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keeplcving · 4 months

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art deco.

(young president!coriolanus x young!f!plinth!reader)

summary: the president takes notice of Sejanus’ much younger sister, at one of his galas, and cannot let her go.

cw: plinth!reader, innocent!reader, virgin!reader, sejanus lives (and is still friends with coryo), age-gap (coryo is 28, reader is are 18), strabo is a shitty father, sweet!coryo (but only to you), heavy smut, creampie, soft sex, pet names (little one, little dove, darling, etc), cuddling, lmk if i missed anything!

Your eyes adjusted to the darkness inside the Presidential Mansion, a stark contrast to the still-setting sun outside. Your arm is tightly linked with your brother, Sejanus’ arm, as you make your way to the table. You don’t know anyone at this event, not really.

You’re far too young, the next youngest people at the gala are brother’s age, and even still, Sej is 10 years older than you. It makes you feel queasy, knowing most of these men in attendance are nearly old enough to be your father, and they are all staring at you.

Staring at you like you’re a fine piece of meat, and they’re starving for a taste.

You sit down next to your brother, and quickly survey the other guests seated at your table. Clemensia Dovecoat, Festus Creed, Livia Cardew, Persephone Price. All your brother’s age, no one younger. You want to shrink back into your seat, become invisible.

You have no idea why your brother invited you to attend this Gala with him, but you have a feeling it was not with the purest intentions. As you graduated from the Academy, both your parents and your brother were pushing for you to find a suitor, to further better the Plinth name. Frankly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to give a damn, you were far more worried about being successful at the University to find a husband.

“Hello.” A familiar, yet unfamiliar voice breaks you from your reverie. Coriolanus Snow, or should I say President Snow, you think. You couldn’t lie to yourself, he was a very attractive man. Having been very young when your brother began bringing him around to your family’s manor, you only had some vague memories of Coriolanus, however, he has been a close friend to Sejanus, so he’s been around your vicinity for years.

I wouldn’t mind marrying him, your thoughts betray every fiber of your being, who you are. You are an independent woman, you don’t need a man, you need to do well at the University, and score a job. Not fawn over the President of Panem. Oh well, you think, he wouldn’t want anything to do with someone as young as me.

“Hello, Coriolanus.” Your brother greets him warmly, then lightly touching your arm, “I don’t know if you remember my sister, Y/N, but I’ve invited her as my guest tonight.”

“Hello, Mister President.” You say, wanting to roll your eyes at the pomposity of the statement you just spoke. You quickly scanned Coriolanus, and you were not disappointed. Blonde hair slicked back, beautiful blue eyes, a tight crimson suit that perfectly accented the muscular frame you were sure was underneath it.

“No need for the formalities, Ms. Plinth, just call me Coryo.” He responds, giving you (and your body) a quick glance in return. You want to blush at his actions, but you restrain yourself.

“Then call me Y/N, Coryo, Ms. Plinth is much too formal for me.” You bite back, cracking him a smile. He returns it, before turning to your brother.

“Mind if I borrow your sister for a dance, Sej?” He asks your brother, missing the wicked glare that Livia sends you. You’re not sure why she’s upset with you. You knew the President was a single man, which was a rarity in the politicians in Panem. But, you’re no where near his age range. He wouldn’t want you like that, right? He would want someone like Livia, perfect and his age.

“Of course not, thank you for being so kind to her. She’s a little overwhelmed with the gala, as is to be expected. She’s never been to one this formal before.” Sejanus tells Coryo, and you smile weakly, standing up, wobbling slightly in the heels that were a little too high for you.

Coriolanus rounds the table, grasping your hand lightly in his much larger one, leading you to the dance floor in the center of the room. He circles his arms around your waist easily, and you reach up to circle yours around his neck. He begins swaying you gently in time with the music before opening his mouth to speak.

“I don’t remember Sejanus mentioning that he had such a beautiful sister.” He whispers to you, leaning his head down so you could hear his words. He was well over a half a foot taller than you, even with you in your heels. That thought was dizzying.

You blush in response to his words, ducking your head. But you don’t stay that way for any more than a moment, as he brings two of his fingers under your chin, before lifting your chin up, to meet his gaze. “I mean it, dove. You’re simply stunning.”

The flattery was almost too sickly sweet, but you relished in it. “Thank you, Coryo.” You couldn’t think of anything else to say, you had never been in a situation like this. Sure, the boys from the Academy thought you were pretty, but they were nothing compared to the President of Panem.

“You are very welcome, darling. Tell me, how old are you? I cannot remember your dear brother ever mentioning your age.” There it is, you thoughts begin ruining the moment, he will no longer be interested in you once he finds out you are so young.

“I just turned eighteen, I am set to become a student at the University in the fall.” You look into his eyes, expecting to see something, a wavering of interest, anything. But instead, you see nothing.

“I see.” Is all he says, continuing to sway to the music, holding you. His grip tightens lightly, as more people make their way to the dance floor, like he doesn’t want to lose you to someone else, some other man. Like anyone would dare attempt to snatch you away from the President of all people.

“I was expecting you to be a bit older,” He continues, giving you another look, throughly analyzing every part of your body, “Especially when Strabo mentioned to me a potential love match in his darling daughter.”

It’s like a bomb has gone off, shattering your world around you. Of course he wasn’t really interested in you, foolish girl, you think. It was set up, so you could finally find the suitable husband your father had been discussing since it had been deemed socially acceptable to do so.

“A potential… what?” You spat out, not harshly, just in surprise. You couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Love match, darling. But, you may be just a bit too young for me.” He tells you, shattering your heart just a bit. You knew he was too old for you, no matter the attraction you felt for him. Not to mention that your father was simply trying to better the position of the family name by attempting to marrying you off to him.

You weren’t sure what to feel. You wanted Coriolanus, in ways a woman of your social standing shouldn’t. Especially given the age difference that was present between the two of you, however, there was no denying his pure masculine beauty. There was still that thought in the back of your mind that by engaging yourself with Coriolanus, you would be pleasing your father and his wishes for you. In this moment, you knew everything you felt about Coryo would override the disdain you had for pleasing your father.

“I’m not too young.” You almost whine back at him, a light pout forming on your lips as you stare into his impossibly blue eyes. You didn’t want him to see you as too young, you wanted him to see you as just another woman. Who cares that he was nearly ten years older than you?

“Is that so, princess?” He chastises you jokingly, before continuing, “You said you were eighteen, right?” He waits for you to nod, then resumes, “Well, do the arithmetic, little one. If I am twenty eight, and you are eighteen, that leaves us with a ten year difference.”

“I don’t care about that Coryo.” You find yourself frustrated. You wanted him, especially after all of the praise he had given you. Right now, in this moment, the ten years between the two of you didn’t matter. “I find myself rather attracted to you.” You tell him, honestly.

“Is that so, little one?” He asks, smirking at your words. He knew he could mold you into the perfect little wife, so young, so innocent still, unlike the women his age, who already knew what they wanted and simply wanted him for the money and glory that came along with marrying the President.

“Yes, please. I want you. My father was right, about the potential love match. Please, don’t leave me to marry some other man that isn’t twice the man that you are. I know I am young, but that doesn’t matter. I’m old enough to know what I want. Please, Coryo.”

You beg him, not sure exactly why you wanted him so bad. You had just really met him after all. But he was so attractive, so powerful. Something about him enticed you, and you didn’t want to let it go before anything could even potentially happen, before you could see where it progressed between the two of you.

“If you’re so sure, little one. However, this is a conversation we should have somewhere more private, away from prying eyes.” He tells you, raising your hopes ever so slightly. He wasn’t outwardly telling you no, and that you were absolutely too young for him.

Silently, he seizes swaying instead turning you so that you are pressed tightly to his side, one arm firmly grasped around your back, the other arm falling to his side as he led you out the doors to the ballroom, further into the Mansion, and into what you could only assume was his bedroom, gently closing and locking the door behind him, not unnoticed by you.

He is silent for a moment, before speaking, “You mentioned other men. You are going to be mine, little dove. No other men matter to you. I’ve been aware of your age this whole night, and your father and I have been discussing this chance meeting between us for some time now.”

You want to feel disappointed, or disgusted. Your father and Coriolanus, going behind your back, planning your future without a say from you. Planning when you would meet, when would be the right time. You had so many thoughts swirling in your head, it was overwhelming.

“How. Long.” You spat out at him, visibly upset. You wanted him, sure. But if he had been going behind your back, and truly knew of you well before you knew of him, you weren’t as sure. It felt almost predatory, knowing you were barely legal.

“Just over a year, darling.” His words made you want to vomit. Before you were legal. Your father, planning a marriage to a man ten years your senior, when you weren’t even legally able to be married, or have intercourse. You started to sway on your feet, feeling faint. You couldn’t believe it.

Coriolanus reached out a strong arm, steadying you, before grasping your hand and pulling you to sit on the edge of the bed. With you sitting, and he standing, the height difference became even more pronounced. You had to crane your neck to meet his eyes, even when you did not want to.

“A year.” You started, thinking for a moment, choosing your next words carefully. “My father has been meeting with you for a year, to discuss marriage. When I wasn’t even legal!” You yelled at him from your seated position, not feeling stable enough to attempt standing.

“I know it’s wrong, little one. And I am sorry. I only learned of you not being eighteen last night. This entire time, up until last night, I thought you were already eighteen, or older. Your father never mentioned your exact birthday, only that you were of marriage age.”

Your rage for Coriolanus dissipated, the only anger that remained was for your father. You couldn’t take it out on Coryo, who didn’t know you were underage for most of the planning, not until it didn’t matter. He was just as innocent as you.

“It’s alright.” You kept your statement concise, not sure what else to say, without bursting out into tears. You could already feel them welling in your eyes, and you begged them not to fall.

The tears didn’t do unnoticed by Coriolanus, who looks taken aback at the thought of you crying. “Don’t cry, little one. It’s alright, I assure you. I am going to give you some space, and some time alone. You are to wait here, however. I am not forcing you, but I would prefer we continue this conversation when you are ready.”

He leans down, and presses a small kiss against the crown of your head gently before making his way toward the door, grabbing the knob.

“Wait,” You start, tears starting to fall at the thought of him leaving you alone. “Stay, please.” You beg.

“Sweetheart, I can’t. I need to give you space to think. I don’t want to force this upon you.” He tells you honestly, turning the knob.

“But why?” You state, petulant like a child. The child that you still practically are. “Just stay here, with me. I’ve already made up my mind.” You say, standing back up onto your feet, making the few steps to the door, grasping his upper arm gently.

“I can’t.” He says simply, not moving. He looks almost conflicted on right or wrong in this moment. Your lip begins to wobble, as you think about him leaving you.

“But why, Coryo? I already made up my mind. My father may have hid the truth about my age from you, but I want you. Please.” You plead with him, willing him to stay in this room with you.

“I’m way too old for you, my love.” Coriolanus stops turning the knob, though. Standing, waiting for you to speak again. He had to at least partially hear you out, and he wanted to know your rationale.

“And what if I don’t care if you are far too old for me?” It was your last feeble attempt at getting him to stay. If he wanted to stay, it was up to him now. You weren’t going to plead with him, he was a grown man.

“I can see how much you would prefer it if I stay.” He says with a sigh, pulling you into his arms, his warm embrace surrounding you with a feeling you had never acted upon before.

“Coryo,” You whisper, “I want you. I want you so bad.” His eyes widen in surprise at your words, confused on what exactly you meant by wanting him.

“What do you mean, little one?” He doesn’t get the chance to do anything but whisper back that sentence before you were leaning up on your tiptoes, and your lips pressed against his, hard. He doesn’t fight you, quickly kissing back.

He adjusts you so that your back is up against the door, and your fronts are pressed together tightly, without breaking the kiss. He runs his hand along the curves of your waist, before bringing his hands to cup your ass lightly. You let out a gasp, and he uses that to his advantage and slips his tongue into your mouth, tongues tangling.

He then drops his hands to below your knees, sweeping you into his arms, and carrying you back to the bed. He disconnects the kiss, with a whine falling from your lips, lightly setting you down on the bed.

“Are you sure, little dove? I can stop if you aren’t sure.” You appreciated his concern in this moment, but all you wanted was him. You vocalized that to him, and he smiled. He pulled you, so that your feet were dangling off the edge of the bed, where he was still standing. Getting down on his knees at your feet, he gently unbuckled the heel, and removed it from your foot, one foot at a time. As he removed the shoe, he ran a hand over the soft skin, before pressing a kiss to the sole of your foot.

He kissed his way up your legs, up to your thighs, being met with the skirt of your dress. He flipped the skirt up, over your hips, and met your eyes again as his hands made their way to the edge of your underwear.

“Still alright, little one?” He asked, thumbs in the band of the underwear, waiting for permission to pull them down. You nodded at him, with a weak grin. Coriolanus smiled back at you, before pulling the panties down your legs, over your ankles.

He spread your legs, so that your wet heat was visible to him. He grinned, before leaning down and licking a teasing stripe up your pussy, You moaned lewdly, legs closing around his head, locking him in place. He continued his broad licks, eventually moving to circle your clit until you were twitching. He stuck his tongue inside of your hole a few times, and that was enough. You gushed around his tongue, quickly becoming overstimulated and pushing his head away.

As he brought his head out from between your thighs, you noticed his face was covered in your juices, and you laughed. He cracked a smile at you, allowing you to breathe for a few moments together. He gently helped you to your feet, to your confusion for a moment, until he spun you so that he could unzip your dress.

Once you were fully bared to him, dress gently placed on a chair in the corner, he began to undress for you. The suit jacket first, then the button up, revealing his pale yet well formed chest that had you licking your lips in anticipation. His shoes were toed off, and socks removed too. He leaned in and kissed you sweetly before removing his slacks and boxers, cock springing up, very obviously hard, the tip nearly purple as he looked at you.

You felt intimidated. You were a virgin, and his cock was so long, and so thick. You knew it was going to hurt, and you hoped he wouldn’t let it hurt you too bad.

“Coryo,” You whispered, “I’m a virgin.” He stopped, and looked you directly in the eyes.

“That’s alright, little one. I’ll be careful, so so gentle. I promise.” He tells you earnestly, and you smile at him, nodding. You trusted him, he had never lied to you before, not willingly.

He gently pushed you back onto the bed, before climbing on top of you, his strong forearms next to your head. He grabbed his cock, positioning it with your hole, before gently beginning to push in.

You flinched at the intrusion, body wincing at the pain from his cock splitting you open. Tears sprung back into your eyes, and he stopped pushing in, giving you a moment to adjust. He kissed you, making out lightly for a moment.

“You can keep going.” You said, breaking the kiss. You hissed as he kept pushing, but eventually, he was fully sheathed inside of you, and the sting had dulled down to a pressure inside of you. You looked down, and you could see a faint outline of his cock on your stomach and you smirked.

“Look, darling.” You directed him to where you were looking and he smirked back at you.

“Look at you, little one. Your body is taking me so beautifully.” He responded beginning slow, thrusts in and out, keeping tempo.

“Please, Coryo. More!” You begged him, and he began thrusting faster, pressing into a spot inside of you that made you see stars. You moaned loudly at that feeling, his cock slamming into it every time he thrust back in. You couldn’t stop letting out little noises of pleasure, it felt too good. He let out little grunts too, praising you for taking him so well, being such a good little girl.

“Rub your clit for me, darling.” He directed you, breathing becoming heavier, thrusts more erratic. You could tell he was close, but you wanted to orgasm with him. You rubbed your clit harshly, moaning, and tightening around his cock.

“I’m so close!” You cried out, circling faster as he continued to pound in and out of you.

“As am I, little one.” He grunted back. “Come for me, darling. I’ll come for you.”

You allowed yourself to come, soaking his cock with his juices, and he spurted deep inside of you. He groaned as he pulled out, immediately missing the tight warmth of your cunt.

“You did fantastic, love.” He tells you, falling nearly on top of you, worn from the excursion. You gently scratch his scalp with your fingers, soothing him.

“I should be telling you that,” You laugh, continuing to massage his head.

“You are mine now, darling.” He grunts, completely blissed out, resting his head on your chest. “Age does not matter to me, little one.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling you.” You rolled your eyes, smiling at him. “I am to be yours, forever.”

“Mine.” He agrees. You don’t say anything back, basking in the afterglow. After tonight, you know that your future plans have shifted, and you couldn’t find it in you to care. You still had that independent woman in you, but now, with a powerful man by your side. You’d found yourself a wonderful man in the President of Panem, and you didn’t plan on letting him go.

©keeplcving 2024. please let me know what you think, and feel free to send me requests! :)

#coriolanus snow fic #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus smut #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x y/n

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murdrdocs · 2 months

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she’s driving me crazy

description. STILES STILINSKI finally gets another chance with you, and he won’t take it for granted

includes. SMUT 18+, riding, car sex, fem!reader, protective p n v, lots of making out, loser!stiles, awkward stiles, bi!stiles, exes getting back together, slightly manipulative reader, reader has easily malleable hair, reader wears makeup, drinking (but no drunk intercourse), bickering, scott guest appearance

wc. 6k+

a/n: long awaited stiles fic. bestie boo this one's for u. title from confidence by ocean alley. art credits unknown.

Stiles knows he fucked up.

He had you, after almost a full year of tortuous pining, and he let you slip through his hands. All of it, your relationship with Stiles, really didn’t last more than two months. Two months where date nights were rain checked and eventually canceled. Sleepovers were lackluster, and nothing more than a movie playing in the back while Stiles worked over something that wouldn’t rest in his brain, leaving you alone in the center of his unmade bed. Promises were made, and never kept. It was a mess, a horrible, murky mess of Stiles’ own creation.

He knows this. But he still allows himself to mourn what could have been. He grieves what was. All while nursing a warm beer that doesn’t sit well in his stomach, mostly because of the sight he has been doomed to acknowledge—also his own doing as he could definitely turn his gaze elsewhere.

You’re tucked under the arm of some guy who looks nothing like Stiles, and he doesn’t know if that makes him feel better or worse. Is that your dream guy? Or are you forcing yourself to branch out and try something that wasn’t him? He tries to resist the spiral that sends him on, and is only able to start crawling out of the self-deprecating and insecurity tunnel through Scott’s voice beside him.

“What’re you staring at?”

Scott reeks of alcohol and fruit-flavored syrup. If he wasn’t a werewolf, Stiles knows his best friend would be unable to stand straight by now. But Scott stands like his usual self next to Stiles, a big grin on his face probably from the attention he’s been getting from Kira. (It was sickening for Stiles to watch but he forced himself to be happy for the strong relationship his best friend has.)

Stiles’ immediate instinct is to lie. “Nothing.” He says it a little too fast. He tries to cover his slip up by taking a sip of his beer, but the flavor is unappealing to the point where the face of disgust he presents makes him look more guilty than he really is.

Scott stares at Stiles, waiting. Stiles knows he won’t lie to Scott, not about something this small anyway, and it is only a matter of a few seconds before Stiles sighs.

“Look,” he points at you and your suitor. “Don’t you think he’s making her uncomfortable? Look at that. He’s all over her. Probably reeks of Axe body spray.”

It’s then that the guy cracks another joke, your head throwing back in laughter just before you rest your ear against his chest. It’s so affectionate. As if you’ve known this guy for years, and not just mere minutes.

Stiles flicks his eyes over to Scott, expecting to see his best friend analyzing the situation with at least a small amount of attention that Stiles is. Instead, Scott is looking over at Stiles, wearing what Stiles can only describe as a knowing smirk on his lips.

Stiles steps back, a little bewildered. “What?”

Scott, annoyingly, shrugs. He sips his drink, one he has solely for taste as Stiles knows, and only responds once he’s taken a long, slow swallow.

“She seems fine to me. I thought you guys were broken up anyway.”

“We are!”

“Then why do you care so much?”

Stiles can’t help but petulantly roll his eyes. He turns to face you and your human shaped bag of bricks once again, gesturing for Scott to do the same. His mouth opens, lips parted and tongue ready to spew out the analytics he’d been gathering this entire time in lieu of an excuse.

Then Scott interrupts.

“Do you want me to see what’s going on?” Scott throws a finger up towards his ear, one eyebrow lifted as he waits for Stiles to gather the implications and then make a decision.

It takes Stiles longer to complete the latter than the former.

He waits, thinks, looks at you and the guy. And then remembers the strict ‘no listening’ rule you all have set in place, the one he most definitely won’t betray in the name of jealousy, even if you aren’t particularly aware of all of the intricacies.

When he sighs, it’s defeated and with his entire body. He knows he’s pouting, he assumes he resembles his teenage self—mopey and brooding. He doesn’t mean to speak through gritted teeth, but he ends up doing it anyway.

“No. She’s probably … fine. I guess.” It hurts to admit, deep in Stiles' jealousy-filled gut. Scott’s way of comforting him is by clapping a hand on his shoulder, and telling him that you’re a grown adult who is allowed to make her own decisions, the same as him.

Scott’s intentions aren’t understood until he points at someone in the opposite direction of you. A guy who, from the looks of it, has been eyeing Stiles for a while. He’s Stiles’ type. Exactly his type, actually, and Scott knows this.

“Instead of sulking around …” Scott doesn’t need to finish his sentence in order for Stiles to understand. He only lingers for a few seconds, and then is pulled back towards the larger group by Kira’s eyes and grin.

The guy on the other side of the bar is still watching Stiles. He’s smiling a small but confident smile, like he knows Stiles wants him as much as he wants Stiles. He tilts his head in a beckon, and Stiles is close to letting the guy pull him over there. Until he sees you step away from the man, smile dismissively up to him, and start towards Stiles instead.

Instantly, it’s like a flip has been switched.

He starts to feel the effects of the alcohol, even though he’d been nursing the same bottle the entire night. Still, he chooses to attribute the buzz flowing throughout his body to the overpriced beer and not excitement of finally having your attention.

He watches your path, trying not to feel too disappointed as he takes notice of the way you’re struggling to walk in a straight line.

You fall into his arms in a fit of giggles. Your head resting on his chest, your hands circling around his back.

“Stiles,” you sing, long and drawn out and definitely drunk.

He repeats your name in the same tune, placing his drink onto a tabletop next to him and abandoning it for good. Keeping you away from self destruction is his new main priority.

You slump against him even more, turning yourself around and leaning back against his body. Your position leaves Stiles with nothing else to do other than stand stiffly. He knows that if you were sober, you wouldn’t be nearly as affectionate as you are now. He ignores the way your ass brushes against his crotch. He ignores the smell of your perfume wafting up to him, a scent he had the privilege of seeing you apply a few times before when you were dating. (The image of you getting ready for the day, lathering yourself in the oils and lotions and scents that worked to create your unique scent will never leave his brain, for better or for worse.)

He does his best to remain unaffected, but then you tilt your head up, the crown of your hair rubbing against Stiles’ shirt as you look at him. As soon as he glances down, he sees you pouting, clearly over exaggerated but it’s a look he, pathetically, will never be able to resist.

“Why won’t you touch me?” You manage to sound pitiful, as if you had lost every single thing you hold dear to your heart in the last couple of minutes.

In his response, he tries to remain neutral. Drunk or not, you know the game you’re playing, and Stiles foolishly believes that his knowledge of the ploy makes him insusceptible.

“Because you’re drunk,” he platonically rests his hands on your shoulders and encourages you off of him. “And we aren’t together anymore.”

You turn around to face him, grinning up at him like the cat with the canary as you tell him, “it didn’t stop us last time, right?”

That, and the way you almost throw yourself at some guy walking past, is enough reason for Stiles to link his hand in yours and pull you towards the others. Scott stares down at your interlinked palms for only a moment before Stiles explains his plan, which entails getting you back to your apartment before you do something you could regret.

This isn’t an excuse for Stiles to continue hanging out with you. He makes sure he clarifies that to himself and his best friend before he’s pulling you out of the bar and towards his Jeep.

You’re both less than ten steps away from the entrance to the bar when you suddenly have your lips pressed to Stiles’.

There is a moment where Stiles fails to resist. Where he reciprocates quicker than his brain can realize, acting on pure instinct and muscle memory instead of logic. He is unable to stop himself from getting comfortable, from linking this kiss to the last one he’d received from you. Hotter and messier than this one. (Lost in his appreciation to finally be kissing you again, Stiles fails to notice how you don’t taste like alcohol at all)

Only a few more seconds pass before Stiles reminds himself that you’re drunk, and that this is wrong. When he pulls away from your lips—regretfully, that is—he’s tempted into staying by the slight stickiness of your lipgloss and the almost-disgusting string of saliva that briefly keeps you two sewn together.

You try to lean back in, but Stiles stops you with his hands on your shoulders.

“You’re drunk,” he reminds you.

You’re fixing him with a look, one that feels strong and weirdly sober. His suspicions have more proof to back them up when you say his name with the same matter-of-fact tone he had just used on you.

“I’m not drunk.”

He scrunches his eyebrows together, the muscles in his face mimicking the movement as well. His lips part as he nonverbally exclaims his confusion. He lifts one of his hands from your shoulder to hook his thumb towards the bar entrance. He looks around, for nothing or no one in particular, but as if the night will have an explanation that you would surely be willing to provide if he asks.

He didn’t even need to ask before you provide an explanation. It’s cut and dry, matter-of-fact, spoken like it is the most casual thing in the world.

“I faked being drunk so you could take me home.”

Stiles knows what you mean. He’s not dumb. But he surely does feel it when he says, “If you didn’t feel well you could’ve just told Lydia. She would’ve taken you back to yours.”

You roll your eyes. “If you don’t wanna sleep with me, that’s fine. Just let me know before I waste my time.”

Stiles should stand up for himself. He should reprimand your attitude, and exclaim how unnecessary it was. Instead, he flounders and almost falls to your feet with the speed he clarifies himself.

“No. I do wanna sleep with you. Like, really bad. But … um … well,” you lift your eyebrows and Stiles clears his throat. “How many fingers am I holding up.”

“Jesus, fuck, Stiles.” He continues holding up his first three fingers on his right hand until you answer. “Three.”

You lean in but Stiles takes a step back. And then another. And then another, until he’s standing against the wall of the bar and you’re standing at the edge of the sidewalk.

“Walk in a straight line towards me.”

You don’t seem happy about it, but you place one foot in front of the other over and over again until you’re in front of Stiles. Nothing more has to be said before Stiles places his hands on your hips, pulls you flush to him, and finally allows himself to kiss you.

It’s been a while since Stiles had the privilege of kissing you. The last time, just a month ago, didn’t count in his mind. Sure, he remembered nearly every detail, but your shared inebriated state at the time overruled any legitimacy the encounter could have held. Now, it only acts as a reminder and motivator for Stiles to enjoy every moment of this that he can.

Eventually, it would be smart, and preferable, to leave the outside of the bar and actually take you home where you two could be alone. But for now, Stiles presses his hands into the middle of your back as a way to pull you as close to him as possible. He has his legs spread, creating space for your limbs to stagger. Your hands rest on his shoulders, then at the back of his neck, then in his hair. Both of you are attempting to get as close to the other as possible, all while engaging in the sloppiest kiss you’ve ever had. You both kissed cleaner when you were drunk.

Now, outside this bar with your closest friends inside, and with nothing but the night (and the bouncer) as witness, you submit to the other. There is a level of appreciation in the way your lips slide together. There is a level of gratitude in the presses of your tongues against each other. There is an exorbitant amount of longing that is solved each time you jerk your hips into Stiles and each time he reciprocates.

You thread your hands through Stiles’ hair the same time that he slides his hands down to your ass and squeezes, pulling you as close to him as possible and rubbing his thigh against the center seam of your jeans. You both groan into each other's mouths—Stiles from the way you tug just right on his hair, and you from the feeling of his leg between yours.

Sensing—knowing that he did something right, something good, Stiles does it again. And again. And again. The steady slide of his thigh between your legs does the job. You let your head fall, leaning the top of it against Stiles’ chest just right under his sternum.

The sound of you moaning Stiles’ name goes straight to his dick, with a few remnants traveling to his head, leaving him dizzy and with a steady growing semi. His actions make you grip his hair stronger. His actions indirectly cause pleasure for him, too.

It all disappears when the sound of spitting—loud and boisterous, almost cartoonish—breaks up the moment. Stiles stops his movements. He lays his hands flat on the back pockets of your jeans as he turns his head to the side.

The eyes of the bouncer meet Stiles and Stiles’ ears burn.

While the bouncer doesn’t say anything to him, Stiles knows the message he’s trying to communicate.

Get the fuck out of here.

Stiles is forced to push you back by hooking his fingers in your belt loops. He’s still touching you, at least an extension of you, but then your hands drop to your sides and Stiles can feel his body crying out for you. The same way his body calls out for vital needs—food, water, sleep, entertainment. He squashes his emotions for a second, plasters on a—truthfully sympathetic—face, one that comes off more as a tight lipped smile than anything else.

“Sorry, man. You — uh. You have a goodnight.” He throws a hand up to the bouncer, hoping it is received as friendly. When the bouncer returns the gesture, still with that same look in his eyes, Stiles heads down the street and pulls you with him.

The walk to the car is tortuous. His boner keeps rubbing against his jeans, leaving him to stop every few paces, face away from the street, and try to adjust himself. After the third time, you were voicing your frustration, claiming that it was taking forever to reach the car because of Stiles’ worry about who could see his erection. He tries things your way, ignoring the way his dick calls for his attention and instead focusing all of his attention on you.

The way your hips sway in your tight jeans. The way the wind blows your perfume to him and lifts the edge of your shirt in one, giving Stiles a peek of your skin. It’s such a small look, nothing more than a glimpse, and Stiles feels like a Victorian man the way he’s having to bite his fist at the next crosswalk to avoid groaning. The street lights illuminate your face in just the right ways, highlighting your makeup in an unnaturally ethereal way. Everything about you is driving Stiles crazy. There’s no way he’s going to make it to your house. If he doesn’t get to his car soon, he might pull you into the next bar bathroom that he could find just for a semblance of privacy.

If he could just get to his Jeep.

It’s then that Stiles realizes he’s been walking for far too long. He stops in the center of the sidewalk. You stop right beside him.

Stiles doesn’t say anything as he turns around and leads you three blocks down the street, one street over, and then into the parking garage elevator.

The way you’re grinning at him alerts Stiles of the words soon to come out of your mouth, definitely words that would be at his expense. He stops you while you’re ahead.

It’s nice to have the position switched. Your back against the wall instead of his. His hands are still on your hips, but he uses them to push you into the metal instead of pulling you into him. You have that part covered, your arms once more thrown over his shoulders, pressed into the back of his neck and head, drawing him in until the pressure of his lips against yours is a little painful.

In the rush neither of you have pushed the button, leaving the elevator stagnant on the ground floor. Stiles notices at the same time that you scratch his scalp. He moans, he really can’t help it. His mouth opens as you purse your lips again, and he feels a little bad but you aren’t deterred. In fact, you do it again, your nails scratching in just the right spot and Stiles feels like an animal the way he shudders and keens.

He’s more human when he admits, “Missed this.” He presses his lips to yours again, pulling back with a smack. “Missed you.”

Your lips slide against his with what Stiles can only describe as desperation. Pure, unadulterated desperation and desire. You’re breathing a little heavy, deep exhales through your nose and inhales in the in between moments, and it doesn’t turn Stiles off at all. He wants more of you. He takes more of you.

He doesn’t know how long you two are in there, but it is eventually you who pulls back first, your lips visibly swollen and lacking any of the makeup that was previously on it.

“Has the elevator been moving at all?” You could check for yourself. Just one look over Stiles’ shoulder and you could see that the small screen still displayed a digital ‘1’. Yet, you’re looking up at him instead. Like Stiles is the most important thing in the elevator. Like he’s the most important thing in the world to you. (Maybe it’s Stiles’ delusion talking, but he chooses to believe it either way)

Still, Stiles looks over his shoulder, confirms that he hadn’t hit the button at all, and leans back to correct his mistakes.

The elevator beeps twice, bringing you both to the third floor, and as much as Stiles’ wants to continue standing there and just admire you, he can hear the door daring to slide close. Again, he pulls you out behind him.

As soon as he turns the corner, Stiles is immediately made aware of the lack of other cars on the level. It’s a little eerie, and if he wasn’t about to get his dick wet he would possibly be on the lookout for potential threats that could turn one of the best moments of his life into another inconvenience.

Your hands are on his shoulders, his back, his arms, as you hold onto him.

“Why did you park all alone? Did you plan this? Were you trying to get in my pants all night?”

Stiles digs into the front pocket of his jeans and searches for his keys. “No. There were other people parked here earlier. They’re just all gone now.”

You hum unconvincingly. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Stiles.”

As soon as Stiles has the passenger door unlocked, he holds the door open for you and stares, hoping the annoyance is overpowering every other feeling he’s currently having towards you.

“In the back,” he tells you. You smile up at him, big and entertained, and then do as he says.

He climbs in right behind you. At this point in the night, there was no point in attempting to get back to your apartment or his. Stiles couldn’t wait much longer, and you two are no stranger to the back of his Jeep. You’ve been in this situation before.

It’s all completely effortless. You’re already in the process of slipping your jeans off whenever Stiles has the door closed. He mourns for just a second, pouting to himself over not being the one to take those sinful jeans off of you. But then you climb over his lap, situating yourself to hover just a bit above him.

Stiles plants his hands on your hips, just like he did before, and pulls you to sit right over him, just like you have before. He knows that the status of your relationship has changed since the last time he had the privilege of being in this space with you like this, but that doesn’t mean the way you do things has to change, too.

You were never shy before. You would always be quick to attach yourself to Stiles in whatever ways you could, just like you had been doing just a little earlier into the night. But that’s gone now. Now, you’re staring at him, your teeth pressed into your bottom lip.

Before you were together for a short time, Stiles had spent months pining. Months analyzing whatever he could about you. Months mentally cataloging your tells. And now, he calls on that information to declare that you’re hesitant. You’re nervous. No, not just nervous. You’re worried. Almost regretful.

He tilts his head. “What’s wrong?”

You shrug but Stiles knows you’re aware of what has you like this. He just gives you the time to voice it.

Eventually, you say: “Will this change anything between us?”

It’s his turn to shrug. “I dunno. Do you want anything to change?”

You shrug again.

“Well … do you want to keep going? And we decide that afterwards?” Stiles really wants to fuck you, but deep down he knows that if you stopped and got up off of him in this moment, he would be okay with it. Well, he would be okay with it after a few days. Maybe a week or two.

A little part in him swells, jumps, and clicks its heels when you nod.

“Yeah. That sounds good.” You press your lips to his once.

“You just tell me when you decide, okay? I’m cool with whatever you’re cool with.” And Stiles means that. If he gets just one more time with you, if this is his final time with you, he would cut his losses and be grateful for the time that he was allowed. What else was he supposed to do? He would never dream of doing anything that could jeopardize his spot in your life.

Stiles can feel the warmth of your center is his hand when he trails his touch down. He cups your mound and his eyes flutter shut. He feels like a pervert for only a second before you start to work your lips down his neck and rock your hips into his hand. The way your mouth suctions around his favorite spot almost has him distracted enough to not notice your hands working on his pants. Almost.

He can’t really tell in the dark, but he can slightly feel your once confident movements start to falter. You stop on his neck, keeping your lips as nothing but a pucker against his skin before you pull away completely to look down between the two of you.

“When the fuck did you start wearing a belt?”

Stiles doesn’t want to tell you the truth, he feels like it would be too embarrassing. Really, he knows it wouldn’t, but something about having to tell you that he decided to wear a belt because you always said he should makes him feel a little meek. So instead of filling the silence with the truth, he fills the silence with the clinks of his belt buckle as he undos it himself.

“Recently,” is all he tells you when you’re still staring at him for a response. Somehow, it’s enough for you and your hands are back on his waistband.

In record speed, your hands are down the elastic of his boxers and wrapping around Stiles’ cock. He doesn’t hiss, but he does shudder. He tries to hide it by pretending that the car is cold, which it was beforehand, but now it’s warm. It becomes warmer when you spit in your hand, wrap it around Stiles’ cock and pump him a few times, and then push your underwear to the side and hover above him.

It really pains Stiles to stop you, but he does. He asks if you have a condom, then he asks if you want to use a condom, and the entire time he’s kicking himself. Because he can feel the warmth radiating. He has his tip already nudged between your folds, and just this small touch is already making him lose it. His nails are digging into your hips, he’s breathing harder than he was before, and he has to blink a few times to really focus on you.

It feels like Stiles blinks and suddenly you’re tearing the foil packet open and slipping the condom over him. He watches it go down as best as he can, and the light doesn’t reveal much. Just the bottom of you and the tip of him is visible, the rest Stiles is forced to make out through squints and memorization.

He’s just briefly dejected about the lack of visuals, but then your hands rest on his shoulders and he hears you take a breath and he knows it’s time.

Stiles rests his hands on your side and looks up at you.

You go down slowly. Softly. It allows Stiles to feel each delicious inch as they go by, revealing more and more of the inside of you as time passes. He battles between watching your face and simply basking in it. Eventually, he settles on the former.

Your eyebrows are tightened just enough to show your discomfort. You have your lips parted, long breaths leaving them every so often, usually right before you sink down again. And Stiles has seen you take him before. He knows that you have been able to take him faster than this before. And then he wonders: is this your first time doing this, with anyone, in a while? Have you been as lost without him as he has been without you? Have you even attempted to fill that hole, and was your stunt earlier tonight just that: a stunt?

There isn’t time for him to ponder over his questions like he would have wanted to whenever you bottom out. It’s with a sigh, the back of your thighs meeting the top of his just briefly.

You rest your forehead against his, and you both breathe together. Or, it’s more so you breathing and Stiles matching the pattern.

You lean up, you move your hair out of your face, and you tell him, “Don’t remember it being this hard.”

Slightly cocky, Stiles tilts his head. At first he doesn’t say anything. He smiles, his eyes are heavy when they look you up and down, and then he rubs your back. “Take your time.”

You take the time you need and then you start moving. Up and down. Up and down. Agonizingly slowly at first, and then faster when you get more comfortable.

This is what Stiles has needed. This is what he has been missing in his life. You’re like a drug for him, and one hit seems like enough at the time, but by the time this is all over he knows he’s going to be searching for more. He’ll do anything he has to, so long as it gets him in a spot similar to this again.

He searches for your hand, refusing to look away from the way your body moves atop of him for even a second. You help him out, bringing your hand to his, pressing the fingertips together, leaving Stiles to interlock them. He lifts your hands, looking at them in the white light that enters the foggy window. Somehow, this image is even more captivating. There is a more pornographic way the two of you are connected, one that demands Stiles’ attention. There is something about the innocence of this. He’s doing nothing but holding your hand, and Stiles feels like he might either lose his mind, or cum too quickly.

He might do both. One after the other.

You sink down on him again, a little awkwardly this time, but it does it for you. You hit a spot that makes your mouth widen and your eyes flutter shut. You search for it, and find it miraculously. Your head throws back as you hit that spot over and over again, pleasing yourself on Stiles’ dick. The image is heavenly for him. It’s euphoric.

He lets his eyes wander down your neck, along your clavicle, and your shirt reveals just a bit of your bust but it’s not enough. With his free hand, he pulls the rest of the fabric down, and when he sees that you’re not wearing a bra, he almost cums into the condom then and there. He doesn’t wonder how he hadn’t noticed, he doesn't consider how he hadn’t taken into account the natural shape of your breasts pushing through the fabric, almost reaching out to him. Instead, he leans forward, presses his hand into the curve of your back, and attaches his mouth to the untouched skin.

Your free hand sinks into Stiles’ hair. Your fingers weave through the back of his hair first, and then you make your way up to the front, pushing back his bangs blindly.

Stiles peers up at you from his spot around your nipples. You’re still in ecstasy—your head now level once more, but your mouth still open and your eyes still closed.

He detaches from your nipple to tell you: “Look at me.”

It fuels Stiles’ ego when you do as told quickly.

You’re looking at him on his command yet Stiles feels like he’s the one entranced. Because of your eyes. Fuck, your eyes. Watery, lazy, but your pupils are dilated. Your mascara has transferred to under your eyes by now, and it’s smudged a bit, making you look completely fucked out. Stiles thinks some of your makeup along your face has disappeared too, but it allows for a fresh skinned appearance instead.

Really, there is nothing else for him to do except kiss you. It’s so messy but so good. You flatter in your movements on his cock, but Stiles feels absolutely no remorse when he takes over.

He unlocks your hands and plants them both on your hips again. This time, he uses the leverage to pull you down on him again and again. He lets you lead the kiss, while he leads this.

Your hands land on the leather of the seat behind Stiles' back and the foggy glass pane of the window. He hears your fingertips glide down the surface as he starts to fuck you harder, and then the sound is combined with your moans when your lips separate from Stiles’.

You call his name, low and breathy.

He hums.

“‘m so close. Keep going. Just like that.” He nods. Then you add, “Little faster.” And he does as told.

Your forehead pressed against his, the sweat on both of your skin making your heads glide more than anticipated. It doesn’t deter either of you. When your nose bumps against Stiles’, he kisses you again. When your head becomes too heavy for you to hold it up, he presses his thumb under your jaw, rests his fingers on the side of your neck, and holds the weight for you.

“You’re so pretty,” he tells you, adding your name at the end to seal the deal. “Baby,” he says, and his heart swells when you hum in response. So he says it again. “Baby, you feel so good. Feel so good, babe.”

He doesn’t know what more he says. He can vaguely recognize his lips forming the words and his own voice in his ears calling you the prettiest girl ever, telling you that he could never get this anywhere else, telling you he never wanted to get this from anywhere else.

“Needed this so bad. I needed you so bad. I’ve missed you.” And just as his words finish, yours begin.

“Stiles, Stiles. Right there. ‘m … I’m…!”

He singles two fingers out, slips them between your thighs, and rubs along your clit until you’re shaking above him and holding onto his wrist between your bodies. He doesn’t know if you’re trying to pull him closer or push him away, but watching you cum is too gorgeous for him to ever dream of making it stop.

So he doesn’t.

Not even when your eyes start to leak and your lips start to plead and you contract around him.

“One more,” he asks. “I just need to see it one more time. Please.”

The sound of him moving in and out of you is loud. He drifts his eyes down to watch it happen, groaning when he just barely sees a broken ring of white glinting in the fluorescents from the parking garage.

It feels a little romantic when you cum and then Stiles follows right after.

The Jeep is warm, the windows are foggy, and there’s an ache in Stiles’ thighs. He knows for every one of his aches, you have three. The condom has been removed, tied, and disposed of in an old paper bag Stiles had sitting on the floor of his car. His pants are pulled back up, but his belt is still undone. His shirt sticks to his skin and he really needs greasy food and a shower.

But if that means leaving this moment, and never returning to it, he could put off his needs and wants for an eternity.

You’re sitting next to him, redressed with the button of your jeans still undone. You’re staring straight ahead, trying to catch your breath as you rub the muscles in your thighs.

Stiles doesn’t know what to say, so he licks his lips and he says, “Uh … do you … um. Would you like some … ice or something? For your legs?”

You smile ahead, turn to face him, and shake your head. “It’ll be fine. Nothing a shower and good sleep won’t fix.” You pause. “And maybe some food.”

Which is how Stiles ends up sitting in your bed, sipping the remnants of his Dr. Pepper as he watches you lather lotion on your legs with your towel still hanging off of your body.

“Your food’s cold,” he tells you. He doesn’t tell you about the handful of fries he stole earlier, but he knows you’ll notice it and hold the grudge for later.

Later. Will there be a ‘later’?

“Be there in a second.” You start to walk back to the bathroom. “Should we go to that place in the morning? Or …” you look at your clock and wince at the time. “Later. The one with the really good pancakes?”

Stiles is quick to agree. He would love to do something with you later.

#stilesworld!#stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x you #stiles stilinski smut #celeste writes misc

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mondaymelon · 7 months

Text

₊˚ෆ 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓, 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔? | lyney, neuvillette, wriothesely x gn!reader

ˋ°•*⁀➷ cw: established relationship, fluffity fluff !! art by @/puna_822 on twitter, edited by me!

⤷ shh!! secret relationships with the fontaine men ₊˚ෆ

— Lyney will keep the secret well, of course. He’s a jack of all trades, and a little bit of misconception is nothing taxing for someone who can trick the eye with just a simple swipe of his hands.

…Though, his personality often brings much more to deal with behind the scenes. His every action is designed as a ruse, trying to draw any and every reaction from you - whether it be making you irritated as can be or practically burning from his smooth words. He’ll at the red on your face with a light smirk gracing his lips. “Embarrassed, now, are we? Mhm, best wipe it off your face though, lest anyone find out~”

Dealing with the magician was a headache. A delightful one, but painful nonetheless. He has a habit of saying whatever he wants, and it doesn’t help that he’s so good at it too. His tongue can twist poems out of thin air, or pickup lines at the drop of a hat. The number of times Lynette had glanced over at you with a concerned gaze was far more than you could count, and it would be only a matter of time before another carefully crafted sentence sent the entire mirage into collapse. The two of you had only decided to keep your relationship private in the first place due to work affairs. It’d just make things more frustrating if people were aware of the connection. In earlier weeks, you had tried to confront the man about the entire predicament, but he had only laughed it off with a shrug of his shoulders and a jesting beam.

“Oh, don’t tell me that the words I tell you every day still make you so flustered? Archons, you really are a hopeless romantic, aren’t you? Although, for you, I suppose I’m no different…”

When Freminet had eventually voiced his worries, gently holding your hands and saying, “A-Are you okay? Your face is really red, are you sick? Should I walk y-you home?”, there was no other choice but to shake your head, cover your flushed cheeks as best you could with a hand, and tell a blatant lie that there was nothing out of the ordinary.

There most certainly was, and it was the cat-like man who stood off to the side, a sly smirk on his face and one of his eyes closed in a wink. Not helping, Lyney.

When would the day come for you to be the one to make him flustered? Perhaps it was sooner than you thought, on his opening night for the new season. You weren’t sure if he had expected to see you in the crowd, but as he was performing his wonderous tricks, eyes sweeping over the hundreds present, his shimmering lilac eyes locked onto yours. His professional smile stretched a little wider, and as he pulled a dove out of his hat with a flourish of his arms, beamed. The astonished look on your face was something he’d be sure not to forget.

As soon as the lights dim onstage, he hurries off of it, giving Lynette a quick farewell and combing back his unruly hair with his fingers. He spots you standing by the exit, holding… a bouquet of roses in your arms? They were a beautiful sight, yet paled in comparison to how ethereal you looked in the moment, the spotlights afar illuminating your face with a glow and your eyes sparkling with delight. This always happens when the two of you are alone - he’ll switch from verbal affection to physical, and this time is no exception. He sweeps you into his arms, slotting his lips against yours as he pulls you into a deep kiss that leaves you breathless and red. However, this time, the blush dusting your cheeks is not only on your face but his, as he takes the flowers in his arms with a bright smile.

“For me, love? Come now, I can’t possibly keep how good we are together from everyone else, can I?” ₊˚ෆ

— Neuvillette is… an interesting case. For starters, he’s baffled at the concept of keeping the relationship a secret. Elaborate that you don’t want to ruin his reputation as a perfect, just, and stone-cold judge, and he’ll oblige… reluctantly. He still doesn’t understand - just why can’t he show you how much he loves you in public?

For now, he’ll have to chalk it up as more human affairs that he’s deemed too complicated to figure out. Ground rules have been laid out - no mentioning the relationship, no telling anyone either… not even the melusines, which was a fair case, since they’d be sure to spread the news faster than wildfire. The mortal realm is far more puzzling than it seems, he concludes somberly. An unfamiliar world that was arduous to coexist in. It’ll be alright, though, as long as he can intertwine his fingers with yours and look into your eyes and-

“N- Sir Neuvillette… not here!” You chide quietly, slowly withdrawing your hand from his. His face falls into an instant, brows furrowing. He’ll bite his tongue, for your sake, and remain silent, yet his fingers twitch. Archons, his hands feel so much better when they’re in yours. The man watches with dejected eyes as you whip your head around anxiously, before gesturing for Neuvillette to bend down. He complies, and matches himself to your height, yet immediately pauses any motion as soon as he feels your lips brush against his forehead. You brush a stray lock of his behind his reddened ears, a grin curving on your lips.

“Don’t be too disappointed, okay? I don’t want it to rain on my way back home~” You beam slyly as you lean away, witnessing Neuvillette’s expression undergo several stages - downcast, shocked, flustered… and then a small smile graces his expression.

“I’ll see you when I get home. Don’t wait up for me. The case might run late.” Neuvillette chuckles to himself, straightening his posture as he softly pinches your cheek, laughing at the way you begin to pout. It’s something the melusines told him to do, and he’s glad he listened - your face is soft, and he has to hold himself back from kissing you. He can hear people around the corner, their voices growing closer. “Get home safe.”

“Love?” Whenever the dragon enters home, he’ll call you by the name he’s unable to call you anywhere else - something he loathes with a burning sensation in his chest. “Are you…” His voice fades as he sees you curled up on the couch, eyes closed and chest slowly rising and falling with every breath. Had you tried to stay up for him? Cute. He takes you in his arms and brings you to the bedroom, carefully arranging the pillows and blankets around your sleeping form. You stir in your state, lids slowly fluttering open as you stare at the man above you with drowsy eyes.

“Neuvi?” The use of his nickname makes his heart flutter. It’s utterly incomparable to what you call him at work, “Sir Neuvillette.” Too rigid. You giggle at the sight of him, still half-asleep, and cup his face in your hands. “Welcome home… did I fall asleep? Ah, I’m sorry, I guess I was too tired…?”

The smile on his face won’t leave.

Yes, moments like these allowed him to continue this strange human practice.

He places his hands on yours, reveling in your warmth.

“Sleep, love.” ₊˚ෆ

— Wriothesley’s used to being professional. If he wasn’t, his work would be a lifetime more demanding than it was at the moment - although, perhaps even that’d be easier than keeping himself away from you until watchful eyes are no longer present.

He’s touchy whenever he’s with you. He likes leaning into your figure, even if you’re shorter than him, just to take in the way you embrace him back, but he loves the feeling of your fingers with his even more. It makes him feel… giddy, light, like he could drift away with the slightest breeze.

And that’s an issue. In order for you to remain safe, he’ll have to stay hushed about you being his lover. He’s made enemies, that much is natural. Of course, he’ll comply with your wishes to keep the relationship private. You could tell him to eat dirt and he’d do just that. Things like that are second nature now. Before, he had no trouble lasting weeks, or months in the Fortress of Meropide at once. After all, there was no driving incentive to head back to the city of Fontaine other than greeting the melusines, dropping off official papers, or, his guilty pleasure, ordering bags upon bags of tea from the mainland, so that he’d have more than enough to drink at the fortress. Now that you were here, however, how could he possibly stay away longer than a few days? If your hands in his were what made him float away, your smile brought him back, with a racing heart in his chest and a smile spread across his features. He’d give the world to see your smile, since it was his world. A single laugh from you would cause the background to fade to white, and rouse his heart and face into a flustered mess.

The prisoners notice a difference. Of course, they don’t know who this mysterious person the duke is seeing, but all they know is that they’re certainly working wonders. On miraculous, wondrous days, they'll even catch a glimpse of a smile on his face while he’s sitting at his desk, sifting through paperwork. As time passes, the news only grows more widespread, eventually reaching the ears of the ludex himself. It’s true, there is an apparent change - one that he captures on the duke’s more frequent visits to land. For a while, fables and tales of Wriothelsey’s mysterious lover spread throughout the city from ear to ear in hushed, excited whispers.

He’ll tease you about it, of course, but he’s really just rather intrigued. Has he really changed that much after meeting you? He doesn’t think so, but he wouldn’t put it past himself. “Darling, darling…” He repeats your petname when you don’t immediately react. “Darling, c’mon…” He can feel the pout creeping on his lips.

“Impatient, are we, Wrio?” You sigh as you turn away from your work, and his icy eyes light up in an instant. You stroke your hand through his hair gently, carding your fingers through the soft, dark strands, and you can see the way Wriothelsey simply melts under your touch. “You’ve been seeking me quite often these days, haven’t you?”

Maybe he has changed. Staring up at you with half-lidded eyes and a smile playing on his lips, feeling his ears warm, perhaps that conjecture has been solidified as the truth.

“Is it so wrong to wish for you, darling?”

(a/n) ngl i kinda hate this fanfic. everything about it. everyone seems so ooc and the prompt is barely even mentioned ew ew ew not my best work by far please dont tell me writers block is coming back i hate that big bad scary thing

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife

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yoon-kooks · 1 year

Text

pastries & promises | jjk

⛓️pairing: hotnerd!jungkook x popular!reader

⛓️genre: smut, fluff, college!au

⛓️summary: After hooking up with the hot nerdy boy in your coding class over the weekend, you’ll use any excuse to keep his hands on your body all week long.

⛓️word count: 3k

⛓️warnings: catdilf!jk, dom!jk, sub!reader, daddy/kitten undertones, praise kink, dirty talk, oc is a horny lil brat, mention of getting wasted at parties, one instance of slut-shaming, oc makes an ignorant comment about earl grey tea lol, no explicit smut in this drabble

⛓️p&p masterlist⛓️

a/n: this takes place a few days after p&p jjk & oc start talking to give us a glimpse of what their new dynamic is like in & out of class✨ btw despite what oc says about earl grey, i personally love it;;

After a weekend of sex, coding, kitten shenanigans, and more sex, you wake up to a beautiful boy with equally beautiful tattoos nagging you to “get the fuck up” for the “hundredth time” because “class starts in twenty minutes” and “attendance is worth 25% of your grade.” It somehow slipped your mind that it’s already Monday. Can he really blame you after fucking you silly several hours ago?

You tug at the collar of his hoodie and pull him on top of you. Still very much naked beneath the sheets, you suggest, “Or we can just skip class and extend our weekend? I’m sure we can find something fun to do.”

“Nice try, but no.” Jungkook offers you a hand and pulls you into an upright sitting position. The sheets slide down your chest, and you catch the boy staring a little too long.

“And you expect me to walk into class without a bra?” It’s not your fault you rushed over to his place last night in nothing but a baby tee and leggings. Why bother throwing on a bra when you know it’s gonna be torn off your body the second you step into his room?

“I mean, I’m not against it.” His eyes are still locked onto your chest. At least he’s a guy who appreciates art when he sees it. When he’s finally done, he digs through his closet and throws one of his grey hoodies into your arms. “But this will keep you warmer.”

You sniff the hoodie. It’s clean but still has the very scent you’ve familiarized yourself with a lot this weekend—blossoms and bergamot. It smells delicious.

With a sigh, you hop out of the bed and collect your pieces of clothing from every corner of the room. Your thong somehow wound up slung over his computer screen, but better there than on the floor.

Once you’re dressed in your day-old clothes, you slip into the boy’s hoodie and drown in his scent. The warmth that engulfs you makes you want to adopt his comfy casual style. At least on school days. Maybe you wouldn’t dread going to class so much if you could just sit there and be all cozy like that.

You’d still prefer to stay home and fuck him, though.

“You know what, I’m not feeling very well all of a sudden,” you lie. “Maybe you should stay home too so we don’t spread any germs to our beloved classmates.”

“Maybe you should just go to class like a good girl, and maybe you’ll be rewarded afterward,” he throws back at you. The way you perk up is almost embarrassing. But you’ve definitely got a thing for being praised and rewarded for good behavior. Especially if the prize is something pleasurable. So yeah, you suppose you’ll endure class for a few hours so that you can have some more fun later on.

“Fine.” You wrap your pinky around his to solidify the deal. He gives you a look but doesn’t pull his finger away. “But just know that you’re a nerd for never skipping class.”

“And how do you know I never skip class?” He raises his brow with intrigue.

“We’ve been in at least three or four other comp sci classes together, and I’ve never seen you miss a day.”

“Oh, so you’ve been keeping tabs on me all this time?” He’s totally calling you out. But he isn’t wrong. As quiet as Jungkook is in class, it’s hard not to notice someone who’s so incredibly smart. Doesn’t hurt that you’ve always thought he was kinda cute too.

“I guess you could say that,” you admit. What you won’t admit, however, is the fact that you’d wanted to talk to him back then but didn’t know how to initiate a conversation. You might be considered popular, but you sure as hell don’t know how to talk to people unless they strike up the conversation first. And Jeon Jungkook clearly didn’t have any intentions of being the initiator.

Thank god for that partner project that started it all.

Just before the two of you can get out the door, a tiny mew stops you in your tracks. The kitten looks up at Jungkook and cries again.

“You have to stay home, little one,” he says, holding a hand up for her to sit and stay. Like the naughty demon child she is, she ignores everything he says and climbs up his leg and into his arms. You can hear her purring as soon as she rests her chin on her dad’s shoulder like an actual baby. It’s so tempting to take a million pictures of the glorious cat dad moment and set one as your phone wallpaper, but you’d definitely run out of storage. Good to know you have some form of restraint when it comes to your infatuation.

After ten heartwarming seconds, he sets the kitten down in her pink bed and gives her a new tiger toy that was special ordered from some fancy cat shop on the other side of the country.

“Stay,” he tells her again before rising out of his squat. When she does as she’s told, he adds, “Good kitten.”

Oh, how you wish he was saying that to you right now.

“Your daddy really spoils you, you know that?” you giggle, waving bye to the kitty. A second later, you’re overcome by the urge to latch around Jungkook’s arm as you both head to his car. “When are you going to spoil me like that?”

He doesn’t give you a specific answer, but you’ll gladly accept the way he shrugs with the faintest hint of a smile. The two of you haven’t been talking all that long, and yet, he seems to be tolerating your antics well. At the very least, he must like you a tiny bit.

On the car ride over, you feel like you’re forgetting something. And then the boy’s stomach rumbles. Neither of you has eaten anything since the impromptu fast food run last night.

“Ooh, we should stop by the cute little bakery near campus before class,” you suggest, totally not trying to avoid class for the thousandth time today. “I heard they have really good muffins.”

“We’re gonna be late if we make any detours.” He catches a glimpse of your pout as he makes a right turn. “We can go after.”

Your pout quickly becomes a smile because he keeps sweetening the deal. You’re very much looking forward to the promised pastries and sex after class along with anything else he might throw in.

When you get to class, the usual gal crowd is hanging around your desk. Except someone else is there sitting in your seat. It’s Big Tim. Great. You love confrontation first thing in the morning.

Before approaching the seat thief, you watch him throw a cocky ass smile at Jungkook who straight up ignores it as he takes his seat next door. You would’ve appreciated a little help, but there’s nothing from Big Tim you can’t handle. Besides, the two of you agreed to keep the whole hookup thing lowkey and out of the mouths of your gossiping classmates. Otherwise Jungkook would probably end up hearing a wacky rumor-fied version of it from his tattoo artist.

“Hi?” you say to the guy in your seat. You’ll play nice for now.

“Oh hi Y/N, we were just talking about you.” Big Tim gives you a much kinder smile than the one he threw at Jungkook—a byproduct of being popular, you suppose.

“About what?” You’re genuinely confused.

“There’s a party at my place this weekend, and I’m hoping you’ll be there.” This is the first time he’s personally invited you anywhere. Is it a coincidence that he’s doing it in front of an audience?

“Thanks for the invite, but I’m all partied out for a while,” you respond as honestly and gracefully as possible. You have no interest in hanging out with Big Tim, but parties aren’t completely off the table forever. It might be fun to bring Jungkook to one eventually, even though he claims he’s uninterested in getting wasted with people he couldn’t care less about. “Can I have my seat back now?”

Big Tim laughs it off like you weren’t being serious. “Aww, don’t be like that. It’s just gonna be a small thing with you, me, and a few others. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

You and him? You almost gag. That doesn’t sound like fun at all. And what’s up with him dismissing your gentle rejection? If he didn’t want to be rejected in front of everyone, he shouldn’t have hyped it up in the first place. Now it just feels like he’s pressuring you into going along with it because he knows you’re too soft to make him look bad in front of others. Unfortunately for him, that’s not going to happen.

“I’m seeing someone—a single father, actually—and I’ve been helping him with his kid. So I don’t have time for your party.” The single father part is a bit of a stretch, but you kind of like the sound of it. He’s your local hot cat dilf after all.

The girls’ jaws all drop at the same time. Big Tim’s smile also drops a bit, but he continues to shrug it off. “Helping a dad with his kid? Anything for a good dicking, I guess.”

Okay, buddy.

You tried to stay courteous about the whole situation, and this is what you get in return. He can say whatever he wants to make himself feel better about himself, but it’s also sad to see not a single one of the other girls step in and call him out on his bullshit. You’re sick of it.

“Are you done? Can you leave now?” You look Big Tim straight in the eyes, although you’re hoping the girls take a hint to leave as well.

They don’t. Because they’re too invested in how Big Tim will respond as he opens his big mouth once more.

“She said leave,” Jungkook snaps out of nowhere. If you had to guess, he was trying to catch up on sleep after that long night with you, and now he’s cranky and mad that Big Tim can’t just shut up and take the L.

Big Tim and the girls collectively turn their heads toward the grumpy boy who cuts the conversation off with a death glare to each and every one of them. As expected, Jungkook is the only person who’d ever take your side on anything. And that’s why he’s the only one who matters to you these days.

At long last, the crowd disperses and everyone goes back to their seats. Just in time for class to begin.

As soon as class ends, you stretch your arms out, slip past all the girls who want the deets on this mysterious dilf you’re seeing, and meet back up with said dilf outside the building.

“Bakery time?” You’re smiling awfully bright despite the shitshow that went down before class. But that’s the effect Jeon Jungkook seems to have on you. You’ll take a bad day every once in a while if he’s there to make it a little better.

“Don’t bakeries usually close early?” he asks in a calm voice as if that isn’t the most devastating thing someone has said to you all day. You hadn’t thought about that.

In a panic, you pull out your phone to check the time and google the bakery’s business hours. Before you can get your answer, the boy chuckles, “It’s open. I already checked. You’re just fun to fuck with.”

You’d fight him for messing with you like that, but you’re too distracted by that chuckle. It’s a rare occurrence that you’ll treasure forever. Who knew he had such a charming laugh? And how lucky are you to be the one to hear it?

“By the way, thanks for earlier,” you say as you hop into his car. “I was about to throw hands at Tim.”

“I thought his name was Jim.” The boy looks so confused. You love it. “But yeah, you should’ve thrown hands for all that shit he said.”

“He wasn’t wrong about the good dicking though,” you hum. You can’t even remember the last time sex was this good.

“Definitely not wrong about that,” Jungkook agrees with a big fat smirk on his face.

When the two of you arrive at the bakery, you’re delighted to see that they haven’t sold out of the famous poppy seed muffins you’ve been eyeing on Yelp. You try to get Jungkook on board with the muffin agenda, but he opts for a buttery croissant—another solid pick. You’ll definitely be stealing a bite out of that flaky pastry of his.

“Which drink are you getting?” you ask, eyeing the drink menu like it’s a map of Disneyland. Everything looks so fucking good that you don’t know where to start.

“A London fog.” You have no idea what that is, but it sounds boring. “It’s earl grey,” he clarifies upon seeing the ignorance in your eyes.

“Isn’t that what old people drink?” you snicker. “You’re a nerd and a senior citizen?”

“Well what are you getting? A hot chocolate, right? Because that’s what babies drink,” he teases back. Now that you think about it, he calls you Baby an awful lot in bed. If the two of you were dating, you wonder if you could get him to call you that all the time. Hypothetically speaking, of course.

You do end up getting the hot chocolate while Jungkook gets his elderly drink. As the barista is ringing the order up at the register, a cute sign catches your attention at the other end of the counter because there’s a cat on it. You wander over to it and pick up one of the baggies with fresh baked cat treats in it. What a coincidence.

“Hey Jungkook, look. Let’s get this for Lucy, too.” Excited by your last-minute find, you scurry back to the register where the boy is already slipping his wallet back into his butt pocket. Fine, if he wants to pay for your breakfast, then you’re paying for the kitty treats.

After you pay and secure all your food, the two of you return to Jungkook’s place. The first thing you do is seek out the kitten who’s busy taking a nap on the boy’s bed instead of in her own.

She blinks at you with heavy eyelids and twitches her nose toward the bag in your hand.

“Good morning, little cutie,” you grin. “I brought you some special treats.”

Her big ears immediately shoot up as she starts pawing at the bag. She’s so fucking cute you could cry.

“You have to ask your daddy if it’s okay to eat one now.” You continue to use your baby voice before turning to the daddy in question standing behind you.

“Just one.” The stern dad voice comes out. “And make sure you break it in half. She’s small, you know.”

“Yes, daddy.” By now, the word slips so naturally off your tongue. You meant for it to be sarcastic this time, but you’re also very aware of what it does to him and his body.

He watches quietly as you break the treat into bits and hold it in your palm for the kitten to gobble up. She meows, optimistic for more special treats, but you stick to the plan and give her more pets and cuddles instead.

“Your daddy is so mean, huh. He doesn’t want you eating any more yummy treats,” you blabber into the kitten’s ear. She makes a whiny sound in agreement.

“Hey, what are you two conspiring about over there?” Jungkook frowns.

“Oh nothing.” You’re about to shoo him away but notice his lock screen flashing on in his hand. It looks like a pic of you and the kitten conspiring together. “Wait, what’s that on your phone?”

“Oh nothing,” he mocks you before changing the subject. “Drink your hot chocolate already. It’s getting cold.”

You take a sip of it as you devour the muffin. Your drink is basically cold chocolate milk at this point, but at least it still tastes amazing. The muffin slaps too.

“Taste,” you say as you offer up your half-eaten muffin to the boy. He takes a bite like a good boyfriend would—except he’s not actually your boyfriend.

“It’s good,” he shrugs as he goes back to the flaky pastry. “The croissant’s better though.”

“Let me taste.” You grab hold of the boy’s chin and taste the butter on his lips. He kisses back with long, tender motions that leave you wanting far more than just a casual makeout session. There’s no doubt in your mind that he tastes better than both the muffin and croissant combined. You pull back for just a second to say, “Hey, wasn’t I promised sex after class?”

“Do the homework first. It’s easy.” Of course Jeon Jungkook has his priorities straight, and of course you listen because you’re craving more of his praise. At least he’s a good influence on you. “And I never said sex specifically, by the way. Is that what you were thinking about in that dirty little head of yours?”

He’s 100% right. Your horny mind just believes whatever it wants to believe. Right now, it's telling you the boy wants it just as much as you do. He’s just better at hiding it.

“It was heavily implied though,” you huff as you take your laptop out and start on a boring coding exercise on his bed. “The sex better be really good!” And that’s a threat.

“When has it not been?” Jungkook shoots you an arrogant look. Good point. And apparently he’s already finished with the assignment because he shuts his computer off and turns his attention to your screen. He sits his ass right behind you, slips his hands up into the hoodie you’re wearing, and whispers into your ear, “Now hurry up and finish. I’m waiting.”

#bts smut #jungkook smut #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts college au #nerd jungkook

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sixosix · 11 months

Text

( ? ) wanderer proves that he can fluster you. 640 words

“—and, well, you haven’t failed me before. i know i can trust you with this.”

you grin, holding his gift closer to your chest like it’s your newborn. “tighnari, you flatter me. look, i’m blushing.” tighnari doesn’t bother pointing out that you aren’t at all.

“as if anything could fluster you,” tighnari laughs lightly. he must be referencing all the moments you were shameless with being playful with all of them, doubling down when they try to do the same. (it never works when they try—you’re relentless.)

“oh yeah?” the grin you’re wearing shifts into something more sly. “wanna try and prove that wrong?”

he makes a face, almost haunted. “i’m not asking for a death wish.”

you snort, finally looking up from where you’ve been tending to tighnari’s gift—a potted plant with a species of flower you aren’t quite familiar with. “general watchleader, why would that be a death wish?”

tighnari clears his throat, his smile twitching into something more irked upon the nickname you gave, yet his eyes are elsewhere. somewhere over your shoulder. “speaking of,” he mumbles. before you can turn to follow his gaze, tighnari speaks up again, “cyno and collei might be looking for me. i’ll see you around, okay?”

“oh, um—” startled by his sudden urge to leave, you manage a quick wave with one hand, “—okay, bye, tighnari!”

your hands grow tired quickly, so you bend down to place his gift carefully by your feet. the leaves look as if they have curled toward you.

you turn around to see what tighnari was staring at earlier and nearly jolt out of your skin upon seeing wanderer a foot away from your back. if puppets could breathe, you would have heard it.

“what the— fuck, why do you make no noise? don’t you know how creepy that is?”

wanderer does not care in the slightest, and it shows on his expression: blinking, unaffected. surprisingly, he gives no snarky reply to that. just keeps staring.

“hello? malfunctioned in there?” you wave a hand in front of his face.

he catches your wrist, using it to pull you closer to him until your chests are almost touching.

you gape, alarmed by the sudden proximity. “have you gone mad?” he keeps silent, still, only moving closer and closer. you take a step back; he takes two steps forward.

before you know it, your back is against a tree, your hand pinned next to your head, and the other being wanderer’s own hand. your breath hitches, aware of how this must be looking to bypassers.

to make matters worse, he breathes. it’s intentional—one he rarely does unless he’s overheated or he’s just doing it for his amusement, like what he’s doing now. you feel it on your face, a sharp sensation bolting down your spine.

“hey, you— you’re really—” inwardly, you curse yourself for stammering, but you’re too weak to sharp eyes and cold, artificial skin, “w-what are you…”

finally, he makes a noise after closely watching your face. it’s a self-satisfied one, accompanied by a smug grin.

and finally, finally, he frees you from his hold, never faltering from his pleased expression.

“you— what the hell? what was that about?” you’re pretty sure that the rainforest has gotten exceptionally hot today; you feel its effects on your face.

“don’t worry about it,” wanderer says airily. so he can still speak, after all. “you said that it was going to be quick; what a bold-faced lie. are you done dilly-dallying with your friends?”

“are you going to explain?!”

you watch as he whirls around wordlessly as if that was his answer. and then he keeps walking, and walking, and—

he’s actually leaving and expecting you to follow after him.

you feel the urge to throw the pot at his head. “i have to take this back home, asshole!”

“leave it, then!” he yells back.

looked at the 3.8 scara art again and my fingers did this on their own idk what happened either SJDJSJJ

#606:GENSHIN #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x you #genshin impact x you #wanderer x you #genshin x reader #genshin drabble #scaramouche drabble #wanderer fluff

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improbable-outset · 5 months

Text

📂 𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧

↳ 📂 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞

𝐓𝐖: Brief blowjob, hair pulling 🔞

This isn’t even proof read, I’m just spitballing here. I don’t know what it is about men with big nerdy brains and a grumpy personality that has me weak!

Just imagining Miguel, pealing off his lab coat and coming home to you. He’s exhausted and his eyes are sore from looking at the monitors full of data of genetic information and his limps are stiff from sitting in one place for so long.

Being with you, he’ll always feel safe to unwind and be vulnerable with his emotions which is an achievement in itself because this man is stubborn when it comes to venting sometimes.

He announces his arrival as soon as enters through the door, calling out for you. Of course, you’re always eager to greet him and offer to take his jacket.

But tonight he was extra pent up and hot. You didn’t expect him to grab onto you arm and spin you back around to face him with his forehead touching yours.

“I need you right now, mi alma,”

He could smell the detergent and soap from your clothes along with your natural scent, and feeling the tip of your nose trace the edge of his wasn’t helping his case.

Your hands reached for the button in his dress shirt, unbuttoning them one by one until his whole abdomen is exposed.

Your hands were all over him while he kissed you feverishly. You were his biggest weakness and he needed you more than anything.

You had him lie down on the couch because your man worked so hard and needed to be taken care of.

You settled yourself between his legs with your mouth now full of his achingly hard cock, pressing against your tongue that was already leaking with precum.

His shoulders instantly drooped and his brows relaxed as pleasured washed over his body. You were always so eager to please and right now he felt greedy.

You knew you were no longer in control of the pace when you felt his hands grip a fistful of your hair before he started fucking your throat.

Dinner was gonna have to wait because it was going to be a long night for the both of you…

Inspired by this fan art ;)

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stariikis · 26 days

Text

colour your smile

synopsis ; when riki picks up a paintbrush, two problems surface. for him, it's fear of being unable to portray you perfectly. for you, you have no idea how to counter this fear of his. this fear that is a constant state of unrest in his mind.

pairing ; artist!nishimura riki x muse!reader genre ; fluff, established rs wc ; 1097 warnings ; kissing and implied mental disorders

It’s pretty difficult for Riki to encapsulate all your beauty into a painting.

He’s tried, time and time again. Sat you down in his allocated ‘art studio’ room, a tiny part of the house where the grey walls are splotched rainbow. Watercolour palettes lie uncovered all over the room, one sitting just beside your boyfriend on the wooden bench he’s parked himself on.

In front of him is a blank canvas – tainted only by the strokes of graphite that sketch the outlines of your features. Wispy hair that partially covers your eyes, your button nose quickly drawn into a nub, and your smile accurately depicted, eager and wide. Riki captures the very essence of who you are, with little effort at all.

It doesn’t look difficult to you, because he makes it look effortless. Like with one snap of his fingers, he can churn out another portrait of you. But it really seems like he does. To Riki, however, it’s not so easy. He tilts and turns his head, muttering dissatisfied remarks to himself. More often than not, he spends more than an hour sketching you and touching up ‘mistakes’. ‘Mistakes’ that you never even saw. ‘Mistakes’ that look like nothing in your eyes, but make all the difference to your perfectionist of a boyfriend.

“You know what?” You murmur, slightly tired of having to endure another few hours of him scrutinising your portrait. “Why don’t you just try to paint freely? Without thinking about the quality. Keep your focus on me, paint as if you have nothing to hold you back.”

Riki finally draws his eyes away from the surface of his canvas. He meets your gaze, looking remorseful as he does so. “I wish I could. But then I’d see all the errors and feel guilty. Wouldn’t you?”

You slide closer to him from the opposite side of the wooden bench. You gently tug the paintbrush from his fingers, placing it beside the watercolour set that looks horrifyingly dry and crackled. “Are you scared?”

Deep emotions. You take his hands in your own.

You feel them surging deep inside his veins, the whimsical vibrancy of colour flowing along the current. His imagination is running wild but he’s restricting it himself. Out of fear he’s going to mess up. Afraid it’s going to turn out worse than expected. When he looks away, running a hand through his hair and nodding, you’re hardly surprised.

“Relax.”

You whisper into the silence.

“It’s going to be fine.”

His fingers start to tremble.

“Your beauty is too complex to be depicted in a simple painting,” he finally speaks, inhaling deeply from his own confession. “Everything looks grey — it looks so plain and so boring, and your smile there – so not you. I have to make this you, I have to do you and your beautiful smile justice.”

“One hue off the right colour of your hair already scares me to my depths. Everything is so colourless and bare and empty I can’t even tell these strokes apart.” He runs his fingers along the bumps on the wall, forest green fading into baby blue and a harsh strike of vermillion. “I don’t remember how these came about but I remember they’re strokes of frustration.”

“Frustration?” You urge him, patiently. He’s still distracted, rambling and refusing to meet your eyes. But he’s an artist, and you’ve already resigned to putting up with episodes like these for a while now. At the same time, you understand. In your own way, you are an artist too. The only difference between you and Riki is,

you’re bold and daring. You see all the shades the rainbow has to offer. You complete your pieces without a second thought. Of course, they’re never top quality, but they’re satisfactory to yourself.

Riki is hesitant. He sees in black and white, occasionally shades of grey bleeding into borderline brown. He feels it’s his duty to reflect and duplicate everything about his object perfectly. Like looking into a mirror, it should properly align with reality. It should elicit appropriate emotion. It should reflect all his object’s best qualities. He should be able to make them shine.

And when he doesn’t, he lashes out.

“What if?” He scrunches the apron hanging over his thighs. Lost in thought, you wonder whether he’s coming back down to earth or if his head is still in the clouds. Worrying and worrying and worrying. “What if I can’t do it again?”

“You need to free yourself…”

Ironically, you know what he needs the most to free himself, is a long, warm embrace that calms his mind. Bring him back down. Teach him to breathe again. You lean back to snatch the paintbrush and palette, holding it in front of him. His gaze clears and begins to transfix onto the materials in your hand. “This is what you came to do. Is it not?”

He takes it with a shaky hand and blank stare.

“I think it looks pretty,” you kiss his cheek quickly and slide back into position. “That’s your intention. I know. I look pretty there.”

Your heart aches for him. Will he ever shake off his overbearing perfectionism and learn to enjoy the talents and skills he’s been blessed with?

With adoring eyes, he turns back to the canvas and thankfully begins working on it. You hope the profound sparkle in his eye has signalled a change. Everything falls into routine, and you’re stuck breathing in the same scent of must and dried paint for the next few hours.

Luckily for you, Riki seems to have let the weight evaporate from his shoulders. He can finally take smiley glances your way to compare his portrait and you. He can lean back with a pleased and impressed glimmer in his orbs. Every once in a while, he gives you and kiss and thanks you for staying so still and remaining so patient.

You know his words carry more intent than he wants to let show.

“You like it?”

Three hours later, he finally spins the portrait around and lets you have the first look as the muse. Though many portraits of your face have lined his walls since you started dating, you’re pleasantly surprised to feel something different. Though the paintings may all look similar. Same face. Same eyes, nose, ears, cheeks, hair, moles in the same spots. There’s a hint of confidence emanating from the mish-mash of colours.

And Riki looks satisfied.

“I can finally see the colours,” he rasps in excitement, cutely clapping his hands together. “I could finally colour your smile.”

i just got diagnosed with chronic migraines (i'm having one rn but it's because i'm not sleeping) so this is pretty self-indulgent. i am riki riki is me. ALSO. riki's aotm i'm shitting tears

more of my works >

#stariikis #k labels #enhypen #nishimura riki #enhypen x reader #enhypen riki #nishimura riki x reader #riki x reader #enhypen niki #ni ki #nishimura niki #niki au #niki x reader #niki fanfic #riki x you #riki fanfiction #enhypen ni-ki #riki x y/n

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creaman · 2 months

Text

—BECAUSE KUNG FU PANDA 4 KILLED MY GRANDMA, OKAY?

To preface, I watched this movie and I'm genuinely tweaking right now so I had to write down a very brief (lie) criticism on this film — which you should boycott, by the way.

Starting with the things I liked, before briefing my primary points of criticism:

Po's Character Regression

Po and Zhen's Dynamic

The Chameleon

I'd also yap about Lord Shen and the death of the art style and the entire narrative and pacing and use of the staff of wisdom but my therapist says being such a hater is 'unhealthy' or something. My heart is full of hatred.

SPOILERS for the entirety KFP4 for the 2 people who care.

KFP4 undermines and ignores the previous three movies — Unwriting character developments, outright removing the Furious Five, straying from the character design philosophies and is completely inconsistent with the established lore.

Things I Liked About Kung Fu Panda 4

The Chameleon's character design

Visual gag in the Tavern where Po uses a recently thrown axe as a hat rack (made me laugh)

When Mr. Ping did this:

so cute! the little heart!

Po — Character Writing

Po, as established in the previous movies, is confident in his abilities and identity — he’s learnt inner peace, he’s matured as a character. However, in KFP4, his character has completely regressed. He’s immature again (such as KFP1, possibly worse) and says verbatim, “only knows kicking butt and taking names” — UNLEARNING inner peace and insisting that “…being the Dragon Warrior is all I know.”

It’s childish, and sort of Hotel Transylvania-esque.

Which isn’t helped by the comedy, the dialogue — a large chunk of which are jokes in the style of:

Master Shifu says something philosophical

Po quips off of it / doesn’t get it (i.e. Whoa!! beat I don’t know what that means.)

Oh, it’s great, yeah, very tolerable. Po’s shenanigans are normally reeled in by the presence of the Furious Five who are generally more serious in nature, creating a much needed balance in the dynamic — So without them, it’s just Po becoming increasingly obnoxious and insufferable with every consecutive quip throughout the screenplay.

Po and Zhen — Character Dynamics

[No more graphics sorry I'm too angry]

As if it wasn’t obvious that Zhen was going to be the next Dragon Warrior the second she was introduced.

Zhen, as a character, has no depth besides being a quippy thief. She quips, she steals. This character has no motives — it can be assumed that the writers intended on a ‘change of heart’ thing, but she isn’t established as evil, her working for the Chameleon is written as a (albeit poor) twist reveal.

By which point, her taking either side wouldn’t make sense, given that she has shown no loyalty or attachment to either Po nor the Chameleon.

The movie artificially strengthens their bond by having Zhen start opening up about her backstory out of nowhere for no reason but they have done nothing to grow closer to each other.

Small tangent, her backstory is exactly what you’d expect it to be with no subversions or even emotional weight. Woe is me I was so small and hungry I had to steal to survive. Glossed over in about a minute.

The majority of the dialogue between Zhen and Po is spoken exposition — explaining how powerful and badass the Chameleon is, explaining how ‘we have to go here to do that’ and ‘this place was cool until the Chameleon did such and such’, and the rest of their time together is spent engaging in filler chase sequences and fight scenes.

The Chameleon

Where do I even start…

This is where it becomes apparent that the movie relies heavily on telling rather than showing —

She is the weakest villain by far, not only in universe but as a written character; which is particularly disheartening because I genuinely adore her character design and feel as though a shapeshifting character has great potential.

The movie artificially inflates her power by insisting through exposition that this is the most capable antagonist thus far (lie).

The audience is TOLD by Zhen and various restaurant patrons that the Chameleon is a powerful shapeshifting sorceress and that she 'dominates the city' whilst the film does nothing to showcase this.

'Dominating the city' meaning letting her henchpeople run amock and bully the civilians just like Lord Shen's wolves in KFP2... uninspired.

I just realised they didn't even give her a NAME what the FUCK is going on

She describes HERSELF as ruthless, clever and unsentimental when comparing Zhen to herself.

She says HERSELF that she’s “Stronger than every opponent you’ve ever faced.”

Let’s see what vile reprehensible things she’s done, shall we?

Gently push someone down some stairs

Her first appearance is through Zhen’s exposition, as opposed to the dramatic and memorable entrances of the previous villains. Her motives or character aren’t established until the final third of the film. She doesn’t even FIGHT anybody until the final third of the film; and even then, her fight sequences are uninspired and she never really poses a real threat. (She goes down in two hits.)

That being said, WE CAN STILL SAVE HER GUYS WE CAN STILL GET HER OUTTA THERE I'M COMING FOR YOU CHAMELEON I'M GONNA DRAFT YOU A PROPER BACKSTORY AND MOTIVE AND YOU'RE GONNA BE THE MOST THREATENING VILLAIN THUS FAR

There's a scene after the climax of the film where all the kung fu masters and previous villains from the spirit realm bow to Po. I'm not going to provide my thoughts on this because I fear I may burst a blood vessel. Good day!

Closing Statements

To put it simply, Kung Fu Panda 4 was my Megamind 2.

The film rejects its predecessors in every way. It really feels as though they brought in somebody with no prior knowledge of the franchise to direct the movie.

It's a film that relies heavily on telling rather than showing — banking on the previous three movies to carry it through the box office.

It's just really disheartening to see studio execs turn one of the best franchises into a safe sequel cash grab and regress every character's development.

Nevertheless. I do adore the chameleon's character design so I might do my own take on her character.

As far as I'm concerned, there is no fairy godmother, there is no tooth fairy, and there is no kung fu panda 4.

#creaman talks to drywall #kung fu panda 4 #spoilers #I'm actually tweaking #sorry I stopped drawing the graphics because the film crushed my soul #you drive me to drink kung fu panda 4 #when the rantsona crosses their arms #hating on main #kfp #discussion #criticism #kfp4 #technically a vent post #i've lost it #the chameleon #zhen #po

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blindmagdalena · 1 year

Text

Complete Me

Summary: 18+ 2.5k homelander x reader, sub homelander, bottom homelander, mommy kink, pegging, large toy, lite belly bulge, restraints, praise kink, comeplay, schmoopy aftercare.

It's not always easy keeping the most powerful man in the world satisfied, but as far as he's concerned, you were made for the job. art by @krazyyy & used with permission!

There is a void in Homelander that he is unsure he will ever be able to fill.

But fuck if you don’t try your damnedest.

If he’s being honest, he never thought that sex with a human could compare to sex with another supe, but you’ve found tricks that curl his toes better than the clench of any Compound V charged hole could. You put his wrists in cuffs that he could snap with a thought, and whisper Don’t break those, baby. Or mommy won’t fuck you tonight.

He huffs and twists against them, but never breaks them. He listens to you. He’s obedient. He’s your good, good boy, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. The electric thrill of being bound by nothing but your will empowering these flimsy cuffs has him panting. He wants more from you, as he always does, and like the wicked, wonderful enabler you are, you give it to him.

When he first sees the toy you intend to use tonight, long, thick and barely contained by the harness you wear, he thinks you’re joking. “Christ, are you going to fuck me, or bludgeon me to death?” He asks, adjusting against his headboard. It doesn’t stop his cock from throbbing, steadily drooling precome onto his belly while his stomach churns in anticipation. “Don’t be a brat,” you reply, eyes glinting. He watches you spread a generous amount of lube along the girthy chunk of phallus-shaped silicone, his own neglected cock aching at the sight of it. “You said you wanted something big.” “Didn’t expect you to take it so literally,” he says wryly, mouth feeling dry as the bed dips with your weight. “Expected something, y’know, grand. Impressive. Bombastic.”

“My, my. Look at you and all your synonyms,” you purr, smiling. He jerks slightly when you put your hands on his ankles, drawing them slowly up his legs, spreading them out. He’s malleable under your hands, always is, legs falling open in a wanton splay.

“I’m a walking thesaurus,” he gives back sardonically, but his breath hitches with the way you squeeze his inner thighs before adjusting his legs on either side of you.

“I don’t think you’ll be walking anywhere after this,” you say, voice and expression both downright devilish.

He laughs breathlessly. He knows you won’t be able to hurt him, but the notion still sends a thrill trilling up and down his spine like a xylophone. He sucks a breath in through his teeth at the first warm, wet press of your fingers to his rim, circling it in slow, firm glides. Homelander nods. “Yeah, yeah, yes. M’ready.”

“Yes, what?” You push. He smiles. He loves that you push him like this, push him to say the things he wants to, but holds back from out of shame or embarrassment or both. He loves that you don’t let him hide from or deny himself the things that he wants. He loves you.

“Yes, mommy,” he exhales, despite his tongue feeling leaden in his mouth.

The smile you return is worth it. “Good. Take a deep breath, and lie down.”

He complies, sliding down the headboard until his arms are stretched above his head. You adjust yourself between his legs, gripping his ass in your palms to spread it wide, and as he breathes out, the obscenely large head of the toy presses against his slick rim.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he grouses, eyes widening.

“Breathe,” you encourage him, patiently massaging his rump. “Humans can stretch seven inches before anything tears. You’ll be fine. Trust me.” He scoffs, but he does trust you. He knows you won’t break him, wouldn’t if you could. He relaxes his head against the headboard and closes his eyes. It’s not that it hurts, but the pressure that builds as you spread his rim open around the fat head of the toy is intense and alien, more so than anything he’s used to. He twists the chains of the handcuffs, which groan precariously. You reach out to touch his wrist, hushing him. “Breathe, darling,” you remind him again, gentle and soothing. He screws his eyes shut, focusing on the feel of your fingers on his wrist, your other hand under his thigh, and breathes in deeply. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he keens, endlessly shifting and adjusting himself, though never pulling away from the girth of the toy slowly splitting him open.He shakes his head, faith wavering. “What the fuck, that’s not–it’s not going to fit,” he pants, trying to spread his legs further, but no matter how he angles himself, there’s no escaping the slow, aching pressure of the oversized silicone cock sliding into him.

“Shhhh,” you hush, holding the base of the cock in one hand while you use the other to stroke his thigh. “It’ll fit. You’re just poorly prepared,” you say. He can hear the smile in your voice. His cock gives a dripping throb at the pleasure in your voice, knowing that he’s impressing you, even as he complains.

“And whose fault is that?” He asks breathlessly, arching his back.

“Yours,” you answer, giving his ass a sharp little smack. He had asked for this, after all. He didn’t want you to wet or stretch him out too thoroughly. He wanted to feel it.

And feel it he does.

“Halfway there,” you murmur, close enough to kiss him now. He leans into it eagerly, savoring the gentle, plush press of your lips, gripping the chains of his cuffs, wishing he could touch you, even as he relishes this hold you have over him. He keens against your lips, opens up easily for the wet slide of your tongue only to suck at it, greedy for more, more, more. Your hips are almost flush with his. You’re so close, and he’s so full. The sheer size of it inside him doesn’t leave space for anything else, no thoughts or feelings about anything other than what’s happening, other than your touch and your warmth. He’s panting now, giving sharp little bucks of his hips, though you remain stubbornly still. “It’s too big,” he moans, overwhelmed by this inescapable, full feeling. You soothe him with gentle sweeps of your hands up his thighs, his hips, his sides.

“You’re doing perfectly,” you tell him. He can hear your excitement, smell it in the air. He cracks his eyes open to gaze up at you, and flourishes under the open adoration he finds in your stare. The praise warms him. He adjusts himself again, but there’s no way to make this feel anything less than. He cannot minimize it, cannot escape it. His cock throbs, the leaking head bouncing against his stomach of its own accord. You give one last push, and he moans with your body finally slotting snugly against his, buried as deep as you’ll go. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Homelander nods fervently, swallowing back the lump in his throat. “Good, good, s’good, mmm…”

He leans into it when you touch his cheek, nuzzles your palm before pressing a wet kiss into it. You have a way of touching him that renders him senseless, used, but treasured. He knows that even when you’re done with him, when you have finished playing and this intensity is gone, he will not be left empty or alone.

You’ll be there. “I’m going to fuck you now, baby,” you whisper. His breath hitches with excitement, the chains above his head clanking lightly against one another. He nods, bites down slowly on his tongue to hold back the little noise that threatens to slip from him when you pull almost halfway out, only to drive firmly back in. You don’t have to move very fast, the sheer size of the toy does most of the work for you, unraveling him with every movement. “Oh f-fuck, ffffuck, nnngh,” he groans, pulling on his bindings. The steel loop they’re hooked to groans precariously. His eyes snap open when you wrap your hands around his throat, slowly leaning your weight down on him. “Look at me,” you tell him, your own eyes clouded with arousal, pupils blown wide. His eyes flicker constantly to the wet part of your lips, aching to kiss them. You squeeze. You may not be strong enough to crush his windpipe, but it’s more than enough to restrict his airflow, to make him keenly aware of every breath he takes. You brace yourself that way, make him feel it as you settle into a steady rhythm, rocking in and out of him, the size of the toy making every push and pull twice as intense.

“There, that’s it. You’re taking me so well. Knew you would, baby. Always so good for me. You’re gonna make a mess for me, aren’t you? Come so hard, I bet you’ll mess up that pretty face,” you coo, the words going straight to his cock. The toy is too big, too unwieldy for you to fuck him fast, but the intensity of being carved in and out of by something so large is just as good.

“Y-yes,” he chokes out. “Yeah, yes, fuck, I’m fffucking–” He can’t think long enough to string a coherent sentence together. He chokes on his own breath when you move a hand from his throat to his belly, pushing down on it as you slide all the way back into him. “Look,” you tell him. He obeys, tipping his head down to see where your hand is, bleary-eyed and feeling as though he’s slipping outside of his own body. Where your hand is, he can see his own skin slightly distended around the sheer girth of the toy. Seeing this extension of you inside him, is dizzying, but the way you press your hand down on it nearly makes him come right then and there, a shiver running through his whole body.

He almost throws his head back, but you stop him, catching him by his hair. “No, no. Keep watching. Keep watching,” you tell him, your own voice thin, growing desperate. Your grip in his hair tightens and he moans for you. “Just like that. Good boy. Good boy.”

Keeping one hand in his hair, you move the other from his belly to his cock, taking it in a firm hold that sets his teeth on edge, biting back a high keening noise. His eyes snap wide open when you start to mercilessly pump it, no preamble or extra lube, just sudden and intense friction and pressure. He chokes on his own fumbling words, no longer holding himself back, openly gasping and making startled, desperate little noises. You look fucking thrilled. You give his hair another sharp tug, keeping it down, keeping his gaze on your hand stripping over his dick, and the barely visible swell of your cock grinding back and forth deep, deep inside him. “That’s it, baby,” you say breathlessly, sweat prickling on your skin, voice thin with exertion. “Show me how you come. Show me how you come on mommy’s cock.” Beyond the capacity for words, all he can do is let go a ragged sound halfway between a sob and a moan, screwing his eyes shut tight as the catastrophic crash of his orgasm overtakes him, his body locking up tight while his cock unloads a ribboning torrent of come so intense, it paints across his whole face, wetting his lips, his cheek, hanging heavily on his eyelashes, spraying all the way up to his hair. You thoroughly milk him of the experience, squeezing out every last drop with gradually slowing strokes, emptying him of the very last drop that spills out onto his stomach. Homelander feels fully outside of himself, transcendent from his physical form, free floating on an upward current of pure sensation. Not even the weight of the toy inside him can keep him tethered to reality, his eyes rolling back into his skull as he sinks down onto the bed, his arms dangling loosely from his bindings. Gradually, however, reality does slip back in. It’s a slow trickle of grounded touches: your fingers tapping on his thighs, his sides, his chest. You drag your nails carefully along his skin, eliciting goosebumps. You lure him back to his body not with demands, but with soothing, purposeful touches. With love.

The toy slides out slowly, and he lets go a tired breath with it. The warmth of you is gone, but only briefly. You’re quick to slide right back between his legs, minus the toy. One at a time, you free his hands, holding each one and lowering it to the bed. Every single moment of putting him back together is full of the same practice and care that you took him apart with.

You trail kisses up his body, the occasional hot slip of your tongue like a static shock. You lap at every drop of the mess he’s made of himself. Your lips feel like worship, your hands like reverence. He doesn’t feel used like something dirty or disposable, he feels like something that has been used and cherished.

His eyes flutter open as you cup his face. His lips spread in a lazy smile while you kiss him, cleaning away the salty mess of his come from his lips, his cheek. He rumbles contentedly when you bring your lips back to his and he can taste himself on them, his own movements languid and weak. He doesn’t bother trying to lift his hands. He’s too busy enjoying the way you tend to him, taking it upon yourself to set his limbs into comfortable positions before you lay down atop him, fingers in his hair, lips on his throat where you had previously been squeezing.

“How do you feel?” You ask eventually. “I’m fucking great,” is what he thinks he says, but to you, it comes out more like, “M’f’k’n’gr’t…”

You laugh softly, your love and affection so palpable in the sound, he wants to bury himself in it. “You were wonderful,” you say, your words settling over him more warmly than any blanket, warmer than the sun itself. He could bask beneath them forever. “So, so very good for me. You always are,” you say, punctuating your words with delicate butterfly kisses. “I love making you feel good. I love you.”

The first time you cared for him this way, he had fallen to pieces in your hands. Even now, there is the threat of it in how his eyes burn, prickling with tears, but he does not fall apart this time. Instead, he relaxes into your every touch, and lets himself feel freedom in this sense of deconstruction, knowing without a doubt that you will not leave him to pick up the shards alone.

“Love y’too,” he gives back slightly more coherently. “Why’d’ey m’ke ‘em th’big?”

“They make them bigger,” you answer, effortlessly understanding his slurred question.

The look he gives you makes you laugh again, a sharper bark of amusement. “Relax,” you tell him, stroking his hair. “I think we’re good. For now.”

“Fiend,” he accuses you affectionately, putting in the herculean effort to lift a hand to your cheek, stroking it with his thumb before he kisses you, melting into the warm, sweet aftermath of the session. He likes that you always tease him with more. It’s a clever way of assuring him that there will always be more to look forward to.

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #my writing #sublander #smut #homelander fanfiction #I DID IT the pegging fic has arrived #i have been struggling to write lately so it feels VERY good to finish something lol #enjoy!!!!

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itsthatmff · 5 months

Note

How would opm saitama, genos, and garou react to having an monster female s/o but is very docile and kind and just wants to live a normal life and has a human disguise

This ones so cute o mah gad immediately had to do it

Opm guys with a Monster S/O

Included: Genos, Saitama, Garou

fem!reader

Requests are open !!

Genos

Very wary about you at first

The first time you two meet is around noon at the Ghost town of city Z when he returns from getting groceries for Saitama.

In an alleyway he hears a commotion and goes to check it out when he sees that there are two monsters getting into a fight.

Of course he immediately goes into combat mode thinking that you two could be a threat for the citizens.

But it’s when you save him from that other monster you were fighting with that he’s completely startled.

“So not all monsters are driven by malice…interesting..”

He feels a connection between the two of you and can relate very much as you two have had similar experiences before with not fitting in to society due to not being full humans.

is VERY intrigued and interested by you therefore he decides to stick by your side to analyze your art and nature for research purposes. Those hangout’s eventually turn into dates.

He likes you both in your human and monster form and encourages you to like every part about yourself too.

Will support you 100% in wanting to lead a normal life and fit in with the humans. Even though his knowledge about what humans his age do is very limited as well he tries to teach you what he knows.

“I have heard that it is quite popular around young people to visit crepe shops. Shall we try them?”

Honestly best bf to ever have. Will love you even if you’re a worm. (Doesn’t show it a lot though)

Saitama

I’m telling y’all this guy DOES NOT CARE wether you’re human or not.

He saved you in your human form once (some monsters attacked you because they could tell from your smell that you were a monster as well) and thought you were so attractive from the get-go.

He did have his suspicions as he could sense a different kind of aura from you but did not question it.

A week into dating it was that you came clear to him about your “true form”, already expecting that he’d immediately break up with you.

“Oh really? Yeah that’s calm.”

Doesn’t feel betrayed or alarmed because he’s known you for long enough to tell that you were a good person, monster or not.

He does ask you random questions sometimes though

“So like..do you eat human flesh? Monster flesh? No? Oh okay.”

“Is it true that you turn into your true form every full moon? You’re telling me only werewolves do that?? Geez I was just asking..”

Whenever you feel insecure he reassures you and comforts you.

Always takes you out to go grocery shopping with him because he can tell that you enjoy doing regular things such as these.

Gets judged big time by Genos for dating you but he doesn’t care.

Garou

Thought of you as his rival/opponent for the longest time.

Whenever he’d see you around in your human form he could sense this aura coming from you assuming that you were a strong fighter when not knowing that you simply were a monster.

He’d bother you every time and ask you for a fight and every time you’d have to kindly decline saying that you had no idea how to fight.

“Don’t lie to me I can sense that you’re powerful. One fight won’t hurt ya cmon..”

Around the 6th time you came across him you decided to just come straight with the truth.

“So you’re telling me..you’re a monster..but ya dont fight?”

Is hella confused but just rolls with it. He decides to stick by your side just for the sake of it. And he couldn’t deny that you were absolutely gorgeous at that.

Would ask you out in the most blunt and straightforward way.

You’d both be talking about how it was so hard for you to find any love interests because most of the human guys would get scared if they were to find out you’re a monster

Which he would straight up answer with “why dont you date me then?”

Very overprotective boyfriend. He prefers you in your monster form actually and encourages you to just be yourself but the moment ANYONE dares to give you a wrong look he’ll beat them to a pulp

Even when you’re in your human form he just assumes that people might stare at you because they know you’re a monster so he cusses at them (he isn’t the smartest guy out there)

Doesn’t really know what personal space is so he will be all up in your business as a monster and a human.

#one punch man #garou #genos #genos one punch man #genos x reader #headcanons #opm genos #garou opm #garou x reader #genos x y/n #saitama x reader #saitama one punch man #saitama opm #saitama #garou x y/n #one punch man garou #garou headcanons

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andreafmn · 9 months

Text

Speak | Chapter 14

Word Count: 4.1K

Summary: Bella Swan was a disaster when Edward had left. Deciding she needed a little help, Charlie Swan receives with open arms his younger daughter (Y/N) Swan. She helps Bella during her depression and becomes inseparable from her long-lost friend Jacob. What she didn’t expect was falling for a hotheaded short-tempered silver wolf.

A/N: this chapter is way longer than I thought it would be and all I'm saying about it is that the next couple of chapters are gonna be a shitshow 🤭🤭 Also, tried to keep the taglist as it was and to add people, but Tumblr won't let me post the chapter with how many there are. TAGLIST CLOSED

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Not seeing Jacob for almost three weeks had not been as catastrophic as (Y/N) had thought it would be. It had been odd, she couldn’t lie. She had gotten used to seeing him at least once or twice in a week and coming home to an empty house had been unusual. Still, it had not sent her into the comatose whirlwind her sister had fallen into after her boyfriend had seemingly disappeared from the face of the earth.

Charlie hadn’t questioned it at first. Mostly because (Y/N) didn’t seem any different, and she still talked to someone on the phone most days. Nothing was amiss in the eyes of the household.

Until a switch flipped inside Bella. Halfway through (Y/N)’s Jacob detox, her older sister started to disappear a couple of times a week. She didn’t know where she was going or what she was doing, but she was happy that Bella seemed to be doing better. Whether it had been because of their father’s ultimatum or because she genuinely was starting to move on didn’t matter. (Y/N) was simply happy that her sister seemed content.

Her mind was also occupied with a certain boy and what he had done to make sure she was okay. In the days after the accident, he called her every morning and every night, reminding her to change her bandages and apply antibiotic ointment. He always asked how her bruise was doing and made sure she remembered to ice it every night. He had made her feel cared for, and he had made sure she knew that someone out there was watching out for her well-being.

The feelings that fluttered in (Y/N)’s heart were still unclear to her. She couldn’t deny the magnetism that pulled her toward Paul, and the more she got to know him, the more she understood her gravitation toward him. Just not what had spurred it on.

“Hey, (Y/N), I’m going out soon,” Bella called out. “I left some breakfast done in the microwave.”

“Where are you going?” (Y/N) asked, peering her head down the stairs.

“On a hike.”

“By yourself again?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m trying to get used to being there by myself again.”

“If you give me a couple of minutes to get ready, I could go with you. Make sure you don’t fall this time,” the younger girl offered. “I wouldn’t mind some sisterly bonding..”

“Uh, well... you know, maybe next time?” Bella stammered. “I’m kind of short on time, and I have a shift at Newton’s soon after.”

“Oh, that’s okay. Just be careful, then. Wouldn’t want another ER visit.”

“Right,” she chuckled dryly. “I’ll see you later, (Y/N).”

“Yeah. See you.”

Much like the past weeks, even if she was doing well, Bella seemed to be avoiding her sister. And it felt no different than when she wouldn’t speak at all. At least at that point, she would at least meet (Y/N)’s eyeline. It had sent her down a spiral as she wondered what she had done for her sister to spend as little time as she could with her.

But she had no time to dwell on her sister’s rejection. She didn’t want to. Instead, she packed a backpack full of art supplies –paints, brushes, and a canvas notebook. The items were coated with a layer of dust, left abandoned and untouched for many years.

(Y/N) had grown up loving everything artistic. It was a side Bella was not in tune with, and it had made her feel closer to her mother because of it. When they had been on the road, many a time did Renée and her youngest daughter stop by a creek or a clearing to paint the scenery before them. If they didn’t paint, they would prop up a couple of chairs and spend hours knitting or crocheting. Those were the moments she thought there would be a possibility that she and Bella could be on equal footing.

As she got ready to go, she realized there was no way she had no way of getting anywhere near the place she had in mind without a set of wheels. Her father had promised that as soon as he could, he would get her a car, but for the time being, she was stuck hitching rides with her sister to school and depending on others to drive her anywhere. She never realized how inconvenient it was to not have a car now that she was… single?

(Y/N) walked to the phone in the kitchen, dialed the number she had unknowingly memorized, and waited for a response. “Hey,” she smiled as the call was picked up. “Are you, by chance, doing anything right now?”

“Not really,” Paul said through the phone. “I should be doing homework, but I am up for anything that gets me out of it.”

“Well, if it’s not too much trouble, do you think you could pick me up? I was in the mood of painting in the woods, somewhere by the trailhead off the one-ten, but I have no way of getting there.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to bother you if you have something to do.”

“It’s absolutely no problem, (Y/N),” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”

After he hung up the phone, (Y/N) went ahead and finished packing the rest of the supplies she would need, as well as food and drinks for the trip. If she was going to make him make the trip to and from Forks, she could at least make it worth his while. In a lunchbox cooler, she placed the remaining slices of a cake she had made the week before, BLT sandwiches she quickly put together, and anything else she could find in the fridge and around the kitchen that would be good to snack on –crackers and cheese, some assorted vegetables and fruits, chips, and bottles of water and a couple of cans of soda.

By the time Paul reached her front door, she was carrying a full backpack on her back and a couple of bags in her arms. “Are you moving to the forest?” he chuckled the moment he saw her reaching for the heaviest ones. “I didn’t think this outing would be so life-changing.”

“Well, my things are on my back,” she explained. “The lunchbox is filled to the top with food and drinks, then that bag has a blanket and some other dry snacks. I might be forcing you to make this long trip, so I thought I would at least feed you in exchange.”

“You’re not forcing me to do anything,” Paul smiled softly. “But I appreciate the food. I may have also brought along some things to eat.”

“Great minds think alike, it seems,” she returned his grin. “Then, thank you for driving me. I’m sure there are a million other ways you would rather spend a Saturday.”

��Not really,” he shrugged as he opened the passenger door for (Y/N) after placing all of the bags in the back. “You honestly saved me from a very boring English paper on The Great Gatsby.”

“I actually read that book last year,” she added as Paul turned the truck on. “It’s really good once you get into the story.”

“How have you already read it? I thought you were a sophomore.”

“I didn’t read it for school,” she chuckled. “Surprisingly enough, you can read things without being graded on them and like them. It’s actually one of my favorites.”

“Then I guess I will just have to give it a fair chance,” he said. His eyes snapped to hers for a quick second before focusing on the road once more, and she couldn’t help the rush that it sent through her. “If it’s one of your favorites, then it must have some type of redeeming quality.”

“I’m sure you’ll like it,” (Y/N) smiled. “As long as you give it a chance.”

As soon as they reached the end of the dirt road that took them to the trailhead, Paul took hold of all of the bags before opening the door for (Y/N) and helping her out. And the second she went for a bag, he started walking.

“I just want to help carry something,” she called out with a chuckle as he put distance between them. “I brought most of the things.”

“Why would you have to carry anything when I’m right here?”

“Because I want to help.”

“You’d have to catch up to me to do that,” he smirked, walking backward through the trail. “Which is impossible, so I guess I’m carrying the bags.”

“I don’t even know where we should go,” she laughed, taking off in a small trot to reach him. “This is as far as I thought.”

“Good thing you have the best guide then. I’m as good at moving through the woods as I am at carrying bags.”

“Lead the way then,” (Y/N) smiled.

Paul allowed (Y/N) to catch up to him once she renounced the idea of carrying anything. She followed every step he made, wondering what destination he had in mind. The last time she had even come close to being in the midst of the trees of Washington had been when she was a child. Too many times, little (Y/N), Bella, and the Black children would escape to the woods even when Billy and Charlie had warned them many times not to.

Those were the moments she missed the most. When the only thing they were worried about was having fun and keeping their escapades from their parents. There were no complicated feelings or uncertainty in their relationships. There was no confusion or pain. No ill will or misguided intentions. They were just kids trying their best to make the most out of their summer.

When Paul finally came to a stop, (Y/N) felt a sense that she had been in that very spot before. From the rays that peeked through the treetops that reached each other to create a covering to the flat expanse of grass; from the quiet pond to the rocks that bordered its shore. She could bet almost everything she had on the fact that, if she hadn’t been there, she had seen it before.

“This is perfect,” she found herself muttering. “How did you know about this place?”

“I told you I was the best guide for these woods,” he smirked. “I know all of the best spots in these woods.”

They settled close to the pond, one of the only places the sun shined onto. In the cold of February, the warmth made that place that much more perfect. She straightened the blanket onto the ground, setting the food in one corner and the paint supplies in another, leaving the center empty for them.

(Y/N) sat first, pulling item after item from her backpack, setting them in between her and where Paul sat after. He watched her every move, curiosity filling his eyes. Especially as she handed him a piece of canvas paper and a set of brushes.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked as he eyed the items in his hands. “I can’t paint.”

“You don’t have to know how to paint to just have fun painting,” she offered. “But you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just get very quiet and in my own head when I paint, so I thought it’d be good for you to have something to do while I basically disappear for a while.”

“I’ll give it a try then,” Paul smiled, taking back the items (Y/N) had reached for. “But you have to promise you won’t laugh at it.”

“I promise.”

The younger Swan had not been lying when she said she got quiet. As soon as her brush hit the canvas and she felt inspiration rush through her, it was as though she was by herself. Her hand moved before thoughts could fill her head. She couldn’t see or hear anything but what was coming to life in front of her. Stroke after stroke, color after color, her painting was the only thing she could think of.

Before (Y/N) knew it, an hour and a half had passed, and her painting was done. As she slowly came back into the present, she looked up for the first time since she had sat down. Paul was staring at her with something in his eyes that was there every time he looked at her. Even if she didn’t know what it was, she knew that it made her feel good.

“Hi there,” he said with a slight chuckle. “You weren’t kidding when you said you’d disappear.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said, growing red with embarrassment. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Nah, you’re good. It was honestly fascinating,” Paul smiled. His brown eyes looked like they were on fire under the orange sun, drawing her in like nothing ever before. “What were you working on?”

“Show me what you did first,” (Y/N) responded, shielding the canvas from his line of sight.

“It will definitely not be as good,” he frowned. “I was not blessed with this kind of artistic talent.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad. Show me.”

He turned his canvas paper slowly, revealing a painting that was amateurish at its best but still adorable. It seemed he had drawn the view before him. A striking blue pond with vibrant green grass, fluffy trees that met by their branches with thick dark trunks, and what seemed to be the shape of a girl looking down at a piece of paper. Anyone would have thought that a child had done it, but it made (Y/N) smile so hard it made her cheeks hurt.

“Please don’t laugh,” he said sheepishly. “I told you I’m not good at this.”

“No, it’s cute. I love it. I don’t know how, but it’s very you.”

“Very me? You mean painfully childish?”

“Oh god, no!” (Y/N) quickly corrected. “It’s fun, it’s vibrant, it’s… it’s present. Sure, I can tell it’s by a beginner, but it still speaks to the way you view the world. And it’s beautiful.”

“Woah, well, I never thought of it that way. Much less that you could say so much of such a basis painting.” A smile spread across his face as he looked at his work with different eyes. They were kinder now, appreciative of the art he had made. “Now, let’s see yours.”

Once he asked again, she turned the notebook, careful not to smear whatever parts were still wet. Paul’s eyes opened big, and his mouth fell open in amazement. On the sheet, a dark grey wolf howled back at him. Its fur was completed with a mix of yellows and oranges to give it dimension, and its head was raised to the sky as it called out. She didn’t know how she had such a vivid image of a wolf in her mind, but she loved how it had turned out.

“Holy shit, that’s amazing!” Paul exclaimed as he took the notebook to inspect the art closer. “I knew you could paint, but I didn’t know you could paint like a professional.”

“I would hardly call myself a professional,” (Y/N) smiled. “And it’s been years since I’ve actually painted anything. But weirdly enough, I have been able to get the image of this wolf out of my head since I got to Forks.”

“That is weird,” he coughed awkwardly. “But it’s a beautiful painting, (Y/N).”

“Keep it,” she offered. “I will probably paint many more if it’s the only source of inspiration I’ve gotten in a long time.”

“I couldn’t. It’s your work.”

“And I want you to have it,” she insisted. “Please.”

“You’re twisting my hand, but fine,” he said with fake nonchalance. “It’s really good, though, (Y/N). You’re really talented.”

“Thank you, Paul. I’m just glad it’s something that ties me to my mother.”

“What do you mean?”

(Y/N) sighed before she answered. It was a topic she had never brought up to anyone. She had never felt like she could. Not to anyone close to her, at least. “I don’t know,” she breathed. “I guess I’ve always felt like I’ve needed to fight for people’s attention. Especially my parents. Everyone just seems to gravitate toward Bella, and I’m always left in her shadow. As we grew older, I found anything artistic came easy to me, and it’s one of the only things I have over my sister.

“And I know it sounds bad, but it made me feel good that she was bad at it. My mom would always go through some moments when all she wanted to do was paint or knit or whatever, and she’d always look for me when that happened. So, I made sure I would always practice so that she would keep asking me to join her.” (Y/N) could feel tears prickling in her eyes, threatening to spill as she finally said out loud what she had been keeping inside for years. Her head fell as she stared at her fingers, her attention falling on a little piece of skin that had lifted on her thumb. “With my dad, it’s a bit more difficult though. I feel like we get along well, but right now, he’s worried about Bella, and that takes up a lot of space in his mind. And somehow, I just keep falling through the cracks.”

“You should never have to beg for anyone’s attention, (Y/N),” Paul said, wiping away a tear she had not felt fall. “Have you ever told them about this?”

“No,” she answered sheepishly. “And right now, it’s not the best time. Bella seems to be getting better, and I wouldn’t want to jeopardize it.”

“But…”

“It’s okay, Paul. Really. I’m used to it by now,” she smiled as she dismissed the topic. “Now, let’s open up that lunchbox. I’m getting kind of hungry.”

She handed Paul one of the sandwiches as she placed the rest of the food and drinks between them. Not many words were exchanged between them as they ate, the boy downing most of the items at a surprising speed.

“So, tell me about your Great Gatsby assignment,” (Y/N) said, breaking the silence. “Maybe I could help you with it.”

“Well, I’m supposed to pick a central theme in the book and write how it’s presented in the story. But I’ve only gotten as far as the cover page, and the paper is due Monday.”

“Paul! You should be at home working on it! You made it sound like you had a lot more time to finish it.”

“Eh, it doesn’t really matter.”

“Okay, well, I could tell you one of my favorite themes. But I don’t know how interested you’ll be in writing about it.”

“Can’t be any worse than I already have,” he shrugged. “So, go ahead. Tell me about The Great Gatsby.”

“Well, I’ve always found the use of love and romance in the book very interesting,” she started, setting her food down on her lap as she got into what she was saying. “There’s this big debate on whether Daisy actually loved Gatsby, but I don’t think that’s the right question. What we are looking for in the story is whether Daisy loves Gatsby more than she loves wealth and status. Which, spoiler alert, she does not. Regardless of how Tom treats her, she stays with him because of what he can give her. She may have been infatuated with Gatsby, but the second something better came along, she forgot all about him. Until he shows up with money, and suddenly he’s at the top of her list. But new money can never be as strong as old money.

“Now, there’s the question of whether Gatsby is in love with Daisy, which is a completely different side of the same coin,” (Y/N) continued, settling more into her position. “I would say he isn’t. He is in love with this idea of Daisy that she simply is not. She’s cold and materialistic, and she’s only driven by what others can give her. She wants an easy life that she knows she will never get from Gatsby. Sure, he would never hurt her or cheat on her like Tom has, but she can never part with the simplicity she gets by staying with Tom. The Great Gatsby is painted as this unfortunate romance, filled with forbidden love and circumstantial obstacles, but truly it’s about a cunning woman that loves money and excitement more than she loves the men in her life.”

At that moment, (Y/N) didn’t note the irony of the story and how closely it related to her own situation. She didn’t feel like a Gatsby or a Daisy, much less did she see how she had her own version of Tom. But Paul drank each of her words like they were honey spilling from her lips. Not because he particularly cared about the story but because she loved it.

“You know what, you’ve actually convinced me to read the book,” he smiled before taking the last bite of his sandwich. “Don’t know if I’ll finish it by Monday, but I will definitely try.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but laugh as a dollop of mayonnaise smeared on his cheek. She tried to point out where it was, but his comically outstretched tongue could not get to where it was. “Here,” she chuckled. She pulled a napkin out of the bag and wiped away the stain as they laughed. “Much bet…”

Suddenly, a rustling startled them, followed by laughter. For a moment, (Y/N) had forgotten that she was in the middle of the woods and that anyone could walk by at any moment. The pair got up on their feet, cautiously following where the sound came from while shielding themselves from view. But nothing could have prepared her for what she was about to see.

Bella and Jacob were coming down the trail, walking side by side as they talked and laughed. They had no idea they were being watched at that moment, and they were acting as much. Jake offered Bella his arm after she buckled in her step, and she gladly took it. And all she could think of was how that should have been her; that Bella should not have been the one to be holding onto Jake.

At that point, (Y/N) couldn’t hold her tears back anymore. It seemed that Jacob had decided that their relationship was over, and he was gladly moving on with the person that was closest to her. It made her heart wrench inside of her chest, shattering whatever hope still remained inside her. She didn’t know when it had happened, but her knees gave up on her, and she could only stay up by the hold Paul had on her.

But she couldn’t blame her sister. Not entirely, at least. (Y/N) hadn’t confided in her sister about any of the problems she’d had with Jake, and they had been friends long before (Y/N) had come back to Forks. Still, she couldn’t help but feel betrayed by the fact that her sister would lie to her about spending time with her boyfriend—ex-boyfriend?

Paul made a move to walk toward them, possibly to try and confront them, but (Y/N) stopped him, pleading with her eyes to wait until they were gone. “Why didn’t you let me go after them?” the boy asked the second the others were out of view. “Don’t you want to know why he’s been avoiding you and why the hell your sister is with him?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she sniffled. “Jake made it clear that he didn’t want to be with me if I couldn’t get Embry to leave you guys, and he’s just making good on his promise. And Bella doesn’t even know about all of that. He definitely didn’t tell her.”

“Then, why didn’t you expose him to her? Don’t you want her to know what he did?”

“(Y/N)…”

“Just take me home, please?” she asked. Her eyes were filling with new tears, and her lips quivered as she tried with all her might not to let them fall. “I just want to go home.”

“Alright,” Paul conceded.

They packed everything in silence, the air around them shifting and thickening. Long gone was the comfortable sunny day, now replaced with a coldness that seeped through their bones. All (Y/N) wanted now was to go back home and sink into her bed sheets. Seeing Jacob and Bella together had hurt her a lot more than not seeing him at all.

Next ->

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loveswrites · 1 year

Note

Something with the Volturi, literally can be anything.

Poly Volturi x Reader

Time

Time it took me: 2 hours and 2 minutes

Word count: 1839 words

To anon~ Hello lovely! I hope you liked it, I did! I was excited seeing your request for something with the volturi. I just couldn't wait to write it. Let me know if you want more like this! <3

The arms around you wrapped onto you tightly. The music in your headphones was blasting a little too loud but you didn’t mind. You're basically in heaven right now. You felt the energy around you change and the tempo of Caius leg bouncing change. This let you know immediately that something was wrong. Taking off your headphones while opening your eyes that were previously closed, you were faced with Caius red eyes staring straight ahead with a deadly glare. Different from the one that was always on his face. You had taken your headphones off just in time to hear the end of the growls that were coming from your other mates.

You were currently sitting on Caius’s lap who was sitting in his throne. You were the only one who was allowed up here like this of course. It’s not like you hadn’t fought for this spot. All of your mates and all of the kings were considered for your safety as “We have a lot of enemies.” But you assured them that you would always be safe with them all in the room. So you were then granted permission to sit with the kings in the throne room during trails. Which didn’t matter cause you knew you were going to be in there anyways. You 're the future queen for heaven's sake.

“You keep your mouth shut about things that have nothing to do with you.” Caius growled out. Sending waves of vibrations through his body making you shiver. You always liked the way he would growl when he was mad. It made you feel some type of way if you know what I mean.

“I-Her music is very distracting! I can’t concentrate on the words coming out of my mouth!” The scared vampire kneeling stuttered out making you tear your eyes away from caius. You could stare at him all day if you could.

The vampire looked terrified. He was shaking, his clothes were wet. You wondered if Felix and Demetri had to chase him through a lake or something as they were also wet. The two were holding him down to kneel in front of the kings as he tried to run away once already. You knew he was guilty of his crimes. You could smell it. And so could everyone else.

“You wouldn’t have to think about anything if you weren't lying.” You stated, making all eyes turn to you. The kings had always preferred you to be silent so no unnecessary attention was drawn to you. You never listened. I don’t think they ever expected you to either. You’d always randomly laugh during trails. Or sing random words from songs that were stuck in your head. Or throw out random compliments to your mates or the other kings.

“I-I’m not lying I’m telling the truth!” He said, stuttering.

Swinging your feet you stared at the vampire tilting your head you simply said. “Was that also a lie? You know after all these years of living or dying, Whatever you call it. I’d think you would’ve mastered the art of lying.”

Your comment brung a evil smile to Caius' face. His eyes were full of adoration 24/7 whenever he looked at you.

“The level of the future queen's music should be of no concern to you.” Aro said, turning his head back to the Vampire. They always took pride in calling you their queen. Seeing that you were still human kinda shocked you but I guess there's an exception for mates.

“Mia cara, put your contraption back on and relax please.” Marcus said softly. You knowing exactly what was about to happen. You put your headphones back on. Turning the volume back up you closed your eyes and relaxed in Caius' grip. You felt Caius drawing patterns on your leg and his bouncing went back to normal. Kinda putting you in a rocking motion. You were very relaxed. You felt safer than ever. Somehow you fell asleep because when you woke up next you weren't in the throne room. Confusion ran across your face until realization came across you and you remembered that this was Jane’s room.

“Finally you're awake. You slept for hours.” Jane said, making you roll over to face her. Her face sparkled a little as some sun was coming through her balcony. You always loved watching her sparkle. You always teased her about being the bright star on earth. She’d always tell you to stop but you swear if she could she’d blush and be as red as a tomato all the time.

“You missed me?” You smiled up at her.

“Of course not you were right here this whole time. How could I possibly miss you?” Jane said with a straight face but couldn’t help herself with stroking the side of your waist. All of your mates had a favorite spot on your body they just looked to touch. It’s like you were just a stress ball for them. Made for them to grip, rub, bite etc. You loved it.

“But you stayed and watched me sleep? That sounds like fan behavior to me.” You stated softly dragging your fingers against her cheek. She leaned into your hand telling you she loved it.

Jane was the hardest out of all your mates when it came to physical touch. You thought Caius would be the hardest to get to seeing as his awful hate to humans. But you're convinced that Jane’s is 10x worse. Rightfully so as her past with Humans wasn’t so good.

“I couldn’t just leave you alone.” She softly said with her eyes closed. She relaxed in your touch bringing a bigger smile to your face.

“Why not? Scared someone would come in here and snatch me away?” You giggled. Making her snap her eyes open bringing you to a halt with everything you were doing. Including breathing.

“If someone dared to lay a hand on you I’d kill them all. Everyone, no hesitation.” Jane said sternly. Her piercing red eyes would scare any normal person, but with her words and lovely eyes you knew damn well you weren’t normal. Because with all of those things combined you felt Loved.

“I know you would but I’m okay so you can relax, pretty girl.”

“I am relaxed.” She said, You shook your head and brought her in for a kiss. Just a soft reassuring kiss.

Jane responded to the kiss by pulling you closer to her by your hair deepening the kiss. It was a little aggressive but you knew that she was being gentle. She and Caius had a hard time being gentle but you loved them nonetheless. A few minutes into a kiss that was supposed to last only for a few seconds a knock was heard on the door.

You pulled away getting off her lap which was where she pulled you to a minute after the kiss got deepened. Making Jane huff in protest.

“Brother, go away!” She only but slightly raised her voice knowing he could hear her.

“Sister it is now my turn, You said when she awakened I could spend time with her. She’s awake, I hear her.” Alec’s voice mumbled through the door.

Kissing Jane on her nose you smiled at her getting up from the bed.

“I’ll be back later.”

“But-”

“You're the one who told him he could spend time with me after I had awakened, I didn’t agree to that. I’m only keeping your word, My pretty girl.” You smiled seeing her face which you knew she was flustered but also annoyed. The moment you opened the door you were snatched up by multiple hands making you squeal out in surprise. Wind rushed through your hair and hit your face. The world was blurry around you. It made you sick. You closed your eyes tightly in attempts to help with the splitting headache that you knew was on the express train to your head.

Finally you were put down on your two feet so suddenly making you stumble and hold your head. You already knew what was happening. You were being ambushed by Alec, Felix and Demitri. Your other mates. They liked to just grab you and run away no matter how many times you told them that their speed made you feel sick. They would always get cocky with themselves after you said it, so you stopped.

“What the hell again?!” You yelled out the moment you could hold yourself up without swaying side to side. All you got in response was chuckles and laughs from your lovers.

“I swear you guys may be older than the sun but you fucking act like you where born yesterday! How many times do I have to tell you that that shit makes me feel sick! My human shit can’t handle that! One of these days I’m gonna throw up on all of you and I’m not going to feel bad!” You ranted on holding your head as you felt the headache you were talking about earlier come on.

“I’m sorry La mia bella ragazza.” Demitri said softly, coming up to you to wrap you around in his arms. He kissed your forehead in an attempt to make you feel better. You mumbled a few cuss words into his chest making him laugh softly.

“I know I know, we just wanted to try and spend some time with you before Caius came back from feeding.” Demitri said.

“We didn’t think you would sleep the whole day away in Jane’s room. It’s almost like you like her more than us or something.” Felix said. Even with your face hidden you knew that that 6 '7 teddy bear was pouting about you sleeping too long with someone else that wasn’t him.

“Cauis said he wanted to capture you in your true beauty when he was done feeding. So with that information we knew you’d be gone for the rest of the day tucked away with the king.” Alec said coming up to you behind your back. Your face was still in Demetris' chest as Alec wrapped his arms around you from behind so he could kiss your neck softly. You let out a soft moan in response.

Felix seeing this he came up to the on space that was available. With both sides of your neck now being kissed you had no choice but to keep your eyes closed and let out small whimpers. You were surrounded by three pieces of your heart. You felt nothing but happiness and joy right now. You can’t even remember what your life was like without them. Your lovers. You always felt safe. You never had to question if you were loved. They would always show it without you even asking. What more could you ask for?

“Mia cara! Where are you? I had that horrible excuse of a receptionist gather more paint for us now, come!” You heard Caius yell out.

Except more time.

#twilight #reader insert #x reader #oneshots #cauis x reader #the volturi #volturi x reader #poly x kings #poly volturi xreader #jane volturi x reader #alec volturi x reader #felix volturi x reader #demitri volturi x reader #fluff

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