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Steve Harrington x fem!reader 18+
[3.4K] title from ‘too sweet’ by hozier, just a stressed out steve, a willing girlfriend and a lot of filth. written in two hours and not edited in the slightest i’m sorry do not perceive me.
As sour as Steve had looked when he came home from work, he tasted twice as sweet.
He’d called you on his lunch, voice strained and low and you could picture the stitch between his brows, the downturn of his lips as he grumbled to you down Family Videos landline.
Robin was off sick, Keith was in a foul mood, two kids came in and stole a copy of a porno that was sitting behind the desk and the return pile sat at the height of Steve’s waist.
“Can’t wait to come home,” he had sighed down the line, voice rough and mournful and making your thighs squeeze together just right. “Wanna see you so bad, y’know?”
And you did know.
It seemed to take an age before you heard his car pull into the driveway, brakes squeaking slightly because the rent on the apartment came before any repairs to the BMW now. It’s why you’d poured a whisky for him, neat and no ice, no water, just the way Steve liked it. You considered dinner, home cooked and waiting on the kitchen table but something else took hold in your thoughts.
You could order pizza later.
So Steve came in the door with his shoulders slumped and his keys rattling from his fingertips, his green work vest already discarded and probably balled up in the backseat of his car. That frown was there, the one you’d wanted to soothe away all day for him, creasing at his brows, turning down the corners of his soft and pretty lips.
He thawed when he saw you, barefoot and in an old sweater that was too big for you, legs naked and your skin still warm from the shower you’d taken your time in. Steve held out a hand, groaning in delight when you stepped to him, all soft smiles and softer sweater, allowing him to pull you into his chest. His noises were doing things, rough sighs and low moans that made you think with what was between your legs, his purrs vibrating from his chest to yours as he curled his arms around your lower back.
It was easy to return the affection, pushed onto your tiptoes as you carded your hands into the hair at the nape of his neck, the smell of his cologne that you watched him spray that morning barely clinging to his skin. You nosed at his throat anyway, everything about him smelling like home and when Steve let out a low grunt at your adoration, you used one hand to pull at his jaw, bringing his lips to yours.
It was more than an average kiss ‘hello’. In fact, it made his brows shoot upwards and his breath hitch, the arm still around your waist faltering before he caught up with the pace you had set and tucked you in tighter to his body. He let you lead, eyes fluttering shut as he sighed softer than he had all day, letting you steal the noise and keep it for yourself.
Steve fell pliant for you, pretty lips giving in to yours as you kissed him slow, needy, lazy. Your tongue traced the seam of his mouth, teasing, testing, his breath ragged when he opened for you, trying to catch up. You pulled away then, pleased with the rosy cheeks and blown out pupils that stared back at you.
“Go sit down,” you told him, voice soft, quiet. There was a spell cast, not to be broken, not until Steve did too. “I’ll be through in a second.”
If Steve knew what you were up to, he didn’t say. No questions asked, the boy blinked and stumbled into the doorframe before righting himself, heading for the sofa. You’d long switched the television off, the lamp by the armchair dimmed low, the candles you liked to collect all lit and scattered across the coffee table and the fireplace mantle.
You returned with his whisky, the glass glinting amber in the candle light, your smile too coy. Steve raised his brows as you handed him his drink, his gaze too caught on your bare legs. He reached out for you, warm palm travelling up the back of your thigh, wide enough to curl around it and bring you between his knees.
Exactly where you planned to end up.
“What have I done to deserve this, huh?” He asked, whisky on one hand as he leant his chin on the soft of your stomach, eyes wide and dark as he looked up at you.
You scoffed, soft and light, your hands carding through his hair. You pushed it from his forehead, nails scratching at his scalp, beaming when he closed his eyes like he couldn’t help it, lashes fluttering against the tops of his cheeks. “What? Bring you a drink?”
Steve hummed, distracted. “Was thinkin’ more along the lines of deserving you.”
Love sick, that’s what you felt. An awfully sticky thing that glued itself to your heart at his words. You didn’t know what to say, especially not when he was looking at you like that again, all brown sugar eyes, honeyed and soft. So you bent instead, nose bumping his before you stole another kiss, gentler than before, lingering and as sweet as him.
You let him take one sip of his whisky before you dragged his shirt from his body, hair wild as you pulled it over his head, cheeks flushed and eyes surprised.
“What—?”
You didn’t respond, merely dropping to your knees instead and popping the button on his Levi’s. Steve swore, a dirty, throaty sound that made your stomach flip because you knew that he knew where this was going.
“Baby,” he groaned. “Fuck. You don’t have to do that—”
The sound of his zipped caught in the air, the rest of the evening quiet. The closed curtains and the flicker of the candle light made the small living room feel even tinier, a warm bubble where you could hear every little noise Steve made for you. His hand travelled up your forearm, fingers curling at your elbow and squeezing. Steve looked half gone already, lip parted and shiny from your previous kisses and you knew he’d taste like cedar and smoke now.
“What if I wanna?” You told him, pouring, just a little. Because what man could resist a pretty thing like you on your knees, lips soft and begging? You pushed yourself up, leaning into the space between his hips, your mouth skimming along his jawline, tongue licking into the corner of his mouth all sweet. It was barely a kiss, but it was somehow dirtier. “What if I told you I wanna make you feel better? That I’ve been thinking about your cock in my mouth all day?”
Steve groaned, falling into you, head on your shoulder, teeth biting down on the junction of your neck. “Fuck— baby. Baby, y’cant, you can’t just say shit like that.”
You grinned, amusement hidden from him as Steve continued to mouth at your throat, nose nudging down the collar of your sweater so he could kiss more skin. “I can’t?” You asked.
“Gonna make me lose my fuckin’ mind,” he mumbled. He lifted his head then, cheeks pink and eyes looking heavy lidded, pupils black and too big. He looked delirious on you. You watched his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed heavily, tongue licking at his lips. “You really been thinking about that?”
You nodded, making your eyes a little too wide, too innocent, bottom lip tucked between your teeth and it was a cheap shot, an easy target— but fuck, it worked every time. Steve’s hand slid to your ass, lifting your sweater out of his way and squeezing a plump cheek, only your underwear to be found underneath.
“So can I?” You whispered, mouth parted, brushing against his. You shared your breath with him, nose pushed to his warm cheek, hands coasting over his thighs as you prepared to tug down those too tight jeans.
Steve sounded too breathy when he answered but he still played your game, too far gone or not. He was watching your mouth when he spoke, transfixed by the pink gloss there, the way he could see your tongue between them. “Can you what, honey?”
You smirked.
Steve knew what you were asking. He just wanted to hear you say it again.
“Can I suck your cock?”
You heard it then, the hitch in his throat, the too harsh exhale. Steve looked at you like you were everything, like you’d hung each star and you were ever wet dream all at once. Lips pressed together to deal in his moan, his filthy words, he nodded, hair falling into dark eyes. And when he trusted his voice, albeit rougher and lower than before, he spoke.
“Yeah, honey, go ‘head.” He lifted his hips when you tapped them, jeans and boxers shoved down just enough for his cock to spring free, already hard and hitting his stomach. “You’re so— you’re so fucking sweet, y’know that?”
You smiled, all coy, faux shyness as you leaned your cheek onto his thigh, denim and coarse hair against your skin. Steve gasped when you wrapped a small hand around him, fingers barely meeting around his girth and you stroked once, twice. “I am?”
You didn’t give him a chance to answer before your tongue followed, a lazy, wide lick from the base of him to his tip, already dark pink and slick for you. Steve’s hips canted up, head thrown back against the cushions and you adored the way you got to watch his jaw tense, neck straining as he calmed himself down.
“God,” he blew out a breath, eyes trained on the ceiling because if he looked down and saw the way you were kissing a line up his cock, he’d fucking lose it. “Yeah, baby. The sweetest, Jesus Christ.”
You took it easy on him then, easing him into it until his shoulders sagged and his head tipped back up, his pretty face more flushed than ever but Steve watched you as you took him into your mouth, his jaw unhinged as you sucked the tip of him, licking over his head.
His hand found the back of your head, holding but not pushing and he groaned something fierce when you scratched at his bare thighs, nails dragging over the muscle there. “Tha’ s’it,” Steve moaned, unabashed, totally gone. “Keep suckin’ me, honey, yeah— please. Can you take more, huh? Take a little more for me, please, baby.”
You didn’t need to be asked, begging or not, but it certainly made it all that sweeter. Steve’s hand was cupping your jaw, thumb stroking over the corner of your mouth as you widened it, tongue licking out over his cock as you took more of it into your mouth, inch by inch until he was touching the back of your throat. It made the boy go a little wild, gasping and panting, curses mixed in with praise that was filthy enough to make your own toes curl.
“Holy shit, jus’ like that, yeah,” Steve was slurring, words meshed together in a quick mumble, his breathes too heavy for him to care. “You feel me in your throat? You’re so fuckin’ good for me, babe, Christ— yeah, yeah, lemme see your tongue, yeah. Stick it out for me, honey, oh shit—”
You did as asked, pulling back with wet eyes and warm cheeks, your lips shiny from your efforts. You kept a hand around Steve’s cock, slowly pumping him as you stuck your tongue out flat. You knew what he wanted, it was why his cheeks were so pink, the tips of his ears too. Something he found too vulgar to ask for, always scared you’d shy away from it.
You never did.
You tapped the head of his cock against your tongue, the wet slapping sounds nothing but pure filth, your own breathy noises too much for him. Steve could barely keep it together, eyes screwing shut as he bucked upwards, swearing and groaning something awful as he watched his cock slide over your tongue. You let him move, hips thrusting as you held him to your mouth, parted lips slipping over his shaft, and warm tongue tracing the throbbing vein down the length of it.
“M’gonna come,” Steve gasped and he was shaking his head, hips pressing back down into the safety of the couch and he sounded overwhelmed, eyes glassy. “Fuck, no, no, no— I—”
“No?” You pouted, understanding. Pulling away, you leaned up again, wet lips sliding over Steve’s and he kissed you feverishly, tongue licking into your mouth to search for your own. He groaned, whining when you squeezed a hand around his cock. “Too much? You don’t wanna come yet, huh?”
Steve shook his head, hair falling into his eyes and his chest was heaving, his hands curling around your sides and he was pulling at your sweater, lifting it from your frame. “No, no— shit, not yet, please.”
You let him strip you, sweater discarded by his own shirt and your bare chest only made him swear a little more, eyes on your tits, your peaked nipples and suddenly he wanted nothing more than his cock between them. He felt drunk, delirious, suddenly too happy to care about how quickly he came.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he told you with a very serious expression. His hands travelled up, palms cupping your breasts, thumbs flicking over each nipple with careful precision. “M’gonna die and it’s gonna be because of you and your mouth and those tits and—” Steve choked on a laugh when you did, lashes fluttering as you took his cock back in your hand. “—and m’gonna be a very, very happy man.”
Grinning, you rolled your eyes at his declaration, as dramatic as they were. He was as hard as steel in your grip, his hips rolling up into your touch and didn’t want to wait much longer, his poor cheeks bright red with the exertion of holding back. So you gave him a kiss, light and sweet, too sweet for the current situation but it made Steve all the more wild. You were murmuring low and soft to him, holding his cock to your tits as you stroked him, words whispered between cute little pecks at his lips, his warm cheeks.
“Steve?”
“Hmm?”
“You wanna come, handsome?”
“Mhmm.” A whine more than a word. “Please.”
“Where do you wanna come?”
A swear, guttural and hoarse. A twitch of his dick at the thought of his options. “Fuck, I— uh, I dunno.”
“Here?” You asked him sweetly, pushing his length between your breasts, rubbing your own nipple so he could watch it harden again. “All over here? Paint me nice ‘n pretty?”
Steve couldn’t form words now, which was exactly what you’d wanted.
Your mouth made its way to his ear, voice dropping lower than before. “My mouth?” You whispered. “D’you wanna come in my mouth, Stevie?”
A jerk of his hips, a whine and a grunt as his cock kicked up once more. He was so fucking close. Steve let his forehead fall to your shoulder, too hot and too helpless and too fucking desperate. He clung to you, hands wrapping around your bare waist and he didn’t know what he wanted more. He could sit back and watch you drop back down to your knees, pushing your pretty tits together as he jerked himself onto them, knowing he could watch the way he dripped down your body.
Or he could get you to open your mouth, pink tongue back out and waiting, you doe eyed and watching him. He always got dirty with that, asking you in the sweetest voice to let him see it all in your mouth, asking you to swallow it like a good girl before showing him your clean tongue after.
If Steve didn’t choose he was going to fucking explode.
So he tugged at your waist, gasping as he wrenched himself from you, falling back into the sofa. He took his aching cock in his own hand, pumping it once before squeezing tightly, willing away the need to come right there and then. He patted his knee, his eyes glassy and hooded as he looked at you.
“C’mere, baby, come sit.”
You did as told, happily, easily, willingly. Your own chest was thundering, excitement itching at your too warm skin because whatever Steve wanted you’d give him. Your thighs were slick, underwear sticking to your folds in the most obscene way because Steve’s sounds were too much to cope with without being touched too. He looked a riot, the prettiest kind. His hair mussed and cheeks flushed, lips pink and slick from your kisses, his eyes a little wild.
He helped you onto his lap, legs spread over his knees and his dick standing hard and to attention between you both. You waited patiently for his instructions, to hear what he wanted from you and Steve let his head fall back onto the cushions once more as he watched you from hooded lids. His jaw was flexing with each stroke he gave himself, hazy gaze roaming over your tits, your stomach and then lower.
And then—
“Lemme see you, baby?”
Your stomach flipped. A sweet voice, a prettily asked question, some filthy words. You smiled at Steve, lips twisting to hide your absolute glee because you knew what wanted, what he wanted to do and you were more than happy to give it to him.
You didn’t say anything as you hooked your fingers into the crotch of your underwear, gasping a little at how wet they actually were. You tugged them aside, white cotton stretched over your skin as you held the material away from yourself. With your spread thighs, you let Steve have the filthiest view, all glistening skin, a swollen clit between wet folds. You didn’t look down, you didn’t have to. You could hear the slick, fast sounds of Steve fucking his own fist, his frantic, hitched breaths.
“That’s it, yeah,” he sounded gone, drunk. “So good—”
Instead you watched him watch you, his eyes set on your pussy, gaze on fire as he enjoyed the show and when you swept your fingers over the centre of your folds, Steve swore, his free hand on your thigh clutching you tighter.
“Dirty girl,” he murmured, his teeth catching his bottom lip. He was close, you knew he was. “Such a pretty pussy, Jesus Christ, can’t believe I was gonna come without gettin’ to see her.”
You hummed, all delight and amusement. You cocked a brow even though Steve was still staring at your spread legs. “I’m dirty?” You cooed. “You’re the one who’s gonna come all over my cu—”
And he did.
Steve came with your name on his tongue, making it sound like the dirtiest, holiest thing you’d ever heard. He was gasping, choked sounds leaving his pretty lips as he fucked his fist, come spilling over his knuckles and onto your folds, leaving you and your underwear even stickier than before. His head fell back onto the sofa as he caught his breath, an impossible thing with his heaving chest but you curled into him almost immediately.
You let go of your stretched out underwear, your own breath hitching when you felt the warm, stickiness cling to your cunt. Steve pulled at you as you moved closer, your hands soothing over his jaw and cheeks, thumbs rubbing over his flushed skin as he kissed you, head lifting lazily, moaning at your touch, your lips, the feel of your bare stomach pressing his half hard cock to his own.
He was sticky with it all, with sweat, his own release, your affection and touch.
It was too much and entirely not enough, not of you.
Steve’s lips clicked as he pulled them away from your own, albeit grudgingly. You tasted sweet, like strawberry lipgloss and him. He was still panting when he spoke, his messy hand held away from you as he took your chin in his other. His thumb pulled at your bottom lip, swollen from all your efforts and he watched the way it popped back into place, making you smile.
“M’gonna finish my whisky,” he mumbled softly, eyes searching yours. He was met with excitement, knowing, a whole lot of adoration and fondness that he felt for you too. “You’re gonna check my pulse—” you laughed, too bright and joyous for the gloomy light of the room. Steve grinned, cheeks aching. “And then we’re gonna go upstairs and I’m gonna return the favour.”
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington fic#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington smut#steve harrington fanfic#Steve Harrington fanfiction#Steve Harrington oneshot#Steve Harrington blurb
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An Incomplete List of 2024 Additions to the Merriam-Webster
bingo card noun … 2 slang : a list of possible, expected, or likely scenarios — usually used in the phrase on one's bingo card
bussin’ adjective, African American English slang : extremely good : excellent; especially : delicious, tasty
chef’s kiss noun : a gesture of satisfaction or approval made by kissing the fingertips of one hand and then spreading the fingers with an outward motion — often used interjectionally
cold open noun : a scene of a film or television episode that precedes the title sequence or opening credits and that typically takes place in medias res
cromulent adjective, informal + humorous : acceptable, satisfactory
doggo noun, slang : dog
doomscroll verb : to spend excessive time online scrolling (see scroll entry 2) through news or other content that makes one feel sad, anxious, angry, etc.
edgelord noun, slang : someone who makes wildly dark and exaggerated statements (as on an internet forum) with the intent of shocking others
jorts plural noun : shorts made of denim or jean : jean shorts
nerf verb 1 informal : to reduce the effectiveness of (something, such as a character, attribute, or weapon) in a video game; broadly : to make (something) less useful or effective 2 informal : to lightly bump (another car) in an automobile race
padawan noun, informal : a young person especially when regarded as naïve, inexperienced, etc.
rage quit verb : to suddenly stop participating or engaging in (something) in a fit of anger and frustration : to quit (something) in anger
rizz noun, slang : romantic appeal or charm
simp verb, informal : to show excessive devotion to or longing for someone or something
smashburger noun 1 : a hamburger patty that is pressed thin onto a heated pan or griddle at the start of cooking; also : a patty (as of beans or ground turkey) prepared similarly 2 : a sandwich featuring one or more such patties
#Words#Merriam-Webster#Dictionary#Linguistics#writing#Trivia time of year again everybody#Some of them are kinda late ngl
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Weird trend I've noticed:
When it comes to Disney-owned television shows, people seem much more willing to recognize that Disney just owns it, Disney didn't make it. The creators, writers, and actors are more likely to be credited and celebrated within fandom spaces, and even people who dislike it will acknowledge that it was made by the individual artists.
Disney movies, though? They don't seem to get that as often. The movies are much more likely to be treated as if the vague entity of "Disney" made it. Fans will say "Disney made a great movie," and critics will say that "Disney made a piece of crap." The directors and writers get mentioned much more rarely.
For example, people know that Dana Terrace created The Owl House and Alex Hirsch created Gravity Falls and Matt Braly created Amphibia, but far fewer people seem aware that Turning Red was directed and co-written by Domee Shi, Encanto was directed by Jarded Bush and Byron Howard, and Moana was Musker & Clements.
I'm sure a decent amount of that is due to the way Disney itself markets the films as part of their brand. Show title cards will list the title and the "created by" credit, but you never see that in film title cards (if the film even has a title card). The company wants you to look at the movies and only see the corporate branding. They want the movies to lead to new theme park attractions and merch deals, where they just don't put that level of marketing into their television productions nine times out of ten.
I do often think fandom spaces could be more diligent in learning the names of the artists behind the films, though. Disney didn't make them, the workers did, and it's the workers who get exploited in the process. At least give them the credit instead of the studio.
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— GIMME HALF
REQUEST : “hi!! I was wondering if you could maybe write an age gap (legal obv) with female!reader × dean winchester where the reader is like in her 20s and dean's in his 40s :) just some rough smut with choking and hair pulling and spitting (if you're comfortable with it) and dean being like super "hungry" for her, like he's waited a long time for it to happen. also lots of dirty talks cause i absolutely love them hahah :) anyways im in love with your writing and all your stories! thanks a lot! <3” — anonymous
PAIRING : dean winchester x professor!reader (f.)
CHARACTERS : miracle, sam winchester
WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), angst, enemies to lovers, age gap, voyeurism, smut, oral sex, p in v, praise kink, choking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, rough sex, spitting
WORD COUNT : 8.4k
A/N : devil wears prada song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — chair sex and food play. I wrote this half-asleep while listening to ASMR, like… that’s how I write most of my stories, plus, they’re always written between 00.00-02.40. Doctor Who references, ‘cause I’m a nerd. I got carried away…. Cliffhanger bc I’m cruel.
There were countless pros and cons to having houses built so close together with windows facing the same direction.
Pros: Accidentally seeing your hot neighbour walk around naked in the living room and kitchen. Accidentally catching your hot neighbour jerk off when they think that everyone’s asleep.
Yup, she’s seen all of that and more. All from that nameless, freckled, green-eyed man next door.
Even wholesome things, like him playing with his cute dog, babying the little rascal and spoiling it. Him cooking and baking, being wholeheartedly content with feeding it to the tall, Hazel-eyed puppy dog of a man, the tall man’s gorgeous deaf wife, and his tiny adorable son; the blue-eyed, dreamy dude in a trench coat; and that endearing young boy with blue eyes who looked like a combination of all three of the men.
There were times where she’d seen the green-eyed man dressed as a cowboy and even a princess to entertain the little baby boy—his nephew. For sleepovers with him, he’d read him bedtime stories while being completely animated. He’d build a bunch of forts, with sheets, the couch, pillows, and some Christmas lights. He'd talk to the little boy and hold serious conversations despite neither of them being able to understand each other. He’d teach the young boy and the baby boy how to fix cars—at least he tried to. He’d pack his best friends' lunches every morning with his hair unkempt, half asleep, while sipping on some coffee. He’d even take naps with the baby, treating him as his own son.
He’d do ridiculously endearing things, too, such as baking bread at night when he couldn’t sleep. He'd read books only when he was alone, as if he’d be made fun of by his friends, and she finally understood why. They were either romantic, erotic, or completely nerdy and abstract. He had range. He’d watch cheesy soap operas and rom-com k-dramas when he did chores. He loved to collect things such as Pokémon cards and even legos.
There were a million things he did that she thought were cute. The windows into his house were like the screens of a television, like her favourite character, she got to see him when he’s relaxed and surrounded only by those who love him
As for the cons, we’ll get to that…
When they first moved in, it was about three and a half years ago. She’d been visiting her family in Kansas City for her oldest brother’s birthday in June.
When she returned to Lebanon, they had already settled down. There was a brown and beige Ford pickup truck, a black Subaru—both parked in the front, and a sleek black Impala in the driveway.
The youngest, Jack, waved at her one day when he returned with Cas after buying groceries. Then, Cas awkwardly introduced himself and Jack, and gave her the names of the other two men who were brothers, Sam is the tall one and Dean was the freckled one.
Sam was the most social one. He’d spark up conversation with her whenever he saw her, dropping bits and pieces of information about himself, his brother, his fiancée, Cas, Jack, and Dean’s loyal dog, Miracle.
After seven months of living together, Sam moved out with his wife, Eileen. They’d just gotten married, and they both invited her. She’d gone, the wedding was pretty, cute, and modest. Y/n had spoken to a few of their close family and friends. Dean, however, kept to himself the whole night as if he were grieving. He’d smile occasionally if any of his friends came to him, he was enthusiastic, and then he'd go back into himself.
Four months later, Sam and EIleen returned; she was pregnant. It was a boy, he’d planned on naming him after his big brother, which Y/n thought was adorable. He hadn’t told his brother, but planned on telling him the day his son was born.
Y/n could tell Dean had mixed feelings about his brother’s departure, mostly negative feelings. He loved Eileen and his nephew. But when it was just him, Cas, and Jack, he'd often drink, despite concerned, useless interventions with Cas. Unless Sam, Eileen, and his nephew were there. He’d never even glance at that top-shelf cupboard.
The good thing was that at least Dean was a happy drunk.
The first time she interacted with Dean was a few weeks after she’d returned from Kansas City, she assumed two things: his heart was closed off to new people, and he’s one hot, irritating, grumpy, sour, old man.
It was the spring semester at Kansas University. Y/n was grading her students’ creative, personal essays in the office downstairs. She was perplexed by the small percentage of her students and their inability to use proper grammar or follow the thorough, detailed checklist she created to get them to pass easily.
Just when she thought she’d gotten great at making their lives easy, they return the shittiest, half-assed essays. She felt bad for the bad grades, but since the rest of her students managed to get perfect scores or at least proficient scores, she couldn’t just let them pass.
Loud banging on the door startled her from reading an impressive essay. Her blood ran cold and she scrambled up from her rolling chair, ignoring that she pushed it halfway across the room.
Her socked feet were quiet on the wooden floor, making her way quickly down the hallway until she got to the shelf where she kept her gun. She pressed it against the door and looked through the peephole, then relaxed when she saw Dean.
She was irritated by the loud knocking, though, regardless of how cute he looked when he was clearly pissed off. She opened the door and set the gun down on the table where she usually placed her keys.
“Lady, have you seen the mess you made outside?” Dean asked her, pointing behind him. She stared at him, stunned by how much prettier he looked up close. Her cheeks turned hot, but she looked past him trying to see whatever he was pointing at.
She looked at her red Mustang parked in the front as a reminder to restock the kitchen, then looked close to where his house was. She winced at the mud and the running water from her hose going into his nice lawn.
“Shit,” she murmured, toeing her socks off before moving past Dean to turn the hose off. She got distracted by the mud and the puddles as she pulled the hose, and coiled it back where it should have been. It’s been a while since she last let her bare feet feel this beneath, the smell of wet dirt was amazing, even when it wasn’t caused by rainfall.
“Do you always do shit like this?” He asked from behind, his tone harsh.
She frowned when she turned to look at his furious face, careful to not touch her forehead with her muddy hands when she used her wrist to move hair away from her face.
“I’m sorry,” she apologised, tilting her head at him. He just rolled his eyes at her, then he stared at his lawn, and ran his hand down his face. “Did I do somethin’ else to piss you off?” She asked, looking around to see if there’s anything else she may have forgotten.
“One, your cat’s too damn loud, crying and meowing for my damn dog when you let him out,” he started, which made her blink in confusion. She didn’t expect something like that to get on his nerves. “And B, why the hell do you have cameras facing my place?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, her ego being injured fueled her anger and defensiveness. “Okay, listen, Doctor Who, I said I was sorry, okay?” She could tell her words stunned him by the furrowing of his brows in bewilderment, disarming him and shutting him up. “It’s not my fault your dog likes my cat, too. And the cameras are off, they’re there to scare people, so fuck off,” she snapped before she stop herself.
Dean scoffed at her, “fuck you.” She rolled her eyes at him this time, staring daggers into his back when he turned around to get to his home.
“If you’d fuck me, maybe you wouldnt be such an asshole.” Her snide words made him freeze. He laughed dryly and he turned to face her once more, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Pretty sure I’d still hate you, sweetheart,” he chuckled, crossing his own arms. That stung, even if she didn’t know him personally and half the time she spent romanticising him based on the little bit of information she had. “And I’d rather go fuck some other chick.” She clenched her jaw and breathed in slowly, angry heat began rising up her neck the faster her heart started to beat.
Entirely unintended, she venomously spat, “according to your brother, you haven’t been lucky enough, and you’re not going to be.”
“You talking to my brother about my sex life?” He stepped closer to her, his nostril flaring in anger. Betrayal and hurt crossed his features and she realised her mistake.
“No, just overheard him ‘cause you’re an overbearing douchebag,” she lied smoothly. Truth was, Sam and Eileen did accidentally—drunkenly—tell her how hard it was for Dean to maintain a serious relationship for more than three months. They don’t remember sharing that information. It was easy for her to casually ask about Dean’s love life and availability, masking her attraction to Dean as mere surprise as to how the younger brother got married before the older one. “Makes sense now why no one will sleep with you,” she laughed mockingly, stepping closer to him defiantly.
His face was red now, too. Angry, offended, he rolled his eyes at her smug face and body language. “You don’t know shit about me.”
“Sure, yeah, if that makes you feel better,” she snorted, patting his very nice, broad shoulder with her muddy hand as she made her back into her house. Preoccupied by the small mud-print on his beige Henley, he couldn’t get the last word in or stop her from leaving him flustered in her swampy driveway.
That was the start of a horrible relationship with her neighbour. The neighbour she had a crush on.
He found all kinds of reasons to complain. Big and small. And she secretly did things to piss him off, occasionally sabotaging his plans.
The thing was that deep down, she still liked him, but he made her so angry and frustrated. And it felt good to see him angry and frustrated by things she caused either on purpose or accidentally. Any attention was better than no attention.
Eventually, that all changed. The fun, the it’s-better-than-nothing feeling, it didn’t last. Fourteen months later, she stopped the cruel games and decided to avoid him completely.
When her friends offered to take her out, she agreed, even if she wanted to stay home. If Dean was home, she made sure to never say no to them, and sometimes she’d offer to take them out. Wherever.
She’d started to grade at the cafe, library, or the diner, even if Dean went to all those places often. At least he wouldn’t say anything there around all those people.
When she grew closer to Sam, Cas, and Jack, she’d find excuses not to go over to Dean’s when they offered either food, game nights, movie nights, or random hangouts. They started to notice too—the tension, the avoidance, the hostility—and they’d go over to her place instead, often without Dean, who’d choose to go out to avoid staying home alone.
It was awful. The rejection started to hurt, yet, he had her heart in the palm of his hand. Deep down, she knew that Dean wasn’t a bad person; he just didn’t like her.
Eventually, Dean ended his animosity, too, and everything went back to ‘normal’. She slowly started to reject offers from her friends to test the water, stayed home to grade, and didn't permit her cat to leave even if it cried for an escape. If she took him out, it was with a leash she eventually got him to get used to.
They ignored each other when they crossed paths—in the driveway, at the grocery store, at diners, at the cafe. They acted like complete strangers. She’d keep her curtains closed, at least she did for the windows that face his house. She made her presence as unnoticeable and as invisible as she could to prevent causing more damage to each other.
Then, about two months ago, on Halloween, Sam, Eileen, Cas, and Jack went to her house to collect candy. Sam made a point of staying back while the rest of them walked to where Dean was waiting—looking anywhere but at her house—to convince her to go to his and Eileen’s place for Thanksgiving.
He was honest, cute, wide hazel eyes attempting to convince her to try and make amends with Dean. She didn’t doubt it, when he told her that Dean felt guilty, but her pride was bruised, and her heart was broken. She told Sam she would be visiting her own family for that holiday. She omitted that she’d be going to her mother’s house a few miles away, still in Lebanon. And she easily convinced her mother to let her stay the rest of the week until she had to go back to work.
Now, Christmas was near—in four days, to be exact. It wasn’t the holiday spirit that made her change her mind, it was the hurt and the exhaustion of planning her life around avoiding Dean.
So, she called Sam, she asked if he could do anything to get Dean alone tomorrow.
For the rest of the day, she would start to prepare everything—even though it was Dean who created the mess—she was willing to make the first move and hopefully meet him halfway.
She couldn’t lie that she felt embarrassed by how excited she was to see Dean. She couldn't even differentiate the meaning of the butterflies in her stomach, but she powered through her fluttering heart and her shaking hands as she prepared everything before going to see him.
She considered not doing it at all, calling it quits—but the consequences of that quickly made her miserable. That would just mean more avoidance, more hiding, more changing everything about herself to make him happy.
All of this over one little misunderstanding. One bad day where her mouth ran without consulting her brain first ruined what could have otherwise been a good friendship—perhaps even a romantic relationship.
She was twenty-six and just like Dean, she hadn’t had a serious relationship since… Well, ever. The last time someone convinced her to date them was in highschool, and even before that, it took her a month—or less—to figure out she wanted nothing to do with them. She didn’t like the people she dated. She realised quickly that she didn’t even want a future with them, she didn’t even allow them to kiss her or touch her. So she figured that if she didn’t want to marry them, what was the point of wasting her time?
For so long, the first thing she thought of when she felt attracted to someone was: can I stand the thought of their touch? Can I see myself kissing them, letting them kiss me? Can I stand the thought of the fights and staying with them through thick and thin? Can I picture myself with them in the future, permanently?
The answer was always ‘no’ and the attraction died immediately after the realisation.
With Dean, the answer was different. Not for some stupid reason, like fate, or the boy-next-door trope. No. This was reality, and the real reason was the fact that she got to see who he was before she was attracted to him.
It was the selflessness, the love in everything that he did, the gentleness of his heart, the kindness that radiated from him, and the ease in the way he did chores, the way he made his friends laugh, his playfulness, the loyalty, the way he was clearly protective.
It was the open windows of her house into his open windows that let her see through him, down to his very beautiful core. It was the lack of hidden things, the openness of his soul because he felt safe, unwatched. It was real because Cas, Jack, and Sam were proof that even though Dean wasn’t perfect, he was worth it.
The Doctor did say once: the good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant.
For the first time, she was willing to take a chance.
She smoothed down the silky emerald-green dress. It was pretty, flowing down her body perfectly, stopping at the middle of her calves…. Actually, now that she looked at herself in the mirror, her curls perfectly maintained, the light touch of makeup, the heels… was it too much?
She ignored those anxious thoughts and made sure she had everything she needed and everything that she prepared before stepping out into the cold.
The spaghetti straps didn’t stop the cold, but the heat of her nervousness at least did something as she walked up to his door and waited after knocking gently.
When he opened the door, he was stunned to see her.
“What?” He asked bluntly.
She could tell that the way she was dressed caught him off guard. His eyes moved from her face, up to her hair, back down to the boxes in her hands, and lower to her feet.
“I’ve got pie,” she said the first thing her mind thought of. Yes, it was blunt, yes, it disarmed him further… It was not smooth, but Dean looked behind him, and then he looked at her once more while biting his lip before opening the door wider, and stepping out of the way for her to enter.
She exhaled shakily as he scratched the back of his neck. Out of habit, she slipped out of her heels before stepping inside his home, planting her bare feet on the soft, long rug he had. He kindly, wordlessly, took her heels from outside and placed them on the shoe rack he had inside before shutting the door behind her.
She felt so… warm. Finally, she was inside the place she longed to be in. Right where Dean was. Along the walls there were dozens of pictures, but she didn’t go too far, she waited for him.
She felt his presence behind her and it made her shiver, but she couldn’t bring herself to look back at him. Instead, she stared at photos of him with Cas, Sam, Jack, and other people she hadn’t met. Women and Men. Dean was smiling in all of them. And in a large majority of them, they were looking at him while he looked at the camera.
What a funny thing.
“Here,” he said from behind her, his deep voice sounded soft, gentle, unlike the last time they spoke to each other. It made her shudder. “Let me help.” She slowly braced herself when she turned around, staring into his beautiful green eyes, illuminated magically by Christmas lights.
“Thanks,” she whispered, carefully loosening her grip on the objects in her hand for him to take what he wanted—which was everything.
She stepped to the side when he murmured, “no problem,” and started to walk off to the kitchen. She followed him slowly, took a look around, respectfully, curiously, just when she heard the clicking of nails and the thump of paws on wooden floors, and the bark of his dog headed in their direction.
“Miracle,” Dean grunted, setting everything down on the table, “not inside.” While the fluffy dog did stop its excited running, his enthusiasm was not lost as he wagged his tail, and playfully got down on his stomach in front of her feet. Still on his belly, Miracle approached Y/n slowly, paws and tongue at her toes, as if testing the waters.
“Hey,” she greeted softly as she squatted slowly and laughed quietly, gently scratching Miracle’s head as he nudged her hand with his wet nose, staring up at her with adorably wide eyes—much like Sam did. “You’re so cute,” she cooed, her heart warming up when Miracle barked quietly.
He then jumped up and turned towards Dean, who was watching them—perplexed, happy, conflicted.
“You were asleep,” Dean scolded, but sweetly took Miracle’s head in his hands and kissed him between his ears. Miracle whined and stepped away, sitting in front of Dean as if saying ‘I’ll be good if you let me stay’. “Whatever,” Dean groaned with a smile, which made Miracle happy, because he laid his cheek on his paw and stared up at Dean, resting.
Now, it was awkward.
Dean caught her staring at him, her expression inquisitive. She cleared her throat awkwardly, but she couldn’t form words. She only now noticed that he was wearing a faded black shirt and hotdog pyjama pants.
“So…” Dean began instead, “pie.” It wasn’t any better, but it’s as she always said: it was better than nothing.
“Yes,” she confirmed, “strawberry… you weren’t getting ready for bed…?” She inquired, tipping her chin in the direction of his attire.
“Not to sleep,” he reassured her, taking a few steps toward the cupboards to pull out two plates, glass cups, and then some utensils from the lower drawer. “Why are you doing this?” Dean asked quietly from where he was across the kitchen, everything still in his hands.
“I deserve better that’s why,” she snapped. He blinked at her, guilty, but she paused and took a deeper breath. Careful to not smear her eyeliner, she rubbed her temples instead. She reached behind her to wrap her ankle around the leg of a chair to pull it out and sit down. “Sorry, I don’t like… being angry,” she breathed out, looking out his kitchen window into her dark living room. She switched the Christmas lights off. “It's very stressful because I…” She turned to look at him and forgot her words as he came closer.
He looked cuter in person and prettier, still. Three years and nothing has changed, he still had her heart right in his hand.
“Why?” He pressed, placing everything down on the table in front of her. Looking up at him felt intimidating, so she averted her gaze. He was much older than she was… it made her… feel dumb. See-through. Like he could figure her out in seconds.
“Because I’m friends with your friends,” she admitted without looking at him, then she reached out to arrange the plates, cups, and utensils. He sat down thoughtfully, and watched her unstack the small boxes she brought over.
“You’re doing this for them,” he laid out flatly, but he took a seat next to her and stared at her. His eyes on her made her self-conscious, flustered. She bet he could see everything, all the ugly and the weird in her.
“I’m doing this for me,” she corrected him gently, “I just want to be happy,” she sighed, removing the plastic wrap she placed over the pie she baked. “Is that selfish?” She wondered out loud, taking the knife, she stared at it.
“No,” Dean sighed, wrapping his hand around hers to take the knife. She inhaled sharply at the warmth of his touch, his calloused palms brushing against the back of her hand, sending warmth over her chest, pressing into her wrist with her heart excitedly pounding against her ribs.
She released the knife into his hold, trying to hide how much he affected her, but she doubted she could fully do that with the Christmas lights exposing the blush she could feel on her face. She could feel her veins pumping blood faster, caught up with the heavy beating of her heart. If he looked down at her neck, he could probably see it in her veins.
She looked away, down at Miracle who was still peacefully laying on his belly, and Dean looked away towards the beautiful pie to start slicing into it.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, taking her plate to give her the first slice. She looked up at Dean, taking the plate with a generous slice of strawberry pie.
“I wanted to be the first to say it…” She complained playfully, trying to maintain eye contact with him, but his beauty was intimidating, forcing her to look away, “soon as my ego stopped being sensitive,” she added.
Dean laughed softly, placing his own slice on his plate. The sound of his laugh made her smile, her stomach flipped with elation, at the crinkles by his eyes. Her breathy exhale made him look at her.
“Well, I’m forty-four, my ego’s been bruised enough times,” he told her, “I don’t care much for it when…” he trailed off and chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. She bit her lip, too, trying not to stare too long at his pretty mouth.
“Well, thanks,” she murmured, her jaw twitching as she looked away from him.
“I’d consider all this an apology,” he told her, gazing at her as she opened two rectangular boxes. She smiled, shaking her head. She pulled out a bottle of homemade eggnog along with a decorated jar filled with white frosting, and a small container with crushed peppermint candy. “This isn’t… poisoned, right?” He teased, still watching her while she opened the bottle of rum eggnog, she tilted her head at him, amused. “Just making sure… you did make all this…” he trailed off, impressed.
“Taste the pie,” she encouraged as she started making the drinks.
“You’re just trying to shut me up,” he chuckled gruffly, but he picked up his fork and started to dig in. The strawberry filling barely touched his tongue when he moaned, she watched him not even begin to chew. His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, savouring the pie.
It made her blush, but she focused on covering the rim of the cups he brought with the whiskey frosting she made and the peppermint candy shavings before filling it with eggnog.
“You made the frosting, too?” He asked, tipping his head towards the jar. His mouth was full, some strawberry filling dripped down the corner of his mouth, but he picked it up with his tongue. She licked her lips, trying to stop herself from breathing airily, and passed him the eggnog with a nod and slid the jar of frosting towards him to serve herself some eggnog.
Dean dipped his finger into the frosting, collecting a large amount before wrapping his lips around his finger to suck the frosting off. She forced herself to look away from how hot he looked and ate her own slice of pie instead.
“I’ve seriously been missing out,” he murmured regretfully. “I was real childish,” he told her, “I never should’ve gotten pissed over… everything-”
“Dean,” she interrupted him, giving him a sheepish smile, “you already apologised and I forgive you. Besides, I did things, too.. on purpose… so, I’m sorry.” She pursed her lips and took a sip from her eggnog, swiping her tongue along the sweet frosting.
“You did things on purpose?” He repeated, a smirk on his face. She breathed out a laugh and nodded bashfully. “Why?” he wondered, leaning into her curiously, subtly moving his plate of food towards her. She considered being blunt, but she chose to test him instead.
“Probably the same reason you got pissed at everything I did and didn’t do,” she laughed, pulling a piece of strawberry out of the pie to put it in her mouth.
“I doubt that,” Dean muttered, picking up his own drink, and taking a large gulp. She eyed him closely, her eyes becoming hooded when he licked across his lips after drinking to collect the thin layer of sweetened alcohol on his mouth.
“What was your reason then?” She wondered flirtatiously, her voice low and seductive. She pushed her plate away with her arm., and mimicked his body language, scooting forward in the chair.
She watched as his eyes darkened and his jaw clenched, his hand tightening around his fork before he dropped it. She’d never quite been stared at that way before, but it suddenly—almost, made her laugh. Her legs felt weak, her stomach heavy, almost fooling her into thinking she couldn’t get up, but she did.
With a rapid heart and shaky knees, she pushed her chair back, and Miracle lifted his head in alarm. Dean leaned back in his chair, sliding his palms up his thighs, and watched hungrily as she lifted her dress up her legs, squeezing in front of him and part of the table to sit on his lap.
“Seems like we’ve both been missing out on a lot of stuff,” she whispered, her stomach fluttering for a variety of reasons, but mostly from excitement. He bit his lip, eyes twinkling as he placed his hands slowly on her thighs. She sank her teeth down on her lip, too, breathing heavily when his hands began sliding up her thighs, lifting her dress higher, and higher.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered, continuing to move her dress up until his hands were wrapped around her hips where he could realise she wasn’t wearing any underwear. “I thought I should tell you, before I ruin you,” he rasped, tightening his hold on her hips.
“Fuck,” she moaned, moving forward in his lap until their hips were pressed together. She brought her hands into his hair, and pulled it gently, bringing her mouth close to his, but she never kissed him. She breathed against his lips and when he leaned forward to kiss her, she pulled back teasingly.
“You’re seriously gonna make me wait?” He whispered, slowly rolling his hips up into her, his hard cock pressing into her wet core. She gasped softly against his mouth and laughed breathlessly.
“You feel good,” she praised, flushing as she ground against him harder.
“I’d feel better inside you,” he smirked, sliding one of his hands farther up her dress, his warm palm flattening up her stomach reverently, stopping beneath her breasts..
“I bet,” she moaned, arching into his touch before finally pressing her tinted lips against his. Dean moaned softly against her mouth, pressing against her hungrily, then lifted her up, carefully moving his plate and cup aside to lay her down on the table.
“Miracle, bed,” Dean ordered when he pulled away from her lips. The dog obediently stood up and excitedly made his way to where Dean’s room was. Dean kissed her once more, drawing her attention away from Miracle and back to him.
She’d never been kissed the way Dean kissed her or touched the way Dean touched her. His hands were everywhere, testing, learning, skillful. He scratched her skin sending sparks down to her already soaked core, kneading her body roughly until she moaned against his mouth. He squeezed her and made her wet. He dug his blunt nails into her and made her nerves ignite. His hands smoothed across her, sailing over her body like she were an ocean and he was a sailor.
He was desperate, devouring her mouth with his tongue and his teeth, putting his all into the kiss, licking her lips, teasing the inside of her mouth, brushing against her warm tongue. He yearned to memorise the taste of her mouth, to feel close to her, pressing and moaning against her the way he’d done when he ate the pie and frosting. He nibbled on her lips, tugging, biting, claiming, taking the air from her lungs and pulling away at the perfect time.
He rolled his hips into her frantically and finally started to move away from her now-swollen lips, the colour of her raspberry tint robbed and replaced by the redness of his kiss.
He dragged his teeth teasingly along her jaw and licked his way down her neck, pressing his stubbled face into her neck, kissing and sucking softly, searching. She rolled her head to the side, giving him all the access he needed, until finally, she moaned loudly when he sucked into her sweetspot. He smiled against her throat, feeling her take handfuls of his shirt, her hips wiggling impatiently beneath him.
He kissed lower still, then back up to the other side of her neck, and bit her collarbones, kissing every inch of her skin, her shoulders and her sternum. She loved every second of it and slipped her hands beneath his shirt, touching and scratching his skin, pulling him closer as he bucked into her bare core.
“Did you know your shirt was see-through when we first met?” He whispered into her cleavage. She laughed and replied with a breathless ‘no’. “Well.. your tits on display, legs bare in those tiny shorts, all pissed as hell… it was hot,” he chuckled, lowering the thin straps of her dress until the top started to reveal her breasts.
“Is that why you jerked off that night?” She asked, gripping his hair and tugging hard. He grunted and laughed, staring into her lustful eyes.
“You saw?” He teased, bringing his hand to her breast, squeezing roughly. “The answer’s yes.. And everytime after that, it was also ‘cause of you,” Dean confessed, “couldn’t stop thinking about you, every day and every night. I thought I hated you, but I guess I just needed to fuck you.”
She chuckled, gripping the hem of his shirt, dragging it up his body as he latched onto her nipple. She hummed softly, tugging hard at his hair, in complete bliss as he wrapped his mouth around the bud, licking, sucking, and biting until she whimpered for him to give her more—which was impossible. He moved onto her other breast, savouring her warm skin with his hotter mouth, tugging her neglected nipple with his fingers, twisting and pinching.
“Please,” she moaned, yanking his hair so he’d pull away. Dean growled against her flesh and bit down hard on her breast, before pulling away, drawing a mewl from her of his name.
“You could be nicer,” he muttered, allowing her to lift his shirt up off his body, but he continued to kiss her breasts, sucking gently around the flesh to leave red marks. He lifted her feet up on the table and pressed her thighs close to her chest, opening her up to admire her soaked sex.
“We’re long past nice, pretty boy,” she teased blushing and biting her lip when he stood up straight. She didn’t look at him, too insecure to watch him as he brought his hand to the inside of her thighs, teasing her vulva.
“You think I’m pretty?” He grinned, circling her entrance, moaning at copious amounts of arousal on his fingers. “So wet… you that needy for my cock inside you?” He asked smugly.
She looked at him now, heat flooding up her face at his obscene words. Before she could say anything about it, the tattoo on his chest drew her attention away from the adorable pride on his face.
“You’re a hunter,” she stated, stunned, blinking at him with a smile. He looked down at himself then at her, speechless. She lifted her hips and hitched her dress up higher to reveal her ribcage where she had the same tattoo, twice as small.
“You’re a professor,” he remarked with arousal on his face, pushing his finger into her. He lowered himself down her body and wrapped his arm around her legs, holding her open as he breathed warmly against her wet cunt.
Before she could close her legs to him demurely, Dean dove in, his mouth hot on her pussy. He ate her out the same way he kissed her, teeth making her whimper, his tongue parting and tasting, picking up the flavour of her wetness as she moaned.
He salivated on her, humming in satisfaction while he sucked her clit into his mouth while he fingered her. Her hands found his hair once more, pulling hard and almost painfully, but his cock jumped each time inside the thin material of his pyjamas. Dean added a second finger as he moaned against her swollen clit, knuckles deep, pressing against the front of her textured walls, drawing silent moans from her, making her squirm more and more.
“Fuck,” she panted, “you’re so good,” she praised, flexing her hand above his head before gripping at the honey strands. He slurped lewdly, devouring her pussy, squeezing her hips desperately holding her close to his face while she pushed him harder against her cunt. “Dean… I’m close,” she moaned, closing her legs around his head.
He moaned again, adding another finger, shoving deep as he circled her swollen clit with his tongue, drawing figures on her clit possessively. She gasped loudly and cried out his name, tensing up when she orgasmed, her walls clamping down on his three fingers. The rapture of her orgasm seemed endless as he continued to tongue at her clit, it made her writhe uncontrollably, and he smirked against her pussy.
Her whiny laugh and the way she squeezed his head to stop him made him chuckle, and he tapped her thigh once he pulled his fingers from within her pulsing walls. She released him, melting into the table while he licked his fingers clean of her release.
“You taste good,” he told her earnestly, “so fucking good.” She bit her lip, giving him a look of disbelief. He narrowed his eyes at her, leaning down to lick a long stripe up her pussy, then down, pushing his tongue past her clenching, wet hole.
“Dean, fucking…” she moaned, “oh, God, why does that feel good?” She snickered, then he pulled away hovering above her. She opened her eyes to his smug face, his clean fingers squeezed her cheeks roughly until she opened her mouth. She furrowed her brows, whining out with her hands around his wrist so he’d release, but she shut up when he spit in her mouth.
“Taste yourself,” he ordered, licking his lips. Her pupils dilated as she looked into his eyes, the tangy taste of herself made her mouth water and she swallowed. “D’you know how hot you are?” He asked rhetorically, kissing her roughly once more, ravenous and stopped only when he felt her hands pushing his pants down his legs.
“I want you, Dean,” she whispered against his mouth, biting his lip before returning the passion of his kiss.
“Where?” He asked teasingly, wrapping his arm around her waist, he sat her up on the table and gently held her face in his hands, before releasing her to strip completely.
“I want you inside me,” she told him coquettishly, hopping off the table to slowly let her dress pool around her feet. “I want to ride you, to feel you stretch me open…” she walked towards him, watching him completely aroused, a look of pleasant surprise on his face, “I want you to fill me up, and make me cum on your cock…” she licked her lips, staring down at his cock, erect and leaking precum. “... I’ve never seen a dick this nice,” she told him, wrapping her hand around the base and stepping closer to him.
He grunted, “suck it then.” She laughed through her nose, releasing his cock to fondle his balls. He moaned, stumbling slightly. “I’ve been wanting to shut you up with my cock in your mouth,” he told her, a smirk on his face, “now, I’m just thinking how pretty you’ll look with your lips wrapped around me.” Dean reached up and curled his fingers around the back of her neck.
She looked behind him, removed her hand, and tipped her head to the chair, “sit.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, kicking the chair towards him like she had earlier, then he sat, legs wide and tempting. “You’re sexier than you were in my imagination,” he told her, watching her get down between his legs, kissing his thighs while looking up at him through her curled lashes.
“Keep talkin’,” she grinned up at him, taking his heavy cock in her hand once more. Dean gave her a sexy look, smug and aroused.
“I wanna finish in your mouth,” he told her, “want to see you swallow my load.” Pleased, she moved forward and began kissing and licking the length of his cock, teasingly and experimentally feeling the velvety, veiny texture against her hand, tongue, and lips. “I want to hear you choke on my cock, and see what you look like with tears in your eyes as I fuck your pretty face.” She moaned softly, intrigued by the description of his fantasy.
She dipped her tongue into the slit, moaning at the taste of his precum, drooling over the soft head of his cock before sucking him into her mouth.
“Fuck,” he moaned, tangling his fingers in her hair. She slowly took him deeper, pulling him out of her hot mouth teasingly, then swallowing inch by inch of his hard cock. “You’re so good at that, baby,” he panted, letting her take her time at her own pace, but he gripped her hair tightly. “Don’t stop,” he moaned, staring into her eyes as she continued to take his cock, bobbing her head, not stopping until he hit the back of her throat. She swallowed around him, and he bucked his hips up, releasing a whispered curse, attempting to keep his eyes open to watch her suck him off.
She got comfortable between his legs, taking his freehand to put it in her hair. He took her hair, put it together, and waited for her permission before slowly lifting his hips, pushing his cock slowly into her throat. When she gagged, he slowly pulled back, then pushed back into her, lips parted, releasing quick breaths.
Eventually, he started to fuck her face in earnest, lifting his hip up off the chair, pulling her hair hard to guide her on and off his dick. Her spit dribbled down her chin in a mixture of his precum. She swallowed as much as she could, moaning and blinking tears that tickled her eyes and her jaw.
“You look so fucking…” he chocked on a moan, “so damn sexy.”
She ignored the soreness of her jaw, relaxing it as best as she could as he fucked her near mercilessly. Her pussy throbbed with every sound of his pleasure, clit aching for attention at the way he gazed down at her with burning desire, but she refused to touch herself, enjoying the build-up, the desperation for another orgasm, for his touch.
He throbbed in her mouth, turning to mush beneath her mouth. He even began to whimper and moan her name, praises and dirty words becoming scarce in attempts to hold back his orgasm, edging himself with her mouth. It didn’t take long for him to hold her with her nose against his pelvis breathlessly.
He pulled her off his cock, and released her hair to wipe tears tenderly from her hot cheeks with his thumbs, trying to get his mind off the near-pleasure of her mouth around his cock while catching his breath.
“Yummy,” she rasped, pulling a breathless laugh from him. She wiped her chin with her shoulder and smiled up at him, slowly getting up on her knees to get rid of the ache of sitting on her legs.
She got up, leaning back against the table, admiring him in his red, flushed, somewhat sweaty state. His hair was a mess from her hands and he had a blush around his neck to his ears. She knew the hardness of his body accounted for the fact that he was a hunter, as well as the scars she felt beneath her soft hands, bite marks, bullet wounds, and healed slashes.
“Come closer,” she told him and he laughed, bringing himself and the chair closer, stopping when she sat on his thighs, fixing herself over his strong thighs. “Gonna cum if I tease you?” She asked, tapping the head of his cock. It twitched instantly and he moaned.
“Depends,” he replied breathily, sliding his hands up her body. She hummed softly, spreading her legs, positioning his cock near her soppy folds.
“On what?” She cackled playfully, parting her folds with one hand, circling her clit with her fingers. He watched her lustfully, the wetness that made her pussy shine coated her fingers.
“How wet and warm you feel on my cock,” he replied truthfully. He grabbed her hand and moved it out of the way anyway, taking his cock to push it between her folds, pressing the tip against her clit.
“Fuck, Dean,” she moaned softly, grasping his shoulders, “you feel… I need you,” she whimpered, rolling her hips along the length of his cock. He moaned with her, moving her hips closer to him, her wetness coating his cock.
“I’m gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart…” Dean moaned, watching her lean back against the table, positioning the soft head of his cock to her entrance. Completely enthralled, he watched himself slip inside her, and she watched him, biting her lip hard in concentration, the stretch of her walls around him almost painful. “Fuck… I can feel how bad you need me… I need you just as bad,” he panted, flexing his hands on her thighs, desperately trying not to thrust up into her warmth. He dug his nails into her flesh, his head tipping back, his hips rolling up.
“Dean,” she moaned again, starting to lift herself up and down his cock, reaching up to cup her breast. “Shit, you feel amazing,” she breathed out, grinding her hips against his until he was fully inside her.
“You okay?” He asked, one of hands drifting up to knead her breast comfortingly. She nodded, buried her fingers in his hair and brought him in for a kiss as she bent her knees, and tucked her feet in between his thighs.
“I could cum like this,” she mumbled against his lips. His chuckle rumbled through his chest and he shook his head, her pussy clenched at the sound and she started to lift herself up again.
“Don’t worry,” he told her, sucking on his lip momentarily. “I’ll make you cum so hard…” He paused to moan, thrusting up into her slowly, meeting her hip. “...you’ll never want to fuck anyone else,” he promised her, building up the pace of his thrusts until she stopped moving with him altogether, letting him fuck up into her needy cunt.
“You’ll only wanna be fucked by me,” he continued, watching her lean back with her elbow on the table, her hands roaming his warm body, “and I’ll be there, ready to fuck you hard.” He looked over her shoulder, at the jar of frosting. “Pounding into your sweet cunt,” he swore breathlessly, reaching behind her, dipping his fingers to gather frosting, “makin’ you beg, makin’ you impossibly wet.” He smeared frosting over her nipples, over her collarbone, her sternum, until he had no more while she moaned his name needily.
“Makin’ you feel things you’ve never felt before.” He gripped her hip with frosting-coated fingers, leaning forward to lick and suck the whiskey frosting from her body. “I’ll fill you up as many times as you want,” he vowed, smoothing her hand up her back, into her hair once more, pulling until she whined his name. “I’ll fuck you wherever you want.”
Her pussy continued to gush over Dean’s cock the more he talked—his breathless, husky voice taking her over the edge. Each rough pull of her hair made her mewl and whimper as she rolled her hips desperately against his.
“Dean, please,” she whispered, scratching down his back, digging marks into his skin the harder and faster he thrusted into her. Loud skin slapping, the wet sound of her pussy being penetrated, with every push of his cock in and out of her, squelching and driving her crazy. She dug her nails into her palm, making obscene sounds that made her self-conscious.
“I’ll fuck you all over your house, all over mine.” Another moan of his name, another rough pull of her hair. “I’ll fuck you in my car, in your car, anywhere and all over town.” He pulled away from her sticky chest, licked his lips at the sight of her, so she screwed her eyes shut. She felt a warm pool of wetness on her pelvic bone, opened her eyes to him spitting between their bodies, watching his saliva drip down her folds to her clit.
She’d never heard of or experienced sex quite this raw and dirty.
“I’ll make you scream my name, make you forget how to talk, how to walk…” She leaned back into him, panting into his ear, keeping him close while rubbing her clit. He yanked her hair, forcing her to look at him.
“Dean…”
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered, closing his eyes, he breathed against her lips, “and I want you forever.”
As he promised, she cried out his name when she came, squeezing his cock hard, coating him in her release. He grunted her name, cursing loudly as he came inside her, his hot seed spurting into her, filling her as he said he would.
He circled his arms around her as she writhed once more, releasing her hair as she put her arms around his neck, panting and catching her breath until the pleasure subsided.
“I want all of that,” she murmured after a few moments of silence, kissing his cheek. He squeezed her and moved back, bewildered. He moved hair from her face and tilted his head at her, drawn to her nakedness, her flushed beauty. “First, I want to shower…” Slowly, carefully, she climbed off his lap, her legs shaky, her pussy releasing the mixture of their pleasure.
“That’s a good start,” he told her softly. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled when he stood up from the chair and looked around at the mess in the kitchen. “No one’s coming home anytime soon… thanks to Sammy…” Dean trailed off, smoothing his hand over his head to fix his hair.
“Thanks to me,” she came clean with a shy smile, bringing his gaze up to hers. His eyes twinkled and he laughed loudly, tugging her towards him again by her arm, his lips pressing against hers.
➥ sempiternal
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the devil has come home → charlie w.
summary → during one of your regular movie nights, charlie asks to take your relationship a step forward
word count → 3.4k
warnings → smut; virgin!charlie x f!reader, oral, literally an entire fic dedicated to charlie eating pussy idk what u want me to say, dirty talk, switch!charlie, established relationship, almost fingering, premature ejaculation, cumming untouched, overstimulation, and hair pulling
a/n → everyone and their mother is in their rory culkin era rn so here u go, whores (affectionate) <3 no but fr i watched scream 4 the other day and knew what i had to do so pls enjoy xoxo
+ bonus points to whoever can figure out the title ;)
---
Charlie shifts beside you, gnawing at his bottom lip to restrain the interruption on the tip of his tongue.
“Did you know,” he suddenly begins, unable to stop himself. “That the school is actually called Ewen High in the book?” On the screen in front of you, a meek Carrie White stumbles through the library in a scene oddly similar to your boyfriend’s own reclusive attitude, and you drag your tired eyes to meet his; wide, with an excited glint reflecting off their pale blue hue. “They renamed it in the adaptation as a nod to Psycho.”
“Really?” you ask, surprised. “I don’t think you’ve told me that one yet.” The comment, while honest, makes Charlie flustered, and he unconsciously shifts closer to the opposite end of the couch. “But I like hearing about all the facts you know,” you reassure his silent insecurity, nuzzling closer. Pressing your lips to his shoulder and kissing the soft cotton sleeve of his shirt, you continue, teasing: “Even if I have heard most of them before.” He groans, but his chest rumbles beneath you with his own restrained amusement.
Peering up at Charlie, you prepare for what is bound to be a lengthy explanation. “So, what, it’s like Norman Bates?” you ask, but Charlie simply nods, mumbling a quiet affirmation under his breath. Already, his eyes are locked back on the television, colorful lights bouncing off his face. It must be his tenth time watching the classic horror film but he stares with the amazement of a first-time viewer, as if he wasn’t rambling about something called a split diopter shot just a few scenes ago.
You can’t help but smile at his quick shift in attention, ultimately content with settling down and letting him focus. As long as a scary movie is playing, you’ll always be the second most important thing in the room to Charlie; a title you hold with pride. Unlike others in his life, his passion doesn’t bother you. In fact, you find yourself admiring his ability to juggle a film studies degree, the leadership position of your college’s cinema club, and weekly series rewatches with the rest of his busy life. Your only complaint would be having to share the small couch in his apartment with Robbie, whose presence makes the already rare mid-movie makeout session completely non-existent. Thankfully, he’s visiting family this weekend, but the lack of a clingy roommate has seemingly had zero effect on Charlie’s inclination to make a move.
So, when your boyfriend awkwardly clears his throat, you quickly tune back in, caught off-guard by the scene unfolding. On-screen is a vivid reminder of the part of your relationship that, up until now, has been virtually unexplored. Despite being unphased during the naked locker room title card, Charlie now fidgets uncomfortably as one of the male characters, whose name you can’t remember, receives a blowjob in his car. The actual act is offscreen, but there’s enough crotch-leveled head bobbing in the camera’s view to surmise what’s happening below the cutoff.
When it comes to anyone else’s sex life, Charlie is as interested as you could expect any newly independent young guy to be. If a couple is getting handsy during a party or other gathering, he’s the one to speak up and tease them about getting a room. When one of your friends unknowingly makes an innuendo, it’s him who laughs, derailing the conversation with some form of that’s what she said joke. Even during the gratuitous nudity scenes popular in his favorite genre, your boyfriend usually pairs his reddened cheeks with a low whistle of appreciation.
Simply put, Charlie is not a prude.
That fact had been what stumped you as your relationship grew, regular milestones coasting by at average speeds. It took three instances of him not reaching under your bra during makeout sessions, happily groping at your chest through two layers of clothes, for you to realize that his personal experience ended abruptly atop second base. Even when it was physically obvious he was ready to move on, Charlie had never mentioned or hinted at continuing, so neither did you. Now, it’s almost as if the glaring depiction of a couple being intimate has finally reminded him how little you two have done.
Thankfully, a bout of bad editing eases the sudden tension. “How is she talking right now?” you snort, referencing the actress’ voiceover poorly edited into the scene. Charlie flinches at your interruption, but you barely notice, too busy jabbing your pointer finger directly at the screen. “She’s still got John Travolta’s dick in her mouth!”
“Billy,” Charlie tensely corrects.
Assuming his tone is just a result of your outburst, you roll your eyes. “Whatever. All I’m saying is you can barely remember how to breathe while giving head, let alone start… I don’t know… monologuing about the girl you hate.” You huff, shaking your head. “Sorry, I won’t interrupt again. Promise,” you apologize, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you when Charlie doesn’t immediately reply. You hadn’t meant to insult him or the movie, but maybe your attempt at a bad joke had fallen short, too personal and poorly timed to do anything more than hurt his feelings.
You start to pull back, intent on apologizing again but are surprised to see Charlie already staring at you. Thinking he’s waiting for your regretful spiel, you start to speak. “I’m s-”
“I want to try,” Charlie says at the same time. The rest of your words suffocate in your hitched breath, offering a subsequent silence that he quickly tries to fill. “Giving you head or, like, e-eating you out, I mean.” The admission makes him swallow heavily, wide eyes unblinking, and you sit there motionless in surprise. When you offer little more than a shaky exhale in response, Charlie squeaks out an excuse. “Not that we - not that you have to or anything, I just…” Regret spreads across his face and you quickly recover, grabbing his shaking hand with yours.
“Okay,” you agree, trying to steady your breathing as the image of Charlie between your thighs flashes through your head. “Are you sure?” He nods so quickly that you almost blink and miss it.
“I’m definitely sure,” Charlie reassures, squeezing your fingers between his. “A-are you?”
“Definitely,” you echo, already feeling a steady warmth spread across your body. Despite your shared revelation, there’s a long moment where neither of you moves even an inch, hands clasped together as if carved from one marble stone. It isn’t until Charlie’s gaze flickers to your still-parted lips that you take the bait, reeled closer and closer until your mouth meets his.
“Fuck,” Charlie breathes, words becoming a muffled vibration when you press harder, tongue dragging to gather the taste of him. You reach for his hair now, dark waves weaving themselves between each of your fingers, and he lets out a little whimper when you tug, pulling him against you. His grip seems to have no end in sight, blindly reaching at and grasping whatever parts of you he can, fingers meeting your thighs, hips, chest, and neck. His thumbs prop up your chin, giving him the angle to lick needily inside your mouth, and you melt in his grasp, letting him take what he needs.
“Can I…” Charlie leaves a shallow bite mark on your bottom lip, soothing it with a gentle pass of his tongue. His fingers dip to the hem of your shirt now, tips brushing the inside seam. Faintly, you remember he’s never felt you here. He inches back just enough to speak clearly, voice filling the thin space between you. “Y-you can take it off and…” Already, he’s trying to pull the offending garment over your head, and you let go of his hair to help, tossing your shirt to the side the second you can.
Despite your arching into him, Charlie doesn’t immediately kiss you again, lashes fluttering as he stares shamelessly at your exposed skin. Without thinking, you reach back to undo your bra clasp with ease, straps sliding down your arms until they fall off completely. Still amazed by the previous sight, Charlie inhales sharply, pupils blown out with lust as you become barer in front of him.
“Woah…” he finally breathes, fingers tentatively brushing right below your chest. Slowly, his touch inches higher until he gives in, cupping your tits softly. The warmth between your thighs grows as he feels you in ways you’ve only imagined alone at night, eyes squeezed shut and fingers under your panties. “Holy shit.” Each exclamation falls under his breath as if he can’t contain them, commenting only to himself. “Fuck…” His grip tightens, thumbs dragging over your hardening nipples, and you sigh. “You’re so… soft.” With a grin spreading across his face, Charlie looks to you for reassurance, squeezing harder when you nod and let out a pleased sound. “D-does it feel good?”
“Mhm.” You wonder if he can feel your heart pounding, skipping beats against his hands. “You can be rougher, though,” you tell him, reaching up to lay your palms on the back of his. “I’ll tell you if it hurts, I promise.” Growing more confident from your words, Charlie begins experimenting with different levels of pressure, nails digging into your skin one second and then pinching and tugging at your nipples the next. His breathing grows heavier with each passing moment, and you can’t help the low moans escaping your lips at the feeling of his desperation and the excitement radiating off of him.
And then, without needing any reassurance, Charlie replaces his hands with his mouth, sucking eagerly at every inch of your heaving chest. “S-shit,” you gasp, then let out a breathy laugh. You push some of his long hair back, tucked behind his ears, and smile at the sight of him. His eyes are closed, face red and warm, lips slick with spit as he runs his tongue against the contours of your body. “You’re so good,” you tell him, panting when he moans against you at the praise, the vibration tingling your skin. He wraps his mouth around your nipple before pulling it between his teeth, the sharp sting sending a shiver up your spine.
“I could do this forever,” Charlie lets go to admit, and then, remembering the task at hand, begins to descend lower, kissing and licking down your bare stomach. His hands steady your twitching hips, ticklish as his soft hair brushes your sensitive skin. You continue to whisper praises until he reaches the waistband of your pajama pants and halts. He swallows heavily, the movement of his bobbing throat almost audible above the drone of the television. You blindly reach for the remote and crank down the volume until it plays a low buzz of sound you can barely make out. God help him if your boyfriend gets distracted by a bucket of pig’s blood at a time like this.
“Do I just…” Charlie trails off, unable to vocalize his thoughts. Instead of answering verbally, you lift your hips, fingers meeting his. You drag the elastic past your thighs, letting Charlie pull the rest of the fabric off once it reaches your knees. He stares intently at every inch of your exposed legs, amazed by the sight, as he mindlessly tugs your feet free. It’s only when you start to move, making yourself comfortable against the arm of the couch, that Charlie finally shifts, offering you more space. He moves closer the second he’s able to occupy the emptiness between your legs.
It’s not the most ideal position but if you stop him now, Charlie might lose his boost of confidence in the few seconds it takes to walk down the hall to his room. With one knee pressed against the back of the couch, your opposite leg balancing precariously on the edge of one of the cushions, you spread out as much as you can, offering yourself to Charlie entirely. Even with your whole body on display, his eyes stay locked on one spot: the center of your underwear, where a wet spot is surely visible. You love knowing the only other time he has this look is when one of his favorite films is on.
“Is this good?” you ask, breaking him from his stupor. He blinks, confused. “The position,” you clarify, smiling at the blush that rapidly coats his cheeks.
“Y-yeah, it’s…” Charlie clears his throat, leaning in slowly. “It’s perfect. You are, I mean. You’re perfect,” he whispers, gaze darting from your face to your panties before returning. “I can see it… Does it - do you feel good?” Even with the physical proof, he seems unsure, the tone of his question bordering on disbelief. Before you can find your words, he moves in, shaky fingers meeting the inside of your thighs. “What can I do?” he asks, skin growing redder with desperation. “I-I wanna turn you on more and-”
“Charlie,” you interrupt, propping yourself up on your elbow. “You’re doing so good.” Your amazement thankfully doesn’t embarrass him, and soon enough you feel his warm exhale right where you’ve imagined him so many times before. “I-I’ll probably cum pretty fast,” you tell him, unable to make the desperate confession sound like a tease. “If you want, you can tease me through- fuck,” you gasp, feeling Charlie’s nose bump against your clothed clit, his tongue darting out to tentatively lick at the damp fabric covering you. You whimper something that vaguely sounds like his name when he presses harder, now dragging his tongue over the entirety of your core.
“Charlie,” you repeat breathlessly, grabbing at the hair that frames his face. “T-take them off, please,” you suddenly find yourself begging, hips arching for more. When lithe fingers brush against you, you almost whine at what is surely an attempt at teasing, but then Charlie is pushing your panties to the side and tentatively sucking at your now exposed cunt. Overwhelmed by the change in sensations, you buck into the feeling, immediately rewarded by the slow drag of Charlie’s tongue circling your clit before lowering to ease inside you. The technique in his actions is not lost on you and you heave in a breath, trying to speak.
“Y-you’ve really n-never?” you squeak out, thighs squeezing around his cheeks when he attempts to shake his head. When he pulls back, you shiver at the feeling of your panties sliding back into place, fabric sticking to your wet skin. Charlie looks up at you shyly, instinctively licking his lips clean of your arousal.
“I’ve… I’ve imagined this a lot,” he whispers, tone rising as he grows more confident. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.” His cheeks are flushed and his body shakes as he clings to you for support in every form. “I’m just gonna take off your panties and- and I want you to cum, okay? Don’t hold it back or anything, please. I-if you need to hold me in place or move me, just do it. I’ll…” Stunned by his proclamation, you wait in awe for him to finish. “I’ll be good for you, I swear,” he finally promises.
True to his word, Charlie immediately resumes the task at hand, finally tugging your panties completely off and shoving them to the side. Despite the vulnerability of your position, laid bare for him, you can’t stop yourself from bucking your hips when he leans back in. Charlie drags a soothing palm down the inside of your thigh before his mouth is on you again, now slower and more precise. His gaze is focused, flickering between your expression and body, taking in every shift of your features and shiver that runs across you.
He starts by tasting the entirety of you, tongue flattened and firm as it glides against your cunt. He repeats the motion a few times, letting you grind onto him until you both build a steady rhythm. It’s not enough to make you cum, but it isn’t meant to be; a consistent sensation that keeps you wanting more, without unbearably teasing you. That comes when Charlie begins to flick his tongue against your clit, so quickly and effortlessly that it takes your breath away. A litany of sounds escapes you as he dedicates all of his attention to your most sensitive spot, torturing it endlessly. His own moans only add to the sensation, a low vibration that seems to trail up the rest of your body, filling your head with a rhythmic buzz.
“Fuck,” you gasp, vision blurring and thighs trembling as Charlie replaces his tongue with his thumb, calloused skin circling your clit in a steady motion. With his mouth free, and between quick inhales, he starts to speak again.
“You taste so good,” he says, the vulgarity of his words no longer seeming to phase him. He rubs harder, faster, and his breathing hastens. “I-I want you to cum on my tongue, please?” His question sounds more like a plea, especially with the way he seems to pant around each word. “I’m gonna keep licking h-here, okay?” he asks, thumb dragging lower until the tip sinks into you with ease. Both of you still, the motion propelling the room into complete silence. Charlie lets a bit more of his thumb push into you before he pulls back completely, shakily exhaling. “It… You’re so warm,” he remarks, staring intently at where the arousal slowly drips from you. Like a moth to a flame, his mouth returns, messily licking clean your wetness.
You cry out his name, tugging on his hair so harshly you know it must hurt, but he doesn’t relent. Your hips buck and you grind your clit against his firm thumb, his tongue pressing inside you just as the thick digit had moments prior. Your mantra is only quietened by the sound of Charlie’s, a muffled please, please, please mouthed against your core that has you spiraling, desperation mirroring his. A quick glance shows you that while his head and hands are focused, the rest of his body is uncontrolled as he ruts against the sofa, so turned on he can’t help but chase release.
The sharp edge of your own impending orgasm hits you so hard it seems to isolate the rest of your senses, body and mind falling into an endless abyss with only Charlie’s touch anchoring you to the present. His incessant effort to satisfy himself with your pleasure intensifies everything until you find yourself succumbing to his ultimate desire. A broken admission falls from your lips as you cum on his tongue, neverending high propelled as his licking and rubbing only grow in speed and desperation. Even after you’ve stopped grinding against him, Charlie tastes you like it’s his last chance, his hips bucking wildly into the cushion below. He eventually slows, but his tongue doesn’t stop, and you’re too overwhelmed to realize what’s happened.
It takes you whimpering from overstimulation and pulling Charlie back by his hair to make him stop, his mouth chasing you even after you’ve pressed your trembling thighs together, knees digging into his heaving chest. After a few seconds, he seems to blink back some clarity, swallowing heavily and shifting back awkwardly, cheeks flushed bright red. “Charlie?” you breathe, shakily pushing yourself into a sitting position. “Are you - oh.” Despite his quick maneuvering, the new angle allows you to see the slowly spreading wet spot at the front of his jeans.
“I-I’m so sorry,” Charlie squeaks out, trying to yank himself from the couch. “Let me just - fuck, uh - go to the bathroom or something and…” When he tries to cover his crotch with his hands, you bat them away, immediately reaching for the zipper and button on his pants. “W-what are you doing?” he asks but doesn’t stop you, even when you ease his sensitive and spent cock out from his stained underwear. His expression is pure shame as he quickly hardens in your grasp, hips bucking to escape the overstimulation of your fingers wrapped around him.
“Let me return the favor,” you tell him, tilting your head softly in silent questioning. He must only think of the wetness of your mouth on him since his blush deepens, cock twitching against your slick palm. You stroke him slowly and softly until he stutters out a yes, which you reply to with a widening grin, unknowing that he’s imagined this moment more than you could ever guess.
You lean down with a teasing imitation of his previous word and Charlie suddenly feels all of his wet dreams come true.
“I want you to cum on my tongue, okay?”
#charlie walker smut#charlie walker#scream 4#scream 4 smut#rory culkin#rory culkin smut#charlie walker x reader#charlie walker imagine#charlie walker oneshot#charlie walker fanfic#scream 4 fanfic#scream 4 imagine#scream 4 oneshot#charlie walker x reader smut#fic: the devil has come home#t: writing
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Propaganda
Maude Fealy (King Rene’s Daughter, David Copperfield)—She served cunt all the time
Anna May Wong (The Thief of Bagdad, Shanghai Express)—Wong was the first Chinese American movie star, arguably the first Asian woman to make it big in American films. Though the racism of the time often forced her into stereotypical roles, awarded Asian leading roles to white actors in yellowface, and prohibited on-screen romance between actors of different races, she delivered powerful and memorable performances. When Hollywood bigotry got to be too much, she made movies in Europe. Wong was intellectually curious, a fashion icon, and a strong advocate for authentic Asian representation in cinema. And, notably for the purposes of this tournament, absolutely gorgeous.
This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.
[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]
Maude Fealy propaganda:
Anna May Wong propaganda:
"She so so gorgeous!! Due to Hollywood racism she was pretty limited in the roles she got to play but even despite that she’s so captivating and deserves to be known as a leading lady in her own right!! When she’s on screen in Shanghai Express I can’t look away, which is saying something because Marlene Dietrich is also in that film."
"SHE IS ON THE BACK OF QUARTERS also she was very smart and able to speak multiple languages and is a fashion icon on top of the acting/singing"
"Paved the way for Asian American actresses AND TOTAL HOTTIE!!! She broke boundaries and made it her mission to smash stereotypes of Asian women in western film (at the time, they were either protrayed them as delicate and demure or scheming and evil). In 1951, she made history with her television show The Gallery of Madame Liu-Tsong, the first-ever U.S. television show starring an Asian-American series lead (paraphrased from Wikipedia). Also, never married and rumor has it that she had an affair with Marlene Dietrich. We love a Controversial Queen!"
"She's got that Silent Era smoulder™ that I think transcends the very stereotypical roles in which she was typically cast. Also looks very hot smouldering opposite Marlene Dietrich in "Shanghai Express"; there's kiss energy there."
"Hot as hell and chronically overlooked in her time, she's truly phenomenal and absolutely stunning"
"A story of stardom unavoidably marred by Hollywood racism; Wong's early-career hype was significantly derailed by the higher-up's reluctance to have an Asian lead, and things only got worse when the Hayes code came down and she suddenly *couldn't* be shown kissing a white man--even if that white man was in yellowface. After being shoved into the Dragon Lady role one too many times, she took her career to other continents for many years. Still, she came back to America eventually, being more selective in her roles, speaking out against Asian stereotypes, and in the midst of all of this finding the time to be awarded both the title of "World's Best Dressed Woman" by Mayfair Mannequin Society of New York and an honorary doctorate by Peking University."
"Incredible beauty, incredible actress, incredible story."
"-flapper fashion ICON. look up her fits please <3 -rumors of lesbianism due to her Close Friendships with marlene dietrich & cecil cunningham, among others -leveraged her star power to criticize the racist depictions of Chinese and Asian characters in Hollywood, as well as raise money and popular support for China & Chinese refugees in the 1930s and 40s. -face card REFUSED to decline"
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serial bereavement ; yuuta x gn/f!reader
Every first Thursday for the past six months, without fail, a single plot of ashes has been unlawfully exhumed from the cemetery behind Joenji Temple.
Or: As a rookie hire, you are partnered with Investigations Section 1 Officer Okkotsu Yuuta to investigate a law-defying, bone-chilling, uniquely disturbing case of obsessive love that threatens to shut down the entirety of Shinjuku.
part i. word count: 5.2k
warnings: rating & warnings WILL change; part i of iii; reader is referred to with she/her pronouns & has a vagina & breasts, but is never addressed with gendered titles [e.g.: "ms.," "lady," etc.]; eventual smut that is dubcon at best; horror-romance, in that order; themes of psychosexual horror; side satosugu [non-essential to plot]; i cannot overstate how abnormal this one is, even for me
the content of this fictional work is inspired by the video game "collar x malice" which belongs to the original rightful owners. i do not own or claim to own the rights to the collar x malice franchise. this written work does not represent the intentions, actions, or thoughts of any of the creators/owners of the "collar x malice" franchise.
♡ read on ao3 ♡
likes♡ / reblogs ↻ appreciated!
Every first Thursday for the past six months, without fail, a single plot of ashes has been unlawfully exhumed from the cemetery behind Joenji Temple.
The first incident was thought to be a freak accident, one of those strange, wild card crimes that confound local police and commandeer national attention. Pictures of the desecrated grave ravaged internet forums for weeks thereafter, sending chills down the backs of even the most stoutly atheist Japanese youth. An already horrific occurrence worsened all the more with the repeated presence of a seemingly random signature: there, at the bottom of the grave, in the very deepest point of the aged, black soil, laid a folded handwritten note. Upon unfurling the crisp creases, the Shinjuku Police Force Special Crimes Unit discovered that these were actually letters.
Love letters, to be exact.
Presumably penned by the perp, the characters were neat and clean – almost feminine in nature. So strong was the desire imbued into these letters that it seemed as though each individual brush stroke contained one thousand sonnets of unceasing, burning ardor. Clearly, the perpetrator yearned for the attention of their beloved.
That they would go to great lengths – immoral lengths, even – for just a three-minute story on the evening news, all so that their beloved might idly overhear the report as they prepare their dinner, idly chopping radishes to the soundtrack of a violent confession woefully fallen upon their deaf ears…
Well. It makes you squirm. You suppose that’s the point.
As a fresh-faced rookie of the Special Regions Crime Prevention Office, this is your first time on the job in the midst of such a sensational case. At first, your department was unsure how to label these crimes: neither killings nor injuries were incurred, and yet, the spiritual damage effected by the robbing of a Buddhist shrine’s graveyard was somehow worse than any brutal homicide. Eventually, the commissioner labeled these incidents as “Serial Bereavements” out of respect to the families whose deceased loved ones had been wrongfully removed from their final resting place.
After the first offense, local news stations reported the anomalous crime with a sick sort of fascination. Lovesickness was no foreigner in Japan, and although many screwed their faces up at the morbid displays of affection, so too did just as many turn up the volume on their televisions and lean just a few centimeters closer, eyes glazed with blue light, horror, mortification, and arousal.
After the second and third offenses, it was obvious that a pattern was beginning to emerge. Both incidents occurred on the first Thursday of the month, and both incidents were signed with the same achingly forlorn pages of desperation. In fear of exacerbating the perpetrator, or inspiring copycats, news stations and publications were not permitted to release the contents of the letters.
After the fourth offense, protests began to congregate outside of the Shinjuku Police Station, demanding an immediate and swift correction of the police’s incompetency in addressing the issue. When the first set of ashes had been disturbed, cherry blossoms still clung to the trees. By this time it was July, and the harsh glare of the summer sun beat unrelentingly upon the earth, as though reprimanding its inhabitants.
After the fifth offense, a special curfew was instated for all residents of the Shinjuku ward. No persons for any reason were to be out past eleven o’clock at night. This was punishable by immediate apprehension for questioning. The law was martial, but the law was necessary. Or so the commissioner claimed.
After the sixth offense, the police began looking inwardly, suspecting members of its own ranks. There was no possible way that a civilian could have been able to penetrate the immense security measures installed to secure the Joenji cemetery. Ropes and ropes of caution tape, nearly 24/7 surveillance, and daily K-9 rounds were still not enough to halt the perpetrator in their tracks. This could only mean one thing:
An inside job.
“Scary,” shivers Ieiri, mockingly, lips curled in a sardonic smirk around the length of her unlit cigarette. “You hear they think it’s one of us?”
You regularly have lunch with Ieiri Shoko, director of the Forensics department. She is as caustic as she is jaded, having served in an underrecognized role for far too long, wasting her prolific talents in an obscure government position with little excitement – save for, of course, highly-charged periods of reoccurring atrocities, such as the current case of the Serial Bereavements.
“Don’t even joke. We should be taking this seriously…”
The cooling September breeze has you huddling into your knees a little further. Enjoying lunch on the rooftop was a treat while it was still summer. But now, September has just torn a new page in your calendar and has brought with it an uncharacteristically crisp cold snap. It is Tuesday, the second.
“I’m sooooo serious,” Ieiri says after taking a rather dramatically prolonged drag from the now-lit cig. “Couldn’t be any more serious. Brr.”
Usually, Ieiri’s dry humor is an effective, if transient, salve to your ever-festering anxiety. But today is an exception.
“Please, just think about it for a second... To think that any one of the people we work with every day could be committing such heinous crimes…and for a romantic obsession, no less…it doesn’t frighten you?”
Ieiri exhales smoke, puffing lazily like a sated dragon draped over its hoard. “Nah. I seriously doubt anyone in our ward has the balls.”
Her vulgarity makes you blush. You’ve always been easy to fluster. “Ieiri-san!”
“How many times have I told you to just call me by my first name… jeez.” She ruffles your hair without even an ounce of care for how it makes you groan in consternation. “Too polite for your own good. Someone is going to take advantage of that, one day. And then where will you be? Calling for Ieiri-san to come save you?”
Somewhere, she’s strayed from the path of lighthearted teasing. You still under the weight of her calloused palm, peering curiously up at her through your lashes. “Um…well…”
And as soon as her touch had manifested upon you, just as quickly is it yanked away. “Anyways, call me whatever you like. Not like it matters, anyway.”
“I guess not…”
The rest of your lunch is finished in an unstable silence. Her final, rhetorical question rolls around in your mind, impressing itself upon your malleable brain tissue: Calling for Ieiri-san to save you?
But when would you need saving?
You’re a police officer, after all. You can take care of yourself.
If you couldn’t, why would you serve as an officer in the first place?
;
On the following Monday – the third of September – the director of the Investigations Unit summons you to the fifth floor.
After a polite (terrified) bow, you enter Investigations HQ. “Hello.” Please do not fire me. Please do not transfer me. Please do not publicly reprimand me. Please do not—
“Ah, thank you for coming. Wow, what a deep bow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a perfectly geometrical ninety degrees.”
Face burning, you avert your gaze to the marble floor. “Ummm…”
You’ve heard that the chief of Investigations, Gojo Satoru was an eccentric fellow, passing in and out as he pleased through the station, hanging off of the director like a second skin. It should come as no surprise that he is here to greet you, today. And yet, still does your thin skin prickle with humiliation, with shame.
Geto Suguru, director of Investigations, cuts in before his partner can continue. “Leave her alone, Satoru. She’s shaking. Are you doing alright today, officer?”
Embarrassed, you nod. Great. It hasn’t even been a full sixty seconds and you’re already embarrassing yourself in front of your superiors.
“Alright, alright. I’ll lay off. Only ‘cuz you asked, though! Hehe.”
“I’ve summoned you today to invite you to join a special taskforce,” Geto continues, unperturbed by Gojo’s wily eyebrow wiggles. “This taskforce will use unique means to investigate the Joenji Serial Bereavements.”
Your blood is paralyzed in your veins, cowed by the enormity of this proposal. “Sir…?”
“In the short amount of time since you’ve joined the Shinjuku Police Department, your conduct has been nothing but outstanding. You’re capable and damn impressive. And frankly speaking, officer, we need a fresh set of eyes on this case.”
There’s nothing else you could possibly say other than: “I would be humbled to join. Thank you.”
“Great, knew we could count on you. We’re keeping the taskforce small for confidentiality’s sake. You’ll be working with one other partner: Officer Okkotsu Yuuta from Investigations Section 1.”
That name… why do you know that name?
Then it hits you: Okkotsu Yuuta is the name whispered through the halls of the police department with awe, envy, admiration, and – occasionally – fear. He is a legendary detective with prowess in both tactical as well as strategical measures. His presence is felt rather than seen, as he is scarcely spotted within the physical walls of the department. However, what does not tangibly appear is nonetheless ever-present in whispered rumors and glamorized notoriety.
“O-Okkotsu-san…” you stammer, taken aback. “But…I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean to question your judgement, but why have I been chosen to pair with Okkotsu-san?”
“Oh! He specifically requested—”
Gojo’s cheerful sentence is curtailed by a swift elbow to the ribs. While he recovers, Geto finishes the thought, “Okkotsu has requested to be paired with a rookie for this assignment to personally train them. Something about ‘personally ensuring the longevity of the Shinjuku police force,’ or the like. What a do-gooder, am I right?”
“Okay,” you respond, uncertain.
“Your first matter of business will be a visitation to the Joenji graveyard to look for any new leads. You leave in one hour. Okkotsu will meet you downstairs, in front of the building. Good luck!”
In a daze, you bow deeply once more. “Thank you. I will be sure to work hard.”
;
Unsure of what to expect, you linger in front of the armed entrance to the building, trying your best not to shift your weight from foot to foot in an obviously apparent display of anxiety.
It’s not that you’re the type to be starstruck! You are a sensible, no-nonsense, down-to-earth person. Celebrities have never appealed to you much, and idol culture continues to confound you.
In light of this, it’s quite difficult to explain the visceral, full-body reaction you have when you meet Officer Okkotsu Yuuta for the first time.
He is not superbly handsome. Good-looking enough to get street-casted? Sure. With some minor work, he might even be the jewel visual for an up-and-coming boy group. Young and fit, he is the picture of an officer steadily approaching the peak of their hotshot years. Plain, dark hair falls on either side of his forehead in a lopsided part, and his uniform is buttoned and put together, if only a little wrinkled. All in all, he is an average, considerably attractive young man in the Shinjuku police force.
And yet.
Eyes like pools of obsidian tether you to the spot like a spell has been cast upon your bones. Enchanted, your lips part, but no sounds slips through. The intrusive, overstimulating soundtrack of Shinjuku rush hour traffic fades to little more than background noise as your senses are held hostage by the void of quiet, negative space in the shape of a young man that stands in front of you.
His bow is deep and overly formal. He’s technically your superior… and definitely a senior-ranking officer. “A pleasure to meet you,” he announces to the concrete ground “I’m Okkotsu Yuuta, Investigations Section 1.”
“N-nice to meet you, Okkotsu-senpai. My name is—”
The cringe marring his otherwise untroubled face stops your words before his interjection is even voiced. “Ah, um. Just ‘Okkotsu’ is fine. We look to be around the same age, too, so I don’t mind. May I address you casually as well?”
Face burning, brain scrambled, you somehow remember how to speak. You give him an affirmative before pausing, perplexed. How did he know your name already?
Okkotsu specifically requested to be paired with a rookie…
Geto’s words float to the forefront of your mind, soothing your hummingbird heart. Surely, the director and chief of Investigations must have briefed Okkotsu on your file before you were cleared to accompany him on this special taskforce.
Normally, you are woefully naïve, a bumbling but well-intentioned junior officer. The unsettling nature of the Serial Bereavements have pushed you towards an edge you didn’t even know you could reach.
The thought of the assignment weighs down your fresh-faced bashfulness. Suddenly, the afternoon sun is less bright, the heat on your face concentrating into the precursor to a migraine just behind your eyes.
Okkotsu blinks once, twice. “Thank you for working with me on this case. Would you believe me if I told you that I’m a bit of a scaredy cat?”
Your eyes bug out of your head in disbelief. “Um? But you…” His reputation specifically includes the highest number of skillful takedowns, arrest totals, and successful confessions across the entire prefecture. A scaredy cat?
“I know how it looks. It would be quite embarrassing if anyone else knew… but I’m a pretty anxious person.”
With a refocused perspective, your gaze hones in on the smattering of purple bruises underneath his tired eyes which birth a cool webbing of veins sprawling down and out across his pale, gaunt face. You realize that his uniform isn’t actually wrinkled – it just hangs off of his thin frame, tucked intentionally to give off the illusion of a much bigger silhouette.
In him, you see a reflection all too similar: young, ragged, hungry, scared.
It’s not enough to set you completely at ease, but your lungs relax their hold on your bated breath, letting it go as slowly and reluctantly as a child forced to part with their favorite plush toy. “Me too,” you hum. “Um, nonetheless, I will definitely try my best to be helpful. I hope I will not slow you down Okkotsu-se—er, Okkotsu.”
“It’s not about fast or slow.” The service car pulls up and loiters at the curb where the two of you are still lingering. He opens the back door for you. This is the first time a polite young man your age has done that. You try your best to remember that you are literally at work, on the clock, about to investigate an especially morbid case.
Once ensuring you’re comfortably inside, he shuts the door and rounds the rear of the vehicle to slide into the leather seat next to you.
“What matters is that we can rely on each other. Fast or slow, we’re partners now… as long as we finish together, it doesn’t matter the pace.”
He rattles off the address to the department driver after dropping what is possibly the most insightful reassurance you have ever received in your life.
Okay. You can kind of understand why the entire department is obsessed with him.
“R-right. Thank you.”
The rest of the ride is spent in a silence two shades off from comfortable. Nothing is wrong, per se – but the both of your negative energies linger and interact with each other like animals of the same species encountering for the first time.
How odd, you think, to find someone like you, and who is unashamed – eager, even – to admit it. To embrace it.
;
The cemetery is small and would otherwise go unnoticed if not for the dramatic influx in attention following the past few months. Plain and unadorned, neatly kept, with no ostentatious monuments or memorials, as is befitting for the burial grounds behind a Buddhist temple. All in all, the scenery would be somewhat peaceful if not for the six disturbed plots of land where remains were once laid to rest.
This is your first time at the scene of the crime. Your rank is too low to justify visiting this high-profile area without clearance from a supervisor. Now that you’ve been assigned to a taskforce specifically investigating this case, it was necessary that Yuuta took you to observe the scene yourself.
Although there is a total lack of gore or rot, still does the sight of six empty graves provoke within you an acute revulsion. Perhaps it is the absence of any overt suffering, and the oppressing knowledge of the extended waves of unearthed grief spanning across multiple kin networks who must now lose their loved one a second time – this is what inspires the damp, fragile sheen pooling at your waterline.
“Hey,” calls a soft, gentle voice. Yuuta’s timid wave brings you back from your wallowing. “Before we left, I grabbed the letters from forensics. Thought it might be helpful to have while we re-assess the scene.”
Something he’d done entirely for your benefit. Conscious of your lack of experience with the case, you incline your head, grateful. It’s almost as though your gratitude makes him uncomfortable. He averts his gaze and hands over a collection of six plastic-encased papers. Despite their origins within deep, aged earth, each one is pristine.
Steeling yourself, you read February’s letter, the origin of chaos:
My Dearly Beloved,
Did you know that not even the moon and all her stars, nor the sun and all his days, burn as brightly as my heart does for you? There is a certain privilege that I have been blessed with in this lifetime: the privilege to admire you from afar while passing through your stratosphere when it is convenient.
But, unlike you, I am a flawed and impure creature. I am greedy. Each morning, I wake up with a hunger to do more than watch. I want to draw you near to my side. I want to feel your flesh. I want to know what your innards taste like. I want to bathe in your desire. I want to carve myself into your being, forever and ever and ever, so that in the next life, you will be born missing me.
Please look at me. I love you so terribly it defies the laws of life and death. You’ve awoken something within me. I hope you’ll take responsibility.
Nauseous, you shift the letter to the bottom of the pile, hands shaking, head spinning.
“How disturbing…” you can’t stop the words from leaving you, unbidden. “How can someone desire another person in such a way that it permits violence?”
Okkotsu studies you closely. “Do you really feel that way?”
Alarm coils like a snake cornered in the pit of your gut. Sharply, you snap your gaze to his still, calm face. As pallid and pockmarked with depression as the moon herself. “Excuse me?”
“Are you truly disgusted by this kind of love?”
Fighting to ignore your fight-or-flight response, you answer: “I don’t consider this to be love.”
Peculiarly, his face breaks out into a smile, clearing away the lingering cloudy expression. “And that’s why I’m glad we’re partners. I knew you’d have the right idea about this.”
“Most people condemn this crime…”
“But too many sympathize with a false motive,” he volleys back, dark eyes glinting with a strange intensity. “This isn’t a crime of ‘love.’ The perp doesn’t act out of affection. They want to own, subdue, and take what is not theirs. How is that love?”
“Exactly,” you affirm. “To be honest, those connections have always kind of unsettled me…even in shows, or books, or games, I could never look at the obsessive type.”
“Scary, aren’t they?”
This isn’t just a work case for him, you belatedly realize. His tense posture, his imploring eyes, his specification of partner – this is personal. Something about these occurrences strikes a chord deep inside of him, resonating so profoundly that it would not be enough to watch another resolve these crimes; no, Okkotsu is compelled to eradicate the danger completely, uprooting it from the source, destroying the danger with his bare hands, watching it dissipate with his own eyes.
“Mm. I’m glad we’re working on this case together, Okkotsu.”
He offers a small, benign quirk of the lips. “Me too.”
Your partnership progresses steadily from this first encounter.
Most of your daily duties are now fulfilled off-site, accompanying Okkotsu to various locations of interest, following potential leads, and occasionally conducting interviews. It’s been merely two days since the taskforce has been formed, and yet, you’ve been so preoccupied with your new assignment that it completely slips your mind to alert Shoko as to why you’ve been absent from your regular rooftop lunch dates.
You are mortified to open an aggrieved SMS from her on Wednesday morning:
Ieiri-san 08:15Oi. Are you dead
Me 08:16
Ahhhh!! I’m so sorry!!!! A new assignment is taking up a lot of my time.
I apologize for not communicating.
And for missing lunch.
We can eat together today?
I can bring you something?
Whatever you like! I can make it!
Ieiri-san 08:20
Nah, none of that
You’re probably overworking yourself already. No need for extra labor
Just meet me on rooftop @ usual time
Me 08:21
Absolutely!!
It is surprisingly difficult to tear yourself from Yuuta’s side, as the two of you have been practically glued together from sunrise to sundown ever since embarking on the special assignment. He is reluctant to let you slip away for lunch, and as a result, you linger past a reasonable time to reassure him that you will be back on time.
When you are finally able to break away from Investigations HQ, you check the time on your phone only to realize that noon has rounded the corner with unanticipated haste. Hurriedly, you make your way to the seventh level of the police station building, embarrassingly conscious of your damp forehead and rapid breath.
“Sorry I’m late!!” Bursting through the metal door, you explode onto the rooftop, cloth-wrapped bento in one hand, and your furiously beating heart in the other.
It’s almost comical, how serene Ieiri looks, unbothered as ever as she leans against the railing with her trademark cigarette weaving in between her restless fingers. “Took you long enough. Been waiting for two days, now.”
“Ahhhh…”
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You look like you’re about to piss your pants. C’mere.”
Face in flames, you stride over to pop a squat next to her. “I really do apologize, Ieiri-san. These last couple of days have been really hectic…”
“How so? You mentioned a new assignment. When did that happen?”
“Hmm, I’m not sure if I can talk about it…Investigations personally assigned me…um, not to be impolite or brag or anything! Just, I think it’s a little sensitive in nature, so—”
“Investigations?” She cuts you off, her dull timbre unusually sharp. “You mean those two idiots asked you to handle a highly classified criminal case? During your first quarter? By yourself?”
“Ah!! Geto-senpai and Gojo-senpai are quite eccentric, but they are very nice--!”
“No, they are not—”
“—and I’m not by myself! I’m partnered with Okkotsu Yuuta!”
If you weren’t such an anxious person who is well-practiced in the art of overanalyzing the countenance of others, you would surely have missed the way Ieiri’s eyes widen imperceptibly, the way her breath stutters on the next exhalation. She does not look at you for a beat. Two beats. She stares straight ahead at the exterior of the building when asks,
“You’re investigating the Serial Bereavement cases.”
“Ieiri-san…” you whine, head in your hands. “I’m, like, ninety percent sure no one else is supposed to know…”
“What, don’t trust me? Not like I have any friends around here to tell.”
“That’s, well. That’s not the point. Okkotsu mentioned that this was a sensitive matter, so…”
“Just ‘Okkotsu,’ huh?” She peers sideways at you. “No ‘senpai’? Wow, you two sure got comfortable fast.”
“No, please don’t misunderstand! Because honorifics make him uncomfortable, he asked that we speak casually!”
“I asked you the same.”
Her blunt response stuns you silent. It takes you several seconds to produce a response. “Well, yes. But that’s different…Ieiri-san is older…”
“Not by much.” Finally, she lights the cig in her hand. “Hey, let me ask you something.”
“Okay, please go ahead.”
“It was Investigations who put you on the case? Nobody else was involved?”
Hesitation halts your tongue. Mentally, you are transported back to that fateful day, just a little less than forty-eight hours ago, when your new assignment had been unloaded upon you.
“…I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean to question your judgement, but why have I been chosen to pair with Okkotsu-san?”
“Oh! He specifically requested—”
Gojo was never able to finish his sentence, cut off by Geto’s strategically timed blow. Almost as though the chief was about to reveal something better left unsaid.
You may be a rookie, but you aren’t stupid. There’s a reason why you got this job, after all.
And if you can deduce this much, surely the next conclusion you land on isn’t so far-fetched:
Okkotsu must have personally requested you as a partner.
But the question is…why? You hadn’t been personally acquainted before you’d met outside of the station before heading to your first investigation together. He’s been nothing but kind and respectful – if a little unsettlingly intense, at times, but you think that’s just kind of how he is.
There must be an element that you’re missing from the equation, a piece of the puzzle of which you are not yet aware. It is for this uncertainty that you choose to disclose the truth to Ieiri.
“Okkotsu requested me as his partner.”
Obviously, she asked you for this information because something was dependent upon how you answered. Studying Ieiri’s reaction might be the first step towards unraveling this strange situation.
And react, indeed she does; again, it is quite muted, eroded by years of police work and other unspoken traumas you’re sure lie dormant inside of her mysterious, impenetrable depths. But perhaps it is because of your friendship that Ieiri’s micro-expressions appear to you more as the dramatic admission of feeling that they truly are.
A twitch of the brow, a purse of the lips. Her next exhalation of smoke comes fast and hard, expelled from her mouth in one decisive whoosh of toxic air. Usually, she pays special attention to the wind pattern so that she does not blow smoke in your face. It seems she’s thoroughly perturbed today; the fumes whip you across the cheek and you hack violently in surprise.
Your adverse response snaps her out of the momentary brooding. “Shit, sorry,” she mumbles, quickly removing the cig from her lips and smothering it on the ground. “You alright?”
“J-just fine,” you murmur after one final bout of ear-splitting dry heaves. “Can I ask you a question, now?”
“Shoot.”
“Is it a bad thing that Okkotsu and I are partners?”
Visibly, Ieiri must chew and swallow her initial retort. This is quite unprecedented behavior from the woman with little to no filter on any given occasion. “How are you finding it so far?”
“Well…he’s really considerate. And accommodating. Um, he even revisited the crime scene with me since I’d never been, and he let me read all the letters, too.”
“That’s funny,” says Ieiri, stone-faced. “How did he show you the letters?”
“He said he picked them up from the station before we left. I was quite surprised that he went through all the trouble of doing that, since those kinds of sensitive evidence usually aren’t allowed to leave Forensics…”
“You’re absolutely right. They aren’t.”
“Ah…Okkotsu must have special clearance…?”
“He doesn’t,” Ieiri deadpans.
“…I see…”
Her hands twitch at her sides like she’s itching for another smoke, even though the carcass of her most recent stick still smolders underneath the dagger of her high heel. “Well. You can do whatever you want with Okkotsu. Sounds like you’re in capable, dedicated hands.”
“Huh? Ieiri-san, wh—wait, where are you going--?!”
But before you can finish your panicked inquiry, Ieiri has already blown through the metal door, stomping her way back downstairs to the sixth floor where the Forensics Department awaits her gloomy presence. It’s unlike her to storm off mid-conversation. You’ve never seen her emotions rise above slight annoyance – and that level of frustration is reserved exclusively for the Investigations chief and director. What had you done to provoke even worse of an ire?
Riddled with guilt and anxiety, you wade through the rest of the workday in a foggy, unfocused haze. Okkotsu gives up trying to ask you what is wrong after his third attempt. When you eventually, mercifully fall into bed that night, unshed tears overflow past your clenched, trembling lashes, staining your pillow with sorrows you cannot speak aloud.
Upon waking up, you are granted no reprieve. It is Thursday, the sixth of September. The first Thursday of the month.
You don’t bother with something as trivial as breakfast this morning – not when the thought of what awaits you in the day ahead fills you to the brim with unbearable dread.
Arriving at the police station and getting briefed on the day’s events only confirms your worst fears: there has been another Bereavement at the Joenji graveyard.
This month’s occurrence is twistedly unique.
Accompanying the usual handwritten letter is a fresh, human heart, so red and wet, glistening with fresh gore, that it almost appears to be beating through the still stock photos taken by Field Operations upon first discovery.
Due to your increased status, you are granted clearance to read this month’s note before any other department can get to it. Ieiri is absent from the Forensics office when you rush off the elevator to the sixth floor. One of the interns retrieves the file for you, and you are equal parts eager and terrified to scan its plastic-encased contents.
My Dearly Beloved,
Aimless admiration has thus far sated my yearning soul. Seeing you eat well every day fills my spirit with a sense of completion. I am at ease to watch over you and ensure your wellbeing. But there has been a disturbance. I can feel your increased awareness, like a child opening its eyes to the world for the first time. Coupled with this awareness is a newfound distance between us. Things were going so well. Why now? Why pull away? This can’t be because of me. It must be someone else.
I think I know who.
What must I do to regain your undivided attention? How can I reclaim your primary affections? To experience even an inch of separation, a millimeter of remove, is for my body to undergo countless agonizing deaths.
Will you pay attention to me?
Will you notice me?
Will you choose me?
Look at me.
Look at me.
Look at me.
I serve my beating heart up on a platter just so that your gaze might befall it for the barest of breaths.
Recent events have shown me that I cannot stand idly by any longer while others sneakily and deliberately encroach on our relationship. I’m getting restless. I’ve been waiting quite patiently. Are you as antsy as I am? Soon, you’ll know me as all that I am.
I miss you. I see you every day and I miss you. Come back to me.
Before it’s too late.
#okkotsu yuta x reader#okkotsu yuuta x reader#okkotsu yuta x y/n#okkotsu yuuta x y/n#okkotsu yuta fix#okkotsu yuuta fic#okkotsu yuuta#okkotsu yuta#jjk ao3#okkotsu yuuta ao3#okkotsu yuta ao3#jjk/reader#jjk/you#jjk/y/n#jjk fic#jjk reader insert#okkotsu yuuta reader insert#okkotsu yuta reader insert#my writing#mine#in celebration of his manga redebut <3
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Don't Speak 23
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)
Character: librarian!Andy Barber
Note: You know this man don't quit.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
Love you all. Take care. 💖
The movie ends but Andy doesn’t wake up. You daintily touch his shoulder again, gripping firmly as you try to shake him awake. Your legs are starting to tingle. You move your feet, trying to wake up your muscles. He’s snoring louder than before.
You squeak out his name. The panic clusters in your chest, your heart starting to race as your ribs ache. You’re trapped! You hate that feeling. The sort of claustrophobia you get on the bus or in most public spaces. Your body is so hot that your skin itches.
“Please, Andy,” you beg as you push on his shoulder, only managing to rock him, “please, wake up.”
You sit back as he doesn’t respond. Not the way you need him to. He doesn’t stir, doesn’t stop snoring. He only nestles into you closer, his hand slipping under your leg.
You let your head drop against the cushion. The credit music plays as you wallow in your predicament. You’ll just have to wait. He’ll get up eventually. The way he’s slumped over can’t be comfortable.
You deflate and drag your hand off his shoulder. You close your eyes, knowing you’re stuck there until he wakes. You can’t sleep like that. So you’ll sit and try not to combust.
The longer the wait, the slower time feels. You find yourself staring at the ceiling, then the wall, then the idle menu of the television. You can’t quite reach the remote so you sit there as the title cards for various new releases fade across the screen.
You’re so so tired but you can’t sleep like that. You put your hand on Andy’s shoulder again, feeling the muscle under your hand, the rise and fall as he takes slow breaths. You keep from trying to rouse him again. You feel too bad to do that. If he’s that tired, you’ll let him sleep.
Your head gets foggy as the screen times out and goes black on its own, the back light still glowing. You hear the wax bubble in the candle as the wick burns itself out and you sink into the cushions further. You let your eyes close again, lingering in your incapacitation but unable to succumb to it.
The hours skew by and you see the night roll into morning through the window. It’s beautiful despite the pounding in your temples. Your body aches and your head thrums. Andy sleeps on, his breath lending a soothing rhythm to the silence.
The sky lightens gradually through the pane, deep navy fading to swathes of violet and rose, finally revealing a bright blue. You feel Andy shift as a groan escapes his lips. He drags his hand out from under your leg and you tense. He rubs his nose before pushing his fingers back through his hair.
“Dove,” his voice creaks dryly, “I’m sorry–” he coughs hoarsely, “I must’ve–” He grips the edge of the cushion and tries to push himself up, only to keel over again. He grunts and reaches back to grasp his lower back, “shit– sorry, I… I think I hurt my back.”
“What?” You murmur with a tinge of panic, “you’re hurt?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he plants his hand flat and snarls as he forces himself up, falling back limp against the couch, “I pulled a muscle… sleeping like that–” he blows out as he tries to sit up, only to cry out, “I… you could’ve woke me up–”
“I… tried,” you utter, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t–”
“Hmm,” he rubs his neck and winces, “yeah, I’m a heavy sleeper…” he lets his hand trail down the front of his shirt, “you… you sat here all night?”
You look at him. You don’t want to make him feel any worse than he already does. You don’t mention that you couldn’t move him and leaving wasn’t a choice. Not as the pain needles between his brows, stitching a line between them.
“Can I… help?” You offer.
You slide forward, your own muscles racked from the tense hours of your confinement. Still, you can move through the slight burning in your thighs and the tightness in your back. You stand carefully, stretching your arms high above you. Andy watches you, his head resting against the couch.
“I don’t know,” he puffs as he puts a hand behind him, “maybe… some ice?”
“Oh, alright,” you step back on your heel, “I can do that.”
You go into the kitchen and open the freezer. You shiver as you lean in, searching for an ice pack or maybe a tray. You find an ice bag and grab it along with a dish cloth and bring it back to Andy. You find him leaning against the armrest, his face contorted in agony.
“Sweetie,” he huffs, “help me.”
You don’t know what to do except what he tells you. You didn’t expect this but you suppose this happens as you get older. You’ve woken up with a crick in your neck and it’s never pleasant.
You put the ice bag on his stomach and lift his legs up onto the end of the couch. You put a pillow behind him and help him reposition himself before you put the ice beneath his shoulder. He closes his eyes and groans again.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “I never wanted you to see me like this.”
“What?” You stand back, wringing your hands as he folds an arm over his chest. “Does this happen a lot?’
“Once in a while… usually stress…” he admits and tries to turn his head, only to yelp and stop. “Dove, please, I don’t want you to see this.”
Stress? Does he mean you stress him out?
“But… you need help,” you cross your arms, “and I’m the only one here so…”
He frowns. You aren’t sure what to do but you feel awful just letting him suffer, even if he’s embarrassed. He doesn’t need to be. Besides, he saw you at your worst and he didn’t just abandon you. You owe him this.
You reach over him and pull down the throw blanket from the back of the couch. You spread it over him as he opens his eyes. You sense him watch you as you stand straight and chew your lip.
“You… you don’t have to take care of me,” he rasps.
“You need me to,” you shrug and look around, “um… should I… should I make coffee or… something?”
“That would be so nice, honey,” he says softly, “thank you.”
“Yeah,” you back away and turn on your heel, “of course.”
You go into the kitchen and rub your eyes. You’re so tired. You could fall over right there but you can’t. You’re not helpless anymore, but he is. Maybe you need this, to learn how to be the strong one.
🕊️
Andy doesn’t seem to get any better. The ice pack melts and you put it back in the freezer. You’re worried. He’s too big for you to move and you can’t drive.
“Um, Andy,” you enter the living room as he stares dully at the television. The tension hasn’t left his cheek, “should I… call someone? Or an ambulance?”
He laughs but not for long as he grunts and once more braces his back. He shakes his head and tries to roll out the pain. He only grimaces and wriggles as he tries to get comfortable.
“No, it’s fine. It’ll go away, I just need… rest,” he collapses against the pillows, “honey, I got some pills. Up in the medicine cabinet. Muscle relaxers, they can help.”
“Oh, uh, okay?”
“Will you go get them for me?” He asks, resting his hand on his chest, “they’ll be with a white tube with a blue logo. Can you get that too?”
“Sure, I can do that,” you affirm, repeating the statement like a mantra, “I can do it.”
You scurry around the couch and hurry up the stairs. Your worry has chased away your own fatigue and the soreness in your muscles has receded to a tolerable ache. You go to the bathroom and ignore your reflection as you pop open the medicine cabinet.
You turn several bottles and find the muscle relaxers. You pause and look over as a red flash beams in the corner of your eye. The shower speaker flickers. Maybe the battery is low? You don’t think about it as you grab the pill bottle and the tube close to it.
You swing shut the door and leave the bathroom. You catch yourself against the banister as you descend the stairs, nearly tripping as a yawn forces its way from your throat. The bottle rattles as you enter the living room.
“I’ll get you some water,” you say as you put down the handful on the coffee table, "one second.”
You go to the kitchen and fill a glass from the fridge filter. You return and offer Andy the glass and the bottle of pills. He thanks you as you turn to look at the coffee table. The tray is still there with the candy and half-finished bottles of soda.
“I’ll clean this up.”
You lift it and take it with you to the kitchen. You take your time clearing it off. You transfer the candy into containers and baggies, sealing them up and put the chips in a ziploc to keep them from getting stale. You hear Andy moaning and grumbling.
You enter the living room again. He holds the tube, staring at it as he turns it in his hands. His eyes flick up and back down. He teethes his lip, a nervous slant to his mouth.
“Dove, I… can I ask you a favour?” He says, so quietly you can barely hear him.
“Um, yeah, of course,” you step out of the doorway.
“I… I can’t reach,” he raises the tube, “it’s supposed to help but I can’t… can’t put it on myself.”
You blink. Oh. Oh. Does that mean you have to touch him? You can’t help but let your eyes round.
“I understand if you don’t want to, once the pills kick in, they should knock me out long enough to forget the pain,” his shoulders slouch, “yeah, forget it.”
He tosses the tube back on the table, letting out a high-pitched noise. You feel a twinge in your chest. You don’t like seeing people in pain. You remember when Amber broke her wrist and cried every night.. That was so long ago but you can still hear her whimpers.
“I can do it,” you wisp as you come forward and take the tube.
Your hands shake as Andy watches you. His gaze weighs heavy as you feel every move you make is scrutinized. You raise your head and look at him.
“Help me sit up,” he reaches to you with one arm.
You near and bend, letting him wrap his arm around your shoulders and neck. You use all your might to pull him up, feeling him quake with the effort. He sits up and you slowly retreat. You focus on popping open the cap.
“My shirt…” he croaks.
You peek up at him and make a face. Oh. Oh, that makes sense.
You put the cream on the armrest and step forward. He leans in as you do and you help him roll up the bottom of his sweatshirt. You angle the fabric over his head as he struggles to get his arms higher than that. As you guide the shirt down his arms, you realise he has nothing underneath. You don’t know why you thought he might have an undershirt.
“Ugh, thank you so much,” he whines, tweaking your pity once more.
“It’s fine,” you murmur.
You glance at him and sway, unsure of how to do this. You realise you have to get behind him as he leans away from the pillows. You sit on the edge of the cushion as you retrieve the tube and squirt out some of the cream into your palm.
You stop and stare at his back. His shoulders are broad and straight, muscles bound beneath his skin, moles speckled here and there. You hover your hand, unsure what to do next.
“Just under my left shoulder, up along the blade,” he directs, pausing as you stare dumbly, “please, honey, it hurts.”
You make yourself touch him. You press your hand to his back and push it along the line of his shoulder blade. He groans and bends forward. You retract your hand.
“Sorry! Did it hurt?”
“No, no, keep going,” he insists sharply, “please.”
“But… I don’t want to hurt you.”
“It’s gonna hurt but it’ll make me feel better,” he says, “please, sweetie, don’t you want me to feel better?”
You nod even though he can’t see it. You touch him again, his warmth adding to that of the cream as you spread it over his skin. Your breath catches as you hear something, a hum, a purr. You can feel the rumble in his as work at rubbing the lotion until it absorbs.
“That’s good, honey,” he says, “so good.”
You put the cap on the tube and stand. You look at your hand, the smell of the cream is strong enough to make your eyes water. Andy falls back, not bothering to put his shirt back on.
“I’ll wash this off,” you show your palm.
He doesn’t answer as he closes his eyes. You leave him and wash off the lotion, drying your hand thoroughly, though the scent of the cream clings. Back in the living room, you find Andy as you left him.
You don’t know if you should do anything else. You peer over at the broad archway that leads into the hallway. He needs sleep, right?
“Thank you, honey,” he startles you, “for looking after me.”
“Er, your welcome,” you say, “I… should I…”
“Will you sit with me?” He plants his elbow and grunts as he strains to move himself onto his side, patting the space before him, “please.”
“Oh, uh…” you hesitate.
“I don’t want to be alone,” he says, “please, dove.”
Another pluck deep in your chest. It’s your fault. You let him sleep all night like that. You weren’t strong enough, not loud enough. Once more your fear kept you from doing the right thing.
“Sure,” you shuffle forward and turn, awkwardly lowering yourself in front of his stomach.
He drops his arm to drape in front of you, resting in your lap as he nestles into the cushions. His other hand brushes your side and stays there. He squeezes you against him, pulling you snug.
You stare at the television, watching as a man works on refinishing a counter with laminate. You can do nothing else as you sit frozen in his embrace. Encased in ice despite the blaze of heat rising from him.
#andy barber#dark andy barber#dark!andy barber#andy barber x reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#series#au#library au#don't speak#defending jacob
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MCU Title Cards, Part 2
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"Guardians Of The Galaxy" (2014)
Directed by James Gunn
(Action/Comedy/Sci-Fi/Comic Book)
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"Agent Carter" (2015 - 2016)
Created by Christopher Markus & Stephen McFeely
(Action/Adventure/Sci-Fi/Comic Book)
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"Daredevil" (2015 - 2018)
Created by Drew Goddard
(Action/Crime/Drama/Comic Book)
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"Avengers: Age Of Ultron" (2015)
Directed by Joss Whedon
(Action/Adventure/Sci-Fi/Comic Book)
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"Ant-Man" (2015)
Directed by Peyton Reed
(Action/Adventure/Comedy/Comic Book)
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"Jessica Jones" (2015 - 2019)
Created by Melissa Rosenberg
(Action/Crime/Drama/Comic Book)
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"Captain America: Civil War" (2016)
Directed by Anthony Russo & Joe Russo
(Action/Adventure/Sci-Fi/Comic Book)
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"Luke Cage" (2016 - 2018)
Created by Cheo Hodari Coker
(Action/Crime/Drama/Comic Book)
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"Doctor Strange" (2016)
Directed by Scott Derrickson
(Action/Adventure/Fantasy/Comic Book)
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"Iron Fist" (2017 - 2018)
Created by Scott Buck
(Action/Adventure/Crime/Comic Book)
#mcu#marvel#television title cards#film#cinema title cards#cinema#television#luke cake#iron fist#captain america#guardians of the galaxy#comic book movies#disney#doctor stranger#ant-man#antman#daredevil#agent carter#ultron#jessica jones#netflix
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may the sun dawn on panem (tbosas)
𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥!𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥!𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘴
𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘊𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘢 𝘏𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮’𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘊𝘰𝘻𝘢𝘩, 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘶𝘱 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘛𝘪𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘶𝘴 𝘚𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘊𝘰𝘻𝘢𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘳, 𝘊𝘰𝘻𝘢𝘩 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯. 𝘌𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘚𝘯𝘰𝘸. (2.6𝘬)
𝘢/𝘯: 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘪 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘪 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴. 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘈 𝘉𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩! 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘮 𝘳𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘺/𝘯 𝘳𝘯😎 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘪𝘭𝘺<3
𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺, 𝘺𝘯 𝘪𝘴: 𝘤𝘰𝘻𝘢𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮 (𝘤𝘰𝘴𝘦-𝘶𝘩)
Your eyes, wide and tear filled, are glued to the screen. Lucy Gray looks down at your tribute, stroking his face as foam continues to flow from his lips. All of your naive hope is lost as Jessup’s face is replaced with the Hunger Games title card and Lucky’s eccentric voice breaks you out of your trance.
“Annndddd that is it for Jessup Diggs and mentor Cozah Highbottom, a hard sight to see indeed but not hard enough for you to turn off your televisions, am I right?” He delightfully laughs, his artificial smile being a stark contrast to the knot that’s tied itself in your stomach.
You slowly look over to Coriolanus, the man who’s supposed to be your partner. His eyes are just as wide as yours as he stares back at you. He begins to speak, placing a hand on yours. There’s no time for him to get in a word before you shove him off of you and storm out of the hall, throwing your Academy pin on the marble floor.
The fresh air outside of the school does little to calm you, an angry snarl plastered on your face as your walk begins to turn into a jog. You were stupid to ever think you could trust Corio. The boy you grew up with has changed. The games changed him, Lucy Gray Baird changed him. He’s turned into a Capitol elitist who will clearly stop at nothing to make sure Lucy Gray wins. Not even murder was below him.
The footsteps running up behind you are ones you recognize, though, they don’t make you turn around. If anything, they make you walk faster. Nevertheless, they quickly catch up to you and expectantly, a hand pulls on your shoulder.
“Cozah-“
You snap around, unable to keep your composure at his touch.
“I should’ve never sent that water. I should’ve never trusted you.” You sneer, your unique and oddity of a District 12 accent growing thicker the more emotional you become.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think that he’d-“
“You knew exactly what would happen but you let me send it anyway.”
“What- No! I meant for it to scare him not to…” He trails off.
You step closer, staring up into his saxe eyes; though you’re only seeing red.
“I know you, Corio.” You assure him, “I should’ve known better.”
His brows furrow, his frosty hair softly blowing in the cool front. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“‘Snow lands ontop,’ Right?”
He rolls his eyes as the silly phrase he says suddenly becomes fuel for fire.
“Come on-“
“You knew about the drones. You knew I hadn’t seen when Pliny sent his and you knew I thought they functioned perfectly fine. You wanted Jessup to die so your little Songbird can win and you’ll get your stupid money.”
He shakes his head, “How can you say that? I would never do that it’s- That’s not who I am.”
You shake yours, unsurprised that he hasn’t seen how he’s differed yet.
“You’ve changed, Corio. ‘Cause now that’s exactly who you are.”
➵ ➵ ➵
You sit beside the rest of the shunned mentors at the back of the hall as Dr.Gaul’s snakes slowly glide across every part of Lucy Gray’s body. She continues to fearfully sing as the reflective serpents continue to slither, but never bite.
“It must be her singing!” Corio stares at the screen.
The mentors have all risen to their feet, looking intently as the seemingly docile snakes seem to sway around her.
“Get her out!” Tigris shouts, the rest of your class agreeing with her in a loud chant.
Dr.Gaul finally gives the order. The crowd erupts in applause and smiles as a helicopter is sent to her. You only stare at the live feed, stone faced as you reminisce on all of the innocent children that lost their lives. But that’s not the only thing that takes your attention.
When Clemensia disappeared, reportedly to the flu, you and Tigris were the first people Coriolanus ran to to tell the full truth. And with that truth came some knowledge on Volumnia’s snakes. You’ve only seen them once or twice in your life when you were allowed into Gaul’s office. But from those few visits you were positive those slippery things weren’t going to bow down to just any old girl. Especially not because they want to gather around and listen to her song. There’s only one way those snakes wouldn’t be biting Lucy Gray.
Coriolanus holds Tigris close, laughing as the cheers slowly die out and the hall clears. Soon after, it’s only you and them left. Though, you’re not sure they notice you after their big win.
You take a breath, aware of the flood gates you’re preparing to open.
“How’d you do it?” You ask, your voice echoing through the bare command center.
Both Tigris and Coriolanus jerk their heads around, startled.
“Coze.” He smiles, not hearing your question.
You don’t smile.
“First, you deceive me. Then, you kill my tribute. And now you cheat so that his ally can win the games for you.” You lay it all out, looking down at them from the stands. “That’s low, Coriolanus.”
The cousins look at each other before looking back to you.
“Wh- What are you talking about?” He inquires.
“You know, your father died to this same poisonous power. These games are a goddamn virus. They’re serpents who have already slithered their way around you.” You scorn, finally being able to say what you need to say. “Those snakes don’t calm easy, Coriolanus.”
He stares, warily tilting his head at you. “…It was her singing.”
“And snow falls beneath grass.” You highlight his ridiculous and impossible implication with your own. “Singing wouldn’t work worth a damn and you know it. We all know it.”
“He didn’t cheat, she’s calmed a snake before.” Tigris defends, holding onto his arm.
“You haven’t seen ‘em, not how they really are. Theres only one way they’d allow her to live-“
“Coze-“
“And it’d be a damn shame if my father connected the dots and they led back to his own student.” You stare dead in his face, his glance faltering.
“He didn’t cheat.” Tigris claims once again.
“They only keep from biting if they know your scent. Do you really think Lucy Gray has been within 10 miles of them in her life, Tigris?”
She stops, doubt now in her eyes as she stares from you to Coriolanus, who can’t stop staring at you. You can’t tell if it’s fear or hate in his eyes but it seems to be burning him from the inside and seething onto you.
“Who have you become, Cozah? You’d never do this before the games.” He deflects in an angry whisper.
“I didn’t know you were a cancer before the games. Now you kill kids for money.” You coldly reply.
He says nothing. You can almost see him physically accept his fate as he looks at you once more before walking out. Knowing what he wants, you begin walking down from the stands, you and Tigris following behind him.
The silent walk seems to last hours before the three of you are walking past the old zoo, and Coriolanus finally decides to speak up.
He walks toward the bars, softly running his fingers along them.
“This is where I first properly saw Lucy Gray. From the moment I met her I knew she was worth meeting. Worth saving.” He nods as if he’s reliving the memories for himself.
He turns to you, “I had her equipped and prepared to win fairly. It wasn’t until Dr.Gaul aired her announcement that my plan changed.”
Both you and Tigris listen intently. She has an expression of confusion while you have one of knowing. A blue bird chirps, landing above the bars.
“The night of the bombs I visited her here. I did all I could but she was so scared…” He reminisces, slightly snapping out of it as you wait for the part you want to hear. “I wiped her tears. It was a cloth my father gave me. When I found out it was the snakes I just…” He shrugs, knowing that both of you knew what came next.
“It had her scent.” You finish for him, wanting him to admit it a little more concretely.
“It had her scent.” He nodded, his head down.
You sigh, “It was a good move. Better than what I could’ve thought of. Though of course, I had no such chance as to devise a plan to save my tribute. He was dead the second Lucy Gray was in danger.”
“Coze, Jessup would’ve never made it-“
“Think hard about what you’ll say before you speak his name again.” You advise him.
He backs down, both him and yourself momentarily looking over at Tigris. Her pale hand is covering her mouth as tears fill her eyes.
“Oh, Tigris…” Coriolanus whispers sympathetically, grabbing her free hand and holding it tight.
“They’ll kill you, Corio. They’ll hang her and then you just to show what happens.” Her voice trembles.
He rubs his lips together, knowing she couldn’t be far off. He looks over to you, knowing his life is now in your hands.
“Do you want me to hang?”
You pause, for the first time in your life genuinely contemplating if you want your best friend dead.
“You won’t hang, Coriolanus.”
He badly hides his sigh of relief before nodding in what he thinks is a mutual agreement. You do the same, though you know he is far from out of the woods.
➵ ➵ ➵
“They’ll kill you, Corio, They’ll hang her and then you just to show what happens.”
“Do you want me to hang?”
“…You won’t hang, Coriolanus.”
You stop the Jabberjay tape, having shown your father all he needs to see.
You sit across from him, tightly squeezed on the other side of his desk in the middle of the lecture hall.
“What will you do?” You ask him.
“Well, we could never hang them. Lucy Gray has already won over the Districts.”
“And Corio’s in the 24, it’d be too bad of a look.”
He twiddles his thumbs, examining the situation.
“What would you have done?”
“Me?”
“Well, yes.” He nods, “You got the crime, you had to have something in mind for the punishment.”
You think for a moment, unsure of what the appropriate consequence is for cheating a government issued activity.
“I just want him to pay.” You shrug, “One way or another he has to pay for what he’s done. Not just for Jessup but for everything. Lying to me, incentivizing the games, all of it. He has to know that it’s wrong and he can’t get away with it.”
“Well…” Your father begins, “The Plinth money he’s meant to be rewarded for his victor hasn’t been issued yet. That’s all he really wants. But with this evidence, he won’t see a dime.”
You don’t even have to think on it before you agree to the punishment. Taking away what one never had is much more telling than taking away what they’ve already enjoyed.
➵ ➵ ➵
Your father confronted Coriolanus last night and you can’t help but think about it. It’s not exactly worry, certainly not guilt; you know what a man like him can turn into. It’s more an eerie feeling of him once being the closest friend you had and now being an enemy.
Attempting to distract yourself, you aimlessly walk through the Capitol. You’ve ended up in the penthouses, the ones you and the Snow’s used to run through the halls of all those years ago.
You’re passing their very door when you notice a white and red slip on it.
‘EVICTION.’
You stare, a highway of thoughts racing through your mind. The core emotion of feeling like you’ve lost some of your morale creeps in. Indirectly taking their home from them. But you quickly push the thoughts from your head, remembering that what you did was right. You continue walking, only making it a few feet before you see a familiar face resting on the wall of the wide hallway.
Tigris, face and hair as bland as you’ve ever seen it, waits for you to come near her. You keep your distance.
“You told.” She states.
You only look at her.
“We can’t pay it off, now” She points to the slip on her door. “You know, they’re sending him away because of what you did.”
Your brows furrow, “What I did? Your cousin killed people.” You remind her. “He cheated the games.”
“Games that your father made!” Tigris snaps, truly raising her voice at you for the first time. “How could you really be angry at him for doing what he could to win? It’s win or die, that’s how it always is.”
“My father may have made the games,” You keep your voice low and calm, “But Coriolanus is who turned them into what they are. They would’ve fizzled out and became a thing of the history books had he left them be, Tigris. But now…” You pause, “Every single death for decades to come is no longer on my father’s hands. They’re on Snow’s.”
She shakes her head, “You know he’s not a monster, Coze.”
“If you really believe that you’re more ill than I thought.”
“God, we used to be friends, Cozah! Not even a month ago!” She urges, attempting to keep her voice as leveled as possible. “Since we were children it was me, you, and Corio. We played in this same penthouse, we made board games in the dirt during the dark days. When we lost our parents we went through it together. Does that mean anything to you?"
Contemplation absorbs your mind, but nothing she’s saying is something you haven’t thought about before. The last few days have been a few of your hardest, no matter what it seems like. But you, unlike many, know how to put morals and what’s right above money and power and the godforsaken games.
You step toward Tigris. The gloss in her eyes chips a part of your heart away. Through all of it, she was innocent. You didn’t want to hurt her.
“See, that was before, Tigris.” You begin. “But you and I know Coriolanus more than anyone does. And you know I'm right when I say he's different. You can follow him into madness if you'd like but I won't do it. The snow will melt one day and all that'll be left is the ashes of the fire. I won't go down with him and I don't want you to either, I really don't. Time is running out and I've made my choice. Now, you can fight with snow and ice, sure. But when the sun finally dawns on Panem, your choice will have already been made.”
She gawks at you, her mouth hung open but no words escaping.
“I know Corio; But I also know you, Tigris. You’re good. The most good I’ve ever seen in my life.” You admit. “So for the sake of yourself, Panem, your brother, and me…choose good. Choose to tell Corio he was wrong and uproot his corruption before it’s too late.” You grab both of her hands, kissing her knuckles, “You’re the only one who can.”
Gently releasing her hands, you exhale in relief. Now you’ve truly said all you can say, it’s up to the Snow’s what history they want to write. You place a sympathizing hand on her arm before walking away, having faith that your words got through to her.
All you have now is the hope that Coriolanus stops himself from his free fall and Tigris be his net. If not, the chips will fall where they may. You just pray that the odds are in your favor.
#hunger games imagine#hunger games#a ballad of songbirds and snakes#coriolanus snow#coriolanus x reader#tigris snow#abosas#hunger games prequel#hunger games fanfiction#lucy gray baird#hunger games spoilers#president snow#tbosas#tbosas imagine#the ballad of songbirds and snakes
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Mentor? I Hardly Know Her!
wc: 2.6k
pronouns: none used; reader belongs to a mixed gender idol group
warnings: a couple swears; fluffy fluff; the last sentence is very flirtatious but its just meant to be a joke and obviously so is the title
summary: kum junhyeon is totally smitten with planetmaster/idol!reader in this semi-accurate fictional retelling of boys planet episodes 6 and 7
~bp masterlist~ ♡ ~kofi (no pressure at all)~
i literally adore little kum junhyeon
Standing in the hallway in front of an intimidatingly large set of doors, you wring your hands nervously as you wait for further instructions.
This week, you had been asked to participate as something called a "Planet Master" on a new Mnet talent survival show called Boys Planet. Having been an idol for over five years now, you had been asked to make dozens of appearances at award shows, promotional events, concert tours, and fansigns with your group...
But this was your first time being asked to head a solo appearance. Being the leader of your group, as well as the main vocalist and the choreographer, you were used to playing a role similar to that of mentor. At the very least, you had experience providing your members with help, guidance, and oftentimes comfort throughout the past five years.
Waiting inside the set of giant doors was a room full of 51 ambitious boys that wished to shed the label "trainee" and finally debut as an idol.
You remember it like it was yesterday: your life as a hopeful and terribly sleep deprived trainee. It was admittedly unpleasant a good portion of the time, but it ultimately led you to be able to achieve your life's dream.
"We're ready for you in three..." A producer says now, forcing you out of your thought spiral. As he counts two, one, and cue on his fingers, the giant doors begin to open for you to walk through and onto the set.
Planting each lug-sole boot-adorned foot carefully on the ground as you walk forward, you make your best effort to appear as cool as possible as you make your entrance.
You figure eating shit in front of fifty boys on international television is not the best move for your career or your self esteem.
The lights brighten and then dim slightly on the stage to signify your entrance as you finally set your eyes on the group of trainees standing in lines on a set of risers. You watch as the first one spots you, eyes nearly popping out of his head as he points and stares at you in awe.
"Really... REALLY!?" The petite boy shouts, prompting the rest of them to look at you and begin reacting similarly. You stand there a bit awkwardly, mic in one hand and script card in the other. Unable to contain your laughter at the trainees' over-the-top reactions, you bring the script card up to cover your smile.
You clear your throat lightly into the microphone to get the rowdy boys' attention. After a few seconds, the noise finally dies down as the trainees look up at you expectantly with the widest of eyes.
"Hi Boys Planet trainees! I'm leader and main vocalist (Y/N) from Virtual Reality."
"WE KNOW!" One of the boys shouts.
You giggle and continue with your lines. "Today I'm here as a Planet Master to announce your Second Mission and to let you know I'll be helping to evaluate your progress this week. The Second Mission is: Dual Position Battle."
~
You finish your appearance with care and diligence and are asked to stick around to greet each trainee that wishes to meet you. Apparently, every single one of them wishes to meet you and their undying enthusiasm makes it easy for you to happily oblige.
You've seen a few familiar faces so far and wished many boys luck on their journeys, conveying sincerely that you look forward to working with them later this week.
"Congratulations on the win," you say to your old friend Kim Jiwoong. "I look forward to your debut. What is it they say? Third time's the charm?"
He rolls his eyes and laughs, pulling you in for a hug. "I'll make it come true."
As he pulls back, he points behind him to another member of his team this week.
"This is Kum Junhyeon," Jiwoong says, pushing the boy forward. You recognize him now, the silly, but very talented trainee that was always shouting in the first few episodes. A bit of concern seeps onto your face as this usually outgoing boy stares back at you in what appears to be immense fear.
"I'm so scared of you," Kum Junhyeon confirms quite earnestly, causing you to laugh.
"Oh? What's so scary about me, huh?" You tease.
He sighs. "It can be terrifying for a man to unexpectedly come face to face with perfection in his lifetime."
You'd be lying if you said you didn't feel your breath hitch in your throat. Now you're the one staring with wide eyes.
"This kid," Kim Jiwoong scolds, patting his back. "But can you really blame him?"
"Sorry," Junhyeon apologizes, but there's a look in his eye-- a look that is much more like what you're used to seeing on Junhyeon-- that suggests he doesn't really regret his words.
You smile slowly. "Sure you are."
The brightest grin spreads across his face now, clutching his heart a bit in a humorously dramatic display. You laugh as Jiwoong starts to drag him away.
"Why'd you do that, huh? Now we'll never get him to shut up," the older boy whines as he shoots you a death glare. You just wave as you watch Jiwoong and another trainee push a babbling Junhyeon out the door.
~
You've seen eight teams already from the Vocal & Dance and the Vocal & Rap categories. You stuff a granola bar into your mouth as pH-1, Lee Seok-hoon and Choi Young-joon finish filling out notes for the last team.
In the back of your mind, you can't help but wonder why you haven't seen that kid from the other day yet. Isn't he a singer?
The Rap & Dance teams start to shuffle in through the door now as you stuff the wrapper of your granola bar into your bag. The last person to enter is Kum Junhyeon.
He doesn't look fearful today. He looks kind of sad.
"Ggang team, let's go," Young-joon announces, prompting five boys including Junhyeon to stand up.
They line up in front of your little panel, Seok-hoon asking to hear a run-through of their rap and vocals first. As the team performs, all except Junhyeon sing and rap with enthusiasm. His eyes stay locked on his paper as he seems to do only the bare minimum.
When they finish, the Star Masters in the room nod as they think. As they're checking their notes, you turn to Seok-hoon.
"May I say something?" You ask politely, to which Seok-hoon nods enthusiastically.
"Please do," he allows.
You nod, chewing on both cheeks as you look down at your paper. "Kum Junhyeon."
The silence in the room is deafening before Junhyeon finally responds, "Y-... Yes?"
You look up, meeting his eyes now with a completely unamused expression. It takes everything in you to hold it when Junhyeon suddenly returns to looking like Bambi.
"Was this supposed to impress me?"
Junhyeon's mouth falls open slightly and so does everyone else's in the room as they take in your rhetorical question.
"I've been waiting for your performance all day and that was all you've left me to sit with. Am I supposed to feel this insulted? Was that the intention?" You ask, not letting up.
"No, no! Of course not. I'm sorry, sunbaenim," he apologizes and you're sure he's never looked so sad in his life.
"The only form of apology I'll accept is a good performance," you say, now all of your effort going towards suppressing a smile.
He nods vigorously.
"Well, I don't have any other notes," Seok-hoon confirms, nodding at pH-1 in agreement. "Young-joon, are you ready for the dance?"
But Young-joon is staring at you. "Wow... I will pray for your members daily from now on."
You can hear the boys sitting on the left side of the room chuckle. "I think it's important to make sure the most talented people are performing to their potential," you say with a smile, the whole panel turning back to watch the Ggang team's full performance.
As you expected, Junhyeon performs flawlessly-- an energy radiating out of him that is utterly infectious.
"So..." Young-joon starts. "Will you forgive him?"
"Oh, um..."
Looking up, you see Junhyeon biting his lip so hard in anticipation that you're afraid he'll start bleeding.
"Yes," you answer simply with a smile.
Junhyeon suddenly falls to the floor in a full bow. "Thank you, sunbaenim!!"
Everyone bursts into laughter as he sits up, absolutely beaming at you.
You click your tongue, looking around disbelievingly as you can't help but smile back at him. "Just don't do it again, yeah?"
He nods furiously.
"Good job," you praise softly, sinking back into your seat as the Ggang team's evaluation concludes.
~
"Open wide," Kel-C says, popping a piece of caramel popcorn into your mouth lovingly.
On the screen of your dorm's giant television, this week's episode of Boys Planet is coming to an end. This means, your appearance is soon to be aired any second now.
"I can't believe you went without us," Eunwoo whines with a pout. "Do you not need us anymore?"
You laugh, ruffling up the hair of your maknae. "I'll need you for as long as you need me. And maybe then some."
"Yet you're out here getting caught in dating scandals left and right," Mari accuses, scrolling through her phone disinterestedly as she stirs the metaphorical pot.
"What? Left and right!? That's--," you stutter, caught off guard by her statement. "That's hardly true."
"OH MY GOD!" Eunwoo cries, taking both of your hands in his. "You met someone while you were filming!? Who!?"
"Ssh! Look, it's happening!" Kel-C shouts, directing everyone's attention back to the television as music signals the appearance of someone on the stage.
You cover your eyes as past-you comes onto the screen, the elements of the set becoming so hilariously dramatic for your silly little entrance. Mari bursts into laughter and you groan in response.
You watch through your fingers as the camera pans to capture the reactions of the boys. Most of them are appropriately excited to see you, jumping around and shouting with their friends.
But one reaction in particular has you suddenly ripping the remote from Eunwoo's hand, rewinding the show and crawling towards the television to make sure you're hearing and seeing properly.
"Seriously..." Kum Junhyeon stands uncharacteristically still with Taerae and Jongwoo on either side of him. "How am I ever supposed to perform in front of the love of my life?"
Taerae laughs, comfortingly patting Junhyeon's back. "It'll be okay."
The screen cuts to a confessional of Junhyeon. He's biting his lip, almost shy as he speaks to the camera. "(Y/N)-nim has been my crush since Virtual Reality debuted. There's nobody else like (Y/N)."
A producer off camera says, "You looked like you'd seen a ghost."
Junhyeon laughs lightly and then nods. "Unfortunately I couldn't react with proper excitement, because I was so nervous. I hope I can be forgiven for this."
The producer off screen speaks again. "Maybe aegyo will help?"
Junhyeon grins now, his voice becoming child-like and his hands producing two finger hearts. "I'm sorry, sunbaenim! Saranghae!"
You hit the pause button, hugging your knees to your chest tightly as you failingly try to suppress a squeal. What was wrong with him? How could he be so careless? And how could he be so damn cute?
As your members suddenly yank you back towards them, shrieking their simultaneous approvals and disapprovals, all you can hear is that absolutely crazy boy confessing his love for you on international television.
~
"ARE YOU INSANE!?" You yell, smacking Junhyeon's shoulder in the hallway behind the stage.
The mission two show has already begun and any minute now, you are supposed to make your way backstage to introduce the first team: Junhyeon's team.
"Yes," he answers seriously. "Please hit me again."
Your eyes widen, guffawing at the absolute nerve of the kid in front of you. "Junhyeon! Are you really going to be this reckless? Don't you want to debut? You know that people won't vote for you if you keep acting like this."
He nods. "You watched the episode this week."
Unsure of what to say, you just sigh.
"I meant it," he says simply, eyes staring back at you sincerely.
"It doesn't matter if you meant it. You're... Junhyeon, you're so talented. You really have a shot here. Please don't waste it on saying cute things to me."
He smiles. "You think the things I'm saying are cute?"
You can't help but laugh now. "I can't stop you, can I?"
"No," he confirms. "Unless you really want me to. I don't know if you've noticed, but... you haven't actually told me to stop yet."
An exasperated sigh escapes you as you seriously consider hitting him again. "No. I guess I haven't."
He grins. "Do you have your phone on you?"
"Yeah," you say, pulling it out of your pocket. "Why?"
Before you can even react, Junhyeon gently snatches your phone from your hands. He holds it in front of your face for a second to unlock it.
"Hey, what are you--?" As you begin to protest, he finishes typing something and hands it back to you. You look at the screen to see a new contact by the name of Hyeonni.
"You can delete it if you want. But I had to try, right?" He smiles so sweetly that all you can respond with as he walks toward the stage door is:
"Right."
With the Ggang team all lined up on stage, the boys make their individual introductions.
Reading your line from the teleprompter, you direct your attention towards Junhyeon to speak. "Trainee Kum Junhyeon, I heard that the atmosphere was not good when this team was formed. What happened?"
He nods, bringing the microphone closer to his face. "When we got Ggang, I was perplexed," he begins, using his whole body to speak in that classic Junhyeon way. "I thought of the opportunity as a crisis."
You expertly suppress the urge to facepalm.
~
As the Ggang performance begins, you watch from offstage as the team shows off their talents. Junhyeon's choreography and all of the members' raps are absolutely killing with the audience. But you're ripped out of your spell of admiration when you hear someone suddenly shout:
"SUNBAENIM!" Junhyeon yells, pulling up his shirt to reveal a t-shirt underneath with a set of washboard abs printed on it. A camera is on you immediately, trying its best to caption your reaction and you're absolutely sure it's TV-worthy.
"Do you think this is too reckless!?" Junhyeon sticks the hem of his over shirt in his mouth as he proceeds to "seductively" gyrate his hips.
Both of your hands are covering your gaping mouth, eyes wide as you're unable to look away from the absolute maniac of a man on stage. Junhyeon turns around, humorously sticking his butt out and wiggling it around.
You find yourself unable to contain your laughter now, shaking your head in disbelief at the boy's impossible antics. Yet, in an instant, Junhyeon returns to his professional self, completely annihilating a dance break and singing perfectly the funny new lyrics he wrote.
In the confessional from the episode you'd watched this week, Junhyeon had said there was no one else like you. You wonder now if he knows the same is true about him.
After the performance is finished, you run out the backstage doors into the hallway. You only have a minute or so to pull out your phone before you have to go back inside to introduce the next group of contestants. But its enough time to send your new contact a text:
You're a fucking enigma.
Smiling like an absolute idiot, you send a follow-up:
Dinner's on me if you show me what's really under the shirt.
#boys planet#boys planet imagines#boys planet drabbles#bp999#bp#bp999 imagines#bp999 drabbles#kum junhyeon#kjh#kum jun hyeon#kum junhyeon imagines#kum junhyeon drabbles#junhyeon drabbles#junhyeon imagines#kpop#kpop fics#kpop imagines#kpop drabbles#boys planet fics#bepler#kim jiwoong#mnet#mnet boys planet
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til you come back home
pairing: reader x ben chilwell
summary: you really miss your boyfriend while he’s in the US for preseason, so you decide to give him a special surprise when he returns ;)
warnings: smut, 18+
word count: 3.1k
author’s note: thanks for the request @a-little-bit-rascal ! also inspired by everyone (myself included) thirsting over all the ben content in preseason lmao. i hope this is something like what you had in mind ☺️ i’m not super experienced writing smut so bear with me but i hope people enjoy this, i have a couple more one-shots i’ll be working on in addition to the next chapter of this love. oh and the title is from i don’t wanna live forever by taylor & zayn
-
Not to be too dramatic, but you’re pretty sure the two weeks Ben is away in the US for the preseason tour are the longest of your life.
You’ve been with Ben for a little over a year now, and you’ve always found him incredibly attractive. From the moment you saw him at a mutual friend’s party, you were drawn to him. It only took you one drink to decide that you wanted to sleep with him, and two more to actually go for it.
You’re very grateful you didn’t ask him what he does for a living until after he shagged you in your friend’s guest room, as you may have chickened out if you knew he was a hotshot footballer. And also because Ben found it incredibly endearing when you complimented his toned body afterward and asked if he played any sports in his free time.
A few days later, when he finally used the number you gave him and called you up, you were somewhat expecting it to be a booty call. The sex had been great, for both of you, so you weren’t totally surprised by that. You were surprised when he asked you to go to dinner first.
The rest was history, as you found it to be just as easy to fall in love with Ben Chilwell as it was to fall into bed with him.
Your sex life has never wavered since that first date, except for when he’s been away for games or injured and under doctor’s orders not to engage in any physical activities - though he certainly still tried.
Even after all this time, Ben still has a power over you that no guy ever has, the ability to make you crumble with one look from his piercing eyes or the touch of his hand on your thigh.
Which is why it’s incredibly frustrating when he’s looking so fit and he’s thousands of miles away in stupid America.
He’s been looking particularly good recently, and you’re not sure if it’s his tan from the summer holiday, the way his hair has grown out a bit, the extra time he’s been putting in at the gym, or maybe even the confidence he’s getting back after a tough season. Regardless of what it is, it’s really making it challenging to be apart from him.
Every time the Chelsea Instagram posts a picture of him training or he FaceTimes you from his hotel room, you find it increasingly hard not to drop everything at work and just fly to the States immediately.
Watching him play in the match against Wrexham, when he scores a goal in the 94th minute wearing the captain’s arm brand and proceeds to tear off his shirt on live television, nearly makes you scream out of sheer frustration.
How dare your boyfriend be so hot when you can’t immediately have him?
By the time the tour is over and they’re set to return to London, you’re bursting at the seams with pent-up desire. They’re supposed to land in London around eight that evening, and the thought of waiting for him to get through customs, take the team bus to Cobham, then get an Uber to your flat feels torturous.
As soon as Ben texts you that they’re about to take off and that he‘ll be at yours by ten, you decide you can’t wait that long.
You know they’re flying into Stansted, so you whip out your laptop and your credit card and book a room at the nicest airport hotel you can find.
You’re not only eager to finally touch Ben and have your way with him after two long weeks apart, but also to show him how proud you are of him. Despite all the adversity he’s faced over the past couple of years, he’s going into the new season with a positive attitude. He’s not only playing well, he’s taking on more of a leadership role within the club and showing everyone just how crucial he is to their success.
So you’re determined to make your reunion romantic and special for him as well, taking the opportunity to treat your boyfriend before another intense season.
You head over to the hotel in advance to set up the room for him, pulling out all the stops - champagne, rose petals on the bed, candles. You have a romantic playlist ready filled with songs you both love. Ben has frequently shown his love for you with romantic gestures, whether it be whisking you to Paris for a weekend or surprising you with fancy dinners, so you’re excited to be returning the favour for a change.
As their arrival time approaches, you head over to the airport and wait for him.
It seems to take ages, but eventually you see some of the boys begin to trickle in and your heart thumps with anticipation.
A few of the guys who you know well stop to smile and say hello to you on their way to the bus, all clearly a bit surprised to see you there.
“Hey, Y/N!” Reece says with a grin as he passes you. “Does Ben know you’re here?”
“No, it’s a surprise,” you say a bit sheepishly.
“He’s gonna lose his mind,” Reece chuckles. “Bro hasn’t shut up about you the entire time we were in the States-“
“Y/N?”
You look over Reece’s shoulder to see Ben standing there, luggage in hand, looking absolutely awestruck.
He’s wearing his club t-shirt and joggers, and his hair is a bit messy from napping on the plane. He looks adorable, especially his bright smile that only seems to be growing with every second that he looks at you.
You begin to run toward him on instinct and he barely has time to drop his bag before you’re throwing your arms around him and he’s catching you.
Ben’s arms wrap around your waist and he lifts you off the ground for a moment, spinning you around slightly with unbridled joy. It feels so good to be in his arms again, his warmth enveloping you.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Ben murmurs in your hair, pressing kisses to your shoulder. “How - I mean, why are you here? You didn’t have to pick me up from the airport.”
“I know, but I wanted to surprise you,” you say with a smile, pulling back to look at him and cup his face with both hands. “I missed you like crazy.”
Ben stares back at you for a moment, his eyes overflowing with affection, before leaning in to press a long overdue kiss to your lips. You sigh into the kiss and slide your fingers into his hair, tugging at it slightly.
“Best surprise ever,” Ben murmurs against your lips before deepening the kiss.
You continue to kiss him until you’re both out of air and you realize you can’t go any further in a busy airport surrounded by his teammates.
“Let’s go home,” Ben whispers, pecking your lips once more. “Did you drive?”
“Mhm, but I actually have another surprise for you,” you smirk, patting his cheek. “I got us a room at the Raddison across the street.” You lower your voice slightly. “So I can show you how much I missed you.”
Ben’s eyes light up as he realizes he’s going to get to have you a lot sooner than he thought, and he leans in to kiss you again.
“You’re amazing.”
Ben says goodbye to the boys, receiving a lot of knowing smirks and pats on the back before he hastily grabs his suitcase and your hand and begins to drag you away.
You both quickly make your way over to the hotel, holding hands tightly, filled with anticipation.
When you get to your room, you barely make it through the door before Ben is pushing up up against it and kissing you firmly, his bags discarded on the floor and his arms around your waist.
“I missed you so much,” he sighs against your mouth as you eagerly respond, your hands once again finding his fluffy hair and messing it up even more. “I missed this.”
“Imagine how I felt,” you say between kisses. “Having to watch you be all sexy on TV and you posting all those thirst traps on Insta-“
“Babe, they’re not thirst traps,” Ben defends, slipping his hand under your jumper so he can feel your bare skin.
“Well, it‘s still not fair for you to be looking so fit when I’m not able to have sex with you,” you whine, tugging at his shirt so he’ll get the message and take it off.
Once Ben has removed his shirt, you allow both your eyes and your hands to explore his toned shoulders and arms, gently squeezing his biceps.
“I’m sorry, baby,” Ben says with a small smile as he watches you check him out. “What’s my punishment?”
“I’m not going to punish you,” you say with a sly smile, pecking his lips once more before backing away from him, making him pout a bit at the loss of contact. “You’re getting rewarded tonight, Benjamin.”
“For the wins?” Ben asks, quirking an eyebrow.
“That, and for finally getting your arse home to me,” you smile, reaching out a hand for him to follow you further into the room.
Ben eagerly follows, his eyes lighting up once again when he sees the effort you’ve gone to for your little reunion celebration.
“I get all this just for coming home?” he asks, his voice thick with emotion and his eyes shining with awe.
You shake your head as you light a few of the candles and hit play on your Spotify, creating an even more romantic atmosphere.
“No, you get all this because I love you,” you say softly, shimmying out of the light sundress you were wearing to reveal his favourite black lingerie set. “This is what you get for coming home.“
Ben’s eyes darken and he wastes no time crossing the room to meet you, grabbing your waist and kissing you with such fervour that you immediately moan into his mouth.
His hands trail down to your butt and squeeze slightly before gripping your thighs and hoisting you up into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist and the friction making both of you sigh with pleasure.
He carries you over to the bed, the rose petals scattering as he lays you down and begins hastily removing his joggers. When he’s in only his boxers, he climbs over you and kisses you again.
The sight of him hovering over you, his strong arms holding him up and his fluffy hair in his forehead as he meets your gaze is enough to make you melt into the duvet, your centre already burning with desire.
“What do you want, baby?” you breathe as he begins to trail kisses over your neck and collarbone. “It’s up to you tonight.”
“I wanna fuck you,” Ben says in a gravelly whisper, making you throb even more for him. “Been too long.”
“Then do it,” you reply, bucking your hips upward, desperate for friction.
Ben doesn’t have to be told twice - he immediately brings one of his hands down to touch you over your underwear. He strokes the fabric for a second before slipping his fingers underneath and feeling your folds.
“So wet for me already, love,” Ben murmurs as he begins to rub your clit with his thumb, making you moan.
It doesn’t last nearly long enough before he’s pulling away, and though you want him inside you more than anything right now, you can’t help but whine a bit.
“Patience, baby girl,” Ben says, stripping off your knickers and tossing them to the floor.
He abruptly sits up, pulling you with him so you’re sitting in his lap, and kissing you passionately. You can now feel his hardened cock through his briefs against your bare pussy and it’s becoming torturous to go another second without him inside you.
“Ben,” you breathe between kisses. “Need you.”
“I thought I was in charge?” Ben comments, reaching for your bra clasp and removing it in one swift movement.
“You are, but-“
You’re shut up quickly when Ben takes one of your nipples in his mouth and sucks on it teasingly, making your eyes shut tightly with pleasure.
You run your hands through his hair as he pays attention to your breasts that he so clearly missed, eventually trailing his kisses back up your chest and to your lips.
You kiss him hungrily, tugging at his hair a bit and exploring his mouth with your tongue.
Much less gently than before, Ben flips you over and presses you down against the bed, continuing to kiss you as he finally rids himself of his boxers.
Glancing down at you, now laid out on the comfortable mattress completely naked with your hair fanned out against the pillows, Ben takes a moment to catch his breath.
“You’re fucking unreal,” he exhales, dropping another kiss to your lips. “So beautiful.”
You blush a bit - of course Ben could find a way to fluster you with his words even as you’re moments away from him being inside you.
You kiss him once more before reaching down to take his length in your hand, and it’s already hardened enough that it only takes a few pumps of your hand before he’s fully erect for you.
He positions himself at your entrance and, despite both of your eagerness, waits for your small nod of confirmation as always before he sinks down into you.
You gasp and Ben lets out a low groan as he enters you fully, and he has to pause and hide his face in your neck for a moment to regain control before he begins thrusting into you.
You’re aware that two weeks isn’t that long, but it certainly feels like it’s been ages since you’ve done this. The two of you have a very healthy sex life, engaging in some kind of sexual activity nearly every day unless you’re both exhausted or Ben’s away for a game or something.
The pleasure begins to grow as Ben starts to pick up the pace and intensity of his thrusts, both of your sighs and groans mingling together.
“You feel so good, baby,” Ben says as he reaches up to tangle your fingers together, squeezing tightly. “Missed you so much.”
“I missed you more,” you sigh. “Had to get myself off after I watched you score that goal. Missed our tradition.”
It’s become a tradition since you’ve been together that you and Ben have celebratory sex after he scores a goal - as quickly as possible. Sometimes you have to wait until you get home, other times it’s happened in empty rooms at Stamford Bridge or even his car once.
“Fuck, so did I,” Ben groans, thrusting a bit harder this time and making you cry out. “Wasn’t as good, though. Nothing’s ever as good without you there.”
As Ben starts to go faster, you wrap your legs around his waist to shift the angle and get him as deep as possible, making both of you see stars as you’re approaching your climax.
“I wanna cum with you, baby,” Ben breathes, “are you close?”
“Mhm,” you manage to choke out as Ben’s cock hits a sensitive spot inside you.
Ben reaches down and lightly massages your clit with his thumb before thrusting into you once more.
The combination of him stimulating you and burying himself deep inside you makes you lose control, and you cry out his name as feel yourself coming all around him.
Ben is just moments behind you as he pushes into you one more time then crumbles with a low groan, collapsing on top of you.
You stroke his hair as you both come down from your climax, Ben pressing soft kisses to your collarbone.
“I love you so much,” Ben murmurs against your skin, sending a new wave of goosebumps across your body.
“I love you too, Ben,” you whisper, kissing his forehead.
Eventually your bodies stop twitching with reverberated waves of pleasure and Ben gently pulls out of you, leaving you with a peck to the cheek as he quickly runs to the bathroom to get a washcloth and clean you both up.
After you’ve sorted yourselves, Ben climbs back under the covers and opens his arms wide for you to climb into. You happily curl up against his chest, feeling his arms tighten around you, and you think you may have missed this almost as much as the sex.
“I hope you know you’ve set my expectations for coming home unreasonably high,” Ben jokes as he strokes your bare back with one hand. “I’m gonna need you to pick me up at the airport every time now.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” you respond sincerely, kissing his chest a few times. “Have I mentioned I missed you?”
“Once or twice,” he laughs, tilting your chin up for another long, tender kiss that makes your toes curl and your heart soar. “I missed you too. I’m so glad we have tomorrow off. We have a lot to catch up on.”
“That’s true, we still haven’t finished the new episodes of The Bear-“
“I meant sex, sweetheart, but that too,” Ben chuckles, “and loads of cuddles. It was so hard sleeping without you while I was gone.”
“I know,” you sigh, burrowing impossibly closer to him and his warmth. “My bed was too cold without you.”
You rest in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of Ben’s embrace, before resting your chin on his chest to look up at him.
“You ready for round two already, darling?” Ben asks with a relaxed smile, brushing his nose against yours.
Without a reply, you slip out of his arms and walk over to pour each of you a glass of champagne, still fully unclothed. Ben’s eyes remain fixed to your body the entire time.
When you walk right past the bed, Ben whines a bit and you can already picture his puppy dog eyes before you turn back around to face him.
“Where are you going?” Ben complains.
“I need a shower,” you say nonchalantly, taking a sip from your glass. “You ready for part two of your reward?”
Ben’s eyes nearly roll back in his head as he rushes to get out of bed comically fast, following you into the bathroom as you giggle at his excitement.
You realize later, after you’ve sucked his dick in the shower and he’s returned the favour back in bed, that you may have sent him the wrong message by rewarding him for driving you mad while he was gone, but oh well.
You’ve got a girls trip to Capri coming up in a few weeks, and you can think of a few ways to get your revenge.
-
thank you for reading!! also let me know if anyone wants to be added to a taglist for any future ben fics! 💕
#ben chilwell#ben chilwell x reader#ben chilwell x y/n#ben chilwell imagine#chelsea fc imagine#my fics
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Can I call you mine this year? - Xavier Thorpe
Summary: you celebrate new year's eve together with your friends and give out gifts, counting down to the new year and while you were busy admiring the fireworks outside, someone else was admiring you 🎇
Warnings: just fluff really, kissing, mention of fireworks, lmk if i missed anything
Word count: 1.2k
A/N: i really don't know how to feel about this title but i couldn't think of anything else im sorry. i would also like to wish you all a happy new year, and i hope you enjoy!
Requests: to the person that sent me a request, im currently working on it but wanted to post this one first, any other requests are always welcome btw, could also be different genre from what i usually make
———————
"Omg this is so pretty, thank you thank you thank you thank youuu", Enid said to you while suffocating you in a hug. You and your friends were having a new year's party together and decided to do a secret santa, everyone pulled a card last month with the name of the person they had to make a gift for. Since you wanted to avoid someone getting a cheap lame gift, everyone had to diy their present. This way everyone would get an authentic and personal gift, which turned out to be one of the greatest decisions you've ever made.
Once Enid finally let you go from her tight grip, it meant you were up next. You still didn't know who pulled your name, so you looked around at the people that haven't given a gift yet. It could be Wednesday, Eugene, Divina, or Xavier. You saw Xavier get out up from his seat and walk towards you with a huge grin on his face, he placed his gift to you on your lap before returning to where he was sitting. You looked suspiciously at Xavier before shifting your attention back to the present. It had a rectangular shape and was very flat, an idea of what it could be already coming to your mind. As you carefully unwrapped your gift, your eyes widened at the sight of it.
"Xavier this is beautiful.", you looked up at him again with your mouth slightly open from shock. He had made a drawing of you, which was what you had expected, but you didn't think it would be a drawing of you out in the snow. A few days ago, you and your friends went for a walk in the forest as it had snowed overnight which caused the entire domain to be covered in a thick layer of snow. You were looking at the drawing again, recollecting memories from that day, when suddenly the drawing moved. He was using his powers to bring his gift to life right in front of your eyes. You could now see the snow slowly falling from the sky, laughter could be seen on your face. It was truly one of your favourite moments with your friends, and now you can remember this time forever because of this artwork.
“That’s not fair, he’s using his powers to impress them even more!”, Ajax yelled out causing everyone to laugh a little. Obviously, Xavier would use his powers for your present, he knows how fascinating you find it when he does that. He knew that if he didn’t show you now, you’d probably be begging him to do it later.
You were the one getting up from your seat this time, walking over to Xavier to pull him into a tight hug. "Thank you so much, this has got to be one of the best presents I've ever gotten.". You gave him a very small kiss on his cheek to express how grateful you are for what he gave to you.
The secret santa continued and soon enough it was time to count down for the new year to start. Everyone was standing around the television, looking at the timer going down. You can’t believe another year already went by, and that you get to say goodbye to 2022 with all these new friends you’ve made on the way. Everyone’s eyes were glued to the screen as the last minute went in, while you were looking around at the people you loved most. A smile crept up your face, a part of you didn’t want the year to be over yet, but part of you also couldn’t wait to see what the new year would bring you. What crazy adventures you’d experience with the group, if you would finally start living up to those new year’s resolutions, and if you might meet the person that belongs with you. At that exact moment, you made eye contact with Xavier. He was already looking at you, who knows for how long, a soft smile was plastered on his face as well. You felt like he could look right through you, like he could hear every thought of yours.
“5, 4, 3, 2, 1…HAPPY NEW YEAR”
Everyone jumped up with joy, embracing the people around them. While everyone was celebrating the new year, you and Xavier were still looking at each other, it felt like your eyes were glued to his and his to yours. But after what felt like an eternity, Enid pulled you into a big hug which caused you to break the eye contact. After letting go of Enid, you went around the room giving the others a hug too. As you were hugging Bianca, you looked out the balcony window to see fireworks going off outside. You’ve always loved to watch the fireworks so without looking back at anyone, you went outside on the balcony to admire the spectacle happening in the distance.
The sound of the footsteps coming near you made you turn around to see who it was, your eyes locking with Xavier once more. The others were still inside dancing and singing to some music, but you didn’t pay attention to them at all. All you could hear was the distant crackling noise of the fireworks, and all you could see was Xavier standing dangerously close to you now. You smile at him before looking up at the sky, being completely mesmerized by the lights. Xavier was too, but by something else he found captivating.
“Isn’t it beautiful?”, you ask not taking your eyes off the tiny explosions.
“Incredibly beautiful.” Xavier responded but you noticed he wasn’t looking up at the night sky like you were, instead he was looking directly at you. You turned your head into his direction, faces only inches away from one another. You could feel your entire body heating up, you were certain your face had turned a dark shade of pink. For a second, you saw his eyes look at your lips, but they quickly went back up to meet your eyes. The fireworks reflected in his pretty green eyes, making this moment feel even more magical than it did before. Without realizing it, the both of you were moving closer to each other. And before you knew it, his soft lips had found their way to yours. The kiss was slow but passionate, your hands pulling him in closer by his neck while he did the same with your waist. It felt as if there were fireworks going off inside the two of you, and neither of you wanted it to ever end.
After what felt like forever, you slowly pulled away for a second to catch your breath, your noses still touching. “I like you, a lot.”, you heard him say and you would be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel things inside. “I really like you too.”, you returned the feeling by making him feel warm now.
“Can I call you mine this year?”
Without saying anything, you pulled him in for another kiss, hoping this would give him the answer he wanted. As you were deep in your thoughts, you could hear loud cheering coming from inside and when you looked at the window once more, you saw all your friends basically sticking to the window. Assuming they heard his question and saw your response very clearly, it looks like you weren’t the only ones waiting for this to happen.
If this is how the new year started, you can’t wait to see what the future holds.
#xavier thorpe#xavier thorpe x you#xavier thorpe fanfic#xavier thorpe imagine#xavier thorpe wednesday#xavier thorpe x reader#xavier fanfic#wednesday#wednesday fanfic#wednesday imagine
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Night Shift - Steve Raglan/William Afton x Mike Schmidt x Female Reader
Chapter 2
Rating - Explicit
Warnings for dub con, graphic sexual content, bisexual characters
Also available on AO3
Your eyes stare sightlessly at the television screen, Mike’s voice a low rumble in the background.
“Babe, did you hear me?”
“I’m sorry.” You shake your head, your gaze focusing on the brunette seated next to you on the couch. “What did you say?”
“I asked if you wanted to go to the movies on Saturday.”
“Oh, yeah sure, that’d be great.” You smile distractedly, glancing down at Abby who’s lying on the floor on her stomach, coloring with crayons.
“You’re okay, right?” He repeats, his gaze following yours to his sister before he looks back at your face, the hand draped around your shoulder squeezing gently.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” You’re not, but you don’t want to talk about it with Mike. After the incident at the pizzeria with the career counselor, you both have been very carefully avoiding the subject. You haven’t been intimate since, reluctant to trespass into that territory again after what had happened.
You know your boyfriend feels guilty but you don't blame him. It was a shitty position he’d been placed in; you could hardly expect him to give Abby up, or worse, be incarcerated. And you’d volunteered to help, after all.
The problem wasn’t that you were traumatized by the event; the issue was you couldn’t stop thinking about it because you’d enjoyed it far, far more than you should have been able to. The instant you start remembering the feel of Steve’s mouth on yours or—God help you, your pussy—you heart pounds and your cunt throbs. He’s so different from anyone you’ve ever been intimate with before. You like the dominance, the praise, the dirty talk and alternating rough and gentle touches. Mike is sweet and caring and you feel affectionate towards him, but you’d be lying if you said the older man hadn’t left a mark on you.
You struggle to remove him from your mind, snuggling closer to Mike. It was just because it was still recent. The memory would fade in time, surely.
Your eyes slide closed and you hear Steve’s voice rasping against your ear, imagining the feel his lips feather stroking along your throat, and you know it’s not going to be that simple.
***
You task yourself with cleaning the house after Mike leaves to drop Abby off at school, beginning with the breakfast dishes in the kitchen and then gradually moving from room to room, tidying up as you go. You lift a pair of his slacks from the bedroom floor and a small object flutters from one pocket, landing on the bedroom carpet.
You bend to pick it up, freezing when you realize what it is.
It’s a business card from the career counselor, his name, title, and phone number embossed in navy on an ivory background. You stare at the letters and numbers, heart pounding. It’s just a coincidence. You should toss it out, pretend you’ve never seen it.
If you change your mind about that offer, Mike knows where to find me.
Fuck. Now you know where to find him, too.
***
“I’m here to see Steve Raglan.”
The receptionist glances at you above the rim of her glasses. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but…”
“Then I’m afraid he won’t be able to see you. You’ll have to make an appointment and come back another time.”
“I can’t do that.” You’ll lose your nerve. It had taken so much just to make yourself come here today. “I’m certain that if he knew I was here, he’d want to see me.”
The older woman sighs, setting down her clipboard. “I’ll inquire, but I’m telling you it’s a waste of time.”
“Thank you.”
You follow her down a corridor until you see a door left open, the light from inside spilling invitingly into the hall.
The secretary knocks on the wooden slab, informing the man seated inside the office that there’s someone to see him.
You hear Raglan’s clipped, impatient tone as he snaps at her that he’s already booked solid with clients, his voice trailing off when you ease yourself inside the room, tucking neatly behind the other woman to get his attention.
“…Actually, yes, I have time for this one. Thank you. And close the door on your way out.”
She shakes her head, muttering but acquiesces, pulling the door closed behind her.
“Well this is a pleasant surprise.” Steve rocks back in the padded leather office chair, looking over the skirt and blouse you’ve chosen to wear. “Very pleasant.”
You rock uncertainly on your high heels, waiting to be invited further into the office. The room smells like coffee, the yellow shaded lighting making it feel cozy.
“Have a seat.”
You sit down on one of the mustard colored vinyl seats placed in front of his desk, folding your hands in your lap.
“Coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
“How’s Mike?” He lingers on the M in his name, his lips twitching in amusement around the sound.
Your breath hitches. “He’s fine. I don’t…I don’t really want to talk about him.”
The bearded man blinks, his thumb depressing the end of the ballpoint pen in his hand with a sharp click. “Why not?”
“I’m not here about him.”
“I didn’t say you were.” The pen clicks again.
“I can’t stop thinking about what happened.” The words come out in a rush.
“And?” His flat expression disarms you, and, quite frankly, irritates you.
“And…nothing.”
He clicks the pen again. “Well, if that’s all, thanks for stopping by. If you’ll excuse me, I do have paperwork and another client coming in soon.” He scrawls a signature and turns the page, repeating the process.
You stare at him in disbelief. “That’s it? You have nothing else to say to me?”
“Nothing in particular, no.” He’s still focused on the paperwork in front of him.
You rise, smoothing your skirt, glaring at the seated figure.
“Why don’t you just say what’s really on your mind instead of staring.” He reaches up and pulls off his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose. “What else do you do besides think about it?”
You hesitate. “I…I don’t know what you mean.”
He sighs heavily, replacing his glasses. “You’re disappointing me. And wasting my time.” The pen clicks again, over and over in rapid succession while he meets your gaze.
Something about the sound infuriates you. “Will you stop that?!” You step around the desk and rip it from his fingers, tossing it across the desk.
He swivels the chair so his body faces you and you can’t help but look at those long legs, the way the pants strain over his thighs, your eyes veering shyly when your gaze nears his crotch area. “What else do you do besides think about it?” He repeats the question from earlier, his voice rough gravel.
“I touch myself.” You close your eyes, too ashamed to see his expression after this admission.
“There it is.” You hear him stand, your eyes fluttering open to find him towering next to you. Your body is instantly aflame, quivering, willing him to make some sort of contact. You’ll burn from that touch, you know it, but you still want it so badly.
“Please don’t tell Mike I said that. I don’t…I don’t want to hurt him. He doesn’t deserve it.”
“There’s a price to pay for silence. You should know that better than anyone.” His breath is hot as he bends to your ear to whisper.
“I know.”
“I was gentle with you the other night. I let you cum twice. I’m not going to be so lenient next time.”
You swallow and nod, trembling with anticipation of his next touch.
But it never arrives. The warmth against your face vanishes and you hear the chair creak as he sits back down.
Your mouth falls open, surprised.
“What? You’re acting like you’re entitled to something. You’re not.” He smirks. “You’re going to beg before I touch you again.”
“You arrogant prick. You can go fuck yourself.”
He raises an eyebrow. “What’s that? You want me to give Mike a call? Or better yet, the owner?”
You bite your tongue, remaining silent.
“That’s better.” He folds his hands and rests his chin on them.
You hate how pretty they are; how long and elegant those fingers that have violated you and taken you apart are; detest how much you wish he’d drive them inside of you right now, cheeks flushing at the thought of bending over his desk.
“You are a naughty girl, aren’t you? I can read you like an open book.”
“Get fucked.”
“Oh, I intend to,” he replies, with a soft chuckle.
You hate this sound too; hate how his rough, nasally voice chafes your core, igniting you.
“So when are you and Mike going out again? I’m sure you’ve made plans for the weekend by now.”
Your eyes narrow. “Why?”
“I’d like to tag along. Or, you know, ‘accidentally’ run into you.” He draws the air quotes, cheeks dimpling when he sees your reaction.
“Absolutely not. I told you I don’t want Mike involved.”
“You’re forgetting he’s already involved. You don’t get to dictate how this plays out. You’re not in control of the situation here, sweetheart.” His hand reaches for the receiver and you chew your bottom lip.
“We’re going to the movies Saturday night. 9 o’clock show,” you mumble grudgingly.
“Aww, how romantic. A dark theater sounds positively delightful.” His fingers hesitate over the phone until you tell him the theater name and what movie you’re attending. “See? Was that so difficult?” He rocks back in his chair, grinning. “I’ll see you both then.”
***
Time seems to slow to a crawl as you both long for and fear what will happen on Saturday night.
It eventually arrives and you take your time getting ready, admiring your reflection in the mirror when you slip into your new lingerie. You refuse to admit you’d purchased it just to impress Raglan, insisting it’s for Mike. The v neck black top clings flatteringly to your figure, just long enough to kiss the waistband of your matching skirt. Your hand shakes when you attempt to apply your makeup and you force yourself to regulate your breathing, trying to blot out the image of the older man on his knees in front of you.
“Wow. You look amazing.” Mike smiles appreciatively when you exit your apartment a half hour later and slide into the passenger seat of his rusted sedan. You brush your lips against his cheek, wiping off the lipgloss smudge apologetically before indicating you’re ready to leave.
You arrive at an old fashioned movie house, less popular than the more modern theaters with the higher tech sound and picture quality but you don’t mind, both relieved and anxious to find the room devoid of any other patrons.
“Looks like we have the place to ourselves. Where do you want to sit?”
“Um…I don’t know, I’ve always felt more comfortable being in the back.” You point to a row of four seats clustered to the right of the entryway and he nods, sliding into the seat nearest to the wall and you tuck in beside him. Mike becomes occupied with popcorn and soda and you lose track of the conversation, your eyes darting to the doorway frequently, hoping it isn’t too obvious.
The lights dim and a sequence of movie trailers begins. You squirm restlessly in your seat, wondering if Steve is going to fuck with you and not show up. It sounds like the kind of thing he’d enjoy; getting you all worked up and then failing to show.
You’ve just about convinced yourself that this is the case when a tall figure enters the room, momentarily letting in some light from the hallway into the darkened theater.
You immediately look away, eyes locking onto the screen. You can smell Steve from here, emanating from whatever fragrance he’s splashed on his throat, feeling heat waft from him as he settles next to you.
“Well isn’t this a coincidence,” he murmurs.
Mike glances over, the fingers clutching a cluster of popcorn kernels instantly freezing. “Oh, fuck no.”
“Hi Mike,” he greets cheerfully, his eyes pulling yours towards him, his voice dropping an octave. “Hi, honey. So nice to see you again.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. What are you doing here?”
“Catching a flick?” He answers without even sparing your boyfriend or the screen another glance, his gaze tracing your body. “You look gorgeous.”
“Listen, fucking sit somewhere else. I’m not dealing with this bullshit again,” Mike growls, jostling the waxed paper cup slotted in the cup holder as he leans across you towards the older man, spilling some soda over the sides.
“I’m perfectly comfortable here. And furthermore, I have every right to stay. This is a public building, Mike.”
“Yeah okay, fuck this, we’re leaving. Come on.” He gestures for you to stand, rising to his feet.
“Sit back down.” Any trace of amusement evaporates.
“Excuse me?”
“Sit…the fuck…back down.” He emphasizes each word, his tone instantly halting Mike mid motion. “Unless maybe you want to lose custody of your sister.”
“We’re not doing this again,” Mike hisses.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just here to watch a movie. Isn’t that why you’re here, sweetheart?”
Your mouth goes dry. You nod woodenly, willing Mike to sit back down before he gets hurt or does something he regrets. You touch your boyfriend’s forearm, braced on the seat in front of him for balance, a silent warning signal that he grumbles over but ultimately surrenders to, pushing the folded seat down and sliding back into place.
“Excellent. I’m sure the trailers will be done soon and we’ll be able to enjoy the film.”
The young man’s arm curls around your shoulders protectively, pulling you further away from Raglan.
True to the older man’s prediction, the movie trailers eventually finish and the opening credits flash across the screen. Your heart slams against your chest and you already feel the familiar tingling ache between your legs. All you can smell is the job advisor, his scent both cloying and hypnotic, his counterpart’s protective touch further heightening your frustration at not being pressed closer to him.
Steve casually places a hand on the knee closest to him, quickly gathering the hem and sliding slowly upward, his attention seemingly still focused on the images on the screen but you know better. Mike notices, already reaching to remove his hand when the career counselor’s head pivots, the pale eyes behind the glasses glaring. “Abby?”
The name instantly makes your boyfriend rock back, the reaching hand wiltering in defeat.
“That’s what I thought.” He switches hands, turning so he faces you, growling appreciatively when he makes contact with the lace fabric of your panties. You whimper when his fingers deftly slide beneath the waistband, stroking past your sensitive button and streaking through your slick. “She’s so fucking wet already, Mike.” His voice is low but not so faint he can’t be heard over the volume of the film. The security guard’s jaw clenches. “Have a feel for yourself.”
The younger man drags a hand through his hair, clearly agonized.
“She can handle a couple of fingers at the very least. After all, she stretched pretty well around my cock.” He withdraws his saturated fingers and sucks them slowly. “Go ahead, Mike. I’ll let you go first.”
“I fucking hate you so much.” Mike ignores the grin Steve offers him in reply, turning your face to his. “I’m sorry…” His hand snakes beneath your skirt and the material clinging damply to your cunt, easing one finger inside of you.
“Give me a kiss, sweetheart.” You turn away from your boyfriend, your mouth parting for Steve’s tongue obediently. The older man’s hand returns to your body, adding another finger to your drooling canal.
You moan into Steve’s mouth, the feeling of both men’s fingers advancing and retreating making you sloppy wet. You’re spilling more fluids over their fingers, your hips driving you back over them each time they attempt to withdraw, eager for more contact, desperate to be violated again. Your head snaps back when you feel a third finger inserted, not even sure who it belongs to.
“Stick out your tongue,” the career counselor instructs, the fingers of his unoccupied hand knotting in the hair you had so carefully arranged earlier, tugging your head back further. He spits on the offered muscle, a thick wad of saliva pooling against pink flesh. “Don’t move.” He glances at Mike. “Suck it.”
Your boyfriend hesitates but obeys, his lips capturing your tongue and sucking the fluid off of it. You don’t even remember reaching for both men’s cocks, massaging both clothed erections simultaneously.
Mike’s tongue is still sliding across yours when you feel Steve’s stab back in from the corner of your mouth impatiently, colliding with the younger man’s. Your boyfriend instantly withdraws but Steve releases his grip on you and traps the other man instead, clutching the closed cropped mane of brown hair and invading his mouth. Mike struggles, protesting at first, attempting to pull away, finally resorting to biting to attempt to get the older man to stop but it only encourages him. You can see the moment the younger man surrenders, the features displayed right in front your own face with the illuminated screen providing a contrasting blend of light and shadow. You hear your younger lover moan and the fact that he’s enjoying the kiss makes you lose it and you cum, gushing over the fingers spearing your sex.
The two men break apart, gasping. “Christ,” Mike curses, startled when Steve frees his hand from your panties and thrusts the fingers inside of his mouth. He doesn’t even need to guide him to the next perverse action, Mike immediately lapping at the offering, lips tightening around the pairing, sucking and sliding over the digits in a mock blow job.
“Switch seats with me,” Steve orders against your ear and you comply, your body pressing tightly against his as you make the swap.
He’s scarcely seated before he begins working on his belt, unfastening his pants and pulling out his cock. You hadn’t really gotten to admire it last time given how you were positioned, and now you’re unable to take your eyes off of it, appreciating the length and girth of it, tracing the patterns of veins and the fat crown oozing a thick drop of precum.
Your mouth waters, jealous when Steve guides Mike’s mouth towards it first. You’d had no idea your boyfriend was bi; if this was something he’d always secretly desired or if it was just some wild obscenity that Steve seemed to bring out of both of you, completely senseless in the heat of the moment.
If he resists the guidance, you can’t discern it, staring fascinated as the young man’s mouth engulfs the older one’s erection. He keeps a hand knotted in Mike’s hair, raising his hips slightly and you thrill at the moist sound when he collides with the back of Mike’s throat. Your pussy throbs, the recent orgasm already fading, your body becoming ready for another round.
“Don’t be rude. Share with your girlfriend.” He pulls Mike off his dick and gestures for you to take a taste. You dive down, licking the tip and teasing along the shaft before you swallow him. He threads his other hand through your hair, alternating between the two of you, letting one work his cock and then pulling a head back to allow the other to suck. Steve’s knees are mashing against the back of the seat in front of him, the long limbs far too much real estate for the narrow space but he’s seemingly oblivious to the bruising he’s enduring, sliding down further in his own seat, hips snapping up lazily, enjoying the feeling of two mouths warring for his prick’s attention.
His fingers relax their grips and you’re both free to move on your own, not that you need any further guidance. He uses one to unfasten the button of Mike’s jeans, dragging the zipper down and shoving his fingers into his boxer briefs, expertly manipulating the guard’s leaking cock, making him moan over the other man’s dick. The other finds your sopping wet cunt again, curling around your flesh and punching inside. You leave Mike to finish Steve’s cock, grabbing his tie and tugging his mouth back to yours.
The career counselor’s hips grind his cock deeper into Mike’s throat and he cums, spilling hot seed on his tongue. The younger man’s cock surrenders to Steve’s ministrations and he explodes, dumping an impressive load of thick sperm over the older man’s hand.
“Cum,” the older man commands beside the corner of your mouth and you shudder, muscles tightening and spasming over his probing digits, waves of pleasure wracking your body.
He continues kissing you, no longer frantic, gently placing his lips on your forehead and then straightens up in his seat, adjusting his clothing. Mike is slouched beside him, just staring at you, his breathing still hoarse. His lips look swollen and there’s a trail of saliva and cum leaking from one edge of his mouth.
“Well, that was enjoyable. We’ll have to do this again sometime. You know, for your sister’s sake,” Steve grins wickedly at the younger man, then pats the knee still exposed by your hiked up skirt, indicating you should move so he can exit the theater.
He glances at the screen briefly while you adjust your disheveled garments, standing shakily in the narrow aisle. His hands steady you as he brushes against you, unable to resist stealing one final kiss, his lips heavy beside your ear. “See you soon, honey.”
Then the older man is gone, the doors swinging back and forth with his passing until they eventually settle back together, leaving you and Mike staring at each other speechlessly.
#william afton x reader#william afton x you#mike schmidt x you#mike schmidt x reader#steve raglan x you#steve raglan x reader#fnaf fanfic#fnaf movie#steve raglan#william afton#mike schmidt
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