#i love him to pieces but i just know only about a third of his character development atm | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

acalfinthemuseum · 2 days

Text

nightingale

Fandom: Succession Pairing: Roman Roy x F!Reader Length: 15.5k words AO3 Link: acalfinthemuseum This is my first time writing a fanfic ever so please be gentle, I just couldn't resist writing something about my favorite little chew toy, Roman Roy. There's a little bit of Spanish sprinkled in because I love anything that keeps a miscommunication trope running. Click the AO3 link or see the footnotes at the bottom for a translation. English might be my first language but I’m bad at both lmao Genre: Angst, Fluff, and Smut. Porn with Big feelings

Tags: weird power dynamics, spit kink, slight degradation (mutual), fingerfucking, mutual masturbation, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of familial abuse Summary: Your job as an assistant to New York’s most eligible fascist bachelor, Roman Roy, comes with a lot of challenges. You find it hard to leave him though when you see the way his family treats him, and that's the only reason why you stay. It has nothing to do with the way he makes your face heat up at times. You both have a gift for digging under each other's skin and it's only more amplified when he visits your home late one night.

You find yourself hunched over your kitchen table and feel your eyes glaze over the unfinished puzzle taking over two-thirds of the table’s surface. Your brow furrows in frustration as you stare at the jigsaw pieces over the rim of your mug; sipping the “sleepy time” tea that has failed you miserably. You avoid looking at your phone, knowing that it’d only frustrate you more if you saw the time tick away closer to 3 in the morning. Sleep has evaded you once again, nothing new. You had decided long ago that rather than try to beg your body to let you sleep, thrashing about pathetically on your bed, you’d ride it out. You’ve rebranded your chronic insomnia as just a little bit of “me time” where you try to do the hobbies that you say you enjoy to people during small talk. You can practically hear your brain cells fizzle out and you decide to step away from the puzzle and sprawl over the nearby couch. You close your eyes in hopes that you might finally drift off but that dreadful antsy feeling— that anxiety for a train that will never pull in— seeps back in. Your eyes snap back open and you let out a small groan as you peel yourself off of the couch, opting to pace around for a bit instead. This was actually the first time in a few weeks that you’ve had to confront this problem. Your job, an assistant to New York’s most eligible fascist bachelor, Roman Roy, could almost be considered a relief to this issue of yours. Almost.

Your boss had a nasty habit of making you work late and not just an hour or two of overtime. He’d like to call you up at night when you had finally settled in at home and he’d ask —tell— you to come running right back to the office. Any sign of rebuttal from you is met with a quirky threat of firing you, raking you over proverbial coals. And, like the sweet dumb lamb you are, you do go running back to help him with whatever menial tasks he’s given that evening; there you are, hunched over the boardroom table (much larger than your own kitchen table) looking through the papers that clearly didn’t interest Roman enough for him to actually move from his perch. At times you’d look up from your work to look at him as he leans far back on a rollie chair sipping at god knows what kind of alcohol from the overpriced crystal in his hand. Each time you see him you quietly hope that he’ll lean too far and eat shit. No one has heard your silent prayer yet. The work he gave you during those nights was never too difficult, which you were grateful for, but sometimes it was the ease of it that drove you insane. It left you feeling a little hollow, an insignificant gray decoration for his desk that hasn’t had any time to do things outside of his orbit, even if you wanted to. Your own friends have started begging you to leave, find a job where your boss didn't expect you to drop everything and run, but for some reason you won’t. It was painfully cliché to say, but you didn’t find Roman nearly that bad during those evenings. Every so often he said something you genuinely found funny and in exchange there were other not so rare moments where you managed to make him crack. He would always order too much of some type of ludicrously expensive food for himself and then guilt you into finishing what he couldn’t. Eventually you realized it was his way to keep the both of you from starving overnight. His leftovers were always conveniently your favorites, you found him even ordering things he normally hated. He also always made it a point to message you each time you headed back home. Caring enough to check that you were still alive was as low as a bar could be but you did emphasize flexibility in your resume and you were, shamefully, a little too eager to bend for him. You couldn’t bring yourself to fully hate him but it was even worse that you found yourself liking him a little.

You remember one night you were in his office and he had given you the task of forging his signature on months’ worth of papers— a mind numbing task that you were certain he had given to you as a form of entrapment. You finished up rather quickly that night. The clock hadn’t even reached 1am and as you stood up, hoping to leave, he added on another task: to proofread his latest speech for a shareholder meeting. If he had asked you at a reasonable hour you might’ve been intrigued at the idea of being trusted enough to edit your boss’s work. But that night you felt snappy and asked why he couldn’t just use some sort of AI software instead to polish whatever garbage he had frankensteined together. He shot back that the moment a new Alexa or Cortana came with a better pair of tits he’d happily fire you on the spot. You must have felt sentimental that night because the only response you could muster was a bitter “thanks ”. A smarter person would’ve heard something like that and quit, but a little part of you felt fuzzy when you saw him grin at his own joke. An even sadder part was almost curious to know what that meant about how he looked at you, the phrase “better” implying he looked at your chest often enough to develop an opinion of it. Did you want that? You shake your head free of the memory, You drag your hands across your face and groan, suddenly feeling a little pathetic thinking about your boss late at night. You take in a deep breath and step towards your kitchen table once more. The loud, grating buzzer at your apartment’s door causes you to flinch midstep, fuck! For a split second you flip through all of the possibilities of who it might be and how quickly you could hide in safety if your home intrusion nightmares prove true. You slowly step back into your kitchen and you jump at the sudden ring of your phone. Speak of the devil and he will appear.

“Roman?” You answer curtly, any fear you may have felt is now blanketed by a layer of annoyance.

“Finally! I knew you were awake, now be a dear and open the door!”

“That’s you?? Why are you here? Go home.”

“Hmmm nah, nope. I’m good here. Now open up.”

“No???”

“ ‘kay, let me make it easier, open the door ooorrrr you’re fired.”

You feel your eyes threatening to roll back into your sockets as you head towards the door. You’re not particularly thrilled by the idea of him being in your home but you know he’d never leave without at least harassing your neighbors. Too tired to reason with him further, as is often the case, you do as he says and head to open the door for him. You crack the door open a smidge, blocking the opening with your body, he asked you to open the door —not to let him in. Your eyebrows raise in surprise as your gaze lands on a disheveled Roman, he raises one hand to wiggle his fingers in a hollow hello. You ignore the greeting and blurt out the first thing you notice.

“You look like shit.” Not the nicest thing you could say but you could live with that guilt.

“Aw, thanks.”

“What do you want?”

“Do you think the only reason I’m here is because I want something? That’s a little mean, I thought we were friends.”

Your mind slides the word friends back and forth, like floss between your ears.

“Are we?”

You let that question hang in the air, the idea of being considered Roman’s friend felt equal parts exciting and disappointing. Maybe he could tell you were hesitant. You didn’t like holding eye contact with Roman, it made you feel . . odd. But your annoyance, coupled with the restless hum that’s kept you awake, seems to help take the edge off and you don’t look away. The lighting is crude and sterile in the halls of your apartment building, your cheap landlord is seemingly attached to the fluorescent’s hostile charms, but you can still trace out what’s different about him tonight. You were accustomed to seeing him lose a bit of his polish at these hours when at work. His stupid slicked down hair turns unruly, suit jackets and ties go missing and his sleeves roll up unevenly, wrinkling his pristinely starched shirts. You’ve caught yourself staring at this version of him once or twice. It’s painful to admit that you thought he looked good— you’d sooner bite off your tongue than use the actual word you had initially thought of when you saw him, attractive . But tonight he looks tired, the stark lights shadow his face harshly and, when he shifts slightly, you notice he’s hurt. A busted lip and a matching cut on his right cheek are undeniable. You feel your jaw clench tight and an icy feeling slides down your neck.

“Rome…..” You hesitate using that nickname, it feels foreign in your mouth. Something indecipherable flickers past his eyes. You had heard the name said numerous times between his family but you weren’t quite sure if familiarity was a requirement for it. You push through it and keep speaking. “…. what happened?”

The smug smile he wore when you first opened the door has been pulled into a frown. He thought he’d be able to fall back into a comfy rhythm when he got you to open the door but the look in your eyes makes him feel small and stupid for even considering being here. His eyes drop to his feet and voice gets a little quieter.

“Can I come in? Please?”

The tension in your jaw releases when you hear him say please. You suddenly feel guilty making him wait outside like a stranded animal.

“Y-yeah, come on….”

You step aside to make room in the doorway for him. His shoulder brushes against yours as he steps inside and you bite your inner cheek at the rare touch, now’s no time for that. It was hard to push it down though, as big of a penchant as Roman had for draping himself over things, he rarely touched you. You had touchy bosses in the past so he was a welcome change, but sometimes it left you wondering if it meant something, like if he had a weird repulsion around you. Maybe that was for the best because you couldn't be certain that you'd pull away if he did lean in. You get a better look at him once you've closed the door and headed into the warm light of your kitchen and you feel a load of stones drop in your stomach.

“Shit. You look bad.” You grimace looking at the cuts on his face. He lets out a small puff of air through his nose.

“Are you always this nice to your guests?” His face scrunches up as if offended but the hint of amusement in his voice relaxes you a bit.

“Only the ones that I’m friends with.” He can hear a teasing lilt in your voice.

“Fuck off.” You see a small smile on his face and that warm fuzziness in your chest returns.

Hot coals sit heavy in your stomach though as you think of how it must hurt to smile like that with his face the way it is now. You roam around the kitchen to fix him a cup of water and some pain meds. You remember whiffing some type of malt liquor off of him when he brushed past you and then decide to pick out the dosage for him. You feel uninterested in helping damage his liver any further. You place the cup and pills on the countertop in front of him.

“Take this.”

He picks up the cup and pills in either hand. His eyes narrow as he looks at the medicine in his palm and back up to you.

“You better not be trying to roofie me.”

“Only in your dreams, Roman….” Your reply sounds tired. Ah, there’s the annoying man you know and love, you think to yourself.

“Clearly. Can’t even get you to admit that we’re friends, fuck .” His voice grows bristly and he looks back down at the pills in his hand.

“Why are you so bent over this?” Your face is furrowed with frustrated confusion.

He glares at the bargain brand ibuprofen in his open palm. A sour look grows on his face and he mutters under his breath.

“Yousaiditfirst.”

“What?”

Despite your one worded question, he leaves no space after what he said to elaborate. He swings the meds into his mouth and chugs all the water in his cup. You stare as he drinks, watching his throat gulp it all down. He takes in a sharp breath and sets his cup down on the countertop once he’s done.

“You said it first.” He repeats it clearly.

You give him a blank stare, cocking your head inquisitively, and if it were a different time and place he’d think you looked like a pretty bird. Roman grits his teeth and narrows his eyes at you, he knows that all things considered he shouldn’t be cold around you right now. It’s a dick move, but something about the genuine curiosity on your face as you blink at him makes him feel irritable. He knew when he hired you that people often deemed you to be a patient person, at least more so than the average person. And he had a wonderful knack for testing the nerves of anyone in a 15 ft radius. A perfect fit. He felt an initial sick glee at dragging you around everywhere, a shiny new stretch armstrong toy to entertain himself with. It made things easier that he actually enjoyed being around you; he thought you were funny, smart too, in a way that mattered. He had spent plenty of time around enough mouthbreathers to know the difference. You felt like a real person to him, a nice one, not some smarmy creep that plays all field but rather, someone who had a large capacity for kindness. And right now he feels like it’s coming back to bite him in the ass. You felt comfortable to him and that was an uncomfortable thought to have. He’s noticed that he’s always looking forward to being around you, to the point that whenever you’ve tried to leave him on late nights he feels offended. Wasn’t being around him enough for you like it was for him? He liked to bury that thought by reminding you, both of you, that he could ruin your life in minutes. You can’t go away, the only way this can end is if he makes you. He knows you’re smart and part of him tries to convince himself that that should be enough for you to already know how he feels and why he acts the way he does around you. It’s a half-boiled alibi that helps him feel better about being a shitty friend. Why did you come back to the office, why did you open the door, why did you answer your phone? It’s not his fault if you kept coming back after he gave you numerous outs, right? It’s incredibly manipulative of you to look so fucking sweet and make him feel guilty for being a constant shithead. Yep, your fault. Not his.

“You were the first one to say it. Remember? Amigo?? Your cousin???” His voice sounds like he tastes something bitter around the word amigo. You give him an empty blink and then it clicks.

“Oh.”

He was right.

That night was such a shitshow, it’s no wonder that you had forgotten what you said. There were parts of it you wish that you could forget. It was while you were all still in Argestes, Roman and his siblings were set to speak on a panel together and address the controversy surrounding gross misconduct rampant in their company’s cruise line. In a twist no one could ever have predicted, Shiv and Kendall use it as a chance to stomp each other out, and then there’s Roman, with barely enough room to squeeze in a paltry line. You remember the dejected slump of his shoulders when they all walked back into the green room, you stood close by but didn’t speak, listening on as siblings and father bicker. You remember hearing Roman grilling into Shiv, the way she threw their dad overboard. He sounded vaguely content, like he was eager to have a chance to kick the dog rather than be kicked. The smugness was knocked out clean in one sudden strike. You blink, there’s the loud smack, a blur of Logan’s hand, and Roman keeling over, hand over his face. You feel cold, stuck in place watching it unfold. His siblings help him up, others focus on talking Logan down, pleading with him, and when you see blood you think you can feel your heart stop. You snap into movement, scrounging around the room for ice and a towel– a rag, anything that might help. Your head nervously sways around the room, looking at Roman and then back at your surroundings, each time you look at him it feels more urgent, you have to stop the bleeding. You look back and he’s making a beeline to leave. You need to stop the bleeding. You chase after him.

“Roman! Roman, wait! Rom—”

He groans loudly and turns on his heels, about to tell you to “fuck off” when you crash into him slightly from momentum. You mutter a few “sorry”s but don’t leave him any room to reply, your hands press a makeshift ice pack to his face. He tenses when you take his hand in yours, guiding it to hold the bundle in place.

“Come on, let’s go.”

He doesn’t respond, he feels like he can’t. Maybe the slap was enough to bite his tongue off. But even if he could retaliate, he doesn’t want to, not now when your hands rest on his forearm; your grip is gentle as you guide him to the parking lot. He gets in when you open the car door and it’s not till you’ve driven off the property that he looks back at you and manages to mumble something.

“Where the fuck are you even going?”

“Not sure.” A dentist hopefully. Home, eventually.

You don’t look at him when you answer, eyes locked on the road ahead. He notices your knuckles growing white as you grip the wheel but he doesn’t say more, icing his wounds feels like a perfect excuse. You call up a distant cousin, one who, luckily enough, had opened up their own dental practice less than an hour away. It’s only till the third call that they answer, they had been getting ready for bed. You speak to them Spanish, it serves as both a familial appeal and a chance for some privacy. Roman focuses on you as you talk, suddenly regretting not paying more attention in his language classes back in college. Your face is enough to keep him vaguely in the know. Your cousin sounded tired, unconvinced and you looked scared.

“Anda primuis…. Por fa?? Es mi amigo.” ¹

Now that’s a part that he understands, he feels a funny flutter in his chest when he hears it. That sentence feeds a warm hopeful part of him but it’s accompanied by a strong sense of guilt when he hears your voice crack oh so slightly. You were scared. He fucked up and now you’re stuck here trying to help piece him back together. Great. He turns his head away and looks out the passenger window. There’s dozens of things that could float around his mind at this moment but he tries to hold on to that weak little sound byte. It’s all he could repeat in his mind to keep from crying, he keeps his face stiff and watery eyes trained to the window. He doesn’t speak the rest of the car ride, you barely make out a slight nod of his head when you hang up the phone and tell him you’re headed to your cousin's office. You give silent thanks when you see your cousin's car already in the parking lot.

Roman greets them politely, a bit more quiet than you’re used to seeing him, but he looks collected and that gives you some relief. You act as your cousin's assistant, handing them tools you vaguely recognize and holding a mirror and light in place. Apparently Logan had managed to knock off one of Roman’s veneers; the porcelain had left some nasty cuts on his gums. It was a quick enough fix between the two of you. You neared the final step and you watched your cousin prep a needle, ready to numb an area where Roman needed a suture. Absent-mindedly, one of your hands grips his arm. He tenses slightly under the comforting squeeze and you worry that you overstepped something, not used to seeing him so still. Once the final stitch is tied off, you step back and admire the work. Your cousin instructs Roman to smile and you both feel relieved that your work paid off, his smile looked as unfairly handsome as you thought it always did. Before you can think clearly, you blurt out something that Roman can only conceive of as a stupid joke.

“You look nice.”

He clicks his tongue in response. You think you can see warmth in his eyes when he smiles at you; a small dimpled thing. He opens his mouth to give you another quip in return but your cousin ushers you away to the corner of the office and Roman feels a chill on his neck. He hears them speak to you in Spanish again and he tries not to look strained as he leans forward a bit, trying to hear you.

“Sabes que me puedes decir lo qué sea, verdad?” ² Your cousin's voice sounds soft, a little like yours.

“Qué?” Roman knew that word, you’ve even made that same scrunched up face at him a couple times.

“Es tu novio?”³ He knew that word too, your cousin's head tilted slightly in his direction. his ears perk up and that weird flutter comes back. His eyes stay on your face, he tries to decipher the look on your face: embarrassment? disgust?

“No.” You punctuate that word with a small bark of laughter. Roman suddenly feels sick.

“Creo que el no sabe eso. Te queda viendo.”⁴ He’s lost again. Your head turns to look right at him. Shit . You lock eyes with him and smile. If he didn’t already feel a little dizzy, he would have now. Something about that smile felt like a slap. He supposes that rejection doesn’t always need a physical hand to follow in order for it to hit. You look away and he feels something sharp. It’s as if you had just sliced him, belly up.

“Soy la única cosa en este méndigo cuarto que él reconoce. Obvio que me queda viendo. No soy pendeja.”⁵ He’s got no clue what you said, but you sound a little defensive, annoyed even. There’s still a smile on your face when you turn back to talk to your cousin. Roman can’t see it fully but it loses its warmth. He assumes that, as usual, he’s the distasteful thing in the room. In reality you turn away to avoid your face growing flushed once more. Leave it to the family to strike a nerve so easily.

“Hm.” A skeptical sound from your cousin.

“Hm.” You mimic, not enjoying the doubtful look they give you. Not enjoying the skip you felt in your pulse when you noticed Roman looking. This was something you’d have to think about later and you weren’t looking forward to it.

“Me vale madre pues. Dile que le va a costar 60 bolas, descuento familiar.”⁶ Your cousin gives a smug smile, believing your annoyance proves their point. They’re definitely telling your aunt and uncle.

“Oh.” You can’t say much more. You feel your face grow hot as the memory comes back. He heard that , you wonder what other parts he listened in on.

“Oh.” He echoes bitterly. The accusing glint in his eyes is gone but part of you wants it to come back. Anything might be better than the disappointment that’s left there. That pang of guilt you had swings back in at full force.

“I’m sorry.” You sound defeated, your head tilting down. You feel a pinch of regret following him that night, you never questioned if he even wanted you there.

“You’re sorry ?” You’re gutting him.

“I— I shouldn’t have said that.” Maybe you had misread things, maybe he didn’t want you close. He certainly reminded you often enough of your fragile position to make that a possibility. That couldn’t be further from the truth though and your meek little “apology” for calling Roman your friend entrenches him further in his belief that there’s no way you actually ever liked him.

You won’t look him in the eyes, his empty glass on the counter now more interesting than him. Oh, you are twisting that fucking knife into him.

“Oh so now you’re just taking it back??” A new emotion for tonight. You had the displeasure of an angry Roman in your kitchen now and you weren’t even exactly sure why.

“Wha– do you want to be friends?” Your eyes snap back up to his and he almost flinches. You look upset, sound upset, but the question is worded the same way a kindergartener would ask it. He’s surprised your teeth aren’t rotting out from the sickly sweetness. He didn't want to answer you. It would have been easier if you had never picked up the phone tonight. Of course, he wanted to be friends, he’d take anything you’d give him and it feels humiliating.

“Fuck no.” Roman lets out a mirthless giggle.

You’re not happy with his answer. You don’t want to believe it and you’re not gonna. You wonder if Roman would’ve ever done the same for you; given you the option of being friends. He’s got on a cruel tight-lipped smile and you realize he never would’ve given you the option. Why offer that courtesy to him? You take in a short breath.

“Sounds like you really want to be friends with me.” You ignore the prickle of heat at your tear ducts and manage to conjure up a self-assured smile.

“I don’t. You probably have cooties.” He quips with a jeer.

“I do, actually. Aaaaaaand you drank my spit water.” He ews. You keep going.

“So we’re pretty much cootie-bonded to each other forever. I’m, like, legally your friend now. ” You see his face struggle to shape itself into what he wants. His nose is wrinkled in disgust but his mouth threatens to pull into an earnest smile. You grin, feeling a speck of warmth grow in your chest. Every so often you understand why Roman enjoys being a pest, his annoyance is funny to you.

“Yeah? Well, I’m not yours.” He was, though.

“That’s fine. I can work with that.” You manage to sound casual.

“I don’t like you.” There isn’t any acid in his voice as the smile that was pulling at the corners of his mouth fully takes hold. He likes you. But the words still sting a bit. You feel your throat getting a little tight, you have to tread lightly. Back and forths were fun for you till they suddenly weren’t.

“Bummer. My cooties like you, I can hear them. They're swirling around in there.” You step a little closer, eyeing his stomach in stubborn commitment to the bit. There’s a glimmer of pride when you hear him laugh. A full bellied, honest laugh.

“You’re gross.” And just like that you manage to coast past something stormy, Roman’s no longer souring the air. He really fucking likes you. A small part of him wants to kiss you, condemn you with real cooties. But he smiles back at you instead. Your heart rate shoots up and you blame it on the lack of sleep, not the twinkle in his eyes.

“At least I’m not the one who looks gross.” You move to grab a damp paper towel. “Seriously, did you even bother cleaning yourself before you got here?”

“Shut up. It’s not that bad.” His brows rise up in emphasis.

“It kinda is.” You move in closer, feeling bold. Your hands reach out to wipe his face but he grabs hold of your wrists. You let out a small huff and try to pull out of their grip.

“Stop that.” His voice gets a little higher, like he’s nervous.

“No.” You both wriggle around like that for a bit. It looks a little silly, like he was trying to keep you from tickling him.

“Fuck off.”

“Just lemme see it.” You lift your arm in a way that gives you a chance to bite his hand. He lets go of your hands, swearing loudly but not in pain, just surprise. You manage to wipe at the cut on his cheek. He can feel his mouth go dry when you stand so close.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it …” You trail off, distracted. That cold feeling creeps back in. He watches your brow furrow in concern. “You’re still bleeding.”

“It’ll be fine.” He looks unconcerned and that breaks your heart. Maybe he’s ok with bleeding out but you weren’t.

“It will be. Wait here. Don’t . . . don’t fucking touch anything.” You take a step away from him and he feels like the room gets a little cold without you in it.

As you make your way to your room, looking for the first aid kit you kept somewhere, Roman stands in your kitchen. For a moment he’s stuck in place, all he can do is think of what just happened. Clenching and unclenching his hands into fists repeatedly, he tries to linger on how soft your wrists felt, it unsettles him how nicely his fingers wrapped around them. He feels a little dizzy knowing he’s actually in your home and you haven’t even tried to kick him out yet. But the sting and dull painful ache across his face sober him up a bit. You were a nice person, and you were doing the things a nice person was expected to do for their friend. He shouldn’t think anything of this. Part of him wasn’t even sure if he would have gotten such a warm welcome if he didn’t show up bloodied on your doorstep. He didn’t dislike you patching him but he didn’t want this to be the only thing you saw in him; a sniveling puppy of a man. He lets out a deep breath and walks around your home, trying not to dwell on his feelings of inadequacy. The puzzle you left on your dining table catches his eye. His eyes scan over the pieces, he remembers your instruction to not touch anything and decides to ignore it. A single jigsaw bit stands out to him, he holds and places it gently, like he doesn’t want to make any noise. The piece fits right in and Roman smiles to himself, a small blink of accomplishment. He hears your footsteps but he’s still caught off guard when he looks up and sees you right by his side.

“Didn’t I say not to touch anything? You better not be fucking up my puzzle.” You sound so warm. The small smile you give him is annoyingly cute.

“I’m not. I’m just giving you the help you clearly need.” Roman’s stomach feels lighter.

“Charitable of you.” You say flatly. There’s a smug smile on his face.

“Very.”

“I hear you’re getting the key to the city tomorrow?”

“Yep, everyone loves me. Wouldn't kill you to be grateful either. You should be saying " Oh, thank you sooo much, Mr. Roy!” He bats his eyes at you. “Please, how can I repay you? I’d do anything . . .” His voice goes high and airy trying to mimic you. You fail to hold back a laugh and he feels ill from the dopamine rush that sound gives him.

“I don't sound like that.” You try to sound annoyed, it's unconvincing.

“You do.” He gives you his signature shit eating grin and flicks a jigsaw piece at you, it bounces off your shoulder.

“I do not.” You fling a puzzle bit at him in return but it sails right past him miserably. He chuckles, sticks his tongue out and blows a raspberry. Actually annoyed now, you reach out and flick his nose. He groans and his face scrunches up; the sound makes your cheeks feel a little warm.

“Fuck you.” His voice is a little lower as he rubs his nose. You giggle a bit.

“Anything for you, Mr. Roy.” You say dryly. You continue and give Roman a smug smile of your own. “Now go sit on the damn couch.”

With a dramatic “ ugh!” he does as you say and moves to the couch, you follow close behind. You set out the first aid items on the side table. You perch on the sofa’s arm as you flip through the kit for some alcohol wipes. You open the packet and stand up, thinking it might be easier to just lean over him. He suddenly feels squeamish when your hand guides his chin to look up at you.

“You washed your hands right?” He asks. He already knows the answer but he’s looking for something to fill up the silence.

“Of course I did.” One of your legs knocks against his knees and it rattles through him.

“You’re sure?” He does his best to not look a little panicky but he can smell the laundry detergent you use and he hates how much he likes it.

“Positive.” You look down at him a little worried. You think he’s still making a fuss in stubborn faith that the cuts will turn out fine. Your frustration leaves a bit of a kick in your words. “Roman, I need you to trust me and shut the fuck up for once in your life .”

“Okay, okay. . . I’ll shut up now.”

You both end up feeling uneasy- oddly guilty. You regret telling him to shut up. Your hands reach back for his face gently, you hope he can't tell there’s a slight tremble in your hands. He can’t, he’s too focused on how warm they are. But the words you said are snagging into his sides. There's a part of him that wonders how much he annoys you and if you knew how much he actually did trust you. You were the first one he thought of when he got hurt.

“Sorry. That was a little mean.” Your voice is quiet again and it sounds so soft. Weight is piling onto Roman’s chest.

“It’s fine.” He sounds so small, there’s a part of you that wants nothing more than to just hold him. Another small but loud and prideful part is disgusted by the idea of coddling him and it shames the rest of you into stoic submission. The guilt eats away at you but you give him a small doleful smile before you tilt his face to the side.

“Deep breath. This is gonna sting a little.” He does and you begin to lightly wipe the fresh cut on his face. You hear him grunt a bit, his face scrunches slightly in discomfort. You let out a small commiserating hiss as you stare in concentration at the angry welt along his cheekbone. You bite your lip as you apply ointment to the area.

“This really looks like it hurts.” The concern in your voice is clear and he can feel the skin on his cheek tingle from both the rubbing alcohol and your touch. He looks up at you from the corner of his eyes, his head still turned and he feels like it's almost worth the pain when you glide your finger across his cheek to keep the bandage in place. Your tightly knit brow drops when you hear him chuckle.

“You should’ve seen the other guy.” He slides back into that sarcastic tone so easily. You don’t fight it, you know it helps him feel a bit safer.

“Oh yeah, what did he look like?” Roman sees a flash of teeth when you grin as you speak. Your voice sounds amused and he tries to ignore the blood rushing to his face when you guide him to look you head on again. It feels like you’re taunting him when you gingerly push his hair back a bit, his scalp tingles where your nails drag along and he wants to sink into your couch.

“Geriatric. Wrinkly old fuck kicked my ass.” His voice is quiet and tense. The latter for more reasons than you were aware of.

“Hm” You let out a quick, sharp puff of air, not enough to even be classified as a snort or a chuckle. You mull over his words for a moment. You know he meant his dad and you feel something in you freeze. You hate seeing him get hurt, but you know well how much someone could put up with, how strongly you can want someone to love you back. You rattle your brain trying to find something a little helpful to say. You can’t. “You were doing your best.”

“I fucked it.” He frowns. Your palms are warm when they cradle his chin and he wants to enjoy that but he can’t. It’s a little sad that this is the only way he can get you to touch him.

“Maybe. You tried though.” Your thumb presses lightly against his bottom lip, trying to get a better look at the wound. Roman hisses a bit, he can feel his cock get hard and he feels . . . icky, for lack of a better word. You’re trying to care about him and he was being gross, creepy; he needs to leave.

“I think that makes it worse.” You sigh through your nose, you want him to let you in but you focus back on patching the cracks for now.

“Deep breath.”

A pitiful, pained noise is caught in his throat, his body jerks away from you and it’s just enough to make you lose your footing. You steady yourself by gripping his shoulder roughly, one your legs that fell forward against the couch is now slotted between his knees. You’re the closest you’ve ever been and Roman’s scared shitless.

“You fucking bitch.” His words are slurred as he sucks in air to soothe the chemical sting. You feel like a disembodied hand is tightening its grasp on your throat.

“I told you to breathe, and don’t call me that.” You manage to spit out a response that doesn’t sound as weak as you feel.

“What? A bitch? Sowwy, does that hurt uwr feewings??” His voice slips easily into a mocking babyish voice. The tone sounds meaner than you’ve ever really heard it being directed at you and you aren’t sure how to respond, you feel your face grow pink with shame.

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you! And close your fucking legs, you’re letting in a draft!” He shoves your leg away from his knees and he shuts his legs tight, he tries not to look at his lap when he feels his cock twitch a bit in his pants. You’re completely oblivious.

“Stop saying that shit. I’m trying to fucking help you.” You bite your inner cheeks for a moment, a habit you developed as a kid to keep yourself from tearing up in front of others.

“Can’t help me much if I fall into your cavernous vagina, can you?” Hostility stretched into a smile makes it feel more like he’s baring his teeth. Roman’s mind is racing with things to say to get him out of this. A coyote typically settles for biting off his own limb to escape but yours will do fine.

“It’s not my fault that everything looks huge compared to your sad little cock.” Finally . You’re finally biting back, he’s trying to build a reason to push you out and you just took the bait.

“Oh that’s nice. I think Human Resources will love that one.”

“HR? Really? Don’t you think they’re tired of seeing your name come up in the complaint log weekly.”

“You’re right, it might just be better to let you go.”

“Ooo, you’re gonna threaten to fire me again? Cool. Awesome. Go ahead, if that’s what gets your wormy little dick stiff.”

“It does actually, yeah.”

“Well, I hope you actually get to fuck something once you’ve fucked me over.”

“Sure will, gonna hire a bouncy new little fuck bunny assistant. One that doesn’t use her dick lips to talk back.”

“I fucking hate you.” You pull on his hair, hard. Part of you doesn’t want to be this harsh with him after what his father did tonight but part of you knows that this doesn’t really hurt. Not as much as it should. Your eyes widen a bit in surprise, enjoying the sweet, wimpy cry that falls out of him; it makes you want to sit on his face. Roman finds it hard to breathe, the tip of his prick is dripping no doubt. His eyes are half lidded but they glimmer under the dim light of your living room as he blatantly stares at your lips. He's transfixed by how soft they look, your grip on him feels good and he doesn’t care enough to pull away. You rest your thumb on his lower lip again and his lips part but not wide enough.

“Open up.”

He nods a little and opens wide. His brain short circuits when you spit into his mouth. He thinks your spit tastes sweet like you— he ignores the idea that there might be something wrong with him. You feel that familiar wanting flutter down below when you watch him swallow your own spit. He whines again when your hand loosens its grip, he needs more. His hands, that were gripping the couch beneath him this entire time, find their way to the small of your back. He pulls you into his lap and buries his face into the crook of your neck, kissing any skin he can find. A nagging voice in your head knows that this is probably a horrible idea but then he nips the skin on your shoulder and you feel yourself turning into putty. Your grip on his hair tightens again as you look for something to cling onto, he groans and his breath is hot and wet against your skin. You say his name in a soft, pleased sigh and it makes something in him crack. Fuck . He needs to hear that again, the glowing pride he gets from making you sound like that feels addictive. He needs you, he doesn't really know how he’s held out this long around you. His kisses are feverish and his grip tightens around your hips. He can’t help but grind up into you looking for some relief. You tense when you feel how hard he is under you.

“Rome... wait.” His entire body stiffens under you, stopping immediately. He makes a cute little groan when he lifts his head away. His cheeks are flushed and you almost regret pulling away when you see how pretty he looks. You feel yourself clench around nothing.

“What is it?” He tries to sound casual, but he’s terrified that he might have fucked things up.

“I still need to fix your lip.” He groans again, this time in disappointment.

“We can do that later.” He sounds impatient but his thumbs rub light circles over your hips and it feels so gentle.

“No, we can do it now.” He looks upset but it doesn’t sting you this time. You know you’re in the right. This serves as further proof to him that you’re an annoyingly nice person.

“Can’t you just. . . I dunno, kiss it better ?”

“Rome. . . “ You’re smiling at him and it doesn’t feel like pity, it feels like love. He wants that to be the case but he doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if it weren’t true.

“Please?” He sounds so good like that, a little desperate and pleading. You wonder if he said it like that on purpose, his big eyes and that small little pout feel unfair. You take in a sharp breath and bite your lip in contemplation; your cunt feels painfully empty. Ever the self-denier, you shake your head.

“I think it’s more important to make sure you’re ok.”

“I’m fine!” His tone is defensive, face annoyed.

“Stop saying that, no you’re not. You don’t see me when you’re doing fine!” Your voice is firm, a little angry even, and he knows you’re right.

“Shut up, I see you all the time.”

“You wouldn’t have come tonight if you were ok.” That part seems to stick with him. He doesn’t have anything to throw back at you. “You can ghost me or fire me or do whatever you want after tonight but I at least want to try to help.”

You make it sound like it’d be a little too easy for him to just leave, and it is. He’s made a big point of it since he first met you, but that’s not what he wants. He’d like a cage big enough for the two of you, he’d never worry about who would help him lick the wounds.

“Why bother, just gonna get hit again.” He avoids your gaze, this is starting to make him feel small again. You grit your teeth and fight back the twisting in your gut at the thought of seeing him get hurt. Again.

“Then you can visit me again.” You make it sound like a small thing, like you’re not eager for the company. Truth be told, you’re going crazy wondering what he’s up to when you aren’t around.

“You’d get sick of it. Sick of me.”

“I won’t.” Those two words slip out of you so fast, it surprises the both of you. His eyes meet yours again and it helps you keep going.

“I care about you, Roman.” He didn’t expect to hear those words from you, not after you said you hated him just a minute ago. You don’t sound like you’re lying to him, but he still feels an urge to look around for a trap. “I wouldn’t be doing this for anyone else.” His pulse goes haywire.

“If you cared about me so much you wouldn’t just ignore me when I say my dick’s about to explode.”

“I’ll kiss it better later.”

“You really are a bitch.”

“Sure am.”

You lift yourself off of him to grab a few things from your aid kit and he instantly misses your weight on him. His heart gets into a funky little panic till you come back and lean into him again, easing the ache. You feel a bit more confident touching his face this time round. Your hands don’t shake but they hold his chin gently. Roman loves any touch you give him but he can’t help but be a little amused that your hands feel so shy. You feel a little embarrassed that he distracted you so easily, that he could have had you so quickly. You were whipped, plain and simple. You try to drown those thoughts by focusing on cleaning him again. You don’t think you could live it down if his cut got infected from his vacuum-seal sucking on your neck, and you’d rather die in a hole than learn if it was your spit that did him in. You refuse to let either be an option and so you dress his wound diligently, you try to ignore the heat building in your stomach as Roman distracts himself by tracing circles along the sides of your thighs. Your knee is back to being stuck between his thighs and he prays that you shift your weight, bring your knee a bit higher so he can get some friction. His grip on you tightens when you apply liquid bandage over the cut, it burns a bit. You know it's an uncomfortable feeling so you scoot in closer, you run your fingers through his hair and he moans a little. The strands are stringy with gel but his roots are soft, he closes his eyes when you scratch his scalp. You blow air gently over his bottom lip, like you were drying a new set of nails, trying to soothe the sting. He leans up, trying to catch you in a kiss but your hand rests against his chest and he stills again. His eyes look so hopeful when he peers up at you, he’s oddly obedient. You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek instead, your voice is quiet as you speak close to his ear.

“It takes a few minutes to fully dry. . .”

The full on pout on his face would have made you laugh if the whine he made didn’t sound so needy . He’s been so cute, you’d feel guilty if you made him wait any longer. it’s not like you could wait for it either. You’re grateful that he can't see how drenched he’s made you, it feels a little shameful and a little good. You test the waters and move your knee in closer, he presses his erection to it and grinds softly against you. Your fingers run through and grip his hair again, you pull his head back and trail kisses down his neck. You nip at a spot beneath his jaw and his moan rattles around in your brain, your skin feels hot and you can feel yourself aching. You kiss his collarbone and blindly fumble while undoing the buttons of his shirt. He lets out a small giggle, something grating and high pitched that his father would beat him for; it’s one of your favorite sounds.

“Someone’s a lil desperate, aren’t they?” His voice is quiet, a little raspy, but smug.

“You feel hot, I don't want you to die from a fever.” You sound a little breathless when you respond, your lips latched on to him so quickly you hadn’t really taken a proper breath.

“Mmm, lucky I’m around someone so thoughtful.”

“Yep, no ulterior motives.” He can hear you smile as you talk back against his throat. You undo the last button of his shirt and your hands find their way to his sides. Your mouth moves lower to his sternum, he notices that you like leaving a little trail of bites wherever you kiss. He makes a note in his head to return the favor.

“None whatsoever, just wanna motorboat my flat tits.” He talks a lot. You don’t mind.

“Yeah. Consider it your breast cancer screening.” You realize your cheeks hurt a little bit from smiling as your mouth and hands move to his chest. You hear a soft groan get trapped in his throat when your teeth graze against his nipple. You feel his hand shift and cup your ass firmly while his hips rut against your leg again.

“You’d make a terrible excuse for a nurse. Absolute shit bedside manners.” That earns a laugh from you, something bubbly and cute. You look up at him with what he thinks looks like a loving smile and he feels a sharp pain in his chest. He’s not sure why he feels this, it should be easy for him to touch you, he wants to touch you but he still feels wrong. Is this gross? Is it good? He gulps and it feels like swallowing needles; his face manages to keep a soft smile. You give him a small playful pout and you cup his face, your other hand slides down to take hold of his.

“You think so? I thought I was being nice.” You guide his hand under your shirt, sliding up your stomach to your breasts. You dig your leg closer into his groin and he whines again, his hand grips mindlessly onto one of your breasts. You smile and kiss his forehead. “Do I feel nice?”

“.. yeah….” He nods slightly, not wanting to move away from your kiss. Your lips feel so soft, you feel softer to him than anything. There’s an anxious bubbling in his stomach at feeling so warm. Nothing he’s wanted has ever been his to keep, he shouldn’t think this is any different.

He rests his head against your shoulder and sighs as your hands slide down his chest. He can feel his stomach lurch, here comes the drop, the point where you leave. You’ll see him and find something you hate and then he’ll learn to hate it too. Your fingers thread through his happy trail downwards till you feel his soft stomach tense. You lift your hand off slowly, not wanting to scare him with sudden movements, and bring it up to hold his face once more.

“Rome? You ok?” Your voice is hushed and quiet.

“Y-yeah I’m fine. Peachy keen.” It sounds forced, the words rush out too fast. You worry you might have pushed him into something upsetting. Your thumb rubs his cheek gently.

You were one of few people in his life whose touch didn’t make his skin crawl. It feels like a good thing but it also leaves him paralyzed. For Roman, sex was followed by a bitter aftertaste, a heaviness in the chest. He worries that it’s a balancing act. If he’s not the one feeling repulsive and shameful then that must mean you are, he doesn’t want that for you. He’d die if he ever made you feel that way.

“You don’t have to go through with this, you know. You’re allowed to back out.”

“I know that. I’m not dumb.” He rolls his eyes as if in annoyance but his voice sounds cagey. He doesn’t want to back out, he’s wanted you for so long. He’d rather lose another tooth than admit he’s nervous and he doesn’t know what to do.

“I never said you were. I just— I want you to know that I’ll still like you after this, even if nothing happens.” There you were, saying just the right thing to cut into him.

“You said you fucking hate me. Won’t even kiss me.” His voice cracks a little and you feel your stomach flip.

“I did, yeah. I was mad at you and I said that and I’m sorry. . . you know when people just say things they don't mean?"

Roman knows you're referring to him and he thinks of every rude thing he's ever said to you. He meant none of it, he thinks you're wonderful. He swallows thickly and takes in an uncomfortable breath but he doesn't open his mouth to respond so you keep talking.

"But I don’t really hate you, Rome, I like you too much to ever hate you.” You cut him again and a happy warm feeling bleeds out.

It’s getting easier to swallow but he hates how much this matters to him, he wants you to like him. Your hand cupping his face slides down a bit and your thumb ghosts over his bottom lip, checking the wound. You smile when you feel the liquid bandage has fully dried, you lean in close.

“I can kiss you now. . .if you still want me to. . .”

Roman blinks for a moment, trying to breathe and take everything in. He stares at your lips for a moment, full, pink and soft, and there’s a flicker of something on his face that makes you scared he’s gonna leave. But he nods and you feel his arms wrap around your waist, his hand holds the back of your neck gently and he pulls you in for a kiss. It’s slow and delicate, different from the frenzy he had when he attacked your neck earlier. As if he’s no longer worried that you’ll vanish into a speck of light the moment he admits he wants you. He buries his hand in your hair, enjoying how soft it is. He can feel you smile into the kiss and a sappy sweet feeling fills him up, overflowing. He bites your bottom lip and swallows the moan that leaves your mouth, he tastes your saliva again and the tenderness he has for you mixes with something volatile. He lets himself be needy, his hands grip at your hips and hair and his teeth clash against yours as he tries to taste more of you. You reach a point where you need to catch your breath and you pull away. He gives you that same dimpled smile he gave you that one night and when he tucks your hair behind your ear you feel like you might say you love him.

“I’m glad you came here tonight, Rome.” That's the closest to saying it that you can manage for now.

“Ew.” He says it softly, teasing.

“I need you to be serious with me.” You chuckle as you speak.

“I am being serious.

“Are you?

“Yeah, I am and my dick is seriously about to fall off.” Ah yes, very serious.

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” There's genuine curiosity in your voice. A part of you is actually surprised that he wants to escalate things.

“I don’t fucking know, suck me off or something?” Once again, Roman holds the same levels of charm and power of seduction as a cum-filled sock.

“Incredibly tempting offer. Buuut, I didn’t really hear a “please” in there so I think I’ll pass.”

“Oh god, it’s falling off and it’s all your fault because you won’t be a good little assistant and fuck your boss.” He tilts his head back, reveling in melodramatics to avoid telling you exactly what he wants. If this were a different night and he acted like a different man then the scenario he painted might have appealed more to you. You enjoyed whenever past partners wielded power over you but something about Roman's choice of words tells you that you shouldn't let it be so easy. Isn't it typically the boss who fucks the assistant?

"Would I get a raise?" Roman thinks he sees something wicked flash in your eyes as you keep an innocent smile on your lips.

"You would get to keep your job." The haughty grin on his face leaves your knees feeling a little weak. Where's the fun without a threat to your livelihood?

“Yeah, nope. Not gonna touch you until you tell me what you want so you might as well start figuring out how to fuck yourself on your own.”

Whatever frustration there was on his face disappears, a satisfied smile takes it place like he just had an idea.

“Fine.” He sounds a little too content. He lowers his hands to his lap and unbuttons his pants. He keeps his eyes on you while he shoves his hand down his pants reaching towards the thick bulge straining against his slacks. Your gaze hovers between his crotch and the wry glint in his eyes.

“What are you. . ? Is this supposed to make me jealous?” An incredulous tone is heavy in your voice.

“Yep.” He sounds a little breathless, he lets out a little moan before he speaks again. His hand slowly strokes himself in his pants. “I know it will, you’re probably gonna soak my thigh through your shorts.”

“Take them off then.” You say it in such a calm tone it catches Roman a little off guard. With a puzzled look he glances down between your crotch and then his own. You smile and nod at his pants. “Blocks my view.”

He smiles, a little giddy that you’re playing along. You lift yourself off of his lap for a moment so he can shimmy out of his pants. You settle back onto him, straddling one of his thighs, and try to ignore the ache between your legs. His eyes fall back on yours and you raise your brows expectantly, Go on. He’s not sure where to look, not sure if you’d appreciate him staring. He tilts his head back a bit, opting for the tried and true, and looks up at your shitty popcorn ceiling. His forehead creases with a nervous look as he adjusts himself a little and pulls out his cock, the length curves upward towards his soft stomach. It’s cute. Roman would probably die of embarrassment if he heard you say that aloud, but it’s the first word that comes to mind when you see it. A light pink, twitchy little thing that you know would hit that gushy spot deep in you just right. You want him to fill you till you hurt. It’s impossible for you to push that thought down when you hear him curse under his breath and feel his legs shake slightly. His thigh grinds slightly against your clit, it’s puffy and sensitive, desperate for touch like the rest of you. You whine softly at the friction but the moment it passes through your lips his eyes are back on you and you know what you're in for.

“Having fun?” You feel your face get hot. Roman grins widely, way too happy to hear that little sound you made.

“I guess…” You don’t bother denying it but there’s an urge to talk back. “Out of curiosity how long does it usually take you to cum?— Not that I’m bored or anything but it’s getting pretty late. . .” You hear him snort, he’s stopped stroking himself.

“It’s usually faster when I’m watching something. But if you’re feeling antsy to rub one out in your room you don’t have to wait, you could do that here.” He bounces his leg under you a bit, he’s found another way to annoy you. You keep your hips still, your pussy screams at you to grind down on him and chase your release.

“Are you asking for something to look at?”

“Yeah, gimme a show.” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and you feel your mind go into a fritz when he pulls at them a bit. “It’s the least you could do.”

He lets go and the elastic snaps back into your hip. Your thighs squeeze around him at the sudden feeling and you can feel blood rush behind your ears when he gives you a knowing smile. It doesn’t surprise you that one of the richest men you’ve ever met was a shitty little brat, but you’ve never wanted to fuck someone’s brains out more.

“The least I could do, huh?” He looks comfortable. That mean urge creeps into you. “Fuck it, why not?” Your voice is light and playful.

Roman looks a little surprised, a small eager gleam grows in his eyes when your hands move to the hem of your shirt. His full attention is on you. You take a breath, ignoring the small tinge of shyness and take off your shirt, tossing it aside. The cold air of the living room doesn’t affect you when you hear Roman let out a low whistle of appreciation. That fluttery feeling comes back for a moment and you let out a small laugh. You lift yourself off of him once again and slip off your shorts, leaving them where they fall. You stand in front of him clad in nothing but your panties and you struggle to push down the urge to wrap your arms around yourself, make yourself smaller. When you lock eyes again he smiles at you, just a sweet happy smile on a battered face, and you feel something in you thaw out. Your knees sink into the couch, interlocking with Roman’s legs but you don’t sit fully onto his lap. His hands hover over your hips, unsure where to touch you and his awkwardness melts you enough to bring him in for another kiss. He feels his heart skip a beat the moment your mouth lands on his. His lips feel sore and there’s an ache when he presses his mouth against you but it doesn’t stop him from trying to deepen the kiss. His soft, uncalloused hands grip at your sides and he can’t help himself from kneading at the extra flesh; fully enjoying how soft and warm your skin feels. There’s a pleasant buzz in his head when he feels you bury your hands in his hair and he moans your name against your lips. You forget to breathe for second when you hear it. The urge to dote on him will always be second nature to you but you won’t let it distract you from putting him in his place tonight. A twinge of excitement shoots up your spine at the idea of denying him. You feel his arms try to pull you closer to him and you don’t comply, you yank his head back roughly by his hair. He groans, disappointment overshadows any pain, but there’s nothing but lust in his eyes when he looks up at you.

“The least I could do is let a twitchy freak like you get off next me.” There’s a venomous tint to your voice. Roman takes in a sharp breath when you peer down at his lap and see his pretty cock twitch up at you. He’s never felt this strained, reeling with a need to feel your walls clench around him. You grin. “Those hands of yours have never done anything useful before. I don't think you deserve to use them tonight. You were doing just fine on my knee earlier.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“ I’m not fucking you at all, actually.” You smile as you let go of his hair and take his hand into yours. You lift it to your face and kiss his inner wrist. Your eyes gleam warmly at him before placing his hand on your thigh for him to hold on to. Your walls clench around nothing when his fingers graze your inner thigh and part of you hopes that all of this goads him into fingerfucking you till you squirm. His expression is muddled with confusion and annoyance but there’s no trace left of that nervous tension he had. He follows your lead and brings his other hand to rest on your thigh. He scoots a little closer to you and there's a glint of something, maybe gratefulness, in his eyes when he looks up at you. Some starved part of you found it sweet, oddly romantic. His hips stay still but his cock twitches against your thigh and the sight makes your mouth water, you want him badly and it’s all his fault.

“Here, I’ll make it easier for you.” You use the saliva that’s pooled in your mouth to spit onto your thigh, you grin when some of it dribbles onto his shiny, pink tip. It’s warm when it touches him and Roman’s hands dig into your thigh as he groans, picturing your pretty mouth wrapped around him, drool peeking out the corners of your lips and over his shaft. It was something he had pictured a few times, but tonight was the first time that the visual wasn’t accompanied by a guilty churning in his stomach. He can’t stop himself from taking up your generous offer, he’ll happily take your scraps, and his hips begin rocking back and forth. You chuckle softly and tilt his face up at you, he can feel his heartbeat quicken. The skin of the back of his neck bursts with goosebumps when he sees the smug look on your face.

“This is really what you want??” He does the best he can to sound irritated. To be fair, he was a little upset at not being able to touch you more, but your coldness has gotten him harder than he could’ve imagined.

“It is, I wanna see you get what you deserve.”

"I always knew you were dirty.” A toothy bastard grin grows when he speaks. He’s enjoying this, a runt acting out.

“I’m easy, too. I’d let practically anyone fuck me. Just not you.” You smile lovingly despite the vulgar joke, playing with his hair. You laugh when you see his face shrivel in disgust. It was a bold faced lie, one you knew he wouldn’t fully believe. Either way you knew it was prickly enough to stroke that mean streak in him, the one that leaves you feeling a little cheap and a little wet.

“Gross fucking slut.” He mutters it under his breath like a toothless quip but it bites you just the same. You yank his head back harshly and a bitchy whine slips out of him.

“You don’t get to say that to me. Not when you’re humping my leg like a fucking dog.” Roman teases a talent for cruelness out of you that you’ve never really considered before, never really explored.

There’s a dissonance in you that winds up tight in your stomach as you consider your next steps. You could get up and lock yourself in your room till he leaves to avoid saying any more hurtful things. Or you could cry a little in front of him and ask him to forgive you for being so mean; let the guilt take hold and be ashamed of enjoying ripping into each other in this way. Either one ends with Roman potentially never speaking to you again, and that’s what scares you more than anything else.

Unknown to you, the ire in your eyes would’ve been enough to make his dick rock hard had he not been already. There’s no doubt that he’s always liked the kind and bright person you normally are but seeing you mad made him go beet red, he could feel his blood run hot .

“It’s not my fault that you want it like a bitch in heat. ” There he goes again, the little shit loves talking back. Your doubts fall away. There’s a glint in his eyes and his little fangs peek out when he gives you a lovesick grin. It makes you drip. He wants you to sink your teeth into him. You grin back, your hands still grip tightly at his hair, you move your knee to press to his groin. He whimpers and it feels like someone’s set you ablaze; the sound shoots around your skull and lights up every nerve in you.

“I’m sorry. Does it hurt?” An overly saccharine tone coats your voice as you speak down to him. A long heady whine comes out of him so freely, he’s always been willing to fill up a room with noise so it shouldn’t really surprise you but it does. Roman’s expressions were enthusiastic, even the pained ones. He nods his head fervently, his brows strung together in discomfort but eyes cloudy with arousal. His lips pout and part as if to speak but a pitiful croak is all that leaves his throat when you nudge your knee, gliding it gently along the underside of his cock.

“Do you want to cum?” You speak quietly next to his ear and a rush of heat rolls over him. The sweet tone you had is gone, all that’s left is the cold firmness that was underneath. He squirms under you, scared he’s gonna burst and a little curious about what you’d treat him like if he did. How badly would you grill him if you knew how starved you made him.

“Y-yes….” He sounds breathless. You move away from his ear to look at him again. one of your hands still grips at his hair tightly while the other slides forward to gently grip his chin.

“Then I need you to play nice .” You dig your knee in harder, crushing his balls in the most careful way you could. Rather than move away from the source of the pain, he leans forward closer to you. His hands still grip at your thigh, practically pulling you in as if determined to feel whatever touch you give him. A long pitchy cry comes from his chest. He makes such pretty sounds and you’re filled with a deep need to hear each one he can make. “Can you do that for me, Romey?”

“Yeah…. Yes. . . I’m sorry, I’ll be nice.” He sounds so gentle, so weak for you, this can’t possibly be the same man who’s made your life a living hell 14 hours a day for the last year. Your memory might be stunted while in your aroused haze, but you think this might be the first time you’ve ever heard him say sorry. His wide eyes blink slowly at you, his long lashes fanning whatever flame he lit in you. Another small twitch of his cock against your leg reminds you of your own needs and you decide to give in a little.

“Good. I’ll be nice too. . .” You pull your leg away slightly to grant him some relief, but his hips press back into you reflexively. There’s a glimpse of hunger in Roman’s eyes and he feels a deep need to do anything for you, anything to keep you looking at him. Your voice softens again, slightly smug around the edges. “Did you still want that show?”

He nods shyly, his eyes widen further in curiosity when your hand slides off his face and moves to touch your own body. He holds his breath when he sees you lightly touch yourself over your panties. Your pointer and middle fingers slowly drag across your outer lips and then dip slightly between your folds. You sigh when you brush against the hood of your clit, you’ve staved off touching yourself for this long and each touch feels like sweet relief. Roman’s eyes are fixed onto you when you tilt your head back, you bite your lower lip in concentration as you rub circles over your sensitive bud. Your pooled arousal comes much more apparent as you keep touching yourself, your wetness leaves a stain in the middle of your blue panties and Roman thinks to himself that that dark blue might now be his favorite color. He groans when he watches your hand slip under your panties, wondering how warm you must feel. You shiver when you tentatively dip your fingers in your wet center. A soft moan slips out when you feel yourself slide in so easily, grateful that he can’t feel how slick he’s made you already. You groan Roman’s name softly as you work at yourself and a whirl of lust and jealousy slices through him. He didn’t think he’d ever get to hear you say his name like that before and it kills him that it’s nothing of his that’s buried in you now, helping your mouth form the letters so smoothly. He keeps his hands on your thigh, minding your instruction, but he can’t really help himself from touching you in some way, not now when you sound so good that it makes him wish he had shut up. He leans into you, testing the waters by peppering kisses across your shoulder. His stomach lurches when he feels you tense under him and he thinks he’s ruined something for a moment till your free hand ghosts its nails gently across his scalp and he feels his brain liquefy just a bit.

It’s all the encouragement he needs to latch back onto you; his hips press down, humping your leg shamelessly. You breathe in deep when you feel his teeth nip at the end of your throat. He smells so good to you, a mix of cigarettes and sweat and a cologne that’s just as obnoxious and overwhelming as him. You can’t help but moan his name again, spreading your cunt with your fingers, desperately mimicking the way he might stretch you. He mumbles a barely recognizable “ Yeah ?” against your skin in response, his thumb stroking softly along your inner thigh all the while. You roll over for him so easily. You don't say anything as you slip your hand out of your panties to hold his and guide it to where you want it most. He holds his breath when his hand digs under the soft cotton hiding your wet center. His soft, manicured hand trembles slightly against you, unsure where to go till your hand leads him. A thrill runs up his spine when he glides his fingers between your slick folds and feels just how soaked you are. He teases you, not necessarily intending to do so but so invested in knowing how all of you feels that he ignores the crucial bundle of nerves aching for him. It makes you want to scream. His fingers stroke up and down along your opening, and you try to choke down a whine when he finally presses into you. Heat rushes to your face as you both hear the wet squelch of your tight walls, he groans at the way your hungry cunt swallows his fingers whole. He finds himself wishing he’ll have another chance to have you, not ready to accept a possibility of him never feeling you around him. Both the physical and emotional grip you have on him feels insane as you clench over him, your free hand digs its nails into the skin of his back. Your leg moves in tandem with his hips, helping his heavy cock garner friction and it leaves him feeling worse. Needy for more and muttering soft nonsensical nothings under his breath, he feels a flicker of shame and wishes he could do more for you. You nip at a spot below his ear and he doesn’t bother biting down the moan of your name that surfaces. He’s begging any thing that will listen to let him keep you, he needs to know he’ll feel the creaminess of your thighs and tight cunt again. You pull him off of your collarbone to look at him again, he thinks he feels himself throb when he sees the flush on your cheeks and nose, the swell of your reddened lips. You cup his face softly and he slows his mindless rutting against your leg. Your thumb brushes his cheek lightly as you smile at him, no hint of cruelty to be found.

“Look at you being so quiet.” There’s a teasing slant to your voice but it’s overshadowed by a warm love-drunk drawl. A giggle slips out of you as you continue and it rings on inside Roman’s head. “Are you feeling good?”

“Yeah…” He leans his face into your hand and nods softly, fully melted into your touch. The light brown of his eyes shimmer while he looks at you, a shy smile on his face makes him look a little angelic. Maybe it was a mix of that and his soft voice that had you fooled into thinking he was so sweet. He looks ready to burst, he practically confirms that thought of yours as he mumbles. “ ’m getting close…”

You bring him in for a gentle kiss, thinking he’s had enough cruelty for tonight. His lips land against yours softly, the hunger for you is still there but he tries to reel it in. He wants everything from you but he doesn’t want to risk being greedy. He needs to give you a reason to let him be with you again, the concept of someone liking and caring for him feels so foreign that he’s still thinking of it transactionally. He needs to feel you cum or he might not ever be able to face you ever again. His fingers curl up towards that sweet spot of yours and slowly pump in and out of you, pulling a moan out of you that he uses as a chance to snake his tongue into your mouth, desire burning hot to taste more of you. A strand of saliva connects you both as you pull away to catch your breath, his face follows yours slightly as if unwilling to part. His thumb presses down and swirls circles around your swollen little clit, it’s sloppy but it manages to rile you up just the same. Your soft sighs help boost his ego which took quite a bruising tonight and he smiles against your lips when he feels you snake your hands into his hair. The glowing sense of pride returns when he hears your breathing grow staggered. Your walls clamp down around his fingers in an almost sinful way and he feels his cock twitch against your skin, hoping for the chance to have you milk him dry. He groans your name against your neck, strumming at you with a vigor that leaves the corners of your vision a little blurry. Being touched by Roman is different than you had thought it’d be, you always thought he’d be lazy– selfish maybe, but he feels like the opposite. He grips you like he wants you, really wants you, his fingers pushing and spreading in you eagerly. He’s a little clumsy, so eager to touch you that the broad strokes of his thumb over your clit feel like an effective little tease. He’s not clueless though, it's clear that he’s listening intently to your breathing and the way your folds squelch around him. The once dead air of your living room now filled with steady moans and sloppy wet touches. You feel that the coil of heat near your center winds up tightly, set to release at any moment. Roman’s own moans sound distant to you and you barely register his hips rocking against your bare thigh. You can feel yourself getting fucked stupid, unable to form any meaningful words. Any brain cells you had left at this time of night are now just honey-thick liquid arousal smeared between your thighs and down Roman’s palm. You feel him sink his teeth into your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark and at the same time he twists his fingers into you so sweetly, pressing deep into that spot that leaves you drooling and the last thread in you snaps. Your legs start to shake and that white hot feeling rolls over you, leaving you struggling not to crush his hand. Roman pumps his fingers in and out slowly, helping you ride out the wave of pleasure as your walls clench and spasm around him. You tilt your head back and catch your breath, you can’t do much but watch as he licks your creamy slick off his hand. You curse quietly under your breath as you see him moan and suck noisily at his fingers, his softened eyes lock back onto yours and you feel like your cunt might have you start begging for more. There’s no space for that as his mouth crashes back on yours again.

“You taste good.” He mutters the compliment against your neck, back to his frenzy of kisses which earn a fit of giggles from you.

“. . . yeah?” You chirp sweetly. A blush is clear on your face.

“Yeah. Shoulda told me sooner.” He mumbles more along the edge of your jaw, he pulls away a bit to look at your face as he continues. “Might’ve given you your own office if I knew you tasted like a pink starburst.”

You snort. You know it’s a joke with the way Roman says it so confidently but part of you wonders whether he’s ever actually had a starburst before. Or even eaten pussy before.

“You’re gross.” You say it as a joke. You hope it lands, serving as another way to tell him just how much you like him. He smiles wide enough for the corners of his eyes to crinkle.

Holding his face in both hands you bring him in for another kiss, each one feels like he’s trying to make up for lost time. You lean into him, your body weak in the post orgasmic rush. His shoulders press back into the soft cushion of your couch and he pulls you down, fully into his lap, your arm brushes past his hard length and he lets out a soft pained moan. You freeze and look at his groin. Poor, sweet Roman had kept to his word and not touched himself this entire time, and now here you were facing the sensitive flushed thing that a small part of you actually believed might fall off. He looked almost sheepish when he met your gaze, it was like he froze once the spotlight was back on him.

“Oh, Rome. . .” You lean in and pepper kisses across his face, it makes him laugh. The air in his lungs doesn’t feel so heavy. You kiss the tip of his nose and his face scrunches in mock distaste.

“I can help you if you want.” You murmur it close to his face, forehead resting against his. Your thigh feels the air grow chill against the large sticky wet spot on your skin, a mix of your spit and Roman’s precum.

“Please.” The way Roman wraps around that word, it was meant for him.

You press a kiss to his forehead and slip off his lap to adjust yourself on the couch. You give him a soft smile and pat the space between your legs to have him saddle up into you like a little spoon. He raises an eyebrow quizzically for a moment but doesn’t hesitate to settle in, eager to be in your arms. You lean against the arm of the couch for support as his back presses against your bare chest, your legs on either side of him. You rest your hands on his thighs and brush your lips against his shoulder, that fondness you have for him comes back when you feel his back arch slightly in reaction to you.

“This ok?” You keep your voice soft, nonjudgmental. You take hold of one of his hands and he’s suddenly grateful his back is to you, his eyes feeling watery.

“Yeah.” He gives your hand a squeeze, a silent request to keep it there. “Thanks.”

You smile and lift your free hand up your mouth to spit into it then hold it below his mouth, he spits as well. A cute little whimper comes out of him when you wrap your hand around his shaft and you hum approvingly in response. Roman does his best to keep his hips still, trying not to buck roughly into your palm. He’s still a little embarrassed by the idea of you seeing him undone even if he also finds it exciting. But regardless of how he feels about it, he fails to hold back a long string of moans the moment your teeth graze the back of his neck. Whatever cold, macho ideals were drilled into his mind at early development, it all falls apart when he’s around you and he’s so happy that you don’t seem to mind in the slightest, you don’t see what he believes to be shortcomings. He lifts the hand of yours that he’s still holding on to and kisses the back of it. He staggers out a groan of your name into it too when he watches your thumb circle around the shiny wet tip of his cock. He knows this isn’t going to last, he’s too sensitive, but he tries to focus whatever parts of his brain that can into fully enjoying this. You make it an easy task. Your hand on him feels good: it’s soft and warm and you squeeze him nicely while you tug him off. He feels that familiar pressure build up faster than he expected, his blood runs hot behind his ears and he can’t quite fully hear the lewd wet slaps that come as his hips jerk up to meet your hand. He feels your thighs squeeze around his torso and your hand grips tight on him and when he feels your hot breath on his back it’s enough to fully pull him into something that feels safe and warm. The sight before you makes you want to devour him whole. You try to commit all of this to memory. The way his weight presses into you as his body melts under you. The soft whisper of your name as you lightly drag a nail across his balls. You admire the veins along his length and take in a sharp breath when you feel him throb against your palm. His sticky head twitches desperately as you pull back his foreskin and his hips writhe beneath you. One last, long, crying moan ripples out as his hips rut into your hand and he feels that hot flash of pleasure take him. You run your hand along his length slowly, coaxing him down from the high, his release spills over your hand and his lower stomach, which rises and falls with heavy breaths. You wish you could see what he looked like right now: pupils blown and tear dotted lashes, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. But more than anything you want him to feel comfortable around you, if you only get to hold him while he makes such pretty sounds then that’s enough for you. He mewls a little at your touch, now overly sensitive and reaches for your hand to lick up his release. You groan his name softly at the feeling of his wet tongue wrapping between your fingers, sucking them clean. He pulls them out with an unceremonious pop! of his lips and he smiles softly when he feels your teeth pull into a grin against the back of his neck. You lower your hand to his stomach and wipe up the last few drops of his cum. He holds your wrist gently as you raise it, thinking you’ll bring it to his mouth.

“Wait.” You speak softly, your breath tickling him just behind the ear. He twists a little to face you better, slightly confused. Did you want a better view of him eating his own spunk? You chuckle a little at the way his face morphs in bewilderment and press a small kiss to his temple, a little salty with sweat, and mumble against it. “I wanna taste you.”

His grip on your wrist goes slack, a slightly anxious drumming starts in his chest. He stares at you as he watches you lick up the rest of his mess off of your fingers, waiting for the warm bubble he’s found himself in to burst. He tasted mild and inoffensive but it was Roman’s and that fact alone made it slide down your throat like honey. You swallow and lick your lips in silent appreciation, his brows raise at you in a weird form of anticipation.

“Like a cream soda.” You can’t bring yourself to say that with a straight face, cracking into a grin as you look at him. His skill for being disgusting has not yet fully rubbed off on you. He giggles.

“You’re sick.” He replies, twisting his body fully to better face you and bring you into a deep kiss. One that leaves you with that old fuzzy feeling from your chest to your tummy. You find yourself wrapping around him like a plant, he folds into your embrace easily. His eyes shimmer when he pulls away and looks at you.

“I like you.” You blink, thinking you misheard him for a moment till his eyes narrow impatiently, like he expects you to say it back. It feels silly, the first time you said it you never expected him to say it back and here he was now, prompting it from you like a conductor’s cue to a symphony.

“I like you too.” You share a smile, and he rests his head on you, nuzzling into your chest, exhausted from the swirl of emotions you’ve put him through tonight. Your hand finds its way back to his hair, and he quietly hopes you never get tired of playing with it.

He feels you wriggling around a bit beneath him, reaching for something but he doesn’t bother lifting his head off your chest. His ears are met with the sound of sloshing and plastic crinkling and his brow dips in confusion but he stays still. He’s made you his bed to lie in and his arms are already wrapped around your waist snugly, stubborn with his drowsy affection. Suddenly, he feels something smooth and cold press to his cheek over his bandaged wound. He opens his eyes and tilts his head to see that you had brought an ice pack. He thinks that one day you’ll be the reason his blood sugar will spike and kill him.

“Thanks.” He mumbles it quietly but you’re pressed close enough to hear it clearly.

“Anytime.” You ruffle his hair as you speak. “Hopefully, your face isn’t so fucked the next time you come and see me.”

He hears you say the words “next time” and he immediately feels a hopeful buzzing in his ears.

“Yeah. . ." He smiles softly. ". . . You should try waterboarding me with that wet cunt of yours. . . next time, I mean.” He tacks on the last bit in hopes that you’re on the same page. That this isn’t his last chance to be intimate with you. He wants to try being with you in general.

“I’d like that….” You start giggling, you hate to admit that you think he’s funny. He hears the smile in your voice as you rest your head back against the cushions. Exhaustion creeps in on you both.

A sun ray somehow manages to find you both in the dark of the night, you both feel warm and tired in its light.

---

Translations (These are not all direct word for word translations. Just what I think sounds better): 1. Come on, cuz….. please?? He’s my friend. 2. You know you can tell me anything, right? 3. Is he your boyfriend? 4. I don’t think he knows that. He keeps looking at you. 5. I’m the only thing in this damn room that he recognizes. No shit, he’s staring. I’m not an idiot. 6. I don’t give a shit, then. Tell him it’s gonna be $60. Family discount.

#roman roy #succession #roman roy x reader #roman roy succession #roman roy smut #succession hbo #succession x reader #succession fanfic #succession smut #dogmotif! roman my beloved #roman roy x f!reader

39 notes · View notes

weaveandwood · 17 hours

Text

Midwinter in Waterdeep: Part Three

Gale/Tav | Angst & Pining | Read Part One | Read Part Two | Read on AO3

Summary:

Over a year after their relationship ends, fate brings the couple back together for one too-short night.

The sun set and the moon rose in the night sky without a sign of Gale. She was once again confronted with her demons, whispering in her ear about his habit of getting so lost in his own work and focused on his own ambitions that he left her alone, adrift, and purposeless in the aftermath of their adventure and again now. Her only solution then had been to run, leaving him and the biggest piece of her heart behind. Those demons tugged at her another time. She wasn’t strong enough to resist them. I can’t do this.

AN: The final installment is here! Thank everyone so much for all your support on this mini series. I hope you love it as much as I do, and I'm sorry for ripping out your hearts along the way. CN: Suggestive language, mild descriptions of panic

The first Midwinter was spent in reverence of each other. They watched the annual fireworks from his balcony and stayed up until the dawn began its ascent over the horizon. Hours were spent relearning each other’s bodies and minds after being strangers for so long. She spoke of her jobs, the contracts she accepted, the locations she visited as he kissed her neck in that one spot that was her undoing and his hands worked his way up her thighs. He spoke of his apprentices, new spells he was crafting, his colleagues turned friends while she kissed the faint remnants of the orb tattoo on his chest, her hand trailing down the line of his stomach. He worshiped her throughout the night and she accepted his offerings gladly.

While the sun rose, she lay in his arms, head on his bare chest as they made plans to spend next Midwinter together.

Dangerous. Tempting. Stupid.

He cast an illusion to make it snow in what used to be the bedroom they shared, just to see the smile on her face that would no doubt satisfy him for another year. She kept the longing she had to stay with him locked away deep inside, remembering the tormented look on his face the previous night when he ran to her. She couldn’t be the cause of that again, she didn’t trust herself with his heart.

They both wept after they parted.

The second Midwinter, they met in the market - the first time Gale had been in almost two years. They got sweet rolls and held hands as they walked to the inn he reserved for them this holiday. They barely got into the room before their bodies collided and their clothes ended up in a wrinkled pile on the floor, not wanting an inch of space to come between them on their one, too-short night together where she was his and he was hers, though both confessed there was no one else during their time apart.

She asked for another illusion as he traced his fingers up and down her bare back, the muscles and small scars from so many adventures illuminated by the moonlight. He made the room fill with small glowing rabbits, her favorite animal.

“You remembered.” “How could I ever forget anything about you?”

He gifted her a sending stone that was modified to only relay a signal when the pair were within a certain distance from each other, so he would know she was near, that she was safe at least one day a year. He kept its partner with him at all times - if not in his pocket, then within arm’s reach, counting down the days until he could feel the trace hum of magic that said she was close, that she was coming back to him. She always kept the stone in her pack or under her pillow as she slept in the wilds and reminisced about stolen moments in tents with him.

***

The third Midwinter, the sending stone in his pocket flickered to life a day earlier than expected, before the sunrise. He met her at the gates of the city full of concern, but she relieved his fears by explaining she had extra time this year and could stay this additional day, if he wanted. Of course he wanted! He was elated as they walked back to the tower, but had to finish up the term today. He kissed her deeply and promised to be back by sunset, a familiar line she had heard plenty before.

Hours ticked by in quiet solitude. The walls of the tower closed in on her and the sounds of the city aggravated instead of soothed. The sun set and the moon rose in the night sky without a sign of Gale. She was once again confronted with her demons, whispering in her ear about his habit of getting so lost in his own work and focused on his own ambitions that he left her alone, adrift, and purposeless in the aftermath of their adventure and again now. Her only solution then had been to run, leaving him and the biggest piece of her heart behind. Those demons tugged at her another time. She wasn’t strong enough to resist them.

I can’t do this.

The day had completely gotten away from him - he didn’t realize how late it had become as he rushed home after a long day of examinations and meetings with fellow professors. The only thing that kept him going was the thought of spending two nights with the love of his life, lost in memory and passion.

He called out to her as he walked in, receiving no response. The tower was empty. His breathing quickened as he collapsed against the wall in the entry, sinking to the floor. A cold panic took over as he found himself alone, reliving that first day all those years ago. He ran his shaking hands through his hair, looking for a note, a sign, anything…and found no trace of her.

She’s not here.

She didn’t come back that night. The next morning, he ignored the faint buzzing from the stone as he walked to Blackstaff to finish some paperwork before properly starting his holiday as he did every year, though this year it was more of a distraction than anything. He came home late to find a package on his doorstep - a small silver moon earring to wear in the empty piercing where Mystra’s symbol used to reside with a note that read “Be a moon unto yourself.” He could feel her watching but went inside anyway. He tucked the parcel in the same drawer with her ring and extinguished all the lights in his tower, wearily retreating to his study.

She sat across the street from the tower huddled in her coat, crying through the fireworks until the early morning. Something broke inside her that night, deeper than what already was fractured.

I’m sorry.

****

The fourth Midwinter, he received a delivery at his office in Blackstaff Academy. Inside was a sending stone, almost exactly like the one he had gotten her two years ago. His heart beat faster - was she returning it? Was this goodbye? Had the last Midwinter ruined them? They hadn’t spoken but at times he felt his original stone humming, knowing she was near Waterdeep on a few occasions over the last year, resisting the urge to go to the gates each time for a glimpse of her.

He felt the familiar crackle of magic as he inspected the parcel. No, this one is a different stone, he thought with relief, hearing her voice when he touched it for the first time.

I love you. I’m here. Meet me outside of the city if you can forgive me.

His eyes filled with tears, replying with the only message he could ever respond to her with.

I love you.

She smiled to herself as she heard his warm voice in her head. I love you. It was the first time they had said it to each other in so long - even before she had left him. A flicker of hope surged within her. She met him at the gates as the sun set, grabbing his robes and pulling him to her to kiss him deeply before he even had a chance to say hello. There was so much to say, so much to confess, and so little time. She took his hand and led him away from the city, deep into the woods off the main road where she had set up a tent for them, a campfire waiting. He moved to kiss her, to begin their usual dance of removing clothes and grasping at each other to stave off the chill in the air and the loneliness in their hearts. He longed to touch her, to feel himself inside her again.

She stopped him.

He listened as she told him about her next adventure on the other side of the continent. How she purchased the new sending stones because she wanted to hear his voice in her head every day when she would be so far from him. How after last Midwinter, she wanted to move forward and not spend every moment together thinking about the hurts of the past. How she realized the irony of her saying that while sitting in a campsite that was reminiscent of the one they shared all those years ago. How she was ready, finally, to offer more and hoped he would accept.

“I love you, Gale.” She’s real. “I love you, too.” She’s here.

The Midwinter fireworks from Waterdeep looked especially beautiful that night as they made love underneath them.

*****

The fifth Midwinter, she met him at the gates of the city, his message this morning running through her head. Meet me at the gates at our usual time. I have a surprise for you. I love you.

Every day they sent each other a message through the stones. Every first message ended with “I love you.” Every reply started with “I love you.”

He was practically buzzing when he saw her, drawing her tightly into his embrace, just as he did that night four years ago when she came back into his life by a chance of fate - and yes, after that night he most certainly was a bigger believer in fate. She was safe, she was here, and she loved him. He led her to the woods, the same spot she set up their campsite the previous year. In its place was a small cabin surrounded by wildness, enchanted to be invisible to everyone but the two of them.

He needed her like air, but he refused to suffocate her with that need - not with traditional roles or expectations, not with her always having to adjust to fit into his life, his routine, his schedule, never the other way around. He wanted to fit into her life. She was the moon, she was the stars, she was the sky. She was precious to him, more important to him than even the Weave. He didn’t need anything but her - not his tower, not his accolades…just her. He loved her, and saw her, and understood what she was capable of offering. This cabin, he hoped, would be proof of that, and would be their home when she was between contracts, between adventures.

She cried as he said all of this to her with tears streaming down his own smiling face. He held out the silver ring he had purchased for her all those years ago. She couldn’t believe he had kept it safe, looked after it as if he knew she would be back. They were different people then. They were different people now. After all this time, he remained devoted to her, steadfast, even as she pushed and pulled, clawing at the boundaries of his love. She believed him - for the first time, she felt understood. She was understood. He knew her, he was safe, he was here, and he loved her. She knew there could never be anyone else for either of them. He was her home. This was her home.

They kissed as he slipped the ring onto her finger.

******

The sixth Midwinter, Gale found himself looking out the window of their cabin watching the snow while he prepared their dinner for the evening, replaying their messages from that morning in his head.

I will be home at sunset. Will be with you for a month. I love you.

I love you. Please hurry back to me, I cannot bear to be apart from you much longer.

He laughed softly to himself. Home. If you had asked him five years ago, while he was bereft and reeling, what he thought home was he would have told you a study full of books, a desk littered with parchment, and a full wine cellar. Now? Home was the smile she gave him when he cast illusions. Home was the way she laid her head on his lap when he read to her, no matter the subject. Home was the way she brought him tea and kissed the top of his head as he stayed up late, working on new spells and theories by candlelight. Home was the sound of her voice calling his name as his mouth was between her thighs. Home was a tiny cabin hidden deep in the woods.

He twirled the silver ring on his own finger, the twin to hers. He had felt the hum of the original sending stone only a few months after their last Midwinter, during Greengrass. He rushed to the cabin after classes were completed for the day, wondering why she hadn’t told him anything through their messaging stones, wondering if the original stones were malfunctioning. He had no sooner opened the door before she pulled him in and kissed him deeply. He led her to the bedroom, both of them shedding layers of clothing along the way as they reunited. Later that evening, she lazily ran her fingers through his hair as the dancing lights he cast hovered over them, lighting the room in a beautiful pale blue glow.

“Marry me, Gale.”

They were married that week in a small ceremony, only Tara and Morena in attendance, though once word got out, many congratulations poured in from all over the Sword Coast. She had left later that week, and now she was finally coming home. He glanced at the bags he had brought from the tower, full of work and tomes, and contemplated putting them away before he felt his favorite hum of magic in all the world.

She stood in front of their cabin, looking in through the window at him. Her eyes watered, whether from joy or the wind she couldn’t say, but she’d blame the wind anyway. Four small glowing rabbits hopped around at her feet and led her to the door.

“Welcome home, my love.”

#bg3 #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 fanfiction #gale fic #gale x tav #gale x f!tav #gale x auroria #my writing #midwinter in waterdeep #baldur’s gate 3 #I don't know how to express how happy i am with this and i hope everyone else is too

37 notes · View notes

zecoritheweirdone · 2 years

Text

folks i made art for @scorpionoesit’s vagabonds fic. it is a very good fic and you all should read it if you haven’t already.

if you haven’t heard of it,, basically,, think clinic, but tommy doesn’t have healing powers + he heals many different groups, not just villains(and vigilantes).

it is,, as i said,, verrrrrrry very good,,,, we got clingy duo, we got bedrock bros, allium duo, golden duo,, whatever the hell tommy and fundy’s duo name is i don’t know i don’t keep up with these things. we got bamf tommy,, we got micheal aka the best character,, we got peanut butter cookies,, have i convinced you to read this fic yet. do i need to send my not-so-good essay. i will do it. no i won’t actually it’s not good but still you should read the fic kdjdkdndk.

anyway, ranting aside,,,, the art!!

click for better quality,,,,, reblogs > likes!!

i feel like the rooftop itself could be better(it is. very empty,, dkdnkd),, as well as the poses,, and the background is.. eh,,, but i like everything else about it!!

and that’s not all i have! made a couple little extra doodles,, putting them under the cut!! hope you all enjoy!!

#my art #dream smp #tommyinnit #technoblade #scorpionoesit my beloved i love their fics so much. my number one favorite author of all time; genuinely #whenever vagabonds and braided realities is done;; i would honestly love to print ‘em out and make ‘em into an actual book-#-for personal use;;; like if i ever get on a plane and wanna read something #with the authors permission of course;; kfnfkf. gonna wait until the fics are actually complete before asking tho fifnof #and i’d also need to like. actually learn how to bookbind #anyway rambling aside. if you’re curious about that essay i mentioned you’re welcome to look for it in my blog #i’m not linking it myself it is. not good as i’ve said fkfnfknfkfn. it’s only 1/3 about vagabonds #another third is about dsmp hero fics in general; and the last third is about. the owl house.#they are connected i promise. kind of #i just wanted an excuse to ramble and promote vagabonds and somehow ended up with 3k words of nonsense jdbdkdbdjvd #anyway x2. spreading my long-curly haired c!tommy propaganda. i cannot be stopped #also fun fact. techno’s hair is different than how i normally draw his hair. mostly the color #usually i draw his hair the same color as the pig skin;; but in the fic it’s specifically mentioned as ‘bubble gum pink’.#and i wanted to be accurate to that. even tho right next to him is tommy in a pony tail; something definitely not in the actual fic #tho it doesn’t really matter ngl;; you can barely see the difference in the final piece kfhfodbkd #still… i’ll know. and so will you; person who read the tags. thanks for that btw idk how many ppl actually read my inane ramblings down here #here; take a peanut butter cookie; made with a dash of chekhov’s gun #(i’ve rambled. so much(not really) about the cookies in various discord servers.)#i love this fic so much you would not believe #also ngl i kinda just. traced the. uh. shit what’s the thing called.#ok i forget the name but jsyk. i traced it fodnkdbd. did not try too much with that #well i mean. i did. with the coloring/shading bits. but not with the actual shape of it didjkdjd #also i just realized i forgot to add the fake writing details on a lil sticker on the thing but then i realized.#you can’t even see it anyway tech’s in the way. so. woo?#anyway i’m about to run out of tags so i guess this is where i stop #have a nice day/night; folks!!

29 notes · View notes

tonycries · 1 month

Text

Can I Fill You Up, Baby?

Synopsis. There’s no way he had a breéding kink, right? That was before he was balls-deep in you, cúmming in you for the third time in a row now.

Pairing. Multiple x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, lots of cúm, overstim, multiple rounds, mating press, breeding, pet names (my girl), swearing.

Word count. 1.5k

A/N. DON’T LOOK AT MEEEE.

Boys who didn’t know they have a breeding kink.

Pfft, seriously? Those were straight out of hentai, he’d roll his eyes as his friends tittered about it. “Next thing you’ll tell me is that tentacle monsters are totally legit, too.”

Because he didn’t have a breeding kink, right?

Well, at least he didn’t think so…but right now, with you sprawled underneath him, eyes half-lidded, and dripping cunt sucking his cock in so deliciously - he thinks the idea might not be too far-fetched after all.

Ripping off what remained of your top, lips searing against your skin as he bit down hard - marking you. You were so fucking aroused, pretty pussy pooling and forming debauched little strings of slick that connect you to his heavy balls. Throaty, desperate little grunts leaving him each time they slap against your skin, in time with the tight, little circles he drew on your throbbing clit.

A quick, maddening tempo he was losing his mind to.

Right now, he was absolutely feral where he was usually suave in sex. For some reason, that image of you babysitting your friend’s kid earlier today burns into his mind, jolting some raw, carnal part of him awake as he keeps ramming his cock into your snug cunt. Over and over. Purposefully and sinfully.

Ah, how lovely you would look so round and glowing with his kid. You’d look so pretty carrying his seed. The swell of your belly just because of him - all him.

“Baby…” he starts, voice hoarse with need. At your answering mewl, writhing beneath him, he continues, words that come straight from his throbbing erection. “Can I fill you up? Lemme fill you up. Please, my girl.”

“Ah! Hah- yes. Yes yes yes, please. Cum in me baby, fill me up.” Raw, pleading whines leave your bruised lips. Drool already dripping down the corner of your mouth at how deliciously filthy he was fucking you.

Body trembling, a shiver runs down your spine as you watch his pupils dilate, cock twitching so animalistically inside you at your words. Thrusts increasing impossibly, his thumb was now frenzied on your clit, desperately chasing both your highs.

Now, you’ve heard of orgasms that sneak up on you. Silent, powerful waves that leave you speechless. And before you know it, you’re creaming around his thick cock. Stars behind your eyes and a breathless whisper of his name leaving your swollen lips.

Seeing you so debauched underneath him sends him over the edge as well, his own release exploding into your awaiting pussy. Filling you up. Hips never slowing down, pumping hot ropes of cum into you animalistically. Your walls flutter around him, as if desperately trying to suck his big cock back in with each thrust.

Yet, your moans turn into sensitive gasps at the way your loving boyfriend still doesn’t show any signs of stopping - even as your jolts of pleasure turn into nothing but mere tingles. Thighs clenching around his toned waist, a question.

“Shhh, don’t worry, pretty girl. One more, you gotta do is take it.”

And he’s pushing in again, swollen tip hot and still hard and hot against your sloppy entrance. Both of you hissing at the overstimulation. Oh. Oh, shit.

“Hngh- you’re-” God. Looking up into those darkened eyes, something carnal glinting dangerously in them - only one thought rings in your head, going straight down to your dripping cunt - you’d be lucky to make out of this in one piece.

You can do nothing but lay there and take it as large hands spread your legs even more shamefully. His cum warm and dribbling out of you, fully exposed to his hungry gaze. Body jerking as he manhandles your legs onto his sculpted shoulders. Folding you in half, pressing down down down-

A mating press. A fucking mating press.

Scratch that, you’d be lucky to make it out of this alive.

He doesn’t waste time.

Splitting you open on his thick cock immediately, pushing back into your tight walls. Head thrown back and eyes rolling to the back of his head so pornographically at the way your cunt flutters around him - wetter and sloppier than before with his cum, struggling to take him again. Warm - so warm with his seed.

God, he has to fight down some feral, animalistic part of him that wants to just plunge into you till his twitching balls smack your ass. Not even waiting for you to adjust.

But no. No, he must be careful with the mother of his children - treat you like fine porcelain. Just as soon as he breaks you like one right now.

Fuck.

One, harsh thrust. His achingly hard cock splitting you open, pushing against the heady combination of resistance and your walls milking him to insanity. Sweaty forehead meeting yours, he can’t decide between the sinful sight of your cunt clenching around his length and the way your swollen, kiss-bitten lips fall into such a pretty oh!

“Oh- hah! Baby, please. Don’t hold back.”

Not that he was going to anyway. “Then take it like a good girl while I breed you, my lil’ slut.” his voice low and husky, making your cunt clamp down in anticipation.

And before you know it, his tight balls are flush against your ass, thick head kissing your cervix so painfully good. Hips rearing back - back back back, pulsing veins massaging your walls as he pulls out till his furiously flushed tip is just teasing your entrance. Only to slam back into you with one rough thrust, with little regard for your poor, abused cunt.

The bed creaks in protest as he starts up a merciless pace, not taking the time to ease it in for either of you. Throbbing cock sliding in and out of your dripping cunt in rough, purposeful strokes that have you gripping the headboard for stability.

Your cunt stings in both overstimulation and the way his tight balls smack against you at his unforgiving pace, strings of slick and cum connecting you to each other. “Hah- oh. So good, pussy sucking me dry so good Hngh-” he gasps out over the lewd slapping of skin on skin, mouth moving before his mind does.

Ass burning at the friction of his pelvis. Cum leaking out of you to pool beneath you. It was so fucking debauched. He was absolutely too far gone. Completely set on filling you till you explode.

“Oh, fuck. Gonna cum. Gonna fill you up again, my pretty girl- hngh-”

You whine at the pain and pleasure, far too cock-drunk to form any coherent sentences, body arching up for more more more-

You both cum with a raw, fucked-out whimper. Your walls stretch painfully as it tries to accommodate both his fat cock and another spurt of his cum. Tears stinging your eyes at the sensitivity, all you know is a burst of pleasure and the realization of how absolutely full you are of his seed.

It leaks out of you, seeping into your skin and you can almost feel it sloshing inside of your snug cunt. Mind hazy and vision blurring at this point. Yet, he still doesn’t stop.

You’re probably sobbing at this point - you don’t even know. Completely drunk on you and the idea of breeding you and you-

“One more, my girl. One more. Gotta make sure it takes.”

Raw, absolutely feral empty promises ring in your ears as he keeps moving inside you. Sensitively twitching cock dragging so maddeningly against your walls. Letting out raspy whimpers with each thrust, now nothing more than shallow, mindless movements fueled by pure animalistic need.

Fuck, ah, you were gonna fucking pass out.

“Hah- Baby, I can’t- oh-”

“You will.”

You squeal as your thighs clench around him, clit pulsing in pain and pleasure as he reaches down to start his rough abuse on it again. A final thrust. Only one press on your clit. Hard.

Your orgasm - if you can even call it that, nothing more than a distinct spike of pleasure - hits you with a jolt. Moaning and bowing into his weeping cock as you ride your highs out together. His poor, abused cock coating your walls white once more in thin, hot spurts. It overflows inside of you, cunt dripping and too full to take any more.

Maybe you black out, you don’t even know. Only brought back by the tear that hits your cheek with a wet splash! - blinking away the haze in your eyes to look up at your overstimulated boyfriend. His throbbing cock now shooting blanks inside of you.

Breaths ragged, blood roaring in your ears, you feel a sudden emptiness as he pulls out. A disappointed whine leaving you despite your state. Cum gushing out of you, forming a pool on the already-soaked bedsheets. Warm and so fucking sinful.

Pulling back to admire the view, his eyes widen, jaw dropping slightly at the heavenly sight. Greedy eyes locked on you and your pussy and you - blood rushing straight to his twitching cock. Reproachfully, you look up to meet his eyes, pupils blown and half-lidded, an insane glint in them that jolts you to your very core - and your abused cunt.

One thing was sure.

There’s no turning back.

- GOJO, CHOSO, Nanami, OIKAWA, Suna, KUROO, ATSUMU, EREN

A/N. Goals amirite?

Plagiarism not authorized.

4K notes · View notes

rachalixie · 1 month

Text

can’t get you off my mind

all good love stories start with a drunk stranger, don’t they?

warnings: mentions of alcohol, fem!reader

genre: fluff, comfort

word count: 4k

it starts at a bar.

or really, it starts with a man at a bar. one that you’ve seen before in passing, a familiar face in a sea of more familiar faces. someone who you’ll later learn is one third of your best friend changbin’s production team, someone who you should have met years ago probably, someone who you would find is the perfect puzzle piece that fits into your jagged edges.

but right now, he is just a man at a bar with a beer in hand and a ridiculously dopey smile on his face.

“marry me, please,” he says, absolutely serious but it’s a bit diluted from the way his words were slurred around the edges. “or i’ll have to kidnap you.”

“excuse me?” you raise a brow at him, his image swimming a bit as you turn your head to fully take him in. you’re not drunk, but youre a couple glasses of wine deep and you’re not known for being fully articulate whilst sober anyways.

“i swear i’m going to marry you,” he says, eyes wide as he looks at you. “you might be the most perfect person i’ve ever seen.”

you’re not overly fond of men you haven’t met hitting on you, but this one seems a bit harmless. if you ignored the part where he said he would kidnap you. at least he wasn’t grabbing onto you or trying to touch you - that would have sent your fist flying towards his face and probably a swift exit from the bar. it was a little weird that you didn’t find him weird, but in retrospect you must have known, even then.

“okay, listen,” you put your hands on your hips, giving him an unimpressed look. “if you find me when you’re sober, ask me again and maybe i’ll reconsider.”

“okay,” he nods, hair moving along with his movement like a puppy’s ears. “i can do that. i’ll find you, i promise. i’m gonna marry you, did you know?”

“so i’ve heard,” you roll your eyes, already feeling a bit fond about him. you didn’t think you’d meet him again, but you were sure that you’d look at this night with a fond smile later.

he sends you the brightest smile you think you’ve ever seen on a person and scampers off, and you stand rooted to that one sticky spot in the bar for longer than you want to admit.

–

he’s in the back of your mind when you wake up the next morning, in a better mood than most - you never liked waking up early, it always took you a good hour and some coffee to be able to stand without grimacing. this morning though, you float around your apartment as you get dressed with a small smile on your face.

a cute stranger who kept his boundaries and called you perfect? that wasn’t something that happened often, at least not to you.

the floatiness followed you all the way through your morning routine until you found your feet stopping outside the coffee shop that you and changbin all but owned. you had no stock in it, but you’re sure that you supply them at least half of their revenue, you probably sit on their rickety chairs more often than your actual couch at home. this place has nursed you through every college class and job interview preparations and beyond, and if it ever closed you might lose time off of your life span.

your movements from the door to the counter to your usual seat were robotic, muscle memory taking over while your head did somersaults through the clouds. it’s only when you take the first sip of coffee, the bitterness and heat hitting your tongue in a delightful dance, that you notice it.

another man is sitting next to changbin. a man that looks awfully familiar, and it takes you a moment to realize why. it’s the man from the bar.

“changbin?” you keep your eyes on the other man as you direct your question at changbin, trying hard to keep your face neutral. “explain?”

“i’m chan,” the man interjects before changbin can answer, reaching his hand across the table for you to shake. it’s warm, his grip somewhere perfectly in the middle of too hard and too soft, and he lets go after an appropriate amount of seconds. despite the neutral passivity of the gesture, you feel something ignite within you, and it threatens to sputter out when you catch no spark of recognition in his eyes. was he that drunk last night that he doesn’t remember you? do his sober eyes not find you as perfect?

“he crashed at my place last night,” changbin’s voice filters through your turmoil, and you finally break away from chan’s gaze to level him with a look. “and he needed coffee, so i brought him along. chan, this is y/n, my best friend.”

the conversation that followed flowed more freely than the coffee dripping from the machines behind the counter, and you almost hate how much you like it. chan is a little goofy, the man from the previous night shining through moments of seriousness and rapt attention.

by the time you had to leave to go to work you felt like you knew him. you learned where he lived (close to you!), that he worked with changbin (he’s a producer!), and that he loved all animals but he adored dogs (he has one named berry!). just an hour of casual conversation had led to you needing more of him in every aspect of your life, but still in the back of your head lived the thought of him not remembering you from the night before.

changbin leaves first, citing some meeting he had to run to in the middle of a yawn, and when you were left with chan the embarrassment began to set in.

“i’m going to marry you,” he blurts out, startling you so much you almost jump out of your seat.

“what?” you ask, a mixture of surprise and disbelief combining into a confusing vortex within your head - was he going to go through this again? you didn’t know if your heart could take it.

“i mean, i remember you,” he says before you could awkwardly excuse yourself and commit to getting to work early for the first time in a year just to escape being in a room alone with him for much longer. “i’m sorry, i was just embarrassed. i didn’t want to make a fool out of myself in front of changbin.”

“oh,” your breath leaves you all at once and you slump into your chair, understanding hitting you like a train. “that makes sense? i think?”

“i’m going to marry you,” he repeats, a mischievous glint in his eyes, the boy from last night shining through. “one day. i’m going to do it.”

“take me on a date first,” you tease back, a genuine smile stretching across your lips when he laughs, a full bodied thing that drew in eyes from the patrons across the room. for once, you didn’t seem to care that others’ eyes were on you. he made you feel comfortable.

“what are you doing tomorrow?” his mouth turns upwards into a beautiful smile that you can’t help but return.

“eager, are we?” you open your phone, sliding it across the table with the new contact page open on it. “i’m free.”

“you’re the most perfect person i’ve ever laid eyes on,” he says, as serious and genuine as the way he had proposed to you last night as he taps his number into your phone. “sorry if i’m a bit desperate.”

“don’t apologize,” you take your phone back, making a mental note to text him later. “i like it, for some unearthly reason. you’re cute, chan.”

the sound of his delighted laugh follows your footsteps all the way to work.

—

he picks you up for your first date at noon, right on the dot. he wasn’t a minute late, a polite knock sounding through your apartment just as the hour turned, as if he had been waiting and watching the time outside the door.

god, is everything about this man endearing?

he’s wearing shorts and a light sweater, looking like something out of a posh magazine. his hair is curly and swept off his forehead and he’s wearing a smile with the most adorable dimples shining through.

he leads you to his car and you have to hold back an impressed whistle. you knew changbin and his team did well for themselves, the name 3racha all over the credits of songs on the radio, but this car was nice. you were going to have a talk with changbin about why he still drove the same beat up sedan he’s had since college but that was a thought for later. right now all you wanted to think about was the man who held the door open for you to slide into the passenger seat and was now holding your hand over the middle console.

“do i get to know where we’re going?” you ask, peering at the map open on his phone but it tells you nothing more than that your destination was 15 minutes away and that he had to make a right turn in one mile.

“it’s a surprise,” he says, voice a little nervous but it was masked with excitement. wherever he was taking you, you would be happy to be there if he was this happy the whole time.

four songs on the radio later, one of which you teased him for when he revealed that he wrote it, he was pulling into a parking lot illuminated by flashing colorful lights. he had brought you to the fair.

“i’ve never been to the fair!” you bounced a little in your seat, wriggling in excitement. “i’ve always wanted to go, how did you know?”

“lucky guess?” he shrugs, avoiding your gaze as he cuts the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt.

“changbin told you, didn’t he,” you smile at the thought of chan asking his friend about what you’d like. it was cute, a word that you were probably exhausting when thinking about him even after a day of knowing him.

“yes, but,” he flushes, the tips of his ears burning red. “i asked him after i had decided to come here, just to make sure it was a good idea. i didn’t steal it from him.”

“hey, it’s okay,” you squeeze his hand in yours that he had yet to let go of in what you hoped was a comforting gesture. you didn’t know what brought him calmness yet, but you wanted to learn. you wanted to learn everything about him. “now, take me to the fair, bang chan. i was promised a date.”

he finally meets your eyes again and he’s grinning so happily that you feel like you had just won a prize. who needed a fair when you had your very own carnival game right here?

it turns out, you did. by the time the sun was beginning to set, your arms were full of various plushies that chan had won for you, each one earning him a hug and a kiss to his cheek. you treasured every single one, the fluttering in your chest when he stepped up to the booths to throw and shoot various things never ceasing.

“let’s go to the ferris wheel,” you tug at him with your free hand, thanking the skies when you see no queue there. “i bet the sunset looks beautiful from the top.”

he’s quiet when he follows you there and into the carriage, his thigh pressing against yours as he slides in next to you, but you don’t notice in your excitement. it isn’t until the wheel ticks to the top and stops that he grabs your hand again, trembling a little.

“chan? are you okay?” you ask, concern warping your voice as you turn towards him. your movement rocks the carriage a bit and he turns pale, ducking his head into your neck to hide.

“yeah, ‘m okay,” he murmurs, his eyelashes ticking your skin when he blinks his eyes shut. “just don’t like heights very much.”

“oh my god, why didn’t you tell me?” you cry out, jumping a bit and regretting it when you rock the carriage again. “nevermind that, what can i do? it’ll go down soon, you’ll be alright.”

“just keep holding my hand?” he squeezes your fingers lightly and your heart melts. you may have made a joke that he was just trying to trick you into holding his hand any other time, but the fear in his shaking body was real and you’d never tease him for that.

“of course,” you press a kiss to his hair, moving your other hand slowly to wrap around your intertwined fingers. the wheel begins to turn again, swaying the carriage as it descends. you keep your grip on his hand tight the entire time, all the way until you’re on your feet again on steady ground.

“i’m so sorry,” you begin to say, the horror of subjecting him to his fear creeping up now that the crisis has passed.

“i’m going to marry you,” he says, cutting off your apology and lifting your hands to his mouth so he could press a kiss to the back of yours. “no one’s ever been able to keep me that calm. thank you.”

you were left speechless after that and all you could do was smile at him, the ghost of it not leaving your face for the rest of the night.

–

your thirty first date with chan ends with you crying into changbin’s arms, utterly confused and the feeling of despair creeping up your veins. you had met him your cafe as you had done several times since the fair, but when you arrived he wasn’t there. he came late, dark storms in his eyes and a hard set to his jaw and you didn’t understand what had made him like that. the usual smile and twinkle in his eyes were missing, and when you and asked him about what was wrong he had snapped at you in a way you hadn’t been talked to in years.

you had left after that, brushing him off when his eyes had widened and he reached for you while calling out your name. you know that you should have given him a chance to explain, but at the time you were too hurt to consider it.

you made your way to changbin’s apartment without thinking, your feet taking you to safety before your head could catch up. changbin had taken one look at your face before wrapping you up in his arm, walking you to his couch so he could cuddle you properly while words spilled out of you like a leaky faucet. you felt like you were back in college, crying and blubbering over a boy who had rejected you at a party, and you hated it.

you didn’t notice changbin sending an angry text to chan, but the sound of changbin’s door opening with a bang startled you out of your tears. chan bursts in like a whirlwind, his hair sticking up at weird angles and a look of panic on his face as he takes you in. he reaches the couch in a few strides and falls to his knees in front of you, holding a crumpled bag from the cafe in his hand and taking your cheek gently into his other. his thumb wipes at the tear tracks there and you could practically taste the guilt emanating off of him.

“love, i am so sorry,” he starts, ignoring changbin when he scoffs at the apology. “i shouldn’t have snapped at you, i had no right to do that. i got some bad news this morning and i wasn’t feeling my best, and i should have been honest with you. i’ll never do anything like that again, please forgive me? i’ll do anything.”

it was more his voice than his words that did it - he sounded so desperate, like he was trying to hold

onto a ledge that was crumbling, threatening to hurl his body into eternal nothingness. you knew him, you knew he was sorry, and against your first instinct you trusted him when he said he wouldn’t do it again.

“is that an almond croissant?” you eye the bag in his hand.

“it’s two almond croissants,” he nods fervently, his hair swishing back and forth with the movement. you sit up, sliding out of changbin’s arms and onto the floor in front of chan. chan’s arms replace changbin’s easily when you lean into him, and it feels like coming home.

“it’s not like i have a nice couch you could be sitting on,” changbin mutters as he leaves, shaking his head fondly at the two of you before making himself scarce.

chan kisses you, cradling your head gently into his hands, and they’re so warm. he slides his lips against yours, slowly like he’s taking his time memorizing the planes of your mouth to commit to memory. even after kissing him dozens of times you still find new things to learn about each other.

“i swear,” he says, pulling away to meet your eyes. “i’m going to marry you, someday.”

“keep getting me croissants as apologies and we’ll see,” you say, sniffling into his neck.

—

your eighty seventh date was spent in your bed, your head spinning like both hands on a clock simultaneously and your body exuding more sweat than you ever have.

chan is wringing out a cool cloth to place on your forehead and it feels so nice that you moan.

“i’m sorry,” you mutter, and chan has lost count of the amount of times you’ve said it at this point. “we had a date and i ruined it.”

“we were going to see a movie,” he says, running a hand up and down your spine. “and we will. we don’t need a movie theater when we have a screen right here, hmm?”

“but the popcorn,” you complain, closing your eyes in bliss when he runs a hand through your hair, scratching gently at your scalp. an apology for being so sweaty was at the tip of your tongue but you hold it back in favor of enjoying the feeling of his touch.

“i’ll make you all the popcorn you want when you’re feeling better,” he promises, dropping a kiss to the side of your head. “for now, how does soup sound?”

“popcorn soup?“ you ask, a wave of dizziness taking over your body; if you weren’t lying down already, you’re sure that too would be falling over.

“yeah, baby,” and even in your delirium the fondness in his voice was prominent. he couldn’t hide it even if he tried. “i’ll make you some popcorn soup. get some rest okay?”

you’re asleep before he leaves the room, and you only wake up when he shakes your shoulder a bit and helps you into an upright position. he feeds you bites of what is definitely not popcorn soup after putting a movie on your laptop, the screen sitting at the foot of your bed. the both of you fall asleep before the movie finishes, but you don’t mind.

he stays with you for days, making you soup and tea and toast and feeding you medicine and being an all-around angel as he nurses you back to health. by the time you’re better you think you’ve fallen back in love with him several times.

as you had expected and warned him about, he catches your sickness the next week, and now it’s your turn to be his nurse. you try and do the same job he did, but his delirium seems worse. the silver lining is that his fever isn’t as bad, so you’re babysitting a babbling boyfriend more than a sick one.

the night before his fever breaks is the worst, since he doesn’t even recognize you. you shake your head at his silliness when he asks who you are and calls you pretty. you smile when he takes your hand in his and asks you to come closer.

you tear up when he tells you that he has a girlfriend that he loves very much and so even though you’re pretty he can’t do anything else because his girlfriend is the prettiest one in the whole world. you let a tear slip when he tells you that he can’t wait to propose to his girlfriend and that he’s going to marry her someday.

you tell him that you have a boyfriend that you're going to marry someday, trusting that he wouldn’t remember it in the morning.

—

your hundredth and fifth date was not unlike your fifth, or your tenth, or your ninetieth. two and a half years later, you were just as endeared by him and he was just as obsessed with you - even more so, if it were possible.

he takes the time to tell you how gorgeous you look when he picks you up just like he does on every date, and you hide your disgustingly fond smile for him behind his back like you do every time you see him.

he parks and runs around the car to let you out like he does every time you habit this restaurant, a little fancier than your usual best but it was a favorite of the both of yours - across the street from the bar the two of you had met at.

you start walking before he does, letting him jog to meet you and complain about how you left him, just like you do every time. before him. you might have thought the monotony would have gotten tiring, but he had a fantastical ability to make every moment feel like the first despite their practiced nature.

he calls your name from behind you right on schedule and you hum in acknowledgement, turning towards him absentmindedly. the second you lay eyes on him you’re completely alert, though; he isn’t jogging after you, but rather he’s kneeling on the sidewalk, a small box in his hands as he smiles up at you.

“i’ve told you that i’m going to marry you more times than i can count,” he starts, eyes shining like the stars twinkling in the night sky above you. “but this time i’m asking you.”

“chan,” you choke out, hands coming up to cover your mouth as it quivers. tears spring to your eyes and you silently curse yourself - you always thought you’d be level headed when you got proposed to, but nothing could have prepared you for this, not even the thousands of declarations he had made to you prior.

“i love you. you’re the only one in the entire universe that i need more than blood or breath, you’re the song that runs through my heart and the fire that leads my path when i’m lost,” his voice is thick, like he’s trying to hold back his emotions long enough to get his words out. “i never thought that i would feel so strongly for someone, i never thought that i deserved a love like this until i met you.”

he pauses as you walk closer to him, letting you approach him before he continues.

“my love, my eternal light,” he’s tearing up now, blinking fast to keep the salty water at bay. “will you marry me?”

“chan,” you start, kneeling down next to him and taking his wrists in your hands. “i never told you this, but ever since that first day i knew. i knew that the drunk idiot that was hitting on me would be my husband.”

he chuckles, smiling delightedly as the tears finally spring from both of your eyes in unison.

“so?” he trails off, searching your face with his eyes, waiting.

“oh!” you tighten your grip on him in an apology. “of course i’ll marry you, gosh i love you so much.”

#stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids #skz fluff #bang chan imagines #bang chan fluff #bang chan x reader

2K notes · View notes

meiieiri · 1 month

Text

𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: in which toji hears the words “happy birthday” for the first time.

pairing: toji fushiguro x reader | song inspo: cliché | visuals: keychain | hidden inventory: the lost tapes series masterlist

warnings: brief mentions of physical and emotional abuse (toji’s painful past, really, i just wanna give him a big hug). inspired by the works of @/ddub1618 on twt!

He could get in trouble for this, now, normally, he doesn’t sneak out of training but Toji’s curiosity got the better of him this time. Being one of the taller kids, he stays close to the ground so his hair doesn’t stick up from the bushes. He holds his wooden katana close, peeking when he hears delighted laughter coming from the engawa of the estate, a sound that’s a little rare here in the Zenin estate.

“Happy birthday!”

Toji’s breath hitches in his throat when he hears the happy giggles of one of his younger cousins, and he stealthily sneaks over to a tree that’s just a few feet from one of the estate’s buildings, hiding behind the trunk, peeking from time to time to see what’s going on. He watches with a glittery look in his eyes when his aunt presents his third or fourth cousin, Toji doesn’t really know at this point, with a gift box, happily urging the little one to open it.

A thousand thoughts were running through his head as he inquisitively watched the toddler open their presents and have some of the sweet colorful mochi his parents must have requested from the estate kitchens for this special day. The sweet smell of osekihan lingered in the air, and Toji’s stomach growls at the decadent aroma of the slow-cooked red bean rice. He doesn’t get to have sweets often, so he is left wondering if his parents would allow such a thing for him on his own birthday.

“Toji, what are you doing here?”

Toji stiffens at the sound of his older brother’s voice. “Shh, I’m trying to watch.” He says, pressing an index finger to his lips, making a shushing sound. “Look there.”

Jinichi momentarily places his hands over his hips, indulging his younger brother. “It’s just a birthday. What’s so special about it?”

The younger Zenin huffs at the arid response. “I’ve never had one of those before.”

Toji looks down at the broken fingernails on his hands, worn out from the grueling training regimen today, he imagines what it would be like to hold a present and not sharp edged rocks for once. He can only imagine the excitement he’d feel as he slowly pulls the green gift wrapper off the box, being extra careful with it because it looked too pretty and expensive to haphazardly tear apart. As for the tooth-rotting mochi he’ll be receiving, he’ll do his best to only eat tiny pieces of it at a time, making sure to leave some of the sweet treat for later because who knows when he’ll ever get to eat such a luxury again?

“Say, why don’t I get a birthday? It’s always just you getting one every year.”

Jinichi rolls his eyes. “Everyone has a birthday, dimwit. But not everyone celebrates their birthday.” Toji scowls in displeasure at that, his bottom lip curling up in a pout. At his brother’s petulant silence, Jinichi taps out of the conversation, turning on his heel to go back to the training grounds. “I’m heading back, I’m not about to catch another beating because I went to go look for you.”

“Go do whatever you want. I’m staying.”

And with that, Toji turns his attention back to the joyous occasion, looking longingly as the little birthday celebrant receives a loving peck on the cheek from his mother. He doesn’t even notice the familiar ache in his heart that accompanied how his fingers touched his cheek longing for the day his own mother does that for him.

In a perfect world, all children are wanted; they’d have warm beds to snuggle in at night in place of a rundown storehouse’s cold hardwood floor, their cheeks would be showered with kisses and not harsh slaps, they’d be lulled to sleep by warm lullabies and not the sound of their parents arguing why their child turned out this way like they’re some factory defect, they’d be given toys and not weapons that they need to master.

In a perfect world, Toji would have spent his sixth birthday with a plate of nerikiri in front of him and not some random rocks he found in the garden and lined up in a neat row to make it resemble the white bean dessert. He’d be surrounded by the people he so painfully loves and not the sympathetic ants that crawled on the grass in a tucked away corner of the Zenin estate’s compound on the day he was born into this world.

In a perfect world, Toji wouldn’t have to sing himself a ‘happy birthday’ because no one else ever cared to do it for him.

“Happy birthday, Toji…”

“Toji!”

He must have been zoning out. You told him to meet you outside Shinjuku station today for your date and he doesn’t really know how long he’s been sitting in the waiting area, but it must have been long enough for his mind to wander to the agonizing recollections of his childhood. Toji looks up to see you hurrying to tap your train card on the turnstile with a tired smile that’s pretty hard to miss.

Toji stands up to meet you halfway and you giggle, launching yourself in his arms. Toji loves it when you do that, it shows how you trust him completely that in any and every given second, he’ll always catch you. Burying his face in your hair, he inhales the floral smell of your shampoo, the haze in his mind dissipating ever so slightly.

He frowns when you’re the first to pull away and he opens his mouth to whine about it, but he instantly drops it when he sees you holding up a little gift-wrapped box in front of him. Toji blinks. “This for me?” He almost couldn’t believe it. “You actually remembered?”

You’ve been casually pretending this entire week that you didn’t know what was coming up because you’ve been trying to keep your little surprise low-key until today. Nodding, you kiss the scar on his lips.

“Of course I did! That’s why I was late, I was looking for some…uh…well, never mind! Just open it!” You tap your toe against the floor shyly as his fingers nimbly and painstakingly unwrap the present.

As if he had stepped into a time machine, Toji pictures himself back in the Zenin estate, his knees pulled to his chest as he celebrates his birthday alone, a solitary tear streaming down his face. Except something’s different like the time-space continuum hit a snag or something. The difference being a miniature version of you, smiling adoringly at him, as you plop down next to him on the dirt ground, not caring if your little dress got soiled. In his hands, in this version of events gone by, is a half-opened present wrapped in a beautiful blue gift paper.

Oh, how it would have been nice had that been the case all those years ago when your gentle hands would cup both his cheeks, your thumbs gently rubbing his bruised cheeks. How you would have brightened his days with your warm sunshine.

After what seems like an eternity of gazing into your orbs, seeing his modified past play like a montage from the light reflecting off your eyes, Toji opens the gift and he picks up a crocheted keychain, his index finger flicking the metal hook.

“A frog.”

You chortle as he points out the obvious. “It was the easiest thing to crochet,” you said defensively. “I was late today because I was looking for these,” you point to the black beads serving as the little frog’s cute eyes.

“There’s a…” Toji trails off, his voice wavering. You know what he’s talking about, so you take his bigger hand in your delicate ones. The two of you gazing at your little masterpiece.

“Sorry, I kinda ripped it when I pulled the yarn a little too hard. Guess I was getting sleepy.” You rubbed the back of your head sheepishly. “Then, I kinda ran out of green yarn to fix it, so, I had to improvise. I’m sorry if it seems a little offensive—“

Toji cuts you off with an abrupt kiss, not caring if the two of you were attracting a crowd of commuters as the two of you kiss in the middle of a crowded train station. “It’s not half-bad, squirt. Don’t worry.” He ruffles your hair, eagerly suppressing his smile as he looks at the frog keychain that’s meant to resemble him with the tiny pink scar you knit on the corner of the frog’s smiley lips.

Your heart practically leaps out of your chest and you nudge him gently as he continues to stare at the keychain. “Don’t lose it now.”

“You kidding? I’m putting this in a damn safe.”

The two of you share a laugh at that, your fingers interlacing with one another as your lips brush against each other once more.

“Happy birthday, Toji.”

2K notes · View notes

vivwritesfics · 2 months

Text

"Oscah"

Accord to his girlfriend, his name isn't Oscar. It's Oscah

"Oscah!"

There was one person who said his name like that. Well, her brother sometimes did, but she only called him 'Oscah'. She hadn't said his name properly in months.

There was a small (rather large) part of him that loved it. It was a cute little nickname for him, like when Lando called him Osc.

Basically, the Norris siblings hated properly pronouncing is name. After a year in Mclaren, a year of being Lando's teammate, nearly a year of being with her, he barely knew his own name. Oscar Piastri? He only knew Osc and Oscah.

"Oscah!" He turned around at that. There she was, sitting beside her brother, readying herself to throw a balled up piece of paper at him. It didn't escape Oscar that she and Lando were sat in the exact same position. They weren't twins but they really could have been.

She wound her arm back and threw the piece of paper at Oscar. Call it his amazing driver reflexes, but he caught it and opened it out. 'U+ME = get out of here?'

He looked up, and she was still watching him. With a quick nod they were both out of their seats, walking out of the room as Lando sat there confused. "Thank you for enabling me," she said as she grabbed a hold of his hand, leading him outside.

Oscar stopped her and kissed her quickly. "I will never not enable you," he said and kissed her once again. "Now come on, before your brother catches up to us."

Even though they both loved Lando, he was the third wheel in their relationship. They both felt bad for taking off on him, but they just needed some time alone.

***

The paddock was bustling as Lando and Oscar walked through it. "Do you know where it is today?" Lando asked as he put his cap backwards.

Oscar's eyebrows rose. "It? You mean your sister?"

"Yeah, it," Lando reaffirmed.

Oscar had never heard Lando refer to his sister as 'it'. But it didn't surprise him. She bothered Lando just as much as he bothered her. "She is..." Oscar had to think about it. His girlfriend had told him where she was going to be while he was racing, but, for the life of him, he couldn't think of it. "I think she's at your grandma's house?" He suggested, but his eyebrows were raised, as if he himself didn't know.

"Huh," Lando muttered, nodding his head.

They continued on through the paddock.

"Oscah!"

He stopped dead in his tracks. She wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to be back in England, with grandma and grandpa Norris. Oscar wouldn't believe it, not until he saw her.

"Oscah!"

This time, he couldn't stop himself from running to her. Phones were out, cameras were clicking as Oscar grabbed a hold of her and pulled her into his arms. As a usually private person it was weird to see him being so public, but neither of them cared.

"Lando knew the entire time, didn't he?" Oscar whispered, still holding her.

"Who's idea do you think this was?" She whispered back, tucking herself into his side. "C'mon, Oscah, show me the car," she said, pulling him away from the cameras.

***

She had been napping as he finished up. She'd woken up far too early and no amount of monster energy was keeping her awake. So, she napped while she waited for Oscar.

When Oscar finished, he gently woke her up.

It didn't matter how gentle he was being though. She batted his hand away and tried to roll away, nearly rolling herself off of the sofa. "C'mon," he said softly, attempting to pull her up.

"Piss off, Oscar," she muttered with a groan. "Let me sleep."

It was so weird, hearing her call him Oscar. He wasn't Oscar, not to her at least. Who was Oscar? He didn't know.

He stood over her for a moment, and she finally looked up at him. "What? Oscah, what?" She asked, sitting up.

"There we go," he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her up. "Got scared when you called me Oscar."

"When I called you by your name?" She asked as he picked her stuff up (what a gentleman).

"When you called me Oscar, yeah."

"What do I normally call you?"

He stopped and stared at her. Did she seriously not realise that she rarely called him by his name. "Say my name," he said.

"Oscah."

"Now say Oscar," he said, putting emphasis on the R.

"Oscar-oh."

Oscar couldn't stop himself from laughing. "You seriously didn't notice?"

She shook her head and Oscar kissed the top of her head. "I love you."

"Love you too, Oscah."

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri x reader smut #op81 #op81 imagine #op81 x reader #f1 #formula one #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine

2K notes · View notes

dcxdpdabbles · 3 months

Text

DC X DP Fanfic idea: It's all Fun and Games Kids!

Danny Fenton moves to Gotham.

He moved there not because his parents ran him out of the house. His dad was bawling and begging him to stay while his mother spent three full days writing up different graphs to show how much safer was by nearing by so they could protect him.

(It's not like he still lived with them. Danny had moved out to his own place in amity when he was twenty-five. Moving clear across state lines wasn't much of a difference in his eyes)

He moved there, not because the ectoplasm was high. Ectoplasm is everywhere on Earth, and quite frankly, Gotham's was as polluted as its water was. It made the air spicy.

He moved there not because he was offered an amazing job or a life-changing opportunity. Danny's full-time job was writing novels. They were all based on his adventures in the Ghost Zone -with changed names of course- and were a hit online. He also had all of the Ghost King's gold.

He moved there simply because Danny wanted to.

Something about the city called to him, in a way that said "Hey this could be your home." He visited once for a Humpty Dumpty concert and fell in love with the sights, the people, and the life of Gotham.

Now some people would accuse him of being mad. Those people probably had a rebellious teenage stage where they had done crazy things like sneak out of the house, underage drink, sleeping around, or smoke something.

Danny, when he was a teenager, was fighting for his life and the lives of the ungrateful townspeople.

He didn't get to his rebellious stage. He didn't get his rush of doing something stupid because he was young and thought himself bigger than life.

So here Danny is, living his life as he pleases to make up for it.

He doesn't have to sneak out of his house since he owns it, he rather not drink or smoke (would they even affect him? His healing factor has never been tested against it) and Danny would like to be emotionally attached if he decided to sleep with someone.

What then does a man with too much time, too much power, and not enough bad young person decisions do?

He flirts with Death.

Death just so happens to be Batman-shaped.

Now it's all fun and games. He knows he doesn't have a real chance with Batman- it's Batman. Way out of Danny's league.- but that doesn't mean he can allow himself to fall into stupid situations and be dramatically rescued by the crime fighter.

Now if only his kids weren't so good at their jobs.

"You really should be more careful, Mr. Fenton. This is the third time this week" Nightwing says while untieing him. Danny does his best not to pout at the other. He had been having fun finding the answers to the riddles.

He wasn't at all worried about the fact he was placed over a pool of burning chemicals. He had been tried to a chair that was carefully balanced on overlapping ropes. It wire would snap with each correct answer, until he would fall his demise unless they could outsmart the Riddler.

Danny had gotten five out of ten correct before Nightwing burst through the ceiling.

"I don't mind," Danny says rubbing his wrists. "Better me than someone innocent."

Nightwing's lips purse "You are innocent."

"Yes, but I hardly matter in the grand scheme of things." Danny waves his hand missing the look of distress on the hero's face. He looks around the darkness of the ceiling hoping to spot a certain crouching figure.

"Is Tall Dark and Daddy here with you?" He asks Nightwing when he fails to see him.

"Please don't call him that."

Danny shrugs, suppressing his smile. He twirls back around to Nightwing pulling out a piece of paper from his jean's pocket. "By the way, I found the other victims, hid them in the cellar, and drew a of map of Riddle's bombs for you. You're welcome."

Nightwing stares before carefully taking the map. He taps his ear twice, muttering in a code- for that may be English but sounded like gibberish that it can not be anything else but code- and only after he hears a voice respond back does the hero give a strained smile. "Thank you, Mr. Fenton. This helps a lot."

"You're welcome!" He repeats with a bright smile. It's so odd for his efforts to be appreciated. Odd but nice.

Danny waits for the other to do his Bat-trained disappearing act- sometimes he wonders if Gotham gave her Knights a form of invisibility- but the man remains.

He shuffles his feet uncomfortable and Danny's eyes light up. Oh! Another attempt to get him to stop flirting with his father. What fun~!

"Mr. Fenton.....last week Red Robin rescued you from the Joker. Do you remember?"

"Yes. Red Robin is a great kid."

"A kid....weird for you to call him that when he's only a few years younger than you." Nightwing starts but Danny holds up a hand.

"I'm older than you"

There is a tight frown on the other man's face now. "You are not."

"I am." Danny pulls out his wallet flashing his ID card. The downside to his Ghostly powers is that he seems to be aging at a slower rate- at least physically. His parents theorized that he would take two years instead of the one that his aging required. Not an accurate number but the closest they had especially since both his parents were late bloomers and had baby face.

While Danny might be thirty-eight he appeared to be no older than nineteen.

"Mr. Fenton I don't think you should be carrying a fake-"

"Stay away from my father Harlot!" Robin screeches falling down from the shadows above. He points a very sharp sword at Danny's neck, sneering the whole time. "He has better things to do than rescue a love-struck worthless fool!"

Danny, leans on the top of the sword, eyes drinking into Robin's slight flinch when it cuts his skin a little. This is it. The Rush he had been craving for.

"I don't mean to be kidnapped Robin honest. It just sort of happens in Gotham." He makes his voice and body innocent in a way even Orphan can not tell he is lying. He knows because Clockwork confirmed the last time they met that the girl read his body language just as he wanted her to.

The two ghosts met up regularly to watch his overly "sweet" eyes fluttering and cheerful "Oh Batman you rescued me~!" performances together for a good laugh.

"You lie! You plan for this to happen to try and seduce my Father!"

Huh. The kid was smarter then his foul mouth and snobby behavior looked. Still Danny only had to twist his face into confusion for Nightwing to step in. The other vigilantes pulled the scowling child away, scolding him for harassing frightened civilians.

It was fun to see but nothing beat making polite come-ons to Batman- nothing gross like catcalling but more of overly thankful and dreamy sighs. Maybe he should see what Two-face is up to?

Surely the man would take him hostage and Batman's many children would be too busy to save him thus leading the Dark Knight himself to come to his aid.

Or in a world where Danny Fenton decides that it would be hilarious if he took on a Brucie Wayne persona in Gotham. Complete with a Heart-eyes-it's-beefy-Batman mentality that tricks the Batfam into thinking he is a Himbo who has bad luck for always getting caught up in villain schemes for being at the wrong place and wrong time.

Also, the Bat kids make it their life goal to keep Bruce from rescuing Danny since they do not like watching Fenton flirt with their dad. Even if Bruce himself ignores the boy they can't really threaten him.

Danny Fenton isn't being malicious or anything. He's just a boy with a crush who doesn't know better.

Clockwork is cackling, recording his favorite parts of Danny's interactions with the Bats.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #It's all fun and games kids!#spirit halloween #The Batkids are stressed #Danny pretending to be a Himbo #Like Brucie but only towards Batman #Danny looks young as hell #Bruce is ignoring him for now #Slow burn???#Maybe???

2K notes · View notes

bunny584 · 2 months

Text

OBSESSED: YUTA (PT. II)

A/N: Special grade lover boy finally has you, his dream girl, in his hands. Surely he’ll be able to handle it…right?

S/N: This one is for the anon(s), the Yuuta girlies. I hope this means I get to rush Yuta Phi Alpha next year!! 🤭 (you can read part I here )

C/W: Yandere themes, aged up characters (21+), Mature, 18+

Any minute now.

You should be calling, any minute now.

Yuuta rolls his favorite pair of your underwear into a cylinder.

Even. Perfect.

He tucks it next to the 14 other perfectly even cylinders he’s taken from you.

An impressive collection, considering that it’s been only 3 months since he’s been back from Morocco.

3 months since you eviscerated the barrier between fantasy and reality.

You touched him. You kissed him. His building blocks came crashing down at your feet.

And yet, you still don’t see him.

It’s been torture.

Purgatory.

Falling back into the platonic, easy insteps of friendship. Breathy giggles. Air tight hugs. Feather light kisses.

On his cheek.

Friendly gestures as thin as the air on the summit of Mount Everest.

Leaving Yuuta the same way, every time.

Desperately tugging his cock.

Filling your stolen lingerie with his seed. Marking you. Branding you as his over and over again. In the confines of his quiet, sterile apartment.

Sullied by his lewd coping mechanisms. Babbling your praises day in and day out. The paintings on his walls know you by name.

Because you’re his.

Yuuta has chosen to love you every minute between sunrise and sunset and sunrise again. Ever since his cold met your warmth.

From afar. In the dark. Meticulously crafting the blueprint of your future together. Where you love him, freely. Openly. Without input from your friends or exes.

You need him.

Why else would he be the first person you call after every date?

Agonizing about whether you said the right thing. Or wore the right thing. Leaving a long list of people Yuuta has to take care of.

Not that he minds. He loves helping you.

Beautiful, silly girl.

Can’t you see?

He’s already created a gorgeous life for you two. He’ll give you the stars. The moon. A whole galaxy if you want it.

True, mutual love.

He just has to make you see it.

See him.

“There you are.” Your ringtone is his personal call bell.

Yuuta was starting to think you were going to use your girlfriend’s shoulder to cry on instead of him.

You were supposed to be out on a third date tonight. But you’re not. When it comes to picking up the pieces after your frivolous little flings — Yuuta is always your go to.

“Hey you.”

His palm caresses the heavy bulge in his pants. Tone is steady. Unassuming.

“Yuuta?” Soft sobs intertwine with his name, and it’s decadent.

“Hey. Hey.” Yuuta’s fingers impatiently tug down his zipper. Adams Apple sliding down the column of his neck, swallowing a moan.

You sound so pretty like this.

“What’s wrong, beautiful?”

“Can I…can I just come over?”

“Yes..of course you can.” Each word rolls off his tongue carefully. A stark contrast to the storm winds rattling his heart around its cage.

Broken, teary whines kiss his ears and glide down his spine. Yuuta pulls his cock free. Smearing pearly beads of pre cum around his swollen head. His body is so well trained for you. Primed to your voice. Your touch. Your gaze.

“You’re the best, Yuu.”

A satisfied grin blooms across Yuuta’s face. He uncurls his long fingers from around his base.

No more self indulgence. Not yet.

Tonight is about you.

“See you soon.”

—-

Is this wrong?

This is wrong.

…right?

Your fingers plait together. Shifting weight between your feet.

Staring at Yuuta’s door, knowing your dark-haired, sleepy-eyed friend is probably watching the clock. Anticipating your arrival.

Maybe you shouldn’t vent to him about other guys.

Maybe you shouldn’t use him to soothe your broken heart.

But he’s so soft with you.

Patient. With open ears, open arms. His capacity for you seems limitless.

Always peering at you with those deep set, graphite eyes. Opaque, winter fog. Quick to muddle your sense of direction if you look into them long enough.

Kind, but so, so unsettling.

Before you can reason yourself away from his apartment, Yuuta pulls open his front door.

“Hey pretty,” his mellow greeting is a warm weighted blanket around your shoulders.

“Hi Yuu,” your arms snake around his neck. Because it’s comfortable. He’s comfortable.

His toned arms sink into your lower back. As if your waist was tailored to the contour of his muscle. A low sigh breezes against your neck.

“Come in.”

Yuuta is hushed. He always is. Perpetually whispering secrets for your ears only.

You follow the gentle sorcerer into his apartment. Low lit. Shadows from the candle wicks dancing along his walls. Beckoning you into his lair.

“I made you some tea, is that okay?”

Yuuta’s lithe fingers fidget against his thighs. Almost 4 years of friendship and he still hasn’t shaken his nervous ticks around you.

Sweet boy.

“Yes please,” your smile is already less gloomy.

Yuuta mirrors you with a lopsided smile of his own. Small dimples dusting a boyish charm over his otherwise haunting features. He shuffles to the kitchen. And you take in his broad shoulders. Lean, muscular physique.

He really is handsome.

Eerily beautiful.

Effervescent porcelain skin, deepened from the Moroccan sun. Acute, angular jaw line. High cheekbones. Thick, raven hair that’s always a little storm-tossed.

A crescent moon against a clear night sky. Watching over souls trapped in their own personal graveyards.

There’s something about him that always seems…heavy.

Constantly balancing the weight of the world on his back.

Or something.

You settle in the couch just as Yuuta materializes into the living room. Stealthy, quiet footsteps. If he wasn’t the one who let you in you could be convinced that you’re alone in his apartment.

“Be careful, it’s still hot.” Yuuta warns. His eyes linger on your lips. Memorizing each pucker.

He’s so close.

Sweet steam kisses his face with each blow. And he sits there. Perfectly opposite of your mug.

Unphased. Unblinking. Still.

Close enough to take a sip of his own.

“Thank you for letting me come over on short notice, Yuu.”

Your thighs startle beneath his wintry touch. Both palms, larger than you remember, knead the fleshiest part of your hips.

“Don’t thank me. I’m here for you.” His tone descends. A deep drawl laced with conviction.

“I’ll always be here for you.” Yuuta repeats, pads of his fingers indent into your skin.

Your eyes metronome between his.

Slowly evanescing into his firm, glacial touch. Hazy from his half lidded gaze. There’s no time space continuum between you two.

“Yuuta—“

“Tell me what happened.” Shards of glass rain down his dry windpipe. Willing with every cell in his body to remain neutral.

The gates open.

You’re so animated. It’s captivating. How you feel so many things.

The way your eyes flutter while telling him about how you were stood up. A call came out of the blue. A short, unsatisfying cancellation of your dinner date.

And Yuuta leans in. Nodding. Petting your mouth-fucking-watering thighs. Forcing himself to remember to move his eyebrows. And blink. And look away from Aphrodite every so often.

He knows the story.

He wrote the story.

And for the record, gorgeous. Your crush sounds pathetic when he’s begging for mercy.

Weak.

A man like that is beneath you.

Yuuta’s jaw loses tone.

Pretty crystals line your eyes. Your bottom lip is swollen. Red like Merlot stains on a bottle cork. Your mini skirt rides up a quarter inch higher by the second. Mostly from his fingers. Every time you gesticulate he caresses just a bit higher.

White noise fills the space between Yuuta’s ears. He’s inebriated. Incapacitated by the honey that seeps from your mouth every time you speak.

And he can’t keep ignoring the way his cock is thrashing against its barrier. Begging. Pleading for reprieve.

The Apple in the Garden of Eden.

And the consequences of his inevitable bite mean nothing to him.

“Please,” Yuuta interrupts. Barely above a whisper.

Your eyebrows crawl together at the center of your barbie doll face. So oblivious. Blissfully unaware of how you fuck his brain to nothing but smooth, empty, mush.

“I’m sorry I’m rambling—“

“No. No.”

Yuuta’s body moves before his mind can catch up. He slides off the couch to his knees. Nudging his hips between your legs. His muscular arms hook beneath your legs at lightening speed.

You have no time to gather words when he pulls you to the edge of the couch.

“Yuuta?” Delicate hands fly to his shoulders. Steadying yourself in this new, sudden position.

You’re heady. Shocked. Glassy eyed. Fully flushed from your button nose to ears.

You have no idea how addicting you are. Working sticky heat out of Yuuta’s needy length without even touching him.

He presses his lips into your inner thigh. Instinctively gripping your hips forward when you reflexively jump back.

“So perfect,” Goosebumps cascade along where his moist mouth traces.

“Y-yuuta, we...we’re friends.”

Yuuta drags his drunken gaze to meet yours. Resting his head in your lap. Feathering his icy hands up your butter soft skin.

“You’re so pretty.” He murmurs. Purposefully evading your observations.

He has some observations of his own.

Yuuta doesn’t miss the way his praise affects you. How your breath hitches. And your nails dig into his shoulders. Pupils blown to a full moon.

And the slow growing damp spot at the apex of your pink cotton panties. Yuuta can’t bring himself to stare at your precious rose. Not yet. He’ll cum in his pants if he looks now.

His slender nose traces up your quivering leg. And you bloom. Thighs drifting further apart. Making space for him. Inviting him in. Rewarding him.

“I can make you feel better.”

You gift him a pitiful little whine in response. Timid fingers travel into his nape. Yuuta’s heavy eyelids curtain his vision.

The room is spinning.

And Yuuta is kneeling at the only alter he will worship at. The only alter that will ever receive his devotion.

Those years of waiting. Wanting. Watching. Unsent love letters. Saved texts. Practiced conversations in the mirror. Stolen trinkets. Pieces of you he’s kept along the way.

It was all worth it.

Because the love of his life is spread open for him. Vulnerable. Needy. Melting beneath his touch like your body knows it belongs to him.

Yuuta couldn’t hold back if he wanted to.

“D..do you know how perfect you are?” Yuuta asks the warm, sore flesh beneath his lips. Admiring the trail of bruises he’s left up your inner thigh.

“Yuu, you don’t mean that.” You mewl and squirm like a brand new kitten. Mousing his hair between your fingers.

“I mean it. Y..you’re so…” his voice trails off when his trembling, pale digits finally press into your wet heat.

“S-soft. You’re so soft.” Drool pooling in his mouth chips away at his coherence.

Yuuta’s stormy eyes find the meeting point of his hand and your sex. The sight alone bucks his diamond hard shaft off of his leg. The friction from his damp boxers and rigid jean blurs his vision.

“Oh pretty girl.”

“Mmghhhh Y-Yuu..ah god.”

Both of your husky musings collide. Yuuta drives his long two fingers into your accepting, driveling opening.

He immediately curls up into your pleasure point. Eliciting the most dreamy, listless curve to your back. Tossing your head into the pillows behind you. Gripping his roots into your hand.

“Y-yuu, I need…please.”

Whimpers wrap around Yuuta’s cock and jerks him out of his fucked out state.

He didn’t realize he was open-mouth staring at how your cunt squeezes and tugs on his fingers. Leaking your dew onto your thighs. His fingers. His couch. Saliva streams down the corner of his mouth like he’s a starved animal.

He blinks up at you. Debauched. Lusty. Filthy in the way your hips are undulating against him. Taking your pleasure right out of his hands.

“I need…I need to hear you say it baby.”

Yuuta swipes his tongue against your clothed pussy. And you nearly buck off the couch.

“Please, y-yuu,” diamonds line your eyes again. So much pleasure in the pain of being teased.

“Say it, baby.” His breath kisses your swollen clit. “T-tell me what you need.”

“Lick..please, suck…Yuu,” He’s never heard a more beautiful plea. And his restraint was already teetering on a hair string.

Yuuta’s other free hand rips your panties away from your dewy folds. And his spine is set on fire.

The dull ache in his pelvis crashes into him like he’s at the deadly meeting point of the Atlantic, Pacific and Southern oceans.

“So..so pre..god.” Nonsensical words. Unintelligible noises.

Then his tongue circles your bud and he is gifted a taste of your elixir.

Somewhere between his pathetic sobs into your pussy, your gorgeous melody filling the room and how you grind your pretty petals along the length of his tongue — Yuuta isn’t sure he’ll be able to survive this.

At some point he pulled his cock free from its restraint. Spearing high and heavy in the air. Constant needy dribbles of pre cum staining his shirt, rolling down the length of his shaft. One or two drops even escaping to the floor between his knees.

He hasn’t stroked his length once. And he is this close to release.

And it is infuriating.

Yuuta hates how closely he is riding his peak right now.

Because he is not nearly done with you yet.

He wants you on his tongue. On his cock. For hours. He needs to coax orgasm after orgasm out of his one true love.

“Y-yuuta,” your right hand pulls at his head with all your strength. Yuuta has to bite back a whine.

His murky gaze meets your darkened one.

“Inside.” A clear, high-pitched command.

And Yuuta couldn’t dream of denying you. Of saying no to you, ever.

“O-okay, yes baby.”

He stumbles to his feet. Shakily working his jeans and boxers into a pile around his feet.

Your wide eyes and oh shaped mouth stains his face cherry red.

Why are you looking at him like that?

Is he not enough?

Were your other lovers bigger?

He’ll get rid of them if—

“Yuuta…will it fit?”

You shatter his spiral to stardust. He can breathe again for the first time since you came over.

Yuuta eagerly chases you up the length of the couch. Until he’s nestled comfortably in your legs. Your heat kissing along his drenched rod. Mixing your arousal with his.

“It’ll fit, because you’re made for me”

Yuuta rasps through tight lips. Burying his head into the gentle slope of your neck.

How is everything going exactly right and completely wrong at the same time?

He is more disciplined than this.

He is supposed to be in control.

But your warm, sweet petals sheath his length.

And you begin to circle your hips underneath him. Rubbing your nectar along his cock like you are marking him as yours.

Yuuta loses his sense of reality.

Unrelenting waves of heat ram into his groin. His cock stutters and beats against your precious cunt. He can’t bring himself to look you in the eye. Because everything dampens.

“No…n—no no wait!”

Yuuta smears protests into your neck. Hips rutting against your opening. Pressing you deep within the cushions. Rabid, uncontrolled movements. Ascending in pace faster than you can keep up.

“Fuck, fuck..”

“Yuuta? Are you cu—“

You have your answer the moment his hips hover over yours. Cupping his thick, blushing tip.

He fails to contain his explosion. Yuuta is mortified when stark white globs contrast your black mini skirt.

Air settles thick between you.

Circulating breaths between his clipped and your shocked ones. Decades pass between you before silence is broken.

“Don’t worry, Yuu! This doesn’t change anything.” Your smile is light and playful. Kind in the way that makes him fall in love with you again.

But…what do you mean?

Of course this changes everything.

He can please you.

He knows that.

This was just…

This was just one time.

The first time.

Amidst the cyclone of thoughts decimating Yuuta's brain, you’ve managed to wiggle around him. Currently lacing up your strappy heels.

Yuuta’s mouth lolls open but words fail to materialize.

Once you’re satisfied with your appearance, you prance over to his side. Still frozen on the couch with a handful of his cum. In the messy remnants of his unwanted peak.

Your lips meet his cheek. And your next words run his blood subzero.

“We’re still friends! We’ll always be friends, Yuu.”

Yuuta’s steely eyes laser into your retreating figure with sniper precision.

Beautiful, silly girl.

You two will never be just friends.

1K notes · View notes

tyunni · 2 months

Text

┈➤ I LIKE YOU SO MUCH!!! (when ENHYPEN like you...)

enhypen masterlist | library

genre: fluff, fluff, fluff! warnings: i'm not sure if any specific gender is mentioned but keep in mind i do tend to usually write fem!reader, enha r kinda losers, mentions of being drunk in jakes part, isnt proofread so if you see any mistakes.... oh well! wc: 2.6k+

a/n: good lord, i haven't written anything in MONTHS so i'm a bit rusty 😭 i started writing maknae line first im p sure you can tell i put more effort in them and then i started getting tired, sorry😭😭😭

☆ — LEE HEESEUNG

who would've thought the cool, the chill, the awesome lee heeseung would end up being such a loser. a lovestruck, foolishly in love loser.

your fingers lightly grazed his hand when you walked past him in the hallway today, a touch that lasted a mere second, yet heeseung's heart exploded, and so did his friends' group chat when he boasted about your interaction like you had just asked his hand in marriage. he knows being lovesick is lame, but so what?! he can't help that he melts into a pink puddle of adoration whenever you make small talk, or when he closes his eyes an image of you pops into his head and makes his palms feel sweaty. yes, he feels his knees go weak at the mere mention of your name, and he's willing to endure his younger friends teasing him every time they spot you hanging out with your own group of friends.

so what if you're the only thing on his mind every second of his day. it's completely normal to make playlists for your crush, giggle, and roll around in your bed when you let the lyrics sink in and fill your head with the thoughts of the one you desire.

it's also totally normal of him to write down little compliments on a piece of paper and put them on your desk when you're not looking. he giggles like a little girl when you open the note and read not even a third fraction of what heeseung truly thinks of you and wishes to tell you one day. his smile grows wider when you finally read the initials written on the note, LHS, and you look over to his desk with your cheeks dusted pink, widened eyes looking into heeseung's.

(rest of the members under the cut!!)

☆ — PARK JONGSEONG

jay is very fond of you, he accepted that quite quickly. you're cute. he likes cute stuff, that's something new he has discovered since he started to fancy you.

"jay, are you serious?" - riki turned towards the older with a blank face, tired of his friends new shopping addiction, - "you have like 4 hello kitty stuffed toys in your bedroom, you don't need another one."

ah, innocent, naive riki. he doesn't know having a crush makes one forget about any form of rationality and make every decision without giving it another thought. jay is the number one victim of the 'everything reminds me of them' disease, he feels every wrinkle of his brain smoothen whenever he thinks of you, so it's not a surprise that he can't control his hand as he swipes his credit card and buys himself another plushie with a lovestruck grin on his face.

"are you even listening to me?" - the younger complains, jabbing jay's arm with his elbow to get at least a little reaction out of him. if anything else but you were on jay's mind this would've worked and he would've scolded riki by now, talking his ear off about how annoying he is, clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes at his childishness. but it doesn't work.

"you're such a cheeseball, y/n has made you soft, jay, she's ruining you!"

but riki's words fall on deaf ears the second jay's eyes land on another cute stuffed animal that had reminded him of you as he grabs his friend's arm roughly and drags him into yet another store.

☆ — SIM JAEYUN

oh, he's down bad. jake would do anything for you. yes, even walking all the way from his house to the party you were at just to pick you up and walk you home, making sure you reach your house safely.

you called him in the middle of the night, the buzzing of his phone waking jake up. he groaned at the brightness of his screen flashing his newly opened eyes, yet at the sight of your name he rubbed the sleepiness off them, quickly picking up your call.

"jake, i'm drunk!"

and that's all it took for him to jump out of his bed and run towards his destination. surely enough you were waiting outside for him, a big smile growing on your face at the sight of him.

sure, he was extremely tired and out of breath, his voice was still groggy from waking up around 10 minutes ago, the cold, chilly night yet to have its effect on him and wake him up completely, yet he still let you ride on his back when you started complaining about how your heels hurt your feet.

you had been talking to him about something, even though you had no idea what you were saying with the way your words were slurred, your voice muffled by his jacket. jake was nodding his head, humming after a few sentences to make sure you knew he was listening, even though he didn't know what he was listening to. you started off by talking about the party, and somewhere along the way you got lost in your own words and so did jake. his soft hums and the steady rhythm of his feet lulled you to sleep, and when he felt your eyelashes close against the nape of his neck, your breath falling onto his skin as your cheek rested further upon his shoulder is when he finally let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head, stopping in his tracks to close his eyes and think to himself:

"fuck, i love her, don't i?"

☆ — PARK SUNGHOON

sunghoon is desperately in love with you. he can't help it, butterflies swarm his stomach when he thinks about you, a sheepish grin makes its way onto his features when you talk to him, his eyes dart across your face every chance he gets so he can burn every second spent with you right into his memory.

"sunghoon, do you think this looks good or should i try on the blue sweater?"

to be completely honest, even if you wore a trash bag he'd think you looked gorgeous, and he hadn't been paying attention to any outfit you had shown him so far, your smile which grew wider with each compliment he gave you the only thing on his mind.

"you look beautiful, y/n."

"oh, come on, sunghoon! you've been telling me this about every outfit!" - you groan, yet a grin is still plastered on your face at his sweet words, "you have to help me!"

sunghoon tries, he really tries to hold himself back. his teeth sink into his tongue in hopes of biting back the words that were about to slip out, yet they still do. and so does his little secret.

"it's not my fault i'm in love with you!"

☆ — KIM SUNOO

sunoo is a sweet guy. everyone likes him: the teachers, the students, his friends, and complete strangers. his smile is contagious, his face is soft and beautiful, his eyes crinkle up when he smiles, and he's kind, helpful, friendly. who wouldn't like him? well, you, apparently.

it's not that he's intrigued by your cold attitude towards him, he's simply determined to make you like him just like everyone else. it's quite difficult to get to know you though, you don't speak to anyone except a select few. if your friends don't come to school you usually sit alone, either mindlessly scribbling in your notebook, or sleeping. you always have that look on your face. one of pure boredom, uninterest, that "why are you even talking to me" face.

sunoo thinks it's stupid. how could you not be thrilled to talk to the people around you? how is it even possible to not want to get to know everyone, to grow your circle, have new people to talk to and share experiences with.

you know who sunoo is. everyone knows who sunoo is. when he walks past you down the hallway he's always waving at someone, stopping in his tracks a few times to have a little small talk, then quickly picking up his pace once the bell rings so he gets to make it in time for class. it doesn't matter if he's late though, the teachers adore him like he's their own son, and he hasn't gotten a single second of detention. sunoo has the sunshine privilege. that's unfair. you don't like when things are unfair. you don't like the sunshine privilege. you don't like sunoo.

so you avoid him.

but he somehow still finds his way back to you.

"she totally hates you, dude, get over it," - sunghoon groans, shoving another loaf of bread into his mouth, and threatening to shove some into sunoo's mouth so he stops talking about you for the fifth time today.

"but why?! i didn't even do anything to her, i tried talking to her every single day since she moved here, i'm nice, i'm helpful, i'm a great guy, what am i doing wrong?!" - the younger boy whines into his palms, head buried in his hands, trying to come up with a way to win you over.

one of his other friends chimes into the conversation, taking a seat in between his friends and playfully wrapping his arm around sunoo, - "it's okay, man, there must be a way to get your little crush to like you!"

sunoo whips his head towards the boy, eyebrows furrowed so deeply that you'd think they'd merge into one another any second. - "heeseung, it's not a crush!"

sunghoon chuckles at his oblivious friend, - "is too!"

"... is it?"

you are kinda cute. your attitude, although not sunoo's style, makes you look even more adorable. you have pretty lips too, although you're always frowning. he thinks you'd look better with the corners of your lips turned upwards though. he wants to see you smile. he wants to make you smile. he wants to make you his.

☆ — YANG JUNGWON

jungwon thinks he's a pretty chill guy. he's always been levelheaded. most of the time he's the only levelheaded person in the room, to be completely honest. he knows what to say and when to say it. although he resembles a cat, the saying "cat got your tongue" had never applied to him. so why is he standing in front of you, his crush, ready to have his very first conversation with you, without a single word coming out of his mouth?

"oh, hey! jungwon, right?" - you ask, sending a soft smile his way.

you know his name. you know his name. you know his name.

"huh? yeah... i'm jungwon. um..." - his confident smile fades instantly when it really sinks in that he has no idea what to say to you. he always knows what to say, how could this happen to him?! this is ridiculous. if he weren't standing in front of you right now he'd slap himself in hopes of rattling his brain somehow.

your eyebrows furrow at the awkward silence taking over, - "do you need anything, jungwon?"

his name falls past your lips so gracefully that if hearing you say his name followed with the three words he wants to say to you the most means he must sell his every worldly possession, he will. but he can't tell you that. he can't tell you how pretty your eyes are either, he can't tell you that he wants to hold your hand, or wrap his arms around you and keep you in his warm embrace for a little while. or how he wants to bury his head in the crook of your neck and bask in your warmth, or that you're the most beautiful person he has ever laid his eyes on and it'd be an honor to take you out on a date. yeah, he definitely can't say that.

"you're the most beautiful person i've ever laid my eyes on, it'd be an honor to take you out on a date..."

it's over. he's a goner.

the way you twiddle with your fingers at his confession goes completely unnoticed despite his big round eyes growing wider at his own words. he's too far gone to see how a warm smile had made its way onto your face.

"sure, i'd love to!"

it's not over. in fact, it's just getting started.

☆ — NISHIMURA RIKI

riki is quite good at hiding his crush on you, considering how the overwhelming feelings have such a weight to them that he's sure his heart doubles at the mere mention of your name to make room for the intense emotions that'll start kicking in. you two aren't dating, although he wishes you were, and you're most definitely not best friends. he knows you, you know him, you think he's nice, he thinks about you every second of every day, y'know, the usual...

"riki, hey!" - you push through the crowd of students walking around a narrow hallway that could only be described as a jar filled to the brim with tiny little ants, very studious one's at that!

his friends' heads immediately turn your way. a girl, talking to riki?! although their eyes don't stay glued on you for too long, they quickly glance at riki. the sight was hilarious, his long fingers were brushing through his disheveled hair, free hand tugging at the hem of his hoodie to smoothen out any wrinkles. there's a soft tint of pink spread across his cheeks, nothing too noticeable, although the burning red glow of his ears was far from discreet.

"y/n, hey!" - he grins, the hand combing through his hair now scratching the nape of his neck to try and play it cool... very smooth! a muffled laugh escapes from one of his friend's shut lips as their orbs dart between the boy and you.

you reach into your pocket, rummaging through the various things you keep inside. crackling of your house keys and noises of crumpled-up paper can be heard before you take out something. riki's eyes try their best to tear away from your mesmerizing features so he can see what you're trying to show him with your arm stretched towards him and a big grin on your face. he notices a little something lying on your palm. it's a duck keychain. if you were any other person he'd look at the item in your hand with a disgusted look on his face, eyebrows knitted together, eyes squinting in pure horror. but you're you. you're the love of his life. that's probably why riki can feel his heart thumping against his ribcage, a stupid smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he tries his best to fight it off, yet the inevitable happens.

"take it, it's a gift! i saw it on the way to school and it reminded me of you!"

he quickly takes the keychain from your palm, ensuring his fingers stray as far away from yours as possible. even the slightest bit of physical contact and he feels his heart will explode for good. he mumbles out a thank you before you turn on your heels and walk away, completely oblivious that the butterflies in his stomach now make their way towards his throat, making him swallow dry.

"hey, riki, what's that?" - jungwon nudges him with his elbow, eyeing the item riki's holding between his fingers. a smile makes its way onto jungwon's lips as he glances up at his friend who's currently grinning from one red ear to another, rosy cheeks like pink buttons on a sweater made with love and care.

"i thought you hated ducks," - sunoo adds, sly hands reaching towards the keychain to try and pry it out of riki's hands, but instead the tall boy clutches harder onto the item, bringing it to his chest.

"well i like this one!" - he adds, furrowing his eyebrows and glaring at his nosy friend.

riki never knew he could like ducks this much.

taglist: @geombyu @junityy @uygmoeb @sunghun @eternallyhyucks @pshjae @marknaeroni @feyregels @neos127 @koishua @echo-of-a-writer @w3bqrl @duolingofanaccount @goldenhypen @sungniverse @hittoki @acciomylove @soobin-chois @anik-4 @yjwfav @ja4hyvn @ddeonubaby @deafeningballoonnacho @squiishymeow @odxrilove @iyeonjuni @nyaforniki @kittyeji @pinkyyyujin @addictedtothesummernights @love-4-keum @luveill @enhastolemyheart @kpop-kitkat @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @str4b3rizz @solvgume @nishislcve (bold means i can’t mention you, if you want to be a part of my taglist fill this out!!)

2K notes · View notes

libertyybellls · 4 months

Text

KISS IT OFF ME !

pairing; finnick odair x f!dist4!reader

summary; finnick can’t take his eyes off of you in any crowd- but he can take care of you, what’s new?

contains; FLUFF, established relationship, finnick is still pining for reader, alcohol consumption- but positively i guess, reader is anxious in the beginning, objectification by the capitol as per usual.

a/n: i hope im not misunderstood but when i put specific photos or outfits/hairs in the headers of my works that is not directly what i am picturing the reader as! its more-so the hairstyle, or the outfit- or simply the aesthetic of the picture. not the race, hair nor body type. ur all cutie pies. ok anyways onto the fic kiss kiss.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

“well would you look at that!” your stylist squeals in your ear, “from the moment you won your last games i have just been dying to design for you again and… here we are!” she ushers you to spin around.

she’d always been kind to you, perhaps less kind to your dignity- always wanting to flaunt you like a show pony- but nonetheless her support had always been there.

“it’s beautiful, thank you.” you smile small at her. so bittersweet, she was oh-so ecstatic to dress you up once more but to you- this meant less serenity to you. more agitation, more distress, more death.

it felt like a paradox, to be adorned in this sweet, innocent, baby pink before you’re sent away to a grim world once again- you’d already gone off on a tangent to finnick. you’d both sobbed solemnly about the cruelty of it all, how you would never be able to live in peace.

but finnick just wanted you both to have this one night, to indulge in the capitol before you were sent of to your deaths, obviously he would see the brighter side of thing- blabbering about plutarchs plan and how he only needs to protect you, katniss, and peeta until he can get you out of there.

sounds so very simple doesn’t it?

once you’d finished your interview you attended a party, a celebration for the third quarter quell. how ironic, what was there to celebrate?

you’d seen the food platters, the spiked drinks, and indulge you did.

your brain had been fuzzy by the time you’d escape the overbearing class of the capitol citizens, who wanted to know every detail of your life.

it was then- finnick had spotted you- so inebriated you’d genuinely laugh at something the woman next to you said.

feasibly being that she’d said something so pretentious you couldn’t help but tilt your head back in laughter. but nonetheless he admired.

he admired your dress, your smile, the way your eyes slightly disappeared when you laughed, the way your hair was laying down your back. he was simply under the spell of you.

it was then your eyes met his smitten ones, so love drunk- or possibly just drunk- that you’d excused yourself and made a beeline straight for him.

he’d encaptured you with warm arms, a leather corset-like article of clothing consumed his waist- followed by his white buttoned down that seemed to be unbuttoned.

you noticed the way his eyes consumed you- not like the others did. not like you were a piece of cake, not like you were something they had to have for the night, but someone who lit his chest alight.

“you look beautiful.” he murmurs into your hair, his hands around your waist.

“i hardly feel that way- im scared, i think.”

he shook his head, pulling you from his warm embrace much to your dismay. “don’t be. you’re with me right now.” finnicks plush lips lay atop your forehead now.

you laugh as he continues to peck your face, giggles leaving your lips.”so beautiful.”

it was only when you nearly toppled over your unnecessarily long pumps that he took not of your consumption.

“so head over heels it seems you’ve had a little to much to drink. what do you say i get you back to your room now? hm?” he straightens you back up. “run you a bath?”

you let out a muffled mm into his chest, your other hand placed on the side of his chest holding you steady. “love you s’much finn.”

it was his turn to laugh now, there was no mockery, no heinous act behind it, just you and finnick. “i know baby.”

#finnick angst #finnick fanfic #finnick fluff #finnick imagine #finnick odair #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair smut #finnick odair x reader #finnick oneshot #finnick smut #finnick #hunger games finnick #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick x y/n #thg finnick #my #finnick odair x you

1K notes · View notes

pshaven · 6 months

Note

enhypen making YOU lose nnn ?

OUUUUHHHHH. this is good. i love this. ur mind needs to be studied

cw! fwb with heeseung, established relationship with jay and sunghoon, riding, oral (f & m receiving), doggy, reader gets called slutty girl, princess, jay brat tamer hehe, hoon is evil, lmk if i missed anything!

이희승 heeseung ᥫ᭡

as you’re heeseung’s number one fuck buddy… well, he’s not very ecstatic about your decision to join the nnn challenge. he thought it’d be okay at first– he has other people to attend to while you’re busy. he actually discovered something new about himself thanks to your personal challenge: he can only go a few days without you. he really did try to distract himself with other hookups but they just aren’t you! no pussy felt like yours, and no one moaned his name the same like you do. so now he has his own personal challenge: to make you lose nnn! he thinks it’d be a piece of cake, really. because have you seen him? how can you resist him?

turns out pretty well, much to his dismay. he disguises his mission as an innocent “wanna watch some movies tonight?” to come over. you, in skimpy top and flimsy shorts that you typically like to wear when staying in. he thinks– knows– he’ll have a hard time keeping his hands to himself. and you’ve always been such a good girl, so you’ll obey him this time again, right?

it starts off with just a hand on your thigh, and even though you give him a side eye he pretends he doesn’t notice, eyes too focused on whatever movie you decided to put on. he notices when your thighs tense each time his hand inches close to your clothed cunt, and it’s so slow– you guys have probably burned through two movies already but heeseung wants to take his time, see how long you can really resist him.

you’re doing too well, and the space in his pants is beginning to tighten up the more you tense your thighs… he swears he can feel the heat radiate off your cunt, he knows you’re wet… you just have to be! by the third movie, he’s done playing around with you and grabs the remote out of your hand, “how ‘bout i give you something else to hold?”

“knew i could get you to cave- ah, shit!” heeseung cursed, hands on your waist as you bounce up and down on his cock. you whine, nails scratching his chest to leave marks that will definitely last for days.

“i hate you!” you squeal at one particular thrust when he bucks his hips into you, the tip of his cock hitting your cervix. his eyes are focused on your entrance taking his length in, brows furrowed in concentration as he lets out a breathy chuckle. “heh, not enough or you wouldn’t be cumming on me right now.”

박종성 jay ᥫ᭡

he is such a good sport about it, honestly. he’s an amazing boyfriend, at that! he makes sure he avoids doing anything particularly sexy around you (but let’s be for real, anything he does is sexy). he encourages you and does his best to avoid any particular advances that you put on him during no nut november because he knows that once he reciprocates it, it’s over for you. so you do get a lot of no’s and don’t even think about it throughout the month… but he thinks you’ll thank him by the end of the month.

wrong. you’re extra bratty in particular today (november 27th), trying to tease him and tempt him when you rub your palm against his bulge during game night with the other members. he has a good poker face… for maybe ten minutes until he’s rock hard in his sweats underneath the blanket that you both are sharing. you’re stifling your giggles behind his back, occasionally popping in some commentary of the game so the members don’t get too suspicious on why you’re so quiet.

old habits die hard, so how else is he supposed to act when you’re being bratty?

“you only had three more days left, princess,” jay taunts in your ear, his hand on your back to bend you over the sink counter. you whine, but you shaking your ass tells him exactly what you wanted. “guess this slutty pussy just can’t live without me, huh?”

you nod your head repeatedly, “mhm! can’t get enough- wan’ your cock now~” you moan when he slides down your bottoms, hand slapping your ass in the process. he’s a weak man for you, and honestly he’s been dying without your warmth around him for almost an entire month so he’s impatient as well.

jay reaches for your neck, lifting your head up towards him so that your back is arching. “could’ve just stayed a good girl and lasted the whole month,” he mutters into your shoulder as he slides himself in your tight entrance, both of you releasing a long sigh of relief.

심재윤 jake ᥫ᭡

okay… he definitely set himself up for failure when he proposed that you both do the nnn challenge together. he thought it would be soooo funny and easy! not even twenty four hours passed and he already regretted it, seeing you prance around in some cute shorts that leaves half your ass hanging out and a loose shirt that clearly shows your perky nipples. he really hates having a roommate that is as hot as you– maybe nnn wouldn’t be such a challenge then.

you’re determined to get your assignment done as you sit on the couch next to jake, typing away at your laptop while he merely scrolls through his phone, occasionally (every five seconds actually) staring at your tits through your t-shirt like he has x-ray vision. he clears his throat, mindlessly letting some random tiktok play as he begins to zone out, letting his mind think about him wrapping his lips around your pert nipples as he rubs you through your stupid excuse that you call a pair of shorts.

“you’re hard.” you comment after hearing the same tiktok play for over seven times. “it’s like you want to lose no nut november?” you tease before shifting your attention back to your laptop. jake clears his throat again, shifting in his seat when your words snap him out of his daze. “want to help me lose?”

“slutty girl- ah fuck- can’t say no to some dick, yeah?” jake muses as you choke down on his cock, saliva dripping out from the corner of your lips. you moan around him, your hand around his length tightening a bit at his words that causes him to curse underneath his breath.

you go particularly deep, a small reward for him when his fingers inside you speed up. he has you on all fours on the couch, his long arm reaching your cunt as he scissors his fingers inside of you. if he’s going to lose, he’ll lose with you. “f-fuck, you’re so good ‘n so wet for me, huh?” he taunts, your juices squelching from his fingers and sloppy mouth working on his cock.

“oh, you cummin’ already? roomie… didn’t know you were this sensitive. so cute,” he hums, slowing his fingers down as he works you through your orgasm. but he’s talking as if he isn’t five seconds away from cumming down your throat.

박성훈 sunghoon ᥫ᭡

he thinks it’s cute you want to do the nnn challenge! but he also thinks it’s cute that you think you can resist him for an entire month. the exact opposite of jay– he makes it his personal mission to make you lose. he’s such a bad boyfriend, making you exceptionally horny, especially the first night after you tell him about your little goal to accomplish this challenge. he’s playing with you in bed, the hands on your waist not so discreetly creeping up to your chest. you have to physically detach his hands away from you so you don’t start acting up.

the next morning is even worse– he’s stepping out of the shower and into your shared bedroom with only a towel that is barely hanging on his waistline. your mouth goes dry, your attention completely stolen away from your phone and onto sunghoon. “you sick bastard,” you curse under your breath, but it doesn’t go unheard by your sneaky boyfriend. “you could just… i dunno, lose right now,” he mumbles, going over to you as he nuzzles your neck. you’re doing much better than he thought when you push him away with a stern and determined look on your face.

but in the end, he’s always right. and you give in like a child who’s offered some more playtime if they complete their homework. but he really didn’t expect you to give in when he’s doing something so basic, cooking dinner for you when you come back late from uni or work. but it gives him an ego boost either way.

“can’t believe you got turned on from me cooking,” he snickers as he lifts his head up from in between your thighs. you roll your eyes, your grip on his hair tightening as you pull him back into your cunt. “i-it was the domestic-ness of it, okay? just shut up and make me lose already,” you pout.

he groans, sliding his fingers inside of you with ease, thanks to his own work. “you already did… approximately one minute ago. but i guess i can make you lose twice,” he grins before he latches his mouth onto your sensitive bud.

#enhypen #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen hard hours #enhypen fanfic #enhypen imagines #heeseung smut #jay smut #jake smut #sunghoon smut #heeseung x reader #jay x reader #jake x reader #sunghoon x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen hard thoughts

2K notes · View notes

melancholyhigh · 10 months

Text

ARTWORK

ft. leon x artist!reader

synopsis. you're an artist, and leon's your muse.

content. 1.5k words. fluff, smut. nude painting, leon's pov, needy leon, praise kink, masturbation, handjob.

note. this was j supposed to be fluff but i got ahead of myself.

masterlist. i love your guy's feedback :3

“Paint me like one of your French girls.”

You laugh at Leon’s statement. He’s perched on the small, green couch in your home art studio, wearing nothing but his pink, fluffy robe as you prepare your oil paints.

“You’re my first French girl, Leon.”

–-

You had suggested painting him nude while you were both in bed, lazing around. You’re in each other’s hold, Leon’s arms around your waist and face on your chest when he asks about any new projects you had in mind.

He loves hearing about what art piece you were doing or planned to do. It was how you expressed yourself, whether there was a deeper meaning or none at all. He found it beautiful. Every work you do it had a bit of your personality in it. He could tell your work from thousands by the intricate details they carry.

When you told Leon you wanted to paint him, he wasn’t too surprised. You mentioned he was your favourite thing to draw or think of when you had art block. The admission had left him sputtering, his face red as he tried to get his words out.

On the third date, you showed him your sketchbook, pages littered with drawings and portraits of him. Some were quick sketches, while other’s looked like you took time to get every detail of him.

You’re always on my mind, Leon. You had confessed. Was it a little creepy? At that moment, flipping through the drawings of him, the attention to detail they held, he’d say it was romantic.

People have always said he was pretty as a picture, yet you’re the only one that makes his heart beat faster and his tummy fill with butterflies when you say he’s the type of gorgeous you’d find in a painting.

“A nude painting,” you specify. It was as if you told Leon he was the object of your affection for the first time again. His head buries into your chest, trying to hide his flushed face. You smile at his sudden bashfulness.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, baby.” You run your fingers through his soft hair. “I want to try something new, but it’s okay. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“‘S fine, angel. But can’t you use a picture?”

“Where’s the fun in that, pretty boy.”

He groans, muffled by your shirt, and you giggle.

He loves to please you — in more ways than one — and nothing compares to the smile that graces your face, so he agrees. It’s not like Leon’s uncomfortable with you looking at him bare and vulnerable. There were other problems he was worried would interrupt your craftwork.

–-

Leon leans back into the couch, doing just as you instructed. His bare back hits the soft cushioning, and it’s surprisingly comfortable.

His robe is off, on the floor next to your easel. He rests his chin on his hand, supported on the arm of the couch.

He’s nervous. You said it’s nothing you haven’t seen before, but this almost feels more intimate than being intertwined with you in bed.

Maybe it’s the gaze you hold when you’re analysing him, grasping the compositions and layering basic shapes onto the canvas.

He can’t help but think of when you told him he’s your favourite canvas to mark up. Sucking the reddish marks into his skin which turn the prettiest shade of purple, as you like to put it. Or when you said the colour on his cheek was your favourite shade of pink.

You always did like to rile him up, muttering the filthiest things to him in the most mundane setting, just like right now.

“Spread your legs wider, Leon.” You mumble in a casual tone as if you don’t know the implications of your own words. You’re so engrossed with getting your work right you probably don’t.

It’s so fucking sexy seeing you in your element. Your brows pinched together, and your face serious with concentration.

He obediently listens to you, parting his legs wide, and the problem he wishes wouldn’t happen is currently hardening between his thighs. You don’t notice, mixing paints to ensure it's the correct shade.

You’re probably 30 minutes into painting, and he’s already hard. You said you’d take a while to finish, and he could tap out whenever he wants to, but he doesn’t want to disappoint.

Finally, you’re looking up from the canvas and towards Leon. Your brows quirked up in surprise when trying to examine his features, studying the curve of his nose and the sharpness of his jawline to imitate on the canvas. His face is pink, the shade you know and adore so much.

Your eyes trail down his body, his dick fully erect, slapping against his stomach. Your gaze is on his face again with a smirk on your lips.

He knows, you know, he’s rock-hard simply from the glances you take at him and the words you mutter. His lashes flutter, and he moves his hand to cover his face while the other is shamefully obscuring his cock.

“Be a good boy, and don’t move, Leon. I want to make sure everything looks good.” You say, and he thinks you aren’t going to acknowledge his 7-inch problem.

“Oh, and make sure your pretty dick is hard for me, okay, baby?” You go back to your painting, trying to hide your smug expression.

His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows his nerves, but he relents, going into position, not before giving his cock a firm squeeze.

“Don’t cum too, okay? I want to be the one making you cry.”

A few hours pass, and Leon is on the verge of tears. He listened to what you said, only providing himself with enough stimulation to keep his cock hard but not enough to tip him over the edge into bliss.

Precum leaks from the head down to the shaft. His dick is red and spent. He wants nothing more than for you to stop painting and make him cum.

“I’m almost done. You’ve been such a good boy for me, baby.”

Your words are almost enough to make him spill his cum over the expensive fabric of your eccentric couch.

You’re adding the finishing touches to the painting with each stroke, making sure you get the placement of each mole or freckle correct and each vein of his cock following to the tip right.

You swear he belongs in a museum. No art can replicate how beautiful he truly is.

“I’m done.” You sigh, moving to get up to rid your skin of paint.

After rinsing yourself off the paint, you make your way to Leon. You get comfortable in a seat on the couch right next to him. He’s breathing heavily in anticipation, looking up at you through his long lashes. Pretty, pink lips parted as pretty gasps left him.

You cup his face, pressing your lips to his. The kiss is soft as you move your lips slowly in unison. He breathes out your name when you pull away. One of your hands moves to his throat, softly squeezing. Leon whimpers, his hands moving to hold your waist.

“Good job, baby. You didn’t cum once. I know it hurts, but I'm going to make you feel better,” you whisper, softly kissing his flushed forehead.

Your hand moves to his pulsing cock, and gives it a soft squeeze, relishing the whine Leon lets out. Your touch sends goosebumps along his skin, and he plants his head into the crook of your neck.

His hips eagerly buck into your hold. He’s practically sobbing into your neck, his soft hair tickling the underside of your jaw. You rest your chin on top of his head, smelling the fragrance of his shampoo.

You thumb the slit on the tip of his cock, using his precum as a lubricant to start moving your hand back and forth on his shaft.

You start at a slow pace. You don’t want Leon cumming quickly, wanting to enjoy every cry and whimper.

The soft shlick noise of you jerking Leon’s cock fills the room with his desperate cries. He pulls back away from the crook of your neck, tears flowing down his blushing face.

“Please, please, please, g– go faster, angel. I’ve been such a good boy for you. Let me cum, please.” He pleads, looking at you with those puppy dog eyes. His hips rutted frantically into your palm. How could you deny your boy?

“Okay, pretty baby. Cum for me.” You say softly, picking up the pace of jerking him off.

He whimpers loudly, thighs quivering lightly as his orgasm crashes and hot spurts of his cum spill onto your hand. He’s panting, dazed with lust and staring at you with what seems like hearts in his eyes.

“T- thank you, thank you, s’much.” Leon gasps like a broken record, and you think he’s fucked himself dumb with your hand.

You peck his lips, effectively shutting him up.

“Let’s get you cleaned up so I can show you my favourite artwork yet.”

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #re4 remake #resident evil 4 #leon kennedy x you #leon s. kennedy #leon kennedy smut #resident evil 4 remake #resident evil #leon kennedy resident evil #resident evil smut #reader insert #smut #re4 smut #re4 #✩‧₊˚ fics

5K notes · View notes

ellemj · 4 months

Text

Wear That Again: 12 Days of Smut #7

Bucky Barnes x Reader One-Shot

This fic was inspired by two things:

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8Ha16Rj/ this Tiktok edit by @the.stark.internship ( @thestarkinternship on Tumblr)

@littlemiss-yeehaw's latest smutty drawing which can be found on her blog, I've stared at it since yesterday and I'm still not over it.

Summary: Bucky ruins your brief holiday romance with a SHIELD agent out of jealousy. You'd think storming in and yelling at the super soldier would've ended in an argument and some slamming doors, but that's not what happens at all.

Warnings: profanity, some objectifying thoughts, possessive!Bucky, jealous!Bucky, thigh riding, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I don't know how tf it's happening but y'all have me averaging 1.2k notes per day on my blog for the last couple of days and it feels surreal. Also I just want to say, I wrote Bucky out-of-character for this one-shot and this is not how I imagine he'd be at all, but it was fun to write hehe.

“You little fucking shit.” You finally snap as the elevator doors are opening to let you out into the common living area of the tower. “Bucky, you are such an asshole.” You’re absolutely livid, and if your words hadn’t showed that then your actions sure would’ve. You’re slamming your hands down on the kitchen island before the elevator doors have even fully closed. Bucky sits on a barstool with a near straight face, completely unaffected by your rage and only briefly looking up at you as he chews through a bite of his Chinese takeout. “You’re the reason he stood me up, aren’t you? What the hell did you do this time?”

“Wear that outfit again.”

You’re silent for the longest moment yet, at least fifteen seconds, and Bucky thinks it might be a new record for you. He hasn’t paid attention to a damn thing you’ve said since you walked in, but he sure as hell paid attention to what you chose to wear tonight. You were supposed to be going on your third date with a SHIELD agent who crossed your path a number of times professionally before finally asking you out two weeks ago, and with it being just six days until Christmas, you were dressing for the occasion tonight. You’re wearing a tight black turtleneck sweater that’s tucked neatly into the tiniest holiday-themed miniskirt you could find. It's a sort of festively-colored tight plaid skirt that barely covers a thing, but you didn’t wear it for any reason other than to encourage your date to rip it off of you later. However, Bucky made sure the poor guy wouldn’t even get the chance to see the damn thing.

“What did you just say to me?” Your voice is shaking but not with fear, no. It’s shaking with the sheer amount of anger that’s currently eating you alive. Bucky lifts his gaze to meet yours as he sets his chopsticks down and picks up his half-empty beer bottle from the countertop. Letting his eyes roam over the entirety of your figure that isn’t obscured by the kitchen island, he boldly repeats himself.

“Wear that again.”

“If you like it, I’m burning it.” You say defiantly, crossing your arms over your chest as you glare at the man before you. Bucky lets out a low laugh now, the sound is melodious but his gaze hardens and narrows as he focuses in on your face.

“If I like it?” All he can think about is pushing you up against a wall, lifting the back of that tiny little piece of fabric you call a skirt, and fucking you until Christmas morning. If he likes it? Hell, he fucking loves it.

“That’s it, I’m burning it.” You’ve had enough. First, he ruins your short-lived holiday romance. Then, he has the audacity to act like your outfit is doing something for him. As you said before, he’s a little fucking shit. You shoot him one last passing glare as you move around the island and start heading toward the hallway, ready to lock yourself in your room and plot his demise for the rest of the night. But Bucky just can’t let you have the last word, and he sure as hell can’t let you walk away from him looking like something that belongs under the Christmas tree. Or more accurately, something that belongs under him.

The two of you have done this dance so many times that you aren’t even surprised when you hear his barstool slide away from the island seconds before you feel a firm hand gripping your forearm and yanking you backward. You’re not surprised when suddenly, your front is pushed roughly against the wall of the hallway and his lips graze over the shell of your ear. Frustratingly, you’re not even a little bit surprised when you feel heat rushing through your body and settling between your legs.

“You’ll wear that outfit again, when I tell you to.” Bucky’s tone is so much less indifferent than it was only a moment ago. It’s so full of lust that it leaves you trembling, awaiting whatever his next move may be. He knows no one else is in the tower tonight, which means if he wanted to, he could take you right here in the hallway and not feel an ounce of guilt over it. Who’s he kidding? He’s done that before even with everyone in the tower, and guilt sure wasn’t the feeling he felt afterward. But he wants you in his room tonight. You and that fucking skirt.

Bucky takes your silence as obedience and steps away from you, letting you push yourself off of the wall and turn around to face him. If you’re being honest, you’re a little disappointed. That’s all he wants from you tonight?

“How long has it been since the last time we had sex?” Bucky questions. He knows you remember, probably down to they very hour. He remembers, but he has to make sure you do too.

“Two weeks.” You haven’t slept with Bucky since the SHIELD agent asked you out. Bucky mulls over the length of time in his mind. He wants to remedy that, he wants to fuck you tonight, but he won’t. You started seeing someone and threw Bucky to the side so easily that him waiting two weeks to ruin your dating life was the nicest possible thing he could’ve done in retaliation. He’s not going to give you what you need now, at least not everything you need.

Bucky’s silent as he pushes open his bedroom door and waits for you to step inside before him. He’s still silent as he sits on the edge of the bed and beckons you to stand between his legs. He begins raking his hands up the outsides of your thighs, sliding them underneath your skirt until he feels the waistband of your sheer tights. He isn’t so silent when he begins sliding those down your legs, letting out a soft groan when his hands meet your bare skin underneath. It’s been too fucking long since he’s touched you and an unfamiliar peace settles in his soul when he feels your warmth. You’re expecting him to rip the tights off, followed by the skirt and everything else you’re wearing. However, Bucky’s plan involves keeping you nearly fully clothed, and only partially satisfied. Once he has your heels and tights on his bedroom floor, he kneads your ass underneath your skirt, letting his fingertips brush over the fabric of your thong. God, he’s really practicing his restraint tonight. His cock is already hard, threatening to rip the seam of his pants with even the slightest movement, but he isn’t planning on getting his own fix tonight.

“Sit.” He commands, gripping your hips with both hands and pulling you down to straddle one of his thighs. As soon as your clothed core makes contact with the toned muscle of his thigh, you stiffen and try to shift your weight so you won’t be so stimulated. Bucky makes an annoyed face at you before slipping one hand back underneath your skirt and drawing your panties to the side, causing your wet clit to press against the fabric of his pants. “I’m not rewarding you for spending your time with some other guy for the last two weeks, I’m not having sex with you.”

You’re about to protest, to tell Bucky that he’s being sensitive, that the two of you never had any rules about dating, but Bucky senses your opposition and begins dragging you back and forth over his thigh. He looks down between the two of you as a wet spot quickly begins forming where your pussy meets his clothed leg. Fuck. It feels too good for you to even consider stopping and telling him that he’s an asshole. So, you go along with his guiding movements, grinding against his leg and finding just the right amount of pressure and friction to start heading toward an orgasm.

“You didn’t have to scare the guy off.” You mutter as you lean forward, letting your hands rest on Bucky’s shoulder as you place a gentle kiss against the side of his neck. He sighs and tilts his head to the side to give you better access, but his hands continue to guide the movement of your hips.

“Three dates were enough. I couldn’t stand it anymore.” He admits. You feel an odd sense of pride surge through you at his words, though you have no idea if he’s being honest or not. “I couldn’t let him have you like this.” You suck on the skin just beneath Bucky’s left ear and pick up the pace with which you’re grinding on his thigh.

“Fuck, James.”

Bucky knows this isn’t the right time for the conversation, so as you grind out an orgasm on his thigh, letting out the most heavenly moans and whimpers just for him, he tells himself to hold it together until Christmas. That’s when he’ll tell you. That’s when he’ll tell you that he wants more than the angry, hateful late-night rendezvous in his room or yours. He wants more than sitting around waiting for you to come home from a date while he nearly goes insane with jealousy. He wants more of you. Fuck, he wants all of you.

Just as you’re coming undone on his thigh while moaning his name and squeezing his shoulders, he lets his hands snake underneath your little plaid skirt. He grips your ass with both hands, digging his fingertips into the supple skin there as he leans into your neck. You feel him take a deep breath in as you’re coming down from your orgasm high.

“Why do you always smell so fucking good?” He asks, licking a small stripe up the side of your neck before pressing his lips against it in a soft kiss. You only hum lightly in response, your brain not quite ready to formulate a full sentence. Bucky presses a second kiss to your neck, and then a third as his works his way up to your lips. His hands move to smooth over the fabric of that little skirt that he can’t seem to get over. “Stay away from the fireplace this week. I can’t have you burning this skirt.”

TAG LIST: @sunnyhummingbee @gyokujyn @jenniferpendragon @thealloveru2 @siciliano13 @ordelixx @crist1216 @twlkdead @claireelizabeth85 @charmedbysarge @wishingforwonderland @mrsjoequinn @nixxaswrld @sweettae02 @frombkjar @hellfirebabe @edelweissbarnes @fandomsfeminismandme @missadored

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #mcu #winter soldier #the winter soldier #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #marvel

1K notes · View notes

pearlywritings · 1 month

Text

A slip of the tongue

synopsis: as smart as Alhaitham is, sometimes he blurts out things without thinking twice. It's good, however, that your husband knows when an apology is due, even though it doesn't mean you (and your friend) won't come up with something to pay him back with~

pairing and characters: Alhaitham x fem!reader

tw: established relationship (marriage), little hurt/instant comfort, a bit suggestive, Kaveh is lowkey couple's marriage counselor

word count: 3.7k+ words

a/n: wow, finally releasing this one out of the basement!

Your cheek starts hurting from how long the knuckles of your fist have been digging into it. Fingertips drum on your knee, as legs stay crossed and stare fixed on the figure before you, sitting on the chair across the table and not taking the eyes off of the book pages. The most infuriating part of it? The figure is talking.

"...and so you should be prepared for Rajkumar's endless questions. He might not have any relation to Haravatat or languages at all, but he has a bone to pick with me, so being my wife puts you in a position to attack. And you know how annoying it is to converse with an idiot."

Yeah, probably as much as hearing what you are already aware of. You love your husband, you truly do, but sometimes the urge to smack the back of his head and tell him to shut up is too tempting.

All you said was that you were a little nervous and mentioned that tomorrow is indeed one of the most important days for you. After all, you are going to defend your second thesis, one you spent years to complete and pass all sorts of verification, reviews and censorship. Having the Scribe as your husband had both its perks and drawbacks in the process - he could easily push your work forward to the necessary people in charge of all the mentioned above stages of approbation, but then the fact he was your spouse put a label on you for those who were aware, and it said “Needs to be examined more thoroughly”. Though come to think of it, it’s pretty illogical.

Fortunately you never had troubles with that - after all your brain was in place, and both topics of your first and now current papers were innovative. Moreso, many of your Haravatat professors agree on your academic success and some of them expressed their hope to see you in the role of their colleague in the future.

But it’s for the future. First you need to become the Dastur, and for that you need to defend your thesis in the present. You have absolutely everything ready, no one knows your topic better than you are (maybe only Alhaitham can come close, since he read and reread it multiple times, helping with editing and providing impartial perspective), and years at the Akademyia taught you how to withstand the piercing eyes and prickling words of the jury. You will be fine.

Or you thought so, before just one phrase of yours started this whole exchange that is now happening in your kitchen.

“...and remember the part in the third chapter we discussed with you. This will be the one they’ll claw at, since it’s a turning point in a whole theory and I heard some of them already criticizing it,” the male hums, turning another page, eyes scanning the words written on a yellowed from time piece of paper. This seems the last comment of his, as he falls silent, reaching for the cup of coffee you’ve made him - in the process of which you were short-sighted to voice your concern.

When a minute passes and you do not answer anyhow to any of the valuable advice he’s just given you, Alhaitham lowers his book and stares at you. You keep drumming your fingers on your knee, eyes boring into him and almost unblinking, and it’s not hard for such an observant man to notice a barely-veiled displeasure in your tired eyes and a scowl.

"You know you could've just said you are worried about tomorrow too, and leave it at that?"

Alhaitham blinks, hand frozen in the middle of lowering the mug back on the table. He is holding your gaze and you can practically see the thoughts running through his mind, he is clearly contemplating how to answer your bold statement.

“Why would I be worried?” He finally answers with a question on your own, putting the mug on the flat surface. “It’s just a thesis defense, and if you get rid of your nervousness you’ll see that you already have the Dastur title in your pocket. Tomorrow is just a formality for you.”

“So you are not coming to watch me tomorrow?” Your scowl and frown deepens, fingers stopping abusing your knee and curling in a fist instead. Your husband sighs, marking the page with a bookmark you’ve made for him and closing the volume he’s been on for the past week. Then his captivating eyes are back on you.

“Scribe isn’t required to attend. Besides-”

“Yeah, yeah, you know my work enough to not hear anything new in my presentation,” you interrupt him and he can clearly hear rising anger in your voice that wasn’t there before. It actually manages to shut him up. “As my husband, as my support, are you going to come?”

The man feels a twinge of guilt in his heart. He always prided himself of his intelligence and attentiveness, yet just now he failed to assume what exactly you expected of his presence. Of course he’d want to give you a peace of mind by being there, but it seems he is too used to uttering the same phrase every single time someone asks him to come, that it was out faster than he had a moment to think it over properly.

He sees a bit too late how your face drops when he doesn’t give you an answer immediately - it looks like his pause appeared to be hesitance to you. He slightly panics when you lower your gaze and move to uncross your legs to stand up, having an almost iron grip on the back of the chair.

“Wait- Dear, I will come,” at that your eyes flicker at him, with doubt on display in your beautiful orbs. “I promise, I’ll be there.”

“I thought you didn’t like to be around idiots the whole day,” you huff, crossing your arms, reminding him of how unflattering his words towards some of his colleagues were. You do not mean to act childish, but tomorrow is really important to you, and obviously you’d want to have your husband be there to share it with you.

Alhaitham puts the book aside and stands up as well, rounding the table and coming closer to you. His fingers deftly touch your elbow, and you will yourself not to jerk it, some annoyance still bubbling in your system.

“That is correct. However, you are not one of them,” he murmurs, caressing your arm. You huff again, but this time your posture is more relaxed. “Besides, all you need is to be confident, and if my presence can assure you that, then I’ll be more than happy to be there for you.”

You give him a long stare. Your drilling eyes to his bewitching ones, searching for the truth in the greenish depths, while he stands still, waiting patiently, expecting your verdict silently. It’s as your frown softens, he knows you’ve found what you’ve been looking for in this kind of staring contest.

“Maybe just as quick you are switching from fuming to forgiving,” his palms are warm as they slide up your arms, featherly resting on your shoulders. Your smile widens a little and you meet him in the middle when he leans to press his forehead to yours.

“Oh Archons, Alhaitham…” You shake your head with a small smile and the man feels relief washing over him. You are no longer mad at him. At least, it seems so. That is definitely good. “We’ve been married for years and it still surprises me how you can be a jerk - affectionately - one moment, and a completely sweet guy another.”

“Yeah, yeah… But to your credit you were quick to fix your attitude, and as long as it’s sincere, I am grateful.”

Or rather realizing when an apology is due.

“It is sincere,” he says with emphasis. “You know I am not the one to change my mind lightly.

You hum, content with his answer. Yet, a mischievous glint finds its place in your eyes.

“Even though you are forgiven, I am still complaining to Kaveh about the mean and heartless husband of mine.”

“Don’t worry, he won’t be glaring at you murderously. Much.”

“Of course you are,” he rolls his eyes, but you know it’s playful. He knows it too, and the shift in the mood is apparent, and he is thankful for its course to the positive destination. “I guess it’s deserved.”

Alhaitham only sighs at your giggles. He could care less of what the blond architect would say about him, so he’ll survive some annoyed buzzing from the senior, and if the little exchange which is about to occur makes you happy - he doesn’t mind. Plus it will be good for you to take your mind off of tomorrow.

“I’ll trust you on that,” he finally says, slowly leaning back. You smile, patting the back of his hand still resting on your shoulder in reassurance. With a promise to collect you from your ‘girlish talk’ (you swat his shoulder at that) in a couple of hours, your husband helps you to make a new pot of tea. It’s quite ironic that this one is gonna be emptied while he’s the main focus of the conversation.

Minutes later, when you leave the kitchen with a tray, Alhaitham can faintly hear the knocks on the other end of the house, and the door opening not a minute later, the voice of the man you two have been housing for months coming clear and concerned. Kaveh remained your friend even when he and Alhaitham got in a horrible fight over their beliefs and you were partially the reason why the Haravatat graduate was convinced to let the blonde stay. Though loud, flamboyant and snarky, there is some perks of having him around - even if the architect always complains how he didn’t sign up to be a marriage counselor, he’s never let you or your husband be in a conflict for long (fortunately it happened really rarely), being your shoulder to tear up on or begrudgingly becoming an ear to be talked of by the other man and the foot that would kick Alhaitham into action or the hand that would gently nudge you in the right direction.

Or, just like tonight, simply be ‘your girl’ to chat with.

Alhaitham, as promised, lets you be for a couple of hours, meanwhile busying himself with his book. To outsiders this scene may appear weird and paint the Scribe in an awful light as a husband - but it is just like that with this man. And the strange dynamic the three of you have while staying under one roof: a wife, a husband and their… loquacious canary-like-therapist.

Only when it’s close to the time you usually go to sleep, does he also end up before the door of Kaveh’s temporary room, and firmly knocks three times.

“What?” Unsurprisingly it's the blonde’s voice, and by the tone of it he is pissed. The ash-haired male chooses to ignore him.

“Darling, let’s go to bed,” he calls for you softly.

Alhaitham hears shuffling and muffled curses the architect surely prepared for him and some short, but incomprehensible conversation happening between you two. Not a moment later though, the door opens revealing your face, and your husband can’t help but feel extra weight lifted off his shoulders. No line reappeared between your eyebrows, no pout and no distress is written on your face. Quite the contrary, when your eyes meet, you give him the same warm smile you graced him with back in the kitchen.

“Sure, let’s go. It’s quite late already and we need to wake up early tomorrow,” you hum, exiting the room. Through the gap Alhaitham spots Kaveh sitting over some blueprints with two mugs on the table and a chair placed on the opposite side of the fine piece of furniture. When the architect lifts his eyes to glare at him, the Scribe slams the door closed. To your bedroom you returned with arms linked.

The silence of your shared space is comforting and is only disturbed by your light steps and rustle of changed clothes. The Scribe glances at you every two minutes, still a tiny bit concerned about that animatic exchange you had back in the kitchen.

“You know I will come, right?” The man suddenly asks you, as you’re fluffing the pillows. Your eyes slightly widen for a brief moment, so quickly that he almost misses it, but then they soften again as you chuckle.

“Yes, I know, dear. Sorry I reacted the way I did initially. It seems I really was pent up after all.”

“I could tell. You looked like you could bite my head o- ow!” He gasps when you throw your pillow into his face, which he catches at the last second.

“Oh, shut it, or I might get mad again,” but there is no anger in your eyes, only hardly veiled mischief. He drops your weapon of choice back onto bed and raises his hands in defense.

“Okay, okay, point taken. Any way I can make it up to you?”

At that your eyes strangely glint, and the scholar can’t place his finger on what exactly feels off about it. But it does.

“Actually you can. I’d like you to wake me up when you do, and let me use the shower first.”

And that’s it? Well, odd, but not disturbingly odd. Surely you wouldn’t go as far as to play some pranks on him by mixing something in his shampoo - you are way too intelligent for that. Also not one for revenge.

“Of course. I will wake you when I do so myself, and let you use the bathroom first.”

Even if the mornings are not Alhaitham’s forte, he still opens his eyes disgustingly early, so sleeping for a bit more while you are at your morning routine sounds nice. Not as nice as doing it with you in his arms, but still quite nice.

“Thank you, dear. Now, if you are going to read-”

“Not tonight. You need sleep,” to that you smile warmly, crawling under the blankets, which he is quick to follow. You do not deny his embrace, and willingly scoot closer, extending an arm to put around his waist, as he does the same. Nor you turn away from a kiss he places on your forehead, pecking his chin in response.

“Good night, Alhaitham.”

“Good night, Y/n.”

True to his word, your husband pulls you out of the dreamland just moments later after exiting it himself. Cerulean eyes drink in your sleepy face contorting in displeasure, arms reaching over your head, and body arching in a morning stretch. He can’t help himself, leaning close and pressing a kiss just above the hem of your chemise, relishing the feeling of your heart thumping against his lips. You yawn, reaching a hand into his hair, but your breath hitches, when his mouth is suddenly on your throat, peppering it with soft pecks.

“Mmm… If you are trying to make up for yesterday you are a bit late,” your groggy voice is so adorable to the man. With you he tends to forget how to rationalize things. Yesterday was one of the times when his ‘Alhaitham for anyone else but his wife’ slipped into his interaction with you, the behavior he’s been trying for years to suppress when it comes to you. Now he knows he should’ve acted differently, and regrets his unique way of trying to give you reassurance. If only he-

“Are you overthinking again?”

Your question makes him emerge back to reality. Eyes meet, and his heart skips a beat when you smile at him. Archons, you are beautiful.

“You know I am joking? Yesterday was yesterday, and you are already making it up to me, right?”

Words can’t describe how much he loves you, and at this moment he feels like he’ll never be able to express it fully.

“Right. Shower is all yours. Also,” he leans in again, placing a kiss on the corner of your mouth, “good morning.”

Your smile gets wider and you wrap your arms around his frame to kiss his cheek.

“Morning, Haitham.”

With you gone to the shower, the man buries himself in your pillow, inhaling the lingering scent. Sometimes he thinks he doesn’t deserve you. Your husband is intelligent enough to evaluate his own deeds and behavior, so he knows he is far from perfect to be someone’s partner. Yet, here you are, loving and accepting all his flaws - not without some complaint, but you are trying.

He might come off as arrogant to some people, but in arguments with you, he can tell when it’s his fault and not blame you for giving him a cold shoulder and requesting some space. He might look like he doesn’t care, but he cares for you, for your well-being, for your likes and dislikes, for your opinion, carefully storing all this valuable information in his brain, to show how much you mean to him. He is aware he has a long road ahead of him to get rid of all of his annoying conversing habits, but he is willing to keep trying for you. He seems to not show gratitude to anyone, but he is so grateful that you remain by his side, going as far as telling him you are proud to be his wife.

He wants you to know that it’s mutual.

That being said, Alhaitham is a smart man, but when he himself exits the bathroom after his shower time, his brain is reduced to just one thought.

You are absolutely gorgeous.

His gaze is chained to your pretty fingers, rolling the long, dark green stocking up your left leg. His throat bobs, when the elastic hem of it snaps against your skin, squeezing the flesh of your thigh a little. Then you take the second one, elegantly lifting the other leg and repeating the taunting process, but this time he is here to watch it from the beginning to the very end.

You happily hum, observing your work, and, satisfied, get on your feet, adjusting the band of your panties a little. Archons, you are wearing a matching set of the richest green shade. Lace leaves little to imagination, as his eyes flicker up to your chest, noting the pretty, natural swell of it and the outline of your nipples, and then down, as you turn around and bend to grab the shirt from the bed, demonstrating to him your ass and thighs.

His hand almost reaches out to touch you, to get a hold of the round globe, to sink his lithe fingers in your flesh. After all, your husband is not above earthly pleasures.

But your voice snaps him out of it.

"My love, if you keep standing like this in the middle of the room with just a towel on and no intention to dress, you might be late for breakfast," you chide him not even turning around and throw on the shirt, hiding the bra and some of the lower half, yet still leaving a bit of an appetizing view for an eye.

Alhaitham wills himself to tear the almost burning gaze away from you and redirect it to his own clothes, already prepared and neatly hanging on a chair. You mischievously smile as he takes a step to move past your figure. He's kept alarmingly silent and you are dying to know what reaction he has for your little plan.

The man has just a second to react when you abruptly turn around and stumble into him. Big palms instantly grab your hips to steady you against his chest, and the heart quickens at the feeling of soft lace under his fingertips, peeking from beneath the hem of the shirt he accidentally crumpled in the process. Your hands on his chest are so warm, put out just in time to catch yourself, and Alhaitham finds himself thinking of how would've it felt if your chests collided - maybe the thin material of the only layer of clothes you have on paired with some flimsy bra would not make any difference from direct skin to skin contact?

"Ah, sorry, 'haithy," you sheepishly smile up at him, eyes soft and staring innocently, "Are you alright? I haven't heard you speak ever since you left for the shower…"

Archons, please, don't let his voice betray him.

"I'm," he quickly clears his throat, "alright. Was just about to start dressing."

You hum, pushing onto his pectorals to move away and continue with your own - though slightly changed - routine, but strong fingers flex, keeping you in place by the sheer hold on your hips. You look at him inquiringly, ignoring how the very tips of his thumbs just barely slip under the thin material of your panties to caress your hip bones. It's almost an absentminded action.

"What's with this lingerie?" He finally drops the question swirling on his tongue ever since he first laid his eyes on the tantalizing sight. It's hard to hold back a smirk - you admit you were a bit doubtful if it'd actually grab your husband's attention. Who knew the stoic man was into it…

"Oh, this?" Nonchalantly you tug on the collar of your shirt and Alhaitham sharply inhales upon catching a glimpse of your barely covered breast again. "Do not worry, habibi, it is not to seduce you," he is not that sure about it.

Taking his hands in yours, you pry them off of your body and put them back to his sides, gracing his waist just above the towel with your touch. He shivers.

"I know it's different from what I usually wear, especially to work," you admit, turning around again, to grab the robes of the Akademyia's scholar. "But I really-really loved this one I purchased a couple of weeks ago on that outing with the girls. I feel so beautiful in it," fuck, you are. "And today is a special day. Want to have some confidence, you know?"

And as the rest of your body disappears under the long article of clothing, Alhaitham is finally aware of what this whole thing is about.

It's going to be an agonizingly endless day, where the only thing he can do is watch.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x fem!reader #alhaitham #genshin impact fluff

719 notes · View notes