away back on campus at you guys’ university. Where he was a star basketball player. The two of you had just entered your sophomore year when you got offered an exciting opportunity to intern for your dream company…a marketing firm However, the one prerequisite was to relocate for a couple weeks. Which wasn’t exactly a bad thing; as you were provided pretty cozy living amenities in a five star hotel overlooking the beach but considering the fact that you didn’t necessarily get along with the rest of the potential recruits. You were feeling a bit down, especially after one of the other interns made a rather off comment about your ‘full, voluptuous figure’ and ‘giant afro’ in comparison to your very..thinner, paler cohorts and how it could be a distraction. Normally, you’d be quick to flash on someone but this wasn’t a chance you’d get again so you had to bite your tongue. Fortunately, the execs did not tolerate this outlandish commentary and sent his ass packing but you were still a little self conscious. Of course, you confided in Eren about this and he was pissed. Saying how he’d whoop dude’s ass if he was there and not to let his stupid remark get to you. But it made you feel cheap..as if your body and hair would deter you from doing your job!

“Listen, don’t let that dumbass make you feel bad about yourself. He’s gone now..hell, if you send me his address, I might pay him a little visit.” Winking into the camera, which you’d just shrug off because you knew he was serious! It wasn’t the first time he had beat someone’s ass in your honor and he’d do it time and again. Besides, he didn’t like the idea of somebody eyeing his girl. Whether you guys were dating or not, you were forever his. As he clicked away at his PlayStation controller, you continued getting ready for bed. Still sporting nothing more than that fluffy bath linen.

“…I wish I looked like everybody else sometimes..” The sudden declaration taking Eren off guard because he truly couldn’t understand as to why you’d feel that way all of a sudden. Granted, he wasn’t in your shoes and being objectified would make anyone uncomfortable but you had nothing to worry about anymore. Outside of that one incident, your trip had been a very positive experience. Everyone was super kind and no one else had even dared to make such a stupid comment. They were truly committed to making their future, potential employees feel welcomed and safe. Not to mention, you were beautiful..stunning. He told you that everyday. But that wasn’t the true reason you felt so down..

“Like, every time I feel good about myself or think I look good, somebody reminds me that I’m different..shit’s annoying, y’know? If it’s not my size, it’s my color. If it’s not my color, then it’s the way I speak or a fucking hairstyle. Can’t do anything right, I guess..I don’t know what to do, baby boy. I just want to be seen for my hard work and not my appearance. I can’t change who I am and I shouldn’t have to—“

by this point, you were feigning back some serious tears and Eren had heard quite enough of this! He couldn’t believe that the girl he first met in choir class his freshman year of high school..the one he nearly stared a hole through because he thought you were so pretty was even considering that you were anything less than perfect. The same one that saw his little nerdy ass and befriended him without a second thought. You guys had come a long way in your roller coaster of a relationship but too far for him to sit here and let you sit here and talk about yourself like this. Understandably, he’d never be able to walk a day in your shoes or understand your hardships, navigating this life as a woman with your skin tone or body type but he wanted you to feel as if this was your world and everyone else on this bitch was just living in it. None of that ever mattered to him, he wasn’t raised like that and it infuriated him that people were so ignorant! It wasn’t a topic that you guys avoided either. If he was going to be in your life, he wanted to truly hear everything you went through. From people that looked like him down to the guys that looked like you, everyone had an opinion or negative thought. You were over it. He may not have been there physically but he was going to be with you..mind, body and spirit to help you. And he had just the plan.

“(Y/N)…lay down.”

the sudden shift in his voice and tone catching you slightly off guard, so much so, you’d ask him to repeat his rather off request.

“What are you talking—“

“Just lay down and please don’t argue with me. I promise this isn’t another one of my stupid jokes.”

you had no idea what it was he was planning but alas, you followed his command regardless. Slowly, you’d crawl on to the bed and lie flat on your back. By now, your phone was lying on the night stand and you couldn’t see him but you could hear your best friend’s voice loud and clear. Which was more than enough for what he had planned. And indicative of his tone, he was pretty serious about whatever scheme was circulating his mind.

“I’m laying down, just like you said..now what?” And nothing could truly prepare you for what was about to transpire but he promised he was going to make you feel ten times better..

“Good, so close your eyes for a second and just take a couple deep breaths…you’re so tense right now, I can feel it from here.”

and he was right! Your jaw was clenched tight enough to shatter your teeth into tiny pieces. So you’d do as he asked and take in a deep breath before exhaling. Repeating the same step three times until you felt that tension ease up a bit. Just as you went to get up, he’d command you right back down, telling you that this little makeshift therapy session was far from finished. “Just listen to me for a second..I know it’s hard going through what you do. People are assholes, what else can I say? It pisses me off, it always has and trust me, I’d fight the whole world for you if I could make it go away but I can’t..and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, pretty girl. I’m sorry they don’t see your worth. But I don’t ever want to hear you think any less of yourself just because they’re too fucking stupid to see past their own prejudice.”

you guys weren’t exactly expecting this conversation to become so deep and intense but now that it was, he wanted you to focus on pouring that energy back into yourself. To stop thinking about people who were committed to misunderstanding you and only worry about yourself. It was all about his precious (y/n) right now. Just then, you began to sniffle a bit and your face flushed with holding back from crying but this was only beginning.

“Ren..”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything right now. I just want you to feel good. Only tears I wanna see are the ones of joy, alright?”

his next order was for you to truly get in tune with your own body. Let all of those emotions out and not bottle them up as you had done so many times before. As you lied there, hands folded across your stomach and eyes shut, still clothed in that towel, he’d ask you to slowly remove it and unfold it to either side..rendering you nude. He couldn’t see you at the moment, but if he were there right now..he’d give you the sweetest kisses. Starting at your lips, down your neck and even to your thighs…he’d peck you all over so gently whilst rubbing your soft, gorgeous skin and tell you how beautiful you were..that he loved every inch of you and everything about you. But he’d settle for doing it vicariously.

“Take your hands and just feel down your body for a second..it sounds weird but try it. Real slow..don’t even look. Just touch yourself.” and not in a sexual way either..he had quite the reason for this as well. One you had never truly thought of. “I used to struggle with the way I looked for a long time. It seemed like no matter what I did, I’d never get bigger. Even when I worked out, I was still small. Turns out, I had a lot of growing up to do..and a lot of vegetables to eat.” Prompting you both to laugh. “But I realized that even if I done all of that to change how I looked on the outside..if I felt the same about myself on the inside, there was no point. So as corny as the shit sounds, being comfortable in your own skin is the key.”

everything he was saying was beginning to make sense and the tension in your body was starting to dissolve..slowly, you’d caress your skin..from those supple breasts, pudgy tummy and down to your thick thighs..feeling every line, bump and curve and falling deeper in love with it as the seconds passed. That quiver in your lip turned to a smile. That slight tremble in you turned to complete relaxation and your mind went to a place of tranquility. One where you imagined Eren hovering above you right now with his hands on your hips as he kissed below your bellybutton. On your mound and all..but he didn’t want you thinking that far yet.

“Do you feel yourself, baby? How beautiful you are?…how soft your skin is?…that body is perfect. It goes through so much..so many things me and no other man could ever imagine but it’s still perfect.” his words, voice and all so soothing and alluring. Like a giant, comforting hug after a long day. Exhaling softly, you’d continue touching all over your body, in no specific direction at all but that was about to change. “Mhmmm. I can feel it.” “Yeah? Well, I wanna hear you say it..I wanna hear you say how beautiful you are. Tell me right now.” you’d repeat the words back to him as he called out the cadence. “I’m beautiful..my body is beautiful.” “That’s right. And you’re so in love with yourself that it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks because you look in the mirror and you see perfection. You see someone God took his time on. A work of art. You’re priceless..” his affirmations were about to make you burst into full blown sobbing yet again but you’d hold it together, repeating everything he said just as he instructed. He could tell you these things all day long but until you truly said it, believed and felt it yourself, you’d never overcome that hurdle. So a few seconds later, he’d ask you to cup your breasts..groping those soft tits in your palms and soft pinching your nipples, you awaited his next move. You’d shift the phone so that you could see him but he requested that you keep your eyes closed. The sole point was to solely be in tune with yourself right now..

“There you go..rub on your titties for me.” it may have sounded as if he was gassing you for no reason but every word he spoke, he meant it. “You know many people would pay for what you have? You’re so fucking fine, baby. You have no idea.” He knew many girls that would constantly ask him who did his best friend’s surgery because you were so thick and stacked. Saying that you were like a goddess..and he agreed. He would kiss the ground you walked on if it was allowed! And of course, he’d ask you to tell him what you loved about your body, and even if it seems redundant, it was necessary. The more you spoke it into existence, the more you’d believe them. Suddenly, he’d tear you began to whimper and moan, thinking of how cute you looked. Squirming on that bed, especially when he began to fill your head with all of the desires he had as well. “Those pretty little nipples too…you always liked having them played with too. I wish I was there to kiss them, lick them…” his voice so sensual and loving as always when he spoke to you. He had this nature about him that made you so easily submit..

“So you’re gonna do it f’r me. Gonna touch yourself wherever I say, right?” “Mhmph! Yeah..”

he couldn’t help but to smile at your sudden falter in voice as the sensitively of those buds increased and your experienced your first pang of pleasure. He wanted you to absorb all of those sweet things he said to you…internalize them and never forget who you were. Carefully eyeing you, his phone angled from an upright position where you could see his abs and handsome face. “Good girl..now run that hand down your stomach..just feel on it. How soft it is. It’s my favorite part of you, honestly. I love when you let me kiss on it. Lay my head on it when you come over..” He was so pleased to see you following his command and letting him take control. He wanted to completely reset your mind. Just then, Eren would shuffle in his seat and watch as your tongue spilled from between your lips. “P-play with me, ‘Ren. Wanna see you too..” and of course, he was elated to join in. Wiggling his hips, he’d work them down until his lower half was exposed and his cock sprang out, slapping against his bellybutton. He’d cup his shaft and run his fingers along the veiny part, which made him suck his teeth.

“See what you do to me, pretty girl? ‘M so hard just thinking about you. Nobody else makes me feel like that.”

slowly, he began to stroke himself..all whilst trying to maintain that dominion. But the more he imagined doing these acts, the less disciplined he became but for you? He pulled himself together. He still had far more to dote on you about. “Tell me, pretty girl. How do you feel right now? Be honest with me.” Checking in as he kept massaging himself and stealing glances as you squeezed, touched and admired your own flesh. “I’m good…feeling so much better.” “I’m so glad, baby. That’s all I wanna hear..all I—ahh shit.” Becoming one with yourself was some of the best advice you’d ever received. You’d begin to feel faint twitching between your thighs, prompting you to brush against a pillow you had meshed between them. Eren would definitely notice and grant you permission to grind on it, chuckling.. “Go ahead, baby..rub your clit against that pillow. Anything to make yourself feel good right now…this is all about you. Don’t hold back for me or anyone else.” and like a helpless pup, you’d rut your hips into that silk lined linen and bite down on your thumb as you pictured him down there, flicking his tongue against your wetness and eating you out slowly. Hiding your face into your palm, you’d work yourself over and try to feign those expressions.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to be ashamed of it…you deserve this. You work so hard and God, I’m so proud of you, (y/n). My babygirl always handles her business, stays on her shit..I’m so in love with you. Not just for the way you look but your mind, your soul..it’s all so beautiful..you deserve all the love, the care…to be given everything you want, baby.” in combination with those sweet words and your clit being massaged, (y/n) began to work yourself into a tizzy; pleasured senseless and drooling as that orgasm began to build in the pit of that plump little tummy; which collided with the pillow. Still pinching those nipples and whining out, you’d cry out for Eren, begging him to keep encouraging you. To give you those instructions and what to do next…alas, he’d keep thrusting up into his own enclosed fist and release a chorus of sexy grunts.

“I’d give you everything you want. The type of love making you deserve. I’d let you know how beautiful you are while I’m fucking you slow. The type of deep strokes you love so much. The ones where you’re digging in my back..calling me daddy and telling me not to stop. They’re my favorite too, baby..I’ll fuck you just like that when you come home.” he was so vocal, outright letting you know exactly how he felt. And there wasn’t a single doubt that he was bluffing. He was obsessed with you! Literally so infatuated that he wanted nothing more than to be with you right now. To hold you close and protect you from anyone who thought you were less than amazing. Those dimmed green eyes focused on you as he tried to ward off the urge to come right now. He had to get you there before he could..but first…“You’re so close now though…I know you wanna come. Let all that stress out but I need you to do one last thing for me, okay? Flip over..” and without hesitation, you’d roll over onto your back, still clutching that pillow between your fingers and legs, holding onto it as you were afraid if you halted that friction, you’d combust right now. However, he knew exactly what you needed for that final push. You’d spread your legs wide open, massaging that overstimulated center for as long you could withstand and suddenly, you’d find yourself writhing atop those crisp sheets.

“I can’t let you come until I hear you say it..until you tell me that you love yourself as much as I do.”

and just then, all of those positive comments and self love he forced you to pour back into your own psyche plagued your mind. They deeper in and you came to the realization he had been waiting for you to reach. Exhaling and gasping sharply, (y/n)‘s back arched and you clutched the sheets, crying out his name as you neared that peak even further. “I-I love myself. I love myself so much! Oh my gosh!…” in that moment, Eren flashed a warm smile, and praised you for your resilience. “Good girl…now, same time..”

right on the brink of climatic bliss, you rubbed until you could no longer hold back and simultaneously, the two of you released all of that tension and built up arousal. A flood of juices splattering the mattress and a flood of emotions hitting you like a truck. Like a tightly wrapped bow..a spring coiled too high..you let it all go and it felt..

“So good…so fucking good! Shit…”

just then, Eren would glance over, still strumming out and playing with strings of his own nut to see you in full blown hysterics. Crying those sweet tears of joy he had hoped for and he was equally as happy. “Good, baby. That’s all I need to hear. I don’t ever want you hurting..feeling bad about yourself. Not as long as I’m around.”

and you knew it to be true, especially after tonight. Something told you, you would never have to worry about a bad day or clouds over your head with an amazing man like him in your life.

“As long as you keep letting me love you, pretty girl.”

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youandtom2 · 2 years

Text

Praise You Like I Should (CEO!Tom Holland) 18+

Summary: You were always a people-pleaser, desperate to do right by everybody no matter what they asked. Being an intern, your boss Jackson exploited your people-pleaser tendencies in a very unprofessional manner, and CEO Mr Holland wasn't happy about it... Themes: smut! little bit of fluff and angst, dom!tom and sub!reader, oral (m+f), major praise kink, sir kink, overstimulation, masturbation (alone) , slight jewelry kink w/c: 10k+

MASTERLIST

You look over the dimly lit hall before you, tables decorated to the nines with hand-folded serviettes, silver-ware suited for royalty, gleaming as they sit on a fresh white linen table cloth, surrounded by tall plum-coloured cushioned chairs. There’s about twelve tables dotted around the hall identical to one another, waiting to be filled by guests in about an hour or so. The room sparkles with the metallic colouring of birthday banners and balloons floating around the room, illuminated by the dancing, multicoloured disco lights.

The surprise birthday party you were instructed to organise is for Mr Holland’s business partner, Taylor. They’re each other's yin and yang, mixing together like oil on water but somehow they make it work. The informal Taylor bases his relationship with his employees on friendship and a sense of mutual equality, where the formal Mr Holland prefers professionalism and respect on top of trust. Nevertheless, both are equally respected as bosses and businessmen in their own right. It doesn’t necessarily mean you all prefer one over the other, but if you had to make a choice as to who you would rather hang out with, the answer is an obvious one.

As an intern, it isn’t exactly part of your remit to organise and host birthday events, but your boss, Jackson, ordered you to do it. Jackson’s notable within the workforce for several reasons; he’s outgoing, social, ambitious, confident, and is unofficially Taylor’s kiss ass. He appointed himself (ahem, you) with the responsibility of organising Taylor’s surprise party, not because he thinks he’s capable, but because he’s looking for recognition. What people don’t know is that he’s actually a lazy guy who has gotten himself drunk with the taste of superiority, abusing you as his own personal slave for favours both big (entirely consequential and out of your depth) and small (worthless and petty). Unfortunate to be his first intern, you’ve realised how gluttonous he’s become with you at his disposal how and whenever he pleases. However, being placed at the bottom of the pecking order, you’re not at liberty to say no.

Jackson’s not your favourite boss by any means, but by God he keeps you busy. It tooks weeks for you to organise the venue, the catering, the entertainment, the decorations, the invitations, most importantly the cake, and the little oddities that everyone forgets about like hand-written name tags and having straws at the bar. You’ve been working relentlessly and after weeks of stress, late and often sleepless nights, numerous phone calls and emails, cancellations and rebookings, tonight is the night that all of that can end. The curse of being a perfectionist and a people-pleaser can finally release its hold on you.

Just as you finish clarifying the itinerary with the hotel’s bar staff, you notice a dark figure walking through the entrance. Your eyes trail nervously from the black patent shoes to the white shirt peeking beneath the black suit of which belongs to Mr Holland. He has his tortoise shell glasses perched perfectly on his nose, reflecting the colours of the disco lights as he walks towards you, stoic and poised. A silent ‘fuck’ crosses your mind.

Being the CEO eight floors above you, Mr Holland’s face isn’t one that you see as consistently as Jackson’s. He’s at least 6 tiers above you in the pecking order, one of two to take superiority over a long line of directors, specialists, managers, supervisors and assistants before you. So you can hardly blame yourself when you start to feel nerves gathering in your chest, despite how well-respected he is amongst the workforce.

His eyes finally find yours and he clarifies your name. You can appreciate that he’s at least taken the time to learn your face. “You're Jackson’s intern, right?”

Wow. He knows you more than you thought. “Yes sir. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No, thank you. I was just coming to take a look around. I’m normally part of organising the celebrations but this year I’ve been too busy.” He wordlessly waves a hand before weaving in and out the tables, reading each name tag as he passes by. You watch nervously as he inspects the room until finding himself in front of what you call The Shrine with folded arms, almost bursting at the seams. More simply, it’s a collage of photos of Taylor taken over the years pieced together in a mosaic standing on an easel, gathered and no less arranged by you, of course. Next to it stands an empty corkboard, waiting to be filled with pictures from tonight's celebration, provided by the pop-up photobooth beside it.

“Whose idea was this?” There’s a warm smile on Mr Holland’s face.

“Mine, sir.”

“And the handcrafted name tags?”

“Also me, sir.”

“I love it. It’s very creative.” You exhale loudly, relieved. The people-pleaser inside you starts to buzz, fluttering wildly at Mr Holland’s praise. “Did you…” His eyes squint narrowly, honing in on you. “Did you organise all of this?”

“Yes, I did. The venue and catering took some negotiating but once that was planned, the rest came with time.”

“Impressive.”

You’re about to thank him but you're interrupted by the obnoxious calling of your name in a voice that booms from the entrance of the hall. Jackson marches towards you and you stand a little straighter. He doesn’t notice Mr Holland standing in the corner of the room next to the shrine. Instead of Mr Holland announcing himself, which is what you expected him to do, he sinks his hands into his pockets and quietly observes from afar.

“I need a rundown--” Please, that would be great. “--and for the love of God where is the present I was supposed to get Taylor?” Thanks for getting me a present for him, I’ll pay you back.

Your answer is succinct and to the point. “I’ve left it in your hotel room; it’s a dinner reservation at Keens Steakhouse in New York. As for tonight, the bar will be open for guests when they arrive at 6:30pm, Taylor will arrive between 7:00pm and 7:15pm for his surprise, the buffet will open at 7:30pm and cake will be served at 8:30pm. Last orders are at 11:30pm and the curfew is midnight. Everyone has checked in and has their hotel room key, although Kelsey couldn’t make it tonight, so her room is spare.”

Jackson gives a gruff nod, mumbling something intelligible under his breath. He cautiously looks to the bar, then narrows his eyes at you with a pointed finger wavering in your face. “I need tonight to be perfect so I need you to be sober. No alcohol. Got it?” In other words, I can’t be bothered making sure everything goes smoothly so I need you to stay sober while I get shit-faced. You nod, pursing your lips angrily as he walks away from you without a final word.

With Jackson no longer in sight, the tension finally deflates and your shoulders relax. You hate that every interaction with Jackson is a test of your skill and knowledge, caught in a vicious cycle of having to prove yourself worthy time and time again.

As Mr Holland emerges from the corner of the room, it’s an observation he also confronts having finally witnessed Jackson’s true authoritarian nature. His eyes are fixated on the golden doors in a stare so firm it could burn holes through the metal, and just when he steps into the brighter lights of the bar, his overall demeanour changes.

His jaw ticks when he finally faces you. “Jackson’s keeping you on your toes tonight it seems.”

“He always does, sir.” You shuffle awkwardly on your feet, recounting the numerous occasions his brutal demands have worked you to the bone.

“I don’t think I appreciate the way he talks to you.”

“Oh I’m used to it by now.”

“So he talks to you like that all the time?” Shit. In truth, Jackson would never have spoken so harshly to you had he known anyone was in the room let alone Mr Holland, but that was his mistake. One you’re not sorry for. “Well, if he isn’t going to tell you what an amazing job you have done, I will. You should be proud of organising all of this by yourself, it’s not easy. Well done.”

Your chest swells with pride as Mr Holland pats a gentle hand against your upper arm. Finally, your first taste of positive reinforcement. “Thank you, sir.”

Mr Holland’s smirk quirks at the edges. His hands find themselves deep within his pockets once again as he coolly and oh-so-calmly exits through the doors.

~~~~

You are insomnia personified. As relieved as you are that the night is going exactly to plan, with the nervous anticipation over, you just cannot wait to get to your bed knowing that the stress is over. You have hours of sleep to catch up on, a stone of weight to put back on and friends and family to respond to, and without a single alcoholic drink to lift your spirits, you’re finding it harder and harder to keep the exhaustion at bay. Beyond the exhaustion, however, there’s a sadness hidden deep within your conscience and while you glance over the decorations you hung up as the melodic singing of ‘happy birthday’ rings in the air, it spreads. It’s clear that people are oblivious to what makes you so downcast on a celebratory night as they pass nothing more than a glance your way, but in all honesty, you much prefer it to be that way. You wouldn’t want anyone to see the tear building in the corner of your eye.

For now, you thrive on the compliments you’ve heard about the venue, the decorations, the drinks and the food, each and every one of them satisfying your perfectionist mindset. Okay, so what no-one knows you organised the party, and sure, you can oversee the fact that none of the compliments are directed to you in particular, because in the end, you’ve gained Mr Holland’s approval and that’s enough for you.

Well, it was enough until Taylor took to the stage for a speech.

“...and a special shout-out to Jackson for putting this all together for me. This is absolutely amazing, I couldn’t have asked for more.”

Your heart sinks in your chest and your ears instinctively drown out the clapping and cheering of the crowd around you, eyes set in stone as they watch Jackson accept the dedication so graciously that it makes you sick to your stomach. It takes every ounce of energy you have left in you to suppress the wobble in your lip at the sight of Jackson soaking up the glory like a sponge. Jackson taking the credit for your hard work was something you should’ve expected from him. After all, he is lazy and will never be willing to admit it, definitely not in front of Taylor. Still, the chase for recognition was always going to be a losing battle for you; you’re an intern for fuck’s sake, you are merely just a name and a face for most, unfulfiling of the protagonistic arc the people here want in their stories. Jackson, the kiss ass, makes much more sense being the hero than an underdog intern.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, accepting defeat.

You claim an empty seat at an empty table in a dark corner of the room, far from the crowd mingling on the dance floor and you remain there as the party continues into the night. The glass of tepid water looks pitiful in your hands, its lack of taste offering no respite from your sorrow.

With fifteen minutes until last orders, you begin counting down to the moment you can retire to your bed which you know won’t arrive until after you’ve cleaned up the hall. You’re jealous of some of the guests who have already decided to leave the party.

The chair to your right suddenly scrapes across the floor and you’re slightly taken aback when Mr Holland sits close beside you and abruptly rests an elbow upon the table, blocking your view of the crowd and demanding your attention. A cedarwood scent silently announces itself and you inhale it deeply, finding sanctuary in its presence despite how startled you are by it. Your breath is simply taken from you when he shuffles himself closer. He isn’t wearing his usual attire; something a little less formal, but likely to be just as expensive. With that expensive taste comes his expensive appearance: clean, styled, decorated admirably and booming with authority. A warmth starts to take a hold of you.

His movements are harsh and his body moves with brute intention, but behind those curls, his eyes hold sympathy, knowing what is upsetting you before it even spills from your lips. You try to fake a smile but he can see right through it.

“I thought it was you that organised the party,” he calmly states.

“I did. But because Jackson instructed me to plan a party means he takes responsibility for it.”

Mr Holland doesn’t waste a single second. “It isn’t right. It’s one thing to speak to you so rudely, but it’s another to take credit for your hard work, and I’m starting to believe that Jackson doesn’t value you as an intern as much as he values the superiority that comes with it, am I right?”

Anxiously, your eyes catch Jackson lazily hanging over the bar and demanding another drink. If Mr Holland were to know the truth, it would get Jackson in a lot of trouble and the people-pleaser inside you is screaming at you to just deny it all. Your skewed perception of professionalism means skipping over these things, something about snitching just seems so petty and childish, and that’s not the impression you want to give Mr Holland of all people.

Mr Holland’s stern voice brings you back. “You’re not answering to him now, you’re answering to me. Am. I. Right?”

You gulp. “Yes, sir.”

“I intend to have a word with Jackson--”

“Mr Holland, it’s okay, really--” You try to protest but he quickly rests his hand on top of yours, his warmth enveloping it completely, and your mind halts. Your heart flutters the moment his fingers curl just the little bit tighter, a compassion that says more than words could. It’s genuine, caring, but firm in a way that’s supportive, pledging to do right by you.

“He will apologise to you and let everyone know the truth.”

“Please, I don’t want to cause a hassle or stir anything in the office, I just want to do well. And what would it change if people knew the truth? It doesn’t bother me that much, honestly. Besides, you know the truth. That’s all that matters to me.” Desperately and without thinking, you twist your hand and your fingers interlock, returning the squeeze with a soft smile. Mr Holland tries his best to return the sentiment but you can tell the whole ordeal still troubles him and sits discontented by your side, a regretful sigh heaving through his lips. Soon, after a silent plea to let it go, he eventually sits level with you with a brighter sparkle to his eyes and instantly, the mood is lifted. You notice how his hand doesn’t leave yours.

“You at least deserve a drink.”

“I shouldn’t, I’m closing up tonight and I’m working early tomorrow.”

He scowls for what seems like the hundredth time tonight, facing issue after issue the more you expose Jackson’s true nature. “It’s Saturday tomorrow, you should be having a day off.”

“It’s laughable you think I get a day off,” you chuckle. The sad thing is, he thinks you’re joking. Jackson often sends you his overdraft of reports to complete over the weekend and has the cheek to deem you lucky that he gives you so much wisdom and experience. You can’t imagine Mr Holland being aware of this…

“Don’t be silly darling, everyone is entitled to days off. Even Taylor took a day off today for his birthday.”

Again, your scathing laughter meets his ears and he tilts his head, that skewed eyebrow lifting high into his forehead. “No offence sir, but with his position, he can afford to. I don’t think interns have that same benefit--”

“Of course you do, it’s company policy that everyone is entitled to a day off on their birthday.” Before you get a word in, he’s already pulling out his phone from his suit pocket. “Tell me when your birthday is so I can make sure you get it off, and I know when to get you a birthday present. Taylor too--”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that.”

“We do it for all our employees, regardless if you’re an intern or not.” His calendar flashes to life before his eyes. “So when is it? June? July?”

Your mouth suddenly goes dry and it gawps like a fish, not a usual response to such an easy question. Your fingers knead together on your lap as the sadness once again materialises and Mr Holland quickly senses something is amiss.

“It’s…it’s today. My birthday is…was today.”

Mr Holland’s eyes widen with horror. It’s no less than a minute later that he finally replies. “And Jackson has you working?”

“Since 7am this morning. I had asked for my birthday off two months ago because I did actually read the company policies, but he said interns can’t request holidays because they’re not permanent. I didn’t think anything of it.”

“What?! For fuck’s sake…” Mr Holland twists his chair violently, its legs colliding with the table as he tries to face you more directly and leans forward, your knees slotting into the space between his. The wave of his anger has rolled back even higher in its tide and now, unlike before, there’s a vein popping at his temple. “Let me just make this clear, okay? Correct me if I’m wrong. You’re telling me that Jackson has knowingly denied you of your birthday holiday entitlement and instead had you plan someone else’s birthday just so that he can take credit for it, make you work through it and clean up after it as well?”

God. In his words it sounds so desperately sad. Up until this point, you were able to distract yourself from getting caught up in the tragedy of it all, but now there’s nothing stopping the gates from opening and wallowing in self-pity. Although your blurring eyes tell of your true emotions, the forced smile on your lips does everything it can to convince both you and Mr Holland that you’re not bothered by it. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Mr Holland’s heart inevitably sinks. In that moment, he thinks of the cruelty behind Jackson ordering you to buy and wrap his present for Taylor when you have none to open. He thinks of you, alone, buying the candles of the birthday cake you wouldn’t be blowing out. He thinks of you, just hours ago as the crowd sings happy birthday to another person, blissfully ignorant of your sorrow. He thinks of the hours you spent working when you should have been with your friends and family. It’s all of the things you truly deserve, but have been robbed from you.

He reaches once again for your hand, now resting on your lap, and the tips of his fingers graze your thigh. You would be a fool to miss it. “Darling,” he sincerely murmurs, almost as quiet as a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

The fake smile takes lead and the rebel tear is wiped away. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault--”

“But it’s not okay. You…you didn’t even get to have a drink.” Damnit, your cheeks are wet again. “Did you at least get a break today?” Don’t cry in front of your CEO. Don’t cry in front of your CEO. Don’t cry in front of your CEO.

In fact, you spend so much time failing to not cry that Mr Holland assumes the worst. He takes in a long, deep breath and lures you into his embrace with a hand creeping up to the back of your head, and the second your forehead hits his shoulder, the dams break.

“I’m just so tired,” you sniff.

“You’ve been overworked, darling, that’s why.” His hand passes over your hair, gently cupping the curve of your head as he takes in every hiccup. His breath flows past your ears smoothly, broken up every few seconds with whispers of comfort. You feel horribly embarrassed, crying into the expensive suit of your CEO at the party you organised on your birthday: definitely not the definition of professionalism you are chasing.

“I’m sorry. I promise I’m not usually like this.” You retreat from his shoulder but the hand cupping the back of your head prevents you from travelling too far and you’re stuck, just inches from Mr Holland’s pitying eyes. He keeps you concealed from the crowd, but it’s not enough to hide from the burning glare of Jackson, his eyes drawing daggers at you from over Mr Holland’s shoulder. He’s somewhat frozen in a stupor, scarily steady for a man who was flailing over the bar minutes ago, but anger is a quick cure for intoxication.

Mr Holland’s voice sidles quietly into your ear. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. Get yourself up to bed, I’ll deal with Jackson.”

“But--”

“I will not take no for an answer. Now go.” You shiver at the stern tone, appearing only as he turns to lock eyes with Jackson who’s faring a guilty look upon his face. As Mr Holland brings you both to a stand, he gently encourages you towards the golden doors and although you should be indulging in the relief of finally being let off, you can’t pull your focus away from Mr Holland’s cold stare that refuses to stray from Jackson. In the few seconds that it takes to walk from your chair to the doors, a clear, obvious shift in mood transpires, one that is felt by the entire room because now it isn’t just you that notices Mr Holland’s sudden decline in temperament. Evidently, everyone is quick to sense the tension. The crowd’s lively dancing now settles into an awkward shuffle and the singing dulls into hushed whispers because they know to never underestimate the seriousness of Mr Holland’s anger. It’s uncomfortable and intimidating, even more so if you’re the reason for his vexation and if that’s the case, you should be on your knees begging for his forgiveness. It’s the one power Mr Holland holds that Taylor, his business partner, his equal, doesn't possess. This is your first time seeing him exercise this power and it’s incredibly daunting.

The beat of your heels clicking their way up the staircase is a quick one, not daring to hang around the unease any longer. The fresh smell of washed cotton that greets you in your room winds you down and you don’t spare a second of reflection before you strip yourself of your stiff dress, blister-inducing heels, thick make-up and the heavy stress. You slip right between the sheets, ready to drift asleep.

The lights are switched off, your eyes are closed and your body properly relaxes. Yet inexplicably you can’t settle into your bed no matter how much you toss and turn. Rationale convinces you that it’s because you’re in a bed different from your own, that the mattress doesn’t have the mould of your body imprinted on it, and although it’s a perfectly reasonable explanation, your inner conscience is telling you something else…

Flashes of memories made just half an hour prior spring to the surface and suddenly you’re watching yourself converse with Mr Holland again. But it isn’t exactly how you remember it.

For example, his hand is on your lap, gripping the curve of your thigh with his heat scorching through your skin when you know that, in reality, it was nothing more than a soft sweep. And when you both stood, you know he guided you with a gentlemanly hand, yet your dream sees his hand curving down the slope of your ass and squeezing the flesh. You have to refuse the idea of you shivering with arousal from hearing Mr Holland’s stern growl because truthfully, it was nerves.

Or…was it both?

You try to ignore it, but the seed has already been planted. Now all you can visualise is his fleeting touches, his soft voice praising you and calling you darling, the twinkle in his eyes as he sympathised for you, the caress of his hand through your hair as he comforted you, the way he cared for you, and fucking hell, the exhilaration of seeing him protect you so defensively when no one else did. His taut jaw, his clenched fists, his dark eyes, the pulsing vein at his temple, his eminence that commanded the room, the list is endless.

“F-fuck,” you stutter, succumbing to the pleasure of your own fingers toying with your clit. You don’t quite remember the exact moment your hand slipped beneath your underwear, too caught up in your fantasy of Mr Holland to realise. Regardless, the movie in your mind continues to play out and by now, none of it reflects any real events from tonight - it’s all purely fictional.

His hand slides up between your thighs. He dons a devilish grin because he knows there’s a whole crowd blissfully unaware behind him. An innocent gasp slips from your lips and it lures his eyes to your mouth, panting as he traces the letters of his name over your covered cunt as a sign as to who it belongs to. Overrun with anticipation, you bite your lip, feeling the pad of his finger slip beneath your thong and…

“Oh my god! Shit!” Your body seizes, curling into itself as your fingers dull to a small twitch between your clenched thighs. There’s a blissful moment where you ravish the hot rush of blood pulsing at your pussy, letting it bubble until it slows to a simmer, and only when you come down from your high minutes later do you fully realise what has just happened. Eyes split wide open, you rise from your bed.

You just masturbated fantasising over your CEO.

What in the hell have you gotten yourself into?

~~~~

The morning comes surprisingly quickly and the hotel's thin curtains don't fully shield you from the sun's glare. It’s bright, directly in your face and if you didn’t know any better, you would think that it’s spotlighting you because it knows what you did last night. As if you forgot…

The guilt still ruins your conscience and you feel nothing but regret; fantasising and sexualising Mr Holland’s kindness is just the pinnacle of everything you disagree with and it doesn’t exactly define the sort of professionalism you strive for.

Shaking it off as best you can, you refresh yourself with a shower and a harsh splash of cold water to your face, and by the time you open your laptop it’s 9am. There hasn’t been any emails from Jackson so far which you’re not too sure if you’re shocked by. It’s typical on a Saturday morning for Jackson to send you multiple reports with deliberately vague instructions that you would somehow have to decode and translate for yourself. But regarding last night’s events, perhaps he’s heeded Mr Holland’s words and decided to honour your weekend entitlements.

The white screen stares back at you, watching you nervously bite your nails as if you’re expecting a red notification to pop up, attached to an email from Jackson with hungover words. A minute or two passes by and alas, nothing. Not a word. In all honesty, you don’t have an issue with it, not at all, but it means that your routine is completely disrupted and you’re struggling to decide what to do with yourself. And without work, you have nothing to distract you from last night’s sin while it plagues your mind.

A new sweat arises and your cheeks flush with embarrassment. It shouldn’t have felt as good as it did, and that’s the part you think is the worst. Why did it feel so fucking good?

What brings you out of your self-loathing is three quick, quiet knocks echoing from your door in quick succession. Curious, you open the door and when you see who stands there in all his formal glory, you wish you hadn’t. Your heart immediately jumps to your mouth.

“Oh, Mr Holland--hi. I wasn’t expecting you…” Your words fade into a soft whisper when your eyes spot a small pink bag, its ribbon handles hooked daintily onto his fingers. Surely that can’t be what you think it is…?

He’s painfully quiet, a small smile painting his lips at what he sees; he’s never seen you dress so casually before and he wants to take a good long look at you, unsure of when he’ll see such a sight again. The weight of his stare burns holes through you, heating you from within.

Not a second later, he holds out the pink bag towards you and you forget to breathe.

“Happy belated birthday,” he gently voices. Your fingertips graze each other as you take it from him. For such a small, delicate bag, it’s certainly weighty and your stomach drops thinking about how much money he’s stupidly wasted on you…

“Thank you sir, really. You didn’t have to do that.” A nervous chuckle escapes your dry mouth. “How…how did you get this so quickly? It’s barely past 9 in the morning.”

“I have a few contacts who owe me a few favours. And I just felt so guilty about you missing your birthday. Sorry you couldn’t celebrate it like you should’ve.”

“Like I said, it’s okay--”

He shakes his head disapprovingly but surely, a taunting smirk begins to form. “Am I going to have to give you the same ‘talking to’ I gave Jackson last night to make you realise that it is definitely not okay?”

Yes, yes, yes, fucking yes. “No, no, of course not. Sorry, I suppose that’s just the people-pleaser in me.”

Mr Holland stands stoic before you, his head slightly tilted and his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes are watching you endearingly, drawing you into him, but everything else about him oozes something that makes you want to swallow a little harder. His confidence in himself is mildly intimidating and you wish you could feel the same. Just his being here creates a dizzying effect on you that you just can’t shake.

“You can think of this as a congratulations of sorts too.”

You tilt your head. “Congratulations?”

“Mh-hm,” his eyes flit over your confusion, a devilish, haunting smirk gracing his wet lips. “Congratulations on becoming a permanent member of Taylor and I’s company.”

Mr Holland admiring you be damned, you find yourself taking a step back in shock. “Are you…are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious, do you think I would lie to you?”

“Not at all, I just, I thought it was going to be Jackson’s decision. I am his intern.”

You aren’t a fool to miss the way his jaw ticks at the mention of Jackson’s name and all too quickly, a ferocious fire consumes his eyes. A small shiver cuts through your skin. “You don’t work for Jackson anymore because Jackson no longer works for me.”

“What?!”

“What did you think when I said I was going to deal with Jackson? That he was going to continue working for me even after finding out he was treating you badly? Or finding out that he orders you to do his work over the weekends? Or even when he blackmails you into doing jobs beyond your remit? How could you possibly think that I would let that sleazy bastard feed off my pay when I know he isn’t capable of the job? You’re far more deserving of the position than he is, far more deserving of the appreciation and beyond capable.”

“Sir, I…I can’t thank you enough. I’m very grateful. I won’t let you down, I promise.”

“I know you won’t. Although I do sometimes wish you would’ve told me or Taylor about Jackson’s behaviour sooner. I don’t tolerate that kind of exploitation, not even for a second and you shouldn’t have either.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I was just so caught up in wanting to do well that I would’ve done anything to please the company.”

“Maybe you should stop spending your time trying to please other people, and focus on pleasing yourself.” His face gravitates just a hairsbreadth towards yours and in quieter, darker words, he whispers… “You were certainly capable of pleasing yourself last night.”

You take a timid step back, mouth agape. You can’t think of anything to say, not when the ringing in your ears starts to resonate louder and louder. Shame swells like a disease and you can feel the bile rising in your throat. You are almost certain you didn’t hear anyone outside your room last night, how could he have possibly known?

“I…um…I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

He smoothly leans against the door frame, his wicked grin tells you that he doesn’t believe a word you say. Nevertheless, he explains, not to worsen how mortified he knows you already feel, but to reminisce of the surge of adrenaline and lust that coursed through him last night.

“I came by late last night to drop off your present. I didn’t think you would still be awake so I planned on leaving it at your door, and just as I bent down to place it there, I heard just the softest of moans—“

“I think you must be mistaken—“ An uneasy chuckle barely covers your tracks, leaving you just as compromised as before.

“I thought you might’ve been with someone, but I then didn’t hear any other voices, so I assumed you were by yourself.”

“Sir,” you squeak, intending to finish your sentence but you just don’t have the words nor the confidence to deny him of what he already knows. You feel like a deer caught in the headlights, exposed and vulnerable without the faintest idea of how to get yourself out of his commanding presence.

A million and one emotions rage through you and drown you in a fluster. Your feet shuffle nervously beneath you, slowly inching your way back into your hotel room as you sense yourself losing control over the conversation. With a mouth drier than the Sahara desert, there’s not much else you can do or say to avoid falling victim to both Mr Holland’s taunting and your own taunting; last night’s images playing out before you more vividly now that he resurrects them.

The subject finally diverges, but it doesn’t mean you're any more comfortable with it. “Do you know you’re the only one that addresses me as ‘sir’?”

You shake your head, eyes inevitably averted. You didn’t know that, you just thought it was professional.

“You never corrected me.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“I liked hearing it. Just as much as I liked what I heard last night. But I need to know,” he takes a step to cross the threshold of your hotel room. “Was there anything…anyone in particular crossing your mind?”

“There was…” His jaw ticks furiously and you instantly get the notion that denying him is simply not a choice here.

“Who?” He demands in that stern voice you’ve heard only once before.

One word sits on your tongue and you know that as soon as it breaks the silence, the professionalism you worked so hard to build up will crumble before you. But the risk is entirely worth it.

“You.”

Mr Holland’s lips part and releases a snicker as if he knew, and the curl of his smirk becomes dangerous. He lets the singular word ring out into the air, and the tension envelopes you both in a suffocating bubble until he finally speaks. “You…what?”

“You, sir.”

His chest rumbles with approval and you even feel its vibrations fluttering low in your stomach. Desire consumes you; a desire to know what he’s thinking, to know what he’s planning to do with that compromising information, to figure out whether he’ll respond to it in a way that satiates your more promiscuous desires like the ones that distracted you last night. You would give anything to see what’s going on inside his head.

Inexplicably, he nods towards your pink bag, easily brushing over your last conversation like it was nothing to him and it completely throws you off. “You should open it.”

It takes a second to drag your eyes away from him. You actually forgot you’re still holding it in your hands. The tissue paper rustles loudly as you reach in-- “Inside.” Mr Holland urges. With a short nod, you lead the way, allowing him to slowly close the door behind you with a gut-wrenching squeak and a thunderous boom.

The second the door shuts, the air becomes taut, strained and harder to breathe and you dedicate all your efforts into ignoring your last conversation just as easily as he had, but he’s standing right behind you and the warmth of his breath skates past your ear and it’s all you can think about. Even without disclosing what he now knows, the presence of Mr Holland alone would bring about such unnerving effects, so you don’t find yourself at fault for struggling to keep it together.

From the pink bag you pull out a small white and gold box, wrapped with yet another ribbon. Inside is a silver chain, light and dainty, but the pendant it carries is nothing alike. The reflection of the sun hits the circular-cut diamond, becoming iridescent as it hits your eyes. The stone is slightly on the larger side, bigger than any other necklace you own, but it sits perfectly in the balance of being flashy yet classy. Expensive yet tasteful. It’s a piece that you can’t price and that exact thought scares you.

“It’s beautiful,” you softly murmur. The chain cascades elegantly across your fingers, almost mesmerising to watch.

Your eyes catch his movement in the mirror in front of you and steals your attention away from the necklace. He holds out his hand by your side, soft but firm.

“May I?” You almost flinch as his words hit your ear, the ripple of your shiver continues for long after. As the chain pools in his hand, he is equally gentle, handling it with expertise while he lifts it carefully over head and rests the pendant tenderly in the dip between your clavicles. Its icy cold touch seers your skin, heat radiating with each grazing touch of his fingers as they clasp the chain together behind your neck. Once secure, you admire the way it shines brightly against your skin tone, eyes momentarily lost in your image until you realise that yours are the only pair looking back at you. Mr Holland remains engrossed with the curve of your neck, his proximity close enough to be counting the beats of your pulse as it thumps beneath your skin and for all you know, it’s elevating, thrashing harder and harder while you watch with wide eyes as Mr Holland presses his lips against it.

The second his lips meet your skin, his hands find your hips, holding you steady to prevent you from buckling. A numbing tingle shoots through your nervous system at the feeling of Mr Holland swiping his tongue across the reddening bruise he’s leaving behind. Every kiss is with purpose, targeting each and every sweet spot as if he had a map to each of their location: the peak of your neck that connects to your jaw, the sensitive spot just millimetres below your ear, the slight curve of your shoulder that sits beneath the chain. He instantly claims you, and you show no sign of resistance when you find yourself voluntarily tilting your neck, begging for more.

You finally meet his eyes in the mirror, realising how cavernous his blown-out pupils are; that if you search too far you’ll become trapped. “This…” he whispers, planting another kiss to your ear, his hands beckoning to the chain, “is the only thing I’ll allow you to wear while I fuck you.”

A shameless, breathless mewl whines from your throat and a rampage of endorphins consumes you. As the first piece of insight to his mind, you don’t get nearly enough time to let it process in your head before his clawing hands are tugging at the drawstrings of your joggers.

The small nip to your neck is a wake-up call. This is real and this isn’t a fantasy of yours, only that it will be a recreation of what had you orgasming last night.

“You know, I can be a people pleaser too.” His hand slips beneath your joggers, but refrains from slipping beneath your underwear. “I can please you in so many ways.” As a testimony to his words, his fingers trace over the silk of your underwear, catching your bud in its travels and a silent gasp bursts from your lips. “But not without earning it. Do as you’re told, and I’ll do exactly that.”

Your head falls back onto his shoulder, words vacant, eyes rolling.

“Are you listening to me?” The hand on your hip squeezes harshly and you jerk in his arms. You have never agreed to something quicker in your life.

“Yes, sir! Oh—”

“Good. Then you can start by closing those curtains over there.”

His hand slips fluidly out of your joggers when you force yourself away from the subtle torment. The light dims a little, however you think it’s more for privacy than for light. When your back turns once again, Mr Holland sits himself on the edge of the bed, legs spread and leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. Whatever it is about him in that single second triggers something in you; attraction, lust, sex appeal, or all of the above. Whatever it is, it compels you to give yourself in to him.

A messy mixture of want, need and unrelenting desire brings you to your knees before him. His eyes sweep over your face, examining, analysing, translating every desperate twitch. He can even see your lips parting where he spots the remnants of teeth marks from when you had nervously bitten them in hidden moments. Smoothly, the pad of his thumb brushes over your lip, tugging it into a pout because that’s what he wants to see; you, desperate, pouting, begging for him. It soon pops back into place, his hand now curling around your chin and pulling you closer. His own lips are nothing more than a breath away from yours and you think he’s going to finally kiss you, but annoyingly, he only allows you to feel the shape of the words as he whispers them to you.

“So what is it about me then, hm? What do I do that turns you on?”

“It’s…it’s stupid.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Let me rephrase.” The grip on your chin tightens and your noses collide. “Tell me what it is about me that turns you on.”

“Last night at the party, you were the only one that…cared. You made me feel like I wasn’t invisible.”

“What else?”

“You stood up to Jackson for me - you just looked so determined like you were unstoppable.”

He tilts his head in the other direction now, leaning in just as close, your breaths mingling together. You’re so desperate to feel his lips on yours. “And?”

“When…when you touched my thigh--”

“You were burning.”

“I was nervous--”

“Because of me.”

“Of course because of you. I was scared of disappointing you.”

A small snicker escapes him and leaves behind a wicked smirk. Two hands now firmly cradle your jawline and you think the moment has finally come. Why else would your heart be thumping in your chest?

“Not possible. I always knew you were a good girl. And I think you like being told that, don’t you? You like being recognised to the point where you need to be reassured of it. I saw that coy little look on your face the first time I told you how impressed I was. It was obvious that no one else had praised you like I did - you couldn’t keep yourself together. And I bet if I kept telling you how fucking sweet you are, and how much of an perfect angel I know you are for me, the second I slip my fingers into your tight little pussy, you’d be an absolute mess.”

Well, he’s not wrong. You’re already soaked.

“Please, sir,” you whimper. “Please just kiss me.”

Finally, finally, he pulls you in for a long, languid kiss, his tongue takes lead to taste every part of your bitten lips as they slot perfectly in between his, lingering longer with each time he captures them. The blood rushes so quickly through your veins you think you might implode, overwhelmed by just how good it feels that your hands suddenly grapple onto the cuffs of his shirt.

A satisfied hum buzzes against your lips, twisting your own into a small grin that unbeknown to you, Mr Holland could actually feel.

“Let me see you,” he demands, his hands plucking at the hem of your sweatshirt. When you don’t do it right away, a tight grip coils around your neck and stops the gasp leaving your mouth. “Do. As. You’re. Told.”

You’re baring your all for him (all except a diamond necklace) in a matter of seconds, standing before him as he leisurely leans back against the bed, resting on his elbows. Those predatory eyes roam your body, mapping out the shape and details, and imprinting them to memory.

“So fucking pretty…” He deliberately watches for your reaction and you crumble under the praise resulting in a mirthful laughter to shake his chest. His arms reach for your waist, luring you in with the tight grab of your hips until his lips sit just below your ribs. The heat from his breath hitting your skin makes you involuntarily wriggle, but he doesn’t allow for any movement from you, not unless he permits it. You feel his lips suddenly, trailing across your ribs and up your chest. “Do you know what good girls like you do for me?”

“What?” You breathlessly murmur.

“They get on their knees,” Mr Holland pauses to let you act on it. Now you’re looking up at him as his knuckle ghosts over your cheeks and he mingles closer. “They look at me right in the eyes and they beg me to give them a taste, to let them suck me off because they’ll do anything for a reward, even if it is just a few words of praise. So let’s hear you, pretty girl. I want to hear you beg me with that sweet, innocent voice of yours.”

You take a cautious breath. “I want to taste you so badly, sir. Please. Will you let me?”

“Hmm.” He purses his lips. Shit. It isn’t good enough for him and he spots the panic in your eyes. All of a sudden, you begin pleading in such a desperate, childish tone you didn’t know you were capable of. Even your lip begins pouting as the need to please him becomes so overwhelming that, unexpectedly, your eyes water, like you’re facing life or death. And he is the decider.

“Wait, wait, no, please, I want to make you feel so good, so, so, so good. I can do it, I promise, and I can be good for you if you let me. Please sir, I really need it. I’ll do anything.”

Mr Holland smiles and gently kisses you with approval, just the shortest of pecks of reassurance before he leans back and nods towards the zipper of his suit trousers, tented with the erection that’s pleading to be satisfied. You waste no time in unbuttoning, unzipping and pulling free his hard cock that almost dwarfs your hand and you stare at him with such bewilderment, a stare that is returned by a certain smugness, a confidence that has you licking your lips.

There’s a surge of instinct coursing through you and your brain convinces you that there’s nothing else you should be doing, that your whole purpose at this very moment is to do as you promise; to please him, to make him feel good, so when you hear his moans the second you wrap your lips around him, your heart flutters with fulfilment. It’s a sensation you keep chasing, growing stronger the longer you bob your head up and down his cock, every time his praise seeps from his lips, and you just about lose it when his fingers comb through your hair. You offer every trick in the book; swirling around your tongue around the head of his cock, sweeping it across the small slit to collect the small bead of cum, teasing him before taking him down your throat and gagging on him. Not too little, not too much. Consistency is key.

You’re not sure how much of an idea he has about just how dedicated you are in your mission to prove yourself to him, that you’re desperate to show how capable you are by what you’re willing to do; perhaps a horrible side-effect of having to constantly prove yourself to Jackson with each conversation, but with Mr Holland, there’s an element of belief and confidence: a contradiction between Jackson’s ‘I don’t believe you until you prove it’ versus Mr Holland’s ‘do it because I know you can’.

Mr Holland’s head falls back, his eyes closed, and falls into an eerie silence. If it wasn’t for his hand still combing through your roots, you would’ve thought he wasn’t satisfied with you. Still, you keep going, running your lips and tongue down his shaft and returning slowly back up again where you get a teaser of the bitter-sweet taste you’re vying for. He doesn’t say anything for a while and you’re undecided of whether you’re doing so well that he’s speechless, or you’re not doing enough that’s worthy of his praise. It’s hard to tell with his head tilted back, and you begin to lose faith. You’ve become so drawn into his voice and words that you feel lost without them.

‘You like being recognised to the point where you need to be reassured of it.’

“Sir,” you meekly voice, leaving a beat to suck on the head of his cock. “Am I making you feel good?”

The depth of his growl sends a spike of arousal straight to your clit. He spits out his words in a manner that’s uncontrollable. “Fucking incredible.”

His head finally lifts and his eyes pin on you, fully blown and dilated. “Look at you - oh fuck - taking me so well. Knew you’d be a good girl but f-fuck, I don’t know if I can hold it in any longer.”

You reply with a wanton mewl, your dopey, tear-stained eyes saying the words your mouth can’t. You need to do something that would push him over the edge, do something that would completely shatter his world, never to be forgotten. He’s already so close, and you're already dripping onto the carpet, and with one last final trick up your sleeve, you catch his eyes, sink yourself onto him until your nose bashes against skin, and fight through the gag. Teeth baring, you slowly, lightly, graze your teeth up his cock, ghosting over every vein that pulses, leaving behind the soothing aftercare of your soft lips. By your side, his thighs twitch and by the time you reach the head of his cock, an explosion happens.

Mr Holland swings forward, grappling onto your head as you drink down everything he gives you. His entire body tenses, trapping you into a headlock and just only for a couple of seconds do you feel yourself losing breath. It's slightly tense and panic-inducing but it doesn’t matter, because above you he’s panting heavily, enclosing his thighs around your head and holding onto you for dear life. It’s all the signs you need to know that you’ve done what you promised, you have proved yourself.

“Fucking hell,” Mr Holland pants. His grip loosens around you and your lips release him with a pop. The instant your lips are free, he claims them, humming into them with adoration. “That was…” A soft, tender kiss. “The best goddamn…” Then another. “Blow job I’ve ever had.” He kisses you for a final time with a smile laced through it, and rests his forehead on yours to give himself some time to catch his breath. “So good…” he breathes. “So, so, so good. Sweet angel. My sweet angel.”

There isn’t anything to describe the burst of achievement that swarms your chest when you hear those words and your cheeks inevitably heat under his hands. You’re smiling, obviously smiling and no matter how hard you bite your lips to hide it, the pull is too strong. You make yourself far too goddamn easy to read so when Mr Holland catches a glimpse of your reaction, he smirks, clearly amused, and simultaneously reaches down the length of your body until his hand finds sanctum between your thighs.

“Hmm, you’re soaked, darling. Don’t you think we should do something about it? After all, you’re earned your reward, and I’m dying for a taste of that messy, little pussy of yours.”

You release a shaky breath when his fingers start exploring. “Yes, oh god, yes.”

“Yes…what?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Better. Let’s not make that mistake again.”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Now--” In a vice-like grip, Mr Holland encircles your waist and your body burns against the rough cashmere of his suit. It’s surprisingly stimulating as he casually hauls you off your feet, but you would much rather the heat of his skin. Nevertheless, your back soon meets the soft cotton of your sheets as he lays you to rest on the bed, remaining shadowing above you basking in the sight of your naked, wanting body. The diamond that nestles deep into the base of your throat twinkles obnoxiously in his eyes and he almost grows jealous of the way it hugs your neck. However, it's a jealousy he can overlook as his eyes wander over the peak of your breasts and your glistening cunt, because he knows that they are all for him.

Mr Holland promptly sinks to his knees, placing his head in between your thighs, his eyes never straying from your cunt. There isn’t a moment of hesitation when he swings his arms to cross over your hips, dragging your legs effortlessly over his shoulders and diving, tongue first, into your cunt. It’s a complete invasion of his touch, his tongue immediately swirling around your clit with a careful, consistent pressure that deep down, you know will end you in minutes. The gasp is telling of your struggle to keep composed, gradually crescendoing into a moan as that amorous tongue descends down your slit, licking you up in long, fat strips. An urge in your hips begs for attention, wanting to raise higher to ease the tension building deep in your stomach, but you're trapped, locked in place with no routes of escape and you have to tell yourself that you just have to tough it out.

But it’s harder said than done when he begins slotting his tongue into your hole, tasting and caressing every inch of you he’s capable of reaching. Digging deeper and deeper, his mouth consumes the entirety of your cunt, humming into it to push you further over the edge. He knows you’re hanging on by a thread, but it doesn’t mean he’s willing to slow down. And just then, an evil, malicious thought spawns in his mind which he voices immediately.

“You’re not cumming until I say so. Understood?”

The feeling of you clenching to stop the impending orgasm has him chuckling. He knew you were close.

“Such a sweet, little angel. So obedient too, right?” He blows a gentle breeze onto your clit and you simply whimper in response. “Right?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Satisfied, Mr Holland has your cunt in his mouth again, salivating over its taste as he suckles on your clit, your folds, your skin, anything to lure out what he knows he’s going to get eventually, but it makes it twice as appetising when he knows your orgasm is only at his command.

Meanwhile, your heart stammers in your chest with each tug of his lips. Whatever sanity you have left to cling onto, you claw at it with desperate hands, fighting to hold up the wall that blocks the blood rushing to your cunt, holding your breath to stop the bubble from bursting, because fuck, you are ready to snap. You can’t help but notice how he’s taken a page from your book, pleasuring you at a steady consistent pace, not too much but not too little. Unsurprisingly, the result is the same but the conditions are far worse.

“Oh my god, please let me cum, I can’t hold it anymore.”

His grip only tightens, his tongue moves faster and his mouth gets hotter.

Your hands, of a mind of their own, decide to condemn your obedience and push at his arms around your hips in an attempt to get away. Despite his obvious strength, you somehow manage to get a microsecond of respite, but his mouth only sucks you back in again, murmuring only one word that runs laps around your head.

“Obedience.”

“I can’t, sir, please, I can’t h-hold on. Fuck!”

“Oh dear.”

“NO! No, no, no, no, okay, okay, I’ll do it, I can hold on. Just…please go slower.”

His dark cavernous eyes meet yours from behind his arms, unmoving even as he relishes the taste of your slick, challenging you for only a second before he thankfully listens to your wishes. Weakened, your head flops back onto the bed with a small bounce, eyes drifting shut as the feeling in your stomach calms and a small relief hugs your heart. It’s a small price to pay to lose the feeling of euphoria that was going to course through you…only if Mr Holland had let it or if your people-pleasing traits had failed you, none of which had actually happened.

The feeling deflates but the pleasure still lingers.

“You taste so delicious, darling. I could eat you all day.” Arousal jumps to your clit like a flash of electricity. “And you’re doing so well for me, how could I ever stop?” This time, it’s his tongue, soft and caressing. “And this pussy; so pretty, so fucking pretty, I could just play with it for days.” His finger begins circling your clit not too long after he spits into it. By now, you realise what he’s doing. He’s feeding into your need for praise that, along with the small touches and sweeping licks, builds you up just as quickly and suddenly as before, and once again you’re struggling to cope. “I know you can be such a good girl for me, I know you can do as I say, and you have no idea how much it turns me on when you do.”

“Sir…” You warn. He instantly recognises the desperation.

“I’ve got one last instruction for you, angel.” He sucks on your clit for just a couple of seconds, just to get you closer and closer to falling apart. “Cum for me. Cum in my mouth.”

“Fuck!” You scream as an endless stream of euphoria consumes you, hitting you in a sudden white wash of heat that riddles your entire body top to toe. You can feel your cunt clenching erratically, between homing an orgasm and suffering under Mr Holland's continuous lashings, it can't, not for one second, rest until either relent. You feel your own slick, hot and bothered, trickling down your ass but before it gets the chance to meet with the white sheets beneath you, Mr Holland sweeps it up expertly with his tongue, partnered with a primal growl of pleasure.

By the time Mr Holland has finished cleaning up every inch of your cunt and ass with his tongue, he proceeds to kiss his way gently up your body, not forgetting to leave your tits untouched and pinches your buds between his lips. You have just enough energy to cradle his head, allowing yourself the pleasure to run your fingers through his hair, moving with him while he leaves sharp kisses to your chest, your collar bone, your neck, ear and jaw, until once again, those hungry lips claim yours.

Still somewhat recovering, you purr quietly, content with the overall sense of pleasure, both of your sexual and people-pleasing needs.

Your lips slowly part. The kiss ceases but your noses brush off one another gently, still basking in the blissful, intimate aftermath of what's just happened. Your CEO above you remains, hovering over you with admiration in his eyes, running over your features as if it is the first time he's seeing them, adoring them all over again.

There's two words sitting on the tip of his tongue, hidden behind a smirk because he knows what he'll see when he speaks them.

"You're beautiful."

Of course, his prediction comes true. Your cheeks redden, your eyes roll away and your teeth sink into your swollen lips, muttering incoherently about it not being true but thanks him incessantly, but Mr Holland is too caught up in your coy modesty to rebuttal. It's just like the first time he complimented you, and he realises then and there that he's addicted to being the person that makes you shy, blushed, diffident.

Being a CEO, he does indeed posses significant power in the palm of his hand, obtained by hard work, dedication, commitment and sacrifice, but for him, there isn't a power stronger than the one he has over you and all it takes is a few, simple, praising words.

"We still have another three hours until check out."

Your eyes and ears perk up. "Sir?"

Cautiously, he shuffles above you, innocent until you feel his cock sliding into you and he relishes the catch in the back of your throat at the sudden pressure forcing its way fluidly into you. You're simply speechless, questioning if it'll ever end as he pushes every inch of him inside you, breaching and stretching the boundaries of your walls. Mr Holland snags your bottom lip between his teeth, harshly biting as a relief for the tight grip that surrounds his cock.

When your ass eventually meet his hips, you both release a groan in unison, breaths mixing and mingling until Mr Holland breaks the silence.

"You're gonna look even more beautiful when you're all fucked out and dumb for my cock, all with a diamond wrapped round your neck."

His hips snap back at a frighteningly fast pace and thrusts in even more aggressively. The pain is immeasurably exhilarating. Your thighs squeeze his waist, mouth agape without a single breath escaping.

"Think of this as a second birthday gift." Like before, he draws back and slams into you without mercy. "Do as you're told and you'll get your third on Monday in my office."

Somehow, your gut tells you that you won't have a problem with that. Not at all.

#dom!tom holland #ceo!tom holland #soft!dom!tom holland #sub!reader #tom holland smut #tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #smut #angst #peter parker smut #one shot #peter parker #tom holland one shot #tom holland fanfic #praise you like i should

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m-ayo-o · 9 months

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he loves to see you…

18+ // explicit sex // characters 21+ // ft. jjk content includes... general filth, like, just... ugh [tw: "master"]

smiling

Satoru wants you on top, he doesn't mind giving you a hand. Just loves to see you bouncing on him, leaning up to suck on your nipples.

He loves seeing your perky tits and pretty face, enjoying yourself, riding him with a giddy smile. Loves knowing that you're so happy because of him. Cums when he bucks his hips up, making you bounce and let out a cute surprised giggle of his name, clinging to the headboard.

swallowing

Toji wants you bent over or bent in half. He asks openly for your dirty underwear so he can get off while you're not home. He loves you needy, horny and begging, especially when you initiate- finds you very amusing and cute.

If he's impatient for you it'll be straight to doggy. He’ll pin you down and push your legs back if he’s in a more intimate, romantic mood.

He'll tell you to open your mouth only for him to release a string of spit onto your tongue. Of all the filthy scenarios that get Toji cumming, watching his girl lick up and swallow his saliva is getting him off today.

talking

Kento loves taking you over his office desk and loves to spoil you rotten. Any time he catches you dropping lunch in for him at reception, he takes you upstairs.

Your voice makes him so weak, you're just chatting and he's getting turned on. Has you bent over in that cute skirt he got you last week as you let out soft “thank yous” and “yesyes daddys”

Needs you to be nice and loud, despite only being a door away from his colleagues while he fucks you brainless. Cums when you tell him “I love you Kento–!” then takes his lunch break with you in the park.

restrained

Megumi is an intense man. He teases you for ages, all day if he can; making you beg, whine and choke, biting, spanking and edging you until you can't take it anymore, then ties you up and calls you pretty.

He doesn't degrade you or do anything too dirty- he'll leave that stuff for daddy. He just needs a little gag in your mouth, your arms behind your back, legs open. Holding onto the rope while he fucks you will make him cum hard.

full

Yuji needs to see you pushed back in a mating press, full of his thick cum with your eyes rolling back. He loves watching it leak out of you, his mouth hanging open as he fingers the liquid back in, getting him hard again in seconds.

His fat cock twitches as he begs to fuck you again so he can “keep the cum inside” leading to him filling you up once more, till you’re overflowing. Eating you out “to clean you” as he fucks the mattress will make him cum for the third time.

crying

Sukuna loves when his sweet girl is groveling at his feet, as everybody should. He prefers you begging stripped, a thick dildo inside you, wrists bound, pleading, “Sukuna– master, p-please–”

He needs to see your pained expression as he replaces the dildo with his fatter cock. Loves using you till you let out cute cries of “s'too much” and “it huuurtsss” like this isn't what you were just begging for. Lets out a wicked laugh and cums hard when those pretty tears roll down your cheeks.

[masterlist]

likes, comments + reblogs appreciated!

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo smut #toji fushiguro smut #nanami kento smut #megumi fushiguro smut #yuji itadori smut #female reader #🙄#meanie sukuna #sukuna smut #jjk headcanons #going to hell #poor ritsuka #tw: master

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the-guilty-writer · 11 months

Text

So Much

Request from anon: Hi if your comfortable with it do you think you could do like goth teen reader who scared to come out as gay to her father or the group. Who their father is doesn't really matter. I can barely find fics like this, and if your not comfortable with the topic that's completely fine. Thanks

Aaron Hotchner x teen!reader

Summary: reader comes out to their dad as gay and his reaction is not what they expected.

A/N: *extreme sarcasm* Gill writes a character differently than expected… no way?! In all seriousness though, my approach to Hotch’s reaction might be controversial, but I wanted to capture how I think he expresses love. There is a happy ending of course <3 and Happy Pride everybody. Everyone is welcome here and I care for every single one of you.

This is a request, but is a contribution to the PRIDE CHALLENGE

CW: Haley is reader’s mom and she is in here a fair amount but no mention of reader’s appearance, lots of up and down emotions, Hotch’s reaction could bring up feelings about the sad reality of the safety of the world for the LGBTQ+ community

---

You looked yourself up and down in the mirror, trying your best to look casual. You forced your wringing hands to your sides, though they still trembled. A large exhale released some of the shoulder tension, but not enough. Any tell in your body language would be easily caught onto by your dad; Aaron Hotchner wasn't the BAU Unit Chief for nothing.

For weeks now, you’d been rehearsing the composition of your posture in front of a mirror while thinking about the words you were going to say. You had the speech perfected when you were staring at your bedroom ceiling in the dark alone. When you practiced it out-loud, you stumbled over a word or two, which was better than it had been at the beginning; your jaw would lock up in anxiety, unable to get out any words at all.

The first time they slipped past your lips, just for you, it had felt like freedom - in an empty school bathroom you looked yourself in the eyes.

“I’m gay.”

And just like that, the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders.

“I’m gay,” you had repeated to yourself, and that time it made you smile.

The time after that, it made you laugh. You said it until you were practically dancing alone in the space, feeling so light, so free after so long hiding who you were, even to yourself.

Coming out to someone for the first time wasn’t even on your mind when your best friend walked into the bathroom to find you. You’d been so high on joy that there was nothing stopping you from telling them, and having them join in on your dance. You considered yourself lucky that the first time happened on accident. There was no room to hide from at least one person in your life. You were met with their support and it seemed like it would have been easy to tell the other important people in your life.

It hadn’t been.

You weren’t sure why— you’d grown up in an open-minded, loving family. Not once had a seed of doubt been planted in your head that they would reject you, but there was always the dreaded what if? that crossed your mind. The infinitely small chance that it wouldn’t be okay to them held you back.

It felt silly - almost stupid - how many weeks it had taken to look at the photo of your mother that sat on your nightstand and whisper to her in a trembling voice, “Mom, I’m gay.”

She had been dead for years. There was no risk of disapproval, being looked at differently, even of her ever loving you less. But it was the first time coming out to someone felt like it mattered.

All you could do was hold the frame to your chest and cry silently in the dark, imagining that she was there to wrap you in her arms, hearing her sweet voice speak the last words she ever told you: “I love you so much.”

That was the silent promise you held onto as you padded silently past your brother’s room and to the living room. You settled your hand on the outside of your pants pocket where you had been carrying around a small picture of her for weeks now. I love you so much.

“Hey, Jack’s in bed and you don’t have school tomorrow, so I was thinking we could stay up late and watch a new movie.” Your dad came into the living room, dressed in a casual tee shirt and shorts, just like it was any other day. It wasn’t just any other day.

“Yeah, sounds good.” You swallowed down bile.

“You want popcorn?” he asked.

Part of you wanted to explode - to forego the monologue you’d been planning for weeks now. How could Hotch not see the stiffness to your posture and worry in your eyes? Could the man who profiled people for a living truly not see how his own child wasn’t acting normal? But all you could manage was a “Sure,” and he left for the kitchen.

The anger dissipated when he left, and you found yourself sitting on the couch, fumbling with the remote in shaking hands. You scrolled through the titles, landing on the one you wanted and sat. Never had you felt so stiff in your own home.

Your dad walked in with a bowl of popcorn in one hand and two cans of soda in the other. He handed one to you and you took it, murmuring a thanks under your breath. That’s when he paused.

“Are you okay?” He sat down next to you and put the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

In a sudden rush of anxiety, you grabbed it and wedged it into the small space between your leg and his, where it always was during movie nights so both of you could reach. Except now, you felt the need to have a physical barrier between the two of you. Maybe you felt the salty snack could soften the blow of what you were about to tell him, or maybe you just needed to feel that normalcy in case it changed everything.

“I’m uh-” the well scripted, even more well rehearsed words were nowhere to be found inside your head. You sighed. “Dad, I want to uh… tell you something.”

“What is it?” He was looking at you concerned. Still, Aaron Hotchner’s “look of concern” was ever intense. You thought about your mom’s gentle eyes, her soothing voice...

I love you so much.

“I’m gay.”

A beat of silence.

Numb anxiety caused you to turn to face your father, but you couldn’t read his expression, not with the surge of fear that had taken over your brain.

That moment seemed to last forever - you, staring at him, searching the line of his brow or the curve of his mouth for any reaction. Him, staring back at you…

“Are you okay?” he asked.

You blinked, taking a second to comprehend his words, working through the tension. “Uh, yes?”

“Has anyone tried to hurt you?” Your dad’s eyes shifted to gaze down your arms to your knuckles.

“What- no! Of course not.” You shifted in your seat and Hotch’s eyes came back to your face. “Dad, didn’t you hear what I just told you?”

“Yes,” he said. “I need to know that nobody has hurt you.” He paused. “The world isn’t always nice to people who don’t fit their ideals. You have to promise that you’ll call me if you ever feel like you’re in danger.”

And that was that - your father’s version of I love you so much:

I would die before I ever let someone hurt you simply for being you.

“I promise, dad,” you said, holding back tears, though a few must have slipped down your cheeks because he raised a gentle hand to wipe them away. “So you don’t- you aren’t-”

He shook his head. “I care that you’re happy, and that you’re safe.”

“I’m happy, dad,” you said, a genuine smile tugging at your lips. “And I’m safe.”

He wrapped a gentle arm around your shoulder and pulled you into a hug; the place you would always feel and be the most secure in the world.

“I love you,” you told him quietly.

“I love you too,” he whispered. “So much.”

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x daughter!reader #aaron hotchner x child!reader #hotch x daughter!reader #hotch x child!reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x platonic!reader #criminal minds x teen!reader #criminal minds x daughter!reader #criminal minds x child!reader

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 11 days

Text

Down Bad - A Joel Miller Drabble

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Pairing: Pre Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader Word Count: 800 Summary: You get ghosted after a one night stand with your handsome neighbor. Warnings: Drinking, smut remembrance, angst. A/N: Happy Tortured Poets Department release day! Thank you to @beskarandblasters for the amazing Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge AGAIN. I previously wrote Paper Rings for it. TBH, I stayed up until 3:30 AM listening to TTPD last night with @ohheypedrito and your girl is STRUGGLING TODAY, but well worth it. What an album.

One night out with your friends, one shared glance, one half smile, one opportunity, one drink bought, one phone number drunkenly tapped into his phone.

One date, one heated make out session in his truck, one moment of being heaven struck, one naked body left alone in your bed as he quietly leaves without a word.

One text telling him you had a good time, one week since you’ve heard from him, countless hours of yearning for your neighbor.

Across the street and two houses to the left, Joel Miller lives. Well manicured lawn, cute daughter who goes door to door selling Girl Scout cookies, large truck parked out the front dinged and well used.

You’ve been down bad for him since you first moved in, a quick introductory hello and wave one early morning as you took your dog for a walk, how could you be so attracted to a total stranger?

That stranger ignoring you from that moment on, leaving you feeling nuts. Sometimes you’d take your dog for a walk when you’d notice him mowing the lawn, sneaking a glance under your sunglasses, watching the sweat make his skin glisten. Teenage crush vibes, teenage petulance coming out because you can’t have him or his attention.

You never see him with another woman there, only his loud, precocious brother Tommy who stops to talk with you whenever you’re outside. You know he likes you, but you’re too drawn to his older brother’s beam to even want to lead him on.

That night shared between the two of you, it almost feels like an evil experiment. He fucked you, fucked you hard, stared into your eyes as he came all over you, devoured your cunt as if he was starving, made you cum so hard it felt like you were floating in a cosmic cloud of sparks, then he left you naked and alone. He owned your body, like it was some sort of hostile takeover.

You’re barely even sure it happened, like if you speak about the existence of that night, everybody will tell you it never happened, that you’re nuts.

Why did he leave you like that? Why did he strand you the way he did? Why can’t you have him? Why cant you have an us?

Doesn’t he know what you would do for his attention? How you feel like you could just die when you think back to that night? You’re pathetic for him, isn’t it romantic?

You replay the words he uttered against your skin as he fucked you. “You feel so fucking good, like you were made for me.”

The taste of your sweat against your lips makes you almost want to cry as you try to run the thoughts of him away on the treadmill at the gym. The last time you sweat like this his cock was stretching you, his hand holding your cheek, his tongue languidly licking into your mouth.

——

After a night of staring at the ceiling, sleep not visiting you, tossing and turning not being able to get the thought of the weight of his body against yours, you decide to sit out on your porch with coffee in hand, staring at the sky as dawn approaches. A door slamming across the street startles you. He’s outside. This is it, you live in the same old familiar town, he can’t escape you, you can’t escape him. You trudge across the street, only clad in your shorts and your old Rangers shirt. You wave at him to get his attention as he finishes lifting his tool box onto his lift gate.

You see him swallow as you stand at the edge of his driveway.

“G’morning,” he nods. “Quite early.”

“It is. Could’t sleep.”

“Happens to me too.”

“Mm,” you tap your foot, arms folded across your chest. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then why are you ignoring me?”

“S’complicated.”

“Try me, it’d make no difference.”

“Alright,” he runs a hand through his hair, “you’re too good. I don’t think it’s smart… for me to be with someone right now. Too much going on, ’n it’s safer if we just leave it at that. It’s better for you.”

“So, you fuck me, whisper all those sweet things in my ear, make me feel like I’m the chosen one, then just leave? How romantic Joel.”

“Never said I was the romantic type.”

“No, you’re just the fuck ‘em and strand ‘em. I guess.”

“Listen,” he looks down at his watch, “I gotta get goin’, got an important job to start. I really would like to talk more, I respect you too much ’n I really like you, I just think it’s better if you find someone else.”

“Right, well, see you around neighbor,” you bite.

Fuck it, you can’t have him.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #taylor swift #ttpd #down bad #the tortured poets department

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jammingjaem · 5 months

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dream store

5. honesty is key

PAIRING | lee haechan x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS | rising up in the music industry as a young songwriter and producer, you wouldn’t think that you’d get hired by sm entertainment and write a song for your favorite group. although there was one downfall: you don’t think making music makes you happy anymore. but the endearing and charismatic lee haechan has swept you off of your feet. and here you’re asking yourself— what are you waiting for in life?

y/n hesitated outside the meeting room, butterflies already erupting in her stomach. right at the other side of the door, nct dream and their staff were waiting. the muted buzz of voices hinted at discussions already underway, intensifying her nervousness. she already had scenarios running in her mind of what the staff wanted for the song, what they expect rather than giving the boys a chance to speak. the girl took a deep breath, fingers fidgeting with the fidget ring that giselle bought her for her birthday.

“just open the fucking door, y/n.” the girl mumbled to herself, taking a deep breath.

when she finally pushed open the door, a hush fell over the room. the members of nct dream looked up, expressions a mix of curiosity. she thought her nerves seemed to be detectible, but their smiles, thankfully, eased her tension. ‘ningning said that they were understanding.’ y/n thought to herself, blinking at the sight of the seven of them.

the staff intimidated her, definitely. but this was between her and nct dream only. she needs to assert her dominance as a producer working with artists.

“now that i’m here, i’d like to request all the staff members to leave.” they, including the dreamies, were baffled.

“this is a meeting about your collaboration with the boys— we’re here to know when the release date will be and—“ a staff member spoke up.

y/n’s annoyance grew, haechan noticing the way her eyebrows furrowed as the staff stressed everyone’s presence for the meeting, y/n’s stern glare pierced through the room, determined to get her own way. haechan, with a wry smile, saw how discontent y/n was, a silent protest in the midst of professional expectations. her glare intensified, resembling a coiled snake, poised to strike at unsuspecting staff members with a palpable intensity.

“are you the producer?” she pipes up, and that silenced him immediately, all of the boys looking at each other. “i don’t think you know who you hired— especially since you’ve never worked with me before.” she slammed her hydroflask down on the table, making park jisung flinch in shock. “i am the producer that you hired to make music for nct dream, so i expect you all to know the basic knowledge when hiring me.”

“now you—” “i, myself, will be working with the boys one on one to know what kind of music they want to make and the kind of music they know their fans want to hear. tha is my policy. are we clear?”

everybody fell silent. haechan quirks up an eyebrow admiring her clear vision for work. impressed, mark lee known as nct dream’s leader addressed the staff, “she’s right — we’ll work with her one on one, and we should start today for the meeting. i think it’ll be easier for both sides.”

zhong chenle interrupted him, apologizing first before saying, “ningning worked one on one with her for life’s too short and the song came out in two weeks. shouldn’t we have the same drive?”

y/n, raising an eyebrow, hums in agreement, “if you want the song to release faster, listen to me. how will the artist have their own voice if the staff is the one running the song? i suggest you all leave.”

the room fell silent as y/n’s boldness hung in the air. mark, sensing the authenticity of her approach, nodded. “let’s follow y/n’s lead. one on one it is. the song is important.”

as the staff left, haechan smiled. he liked how she knew what she wanted and never backed down, something that he sometimes couldn’t do. as soon as they left, the girl waited for a minute, opening the door to see them all gone. she sighs in relief, closing the door and sitting down on a chair. the boys all look at her expectedly, waiting for her to continue, waiting for their plan to take place.

“thank god they are gone!” she huffs out, looking up to see all of the boys sitting there. “the members of aespa told me you guys are understanding. are you really understanding and to what point?” she questioned.

“well i’m keeping a secret that karina told me not to tell?” lee jeno pipes up, “something about having screenshots of a username’s account… something…villa? for blackmail about something.”

“WHAT?” y/n shouts, shocking the seven boys, “really?” “she’ll kill me. don’t tell her i told you!” jeno complained, and she nods, seeing that he was clueless— ‘well no duh, this is our first meeting.’ she thought, before clearing her throat.

“alright… well, i’ll drop that.” y/n looks around, then sighs, “honesty is key.” she scrunches her nose, “i need to tell you guys the truth. but you can’t tell anyone!”

“then we’ll tell you what we’re planning.” haechan pipes up and na jaemin shot his head up, glaring immediately at the male in front of him, “what’s there to lose? you lose some, you gain some. if she’s honest with us, we are honest with her.”

“okay then. deal.” y/n clears her throat, “i have no ideas prepared for you guys— i’m brainless for songs. i’ve had a writer’s block since five months ago. i’m practically jobless!”

they all stare at her, and haechan started laughing, the girl’s expression falling, “are— are you laughing at my dilemma right now?”

“no!” haechan laughs, wiping imaginary tears away, “if anything… we’re kind of on the same boat.”

“chenle had an idea where we just stall on our jobs so that we have more time to relax before working.” huang renjun tells her, and the boys nod in agreement, making her lean back and cover her face, groaning. they all look at each other, before looking back at her.

“then this is great!” y/n says, looking up at them. “i think we can work together. by working with me, i’ll give you guys all the time to relax. only if you help me with ideas to write your song!”

“how will that help us relax?” jisung questions, and she shrugs.

“we can fake meetings, and say we are talking about the song… which we will, but if anything, we can just hang out! or not. your choices.”

“okay, i like the sound of that.” jaemin nods his head.

“we don’t need to have meetings frequently either. you guys do what you want to do, but you can help me by sending me things to inspire me and give me input for everything. that’s all i need…” she tells them, “possibly helping me get back into music too.” she mumbled to herself.

“what was that?” mark asks and she shakes her head, smiling, “well… okay then.” he looks around, seeing his members agreeing, “we’re in. but— the staff wanted a specific date when we’ll finish?”

“and you are a man who is in another sub-unit with haechan.” she raised an eyebrow, “i say we work on this project— two months max. will that give you guys time to relax?”

“deal.” haechan takes it for the team, “so should we exchange numbers?”

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tteokdoroki · 2 years

Text

OCTOBER 29TH. THE WINTER SOLDIER

“who the hell is bucky?”

♱ — eijirou kirishima + non-con/dub-con.

♱ — synopsis; he’s not a bad man, he promises you that. it doesn’t matter how many people he’s killed with his bare and metal hands…kirishima will make sure you know how sorry he is by the time he’s done with you.

♱ —length; 5.2K

♱ — warnings; please read for your own safety! mdni, smut 18+, heavy smut, dark content, mentions of murder, assasinations, stalking, non-con to. dub-con, drugging, phallophilia, begging, manipulation, virginity loss, cherry chasing, power dynamics, breath play, temperature play, fingering ( fem!receiving ), strength!kink, softt fem!reader, yandere!kirishima, winter soldier!kirishima. not beta read !

♱ — notes; happy saturday angels!! we’re so close to the end of kinktober waaah!! i kinda like this one, it’s a bit dark so please be careful when reading !! check the warnings as well… tbh ive had kiri brain rot all this week, so this makes sense !! as usual, hope you enjoy <3 - m.list ₊ kinktober m.list ₊ taglist 𓆩♡𓆪

people make mistakes every single day— they can be simple and mundane, like tiny little white lies when you forget something important to someone though it might hurt their feelings. the burn of embarrassment whenever you’d messed up in front of an entire class.

mistakes were common. everybody made them, eijirou kirishima made them— they were out of his control.

the winter soldier was a man lost in his own mind, watching his life go by behind vermillion eyes— taking others with hands that no longer loved or felt like his own. to them, hydra, his creators…kirishima was the ideal weapon, a blank canvas to turn into something sinister and evil. a good natured, strong man carved into the perfect shape to be a killer. behind his own soft, once expressive ruby eyes; eijirou was forced to watch the life drain from the corpses of others— people who had families waiting for them back home with home cooked meals they’d taken for granted, people with children they’d wished they’d raised right or friends that hadn’t quite forgiven them.

kirishima had heard it all, the pleas for him to let them live and do better right before they died by his hands in the most brutal way. each time he ended a life, a piece of his soul went with them, years internal torture following him like a dark fog— weighing down on him like heavy rainfall, soaking him to the bone with red. it’s caked against his skin, ingrained deep under his nails no matter how much he scrubs at them with a bar of soap and water.

death follows kirishima everywhere, aches in his bones and the creaking silver metal of the winter soldier’s arm. it was a curse, a burden that he couldn’t bare to carry on his shoulders— the serum in his veins like a poison that had stolen his memories, the happy soldier boy he used to be.

he hates the way people look at him now, breaking free from hydra— the sympathy shining in their eyes, he hates the way you look at him too. part of kirishima’s recovery, as suggested by his therapist, was to make amends with every person impacted by his crimes as the winter soldier, and you, the sweet girl next door were next.

kirishima killed your father years ago, before you could probably spell your own name without sounding it out— he had been a kind diplomat wanting nothing but peace. after his release from cyro, eijirou had tracked you down, only to discover he’d taken your mother’s life too, in a tampered car crash. you’d been alone ever since.

the winter soldier had taken a happy childhood from you, made you the cute little recluse next door who hid in her stuffy parchment scented apartment— with books stacked high, romance your favourite genre, what you found your fantasies in. kirishima couldn’t deny the way his heart fluttered, but guilt edged itself over the expanse of his brain whenever you pitied him in the coridoors between your tiny rented apartments ( though from his recent hero work and inheritance from captain america, he could probably afford to buy tha building out ). your shiny doe eyes would pity him, see the pain in the winter soldier’s own as well as that breaking in the vibranium laced in the arm that wasn’t really his.

in his one hundred plus years of living, kirishima had probably been on more dates than you had knowledge on boys and the reality of romance in general.

you’d been made that way because of eijirou.

because of the winter solider.

and he would make it up to you, he would. it was a promise and the least he could do.

years of training had made it easy for kirishima to slip into your apartment that night— silly you, poor little you for having left your window wide open, letting the bulky ex assassin slip through as if he was a silent Siamese cat being welcomed home. footsteps carrying no sound effortlessly slipped into your bedroom just for a peek at you.

kirishima could have watched you forever, drawn to the way your lips twitch as you sleep and your eyes screw shut even tighter as if you’re being drowned in your own worst nightmare. you’re adorable.

you have no idea what’s about to come next.

it makes the winter soldier’s cock twitch beneath his clothing, leaking fat globs of precum against his inner thighs. he aches to be inside of you, feel you blossom around him like a flower in the spring for the first time— ‘cause god you’re so innocent and inviting.

there’s an instinctual chill down your spine, one that breaks you from your heavy slumber and has your shooting up— doe eyes wide like a deer in headlights while you search for the figure that had been looming over you in the dark. “e-eiji?” your whisper sits hoarse in your throat, voice laced with cute little wisps of sleep, the nickname you’d given him shooting straight to his erection. “what are you doing here?”

“oh nothin’,” eijirou lies, “just the neighbourly thing and asking for a cup of sugar?” the smile that he gives you is quick, not quite reaching his eyes that usually hold such kindness… there’s something off about kirishima tonight, something that makes you feel sick to your stomach and makes you want to run.

you can’t scramble from the sheets fast enough, for the winter soldier has been trained to move faster— bulky arms swinging around your waist before your feet even hit the floor, throwing you back into feathery pillows of your bed despite your kicks and screams. it’s frightful how kirishima can just manhandle you any way that he wishes, using the bulk of his body to get you onto your stomach like it’s nothing, like the winter soldier would and not your soft, mellow companion who laughs with his gut and grins with the ruby in his eyes. the one who pulled you out of your house for walks to the library late at night.

this version of the man who lives next door, who told you he was recovering from war wounds long before your time, growls deeply as he grabs you by the back of you throat and tugs your head to rest on his shoulder— breathing deep from where you’ve put up a fight, hissing from where your trimmed nails scratch at his one good and fleshy arm. “don’t fight it, please,” he comments, nosing under your earlobe, breathing in the scent of vanilla and money milk from your body wash. “i just want to make it up to you, for what i did to your parents. for taking your childhood away from you.”

hairs on your neck stand on end, you don’t know if it’s from the mention of your dead relatives or from the way kirishima’s belt clinks as if he’s been undoing it— his metal hand, the perfect killing weapon, folds coolly against your neck and with one wrong move it could crush your windpipe in a second. “e-eijirou what are you—?” you stutter, voice spiking with fear, lodged in the dry ridges of your throat. “m-my parents—“ eyes widening, the realisation hits, you know exactly what he means.

you know that it’s him who murdered them.

“baby,” the winter soldier coos as you thrash dangerously in his grip, a second away from having your neck snapped. lunging forward, your hot and teary face is stuffed into the pillows to the point where you almost can't breathe, kirishima straddling your hips while simultaneously pushing more of his clothes away. “‘m sorry… s-sorry for what i did to you.” for what he’s doing to you— pushing your flimsy nightshirt up your back, over the curve of your fleshy ass.

a pleaful whimper lays on your sweet lips, tears welling in your eyes as you practically scream for the ‘hero’ to get off of you— let you go. you’re devastated, trust betrayed by a friend you thought you’d made, a friend now using your body for his own selfish gain. the red head squeezes at the flesh now exposed to his heated hungry stare, running his metal arm over your curves, precious thighs and cute ass—revelling in the way your entire body reacts just for him, goosebumps rising across your back like chicken skin.

“you’ll forgive me, right?” he goes on, words broken up by shuddered breaths as eijirou’s metal fingers slip between your thighs from behind— spreading apart pretty pussy lips that glimmer with slick, evidence to you of your body’s betrayal , but to him of anticipation, excitement. forgiveness. “just wanna make it up to you,” he murmurs almost empathetically, voice thick with lust— it feels like the war hero is making fun of you, pinning you down against your will between muscular thighs. “i’ll make it feel so good, baby. promise. i’ll make it worth your while, make you forgive me.”

tears are hot on your cheeks, burning down the apples of them in salty tracks— you don’t want this, you don’t want him, the man who supposedly gave his life to save Captain America, to take something so precious to you. your virginity— not after finding out he killed your parents in cold blood. you feel almost sick for having found kirishima attractive before, for dreaming of situations a little similar to now, where you’d cry out his name as he made love to you and made you feel seen. eijirou mistakes the wince of your body as he circles a cold digit around your tiny entrance for a twitch of pleasure, grinning to himself as he adds a thumb to your clit to draw slow, salacious circles around the swelling nub— the coldness sending shockwaves up your spine.

it feels nice, good— but that doesn’t make you resist it any less, make you want him anymore. small whispers of ‘p-please eiji—‘ hiccuped into the sheets soaked with both your arousal and tears. a fresh wave of unexpected slick gushes from your virgin cunt when kirishima slaps his bare cock against the length of your slit, as if he’s going to take you with little to no preparation. he’s big, throbbing and soaked with his own milky arousal, his veins fitting snug between your pussy lips, fat and blue while his tip blares an angry shade of red.

if this were any other time, you’d be happy to have your mouth water— filling with thick drool at the thought of having the winter soldier’s massive girth split you open and be your first. yet, as eijirou grinds his meaty cock into your filthy, embarrassingly soaked virgin mound, you remember that he’s not so nice. trapping you between strong thighs, a metal arm and a frightening snarl.

“eijirou please—“ you try again, wiggling your hips to get away from him as he ruts his achy tip through your sweet lips, bumping your clit, until he reaches right between your ass cheeks. “p-please don’t do this. i’ll…i’ll do anything you want! i’ll forgive you!”

“jus’ let me do this,” the winter soldier slurs over the spit pooling on his tongue, dazed by the way the clear strings of your juices cling to every vein of his cock— make it shine even in the dark. kirishima feels feverish, the scent of your innocent cunt driving him insane, on the brink of forgetting his mission— making it up to you. sweat drips from his hairline, even though he’s barely started, hitting the small of your back. “it’ll be okay, she’s… your pussy… she’s dripping for me.” he says like he’s in disbelief, grabbing hold of his dick and nuzzling it against your swollen pleasure nub to hear you whine like a pretty bird song. “she wants this, you want this. i’ll do what’s right, make it up to you.”

tiny fingers grip the blankets below as kirishima makes a move to push his precum loaded cockhead past your tight little entrance, moaning breathily while hunched over you. you’re sure you’ve bitten your lip to the point of bleeding, red and raw at the slightly painful intrusion of the winter soldier’s dick past your virgin entrance. “‘shima,” you shake your head, watery eyes stinging. “it hurts,” you add weakly.

pulling back with a deep groan, eijirou runs his human hand through his sweaty mane. the last thing he wants to do is hurt you more— add to the heartache of losing your parents. “fuck baby...didn’t mean to hurt ya, we’ll try something else okay?” it’s almost sick how kind he sounds, even if there’s a wobble to what he says. there’s a shift behind you, and you almost miss the heat of his cock against you, only for it to be replaced with the frozen temperatures of his vibranium fingers prodding against your spasming hole.

against your own will, your thighs twitch apart instinctively— making room for kirishima between them as he circles the rim of your entrance, living up his fingers with the salacious pool of your arousal before pushing against the resistance of your unclaimed walls. “stay still baby, s’gonna sting for a bit,” he comments, choking on a depraved, corrupt gasp at how warm you are inside. the redhead stuffs you full of two fingers, sliding them into you with the aid of your honeyed cunt, and immediately scissors them, curling them to map and get a feel of your velvet walls.

you’re untouched territory, an empty playground of innocence and purity and now…kirishima’s for the taking. he’ll teach you things, he thinks while stretching open your hot little cunt to prepare you for his cock. he’ll teach you real pleasure, real love, all the things you missed out on after he ruined your life.

“eiji—!“ your cry is needy, amorous as you claw at your pink pillow cases, hips jutting back clumsily at the first shocks of ecstasy to flitter into your blood stream. you’ve never felt like this before.

“how’s this, baby? better than before?” the winter soldier drawls, practically as needy as you with a pout on his lips, red brows furrowed in concentration for making amends with you and your pretty pussy. his gaze of blood rubies falls to how your creamy sex sucks in his two metal digits, pressing coldly against new spots inside of you, curled against spongey walls until you’re cross eyed and the room spins.

“s’oh my god,” comes your muffled, sweet grouse— the adorable sound tearing in your throat. “s’better… oh, eiji!”

he needs you to understand that this is all for you, every calculated drag of his thumb over your sticky swelling clit, every stroke of his vibranium fingers rapaciously pumping in and out of succulent unused mound is meant to bring you to the high heavens and help you forgive him. kirishima’s chest swells with pride knowing he’s the first to have you like this, seeing you clamp down on him as he pleasures you, thumb glued to your little nub, writing apologies into it. “i need you to know, baby,” he says in awe of how you take him, even if you squirm and pretend to resist. “that ‘m so sorry, that i’ll do my best t’take care of you like this…”

a weird feeling in your lower belly starts to build up, in slow stacks like building a house from the beginning— all of the new sensations that come with it having distracted you from the reality of the situation. you can’t trust the winter soldier anymore, not to protect you and not to look out for you— especially when he’s ravaging your puffy pussy while pinning you in place. you hate that it feels good, making your brain tingle and happy hormones crash across it in heavy waves but you can’t help it. your hips buck back onto eijirou’s fast paced fingers which move along your slippery walls at an impressive speed, collecting your juices in the seat of his silver palm.

somewhere, a voice in the back of your head tells you to scream and cry and kick eijirou off— but all you can do is whimper and whine for more as he whispers sinisterly sweet nothings into the shell of your ear. ‘is this enough, baby?’ he’d sigh. ‘can you take more?’ or ‘i hope this makes it up to you’, each candied word sending sparks of ecstasy down your spine and flutters through your darling cunt while eijirou moulds you to take his cock.

“need ya to cum for me sweetheart, you’ve taken me so well,” he chuckles from behind you, gentle as his fingertips brush against your g-spot. the praises are warm, familiar to the real eijirou kirishima you know lives next door. before you knew the harm he’d done to your family. “can you do that for me, please? then i can fill you up so good, make you truly forgive me. please baby— i fuckin’ need it.” there’s an air desperation about the big burly man finger fucking you to his hearts content, and you think that if you let him keep talking— if you give him this, he might leave you alone.

“i think—‘shima, it feels weird…t-think ‘m gonna c-cum?” you squeak, unsure despite the impending feeling of the rope twisting in your lower tummy that burns as thick metal digits curl against your gummy insides, doused in your syrupy juices. kirishima doesn’t let up, breathing ragged from behind you as he jackhammers his fingers deep inside of you until his palm smacks against your bubbly ass with every stroke.

he seems pleased as your thighs begin to shake violently, the grip your angel cunt has on him tightening while his shameless stare shoots down to where your limbs meet and you ooze onto him. “let it go baby, you’re gonna feel so good, lemme see, i wanna see you cum,” eijirou damn near begs in a delighted and devoir sigh. a scream rips through your body, dwarfed beneath the size of the super solider as the winding cord in your tummy finally breaks its tension— the pressure that had been building inside of you coming crashing down and your orgasm tearing through you, spilling in clear liquid from your sticky and squelching sex. your teary and dazzling doe eyes screw shut, rolling back into your skull while you release, tainting your folds with a sugar glaze shine— the sweetest treat in the world to kirishima being making you feel good.

he doesn’t relent on your poor pussy as you shake throughout your very first high, stealing the precious moment from you and any future partner who might really love you— who’s not obsessed with the idea of your forgiveness. eijirou thumbs fast and cruel shaped into your raw clit, overstimulating you until the stream of your release stops seeping through the bedsheets. “good girl, such a good girl,” he hums, slowly pulling out of you while you spasm through the aftershocks of cumming for the first time. “stay here, kay? ‘m gonna get something before we have you try ‘n take my cock.”

the weight of the winter soldier eases off of you, letting air fill your lungs and a clear conscious return to you.

you wait until his footsteps are no longer audible to make your move, shooting up from the bed with no time to think about how sick your favourite hero is— for thinking you’ll forgive the deaths of the people you love most in exchange for him taking away your precious purity.

but you don’t have time to make a run for it, tackled to the bed once more by the stronger, trained killer. “i thought i told you to stay put,” kirishima snarls at you like you’re meek prey to him, forgetting his manners and his mission. “don’t you listen, baby? this is all for you,”

“i don’t want you!” comes your bratty little yell ( at least to the winter soldier ), who only throws you back onto the bed in the same position you were before— sitting heavy on your waist with your face shoved into the sheets. “please eijirou, l-let me go! i won’t tell anyone what you did! i’ll keep quiet! i’ll—“ your words fall away as eijirou grabs you by the back of the neck and you feel a sharp pinprick to your side. “w-what was that?”

a wooziness takes over you, calming your brain like it did when eijirou was making you feel good. “‘m sorry, i didn’t want to have to use it,” he says with what feels like faux sympathy. “but you just wouldn’t listen!” the redhead eases you down onto the bed once more, it’s a little something that’ll make accepting my apology a little easier, baby. so you stop squirming, so it hurts a little less. now be good, yeah?”

“y-yeah, okay,” you reply, slow blinking as your body begins to accept its fate.

using the remnants of your previous orgasm, kirishima slicks himself up again, running the meat of his shaft along the length of your quivering pussy— sending hormones of lust dancing across your brain. you can’t see him; but kirishima’s cheeks are flushed with unadulterated desire, his gaze swimming each time he taps the head of his cock against your souse pulsating hole. “gonna fuck you so good, gorgeous, don’t you worry.” he says, words a little too rushed and too eager, and without warning, the war hero’s hips jump forward to drive his cock into the deepest parts of your sex, fully lubed up with all your piquant juices.

eijirou is bigger than you’d dreamed off before all of this, weighty against the stickiness lining your unclaimed, gummy walls. you can feel every brown wrapped pretty around his girth pressing into pleasure spots you’ve not even had a chance to discover for yourself. his breath is shaky and uneven, prickling at your ears despite the static that crackles across your brain— from lust or from the drug you can’t even tell.

“i wanna move, baby,” the winter soldier gasps, wavering and hips stilling just as he reaches the hilt. this is the least he could do for you, try to be gentle as he completes this last mission— takes your virginity. in all these years of training for hydra, kirishima has never exercised such restrained, barely keeping himself together with every flutter of your sex and ripple of heat from your body around his cream soaked dick. “so tight, you need to be fucked. you need me, s’gonna be okay baby…just lemme take you.”

against your better judgement, the voice in the back of your mind screaming at you to fight back— you roll your ass back to meet kirishima’s hips, pushing your searing cunt further onto his girth as if to coax him to move until eijirou is completely bottomed out and balls deep inside, oozing sweet nectar down his thighs and balls alike. “p-please,” you slur cutely, hating your body for wanting him so bad after everything he’s done to you. “w-wanna forgive you,”

that’s all the motivation the winter soldier needs to go through with it all, you yelp at the pure strength he possesses in manhandling you into the perfect arch— all of his weight dropping onto you with his caramel and sweaty chest pressing to your back. a pathetic hiccup escapes you when kirishima simultaneously latches onto your neck and pulls his cock from you, using teeth and tongue, lolling the pink muscle over your skin, decorating you with lovebites you won’t be able to hide from nosey onlookers. in one powerful thrust, he’s filling you back up to the brim— all the way up in your guts until you feel him in your tummy, making you feel dwarfed by the super soldier above you.

with what little energy you have left, still doped up from whatever he spiked you with— you rock your hips back onto eijirou, letting your cute and ravaged cunt suck more of him into your warmth and aiding him in building up a steady pace to his thrusts.

the bed starts to groan and creak beneath the force of the redhead now brutally ploughing into you— precum in fat drops smearing against your ripe and fertile walls that feel like home to his hardened length. your pussy blossoms for the man like a flower in a spring bloom, ready for the taking, ready for kirishima. only he could do this for you, teach you what seeing stars look like, drag you to cloud nine. it was the least he could do for you, and it made his dick twitch knowing that you were starting to accept him— clenching down on his mushroomed tip ever time it pulls out of you with a wet pop.

you stretch painfully over his creamy cock, though you feel like you’re on cloud nine— overwhelmed with a ravenous ecstasy that shoots from your brain to the tips of your toes, right through the heartbeat in your pussy. “feel amazin’ baby, oh that’s right, take me so fucking well,” eijirou whispers into the skin of your shoulder over sentimentally, the heat of his breath clinging to the sex in the air. his large palms drop to the globes of your ass— pulling them wide apart to spit between them and getting an enticing view of his dick lewdly plunging in and out of your perfect virgin hole. “that’s it…you like this don’t you, you like me doing this to you…”

your mind says no but you can’t help but hump back onto him, still growing used to the burning pleasure as eijirou pushes in and out of you. “y-yes eiji, i-i like it,” he barely leaves your tight heat, with the little proximity between your saltine sweat slicked bodies, prodding at that special spot inside of you that makes you gush sweet nectar.

you hope it’s the drug talking, every time you coo and cry out for the winter soldier— limp body taking the godspeed pace he moves at, filling you up each and every time. “‘h’baby, you really mean that?” metal fingers crawl up your spine, encapsulating your throat as if he can’t crush it within a second. he tugs your head back with a cool grip into a heated kiss, forcing his tongue over yours, mouths slotting together and sharing moans. “never meant for it to be like this, never gonna—fuck… cause you harm e’ver again, yeah?” kirishima’s voice rises in octave as it does in addiction, the handsome soldier succumbing to the mindbreak your gratifying, ichorous cunt had to offer him while he tucks into you.

“yeah…s’okay. o-oh! eijirou!” comes your brainless babble, your sanity falling into a cock-drunk state. eijirou’s own mind is as foggy as yours, plagued by thoughts of painting you white inside and relieving you of his burden— teaching you pleasure, teaching you sin. the slow roll of your hips back onto his mingle with the harsh slap of skin on skin, wet and crude, and hanging nastily in the air.

there’s barely any oxygen for you to breathe between it all— kirishima rhythmically squeezing at the bruised column of your throat in tune with surging hips, assaulting your poor g-spot. “jus relax baby, go’ta sleep,” you swear you think you hear him say when you grow even more light headed. “lemme take care of you.”

he had no idea your little meek mewls could drive him this far up the wall, or that he’d want you to himself even after taking your virginity. kirishima sucks on the pulse point under your ear to sedate himself, keeping you locked in place with his metal arm— licking the beads of sweat from the side of your face while his free hand wraps itself in the fabric of your sweat soaked night shirt and uses it to tug you back onto his aching, pulsating dick.

his sloppy groans echo throughout the lost purity of your bedroom, no longer a safe place— but now a reminder of how your body betrayed you, swaying in a taboo dance with the winter soldier as a crude mix of your arousals swing between both of your sore thighs. “i gotta cum baby, please lemme cum,” eijirou huffs breathily into your ear, grabbing you by the ass while he shifts to his knees and using the pure strength of the super soldier serum and his bionic arm to lift you up and down on his cock, forcing you to match his pace in frantic, hungry movements. “need to cum, need’a make it up to ya, please—oh fuckin’ fuck!”

“e-eiji!” you sob, reaching back to dick crescent moons into his fleisher arm that holds you up— letting the winter soldier fuck into you at his own will. “slow down! please!”

he shakes his head, red locks damp and sticking to his forehead as he tucks his face into the back of your shoulder. “c-can’t, need you close too. ‘m gonna cum,” he tells you, whining profligately— the ex assassin revelling in the way you drip thickly down his balls, heavy with cum, the lewd pap pap pap of your sexes moving together creating a song that echoes in the sex tainted air, matching up perfectly with your erotic choreographed routine against the sheets, tainted with your arousals. “gotta get’cha close, are you there gorgeous? that feeling in your tummy back?”

you nod, simpering out for more even though your brain is too misted to keep up with what’s happening— lust coursing through your veins with whatever drug the winter soldier has put in your system. but the feeling is barely there, and you writhe against kirishima for more…even if you hate it, even if you’re not so sure you hate it anymore.

sleeping with the man that murdered your parents.

however, you don’t need to ask for more, eijirou’s metal fingers releasing your throat and allowing you to breathe again— sliding over your clothed, pebbled nipples and down the softness of your stomach before they coldly reach your hot cunt. they toy with your swollen clit between your throbbing, puffy folds to guide you over the edge once more.

two orgasms for the two people you’d lost.

your second high of the night comes crashing over you in a sudden wave, rendering you even more weak and useless than before— you seize up, trapping kirishima inside your soaked cunt as you gush like a sweet flowing river once more. the red head follows suit, his cock pulsing while his cream lines your raw and abused walls. he doesn’t ever let up, pushing his seed further along your walls until both of you collapse into the bed with exhaustion. your hole burns, cum seeping from your entrance as you swear kirishima feels even bigger when his dick is swollen with his orgasm.

“i’m sorry,” he says hoarsely once you’ve both calmed down— but your mind is running a mile a minute, fuzzy and lagging with a combination of your high and the drugs in your system. “‘m so sorry baby,”

“it’s okay,” you whisper back, eyes fluttering with sleep again.

though you’re not sure what you’re forgiving the winter soldier for this time.

taking your parents, or taking your innocence.

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yelenasdiary · 6 months

Note

For flufftober: Middle sibling reader x older sister natasha and younger sister yelena. Reader was recently released from the subjugation of the red room and so theyre throwing a little welcome home party for reader. With cake and streamers and a polaroid camera. Some terrible music playing that they all jam too as they down too many bottles of vodka?

New Memories

Pairing: Older Siblings! Natasha & Yelena x Younger Sibling! GN! Reader

Summary: After a little over a year of therapy, your older sisters throw you a welcome home party.

Warnings: Fluff/Comfort, Mentions of Red Room, Subjugation, Drinking, Language Warning | 1.3K

Translations: Sestra (Sister),

AC: Thank you for requesting this, as I mentioned, I have combined with request with another, I hope you enjoy! x

October Special Masterlist

"Sestra, it'll be fun" Yelena argued with her Russian accent coming in thick. It was Halloween and your sisters, Natasha and Yelena planned a little party for you with the help of the other Avengers, Alexei and Melina. It's been a few short months since your year of therapy had gone from three sessions a week to weekly appointments, your therapist was proud of how far you'd come since your sisters saved you from the subjugation of Red Room and freed you from the control of General Dreykov. You hated that they wanted to throw a party in your honor, you never liked the fuss being about you.

"Lena, I know you and Nat are happy for me and trust me, I am proud of myself as well but I just don't think I want to have a party thrown to celebrate" you replied before letting your eyes fall back down to the book in your hands.

"It is not just to celebrate how far you have come" Yelena spoke as she took a seat at the end of your bed, forcing you to put your book down once more. "It's about making new memories, ones that are real, ones we get to keep and talk about in years to come. Natasha won't admit it but I know she would love to fill the photo album she has on her bookcase and I would like an updated photo of the three of us" your older sister by 2 years went on.

She had a point and that made it hard for you to turn her down. Looking back on the memories you had with your sisters, it was hard to remember. You were only 4 when the mission in Ohio was completed and you were ripped from Natasha's arms. After that, it was blurred moments of fake Christmases, thanksgivings and other holidays just to give you three a moment of something that felt somewhat normal.

"Fine" you playfully rolled your eyes at the blonde, "will Kate and Wanda be there?" you asked with hope. Yelena nodded, "who do you think were the first to jump at the idea of baking a cake" she replied.

"A cake? Really?" you asked with a slight frown, of course your family were going to make this a big deal and honestly, for Yelena to say this would be fun was a comment you never thought she would say about a party.

----

Music mixed with laughter and chatter filled the room, Kate wandered around taking polaroid photos of everybody and placed them in a small box for you to look back on at a later date. Eventually the room became quiet, around midnight people called it a night and headed to bed leaving you, Yelena and Natasha still up.

"Now we can really party" Natasha smiled as she placed a bottle of vodka on the table along with three shot glasses. "Amen to that!" you replied in a sigh of relief, too much socializing and now you were finally going to have the party you truly wanted with your sisters.

Yelena poured three shots as you and Natasha threw streamers at one another, you started it of course. "Stop acting like children, lets drink!" Yelena announced as she carefully yet skilfully sliding the shot glasses down the table to you and Nat without spilling a drop. You downed your shot the moment it hit your hand, the burn of the alcohol in the back of your throat reminding you why you loved vodka so much.

It was long before the bottle of vodka was finished, and another was placed on the table. Crumbs of cake slices littered the wooden table while the three of you made new memories, jokes and brought up old, good memories.

"SO BYE BYE MISS AMERICAN PIE, DROVE MY CHEVY TO THE LEVEE, BUT THE LEVEE WAS DRY" the three of you sung in sync, now each holding a bottle of vodka. Wanda and Kate had come down from upstairs and watched the drunk mess unfold. You were laughing, when Yelena pushed you to the floor for standing on her foot for the 5th time. Natasha had the polaroid camera in her hand taking very drunken and blurry photos of you and Yelena before turning the camera on herself to snap a selfie.

"Do you think Tony would get made if we stole one of his suits? I mean come on! those things look so fucking sick!" You looked between your sisters. Yelena turned to Nat, "I'm with Y/n, let's do it!" she said before taking another mouthful of vodka from the bottle.

"Should we stop them?" Kate whispered to Wanda who shook her head, "no, let them have their fun" the Sokovian replied before gesturing her head towards the stairs as a way to say let's go back to bed. "I kind of want to be awake early to see Tony's reaction" Kate whispered once more as she followed Wanda up the stairs.

"Alright but you gotta be quiet!" Natasha said, bringing her index finger to her lips in a shush motion.

Cheeky smiles tugged at the lips of you and your sister as Natasha led you both down the hall to the elevator, pressing the basement button.

----

"Can somebody tell me why the fuck I found 3 of my suits scattered around the damn compound?!" Tony asked with pure anger in his voice. Your head was pounding, it had clearly been a while since you got drunk as much as you did last night.

"Tony, shhhh!" you looked up at him before taking a sip of your coffee.

"Nothing is broken, nothing to stress about" Natasha tuned in, taking her hang over a lot better than you were. She looked as though she didn't even drink last night.

"That's not the point Romanoff and you know it!" Tony snapped, "the three of you are suspended until further notice so I suggest you start thinking about cleaning up the mess you made!" he added before storming out of the room.

"What mess?" you asked with a frown as Natasha sat down across from you at the dining table, peanut butter toast in her hand. "Oh, that is on you and Yelena to clean" she replied with a light chuckle as you rested your head on the table to catch a few extra minutes of shut eye.

Yelena came into the kitchen just how Natasha did, as if a hangover was non-existent. "HA! Looks like somebody needs a little more practice on how keep their vodka down" she spoke, her loud voice making your head pound harder than before. Slowly, you lifted your head to look up at your sister, giving her a look of death has she stole Natasha's mug of coffee, "please shut up" you replied before letting your head drop to the table once again.

"You and Y/n have to go clean up the yard today" Natasha said after swallowing a mouthful of her toast. "Yeah, I figured" Yelena chuckled, bringing the mug to her lips, "you better go take a shower sestra" she encouraged you only to earn a mumble and grumble in return as you took yourself to the showers.

"Another round tonight and they will be fine" Yelena looked at Natasha before taking another sip of Nat's coffee, Nat just chuckled, "I don't think they could handle another round" she replied as Wanda walked into the kitchen.

"You three had fun last night" she smiled softly as she placed a rather large handful of polaroid on the table in front of the two Russian sisters. Natasha reached for the small photos and flicked through them while Yelena watched, a smile tugging at both sisters lips as they saw how happy they looked, how much fun they had and how finally they had photos with real moments, real emotions and real love.

"Yeah, one of the best nights" Natasha spoke softly.

#yelenasdiary asks #scarletwidowblackwitch #fanfiction #yelena belova #marvel #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #yelena belova x reader #flufftober

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jqnehr · 3 months

Text

les améthystes du ciel | neuvillette — part 14

two individuals under pressure to marry. one has the hydro archon on his back, and the other has her matchmaking friend pushing her along. when the two meet at a ball, and both in dire need of peace from two meddlesome females, what better arrangement is there than their own betrothal?

pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader warnings : crack and (attempts at) funny ha-ha humour at the start (massive failure), ANGST (again, surprise surprise), ermmm idk what else, this is sfw. word count : 4.5k (another short one...) note : SOSOSOSOSOOOO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO GET OUT, school has been WHOOPING my ass (and love and deepspace is taking up all the remaining gb in my brain) and I've hardly had time (and motivation 😔) to write 💔💔 BUT ANYWAYS!! better late than never <33

! not proof read

! do not copy, redistribute, translate, or use my work with or without credit in any way. thank you.

part thirteen ⋮ masterlist ⋮ part fifteen

ao3 ⋮ playlist

...

“My goodness, Neuvillette, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with such heavy eyebags.”

Neuvillette releases a sigh through his nose and continues perusing the documents before him, not even glancing up at the Duke of Meropide. “How fortunate am I to have a friend that is unfailing in pointing out the obvious.”

“In all seriousness, though, are you alright? You look like you haven’t slept a wink for a week.” Wriothesley’s perceptiveness strikes again. The Chief Justice dips his quill into the ink jar and scribbles his signature on the dotted line of a paper upon some recently-overseen hearing. “I haven’t.”

“And you’re not your usual amiable self either. You know, if you’re worried about your wife, there’s a nice Inazuman restaurant that just opened downtown. The Tonkotsu Ramen is divine.”

“I don’t even know if she likes Inazuman food.” Neuvillette isn’t really in the mood to entertain Wriothesley’s company today, but the dark-haired man seems to be making no move to leave. The warden of the Fortress appears to be more than eager to give the Iudex some unsolicited love advice from the ‘love expert’—Wriothesley’s words, not his.

“Everybody likes Inazuman food. Oh, and did you hear that Lyney and Lynette’s holding a massive magic show in two weeks? Maybe you could take her along, have some fun.”

“Did you forget that this marriage is contractual? There isn’t any real reason to take her on dates, Wriothesley.” The Duke’s eyes widen in incredulity at his words. “You don’t mean that. I can just tell that the very cause for your lack of sleep as of late is the very woman you don’t have ‘any real reason’ to take on a date. Do you think I’m stupid? You’re like an open book, Neuvillette.” “The thing that I don’t understand is how adamant you all seem to be on making us into a happy, loving couple. Have you been colluding with Furina in secret?” “She’s had a few cups of tea with me, but that’s besides the point. Isn’t the Madame bedridden with an awful cold right now? I bought some of my favourite tea up here so you and I could share some, but maybe you could take it and have it with her instead. What kind of husband would you be if you didn’t help nurse your ill wife back to health?”

That worries Neuvillette. “Do you think she’d be offended by my lack of checking-in and visits? I already had some chicken soup made for her yesterday, though.” Wriothesley’s spirits lift once he sees he’s starting to get through to the clueless man. “If I was your wife, I’d be insulted, whether contractually married or not. And chicken soup, Neuvillette? How cliché. I bet you told her maid to not let her know you requested it for her.” Neuvillette’s subsequent silence was answer enough.

Wriothesley rolls his eyes. “Whatever happened last week that caused this rift between you two is just silly. So, tell me—what did happen?” “Uh…” Neuvillette’s ears flush red at the memories that instantly flood him. “N-Nothing much.” “Did you two kiss or something? Oh, yeah, real scandalous. It’s almost as if husbands and wives don’t do that kind of thing!”

“We’re husband and wife on paper and by arrangement only, Wriothesley. It would be going against the contract to initiate any kind of intimate contact with each other like that. And no, we didn’t ‘kiss’. It was just…” The Duke leans forward in anticipation for the Iudex’s answer. “Well?”

“…Well, we ran into each other at the beach in the dead of night and talked.”

“Did you two do the deed?” “No!” The Chief Justice’s entire face flares bright pink at Wriothesley’s innuendo. “Goodness, Wriothesley, how on earth did you come to that conclusion? Did you just come here today to bother me about such private matters?”

“Yeah. Anyway, you’re blushing like a maiden on her wedding night. If you just ‘talked’, didn’t ‘kiss’ and didn’t get it on, then why are you so hesitant to divulge what unseemly act you both committed on the beach that night?” “Alright, since you keep insisting—we almost did.” “As in, almost kissed or almost had se—”

“Kissed! Kissed—we almost kissed.” Neuvillette waves a hand in front of face in defeat, trying to ease his embarrassment. He didn’t want to think about how if they weren’t interrupted, it probably would’ve escalated way further. Archons, I sound like a right idiot. He shoots the smug man before him a look. “What books have you been reading? You’re making me seem like an airheaded teenage girl giggling about her first kiss to her gaggle of friends.”

Wriothesley looks almost offended. “The only things I have time to read are reports upon convicts and the management of the Fortress, Your Honour. And I’m sorry, but I really didn’t know you were so sensitive about this matter. As if I didn’t see how you carried her out of the tea party, all bridal style and everything. Looked way too real to just be an act. Isn’t that just so interesting?” Neuvillette purses his lips, throwing Wriothesley a side-long glance. “You have just as wild of an imagination as Furina. I’ll take up your suggestion about the tea, though.” “What about the magic show and restaurant? You could go dine at the restaurant after the show. Don’t you think she’d like that?”

Quiet, the Iudex stares blankly at the document before him, contemplating. Would that be overstepping my bounds…? Oh, to hell with it—I’ve already done so too many times to count. What hurt is a small date going to do?

“…Alright. Your counsel is sound, I suppose.”

“Of course it is. Oh, and do you know when the banquet will be?” “…In two weeks’ time. What day is the show?” “It’s on the Tuesday.”

“The banquet’s on the Friday. Are you going to attend?” “Furina’s…coerced me into attending. I’m going to be stampeded by frenzied mothers desperate to marry off their equally crazed daughters again.” “Careful, or—how do the youngsters call it these days?—she’ll ‘hitch’ you up with someone, too.”

Wriothesley gives him a look. “You sound like a ninety-year-old.”

Neuvillette side-eyes him in return. “And why do you think that is? I can never keep up with the ever-changing colloquialism of the kids these days.”

The Duke shakes his head in amusement, seeing he’s succeeded in his mission and thus can leave. “Alright, old man. Send my get-well wishes to your wife for me. And don’t tell her I sent the tea. It’s supposed to be all you.”

Neuvillette is too polite of a person to tell someone outright to get lost, so he opts to wave for the door. “Yes, yes, I get it, Wriothesley. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of things to attend to, or would you like me to assign you some documents to peruse for me?” Wriothesley instantly gets the message and hurries for the door before Neuvillette can follow through with his threat. “I’ve got a date with the Pankration Ring, so sorry. Have fun with your wife!”

His office door quickly clicks shut. Neuvillette shakes his head and continues on with his work, perturbed.

・・・・

Neuvillette debated with himself over whether he should deliver the tea to you anonymously, say Wriothesley heard of your sickness and sent it out of friendly well-wishes, or just man-up and go personally brew it for you.

Eventually, Neuvillette decided on the latter.

Now, he stands hovering outside of your bedroom door, hand raised to knock, but hesitance keeps him back. He’s worried you’re sleeping, and would disturb you—and that’s why you knock, idiot—or, if you’re awake, subject himself to even more embarrassment upon the remembrance of what almost happened a week ago. This is a bad, bad idea.

He almost leaps out of his skin when your voice calls out from behind the door, a slightly muffled: “Neuvillette, I know you’re out there. Stop dawdling and come in.” Resigning himself to his fate, he clicks open the door and shuffles in, embarrassed. “My apologies. I was worried you were sleeping and that I would be disturbing you.” You haven’t looked up from the book you’re reading. He recognises the book title with a start—The Soul of a Human. The box of tea in his hand almost slips out of his grip at his shock. “Well, you were fretting over it outside my door for five minutes.”

“I…apologise. Am I intruding?” He understands why you would be grumpy—your voice is awfully stuffy from the cold, and your face is pale. And lo and behold—you’re in the very same nightgown as you were that night. Neuvillette averts his gaze, ears burning. Ugh, what’s going on?

“No, you’re alright.” You pick up a bookmark to your side and slide it into the book, closing it, giving him your full attention. You look up at him, before your stare falls to the item in his hold. “What’s that you’ve got there?” “Oh, uh…” He glances down at it, searching for the right words. Wriothesley told me not to tell her he sent it… Neuvillette finally manages out, “…I brought some tea to clear your head. Care for a cup?” “How thoughtful of you!” An abrupt swell of pride at your thrilled affirmation envelops him, and confuses him. Ignoring it best he can, he ahems and turns for the coffee table. There’s a rustle of bedsheets and covers and you’re padding across the carpet for him. “Here, I’ll go ask Anaïs for a fresh pot of tea.”

“No, you must rest.” Neuvillette doesn’t even think before he’s already put a hand upon your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks for the door. You turn to look up at him in surprise, and he quickly removes his hand. “Erm—I can go and ask her. Just relax. You need as much bed rest as you can get, yes?” You stare at him silently, and he takes in your appearance. Hair unbrushed, up in a messy bun with wild strands of it flaring out, lips pale and chapped, nose red with your cold and your eyes are sunken with fatigue. I was a fool, staying out for as long as we did that night. But, despite it all, seeing your complexion bare and sickly, he’s rather struck with admiration.

He doesn’t realise he’s staring even more intensely than you when your quiet call of his name snaps him from his stupor. Blinking, Neuvillette takes a small step back. “Uh, sorry? Yes, I’ll go brew it.”

“That’s not what I sai—” But he’s already rushing for the door, leaving your hand outstretched in a feeble motion to stop him. Now it’s your turn to blink in bewilderment.

Man, he sure likes to stare. The bouts of chills you’ve been getting are traceless now, heat left in its place. You’ve never had someone look at you so appreciatively, and you’re sure you look like a gremlin right now. Neuvillette was dead silent and just studying you intently, like he was looking at the moon.

You move to pull open a window, disliking how abruptly hot the room has gotten. Should I do something about my appearance? He’s already seen you practically naked, and that thought makes you blush even more. Anxiously patting at your hair, you head for the bathroom and take a look at your reflection, almost recoiling in disgust. I look ghastly! You quickly run the tap water, splashing at your face, sucking in a breath at the chill of it. Goodness, no wonder he ran out of here! I look like something out of a nightmare.

You jump when the sound of your bedroom door clicking open reaches you and, with a rush of panic, you whirl around and shut the bathroom door. Soft footsteps pause, and Neuvillette’s voice calls out, “[Name], are you alright?” “Fine! Just—one moment, please.” You hurriedly pat your face and hands dry, then moving to yank your hair tie from your bun, wincing at the sharp pull. That’s right, I haven’t brushed my hair for a few days, I was so sick! It must be a rat’s nest, and I probably have split ends now! No matter how much you try to pry the tie from your hair, it won’t budge, and it hurts like hell.

Okay, stop panicking. Why are you even panicking anyway? It’s not like you can help looking so dreadful at present. What are you trying to do—impress him?

“Ow, ow, ow, ow,” you softly whimper, bent over the sink awkwardly, gently trying to untangle the snag your hair tie has hit. You forget Neuvillette has exceptional hearing when three soft taps knock on the bathroom door.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You sound like you’re in pain.” He catches you by surprise, and you jump, hand still in your hair, ripping some strands out. Involuntarily, you yelp, cursing under your breath, arms sore from the angle. You hear Neuvillette’s polite, “I’m coming in” before the door clicks open.

Great. I wouldn’t blame him if he started laughing. One look in the mirror and it’s quite clear just how ridiculous you look right now. Hair flopping over your face, the end of it still tied together. Hot with humiliation, you rush to explain. “I…was trying to untie my hair, since it’s been up like this for a few days—” “Would you like some help?” Neuvillette shuts the door and approaches, hands reaching for your hair slowly, as if awaiting your permission. Seeing no other way, you nod feebly, your hair bouncing comically with the movement. “…Yes, please.” Neuvillette begins to remove his gloves; biting down on the material covering his middle finger and sliding it off smoothly. The action is so minimal, so natural—but you can’t help but find the sight extremely attractive. His eyes meet yours, and he tilts his head slightly in silent inquiry to your ogling of him. You look away, fidgeting. Things are starting to get out of hand.

At least there isn’t a hint of amusement in his face—he doesn’t seem to find your current state funny at all. You were expecting him to tease you, maybe chuckle at your silly state, but he’s perfectly expressionless. As usual, you suppose. Although, he does seem to smile a lot at you. His eyes are soft, too.

“Where is it tangled?” His voice is quiet. Neuvillette’s fingers wind into your hair, quickly finding the hair tie and observing the state of it. You have to keep your head bowed awkwardly—but you suppose it’s nice that he’s significantly taller than you, so you don’t have to lean over too far. You reach up and lightly grab his hand, guiding it to where it is specifically twisted. “There. It’s knotted, I think.”

“Mm, it is.” His fingers are gentle, never tugging or pulling, just carefully working away at untying the knot in your hair as best he can. “It’s not so bad it has to be cut, though. You are fortunate.”

Relief fills you. “I’m glad. I suppose you have to deal with such incidents yourself with your hair?”

Neuvillette chuckles. Gods, his laugh is so nice. “From time to time, yes. But I take very good care of my hair. Wouldn’t it be so silly if the Chief Justice oversaw a trial with matted hair?” “They wouldn’t let you in,” you laugh back, straightening slightly as your back muscles are beginning to ache. “Do you ever tie your hair up? Or try different hairstyles?” “I…can’t say I have.” Neuvillette shakes his hand, some strands of your hair falling to the floor, before he continues untangling your hair again. “I think I prefer it out, with just the ends tied.”

“I see.” You’re the opposite—having your hair down all the time gets in your way. So, you opt to have it up in a hair claw or gathered on top of your head in a messy bun. You really can’t fathom how Neuvillette gets around so easily without sitting on his hair or getting it stuck in doors. But then again, you suppose, he has been wandering around like this for centuries, so he ought to have learned how to manage it by now.

But the little girl in you always wants to reach for his hair. It looks perfect to braid and brush to your heart’s content, but you wouldn’t dare ask. All you know is that it’s soft and very well-kept, considering its lucent shine and the handful of times he’s picked you up and you had to hold onto his neck.

Such a train of thought makes you curious—what’s his morning routine? Nightly routine? Does he put his hair up in a net before sleeping? How long does it take him to brush it out each morning? Doesn’t it get bothersome at times? Has he ever had a haircut? And what are those blue things in his hair?

You voice that last question. “Neuvillette, what are those pretty blue ornaments hanging down from your head?” The movement of his hands in your hair freezes, and you immediately wish you could take your words back. You and your big mouth, [Name]! Haven’t you learned how to mind your business yet? Biting down on the inside of your right cheek, you move to apologise. “I’m sorry if it was a personal question, they’re just so peculi—”

“They’re, uh…” His quiet reply silences you, and Neuvillette begins to untangle your hair again. “I can understand why you’re curious. I can’t explain it, but they’re just…well…” “I dare say, they look like antennas,” you offer amiably, hoping to ease his clear awkwardness. “Or horns?” Then you giggle lightly. “Are you a dragon or something?”

Neuvillette swallows, beginning to sweat bullets. You just hit the nail on the head, and I can’t even tell you. He really can’t think of an excuse for them, but he isn’t about to indulge you in his secret. “I’ve been around for a long time, [Name], so surely it can’t be strange to realise that I may be some kind of mystical creature.”

“You said you’re not a vishap, so are you a dragon?”

“…Not exactly. I can’t really tell you, to be frank.” Sometimes, he wishes you weren’t so perceptive. It’s a valuable trait, yes, and he admires you for it, but it’s uncomfortable when he witnesses you practically unravelling his own secrets he’s kept very down-low right before his very eyes. Your quiet, observant demeanour is worth its weight in gold, but he wasn’t aware that you had been silently studying him also.

Well, it makes sense, if you think about it. You’re both married, and live in the same residence. It would be more logical to consider it strange if you weren’t curious about him—as he is you.

“Oh, I won’t pry, then.” It isn’t that factor that bothers him, he’s just a bit worried you’ll become suspicious, connect the dots—and it’s game over for him. If you haven’t already.

Silence reigns for a few moments, Neuvillette just gently unknotting your hair from the tie before finally pulling the band from your hair completely, holding it out to you. With the de-tanglement came a lot of pulled hairs, and a clump of some is still latched onto the tie. “There you are. Would you like to shower and wash your hair before joining me for tea?” “Uh, yes, I will.” Embarrassment fills you again. You glance at yourself in the mirror, letting loose a humourless laugh. “I look ridiculous.”

Neuvillette surprises you by patting your head, much like he does to the Melusines he’s so fond of. He’s smiling at you with that same gentle smile, too. “You look cute, if anything. There’s no need to be embarrassed. Things like this happen.” You stare at him. He thinks I look…cute?

Neuvillette appears to be perturbed by his own words. His eyes widen a fraction. “Uh—that is, there’s no need to put yourself down. Feel free to take your time.”

You, again, don’t get a chance to answer as he’s already whirled around and shut the door behind him.

・・・・

The bathroom door clicks open and you step out, towel wrapped around your head, hair up. You look and feel much more refreshed than before, face washed and moisturised. Neuvillette glances up from the newspaper he was reading and turns to you. “You look much better. I managed to keep the tea warm. Care for some?” “Of course.” You take a seat beside him, briefly shooting a glance towards the newspaper. And, as expected, the headlines are still going on about the announcement of Neuvillette’s marriage. One of the most notable headlines, Will There Be A Wedding? lines the top of the front page, along with a long string of columns holding articles on the matter.

“The Steambird is just eating this up.” You’re somewhat amused. You’ve, effectively, thrown the entirety of Fontaine into chaos. There’s a picture of you both at the tea party someone must’ve managed to snap just in time—Neuvillette’s lips upon your cheek, your expression perfectly surprised—displayed across the front page. You pick up the paper and begin reading the first few sentences of the article aloud, “For once, Fontaine has been graced with something much more exciting and shocking than the latest murder mystery resolved at the trials—the very man known for overseeing such hearings, Iudex Neuvillette, has recently announced his marriage to a young woman, Madame [Name].” It’s so ludicrous. Furina must be overjoyed.

You hear Neuvillette sigh from beside you, then the trickle of tea being poured sounds. “It gets better. The subtle slights thrown your way, in particular, are especially riveting.” Sarcasm drips from his tone. “I don’t recommend reading it. I’ve half a mind to send for them to halt publication of such an offensive article.”

“No need, I was prepared for this.” Society is fueled by vanity. Everyone likely expected Neuvillette, an unreachable, enigmatic figure with the face of an angel, to follow down a fairy-tale storyline. He would choose a woman equal to him in appearance, someone gorgeous and loveable, not someone who looks like every other person you pass by on the street. Not someone normal.

You’ve long grown a thick skin to scornful comments from those around you—commonly people you don’t even know, and who don’t know you—but it hurts a bit to be compared to the man next to you. So you opt to ask him what he thinks of your appearance.

“Well, Neuvillette, what is your opinion on me?” You brace yourself for the worst. But he’s too nice a person to give it to you straight. Perhaps his hesitance to confide in you of his true, maybe even superficial, views on you is a factor that could wound you deeply.

“Opinion?” He echoes, surprised. Neuvillette sets down his cup upon the saucer in his hand with a soft clink, mauve eyes rather bemused. “…Could you be a little more specific?” You have to choose your words carefully—you don’t want your deep-seated, pushed-down insecurities revealed, nor do you want to look like you’re fishing for compliments. For attention. You just want honesty, not flattery. “Erm…well, have you found that you would have rathered a more comely wife?” “I will be perfectly frank.” Neuvillette places his cup and saucer on the coffee table before you both, before leaning back and facing you fully. “I am not someone who goes for what’s on the outside. However, in this sense and our situation, I never had a choice anyway—not that that’s turned out to be a bad thing.” He, too, seems to be having trouble wording it right. “What I mean to say is, I like you. Your personality. And it’s very easy to look past all those superficial, facile ideals of beauty and appeal once you understand the heart of who you’re dealing with.”

Yeah, he should’ve been a poet. You want to tease him, but now is not the time. You also didn’t expect his words to comfort you so much. Beauty is a double-edged sword, and so is being average. Then it hits you—wait, could this be considered a…confession, of sorts?

“So, you’re saying…you don’t care about my appearance? Like how the entire country and Furina does?” “I never did. Why do you think I chose you? If I wanted a beautiful woman, I need only have taken my pick. I could send a letter to some nobleman with a particularly attractive young daughter and solved all his problems with marrying her off. But I didn’t. Although this situation is unromantic and unideal, that doesn’t mean I wanted it to be unrealistic.”

His words make you ponder. He had options, but he selected me. “…You could still say you had no choice, Neuvillette. The only reason I wound up here is because we danced and sent the ball rolling—a ball Furina herself put there, waiting for someone to kick.”

“Yes, you could. But you had a level head, could manage yourself under pressure, and you’re not the type to take much to heart. I needed someone rational, and it seemed like you were the only logical woman there.”

But it’s not like you were different from all the others. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, really. You give him a rather rueful smile. “You’ve misunderstood me once more, Neuvillette.”

“Sorry?” He almost flinches at your words. “Misunderstood you? How do you mean?” “I am not some sensation. We were both in sticky situations and we both appeared before each other in the nick of time. And I didn’t see you talking to any other woman apart from Clorinde that night. You didn’t try to seek someone out—it’s like you just hoped the right person would come along. And they did.” Neuvillette’s gaze drops, hurt flashing across his features. You feel pierced, like you just hurt yourself too, but you push that guilt down. This is not going how I intended it to. Miscommunication strikes again. And it’s the only thing you’re both capable of, because you have some silly little piece of paper to stick to and blurring lines to stay behind.

It’s frustrating, actually. You want to know more, but the contract says no. You’ve both come so close to breaking those rules you set for yourselves, only to pull away just in time. A chemistry you never asked for sputtered to life between you both, but it’s something to be adamantly—indefatigably—avoided. Why is it such torture?

Torment like no other. Ha. You’re talking as if you know what this is. But you don’t. And you won’t. All you know is that you can’t.

“I…” Neuvillette seems to be at a loss for words. “I’m not sure what to say.” “It’s alright.” You lean forward and pat his hand, which is curled into a tightly clenched fist. “You didn’t have a choice. This isn’t your fault.” But it will be your fault if this continues on and becomes something it shouldn’t. No matter how you strain to touch his face, you will be lost beneath the waves.

did I post this MINUTES after my announcement of how it'll be up today? yes. yes I did.

anyways HELLOOOOO AGAIN EVERYONE!! so nice to see you all once more <3 I hope you're healthy and well and don't have 4 massive cavities to be filled like I do!! 🥰

again, so sorry this took ten years. ive had other projects (love and deepspace) that I've been slaving away on and school assignments (that im procrastinating from) on my plate as well :((( BUT!! not to worry, for chapter 14 is here 🤭‼️

HOPE YOU ENJOYED!! and recovered from the last one. cause WOW 😨 I need to seek professional help ☺️

taglist!

@shiroonekoo @just-here-reading @avyakaslana @eternal-dokja @confusedparticle @xitrinez @tanspostsblog @vcatson @sek0ya @loving-august @mxyarylla @ultigoblin @constantlyoverthinking @pvbbyb0y @lynettezzp @esthelily @furblrwurblr @sangoqueenkoko @lacunaanonymoused

#⌗ ༘ ⋆｡𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐒❜ works !#neuvillette #genshin #chief justice neuvillette #neuvilette genshin #fontaine #neuvillette x reader #genshin x reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x female reader #genshin neuvillette #furina #genshin impact

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mars101 · 3 months

Text

5 Reasons To Love Lee Juyeon

☆ PAIRING = juyeon x reader

☆ GENRE = established relationship, pure pure fluff, i love love so much :<

☆ WARNINGS = reader is shorter than juyeon, eating, one use of y/n (i tried not to use it for once :<), pet names included: sweetie/sweetheart (to reader) & hon/honey (to juyeon)

☆ WORD COUNT = 3k?? or 2.9k??? one of those

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★ SYNOPSIS = "What made you love me?" a question not usually asked when it's your eighth year together. but juyeon was just so curious, so here's five reasons why (and how) you fell in love with lee juyeon.

★ RELEASE DATE = 02.14.24

★ PLAYLIST = 💌

★ AUTHOR’S WELCOME = happeeee (late) juyeon day !!!! i love you juyeon ☹️☹️ ok now its happy valentines day !!! lolol i was supposed to post this for his birthday but it was still a wip 💀 so now happy vday juyeon !! ok bye enjoy this pls (NOT PROOFREAD OR BETA READ BTW)

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Date: Feb 14th, 2024

“What made you love me?”

Juyeon’s sudden question made you stop mid-bite into your food. His tone makes you think he's playing around but when you look up at his face, he has a serious but curious expression displayed.

“So suddenly? Uhm…”

His eyebrows raise in curiosity as he awaits the answer. Mouth parted while he nods gesturing you to go on.

“You're you.”

“Huh?”

“I love you because you're Lee Juyeon”

The male pouts as a blush paints his cheeks, “I wanted to hear specifics. Like, like… you know!”

You chuckle at your lover's reaction and caress his hand on the table. “I'll give you specifics then, alright?”

“More than alright”

“Hmm let's see…”

No.1: “Lee Juyeon is a caring man.”

Date: Feb 14th, 2019.

Valentine's Day 2019. The day you weren't able to go on the date the two of you had planned for weeks because you had a fever.

The two of you have been calling each other all day, hearing the sound of his voice made you feel better each second.

During the whole call you heard rustling in the background but decided not to comment on it until you heard him walk out his house and enter his car.

“Juyeon..? Where are you going?”

“….Nowhere.. where are YOU going…?”

Once he returns the question back to you, the two of you say nothing. The voice of Juyeon’s gps tells you everything you need to know as you hear it say your street name.

“Juyo.. You shouldn't come over, I don't want to get you sick”

“Who said I'm coming over? I'm not coming over, just going somewhere..” He continues to act clueless the whole car ride, dodging questions and comments as he makes his way to your house.

Even as you watch his car pull into the driveway next to your mom's car, Juyeon still tries to act like he isn't at your house.

“Sweetheart, I don't even get what you're saying. I'm at home, is there another handsome, tall, kind, sweet, and did I say handsome man you're seeing?”

The phone hangs up as the doorbell is rung. Outside the window, you can see Juyeon on the steps to the door. Red roses hidden poorly behind his back.

“Oh! Didn't think I'd be seeing you here hon”

“This is my house.”

You sigh as Juyeon happily skips his way into your house, ignoring the sniffles of your nose and coughs escaping your mouth. “Juyeon you really shouldn’t be here. Even if it’s Valentine’s Day.” Opposing to your words, you shut the front door behind you.

“But if I wasn’t here, how could’ve I brought you these flowers?” He pulls out two bouquets of roses from behind his back, “One’s for your mom, because she's so sweet for having to deal with me here everyday”

Juyeon opens his arms with a big smile, “A small cold isn't going to stop me from showing my love for you” Your engulfed in his hold as he rests his head atop yours. “Sadly, I don't think anything will stop you Juyo.”

“Nope!” He pulls his head away just to come back and plant a kiss on your forehead. “Whether you're healthy or sick, I'll always be here beside you.”

No.2: "Lee Juyeon is a romantic man."

Date: Feb 14th, 2021.

Everybody knows what happened this year, no need to explain it. Juyeon was thanking the gods for the fact that the year prior, he came up with the idea for the two of you to move in together.

But there was one problem this Valentine's Day. He couldn't go out to get flowers this year. To him, it's the most important part of the gift. He didn't need to go out to get your gift because he got it a year before. But the flowers! What's February 14th without the surplus of flowers in the air?

A day before Valentine's Day, Juyeon did the last thing he thought he would be doing. Googling last-minute gift ideas for Valentine's Day.

It took an hour for him to find something to replace the missing flowers and it was perfect. Especially since they were easy to personalize. He's lucky they're easy to make too as he finished them while you were sleeping and hid them in his bedside drawer.

“Good morning, Juyo Honey~ Happy Valentine's Day!” You softly kiss his cheek, and he rustled awake at the warm feeling.

He blinks his eyes open and squints as he takes in his surroundings. Once his eyes land on you, they widen, and a soft smile makes its way onto his face.

Juyeon’s hands lay on your cheeks as he brings you closer to him for a soft kiss. “Happy Valentine's Day, sweetheart. Sorry I didn't make you breakfast in bed this year, I stayed up making you something last night.” He yawns and does a big stretch.

“Hon, you don't have to apologize.. I'm happy just staying here with you for hours- Wait made? Don't tell me… You made another giant card filled with pictures and glitter??”

“No! Come on, sweetie, you know I try not to repeat gifts. It's something even better,” He turns to his bedside table and reaches into the bottom drawer to get the first gift for you.

A gasp leaves your mouth as you lay your eyes on a bundle of paper flowers made by the man next to you.

“Juyeon! What- I- When did you make these? And how long? Oh my” You sit up, and the bundle is placed on your lap.

“Made it last night after you fell asleep. Only took me about… three hours?”

“I fell asleep at ten… You stayed up till one to finish these?”

“Well yeah, I was missing only the flowers this year. I had to find a way to have them for the day.”

Your face drops at his words, “There’s more..?”

“We're baking a cake together, I got the ingredients delivered.” Juyeon pauses before glancing towards the closet door, a common spot for hiding gifts in the household. “And there's a giant card…”

“Oh no…”

“It's confetti, not glitter this time! So there's a difference!”

No.3: "Lee Juyeon only has eyes for you."

Date: Feb 14th, 2016.

”sent to lee juyeon”

”For: lee juyeon”

”can this go to juyeon?”

Your school was doing a cute Valentine's Day event, pay a dollar or two to send your crush or lover or friend a simple carnation rose. Seems cute on paper, doesn't it?

Yes... But all the work of delivering flowers on Valentine's Day is as stressful as staying in class for the whole day. Who knew flowers could start so much drama?

People coming to the busy student council room and yelling at you because their flower wasn't sent first, couples sending flowers to other people and confessions. Way too many confessions.

Someone at the center of a majority of these confessions is Lee Juyeon. Last year his friends, Younghoon and Hyunjae graduated so now it's like all the confessions piled onto him.

“Flower delivery!” You knock on the classroom door, and the teacher inside gasps at the amount of carnations you and your fellow council member were holding.

“Oh my! Is there one for every student? Why is there so much?”

“All for Juyeon.”

“Oh..”

“We'll be back here don't worry.”

Valentine's Day was never your favorite holiday, why show all your love for someone on one day when you can do it every day?

The door to the student council room slammed open before you could even touch it, another annoyed and entitled student bursts out. Your friends inside sigh at the outburst.

“Oh Y/n! There's something up with this one flower” Yunjin beckons you to the table with notes and letters. “Did you plan on confessing to Juyeon today? Because if so, you made a mistake on the form.”

“Confessing on Valentine's Day? I thought you knew me by now. Let me see this.” Before you can take a look at the note, it's snatched out of Yunjin's hand.

“Eric?!? What the??”

“Oh uhm… I'll go and deliver this flower, hold up.”

“But you're on writing duty! Your handwriting's the best-”

“There’s two piles done!”

Eric runs out the door with the note, grabbing a red carnation to complete the set.

“It's everyday with this kid.. Sorry Y/n but, do you think you can go and bring him back. Easy way to get a small break from delivering flowers”

Yunjin looks at you with a pleading look on her face, and you send a nod and a thumbs up her way as you head toward the door.

Luckily Eric didn't wander far and good thing his voice carries across the hallway as you were able to find him quickly. Oh! He's talking to Juyeon..

“Dude! You're lucky I got a hold of the note before they did-"

“Eric? You keep on running off. What's the excuse this time.”

“Uhhh….” Eric's like a deer caught by the headlights as he thinks about what to say, “This is my excuse” He pushes Juyeon towards you and runs back to the student council room.

“Hi..”

“Hi Juyeon, don't worry, all of your flowers were delivered. You don't have to go home with like three piles of flowers-”

“This is for you,” The boy in front of you holds out the red carnation. He looks away from you with blushing cheeks and shy eyes. “Happy Valentine's Day, Y/n.”

"What the fuck???"

After the initial shock fades away, you find yourself softly smiling at the surprising actions of Juyeon. Hands reach out towards the flower in his hands, “Happy Valentine's Day, Juyeon. Are you free after school?”

“What?!?” His head flinches to your direction and his eyes widen, “Me? I mean, I think so.”

“Juyeon, do you want to go out on a date with me?”

He's left speechless at your boldness, his face almost as red as the flower in your hand.

“Of course!”

No.4: "Lee Juyeon always knows what you need."

Date: Feb 14th, 2022.

“Are you sure you can drive yourself back home?”

“Yes, hon, I'm sure. And I'm already halfway there!”

“Okay okay, just making sure..”

You were currently on your way home from work. Yes, you were working on Valentine's Day, unfortunate, right? Plans had to be rescheduled due to the sudden schedule changes your boss made without warning.

A bouquet of roses rested in the passenger seat next to you. Waiting to be gifted to your lover, “Juyo, When I get home, do you think you can-” Through the phone, a loud crash is heard, followed by a faint ‘oh no!’, “Juyeon.. Are you okay?”

“Sweetheart.. Why are the suitcases on the highest point of the closet..?”

“Because we never go any…where….”

“Oops…” Juyeon hangs up the phone right as you pull up to the house. Your keys rattle in your hand as you unlock the door, roses in the other hand.

Juyeon is nonchalantly sitting on the couch like nothing happened, “Oh hey! How was work?” He gets up to embrace you and plant a kiss on your forehead.

“Hon you can't just ignore what you hinted at just now.”

“Hinted?? What did i hint at? Ha.. Oh, wait! What's that over there??” Juyeon points to a random object behind you, and foolishly, you turn. The bouquet is snatched out of your hand, and Juyeon bolts into the kitchen.

“Juyeon!-”

Laying across the kitchen table were rose petals. They formed a heart around an envelope and your passports. Inside the envelope was confetti and a printed out paper conforming the plane tickets of Juyeon and you to Italy.

“Don't worry, I contacted your boss for the days off. He's actually weirdly nice, asked me if I wanted a job.”

“You.. booked us a flight to Italy…”

“Yeah, sweetheart you've been working so hard these days. You were literally just on shift not even an hour ago, and it's Valentine's Day. My love needs a break, I know there's a bunch of stress bubbling inside that pretty head of yours.”

Juyeon pulls you closer to him, his hand stroking your head, “You've been doing so well, sweetie. I'm here whenever you need me.”

You bring your arms around his waist as you bury your head onto his body. “I don't know what I'd do without you, Juyo.. Every year, you always manage to show me up on Valentine's Day, though.”

“I think it's because I'm better, haha!”

“I'm throwing my luggage at you later.”

No.5: "Lee Juyeon loves you."

Date: Feb 14th, 2024.

“Why'd you ask me that question?”

Juyeon’s eyes start to waver across your face, his hands resting beside him as he leans back into his chair.

“No reason, it's just.. did you notice it yet? The flowers..”

Your eyes land on the flowers sitting on the side of your kitchen table. A mix of red and pink roses fill the vase. One flower sticks out from the rest, a red carnation.

A soft smile appears on your face, and fingers reach out to softly caress the flower. “The first flower you ever gave me.. How sweet” Your hand softly grabs a hold of the flower, pulling it out of the vase.

“No wait!-” Juyeon was cut off by the sound of something falling off the carnation's stem. His hands were quick to grab the object before you noticed what it was. “Uhm…”

“Juyeon… What fell from the stem?”

“What fell from what? Haha.. More like, what's that over there?!?”

“I'm not falling for that again.”

“Oh.”

Juyeon sighed and mumbled under his breath, “You know what, I was going to wait till after we finish eating, but why wait any longer.”

He stands up from his seat and makes his way around the table until he's right by you. The male grabs ahold of your hand as he takes a seat next to you. His lips softly make contact with your knuckles, and his eyes lock onto yours.

“Juyo..? What.. What is this..?”

“Something I've wanted for years, a romantic dinner in the house I share with the person I love the most.” Juyeon says with a soft smile, his thumb caressing your hand. “Can you believe it's already been eight years since I confessed to you?”

“Eight years already? That's so weird. It felt like only a few years ago. Maybe it's because when I'm with you, you always make me feel like a high school student with a crush.”

He chuckles at your words, “Valentine's Day has always been a special day for us, hasn't it? I can’t wait to spend more and more years with you.” Juyeon pushes himself off the chair and onto the ground on one knee.

“Your shoelaces are untied-”

“Juyeon I'm not wearing…shoes..”

Your words trail away from your mouth as Juyeon looks up at you and reveals the object he that hid from you, a ring. In his hands lay a sparkling and beautiful ring.

“What the fuck?? Juyeon?-”

“Ever since I met you in senior year, you've been the only person on my mind. My mornings start with you, my nights end with you, and my days are all about you.” His shaky hand comes back to your own, and he holds on tight.

“You are the light of my life, and I knew you were my one true love since you made that same reaction when I confessed to you. So… will you let me spend a lifetime with you by saying yes?”

By this point, both of your eyes are watery, but the love in each other's eyes is visible through the blury tears.

“Will you marry me?”

“Get out! Of course I will!!”

★☆★ AUTHOR'S GOODBYE = technically, its still valentines day… so i made it before the deadline hehe anyways thank you for reading i love yall and shout out to all the hotties out there mwah byebye

☆★☆ TAGLIST = @sanasour, @boomhoon, @loonaluvz, @deoboyznet

#deoboyznet #tbz imagines #tbz x reader #the boyz drabbles #the boyz imagines #the boyz x reader #juyeon x reader #lee juyeon x reader

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