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pimosworld · 1 month

Note

Hi it’s me!! Since you are open to requests, could you please do a very fluffy smut with Joel where the reader is very insecure about her body and he makes her feel loved and it’s just so sweet?? In need of a comfort daddy Joel 🥺

Pairing- Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary- Joel wants you to see your body the way he does, a work of art.

CW-18+, MDNI, NSFW, A smidge of angst because (body image issues), Fluff,miscommunication, reader is not described other than not feeling herself lately, Soft dom Joel, smut, body worship, mirror sex, fingering, unprotected piv, cream pie, self acceptance, no use of y/n

WC-2.0k

[Joel Miller Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

A\N- My first Joel request and I would say I was feeling inspired by some body issues I’ve had lately. Thank you anon for this lovely request I hope I did it justice.

Clothing optional

There was a war going on in your house. Two separate wars to be exact, although you personally had no idea about one of them.

You’re currently on the frontlines in your room with a pile of mass casualties on the floor beside you. As you stand and face the mirror in front of you it’s unclear who the enemy is. Logic would have you believe it’s the clothes, the clothes that fit not long ago…that much you’re sure of. The cruel part of your brain, the part you couldn’t seem to shut off was telling you the enemy was your body. This body that has carried you through life, through ups and downs, through grief and happiness. Yet you stand here and shame it, calling it the enemy.

This dress, one that you were never really that fond of but could always rely on it fitting was the straw that broke the camel's back. It hugs in all the wrong places and definitely seems shorter than you remembered the last time you put it on. The lace at the seams is frayed a little and you swore you heard a stitch pop when you tried to unzip yourself. Now you’re frozen in fear that you’re stuck in this godforsaken thing and you’ve still not figured out what you’re wearing to impress Joel’s business partners. He was always so put together, what could they possibly think of you by his side.

“Sugar ya in there?” A knock on the bedroom door and Joel’s sweet voice causes you to panic.

You’re not even close to being ready. Tears streaming down your face, makeup ruined and your claustrophobia is aching to get out of this dress.

“Don’t come in.” Your garbled voice is evident all rushed out in a frenzy as you hear the door swing open.

****

The other war.

A war that’s been silently brewing in the house over the last few weeks. Joel noticed something different about you. It took him a lot longer than he’d cared to admit once he realized. He knew your body in and out. Every freckle, every line, every scar or birthmark. He’d made it his mission in life to be able to pick you out of a lineup blindfolded, only tasked with his hands or his mouth.

He was insatiable for you.

He never understood when other men would say that after some time you won’t be as obsessed with each other. After marriage things become monotonous and it feels like a chore. He loved chores, being able to complete a task. If loving you and worshiping your body was a chore then he wanted that duty everyday.

At first he thought he must’ve said or done something to upset you. He knew his mouth could be pretty reckless at times so he gave you a few days to cool off.

When you shy away from him or insisted your shirt stayed on during sex he started to grow suspicious. Maybe he hadn’t told you enough how much he appreciated your body. He thought he did a pretty good job of it but things get complicated when you’re in the heat of the moment. He made your brain go all fuzzy and it was hard to concentrate on what he was sayin’.

He’d had just about had enough when he walked into the kitchen the other day. You were reaching something high up on the shelf. Instead of asking if you needed help he just stood there ogling you as your shorts rode up, exposing the bottom of your ass. He wanted to sink his teeth into it. He wanted to grip your thighs and bend you over the counter. He could just imagine it as he pounded into you from behind while you screamed his name, the ripples from his thrusts dancing across your skin. You looked so startled when you saw him there, his eyes blown black with lust as he stepped towards you. His heart broke a little when you scurried away and returned aggressively wrapping your robe around you.

****

A peace offering.

You knew there was no way he was staying outside at any sign of your distress. He enters your shared bedroom slowly like he’s approaching a frightened animal. You’re sure you look like one in your state.

He’s quite the opposite. Crisp black on black suit, his hair combed back out of his face to show off those beautiful brown eyes. His cologne wafts towards you with hints of bergamot and cedar wood. Just the sight of him has you weak in the knees.

“You wanna tell me what’s got ya all worked up?” He takes a tentative step towards you as you shake your head and wrap your arms around yourself.

He clicks his tongue, hating how defeated you look right now. “Listen sugar, I’m gonna count to ten.” He gently unfurls your arms from you and wraps them around his middle. “And by the time I get to ten.” You take a shuddering breath against his chest relishing in the comfort he’s bringing you. “You’re gonna tell me what’s wrong.”

“One.”

“None of my clothes fit, I hate the way I look right now and I don’t want to embarrass you tonight because I look ridiculous standing next to you in some dress that I hate.” It’s all rushed out and muffled into his chest as he cradles your head and rocks you back and forth.

“Is that all?” He teases as you nod your head. “I’m thinkin’ maybe there’s a little more.”

“Two.”

“Well…the other day.” You let out an exasperated sigh as you look up at him. “You were starin’ at me, in the kitchen. I couldn’t tell what you were thinking, but it didn’t look good.”

He thinks for a moment, back to his thoughts in the kitchen and you must have read him all wrong.

Joel steps back from you briefly as he undoes his tie, letting it drop to the floor. “The other day in the kitchen.” His hands start to work at the buttons on his dress shirt as he shucks it off his broad shoulders. “I wasn’t tryin’ to stare. I was tryin’ to keep my hands to myself.”

Your breathing picks up as he undoes the buckle on his slacks and lets them join the rest of his clothes. He palms himself through his boxers, his hard length growing at the slightest touch.

“Joel, what are you doing?” He doesn’t answer you as his hands grip your shoulders turning you toward the mirror. “We’re gonna be late for the dinner.”

He leans in, taking your earlobe between his teeth as you gasp. “We’re not goin’ to the dinner sweetheart.” Joel’s eyes lock with yours in the mirror as he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Do ya see how beautiful you are?”

His grip stops you from shaking your head no and you figure you might as well get with the program now, since he’s being so generous.

“You wanna do this your way or my way?” He asks with an eyebrow raised in question.

“Your way?” You shakily answer as he smiles all wide and kisses your cheek.

His hands make quick work of the zipper that was stuck and he eases it down your back. Carefully dragging it down your body, letting the fabric pool at your feet. His hand kneads your breast and soft whimper leaves your lips as it trails down your stomach. “You weren’t plannin on wearin’ any panties to this event?” His fingers dip lower circling your clit just barely teasing you.

“I…I hadn’t gotten around to them yet.” Your voice is shaky as he winds his other arm around you pulling you taught to his chest.

“Well good thing…you won’t be needin’ em tonight.” His words send a shiver down your spine as you stand there, naked as the day you were born trying to stay afloat. “Now, I asked you if you see how beautiful you are?”

“Yes.” You moan out as he slips two fingers inside, chuckling to himself as he works you open.

You cry out at the loss as he pulls them from you, holding them out in front of your face. It’s lewd the way he licks his fingers and his grip on you tightens as your legs threaten to give out at the sight.

“You want me to show ya’ what I was thinkin’ about in the kitchen?” Rhetorical question of course but you're feverishly nodding your head all the same.

He places a soft kiss to your neck as he guides you to the bed. Neither of you trusting your feet to carry you there. “Lay down for me baby girl. Face me.” You lay down on your stomach, resting your head on your arms as you watch him place the mirror near the edge of the bed.

His fingers tug down his boxers and it surprises you every time, the sheer weight of him. His cock twitches at the sight as if it knows you’re looking, admiring as you stop yourself from reaching at the angry red tip to swipe your finger through the bead of precum leaking out.

The bed dips behind you as he straddles your thighs. You can see him in the mirror watching you as you wiggle your ass, that fight part of your brain no longer concerned with the way you look. Not with the way he’s looking at you. Like he wants to eat you alive.

His fingers grip your flesh as he tilts your hips up, he’s rock hard as he slides the tip through your aching folds. You clench around nothing as you try to draw him in.

“Eyes on the prize baby.” You tear your eyes from him as you catch yours in the mirror. He wants you to watch, but not him.

You’re the prize.

He sinks down in one fluid motion and it takes every fiber of your being to keep your eyes open. You both moan in unison as he starts a slow agonizing pace.

Joel watches you as long as he can but he can’t tear his eyes away from the ripple of your skin as he pounds your flesh. Hitting something deep and devastating inside you as you clutch the sheets. Soft chants of his name punched out in his thrusts as he tries to hold off his release. It feels too good and just like his daydream. Having you bent over all fucked out, unable to form a coherent through. The only thought he wants running through that head is how perfect you are.

“Oh fuck…I’m the luckiest man alive, ya know that.” He grits out as he meets your eyes again.

His strong hands haul you up against his chest as he wraps his arms around your shoulders. All you can manage is a head nod as you keen at this new angle.

You can feel the beads of sweat from his hair drip down onto you as you cling to his arms, he growls in your ear as your climax peaks over you, taking you by surprise as you cry out his name.

“This pussy was made for me darlin’.”

He can feel you suck him in and his balls draw up tight. Your front bathed in a sheen of sweat down your breasts and across your stomach as you ride out the aftershocks. His hips slow to a stutter as he holds your prone and pliant body, pulsing inside you as you let out a soft exhale.

You’re completely and utterly wrecked and he thinks you’re like one of those renaissance paintings with the naked ladies. Better than that because you’re real and you’re all his.

It takes you a moment to gather yourself as you lay there, Joel’s hand draped over your body at the edge of the bed. You can finally look in the mirror and see the war that was waging was all on your head.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

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greatooglymooglyyy · 1 month

Note

Heyyyyy

I suck at coming up with requests but I want stories so bad lmfao 😭✋

Anyways, I saw that you were looking for requests and decided to throw one over.

Could you do a story that has to do with Matt and a reader who is really artsy and will straight up draw on his arms and color in his tattoos at the most random times?

Hope thats not too terrible an attempt at a concept lol, thanks

🦥

You Drew Stars (M.S.)

contains: fluff, kissing, general teethrotting sweetness, 900+ words

a/n: anon do you even remember requesting this? lmao listen i love you. this is a bit different from what you said butttt i tried.

“You sure you won’t be bored?” Matt asks as he settles in his gaming chair, looking over his shoulder to where I’m seated.

I smile over at him and shake my head at the question. It's one he asks every time he starts a stream when I’m around. “I’m sure. But are you sure it’s okay if I paint in here?”

After I fell asleep waiting for him to finish a game last week, Matt came home with an unreasonable amount of art supplies. I’d been watching Bob Ross videos on repeat for a couple of months- What can I say? He’s a gateway drug- and he thought I'd like to try painting for myself.

“Of course you can. That’s like the whole point.” Matt answers with a smile. I readjust the sheet under me anyway before I squeeze a small amount of paint onto my palette.

As I start to sketch out an outline with a pencil, I hear Matt start his stream and greet everybody. He starts his game up and begins to explain where he is in his game so I pop in one of my airpods and try to focus. After about twenty minutes, Matt swivels his chair around quickly and I look up at the sound.

“What’s on my floor?” He reads out with a laugh making me realize I hadn’t thought to check if I was in the frame. But it's too late now and I’m not about to crawl across the floor so I pop my head up and wave. “Hi, chat.”

He gestures out for me so I stand and go to his side, letting him wrap an arm around my waist. I lean into him, resting my head against his, while I read. “I was painting but I’m just a beginner. It’s not good yet.”

“That’s not true,” Matt says, holding up his phone and showing off his lock screen. It's a picture of a drawing I did on his back a couple of days ago. We’d been watching a movie in his bed when he fell asleep so I’d taken the opportunity to paint Charmander. “She did this in like an hour. I didn’t want to wash it off.”

I roll my eyes at him and squint at the chat trying to pick out a comment to respond to. “Do another one? I should when he’s done streaming.” I say with a smile, going to pull away and lay back on the floor.

“You can do it now,” Matt says, pulling me back to him. “Go get the other chair. I’ll stay still.”

I give him a look of disbelief. “You can’t sit still and stream.”

“I only need one arm. C’mon.” He says, moving me gently out of his way so he can scoot his chair over.

Well, I guess this is happening. I shrug and do what he says, collecting my art supplies and rolling the spare chair over to him.

I decide to try painting tiny planets because they seem easy enough and they fill in the gaps between his tattoos. He smiles when I begin, muttering about it tickling, but then turns his attention back to the game.

To his credit, he does try to keep his promise and stay still, only jumping up or making a big disturbance a couple of times. When I’m done, I sit back and stare at his arm. It’s kind of cute when you turn your head and squint.

Noticing I’m not painting anymore, Matt looks down at his arm and gasps dramatically. “Look, guys.” He says, carefully lifting his arm to show his stream.

I cover my face with my hands and shake my head. “You’re so embarrassing.”

He nods at where his phone lies between us. “Take a picture before I accidentally fuck it up.”

*******************************************

A week later, I’m still being tagged in edits of us from the stream. Currently, I’m lying on my stomach, kicking my feet and giggling over the comments on a new one. ‘The way he looks at her. God, when will it be my turn.’ As if my ego needed more stroking. Just as I like one asking if I can fight, Matt’s door opens and I look up. I hadn’t even heard them come home.

“Hi, baby.” He says as he pulls off his shirt and opens his closet. My face screws up when I notice his arm has been wrapped in saran wrap. “Hey. You got a new tattoo? You didn’t tell me.”

Usually, the night before he gets a tattoo, he googles images to have a good idea of what he wants. We stay up for hours looking through drafts together so I’m a little sad he didn’t want my input this time.

Matt grins at me, coming over to sit on the bed. “It was a surprise.” He starts to unwrap his arm, wincing slightly, and my jaw drops when I recognize what it is.

With as light a touch as I can manage, I smooth my fingers over the tiny drawings of Saturn and Venus. My eyes start to water as I look up to meet his eyes. “You got my painting.”

“I did.” He says, leaning in close and placing a kiss on my jawline.

“Why?” I ask, in equal parts wonder and bewilderment. “You said you want to fill that gap with something special.”

He pulls back and raises his brows. “It is special. My girl drew it for me.”

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blindmagdalena · 6 months

Text

The Cuckoo's Nest

18+ 6.3k siren!homelander x f!reader. dub/noncon, infidelity, mind/emotional manipulation, gaslighting, voice kink, masturbation, penetrative sex, fingering, blood, gore, cannibalism? creampie, stalking, minor character death, praise kink, good girl/pretty girl.

The gentle and pleasing voice of the cuckoo bird has made it a renowned herald of spring, and perhaps one of the most famous of songbirds. One would never guess merely by looking at it that it is a predatory parasite.

What you thought would be a dream job working for Vought as Homelander's very own secretary turns into a surreal waking nightmare as reality and dreams converge in a confusing mess. The only coherent thread that strings it all together is the alluring pull of Homelander's unnatural voice.

written for Monsterlander Mania. fair warning, this fic is fairly dark! thank you so much @anon-nee for this amazing banner art. 🖤

When you were hired as Homelander’s secretary, the gig had been pitched as a cushy desk job. Now that he’s the new face of Vought, and Ashley the company CEO, he needs someone who will keep his day to day affairs in order. Apparently, you’re just the person for that job.

“You probably won’t see much of him,” Ashley tells you distractedly. She rarely ever looks away from her phone for long.

“There are two landlines on your desk. The left one is for general business, and the one on the right, the red one, is exclusively for him. Don’t make calls on it. He has the number memorized, he’s the only one who’ll ever call it, so make sure you always answer it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you say diligently.

Glancing over, Ashley does a double take. “Aren’t you married? Where’s your ring?”

You falter, looking down at your hands. “Oh,” you say, taking said ring out of your pocket. “I put hand cream on earlier, I just forgot to put it back on.”

“Make sure you keep that on,” she says, giving you a critical look before returning her gaze to her phone. “He’s particular.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Nevertheless, you make sure to always keep your wedding ring on while you’re at work.

True to Ashley’s word, you see neither hide nor hair of Homelander during your first three days. You make his appointments, you take calls on his behalf, and you organize his bookings.

In your office, directly across from your desk, hangs a borderline comically oversized portrait of him that stares relentlessly at you as you work. You often find yourself staring back at it, the back of your neck prickling with the irrational feeling of being watched.

You know that it’s just in your head, but you can’t help but be put off by the feeling. Sometimes you consider covering the portrait, but the last thing you want is for the man to appear out of the blue and see a blanket thrown over his likeness.

Your instinct proves correct.

“Hey you,” comes a voice like silk. You startle, looking up from your desk to find a shock of red, white and blue standing in your doorway, his arms folded casually behind his back.

“Homelander,” you say, nearly choking on the name. “Sir, hello. I’m–”

“I know,” he interjects smoothly, cape swaying behind him as he passes the threshold, making his way over to your desk. That voice. He’s not even said five words to you yet, but it lingers in your ears like warm honey, causing a flush of warmth to roll through you. You convince yourself that you’re just embarrassed to have been caught so thoroughly off guard. “My new secretary. Sorry I couldn’t stop by sooner.”

“Oh, there’s no need to apologize, sir. I know better than most how–” you hesitate, watching as he takes a turn and begins walking directly towards you, circling behind your desk. “–busy you are,” you finish, looking up at him as he looms over you. You wonder if you should stand, but he’s so close to you now, you’d just knock right into him.

He smells good. Earthy and slightly sweet, like vetiver.

“That’s pretty,” he remarks, gesturing to your ring finger. “Sapphire, huh? Unusual choice.”

You swallow, trying desperately to reign in the cadence of your breath. Your heart is pattering as wildly as rain drops. “Thank you. My husband chose it, it’s his birthstone.”

To which Homelander giggles. It’s a delighted, slightly off-putting little noise. “P’wow, he gave you a ring with his birthstone, huh? Really staking his claim,” he says, reaching down to take your hand. He looks at you just before he makes contact. His eyes are even bluer than the stone in your ring. “May I?”

Dumbstruck, you nod, lifting your hand and placing it in his upturned palm. He sits on your desk and turns your hand this way and that, watching the way your ring catches the light. Eventually, his gaze slips back to yours. “Happily married?”

“Very,” you say immediately, your throat suddenly dry.

He smiles, and only then do you notice how unusually sharp his canines are.

“Good. Glad to hear it,” he says, giving your hand a gentle pat before he lets it go. You immediately drop your hand into your lap, touching your ring. You feel strangely lightheaded all of a sudden, unable to look away from his piercing gaze. Even when he isn’t speaking, you can still hear the warmth of his tone echoing all around you.

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you,” he says, standing from your desk with preternatural elegance, as if he’d floated more than lifted himself.

“Please, the pleasure was all mine,” you say with a smile, somewhat dazed. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

He looks pleased as punch at that. “I’ll try not to be such a stranger, hmm?” he purrs, reaching out to give your shoulder a friendly squeeze. You feel the rumble of his voice roll all the way down your spine and into the core of you, leaving a light throb nestled between your thighs.

“I’d like that. Thank you, sir,” you say, your voice sounding dreamy and distant in your own ears.

Flashing that same toothy grin, he shoots you a wink before he turns face with a slight flourish of his cape, the fabric billowing in his wake as he takes his leave, disappearing down the hall.

The second he’s gone, it’s like the spell of his presence breaks and you come crashing back to yourself, eyes wide. A hot broil of shame rolls through you when you realize how aroused you are, that throb lingering. You’re equal parts shocked and disgusted with yourself, sickened by the hot prickle lingering on every inch of your skin.

Holy shit. What the fuck was that?

You wind up leaving an hour early, eager to be home. The shame makes you desperate to see your husband, as if touching him will erase the residual traces of the effect that Homelander had on your body.

It doesn’t. In fact, that feeling of being watched follows you all the way home, the feel of it becoming a specter haunting your house. When your husband seeks intimacy from you in your bed later that night, you push his hands away.

“Sorry,” you say softly, shaken. “Not tonight.”

Your body still remembers him too viscerally.

That night, you dream of songbirds.

Two days later, the right landline rings for the first time. You stare blankly at it, your stomach immediately twisting into knots. It rings, once, twice, nearly a third time before you hurriedly snatch it up off the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart,” comes Homelander’s familiar drawl. His voice falls over you like a wash of sunlight, warm and heavy. “Thought you might be ignoring me for a second there.”

“No, no, never. Sorry, sir,” you say, reaching for your water. You take a quick sip. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing too dire, just a little shuffling. Can you bump tomorrow’s 4pm to Thursday for me?” He asks, voice slipping around your throat like a noose. The press of it makes you slightly breathless.

“Of course,” you say, balancing the phone on your shoulder while you manipulate your tablet. “That’s no problem at all, done.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, the phone turning his voice into an intimate rumble in your ear.

You blink, feeling like your mouth is full of cotton. You can’t seem to form a response.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” He asks, and you swear up and down you can hear a smile in his voice. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Was there anything else, sir?” You manage to blurt out, words leaving you in a clumsy spill. You’re breathing shallowly, mouth parched. You snatch up your water and take another quick sip. There’s a long pause on the line, the silence so deafening you think for a moment you must have missed something. “Sir?”

“Touch yourself.”

Your heart falls into your stomach, but that feeling is nothing compared to the unbidden liquid heat that those words erupt throughout your body.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says patiently. Amused, even. “Touch yourself. Take your hand–no, no, the left one,” he says in response to your right hand drifting down. You weren’t even aware you’d started moving. You swap the phone from your left hand to your right, and grab hold of your thigh with your left hand.

“I don’t understand,” you say, the words feeling as thick as molasses on your tongue. “Why are you–”

“That’s good. Now, move those pretty fingers in. Just like that,” he directs, and to your own distant horror, your hand moves, sliding between your legs and lifting up your skirt, your sparkling ring disappearing beneath it. You press your middle finger directly to your beating clit and let go a shuddering breath, massaging it through your panties.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Show me how you like it, mm? Bet your husband still doesn’t know the first fuckin’ thing about how to make you feel good. He ever watch you do this to yourself, ever bother to learn how you like to be touched?”

Disoriented, you shake your head. Your hips reflexively lift to meet the smooth figure-eights you rub yourself with. You’re sure you’d agree to anything he said so long as he keeps talking.

“Didn’t think so. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, sweetheart. I know exactly what you need.”

The heat of his voice envelops you, makes your whole body feel aflame. You’ve never been so sensitive in your life, already shuddering and squirming in your seat from the intensity of sensation building beneath your fingers.

“Slow down. There’s no rush. You’re as good as mine now.”

His voice is like velvet but his words sting, needling something inside you that squirms. You screw your eyes shut and shake your head more fervently. “No, no, m’not… I don’t…”

“Shhhhh,” he hushes, the hiss of it like a serpent in your ear. “Give it up for me, sweetheart.”

A whimper escapes your throat, the noise all but choked out of you. You can’t move, save for the increasingly frantic stroke of your fingers. His voice is a physical caress that slips down the line of your throat, between your breasts, slinking in serpentine patterns until it spills over your fingers and–

You gasp awake, staring wide-eyed at your blurry ceiling as wave after wave of pure euphoria crashes over you, stealing your capacity for breath. You ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm in a state of delirium, the shadows on your ceiling dancing like a voyeuristic crowd. You’re not sure if it takes seconds, minutes or hours to end, your perception of time distorted by the sheer intensity of sensation.

Looking to your side, panting, you see your husband sleeping soundly beside you. His snores are faint and peaceful. The curtains of your balcony door billow softly with the night’s breeze.

Your day comes back to you in a slow blur. The phone call was real, you’re sure of it… Aren’t you? Reaching for your phone, you hurriedly log into your Vought calendar and check the schedule. Sure enough, in your history, you can see that you bumped his next day R&D meeting to Thursday. That was real.

You wrack your brain for the details of your day, trying to piece together how you got from there to here, and whether or not any of Homelander’s voice cooing lewd commands in your ear was real.

It couldn’t have been.

The more the dream fades from your mind, the more you remember the rest of your day. You remember hanging up the phone, finishing your work day as per usual, and going home to your husband. Though it’s all something of a strange blur, the memories are there.

Even so, the dream somehow feels more real than any of it.

It’s 5am and you doubt you’ll be sleeping again. You get up early, shower, and make breakfast all before your husband even makes it to the kitchen. Your dreams and the haze of yesterday fade with the rising sun, as all dreams and memories often do.

You’re in the process of putting your dishes away when he walks in, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “You got an early start today?” He asks, biting back a yawn.

It’s cute. He’s cute. You feel an irrational spike of guilt.

It was just a dream.

“Didn’t sleep well,” you admit, kissing him on the cheek. You wrinkle your nose. “Oof, morning breath,” you say playfully, but there’s an edge of truth to it. You can’t explain it, but there’s something off about the way your husband smells this morning.

Your mind drifts wistfully to the pleasant memory of sweet vetiver.

By the time you make it to work, your morning is nothing but a distant recollection at the peripheral of your consciousness.

Nonetheless, the sight of that bright red landline still makes you blush.

You don’t see Homelander again for another three days. At least, not at work. In reality, you’re more aware of him than you’ve ever been in your life. His face is everywhere, be it TV or billboards. You see him in the grocery store, the post office, and even the goddamn DMV. You never really noticed until now how inescapable Homelander truly is.

It’s no wonder he continues to appear in your dreams, too. You can’t seem to remember any of them very well, but you know without a doubt each time you wake that you were haunted by sapphire blue eyes and a voice as decadent as sin.

Sometimes you recall a gorgeous view of the city hundreds of feet in the air. Other times you recall a blue bed, but the thing you remember most is mirrors. You see yourself clearly in them. You see him with you.

All the while a budding friction between you and your husband continues to grow. You find yourself telling him more often to brush his teeth, shower, anything to combat this bizarre stink he’s taken on. Some days it’s so bad, you swear you smell rotting meat before you realize it’s him. Even the sound of his voice grates on you, both rough and shrill in a way that agitates you further and further into isolation in the house you once happily shared.

On that third day at work, you’re penciling in a meeting regarding a potential collaboration with Superplastic when a rhythmic knock at the door jostles you from focus. You look up to call them in, but Homelander is already striding inside, stealing the words right off the tip of your tongue.

“Goooood afternoon,” he drawls, the door falling shut behind him. For as much as you’ve continued to see and hear of him, you had forgotten how different he sounds in person, the force of his presence instantly a weight upon your body.

Your brain completely malfunctions. Night after night of erotic whispers suddenly crashes down upon you in visceral detail, how multiple times you woke to the throes of an orgasm with his voice still echoing in your ears. Humiliation and arousal flood you in equal measure, turning your skin hot.

Homelander smiles at you from the other side of your desk all the while.

“Cat got your tongue?” He asks slyly. The question hurdles you backwards in time to the moment you were seated in this exact spot with him whispering downright pornographic filth into your ear, coaxing you into touching yourself into a frenzy.

It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was a dream.

“Good afternoon, sir,” you finally manage to say, wincing internally at the sound of your own voice.

“Don’t be so formal,” he says, giving a dismissive little wave. “C’mon, call me Homelander,” he says, once again circling around behind your desk. Your eyes widen slightly, mouth bone dry when you try to swallow. He sweeps his cape out of the way before taking a leisurely seat on your desk. He lifts his brows, pinning you with an expectant stare. “Go on, try again.”

“Uh, good afternoon, Homelander,” you correct yourself. His proximity to you is making it hard to focus–there it is again, the scent of vetiver. He smells like summer grass warmed by the hot sun, and he has a gravitational pull to him that has you leaning subconsciously towards him.

His smile widens. “Much better.” His eyes narrow a touch, flickering down briefly before snapping back up to meet your gaze.

“So! How’s the office, everything nice and cozy?” He asks, one hand braced next to him on your desk, the other gesturing vaguely about. Before you can even answer, he points to your lap.

“Chair good? I know how important lumbar support is when you’re sitting all day.”

Discussing your lumbar support needs with Homelander certainly had not been on your bingo sheet.

“Uhm, yes, it’s–” Again, before you can get a real answer in, he’s sitting up and making sweeping motions with his hand.

“Let’s see, up, up, lemme take this bad boy for a spin,” he says, making your heart leap up into your throat when he catches you by your waist and effortlessly lifts you up out of your office chair, turning to set you on your feet. With a flourish of his cape, he drops down into your chair, legs spread wide.

You gawk momentarily, watching him spin side to side.

“Oop, there’s that lumbar,” he says, leaning back into it. He’s grinning at you all the while, the moment entirely surreal. You huff an incredulous little laugh, crossing your arms. He’s a little ridiculous, you realize, but personable.

Have you been the problem this whole time, turning him into something he’s not? You’re starting to lose yourself in your thoughts as you watch him.

“How about we test the suspension? C’mere,” he says, giving his thigh a pat. “Sit.”

You snap back to attention, your smile falling away. “Pardon?”

“Sit,” he says again, his smile a predatory curve of his lips. He pats his thigh again “Right here.”

You look down at his lap and then back up, your ears buzzing with the timbre of his voice. Logically, you know that what he’s just demanded is wildly inappropriate, yet the silken tone he said it in leaves you utterly agreeable. Slowly, you lower yourself into his lap, uncertain of why you wouldn’t abide by such a request.

“That’s my pretty girl,” he coos, bracketing your waist with his arms.

”That’s better, isn’t it?” He asks, his hands moving up and down your thighs. You shiver, a chill running down your spine despite the fervid heat of his body pressed along the back of yours.

A distant voice in the back of your mind whispers it wasn’t a dream, though you can barely hear it over the pounding of your own blood in your ears.

“Relax,” he murmurs, the word a warm huff on your neck.

Like a marionette whose strings have been cut, your body goes slack against him. Your heart continues to race even as a wave of calm sweeps through you, the two sensations frantically battling one another. Eventually, however, your pulse succumbs to the warmth seeping from him, and you begin to calm, soothed by the slow sweeps of his palms and the way he’s muttering sweet nothings into your ear.

“Good girl,” he breathes, the smile audible in his voice. “That’s it. Feels good, hmm?” His hands move more firmly on your thighs, closer to a massage.

You make a thin noise of pleasure, tipping your head back to rest on his shoulder.

“When I tell you… that I have been looking forward to this,” he murmurs, lips brushing your neck.

“But I had to be sure you were the one. Most people start to go insane after the first night, maybe the second, but not you.” His teeth, sharp as razors, delicately graze your throat. “You’ve been… perfect.”

“What’re you talking about?” You ask, feeling slightly slow and disoriented.

Homelander chuckles, the rumble of it moving from his chest through your back.

“My voice. It tears apart people's minds… But not yours. Why is that?” His lips are warm on your skin, trailing lower. He lifts a hand to pull your collar askew and kiss at the exposed crook of your neck.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, eyes flickering shut. His mouth feels incredible, the slight dampness that his lips leave behind making you especially sensitive to the air as he exposes you to it. It’s difficult to focus on anything other than the drag of his mouth.

You don’t even realize he’s unbuttoned your shirt and slipped it off of your shoulders until he’s kissing that newly revealed skin, nipping playfully at your bra strap.

“Here I was thinking you were just a pretty, tasty little thing… Turns out you’re so much more,” he purrs between kisses. A jolt of pain makes you gasp and then whimper, the sting of it soothed by the way his tongue drags over the spot afterwards.

It takes you a beat to comprehend that he’s just bitten the junction between your neck and shoulder, sunk his sharp teeth in so deep you smell the faint tang of blood.

“Turns out you were meant for me all along,” he says between slow drags of his tongue, lapping at your soft skin. He moans for the taste of it. “Watching you writhe in your bed, wanting me, touching yourself while your useless husband slept. I thought I was the one going fucking insane.”

Comprehension is a slow, creeping thing to your addled mind. “You were watching me. The dreams, you–”

“Whispered them into your ear while you slept,” he interjects, kissing at the shell of your ear. “You took to ‘em like gasoline takes to a spark,” he says, that voice of his wrapping around your body and limbs like a dozen slithery tendrils.

The touch of his voice is just as tangible as his hands sliding up your thighs, your stomach, cupping your breasts through your bra. You let out a shuddering moan.

“Every night, I was so sure you’d break. But you didn’t. You won’t.”

His confession brings back images in a flood, untangling dreams from memories. You remember a silhouette standing over you, you remember piercing red eyes glowing in the dark, and you remember the filth he spoke over you that made your body twist and sweat and come harder than you ever have.

All of it intertwines with this very moment, with his hands on you, his body against yours. It has you moaning, writhing back against him the same way you did in your bed beneath his gaze.

“Call your husband,” he tells you, hand slipping between your legs, hooking under your skirt.

“What?” You rasp, clutching at his wrists. You shiver at the hot slide of his tongue just behind your ear.

“Call your husband,” he repeats, thick gloved finger rubbing sparks between your thighs. “Tell him you’re coming home early. Tell him to wait for you in the bedroom.”

Leaning forward, Homelander snatches the left landline off the desk and pulls it into your lap, resting it atop his hand while he fingers you in slow, precise circles.

You pick up the receiver and dial unsteadily. It doesn’t sound like something you shouldn’t do. Even as it rings, you feel no dread or apprehension. Just the drive to obey the voice cradling your mind and body so very sweetly.

“Hi,” you exhale when he answers the phone, screwing your eyes shut. It takes everything in you just to focus on speaking.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m coming–” your breath catches as Homelander pushes your panties aside and breaches you with a single finger, sliding into your soaked pussy in one slow, continuous slide.

“I’m coming home early today,” you say, holding both the receiver and Homelander’s wrist in a white-knuckle grip. “Can you wait in the bedroom for me?”

He’s thoroughly confused, but all that does is frustrate you. His voice comes through ugly and nasally over the phone, grating through your nerves instantly. You feel the urge to yell at him, but the breath is stolen from your lungs by the sweet press of Homelander’s thick gloved finger crooking inside you, stroking exactly the right spot to make you see stars.

“Just–just do it, please? Wait in the bedroom, I’ll be–I’ll be home soon.”

You slam down the phone just in time, letting out a cry, lurching forward. The phone tumbles from your lap with a clatter and Homelander catches you with an arm across your chest, pinning you back against his chest.

“Good girl, that’s it. Give it up for me. Lemme feel that pretty pussy come,” he moans, grinding up against you, the sound of his finger pumping into you obscenely loud and wet.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Whet my appetite. Gimme something before it’s time to fucking eat.”

You come loudly, clenching your legs tightly around his hand. He stops just to feel you tighten and convulse through his glove, his lips and teeth and tongue all wreaking havoc at your throat.

“Fuck,” he sighs, followed by the low rumble of a chuckle. Your thighs shake as he pulls his hand away. You can smell the heady smell of your own slick when he brings his finger to his mouth and sucks the taste of you from it, the sound lewd in your ear.

“You even taste pretty,” he hums, voice frayed like a growl. There’s an inhuman split to his voice, like there’s three of them layered over top of each other.

The whole world feels like it’s spinning. You have no center of gravity, just the sensation of movement as Homelander effortlessly maneuvers you up into his arms. Your head lolls against his chest, vision swimming.

Warm lips press sweetly to your forehead. “Rest up, pretty girl,” he murmurs. The words instantly make you drowsy. “I’ll wake you up when I’m done.”

The world slips into darkness. The last thing you’re aware of is the feeling of flying.

When you come back to consciousness, the darkness remains. You recognize your bedroom ceiling above you, familiar shadows dancing across it, beckoning you awake.

A dream…?

Your limbs are leaden, weighed down to the bed. You try desperately to untangle the fantastical from what is real, walking backwards through what you remember. Touch, smell, sound, and pleasure unlike anything you’ve ever known. You remember Homelander’s hands on you, in you, his body and voice all around you, the sound of–

Sound. What is that sound? It’s close to you, but you can’t move your head to see. It’s a series of wet, soft squelching noises akin to someone manipulating piles of drenched laundry. Then you hear a crunch like a tree branch snapping, and you start to recognize another sound; panting breaths followed by an erotic moan of pure indulgence.

You open your mouth to speak, but your throat is too tight, and nothing escapes it. As you come back to yourself more and more, you realize the bed beneath you is warm and wet.

You manage to force a noise from the back of your throat, a strained sound born of the effort to move. Next to you, something shifts.

“There’s my pretty girl,” coos Homelander’s familiar voice. Your heart crashes against your ribcage, the only part of you that can freely move expressing the shock of hearing his voice here in your bed.

“Shhhshhhh, no need for that,” he murmurs, moving into your line of sight, hovering over you. His face is spattered in something dark, but when he smiles his sharp teeth are white and bright, even in the dim moonlight of your bedroom. His voice soothes your frayed nerves almost instantly.

“Take a deep breath,” he says. You do so easily, as if you were never paralyzed. “Good. Perfect timing,” he tells you, his tongue sliding along his teeth, his lips, threads of saliva stretched between his teeth snapping. “I’m still plenty hungry for you.”

He kisses you, swinging his leg over to envelop your body with his. All at once you can move again, your bones no longer weighed down. You relax beneath the press of his lips and the weight of him, exhaling a breath through your nose.

“Kiss me,” he mumbles fervently. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him with everything you have, your lips sliding slickly against one another. He licks the taste of copper into your mouth.

Blood, a distant part of you realizes. Whatever horror you should feel is replaced by building excitement, his touch reigniting heat throughout your body. Like gasoline takes to a spark.

His lips move to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, trailing bloodied kisses down your throat. He has less patience for your clothes now than he did in your office, tearing your shirt and bra from your body with a feral noise. His hands are upon you instantly, spreading the blood on his hands down your chest, massaging your breasts until he works a needy moan out of you.

“Can’t believe I almost ate you, too,” he says with a smile. Before you can respond, he leans down to suck your nipple into his mouth, hands sliding lower. You gasp and push your hands into his hair, slicking it back with what sprayed into it. His mouth is inferno hot on your skin, goosebumps erupting over every inch of you. His tongue is a devilish thing, working your nipple in circles, but it’s the light pinch of his teeth that make your whole body lurch.

He makes quick work of your clothing from the waist down, too, stripping you until there’s nothing left between you and the blood soaked fabric of his suit. His hand disappears from you, and you hear a metallic click followed by the hiss of a zipper. He nudges your legs apart to settle properly between them, pulling off of your breast with a satisfied pop. He licks his lips of the blood he had spread to your breast, eyes wild and glowing faintly red.

“Let’s get rid of this while we’re at it,” he says, lifting your hand. He kisses the tip of your ring finger before taking it into his mouth, gaze flickering up to meet yours as he takes it all the way down past your knuckle, your ring disappearing past his lips. He catches the metal band with his teeth and drags it slowly off, sucking your finger clean of it. A chill runs down your spine at the crunch the metal gives as he effortlessly chews and swallows it.

You stare in numb, abject shock, but even that rapidly fades to the fires rolling through you.

Hands on your thighs, he easily pulls your ass into his lap. You look down to see his cock freed from his suit pants, thick and nicely curved. He bends over you, hitching your legs up over his shoulder, and you feel the flat curve of the bottom of his cock press against your cunt. He grins down at you, rocking his hips to grind through the slick mess he’s made of you.

“Let’s see if you feel as good as you taste,” he says, claiming your lips once more. He pulls his hips back, and you feel the head of his cock drooling precome as it slides over your clit, down to your soaked cunt. The dull stretch of it splitting you open burns, has you keening against his lips. He kisses you again and again and again.

“That’s it, baby. Open up for me. Lemme feel that perfect pussy,” he grits out, voice frayed at the edges like he’s finally beginning to lose that cocky composure of his. Even still, his voice retains that otherworldly aspect to it. He bottoms out with a low moan, hips flush to your body.

“Oh fffffuck,” he groans, cock throbbing against the velvety walls of your cunt. You can feel the pulse of him, even more so when you squeeze. It gives you an unexpected and intoxicating shot of power when doing that makes him gasp. “Perfect. My perfect fuckin’ match, fuck. I knew you would be, I knew you were made for me,” he babbles, bordering on incoherence as he starts to thrust, gripping your ass with one hand while the other goes to the headboard, slamming it against the wall with each snap of his hips.

“H-Homelander,” you moan, tangling both hands in his hair, dragging your nails harshly down his scalp, the back of his neck, throwing your head back against your pillow.

He gives your ass a sharp slap just to feel the way your cunt clenches with it, a growl rolling from his throat.

“Come with me,” he demands, instantly sending the pressure building in you into a soar. He moves faster, deeper, each slam punching out pitchy noises from you. Every drag of his cock feels like a spark inside you, like the strike of a match igniting stars in your peripheral vision. You come with a near scream, nails biting fruitlessly into Homelander’s skin.

He rides your orgasm fiercely, fucking you into the bloody mess of your bed until he, too, succumbs to the clench of your cunt. He lets out a guttural cry, the wood of your headboard snapping in his grasp as his release floods you, so hot that it nearly burns.

You’re both panting into each other's mouths, lips occasionally brushing. There’s a possessive growl to the edge of Homelander’s breaths, as if warning anything that might hear of the danger of approaching.

“You’re mine now, you understand?” He says lowly, his velveteen voice hoarse, almost animalistic. “My match, my mate, mine.”

Deliriously, you nod, mind still lost to the aftershocks of your climax, your pussy quivering around the girth of his cock. It’s not enough for Homelander, who gives another sharp thrust, knocking an overstimulated moan out of you. “Do you understand?”

“I understand,” you gasp, meeting his gaze. His harsh expression softens at that, the crimson glow fading from his eyes, leaving only that familiar ocean blue in its wake. He kisses you leisurely, but with no less hunger. He lets your legs slip carefully from his shoulders, but remains buried deep inside you, staking his claim as thoroughly as possible. He kisses your neck, makes you wince when he sucks at the mark he bit into your skin.

“You got no idea how long I’ve been looking for you,” he mumbles, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You stroke your fingers through his hair, soaking in the feeling of his superhuman body thrumming against yours. You tighten your grip in his hair and lift his head, bringing his gaze up to meet yours. He looks curiously at you until that curiosity flips to surprise as you kiss him, earning a pleased little hum from him.

When you part, his surprise has melted away into something dazed and soft. Something like love, or maybe satiation. The two look so very similar.

Homelander kisses you a while longer before he nestles down against you.

Your head lolls to the side for the first time, and only then do you see the full scope of the horror resting next to you; bones jut out from the mess of viscera and meat, shredded clothing thick with blood and innards. It looks like the work of a rabid animal, something vicious and hungry.

You know instantly that the mess is all that remains of your former husband.

It occurs to you that you should feel a dozen different awful things about the pile of gore splayed out on your bed, but ultimately, the only thought that lingers is how he finally suits that rotten meat smell.

Looking back to the ceiling, you continue to comb your fingers through Homelander’s hair. His weight is a comfortable thing upon you, and beneath the smell of gore, you’re soothed by the gentle, warm scent of vetiver. Your eyelids grow heavy, and within minutes, you drift to sleep.

When you wake, there is no tang of blood heavy in the air. You sit up in a bed that is both alien and familiar. It isn’t until you see the mirrors around you that you realize that this is the bed from your dreams.

You feel warm, despite the early morning chill beyond the blankets. You feel a tug, and as you look down, Homelander pulls you back down into his arms.

“Mornin’, pretty girl.”

“Morning,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him. He hums pleasantly as you touch him, your hands roaming the naked scape of his body, testing that he’s real. You draw back, brows furrowed.

“Everything alright?” He asks, his voice as rich and creamy as ever.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, a touch uncertain. “Weird dreams.”

He smiles, bringing your hand up to kiss. “Well, you’re awake now.”

Somehow, you’re not so certain.

Regardless, you huff a little laugh and snuggle back into his arms.

“Love you,” you say, losing yourself to the familiar comfort of a partner in your arms, in your bed, in your heart. The longer you’re there, the more the dreams fade away, replaced with the reality of your waking world and the sweet smell of vetiver.

Homelander squeezes you to his chest, stroking idly up and down your back with his knuckles. You can hear the smile in his voice as he returns, “I love you, too.”

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #terato #monster x human #monster romance #monsterlander mania #my writing #Y'ALL THIS KNOCKED ME ON MY ASS LOL #dark fic

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eros7hanatos · 2 months

Text

➽ Our little play thing

Switch!Dottore x switch!gn reader

Warnings: porn with plot, smut, chastity belt, restraints, mostly dom reader,

word count: 1.1k words

A/N: hope this is alright 🐍 anon! This was a rlly new experience for me to write and holy- I hope you like it and a part 2 will be coming ;) Sorry for the late post T^T, still editing a little, im busy rn so 😭😭

art creds: idk please tell if you do know 🙏

“Oh my gosh it’s been so long since I’ve seen you!” The certain red headed girl said as she wrapped her hands around you.

“It has been so long!” you say back as you lean against the door frame when she had let you go. “How was your concert travels?”

“Oh it went well, thanks for asking.” Nilou said with a smile as she suddenly reached into a bag by her side, “Oh yeah, here’s the key you asked for? I hope you can overcome your sugar addiction, but for now you deserve a treat after I’ve been gone for so long!”

She dropped the small golden key into your hand as you then waved her goodbye, promising to meet her soon and that you were a little busy at the moment. You smirked to yourself, what a great excuse that was. To be fair you weren’t exactly lying, it was a sort of way to restrain yourself, well, more like restraining him from something so sweet. The sweet taste of release.

“Who was that at the door?” A breathy husky voice asks as you walk back into your bedroom and plop yourself in the dark room on the bed.

“Oh, Nilou, she came back from her concert tour, can’t believe she’s pretty big now.” you say nonchalantly as you see his red eyes glint in the darkness.

“Did she give you the key? She better fucking have.” he almost growls as you let out a chuckle. Just in that moment you had a snarky little idea as you slip the key into your back pocket and turn to him.

You look at him with doe eyes, “She said she kept it in a bag that she forgot at an inn, don’t worry darling, it’ll only take a week or so to send it back.” you say, sarcastically and feigning sadness and pity in your tone. He grunts as he fights his restraints. What a sight this was, his hands tied behind his back, his legs occasionally kicking the air, his navy blue shirt wide open for your touch.

“What the fuck? Another week? I’m not waiting that long, you have to have a spare key, give it to me right now-” You roll your eyes and cup his cheeks, kissing him to shut him up. His lips move in the same pace as yours, following your motions as he bites your lower lip, harder than usual. You pull away, you lick the spot, tasting a metallic taste. Before you could even notice Dottore leans into you, smashing his lips back onto yours as his tongue enters your mouth in that moment of weakness. His tongue explores the inside of your mouth, wet and warm, he moans into the kiss, relishing the little amount of control he had at the moment before it would be taken away once again. And surely you do, pushing his muscular body away from yours as you gasp for breath.

“Tsk tsk tsk.” he rolls his eyes as you lean back onto the soft mattress, thinking of what to do as payback. You smirk as an idea comes to mind and crawl over to the bed headboard, plopping yourself on Dottore’s lap, your smile widening as you hear him grunt. You run your hands through your hair as one of your icy fingers touch his well sculpted abs, causing him to wince at the sensation. One of your arms snakes around his neck as another one slowly but surely moves up his chest. He frowns and closes his eyes as you lean in closer, breathing on his chest.

Your hot breath drives him crazy as he feels more aroused by the second, helplessly trying to buck his hips up into you. You giggle as you continue, flicking his hard nipples and listening to his grunts and moans. You stick your tongue out, licking the erect nub before putting your whole mouth on it, sucking it, before biting down hard, just like how he had done to you. Dottore whines as you lick the spot, soothing it with your tongue.

He’s panting hard, sweat drips from his forehead as he fights his restraints again as your mouth leaves his body. Your hands trace his name on his chest as you move your hips slightly, edging him on. Your hands then move lower as you position yourself backwards, making space for your hands as you touch the chastity belt.

“What a shame, if not for this we could be having a good time.” you pout as it quickly changes into a sly smile. Dottore smiles, gritting his teeth as he looks at you through his blue hair. “If not for you leaving me alone all the time, I wouldn’t have done this, you know.”

“Tch. Couldn’t even get the belt in my size…” he mumbles, completely ignoring what you just said. You latch yourself onto his other nipple, nibbling it and slobbering your saliva all over it, angry as your anger slowly eases from his muffled moans and his chest heaving up and down relentlessly.

“I’m gonna make you regret this, you know that, don’t you?” he says as you let go of his abused nipple with a pop, now interested in his abs, tracing the lines as you nod. Suddenly his hips bump up into yours, stronger than ever as you fall into him, you yelp as you look at him, a scowl on your face and a smug look on his. Suddenly something caught his eye, he frowns as he then turns his eyes back to you, tilting his head as he smiles. You look back, trying to find what caught his eye as you then see something glinting. A small golden key. You hurriedly check your back pocket and, as expected, it’s empty. It must’ve fallen from your pocket when he thrusted up into you.

“Give it here.” he demands.

“Even if I did give it to you, you don’t even have the hands to free yourself.” you chuckle as you suddenly hear a snap. You eyes widen as you see him rubbing his wrists, a red line imprinted on his skin.

“Should’ve bought more expensive cuffs.” he laughs as he throws the cheap metal to the side, holding you with one hand and the other to grab the key to free himself. You sit there, shocked as you try to take control of the situation once more, frantically trying to free yourself from his grasp. He chuckles at your futile attempt as his big hand holds your wrists, another finally freeing himself from the belt.

“I told you you’d regret it~”

#genshin impact smut #dottore #dottore smut #fatui harbringers #il dottore #dottor x reader #dottore x reader smut #fatui harbringers smut #genshin impact #il dottore smut #🐍 anon

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ooctlt · 11 days

Note

I really like this blog most of the time, but sometimes you take reasonable earnest asks that are trying to be thoughtful, and are such a dick about it.

Like if it's the characters being dicks, fine. But you could say something in the tags or post to indicate you're not just viciously mocking someone for trying to engage.

I still haven't submitted an ask since seeing your response that led to comments along the lines of "anon should go die in a hole" for asking, pretty reasonably, why harrow would want to stay with people she didn't seem to like or want to be around or interact with.

(i know, because she does like them and does want them around but doesn't know how to show it) but it's an ASK blog. How do we hear that from her unless someone ASKS

i understand it might be surprising and a bit hurtful to see an ask answered with the characters being mean/flippant, and for that i do apologize that it wasnt made clear that it would be a common thing in this blog. id like to issue the disclaimer: there is always the possibility that the characters here will not take your question well. they might answer rudely, and instigating behavior is not only encouraged but expected on both ends. this does not reflect my personal opinions as the artist; there are over 250 asks even after i constantly compile duplicates, and i will answer the asks that i personally like.

i will assume you are referencing the two most recent posts where gideon acts rudely and i repost an old panel: for the former i thought anon was really sweet for being so heartfelt and encouraging, but gideon isnt the kind of person who needs to be told shes brave for doing that by a stranger. it was a simple act of survival. and harrow is still very much in the passive deprogramming phase. the latter response was meant to kickstart (spoilers) what i will call the "dicks last resort" arc, where i clean out the inbox and share more simple, low effort, but potentially rude responses*. this is because i have roughly drawn almost daily for 87 days straight, and would like to recuperate without being burnt out because i love this blog and i love art.

this leads me to my next point: some of these answers will be curt and short and rude, because they are easy to draw. if i only prioritized the "good" asks or to make certain ask responses kinder, or longer, it wouldnt be a daily blog. it would be a monthly blog where 5 asks get answered among 100s. i didnt anticipate people asking about harrows piercings, and i considered shutting it down by just having harrow say she likes them etc. but i did want to give more insight into harrows character even if she wouldnt say so herself, and that took roughly 3 full unemployed nights. if i treated every ask in good faith the same way i wouldnt have time for anything else, because they take more effort and have to be seriously considered for the future. i can retcon their favorite ice cream or play off griddlehark fighting - it takes more to keep track of a narrative about people talking Around their issues

* by rude responses i mean "this will affect the 679ers negatively, much like making your sim 🧑‍🤝‍🧑➖➖ someone" there are a few asks planned to hurt in the same way one drafts a bad end in a visual novel, and this type of interaction is encouraged. of course if you dont want them to get worse dont send asks telling gideon she should flirt with MILFs (you cant send this ask now i already said it), but i encourage the banter.

TL;DR this is the "characters think you are weird for personal questions" blog. i am sorry i didnt warn of the ask-response banter, because i also enjoy drawing these characters being dicks. i do like when aggravation and conflict leads to character development. "how do we get earnest answers unless someone asks" sometimes you will never explicitly get that from them, and thats what the dead ends are for: to let you know to try something else and read between the lines

#the reason why i did not say anything sooner is because i do not like making ooc posts on here often. i want a little intrigue and mystery #i dream of when people will actively discuss in tags and notes how best to confront these characters #actual ooc #and i will say. i will not remember to indicate in the tags that i am not mocking the ask every time #i cannot be responsible for managing everyones feelings if they are hurt that harrowhark or gideon reacted badly #which i have seen people do! in the notes saying that gideons behavior makes them hate her a little! good!#if you dont like the direction this blog turns then i would encourage you to interact selectively

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millenialfanfictionaddiction · 1 year

Text

Being Seijoh’s Manager

Bookworm Manager

Seijoh x GN! Manager (they/them pronouns)

Warnings: swearing (probably, actually idk)

AN: this is an anon request.

Honestly I think this team is a perfect fit for a manager who loves to read!

They give a certain vibe of class and distinction 😌

And idk if you read romance, action, manga, smut, fantasy, non-fiction, etc

Readers have a certain amount of grace to me

And of course, our precious Yn is the number #1 most graceful 💅

You attend Seijoh and you just happen to be a first year

You never really bothered anyone, never really stood out but you had friends and were a typical student

Perks of being a wallflower 😏

Prepare for book puns and I won’t apologize!

Anyways, you were a typical student who just happened to have class with our favorite aloof wing spiker, Kunimi

Kunimi actually really enjoyed you because you were nice, sweet and pleasant

You never caused drama and while you did have you noise in a book a lot, he’d rather have that than someone gushing over his Senpai 🙄

I totally feel like Kunimi would like reading too so he would probably ask you about your reads, which you happily share

You probably were constantly tired, like him, only you were tired because you stayed up all night reading 😅

During a normal practice, Mattsun and Makki were again teasing Oikawa for being the reason they couldn’t have nice things

Aka a manager

“I can’t help that everyone likes me!” Oikawa whines

“Shut up Shittykawa nobody likes you!” Iwaizumi shouts

Suddenly Kunimi looks over and you appear in the doorway of the gym, eyes locked in a book and holding his math book

He looks at you questionably, which prompts Kindaichi, Yahaba, Watari and Kyotani to do the same thing

He runs past his arguing seniors towards you and greets you kindly

“Hello Yn, did you bring this for me?” He asks as you snap from you book, a wide, adorable smile greeting him

“Yes! I was headed out and I noticed you forgot it so I figured I’d swing by!”

By now, the seniors have noticed you and annoyingkawa is on the move 🙄

“Well hello there and who might you be?” He says but you say nothing

Oikawa clears his throat and tries again, “hello there cutie-chan!”

Again, nothing

Kunimi is holding it together by a thread, Makki and Mattsun are too stunned to speak and Iwaizumi is hella impressed!

“You know it’s rude to ignore you seniors!” Oikawa growled

You snap from your book, eyes locking with his, “oh I’m sorry, this is just a really interesting part, nothing against you personally but it’s kind of important so I’ll be on my way.”

Makki and Mattsun BUST out laughing

Kindaichi, Yahaba, and Watari just stare

Kyotani and Iwa are in awe of your ability to ignore THE Oikawa

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow Akira,” you say, waving at him and walking away

Immediately, Iwa runs up to Kunimi and asks, “does Yn need a club??”

And that, my dear, is how you became the Seijoh’s new manager 🥰

Now at first, you weren’t really super excited about volleyball

I mean, you originally said yes because you needed a club and well, Kunimi was your friend

However you found one perk to the sport

In the form of reading Sports Mangas 😍

Surprisingly it was an excellent way to learn the sport as well as combine it with your love of reading

Even if Manga wasn’t your first choice, you definitely found it easier to learn thought reading gs alternative means

Mainly loserkawa 🙄 who took it upon himself to try and educate you on the sport

It’s literally Lord of the Flies up in here!

“Shittykawa leave Yn alone!!” Iwa shouts as you stand next to Kunimi and Kindaichi

“I’m teaching Yn-Chan the fine art of serving!” Oikawa shouted back

“Umm thanks Oikawa but I think I got it. I read a manga last night and I got the basics down,” you says as Oikawa puts up his hand

“Why read Yn-Chan when you can learn from the greatest?!” He says, tossing up the balls

And slamming it right into the net

You 👉🏻😐

Kunimi and Kindaichi 👉🏻🙄

Makki and Mattsun 👉🏻🤣🤣

Iwaizumi 👉🏻🧑🏻‍🦱🤛🏻

Oikawa 👉🏻 💀

Thankfully your knowledge of volleyball, from reading, you were able to help the boys come up with new skills and tactics to win!

Unfortunately, the skills and tactics didn’t match up against Karasuno, who apparently had developed their own skills

The third years were broken, the second years so upset and the first years disappointed

You couldn’t help but feel awful, like you failed them

On the bus ride home, everyone was quiet as you sat

You wanted to cheer them up but you didn’t know how

Then it came to you, you pulled out your book from your bag

Let’s just say it was one of your new favorites and you began to read out loud to the bus

The boys slowly looked up, listening to your soothing voice as you recited lines perfectly

The entire bus seemed to calm down, the tension disappearing as you continued to read

Once back at school, you stopped reading and prepared to get off the bus

“Wait Yn what happens next?” Kindaichi asks as Kunimi nods

“Come on YN, you can’t really just leave us hanging with that!” Yahaba groaned

“Anyone can see the hero is going to end up victorious as always!” Oikawa chimes in as Iwa smacks him in the back of the head

“Shittykawa shit up!” Iwa said as Mattsun and Makki helped you unload the gear

“You’ll finish reading the story right Yn?” Makki asks as you smile

Of course you will 🥰

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flowerwrites06 · 9 months

Text

portrait of a prince — kth

PORTRAIT OF A PRINCE | Kim Taehyung | Requested by anon.

Plot: Taehyung is not the beloved prince that his parents want him to be. Alcohol seeps through his veins, opium suffuses the air around him and a new face enters his bed chambers every night. What will he do when his old love enters the palace as his royal painter? Pairing: Crown Prince!Taehyung x Royal Painter!OC (Name: Angel) Genre: Royalty | Artist Type: One-shot Rating: 18+ Word Count: 6.5k Warnings: drug use (opium smoking), alcohol consumption (intoxication, makgeolli), explicit sexual content (fingering, rough sex, orgasm denial, creampie), angst (taehyung is a bit of an ass and plays around). Author’s Note: aahh i really liked writing this one, thank you to anon for requesting this again and I hope you all enjoy it. Let me know your thoughts!

Being invited as a painter for the crown prince was an honour beyond imagining. Angel was used to painting for small nobles, merchants and courtesans. Now she stood in the jade halls of the white tiger palace, deep late afternoon light seeped through the curtains of the red wood windows.

Angel held onto her papers and supplies tightly as she moved closer to the double doors, showing the insignia of the white tiger in polished ivory and emeralds for eyes.

She had never been to the palace. In their late teenage years, Taehyung used to visit the lower parts of the kingdom where her home was. He would learn literature and art alongside her with Angel’s father. Taehyung would always joke, remember certain dialogues and play them out to her just to make her laugh. His smile stuck to his face like there was nothing else he could do with it.

Angel spent five years trying to forget those things, but now they came rushing back like honey on her tongue. She wanted to see him again, see his smile again. Ask him how he had been. Whether he still thought about her. Perhaps.

The stoic guards opened the doors slowly, letting Angel walk through the slight gap of the doors. Doors only opened wide for important guests, not some humble painter who got lucky.

Angel sighed in frustration, keeping her supplies pressed to her chest. The room was luxurious with paper walls, peach blossoms painted across the crème background with beautiful mats and the sweetness of incense in the air.

In the center, Prince Taehyung sat on a chair, his knees spread apart and a stranger knelt between them.

Their hair was long and brown, head bobbing up and down as the noise of slurping suffused the air. Taehyung’s head was thrown back slightly, both in pleasure and even a hint of boredom.

Half-lidded eyes flickered to see Angel at the room. His reaction was late, moving at a snail like pace to pat the head of the stranger. “It seems we have a guest. Take a break,” he said to the stranger.

Angel tried with all her might to push down the discomfort in her chest. Of course, Taehyung wasn’t going to refrain from his own pleasures through the five years they were apart. They had no commitment to one another. Taehyung himself had no commitment to anything but his lineage and people. She shouldn’t have expected him to wait for her, be happy to see her or even remember her.

Taehyung was the one who stopped sending letters after a year. Angel should’ve understood it from then that there were no more connections here.

Embarrassment burned under her skin. The purple cotton dress she wore, Taehyung’s favourite dress and the jade bracelet, the one Taehyung made himself, grew heavy on her wrist. Angel wanted to run away and change, forget this ever happened but she forced to press her feet on the floor. This was her job. She would do it with confidence and maturity.

The stranger stood to their feet, barely giving her a glance before walking out of the bedroom as she wiped the corner of her mouth.

As the door closed behind Angel, she kept her gaze away as Taehyung covered himself back up with the same aloofness of never needing to rush.

“Why have you interrupted my pleasantries?” Taehyung asked, voice more rasped than Angel ever remembered. The joy in his voice was lost, faded.

“I’ve been assigned to paint your portrait, sire.” Angel always called him by his first name but Taehyung didn’t seem to recognize her at all. It had only been a few years. Was she truly that unmemorable in his mind?

He was a prince. Of course, she was unmemorable. He had consorts, lovers in every corner of the palace. Why would he remember one humble painter from five years ago?

Angel knew this well but it still made her heart feel like the devil himself was twisting it like lemon in his tea.

Taehyung hummed and waved his long fingers to the side. “Please, begin when you’re ready.”

Angel bowed, moving to do as he ordered without thinking about how much he changed. Except she had to. The moment the papers were up and the brush was ready, she had to look at him clearly. Taehyung’s jawline turned sharp, cheeks sunken. Dark shadows under the skin of his eyes, his lips shaped for an uninterested prince, not the laughter-loving boy she knew. Angel did portraits of him before.

Taehyung could never stop smiling. He would pretend to snore and then rush over to see her progress only to see a plain sketch.

But here he was unmoving like a statue. A true figure of a perfect prince.

Angel sketched what she saw and what she didn’t see. The queen ordered for the prince to look his best, his most put together. Not the man who just had a mistress sucking his cock in the late afternoon when he clearly had an appointment. Frustration seeped through her. She should have no expectations of him. He was a crown prince, a future king, he could never stay the same loveable boy that she fell in love with.

In her concentration and trance, Taehyung then shifted and stood. He walked closer to her, his gold silk robes brushing across the floor before he sat right next to her.

Years ago, Angel would’ve felt warmth at having him close. But this Taehyung smelled thick of opium and makgeolli instead of sweet mangoes. It made her uncomfortable to be around him, a feeling that hurt her most.

“Are you a dancer as well?” Taehyung slurred. “You look like a dancer.”

Angel took a deep breath to calm herself and kept sketching. “I’m just a painter, sire.”

Taehyung smiled, humming. “Don’t be flustered. Portraits often take weeks or months, we should try to get to know each other.” He reached out and gently brushed the edge of her sleeve, revealing her bracelet. It was then he paused.

It was a pretty bracelet, made from jade with ivory to form flower petals and rubies in the center. In between those flowers were their initials together. Angel’s cheeks burned harsher now that he had seen it. But it changed something in Taehyung.

His expression twisted from bored to shocked. Finger caressed the engraved initial. “Where’d you get this?”

“It was a gift,” she said as soft as a whisper.

Taehyung pulled his hand away, eyes darted to another corner in the room, unable to look at her. His eyes turned sad and confused as if the alcohol faded off him just by the sight of a simple bracelet. “We’ll continue this tomorrow,” he spoke kindly this time before standing up and rushing out of the room.

***

Yesterday’s appointment wasn’t quite anything like what Angel expected their reunion to be. Today, Taehyung asked for her to come in the morning just after the sunrises and the air was still wet to the touch. Angel wore her own yellow cotton dress with thick robe to shield the cold. She left the bracelet in her guest bed chamber, not wishing to continue any further conversation on the matter. They were not the same people anymore and that was it.

Taehyung wanted the portrait to be painted outside near the ponds and red blossom trees. Angel admired the fishes glimmering in orange and grey scales as the stone and wood finery glistened from morning dew. A table was prepared for her supplies already, with a tea set made from porcelain, steaming the scent of jasmine. Her favourite tea.

Two servants already stood at the edge of the ponds, keeping a watchful eye on her.

Angel tried to ignore them and prepared her papers. The rough sketches from yesterday caressed the painful memory back to the forefront of her mind. A troubling thought entered her mind. Maybe he was always like this. Angel had never been to the palace, she only saw as the prince who came to visit the lower towns. This may have always been him all along. He must’ve been lying with other women while gifting her bracelets he probably never made.

It was so possible. And so stupid not to realize earlier.

***

Taehyung should’ve known that his mother would choose Angel as the new royal painter. He should’ve expected it. The moment he saw that bracelet, perched so lovingly around her wrist, he felt the opium breath exude as he spoke. Shame bloomed in him, burning his cheeks. Never in his life did he feel ashamed of his activities but looking at those soft eyes again, seeing him at his worst, he felt pathetic.

As he walked to the ponds, Taehyung kept his chest high, pushing his confidence beyond his own threshold. He saw her sitting at the table he prepared for her. She looked like a dripping of honey, her cheeks glowing from the wet air and her pen across the paper was just as delicate as ever.

“Good morning,” Taehyung said, trying to sound as kind as possible. The back of his neck burned remembering what Angel had seen yesterday.

Angel’s expression was neutral and professional which only made him feel worse. “Good morning, Your Majesty.” She stood up and bowed.

“Please, sit.” Taehyung gestured for her to perch back down.

And she did without looking back at him.

Taehyung sat on the other end, facing Angel in a small distance. “Have you eaten yet?” he asked. “Did you want something?”

Angel stared at him, as if she was peeling each layer of him until she could see the man he was yesterday. The shameful one who didn’t care. “I’m alright, Your Majesty.” She began to dip the brush into the paint, continuing on with her work.

“How have you been?” Taehyung asked. “Are your parents doing well?”

“Why are you hiding yourself?” Angel’s question lingered thick in the air, bringing the fiery feeling in his chest.

“I’m—I’m not hiding myself.”

Angel pushed her sleeve back and started to paint across the paper. “Royals always want to show false ideas in their portraits. What you did yesterday was exactly the person you are. A spoiled prince who has everyone on their knees for him and he fills himself with every indulgence purely because he has nothing else to do.” Bitterness laced her tone and venom seeped through her gaze.

Taehyung’s heart clenched. He could’ve easily asked her to leave. Leave and let him forget any interaction they had, just like how he stopped sending letters. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to her but his life had nothing to talk about. What would he even have said to her? I drank today and passed out in the hallway. I slept with a maid and pretended I didn’t know her the day after. He couldn’t anymore because his life was nothing to brag about. Angel had sent four letters since he decided to stop. Four letters he had read and never replied. Four chances to redeem himself in her eyes. When the fifth letter never came, his heart clenched then too.

He should ask her to leave. So he wouldn’t have this incessant feeling in his stomach of guilt and shame. Those soft, glossed eyes staring at him like he wasn’t good enough for her anymore. Taehyung swallowed the lump in his throat, itching the top of his thigh, desperate for some opium to calm himself down.

Further and further Angel peeled every layer of him, making him feel raw and bruised but he sat there. He sat because he wanted to keep looking at her. The woman he had loved. The one he still loved deeply yet pushed so far away.

***

Angel spent the rest of the night painting the scenery of the ponds. She needed a moment away from looking at Taehyung, remembering his face and the expressions he gave her. As a prince, he had every right to kick her out of the palace for what she said. Even now the words lingered in weight on her own tongue but he didn’t say anything. Not a word. That sense of patience that a younger Taehyung would’ve had for her hard heart.

She shook her head, her hand hovered over the painting, small droplets of red staining the paper amongst the wild blossom trees. Angel sighed in frustration and put the brush back onto its wooden rest.

Getting up from her chair, Angel opted to take a walk out into the hallways since sleep was whisking away from her at every minute. Her fingers immediately went to her wrist, empty of the jade that had wrapped around it for years. The urge to put it back on again just to return to normalcy.

“Sire, please,” a worried servant spoke meekly. “You need to get back to your chambers.”

“I can sit wherever I want,” Taehyung’s voice grumbled.

Angel turned the corner of the hallway to see a scrawny servant hunched over Taehyung, the prince who sat right against the wall with a porcelain cup dropped next to him on the floor.

“Sire, if someone sees you this way,” he whispered.

“Let them see it!” Taehyung growled, throwing the porcelain cup and throwing it against the wall, smashing and forcing the servant to cower back.

Angel rushed down the hallway, both pity and anger rushing through her.

The servant stammered, glancing to the side as he trembled.

“It’s alright,” Angel said with as kind of a tone as she could get. Turning to Taehyung, she frowned. “Don’t be cruel to your servants.”

Taehyung’s dark brows furrowed as he stared up at her. Brown curls hovered over his eyes, shirt half-open with his chest heaving and gold necklace gleaming. His lips were plump and red, the dark shadows under his eyes thickened but there was a vulnerability behind him. Like he was still that loveable, playful Taehyung trapped inside a broken prince that stopped appreciating the world around him. “So you’re telling me what to do now?”

“Who else is going to?” Angel asked, crouching down and taking his arm over her shoulder. “Help me carry him to his room.” The thick smell of makgeolli nearly made her eyes water but they managed to drag him back into his bed chambers.

Angel tenderly peeled off his clothes, helping the frightened servant wrap fresh nightwear atop his overheated skin. She poured water into a bronze cup and helped him take a few sips.

“Why’re you being nice to me now?” Taehyung asked as Angel guided him back to his bed. “You looked like you hated me before. What I’ve turned into.” He groaned as he slumped onto the soft surface.

Angel stayed silent, glancing back at the servant as she placed the blanket over his body. “I don’t like what you’ve turned into,” she said honestly. “But that doesn’t mean I hate you.” It felt a part of her peeled open speaking those words. The worst part was that Taehyung may easily forget them. Perhaps that was a comfort in some way.

Taehyung watched her through the light, wisped curtain of his hair.

Angel swallowed the small lump forming in her throat. Habit overcame as she reached out and brushed away his hair, caressing the top of his forehead for a brief moment. Then sense overcame with burning of her cheeks as she pulled away.

Taehyung grabbed onto her hand, placing it onto his chest. His gaze pierced deep into her until she could feel every memory of their togetherness, every touch, every kiss and every sweet whisper in the morning. It was so sweet to taste it all again. But so painful. “I missed you,” he muttered. “I never wanted to leave.”

Tears burned in her eyes before gently pulling her hand away. “Get some sleep,” she said and rushed out of the room. The moment she closed the doors behind her, all she could do was sob.

***

Silence consumed their next painting session. It was inside today as rain pattered and the sky filled thick with grey clouds. The censor wafted comforting warm air on the side of Angel while her back shivered slightly from the wispy cool breeze. She wore a deep green dress with a transparent green robe over top, her hair was loosely tied back right down to the curve of her waist.

Taehyung sat on his chair, both with a rigidity but a level of exhaustion that softened his posture. He wore the same black robe and silver overcoat, his hair open and waved, amethyst earrings glimmering against even the faint light.

Angel tried her best not to stare at the beautiful pursed lips and that soft expression. The way he stared at her like caresses on the cheek and neck. Warmth spread in her belly but she kept her focus. Focus. She painted the details lovingly, the tenderness of his eyes contrasted with the sharp edge of his jawline. How his skin felt so soft under her palm. How he held her hand like it was precious to him.

“Thank you,” Taehyung said, breaking her out of a trance. “For helping me.”

Angel shook her head. “Anyone would’ve done it.”

“But you didn’t need to.”

“I needed to.” Because it would kill her knowing Taehyung slept alone on the floor. Knowing that he was alone and no one was able to help when she could. When she wanted to.

Taehyung stared at her for a while and Angel paused this time, staring back at him as her chest began to rise and fall. Her heart raced as her mind finally made herself feel. Feel just how much sweetness seeped through her when she truly admitted how much she missed him. How much she loved him and wished him close.

Taehyung stood from the chair, padding closer until he reached his hand out.

Angel placed her brush down and accepted his hand, allowing him to pull her up to her feet. Her chest pressed against his until a harsh breath left her.

Taehyung nudged his nose against her hair, the gentle smell of jasmines floating through him and making him melt. It was so familiar and close to his heart. He grabbed onto her waist and pressed her closer, trailing his lips down her neck until he found the soft spot he knew well. He relished in her gasp as he began to suckle on that spot. He cupped the edge of her jawline, travelling to sneak underneath her robe.

“I missed you,” Angel said what she had wanted to say as her fingers buried in his hair. “I missed you.”

Taehyung felt his entire body hinge on those words like they were his own scripture. He latched off her neck and kissed her. Deeply, his tongue explored her warm mouth until it maddened him. He kept their lips locked until his lungs screamed for air.

When Angel broke the kiss, she forced in the deepest of breaths before letting out a chuckle as Taehyung leaned in for another peck. Taehyung untied Angel's dress, tracing his fingers against her bare skin wherever he could catch it. She shrugged off her robe and dress, allowing them to drop on the floor, leaving her only in her thin white underdress.

Angel peeled off his clothes, revealing the gleaming necklace around his neck and his heaving chest. She traced her fingertips, teasing the edges of his nipples until Taehyung grabbed onto her head and pulled her back into a kiss, her hair bunched up under his palms.

Taehyung groaned, grabbing Angel and placing her on the chair. He pulled down the sleeves of her underdress, and bunched the cloth at her waist. He pressed warm wet kisses on the curve of her breasts, pushing her legs apart and letting them hang over the arms. He saw her beautiful cunt on display, deep peach and glistening with lust.

The prince knelt for her, leaning in and taking a small kiss making her gasp. Then his lips wrapped around her clit, sucking on the sensitive spot before licking down to her slit. Angel let out a breathy moan, gripping the roots of his hair and pressing him hard against her clit.

Taehyung lapped his tongue against the hardened clit, the taste of her delighting him. He pressed kisses on the soft skin of her labia before suckling on her clit again, with ferocity.

Angel's breath quickened as Taehyung chased her to an orgasm, pushing her to the edge on purpose. As her back began to arch at the welcome of her burst, Taehyung pulled away. Angel whined in response, bucking her hips which made Taehyung smirk.

He leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss on her lips, making her taste her own arousal, warm and desperate. Taehyung trailed his long fingers down her belly back to her cunt, touching only the tip of her clit just to make her buck her hips again.

“Stop teasing,” Angel whispered.

Taehyung hummed, giving her a softer kiss this time, slow and loving. “I enjoy playing with you.” He kissed her temple. “Like my precious doll.”

Angel smiled, feeling her cheeks burn as Taehyung moved and pushed his finger inside her. Tight from all the years but ready and waiting. Yearning for that familiar fill. He added another finger, stretching her out and curling deep inside until she felt that sweet spot be brushed. Taehyung pressed his forehead against hers, breathing low and humming as her cunt began to squelch.

Taehyung moved his fingers in and out, keeping a steady pattern as thick layers of arousal make his skin glisten. Angel cupped his cheek, her body submitting under the gentle pleasure thrumming through her. She let out a breathy moan as he added another finger, making her full. She felt her release roll to the edge once again, a thick coil ready to explode onto his digits. “Taehyung,” she whispered.

Taehyung pulled his fingers away, making her whimper. A string of her arousal connected to his finger. “Look at you. So beautiful.” He used her arousal to rub her sensitive clit again, quickly pushing her to the edge before pulling away.

Angel let out a small desperate cry. “Please.”

“Please, what?” Taehyung asked, his own breath turned shaky as his rock-hard length poked at the inside of her thigh.

“Fuck me.” Angel nudged her nose against his.

Taehyung hummed in pleasure and carried her off the chair. He pinned her onto the floor bed, her dark hair splayed out on the sheets. He held onto his length which felt nearly painful and reddened at the tip from desire. Positioning his cock at her entrance, he pushed in without warning but Angel took in a pleased gasp, a smile curling at her lips.

Taehyung growled with pleasure as he finally got to feel her warm walls, after so long. If it were a better situation, he could’ve taken her the moment she entered the room. Taehyung hooked one leg over his shoulder, pushing in until there was nothing left. He leaned in as Angel cupped his neck, the jade bracelet a little warm from her body heat.

Taehyung breathed out, pleased and needy as he turned and kissed the inside of her palm. He thrust into her as the heat rose, burning between them. God, he should’ve never stopped doing this with her. Never again. “Stay here with me,” he muttered as his thrusts grew deeper, deep into her until he shaped her. “In the palace. Don’t leave.”

Angel trembled, dark brows furrowed as she relished in every thrust and still focused on his words. “I’ll stay,” she whispered before gasping as his tip brushed her soft spot. “I’ll stay.”

Taehyung smiled, kissing her deeply before slamming into her harshly. Her choked scream against his lips shook him to the core, reeling him to the edge. “I’m close.”

Angel nodded frantically, reaching down to rub her clit. Tears dripped at the corners of her eyes, already so prepared to burst.

Taehyung felt a jolt of pleasure as his orgasm spilled out of him, filling Angel. His head buried in the crook of her neck, pressing Angel's knee to her chest.

Feeling the warmth inside her, the long-denied coil inside her lower belly sprung like fireworks. Thick waves of pleasure soared through her until she could only see white. Angel cried in delight as Taehyung continued to grind into her, pushing her to the most sensitive limit.

Taehyung let out a shaky moan as he finally reached a level of ache, catching his breath as they both tried to come back down from their bliss. Then he lifted his head.

Angel smiled at him brightly before he kissed her, gentle and affectionate.

After all these years and the tense few days, her love had returned to her.

***

Angel woke up to the sound of rushing rain and an empty space on the other side of the floor bed. She fluttered her eyes open. The censor was reheated with ambers. At the open window where the rain splattered cold pearlets, Taehyung stood smoking his opium, masking the sweet scent of the weather with something thick and earthy that wasn’t so pleasant.

“Put that away, come to bed,” Angel said, maintaining a playful tone even though her heart dropped at how he couldn’t even sleep in bed for a longer period of time without starting to smoke something. Perhaps it was selfish to think that their time together would’ve at least distracted him but the other things always prevailed.

It only ached more when Taehyung laughed, walking away from her and hovering a hand over the censor to gain warmth. “It helps me calm down.” He walked over to her then and pecked her on the forehead. “I have a banquet today. I’ll get you a dress to wear.”

Before Angel could continue the conversation, Taehyung was already shrugging on his robe. “Won’t you stay for a while?” She asked.

“Do you want more?” Taehyung smirked as he knelt back down and caresed the edges of her jawline.

“I meant to talk.” Angel had hoped that they would discuss the implications. Was their reunion something of a permanence or would it end after she was finished with her job? He asked her to stay in the palace but as what? “About this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Taehyung shrugged. “I asked you to stay in the palace. You can stay.”

“But in what way?” Angel shifted forward, placing her palm against her chest. “A royal painter that comes to your chambers in secret?” It may have been a lovely situation for someone else but Angel didn’t want to be a secret or a guilty pleasure. She had wanted a good life with honesty and happiness.

Yet Taehyung’s turned cold as he sighed. An unsettling rendition of his prince persona returned to his expression as he got to his feet. “We’ll talk later.” Without another word, he walked away, leaving Angel to curl up into the bed and wonder whether it was the right decision to open up to him.

***

The banquet was beautiful as the night fell. Moonlight painted the black and silver furnishings like polished jewels, the smell of wine and floral notes wafted the air and conversation fluttered in excitement.

Angel wore the dress Taehyung gifted to her; it was a beautiful cream dress with strap of gold cloth across her chest, a gold silk shawl and fresh pearls sewn at the edges of her robe. She wore her hair up for the occasion, pearl pins and earrings to match the robes and her lips tinted red.

Amongst the nobility and officials, Angel did feel like an outsider but she found herself enjoying observing the details. The musicians playing sweet notes on the gayageum, servants swishing through the high class like water through rock to get them drinks and food. And the people dancing in the center, laughing to their own movements and cheeks flushed from intoxication.

Her eyes tried to find Taehyung but these were mostly young nobles, hardly a formalized occasion. Taehyung must’ve organized these things many times before. Her gaze had actually stopped on the servant who helped her aide Taehyung when he was drunk.

The boy turned to her and softened in recognition, bowing in acknowledgement. “Welcome, my lady.”

Angel smiled. “Does he do this often?”

The boy hesitated for a moment but nodded shyly. “Quite a lot, yes. Every few days or so when he doesn’t have things to do.”

Angel’s brows raised but she supposed Taehyung would like these parties. He always loved talking and entertaining no matter the event. “Do you know where he is?” she asked.

The servant stayed quiet, clearing his throat.

Angel stared at him in confusion at the sudden concern in his expression. “What’s wrong?”

He gave an apologetic look, pitiful and sad. “I’m sorry, my lady but I think he went off with someone over there.” The servant would’ve heard Taehyung speak sweet words to her.

Maybe he didn’t say anything because he knew he probably heard it before, a thousand times to other women. Maybe Taehyung had been visiting many homes in the lower towns, joking around with other girls who thought the world of him.

Angel’s body burned with embarrassment and anger. Searing anger that took over like choking magma. “Point me to his direction.”

The servant stammered, guiding her to the quiet place on the other end of the banquet room where it led to the private hallways.

Angel walked through the door and saw them.

Taehyung held onto a girl wearing a pretty pink gown, possibly a noble, giggling as he kissed down her neck and growled against her skin. His hands gripped onto her dress and lifted it to her thighs before Angel turned away.

At first, she wanted so badly to scream and cry until there were no tears left. But it was her anger that prevailed most. Drying her tears from its steam and hardening her body to protect itself from crying for someone who only wanted a taste of something they’d lost. Of course Taehyung didn’t want anything more. Why would he? He had every other woman ready for him. So why should she cry for him?

“I’m sorry, my lady.” The servant repeated. “Should I—”

“—no. Let him be.” Angel waved her hand, feeling the weight of the bracelet on her wrist. “Could you bring me something to smash this with?” She asked with a soft tone.

The servant nodded and did as she asked.

Angel walked back to her room which still smelled of opium, fueling her anger even further. The servant brought her a steel hammer, heavy enough to break the jade. She placed the bracelet atop of Taehyung’s portrait on the surface of a polished stone surface. The fake portrait of a man he wasn’t, the man he tried to be but ended up being nothing more than a coward. She raised the hammer and cracked through the jade, breaking it into pieces until the initials were indecipherable, the ivory petals scattered.

The paper of the portrait ripped through his head as she heaved, fingers trembling as she placed the hammer back down on the floor.

“What about the portrait, my lady?” The servant asked, keeping a brief distance from her.

“Burn it.” Angel turned to her worktable as she began to take deep breaths. “I’m making a better one.”

***

Morning came harshly as Taehyung heard chatter reverberating through his windows as if the banquet were still going on. When he opened his eyes, he saw his mother standing near the window with a disappointed frown on her face. Taehyung lifted his head and his skull forced him to lay back down. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice grated.

“I would’ve expected that seeing Angel again would’ve. . .changed something in you,” the queen said. “But even she couldn’t do so.”

Taehyung’s brows furrowed, forcing himself to sit up and take a deep breath, gather his surroundings. “What’re you talking about? We got along fine.”

“Oh?” the queen asked, walking to his table and holding up a paper with a thickened grimace. “Then what is this?” She slammed the paper against Taehyung’s chest.

With an irritated groan, Taehyung blinked slowly to get his focus back onto the picture. It was a portrait of him but. . .twisted. His expression was a mix of a pig disguised with whiskers and tiger stripes, there was a makgeolli cup on one hand and opium clouded him, his cock was splayed out and legs spread with the devil wrapping his forked tongue around the base. “Angel did this?” he asked in a whisper.

“Not just one.” The queen shook her head. “A portrait for each noble household. Spares for the lower towns to see as well.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “All the rumors connected to you tied into one single portrait just to confirm it.”

Taehyung scoffed as fury burned through his body. “It’s just a fucking picture.”

“It was an order portrait of you by a royal painter!” The queen yelled. “You were supposed to be on your best behaviour and not even the girl you liked so much could see the good in you. What does that say, Taehyung?”

Taehyung narrowed his gaze at his mother, pressing his lips together. What did that say about him? He should’ve been happy and elated to be close to Angel again, feeling her skin and being in her presence. But then the banquet. Did they even speak at the banquet?

No. He hadn’t even seen her. Then again, he wasn’t in the main hall, was he? Memories dropped onto him like bricks thrown against his skull. He had been with someone else that night in his intoxication. It would be stupid to think that Angel didn’t realise or even. . .see in plain sight what he did.

Taehyung was used to pushing many limits throughout his life. Pushing, pushing, pushing but the world always gave him more room. Until he rounded back to his past, to the first thing that made him happy and she built the final limit with a wall and a devil guarding the way. Most people in the palace had given up on Taehyung by now but it was just Angel who still had faith in him.

Had faith in him.

Now even she saw him as this cursed thing who drunk power like it was his daily tea. “Where is she now?” He asked, hands shaking as he gripped onto the paper portrait. The display of what he was on the inside.

“She’s been arrested but the damage done is going to be difficult to wipe away.” The queen spoke in a voice devoid of all hope for the future of Taehyung’s reign.

***

Angel dressed for her prison sentence, wearing a comfortable cream yellow dress with green embroidered into vines. Her hair completely open and slightly frayed from the humid air. There was a small window in her dungeon that showed the day outside, which was still a deep gray and clouds were plump with coming rain.

Yet the atmosphere was clear. People speaking to each other in worry and concern about their future king, what kind of reign were they going to suffer through if this was the man on the chair.

It was a song of satisfaction but it also curdled her blood, knowing that man was someone she loved dearly. Parts of herself peeled into vulnerability as the thoughts began rushing back. He touched her, tasted her skin and told her to stay like she was important. Yet it was all a ruse. Nothing mattered to him. So she would force herself not to care about him in return, even if it killed her.

The dungeon cells creaked open from old steel and stone. Angel didn’t turn to see who had come but Taehyung grabbed onto her arm, pads of his fingers digging into her skin as he yanked her around, her hair whipping over her shoulder. His face only a few breaths away from hers. She kept her expression neutral, unchanging.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” Taehyung seethed. “The whole kingdom thinks I’m some debauched fraud because of you!” He yelled at her, loud voiced echoed against the walls but Angel stayed unmoved.

“I told them the truth,” Angel spoke calmly. “Instead of that lie of a picture your mother wanted me to make. I showed them what you are and it’s exactly as you say yourself.”

Taehyung’s eyes twitched, letting go of her arm, making it pulse from pain by the tightness of his grip. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He shook his head. “What I did was wrong.”

“You didn’t mean to because you didn’t care,” Angel said. “Why should you? The world is always at your fingertips. You can fool around with as many virgins, drink as much as you want, smoke as much as you want and destroy everyone that holds you dear and nothing would ever happen to you. While I draw a picture to express my distaste and I’m in jail, ready for execution.” She spoke of her death to force a strength into her. People needed to know what kind of king they had.

“You would die for this stupidity?” Taehyung asked, gesturing.

“It’s only stupidity to you,” Angel pursed her lips together. “If you had any love for me, you’d understand my anger and frustration but you don’t. It’s lost beneath this thing you’ve become. And I will not sacrifice every little piece of my sanity trying to dig through all of that gunk when all you do is add to it.”

Taehyung’s throat bobbed up and down, eyes glossed and his lips twisted into a grimace. “I never said I didn’t love you. That wasn’t some fucking lie.”

“It’s not enough.” Angel straightened her back, forcing herself to a build a wall, brick by brick. Never letting him again. “Kill me or punish me but I will never go back to your bed again. And if you take me by force, I’ll commit the execution myself.”

Taehyung’s face changed to one of hurt but Angel kept the wall high. “Angel—” he took a step forward, his voice as soft as feathers.

But Angel took a step back and Taehyung stopped, fingers curled at his sides. Angel would keep this distance, with all the strength that was left in her.

“Exile,” Taehyung said, the words shaking from his tongue. “I’ll give you exile.”

Angel raised her chin. “Very well.”

Taehyung turned on his heel and stepped out of the cell, which did not close, allowing for her departure.

Angel let herself loose for a moment, trembling and shaking at her feet as tears trailed down her cheeks. Out of grief and even a slight hint of relief that her life wouldn’t be taken away for the sake of a man who took a piece of it with him. She would pick herself up and find a new start without the ghosts of her past.

He was a first love now forever lost.

masterlist

#taehyung #bts v #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts #bts imagines #kim taehyung #bts fanfiction #bts au #bts taehyung #bts royal au #taehyung royal au #taehyung angst #taehyung smut #v angst #v smut

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cryingaboutit1514 · 2 months

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that anon wasn’t me but they are absolutely correct and i feel like i should give my two cents worth about all of this among the sea of hate towards the nijisanji livers. i’m not bootlicking the company, but i feel like it’s hypocritical for people to sent hate to the talents after doki said MULTIPLE times not to since she was also a victim of such behavior (and plenty of dragoons no longer even feel safe in her community because of the immense amount of people who are only there to harass and don’t even care for her) this is a rant that just shows that the issue is gray and that we’ll never really know what’s going on as outsiders

tell the remaining members to graduate because their fanbase will follow them is stupid, acting like they didn’t work their asses off to get where they are and haven’t invested so much in their current persona. ike, elira, and vox are some of the most popular talents so that it makes sense for anycolor to force them into making the stream. saying that vox doesn’t care about mental health after his charity stream and saying that it was just for show need to shut up because we’ll never how how he’s really feeling behind the avatar. elira specifically doesn’t deserve the disproportionate amount of hate and disgusting things she received from it from what was essentially revenge porn to art of her being abused, have these people not been taught that if you don’t have anything nice to say don’t say anything at all? it costs NOTHING to spam hate on your private account instead.

while i agree that the 2% merch sales and 1/4 (after youtube) of the supas should be raised, that doesn’t mean that the livers aren’t making any money and are poor as several of them have mentioned being able to pay off student loans and have turned their lives around with the money. while it sucks that selen made no profit after investing 200k into projects, maria has mentioned before that covers were more of passion gifts to fans rather than something to make money off of (i DO think that they should be paid for their projects, but that’s just how it goes unfortunately). last cup of coffee was taken down because she didn’t have all of the proper permissions and rushed posting it as a sweet gift to fans, management had full intentions to put it back up.

accusing livers of being bullies based on speculations is idiotic as it just hurts innocent people in the crossfire. these may just look like anime women and men to you, but they are REAL PEOPLE and streaming for nijisanji is their main livelihood! have some empathy, it’s hurting their mental health (the mental health some “dragoons” seem to care about so much)

this goes to say, i am on doki’s side because NO ONE should have to go what she went through, but i just want to show that there are two sides to a coin. i think that nijisanji needs better management, to allow their talents more freedom and a higher percentage of merch sales/supas, and stop treating their livers like shit! stop the harassment and move on, it’s what doki has mentioned multiple times that she wanted! don’t be one of the reasons another liver may have to go what she went through because you have an irrational hate boner for the company

also stream mani / gilty x gilty by maria marionette, finana ryugu, POMU RAINPUFF, meloco kyoran, and kotoka torahime

guys this shit right here

This right here

We need to like post this everywhere bc holy shit people need to understand

You are 100% right!! I agree with everything you just said, esp the "graduate and get out of the company" because they really did bust their asses off to get where they are now and it's a childish way of thinking

#chaotic.text #nijisanji #nijisanji en #vtuber #nijien #Kurosanji #Selen tatsuki #Vox akuma #elira pendora #ike eveland #Black company

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pin-k-ink · 3 days

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Chrollo! There isn’t enough dark content about him. I want to see how Chrollo is, compared to Yandere Chrollo. I love both, but we don’t get enough dark content of Chrollo.

Chrollo is seen as manipulative, and cold. Considering he’s a mass murder, and his empathy is nonexistent to people outside of the phantom troupe. Though, he’s able to act like a gentleman, and a curious man who seems sweet. He definitely isn’t stable, but catching his attention would be terrifying. He collects what he’s interested in. Being in a relationship with him would be interesting, but complicated.

Chrollo Lucilfer X Reader

CW: emotional abuse/manipulation, psychological trauma, toxic relationship, mention of self-harm, suicide attempt, dub-con, non-consensual/coercion, stockholm syndrome(?), mention of violence and criminal activities, power play, some unspecified mental health issues, rough sex, cunnilingus, begging, idk kinda rushed ending, narrator’s pov

a/n: i really liked this idea, anon, so i present you with 7k words of chrollo brainrot. i really tried not to make chrollo a cliche, run-of-the-mill yandere but im not sure i did a good job. its also my first time using y/n and i hated it

The dim lights of the crowded bar cast an amber glow across the room, the air thick with the hum of conversation and clinking glasses. Perched on a stool at the far end of the bar, I nursed my whiskey, the smooth glass cool against my palm, the rich amber liquid swirling hypnotically as I lifted it to my lips. The first sip burned pleasantly down my throat, warming me from within as my eyes scanned the crowd out of habit, taking in the sea of unfamiliar faces.

That's when I saw him.

He moved with a fluid grace that stood out amidst the tipsy stumbles and raucous laughter of the other patrons. Dark hair fell across his face in an artful sweep as he leaned in close to whisper something to the bartender, who nodded knowingly and slid a drink across the polished wood, the crystal tumbler gleaming under the soft light. As if sensing the weight of my gaze, he turned slowly, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat, my fingers tightening reflexively around my glass.

A polite smile curved his lips as he approached with measured steps, sliding onto the stool next to mine with a nod of acknowledgment. "Good evening," he said, his voice smooth and cultured, with a faint lilt of an accent I couldn't quite place. "I hope you'll forgive my forwardness, but I couldn't help noticing you from across the room."

I felt a flush creep up my neck at his directness, a heat blooming under my skin that had little to do with the whiskey. But I maintained my composure, lifting one eyebrow in a practiced arch. "Is that so?" I asked, taking another sip of my drink, letting the smoky flavor linger on my tongue. My heart fluttered in my chest, a mix of excitement and nervousness at the attention from this intriguing stranger.

"Indeed. It's rare to find someone so comfortable in their own solitude. It speaks to a certain strength of character." His eyes held mine, dark and fathomless, seeming to search for something beneath the surface, beneath the mask of cool indifference I wore like armor.

I smiled slightly, intrigued by his observation, by the way he seemed to see beyond the carefully constructed facade. "And what would you know about my character?"

"Very little, I admit. But I'd like to learn more, if you're willing." He extended a hand, long fingers elegant and strong. "Chrollo Lucilfer, at your service."

"Y/N," I replied, placing my hand in his. His grip was firm, his skin cool and smooth against my own. A shiver raced down my spine at the contact, a spark of something electric and unfamiliar. I found myself drawn to his enigmatic aura, the hint of danger that lurked beneath his charming exterior.

As the evening wore on, Chrollo and I fell into easy conversation, trading stories and opinions over drinks, our knees brushing under the bar in a way that felt both accidental and deliberate. He was articulate and well-read, with a keen insight that made me feel like he could see straight into my soul, past the walls I'd so carefully constructed. There was a magnetism to him, a pull that I couldn't resist, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. I felt a connection growing between us, a sense of understanding and shared secrets that left me both thrilled and unnerved.

We began seeing each other regularly after that night, meeting for dinner at quiet candlelit restaurants or for coffee in cozy bookshops, the rich scent of roasted beans and old pages enveloping us as we talked for hours. Chrollo was always the perfect gentleman, holding doors and pulling out chairs, his manners impeccable, his attentiveness unwavering. But there were moments, fleeting glimpses, where something else seemed to flicker beneath the surface, a darkness that both thrilled and unsettled me. I found myself drawn to that darkness, to the mystery that surrounded him, even as a part of me whispered warnings in the back of my mind.

One evening, we were walking through the city, the pavement damp with recent rain, the neon signs reflecting in puddles at our feet. A man stumbled out of an alleyway, clearly drunk and disoriented, his clothes rumpled and stained. He lurched towards us, mumbling incoherently, his breath sour with the stench of alcohol. I tensed, expecting Chrollo to step in and help, to offer the man a steadying hand or a kind word. Instead, he sidestepped the man neatly, his movements fluid and precise, not even sparing him a glance. There was a coldness to the action, a calculated indifference that left me feeling chilled despite the warm summer air. A flicker of unease stirred in my gut, a sense that there was more to Chrollo than met the eye, but I pushed it aside, not wanting to shatter the illusion of the perfect romance.

Another time, we were at a restaurant, a trendy spot with exposed brick walls and industrial light fixtures. The hum of conversation and the clink of silverware against plates filled the air, a pleasant buzz of activity. A commotion broke out at a nearby table, a woman's voice rising in pitch as she gestured wildly at her companion, her face flushed with anger. Chrollo watched the scene unfold with a detached sort of interest, like a scientist observing a particularly fascinating specimen. When I expressed concern, my brow furrowed with worry, he simply shrugged, the movement languid and unconcerned.

"Some people thrive on drama," he said, his tone indifferent, almost bored. "It's best not to get involved."

I tried to brush off the nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right, telling myself that no one was perfect, that everyone had their flaws and quirks. Chrollo was attentive and affectionate, showering me with gifts and attention, his touch always gentle, always reverent. It was easy to get lost in the romance of it all, in the heady rush of new love. But even as I surrendered to the warmth of his embrace, to the tender caress of his lips on my skin, a part of me remained wary, a tiny voice whispering doubts in the back of my mind.

But the doubts continued to gather at the edges of my mind, like storm clouds on the horizon, dark and ominous. There were inconsistencies in the stories he told, small details that didn't quite add up, pieces that didn't fit into the puzzle of his past. He was evasive about his work, about his family and his childhood, always changing the subject with a charming smile and a clever turn of phrase when I pressed for more. I tried to ignore the growing sense of unease, the feeling that I was only seeing a carefully crafted facade, a mask that hid the true nature of the man I was falling for.

It all came to a head one night when we were out for a walk, the city streets quiet and still around us. A police car raced by, sirens blaring, red and blue lights flashing against the buildings. Chrollo tensed, his body going rigid beside me, his eyes tracking the vehicle with a sharpness that made me pause, my heart skipping a beat in my chest. There was something in his reaction, a hint of fear or guilt that I had never seen before, and it sent a chill down my spine.

"What is it?" I asked, searching his face for clues, for some hint of the thoughts swirling behind those dark eyes.

He relaxed just as quickly, his expression smoothing into a mask of calm, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Nothing, just lost in thought for a moment."

But I saw it then, in that brief unguarded instant. The hairline fracture in his facade, the glimpse of something raw and real beneath the polished surface. The realization hit me like a freight train, stealing the breath from my lungs - I didn't really know the man I was falling for at all. He was a mystery, a puzzle with missing pieces, and I had no idea what secrets he was hiding behind that charming smile and those fathomless eyes. Fear and doubt coiled in my gut, a sickening sense of dread that I couldn't shake, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that everything was fine.

The doubt became an itch I couldn't scratch, a constant presence at the back of my mind. I found myself watching Chrollo more closely, looking for clues, for any sign that might confirm my growing suspicions. He was as attentive and affectionate as ever, his touch gentle, his words sweet. But there was a guardedness to him now, a sense that he was always holding something back, always keeping a part of himself locked away. It was like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands, always slipping through my fingers just when I thought I had a grasp on the truth.

One evening, we were at his apartment, curled up on the plush leather couch with a movie playing on the large flatscreen TV. The room was dimly lit, the flickering light from the screen casting shadows on the walls. Chrollo's phone buzzed with an incoming message, the screen lighting up on the coffee table. He glanced at it, his expression hardening for a split second, his jaw clenching almost imperceptibly before he smoothed it away, reaching for the device with a casual hand. My heart raced in my chest, a sense of foreboding washing over me as I watched him, a part of me desperately wanting to believe that it was nothing, that I was overreacting.

"Everything okay?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Just work," he replied, his thumb swiping across the screen, his eyes scanning the message quickly before he slipped the phone into his pocket. "Nothing to worry about."

But there was a tightness to his smile, a strain around his eyes that belied his easy words. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he wasn't telling me, some secret he was keeping locked away. The doubts gnawed at me, a constant ache in my chest that I couldn't ignore, no matter how much I wanted to lose myself in the fantasy of our perfect love.

As the weeks passed, the distance between us grew, an invisible chasm widening with each passing day. Chrollo would disappear for hours at a time, offering vague explanations about meetings or errands, his tone carefully neutral. He was increasingly evasive about his activities, changing the subject with a practiced ease or deflecting my questions with a charming smile and a clever quip. I felt like I was losing him, like the man I had fallen for was slipping away, replaced by a stranger wearing a familiar face.

I knew I should confront him, demand answers, but a part of me was afraid of what I might uncover. The man I had fallen for, the gentleman with the quick wit and the electrifying touch, felt like a stranger wearing a familiar face, a mask that was starting to crack at the edges. I was torn between the desire to cling to the illusion of our perfect romance and the need to know the truth, to see the man behind the mask, no matter how painful it might be.

The final straw came late one night when I was leaving Chrollo's apartment, my mind whirling with unanswered questions, my heart heavy in my chest. As I stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, the plush carpet muffling my footsteps, I nearly collided with a man coming from the opposite direction. He was tall and lean, with cold eyes that seemed to look right through me, his face all sharp angles and harsh lines. A shiver of unease ran down my spine, a sense of danger emanating from him like a palpable force.

"Excuse me," I mumbled, trying to sidestep him, my skin prickling with unease.

But he blocked my path, his large frame filling the narrow hallway, his gaze flicking past me to Chrollo's door, a flash of something dark and dangerous in his eyes. "He's expecting me," the man said, his voice flat and emotionless, sending a chill down my spine.

I glanced over my shoulder, but Chrollo had already closed the door, the sound of the lock clicking into place loud in the sudden silence. A wave of dread washed over me as I hurried past the man, my heart pounding in my ears, my hands shaking as I jabbed at the elevator button. Questions swirled in my mind, a growing sense of fear and unease that I couldn't shake, no matter how hard I tried to rationalize it away.

I didn't sleep that night, my mind racing with possibilities, with questions I was afraid to voice aloud. Who was the man in the hallway? What business did he have with Chrollo at such a late hour? The not knowing was almost worse than the truth, my imagination conjuring up all manner of dark scenarios, each more terrible than the last. I tossed and turned, my sheets tangled around me, my heart aching with the growing realization that the man I loved was not who I thought he was.

The paranoia grew like a cancer, spreading through every aspect of my life, tainting every interaction with Chrollo. I found myself watching him constantly, analyzing every word, every gesture, looking for some hint of the truth behind the mask. Every phone call he took, every message he received, every unexplained absence became a clue in a puzzle I was desperate to solve, a mystery I couldn't let go. I was consumed by the need to know, to uncover the secrets he was hiding, even as a part of me feared what I might find.

I started making excuses to drop by his apartment unannounced, hoping to catch him off guard, to glimpse the man behind the facade. But Chrollo was always one step ahead, his mask of charm and civility firmly in place, his explanations smooth and plausible. It was like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands, always slipping through my fingers just when I thought I had a grasp on the truth. I felt like I was losing my mind, like I was trapped in a maze of lies and half-truths, with no way out.

The strain began to take its toll, the constant state of heightened awareness, of second-guessing every moment. I was distracted at work, jumping at every unexpected noise, seeing shadows in every corner. My friends noticed the change, commenting on my withdrawn behavior, the dark circles under my eyes, the way I seemed to be constantly on edge. I brushed off their concerns with a forced smile and a wave of my hand, not wanting to voice the suspicions that consumed my every waking moment.

I started to pull away, to put distance between us, needing time to clear my head, to make sense of the tangled web of lies and half-truths. I made excuses to avoid seeing him, claiming work obligations or family commitments, my voice shaking only slightly as I lied through my teeth. I needed space, needed to step back and look at the situation objectively, without the haze of love and desire clouding my judgment. But even as I tried to distance myself, I found myself drawn back to him, like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the pull of his magnetism.

But Chrollo wouldn't let me go so easily, his presence a constant pull, a magnetic force I couldn't seem to resist. He showed up at my work, at my favorite coffee shop, always with a bouquet of flowers and a contrite smile, his eyes soft and pleading. He promised to be more open, to answer any questions I might have, to lay his secrets bare before me. And for a moment, I wanted to believe him, to fall into the warmth of his embrace and let the world fade away.

I started to dig deeper, to research Chrollo's past, looking for any clue that might explain the inconsistencies, the blank spaces in his history. Late one night, huddled over my laptop with a mug of coffee growing cold beside me, I found it. A news article, buried deep in the archives of a local paper, a few scant paragraphs that made my blood run cold. A string of high-profile thefts, linked to a shadowy group known as the Phantom Troupe, their methods as elusive as their identities. And there, in grainy black and white, a photograph of a man with dark hair and piercing eyes, a face I would know anywhere.

My heart stopped in my chest as I stared at the screen, the pieces of the puzzle finally falling into place with a sickening clarity. The man I loved, the gentleman with the silver tongue and the devastating smile, was a thief. And not just any thief, but a member of the most notorious criminal organization in the city, a ghost in the shadows, a phantom in the night. I sat back in my chair, my hands shaking as I tried to process the truth, to reconcile the Chrollo I knew with the man in the article.

The reality of my situation crashed over me like a wave, cold and unrelenting. I was in love with a lie, a beautiful fiction wrapped in a tailored suit and a charming smile. The future I had imagined for us, the life I had started to build in my mind, was nothing more than a house of cards, ready to come tumbling down at any moment. I felt like I couldn't breathe, like the walls were closing in around me, trapping me in a nightmare from which there was no escape.

And I had no idea what I was going to do about it.

The truth hung heavy in the air between us, a suffocating presence that filled the room and pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. My heart raced as I confronted Chrollo with the article, my voice trembling with a potent mix of anger, fear, and betrayal. He sat across from me, his posture relaxed, his eyes downcast, his hands resting calmly in his lap. The silence stretched on, broken only by the relentless ticking of the clock on the wall, each second an eternity of agonizing anticipation.

When he finally spoke, his voice was even and measured, devoid of any discernible emotion. "I never intended for you to discover the truth this way," he said, his gaze meeting mine, his dark eyes revealing nothing. "I considered telling you, explaining everything, but I couldn't find the right approach."

Disbelief and heartache surged through me, constricting my throat and stinging my eyes with unshed tears. "Explain what, Chrollo? That our entire relationship has been built on a foundation of lies? That the man I fell in love with is nothing more than a carefully crafted illusion?"

His expression remained impassive, unfazed by my accusation. "The connection between us is genuine, Y/N. My feelings for you, the moments we've shared, none of that was a deception."

A bitter, mirthless laugh escaped my lips, echoing harshly in the oppressive stillness of the room. "But everything else? The thefts, the Phantom Troupe? How can you claim that's not an integral part of who you are?"

Chrollo sighed, a subtle indication of impatience rather than genuine weariness. "It's not that simple. The Troupe is like family to me. We have each other's backs, keep each other safe. What we do isn't solely about financial gain or the adrenaline rush. It's about survival, about carving out a place in a world that's never given us a fair chance."

As I sat there, my mind reeling, a chill crept down my spine, raising goosebumps on my skin. Chrollo's dark eyes bored into mine, a glimmer of something cold and dangerous lurking beneath the surface of his composed exterior. In that moment, the true depth of his detachment became starkly apparent, sending a fresh wave of fear washing over me.

"You need to understand, Y/N," he continued, his voice low and even. "The Phantom Troupe is more than just a gang. It's a way of life. A family bound by blood and loyalty. I've committed heinous acts in the name of that loyalty. Acts that would make your blood run cold."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding against my ribcage like a trapped bird. "And what about me, Chrollo? Was I just another pawn in your twisted game? Another plaything to be discarded when you grew bored?"

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his features, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. "No, Y/N. Never. What I feel for you is the closest thing to genuine emotion I've ever experienced. But I won't deceive you. I am what I am. That's not going to change, not even for you."

With shaking legs, I stood up, my entire body trembling with a mixture of fear, anger, and despair. "I can't do this, Chrollo. I can't be a part of your world. The things you've done...the person you truly are...I can't turn a blind eye to that."

He nodded, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I expected as much. I knew this moment would arrive sooner or later. I merely hoped..." He trailed off, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. "It's irrelevant now."

I took a step back, my mind struggling to process the revelation of Chrollo's true identity. The man I had fallen for, the charming and enigmatic gentleman, was nothing more than a meticulously crafted facade, a mask concealing the cold, ruthless criminal beneath.

"I can't be a part of this, Chrollo," I repeated, my voice quivering with a mixture of fear and resignation. "I can't be with someone who lives a life of crime, who has no regard for the people he hurts."

Chrollo's expression remained inscrutable, his dark eyes boring into mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl. "I'm afraid you don't have a choice, Y/N. You see, you've become quite an intriguing diversion for me, a delightful puzzle to unravel. And I'm not in the habit of relinquishing things that keep me entertained."

His words, spoken with chilling calm, carried an unmistakable undercurrent of threat that turned my blood to ice in my veins. "What are you saying, Chrollo?"

A smile devoid of warmth or humor tugged at the corners of his mouth. "It's quite simple, really. You have two options. You can choose to stay with me, to accept me for who and what I am, and continue to be a part of my life. Or..." He paused, his gaze hardening. "You can refuse, and face the consequences."

My heart raced, a sickening realization dawning on me as the true nature of my predicament became clear. "And what consequences would those be?"

Chrollo shrugged, the gesture casual and unconcerned. "Death, of course. I can't risk you going to the authorities, exposing me and my associates. If you can't be with me, then you can't be allowed to live."

The words hung in the air between us, a chilling ultimatum that left me feeling trapped and utterly helpless. I searched Chrollo's face for any sign of remorse, any hint of the man I had thought I knew, but found only cold, calculating resolve.

"I...I need time to think," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper, my throat constricted with fear and despair.

Chrollo nodded, his expression impassive. "Of course. Take all the time you need, Y/N. But remember, the clock is ticking. And I'm not a patient man."

With those words, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone, the weight of his ultimatum crushing down on me. I sank to the floor, my legs no longer able to support me, as the full horror of my situation crashed over me in relentless waves.

I was trapped, caught between a love that had turned to ashes and a fate worse than death. And no matter which path I chose, I knew that my life would never be the same again.

I sat there, numb and disbelieving, as Chrollo's words echoed in my mind. Stay with him, or die. The choice was no choice at all, a cruel mockery of free will in the face of his cold ultimatum. With a heavy heart and an overwhelming sense of despair, I realized that I had no other option.

"I'll stay," I whispered, the words bitter on my tongue, tasting of ashes and defeat. "I'll stay with you, Chrollo."

He nodded, a glimmer of satisfaction in his dark eyes, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "A wise decision, Y/N. I knew you'd see reason."

But even as I agreed to his terms, a part of me rebelled against the idea of being trapped in this nightmare, of living a life shackled to a man who saw me as nothing more than a possession, a plaything to be discarded when he tired of me.

In the days that followed, I went through the motions of my life, a hollow shell of my former self. I smiled when Chrollo was around, played the role of the dutiful girlfriend, but inside, I was screaming, my soul withering with each passing moment. The weight of my despair pressed down on me, suffocating me slowly, day by day.

I couldn't bear the thought of living like this forever, of being forever bound to a monster who held no love, no true affection for me. In a moment of desperation, I made a decision. If I couldn't escape Chrollo in life, then I would find my freedom in death.

I sat in the bathtub, the steaming water lapping at my skin, providing no comfort to the icy numbness that had settled in my heart. The razor blade rested against my wrist, the metal cool and inviting, a whispered promise of release from the nightmare my life had become. My hand trembled, the weight of my decision bearing down on me, tears streaming down my face and mingling with the bathwater.

But even as I sat there, the razor poised to end my suffering, I couldn't bring myself to do it. My hand shook, the blade biting into my skin, drawing a thin line of crimson, but I couldn't find the strength, the resolve, to finish the job. Sobs wracked my body, my chest heaving with the force of my anguish, as I sat there, paralyzed by fear and despair.

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

My head snapped up, my heart leaping into my throat at the sound of Chrollo's voice. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a look of detached amusement on his face, as if he'd stumbled upon a mildly entertaining scene.

"Chrollo..." I whispered, my voice hoarse and broken, barely recognizable to my own ears.

He pushed off the doorframe and sauntered into the bathroom, his movements casual and unhurried. "Did you really think I wouldn't know, Y/N? That I wouldn't sense your desperation, your pathetic attempt at escape?"

I lowered my gaze, shame and despair warring within me, my cheeks burning with humiliation. "I can't do this anymore, Chrollo. I can't live like this."

He crouched down beside the tub, his dark eyes glittering with a cruel sort of amusement. "And yet, here you are, unable to even commit to your own demise. How tragic."

With a sudden motion, he grasped my wrist, yanking the razor from my fingers. I gasped, more from surprise than pain, as he held the blade up to the light, examining it with a detached sort of interest.

"Did you really think this would be the answer, Y/N? That you could escape me, escape your fate, with something as trivial as this?"

He tossed the razor aside, the metal clattering against the tile floor, and cupped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "You're mine, Y/N. Forever. And no matter how many times you try to run, to hide, to end your own miserable existence, I will always find you. I will always bring you back."

Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the bathwater, as the hopelessness of my situation crashed over me anew. Chrollo was right. There was no escape, no way out of this hell I had foolishly walked into.

He stood, looking down at me with a mixture of pity and cold amusement. "Clean yourself up, Y/N. And let this be a lesson to you. Your life is mine, to do with as I please. And I'm not done with you yet."

With those words, he turned and walked out, leaving me alone in the bath, my skin pruning in the cooling water, my heart shattered beyond repair. I had gambled everything on Chrollo, on the love I thought we shared, and I had lost. And now, I had to live with the consequences, forever trapped in a nightmare of my own making.

Chrollo led me from the bathroom, his hand wrapped around my wrist in a grip that was both gentle and unyielding. I followed him numbly, my mind still reeling from the events that had transpired, the razor's bite still stinging on my skin. He guided me to the bed, the plush comforter soft beneath my bare legs as he lowered me onto the mattress.

I sat there, my hands clasped in my lap, my eyes downcast, as he moved about the room, his presence a tangible force, a weight pressing down on me from all sides. Fear and despair coiled in my gut, my heart racing as I tried to anticipate his next move, dreading what new torment he might have in store for me.

"Look at me, Y/N," he commanded, his voice soft but firm, leaving no room for disobedience.

I obeyed, raising my gaze to meet his, my breath catching in my throat at the intensity I saw there. He stood before me, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his dark hair falling across his brow in a way that was both casual and calculated.

"Do you understand now?" he asked, his tone almost conversational, as if we were discussing the weather rather than the complete and utter destruction of my life. "Do you see the futility of your actions, the pointlessness of your resistance?"

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with unshed tears. "I understand that I'm trapped," I whispered, my voice hoarse and raw, barely recognizable to my own ears. "That there's no escape from this nightmare, from you."

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, a flash of satisfaction in his eyes. "Good. You're learning."

He reached out, his fingers ghosting along my cheek, tracing the curve of my jaw with a touch that was almost tender. I shivered, my skin prickling with a mixture of fear and revulsion, my stomach churning at the unwanted contact.

"You belong to me, Y/N," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear, sending a chill down my spine. "Body and soul, heart and mind. There is no part of you that is not mine, no corner of your being that I do not possess."

I closed my eyes, a single tear escaping to trail down my cheek, the hot sting of it a bitter reminder of my helplessness. He was right. I was his, wholly and completely, a moth caught in the web of a spider, helpless to resist the pull of his power.

Chrollo's lips brushed against my skin, trailing a path of fire down the column of my throat. I gasped, my hands fisting in the comforter, my body responding to his touch despite the revulsion that churned in my gut, despite the voice in my head screaming at me to fight, to resist, to do anything but submit to his twisted desires.

"You will never leave me," he whispered, his words a dark promise, a vow etched in blood and tears. "You will never escape. You are mine, now and forever."

And as his mouth descended on mine, his hands roaming over my body with a possessiveness that bordered on violence, I knew that he was right. There was no escape. Not for me, and not for anyone else who crossed his path.

I was his. And there was nothing I could do about it.

His kiss was like a drug, the taste of him addictive, the feel of his hands on my body intoxicating. I tried to resist, to push him away, but it was a futile effort. My body betrayed me, arching into his touch, craving more.

He broke the kiss, his eyes dark with desire, his breath ragged against my skin. "You can fight me all you want, Y/N. But in the end, you'll give in. You'll surrender to me, just as you did before."

"I won't," I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance.

He smiled, a cold, cruel smile that sent a chill down my spine. "We'll see about that."

With a growl, he claimed my mouth again, his lips rough against mine, his teeth nipping at my skin. I cried out, my nails digging into his back, my body surrendering to the pleasure even as my mind screamed in protest.

I knew this was wrong, that I should resist, should fight him with every fiber of my being. But the line between pain and pleasure was blurred, the boundary between fear and desire a thin and fragile thing. And as he ravaged my body, his touch bruising, his voice a low and menacing growl in my ear, I realized with a sickening jolt that a part of me wanted this.

A part of me craved the pain, the darkness, the twisted power play. And that realization, more than anything else, was the final nail in the coffin of my doomed resistance.

Chrollo's hands moved over my body, his fingers tracing the lines of my hips, the curve of my breasts, a strange mix of gentleness and possessiveness in his touch. I gasped, arching into him, my pulse racing, a dull ache building between my thighs.

"That's it," he murmured, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of my neck. "Give in to me, Y/N. Surrender."

His teeth grazed my earlobe, sending a shiver of pleasure down my spine. I moaned, my fingers tangling in his hair, his name a whisper on my lips.

"Say it," he commanded, his voice rough and low. "Say that you're mine."

"I'm yours," I breathed, the words tumbling from my lips without hesitation, a damning admission of defeat. "I'm yours, Chrollo."

He kissed me again, hard and possessive, his tongue delving into my mouth. I surrendered to him, my body and mind consumed by the raw, primal need that burned between us.

He pulled back, his gaze dark and hungry, a satisfied smile curving his lips. "Good girl," he murmured, his thumb brushing across my swollen lips. "Now, let's see just how much you're willing to give me."

He moved with a predatory grace, his muscles rippling beneath his skin, his body a weapon honed to lethal perfection. He knelt before me, his fingers deft and sure, as he spread my thighs, his lips ghosting across my heated flesh.

I cried out, my back arching off the bed, as his tongue flicked over the sensitive bundle of nerves at my core. He growled, his fingers digging into my hips, holding me in place as he feasted on my body, his tongue and lips working their dark magic on me.

Pleasure rippled through me, hot and urgent, my skin tingling with electricity. I gasped, my hands clutching at the sheets, my body writhing beneath his touch.

"Chrollo," I moaned, my voice hoarse and desperate. "Please, please..."

He laughed, a dark and dangerous sound, his eyes glinting with a mix of lust and amusement. "Please what, Y/N?"

"Please," I begged, the word a broken whisper, a plea for release. "I need you."

"What do you need?" he asked, his tone mocking.

"I need you inside me," I gasped, my body aching with desire, a dull, throbbing heat pulsing through my veins. "Please, Chrollo, I need you to fuck me."

His eyes darkened, a look of pure, animalistic lust flashing across his features. With a low growl, he rose to his feet, his fingers digging into my hips, lifting me effortlessly, and drove himself into me, the sudden fullness tearing a cry from my lips.

I clung to him, my nails scoring his back, my body shuddering with the force of his thrusts. He claimed me, his mouth hot and hungry on mine, his hands gripping my flesh with a bruising intensity.

The room was filled with the sounds of our bodies colliding, the scent of our desire hanging heavy in the air. I cried out, my voice hoarse and raw, the waves of pleasure crashing over me, drowning out all thought, all reason.

I lost myself in the moment, in the feeling of him inside me, filling me, completing me. For a brief, shining moment, there was nothing but us, our bodies moving as one, the line between pain and pleasure blurred and meaningless.

And then, with a cry, I shattered, my body convulsing, the release tearing through me, an explosion of sensation. I felt him follow, his movements growing erratic, his breath a ragged gasp in my ear, his release hot and intense.

We collapsed in a tangle of limbs, the sweat cooling on our skin, the aftershocks of our shared pleasure still rippling through us. I lay there, breathless and spent, a strange mix of emotions churning within me.

I was disgusted with myself, with the way I had surrendered to him, with the pleasure I had found in his arms. But beneath that revulsion, buried deep beneath the surface, was a sense of shameful satisfaction, a twisted sort of gratification.

I had given in to him. I had surrendered to the darkness, the madness, the primal desire that raged between us. And as his arms tightened around me, his breath warm against my skin, a part of me reveled in the knowledge that, no matter what happened, he would always be a part of me.

"Are you satisfied?"

The question hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning, with implications. I glanced at Chrollo, my gaze flicking over his naked form, his skin still flushed with the aftermath of our encounter. He was watching me, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, the challenge clear in his dark eyes.

"No," I replied, meeting his gaze evenly, a thrill of anticipation running through me. "I'm not."

Chrollo raised an eyebrow, a flicker of interest sparking in his dark eyes. "Oh? And what more could you possibly want, Y/N?"

I swallowed, my heart pounding in my chest as I forced myself to hold his gaze. "I want the truth, Chrollo. The real you, not the mask you wear for the world."

A slow smile spread across his face, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Careful what you wish for, my dear. The truth can be a dangerous thing."

I shook my head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "I knew the risks when I chose to stay with you. I'm not afraid of the darkness."

Chrollo chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Brave words, Y/N. But we both know that's not entirely true, don't we?"

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my skin, his fingers trailing along the curve of my jaw. "You may think you want the monster, but can you truly handle the reality of what I am?"

I met his gaze unflinchingly, my pulse racing with a heady mix of fear and desire. "There's only one way to find out."

With a sudden movement, Chrollo pinned me to the bed, his body covering mine, his eyes glittering with a dark hunger. "Then let me show you," he murmured, his mouth descending on mine in a searing kiss.

As the hours passed and the shadows lengthened, we lay there, entwined, our bodies slick with sweat, the air heavy with the scent of our mingled desire. Chrollo traced idle patterns on my skin, his fingers moving over my body with a familiarity born of countless encounters. But there was a distant look in his eyes, a contemplative expression that I hadn't seen before.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked, curious despite myself.

He was silent for a moment, his gaze focused on something far away. "I was wondering," he said at last, his voice uncharacteristically soft, "how things might have been different, if we had met under other circumstances."

I felt a flicker of surprise at his words, a strange sensation of hope and longing stirring in my chest. "What do you mean?"

Chrollo sighed, his fingers stilling on my skin. "If I wasn't who I am, if I wasn't a criminal, a member of the Phantom Troupe... could we have had something real, something genuine?"

I swallowed hard, my heart aching at the wistfulness in his tone. "I don't know," I replied honestly. "But I'd like to think so."

He smiled then, a sad, fleeting thing that barely touched his eyes. "In another life, perhaps I could have truly fallen in love with you, Y/N. Without the lies, the secrets, the constant threat of danger hanging over us."

I reached up, cupping his cheek in my hand, feeling the roughness of his stubble against my palm. "But this is the life we have, Chrollo. The one we've chosen, for better or worse."

He leaned into my touch, his eyes drifting shut for a moment. "I know. And I don't regret it, not really. But sometimes, I can't help but wonder..."

His words trailed off, the unspoken possibilities hanging in the air between us. I knew what he meant, knew the bittersweet ache of imagining a different path, a different fate. But we both knew that there was no going back, no changing the choices we had made.

"We have each other," I said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "Here and now. That's what matters."

Chrollo smiled, a real smile this time, his eyes warm and fond as they met mine. "You're right," he murmured, pulling me closer, his arms tightening around me. "And I wouldn't trade it for anything."

#hxh #hxh x reader #hxh x reader smut #chrollo smut #chrollo lucilfer #hxh chrollo #chrollo x reader #chrollo x reader smut #hxh smut

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dreamcorechild · 20 days

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Good evening everyone.

I'm here to announce that I'll be taking a break from tumblr for 3 days to recover from this ordeal we all had.

I've been feeling a bit suicidal over what has been happening and how it affected all of you because of one person who has now been banned. I'm sorry to those who have been a victim of oc x canon hate. Mostly from this Sakura person.

I wanted to thank you to those who have been siding with me and standing up to others who where also targeted by this person.

I'm glad that I made friends with many of you and knowing that we protect each other from something like this made me feel welcome on tumblr.

Tagging: @mylou-doodlesworld @urog1i @aliorailrow @bugzheadquarter @rion-isnot-an-ai @your-local-demon-slayer-nerd @axolotl321 @serenesaku @tobytoon @kimetsu-chan @starrcityyy @night-mince0 @leviathanverse @georgette-mademoiselle @starsinthesworld @cherrybomb-xoy @larz-barz @muichiroslovermwah @ta-ni-ya @kiyokatokito @risingscorchingsuns @fallstreakfeathers @saffron0v0 @hantenguclonesimp-minuszoha @1julak1 @wifeyana and @hashbrowpn and @haruharuna [It doesn't let me type your user in. Sorry about that.]

And thank you @sunbrokenswords and @bloodbladesanddemons for following me. You two are my favorites. And I am sorry about what that anon had said to you Blood. Don't listen to them. Do what makes you and your friends happy.

And as promise, here is the Karaku x Uranishi art before my 3 days departure. Them as humans. :>

"Daisy, Daisy, Give me your answer, do! I'm half crazy, All for the love of you! It won't be a stylish marriage, I can't afford a carriage, But you'll look sweet upon the seat Of a bicycle built for two!"

#demon slayer #karaku #kimestu no yaiba #hantengu clones #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer karaku #demon slayer oc #karaku x oc #kimetsu no yaiba original character #demon slayer original character #kny oc #kny oc art

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sgkophie · 2 years

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Hidden Love - Charles Leclerc One Shot/Request

Read Part 2 Here!

Pairing: Reader x Charles Leclerc

Warnings: smut, language, a Charles quickie cause ya girl's fingers started to fall off by word 7,000...

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Classic friends with lovers with our soft boy Charles with some smut at the end <3

Word Count: ~7500 words (clearly one shots are not my specialty... I get way too connected to my characters!)

AN: Sorry this took so long anon! I had to prioritize Man's World and work kicked my butt last week but hope you enjoy this and thanks for requesting!!

********

I consider myself to be incredibly lucky to call Pierre my brother; while I knew the world looks at him like a playboy, to me he is the silly, loving and kind brother who always had sage, if not very unsolicited, advice. Growing up as kids we rarely fought. Being so close in age – only 18 months apart – we were bound at the hip practically since birth. Pierre probably knew me almost as much as I knew myself – which is why he was 100% accurate when he confronted me with my feelings for his best friend and Ferrari driver, Charles Leclerc.

“Good morning, Pierre,” I hollered as I walked into our Monaco apartment; Pierre had decided he wanted to spend a little more time in Monaco this year. The newest art gallery I was working for was based in Monaco, and with so many of the other drivers living in Monaco, Pierre had asked if I wanted to share an apartment for this race season. I hadn’t lived with my brother in over 5 years, so I was incredibly excited to get the opportunity to share an apartment with my best friend. I figured eventually we would both settle down with someone, so this was likely our last chance as brother and sister to have some quality family time just the two of us. Plus, things with my boyfriend Gerardo had been progressing. While we had only dated for 4 months, I felt like things were starting to get more serious.

“Good morning, (Y/N),” Pierre called back. As I walked into the kitchen, I smelled the sweet, sweet aroma of coffee beans – freshly ground – and bacon with toast. I sat down at the marbled kitchen island and grabbed a cup of coffee that Pierre had already poured for me – black coffee with just a touch of creamer. Pierre and I had both become coffee snobs a few years ago after a lovely trip to Peru; there’s something about black coffee that just screams morning to me.

“Thanks for this. So, what’s the plan for tonight? Your text said you wanted to cook some dinner?” I asked casually, trying to pry out of him what exactly he wanted. We typically ate dinner together, so I it was odd that he had directly asked if I was free tonight and if I wanted to have dinner with him.

“Charles is coming over, he’s back from Italy a day early, and thought it would be nice to have dinner before we all head to Austria.”

“Oh how lovely! Haven’t seen Charles in what feels like an age. Yes, that would be great. I’ll tell Gerardo, I’d love for him to meet Gerardo before he comes to Austria with us.” I clapped my hands and grabbed my phone, crafting a text to Gerardo with the hope that he could make some time to come. Recently he had been spending a lot of time with ‘the boys’, so I felt like we hadn’t seen each other in forever.

As I pulled out my phone, I could feel Pierre grimace, wanting to clearly say something. “Why can’t it just be the three of us?” he asked calmly, but I could see the look of panic in his eyes when I lifted mine to meet his deep blue ones.

“Why do you not like Gerardo?” I responded, slowing standing up from my chair at the kitchen counter. I knew Pierre didn’t like Gerardo; he’d only invited him to Austria because I had begged him to. Pierre had always had this silly thought in his head that Charles and I should be together. I typically shrugged him off when he said things like that. The reality was: Why on earth would Charles want to date me? He had access to beautiful models all throughout Europe. Something I reminded Pierre often – considering he always had a model on his arm, no matter the event.

Pierre was convinced Gerardo was just using me to get free F1 tickets and to get into exclusive events, a comment I thought was incredibly rude. Gerardo couldn’t just like me for me? Pierre said this about a lot of my boyfriends, something I often tried to ignore, but it was starting to truly irk me. I was a catch – and not because my brother was a Formula 1 driver. I worked at one of the most exclusive art galleries in Monaco; I had my own set of events to attend. I didn’t need him to get into a VIP club – although it was arguably easier.

“(Y/N), we’ve discussed this… it’s not that I don’t like the guy, it’s that I don’t think he’s right for you,” he responded coolly, clearly sending my agitation and frustration.

“Is it because you still have this secret plan to get me and Charles together? I know he recently broke up with his last model girlfriend. This better not be one of those games you like to play.” I put an emphasis on model, just to reinstate the reason why Charles and I would never be together.

Pierre just signed. “No plan, no plan,” he said with acceptance. “I just wanted some old friends to hang out together. If it’s important for you to invite Gerardo, then please invite him; there will be plenty of food.”

I nodded and texted Gerardo, who to my surprise, said he would love to join the three of us for dinner this evening.

“Excellent – it’s settled then,” I responded with a grin, getting up from the table with my coffee cup. I hadn’t seen Charles in forever and I was excited to finally the future WDC holder of 2022. Charles had such a fun air about him – he was incredibly charming, funny, but most of all, compassionate. There had been so many late night phone calls throughout the year where Charles would sit endlessly on the phone, listening to my career plans. He’d ask me about my days in classes when I was at Uni and when I got my first job at a gallery, Charles was the first one to send me a beautiful bouquet of daisies, my favorite flower, as a congratulations. Unlike Pierre, he had always seemed supportive of my boyfriends – always made them feel welcome.

******

Charles arrived at half 6, 30 minutes before Pierre had told me Charles was going to arrive. I suspected he had told Charles 6:15, in the hopes that he would come earlier than Gerardo – no doubt part of Pierre’s plan for us to have some alone time without my current boyfriend. Charles was notoriously always late to events – his mother said she knew he’d just be one of those people who were always late, given that he was almost a week late to his expected date of birth.

I opened the door and before I knew it, I was engulfed in the hug of the century. “Charles, it’s so lovely to see you!” I yelled, giving him a second and then a third hug. He chuckled and said the same. As I shuffled him into the living, I noticed a small bouquet of flowers in his bag. He saw me looking and smiled, pulling them out of his bag and handing them to me.

“I saw these at a local market I was at this morning, thought you might like them,” he said with the biggest smile. Truth be told, my heart melted at that moment. I nodded, a little shyly, and took them from him, giving him yet another hug.

“Thanks Charles, these are just lovely. You are too kind! How a woman hasn’t snatched you up yet, I will never know.”

He beamed at me, ever the gentlemen this Monegasque was. “I am looking forward to Austria this weekend. You coming on the jet with us?”

“Yes, Gerardo and I will be flying with Pierre – he’s never been to Austria, so I am excited to go a day earlier and show him around.”

I wasn’t sure what emotion had flashed across Charles’ face, but it almost looked like disappointment. As soon as it had arrived on his face, it was gone and his face resumed the usual smile with those precious dimples. I decided to think nothing of it. I knew both Charles and Pierre were under a ton of stress, especially Charles who was so close to winning the championship.

“Who is Gerardo?” he asked quietly, still smiling directly at me. The smile was looking a little forced, but I let it slide.

“(Y/N)’s new boyfriend,” Pierre responded quickly. “He’s coming with us to Austria,” he added a bit too bluntly.

“… and we’re excited about it,” I snapped back, looking directly at Pierre. “And we’re going to be nice to him, right?”

Pierre rolled his eyes but nodded, looking back at Charles.

“Well, that’s exciting,” Charles replied, clapping his hands together; his smile was starting to look genuine. “I’ll be sure to give him a tour of the Ferrari garage if you’d like. We have some time on Thursday.”

“That would be great,” I explained. “More than Pierre has offered – he’s apparently too busy to give us a tour around the garage.” I rolled my eyes, but playfully batted at my brother’s shoulder.

“You know I would if I could, but we’ve got some big red bull sponsorship events this week,” Pierre gave me a loving shove. I suspected he was over dramatizing his schedule, but I nodded in agreement. No doubt about it, it was a huge event for both Red Bull teams and Pierre was expected to participate.

After another 10 minutes of chit chat, Gerardo knocked at the door. Before I could get to the door, Pierre had beaten me to it. “Gerardo, welcome to our home,” he said. I didn’t like the emphasis on our home, but chalked it up to Pierre just being his usual protective big brother self. He and Gerardo had met a couple other times before, but Gerardo was still very new in Pierre’s eyes.

Charles quickly got up to shake Gerardo’s hand. “Nice to meet you,” Charles said. “I’m an old family friend.”

“Oh, I know who you are,” Gerardo said with what could only be described as the most cringeworthy grin. “Charles Leclerc – great to finally meet you in person. I’ve heard so much about you. Looking forward to seeing Max beat you at the Red Bull ring this weekend,” he joked. Gerardo laughed after his comment, as if he had made a hilarious joke, and then winked at Charles. Charles, ever the gentlemen, let out an awkward, light chuckle. A little rude to someone who had just offered to show us around the Ferrari garage, but I hoped that Charles wasn’t too offended.

The rest of dinner went by fairly smoothly. Gerardo let out a few more awkward comments towards Charles, but overall he was a pleasant conversationalist with the group. I reckoned that it was probably hard to come into a group of well established friends and insert yourself into the conversation, so I thought he did great. As dinner started to whine down, Gerardo excused himself from the group. He apparently had to go back for Austria tomorrow. I was confused, because he told me over the weekend that he was so excited he had already packed, but I nodded and gave him a hug and kiss good-bye.

He glanced back at both my brother and Charles and then gave me a huge kiss, wrapping both of his arms around my waist and lifting me off of the floor. “Can’t wait to see you tomorrow, beautiful,” he cooed. I nodded, a little lightheaded from the unexpected hug. I quickly closed the door, only to turn around to see both Charles and Pierre stating at me, a look of disbelief on Pierre’s face.

“Well, now the real party can begin,” Pierre announced as he walked over to the wine cabinet and grabbed a bottle of champagne. I frowned at him for his sassy comment about Gerardo leaving, but resumed my place on the couch, putting out my glass for a refill.

“So, (Y/N), how long have you and Gerardo been dating?” Charles asked me.

“A few months now – almost 4. I feel like in the last month it’s started to get more serious, so I am excited to bring him to the paddock.” Unbeknownst to me, Pierre was standing behind me, rolling his eyes at Charles and gesturing for him to change the subject. Charles ignored him and pressed further.

“That’s great, I’m happy for you. He seems so familiar, like I’ve met him before. Just can’t place where.”

“Well he’s lived in Monaco all his life, so you’ve probably seen him out at a club or something.“ I responded casually. Truthfully, I had no idea where they would have met, but they were both quite active in the night life of Monaco so it was entirely possible that they had some mutual friends.

“Well he seems like a nice guy, and as long as he makes you happy, then I am happy for you,” Charles said lightly. There was a tint of sadness in his voice, but before I could address it Pierre but in.

“As happy as a girlfriend can be when she’s dating a guy who can’t make her come during sex,” he remarked to Charles.

“PIERRE!” I shrieked, throwing the couch cushion at him. “I told you that in confidence! You can’t go around saying that to people.” I was mortified. When I was drunk one night about a month ago I had let that horrifying comment slip to Pierre, who since then, definitely took a strong dislike to Gerardo. He was a believer that a man’s number one focus in bed should be on his girlfriend, something he told me over and over.

I held my hand up, “I am NOT discussing this with my brother and his best friend. Nope. Absolutely not.”

I turned to Charles and noticed his eyes flicker up at me, his face a bit pink – likely from the cringeworthy announcement my brother had just made to the group. I mouthed an ‘I’m sorry’. It was clear Pierre was starting to get quite drunk.

“Well, I think we should call it a night,” I said pointedly to Pierre. “YOU have to be up early tomorrow and you cannot be hungover in Austria. Something about all of those sponsorship meetings… if I remember correctly,” I said with a grin, reminding him of the reason why he couldn’t give me and Gerardo that garage tour.

Charles nodded and started walking towards the door. As we were standing at the door, he leaned in closely, and whispered ever so gently, “Pierre is right, you know.” I raised an eye brow at him. His face was so close to my ear, I could feel his breath on my neck. “A boyfriend’s priority shouldn’t just be ‘how can I make my girlfriend come, but how many times I can make my girlfriend come.’” Before I could even respond to that comment, Charles winked at me and shut the door.

I stood there, slightly baffled. Charles had always been so sweet and well-mannered – I had never seen this side of him before. I retreated back to the living room, grabbed the remaining glass of champagne, and downed it.

As much as I didn’t want to admit it, Pierre was right. I did have feelings for Charles – feelings that I had to shove deep down because I knew that if I let them out, they’d explode inside of me, and I would end up being incredibly disappointed. I let that little comment from Charles slide, and went to sleep, trying to dream of my boyfriend making me come, and not Charles Leclerc.

*****

Of course the next morning Pierre woke up with a brutal hangover. I told him not to drink too much, but he was not one to listen to me, or anyone, – especially if champagne was involved. Gerardo met us at the airport. He also looked a little worse for wear, which I thought was odd considering he went straight home last night and had only drunk a couple glasses of wine. He gave me some excuse about having allergies, and I just nodded back at, doing my best to not roll my eyes. I didn’t think they looked like allergies, but I also wasn’t in the mood to get into a fight. This was going to be a good weekend, I could feel it in my bones.

That Wednesday went delightfully – Gerardo and I spent the day touring Austria and enjoying the lovely weather. Thursday Charles kept his promise and offered to give Gerardo and I a tour of the Ferrari garage, which was just lovely. I always thought that if Charles wasn’t a formula 1 driver, he would have made a great public speaker. He always had that beautiful smile on his face and his answers to everything were so diplomatic. About half-way thru the tour I got a call from Pierre, asking me to meet me in his drivers room- he had lost something, as usual. I apologized and said that Gerardo and I would have to go, but Charles offered to continue giving Gerardo a tour.

“Go ahead, I’m happy to continue the tour. I mean you’ve already seen all this a bunch of times,” he said with that million dollar smile. I nodded and kissed Gerardo on the check, apologizing again.

“Call me when you’re done, I’ll come get you.” Gerardo nodded and I ran off into the direction of the Alpha Tauri garages, cursing Pierre under my breath.

Charles Leclerc’s POV

As (Y/N) ran off towards the Alpha Tauri garage, my heart sank just a little. I barely got to spend any time with her these days and so I felt like every moment I had with her was precious, even if I had to spend it with her horribly annoying boyfriend. He came across as a nice enough fellow, even if he occasionally insulted me, something I guessed was because he was trying to mark his territory. I understood that on some primal level – (Y/N) Gasly was breathtakingly beautiful. Her laugh could warm up an entire room and her smile could make any person’s walls come down, if they just gave her enough time.

Timing had never seemed to be on our side. Every time I ended a relationship, and built up the courage to ask her out, she was dating someone. It was this vicious cycle where I could never seem to find the right moment to truly tell her how I feel. And now, almost 7 years after I had originally worked up the courage to ask her out, she was once again in another relationship.

I turned back to Gerardo who was just smiling at me with that horrendous grin he had – reminded me of that Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland.

“It must be so cool to be a formula 1 driver; surrounded by all those hot models, what a dream,” he said with a smirk and a pat on my back. I was a little taken aback by his comment.

“Actually, it’s not nearly as glamorous as it sounds. We put a lot of hard work into training and getting the cars ready each race. I find it hard to maintain a constant relationship with a girlfriend,” I said with a sigh.

“Ahh, come on mate, you don’t have to pretend with me,” Gerardo laughed, “I know that’s the selling point. All the women you want, with none of the commitments attached – a true dream. Don’t have to buy her flowers the night after, if you know what I mean. Georgia is always expecting something!”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. No, I didn’t know what he meant. Here he was with the girl of my dreams, the one woman I knew I could manage a relationship with while still trying to win the WDC. (Y/N) understood the pressures we drivers were under. When I was at the Ferrari Driving Academy, she was the one person I could call and talk to – day or night. She was the first person I called to tell her I had been signed on as a Ferrari driver, although she didn’t know that.

I decided to rebuff his comment and and continue on with the tour, hoping he would get the hint.

He didn’t.

“You know you and I have met a few other times,” he said casually. “We met about a month ago at Club W at the opening night.��

I nodded. Now I remember where I had met him. Yes, at the opening of the new Club. “Didn’t you have a date there?” I asked casually, trying not to sound too interested. He took the bate – idiot.

“Oh yeah, hot blonde – Cathy or something. (Y/N) and I weren’t serious then,” he added quickly.

I nodded, and continued to look forward, looking for a way out of this conversation. I knew that wasn’t true, (Y/N) had told me they’d dated for almost 4 months. If I had a girl like (Y/N) Gasly, I wouldn’t even remotely look in another girls’ direction. Fortunately, before I had to endure any more of Gerardo, (Y/N) had texted that she was on her way back. Within a couple of minutes (Y/N) was walking towards the garage, waving at me.

I nodded and waved to her as she entered the garage. “Sorry I have to run, but talk to you later!” I called out to her as I walked back into my drivers room. She looked disappointed as I turned away, but after my talk with Gerardo, I couldn’t bare to face her.

I had a decision to make. Do I tell her about Gerardo’s comments? Maybe he didn’t mean them. Maybe they weren’t that serious a month ago. I highly doubted that, but I couldn’t bare the look on her face as I told her the terrible things that insufferable boyfriend of hers had decided to share with me. I decided to keep it to myself, unless he decided to continue this conversation with me. There was no reason to ruin her happiness by sharing with her some offhanded comments – was there?

*****

Your POV

I was disappointed that Charles had only waved to me from the garage. I knew that he was incredibly busy and he had done me a favor by showing Gerardo around, but still, he had always make time for me in the past. I gave him a quick wave and then grabbed Gerardo’s hand to drag him back to the Alpha Tauri hospitality center where Pierre had set us up.

The rest of Thursday and all of qualifying on Friday went smoothly. I loved getting the head sets and listening to Pierre on the radio, it made me really feel apart of the race which I know was important to Pierre. That Friday evening the drivers were all getting together at a local bar to celebrate – not too much as they all had to race the next day, but it was a tradition to at least go out and chat. Pierre invited Gerardo and I – well mostly me – and we out to the club.

At around 9pm I was beginning to feel exhausted and asked Gerardo to take me home – hoping we could get in some cuddles and chats before the big sprint race tomorrow. We hadn’t spent much time alone together just the two of us, and after Saturday it would be all race prep and then straight to celebrating; we’d have very little time to be alone.

I suggested to my boyfriend that he take me home, but he rebuffed my comment – clearly annoyed that I had asked. Charles, noticing this, offered to take me home as he also wanted to get some proper sleep before the sprint race. The walk home was very quiet, we barely said a word to each other, but the silence was comforting. Charles and I had a that in common – we could both just enjoy each others company without needing to fill the space with words. As we approached my hotel, I leaned in and gave him a big hug, thanking him for taking me home. As I went to pull back, he pulled me closer, deepening the hug. He put his face in the crook of my neck and sighed.

“I am so glad you’re here, (Y/N),” he whispered.

“Me too, Charles. It’s been great to see you – even if you’ve been so busy the last two days.”

“Sorry, I just have a lot on my mind with the championship race really heating up. I’m so close to my dream, you know, so close…” he trailed off at the end. I just nodded in response. I knew this was his dream.

“You deserve this, Charles. Good luck tomorrow – I think you’ll be brilliant in the sprint race. Your car is phenomenal.” Charles didn’t respond to me; he just kept staring at me, as if he had something to say but couldn’t possibly utter out the words.

“Everything ok?” I asked politely, trying not to prod, but I could see that he had something he wanted to say.

“You deserve better,” Charles blurted out. I could see the panic in his eyes, as if he hadn’t expected to say that, but couldn’t help himself.

“What do you mean?” I responded dryly.

“That guy – Gerardo – he’s a dick. He doesn’t treat you like you deserve.”

“And how would you know what I deserve?” I snapped back. “This coming from a guy who has a new model on his arm every week. What do you know about dating? What do you know about love?” I could feel myself getting angrier. Truth be told, a lot of this anger wasn’t directed at Charles. Pierre and I had discussed this so many times, I was over it.

“I know enough to know that he doesn’t deserve your love.” I scoffed at his comment. The audacity of this man.

“Charles, before we both say something we regret, I am going upstairs and to my room to wait for my boyfriend. I don’t know what’s come over you, but I’m not going to stand here and listen to this.”

Before he could utter another word, I stormed off into the elevator, closing it quickly before he could hop in. I felt bad leaving it like that before his race tomorrow, but I wouldn’t let myself hear that. I couldn’t bare the possibility that Charles was going to lecture me on deserving better, but then not offer himself up as a possibility. I loved him too much for that, and I knew that pain would be more than I could handle.

****

I woke up the next morning and reached out to Gerardo’s side of the bed. Odd, I thought to myself, maybe he’s in the shower or went out to get coffee? I checked my phone and I couldn’t see any missed calls from him. There were a few texts from Charles – pathetic apologizes – I ignored those. Charles could stew for now, I decided. I called Gerardo a few times, but his phone went straight to voicemail. I texted Pierre and asked if he had seen him at the club, but he said he left only 10 minutes after Charles and I did and he hadn’t seen him since.

I took a shower and decided if Gerardo didn’t get back in the next 30 minutes, then I would call the hotel security to see if maybe he had gone to another room. As I was finishing getting my hair ready for the day, I heard a knock at the door. I opened it to see a very hungover Gerardo, still in last night’s clothes.

“Where the fuck have you been?” I demanded

“Keep your voice down woman, I’m nursing a headache,” he said as he plopped down on the bed. I just stared at him in complete disbelief, motioning for an answer on where he had been. He looked up at me and rolled his eyes.

“Oh come off it, a mate was in town last night so I stayed at his. Don’t get your knickers in a twist, love,” he said with such smooth mockery I thought I was going to faint from anger.

“We have to be at the track in 30 minutes and you aren’t even close to being ready!” I shrieked. I had never been late for ay of Pierre’s races, and there was no way I was going to be start now.

“Then go without me – I need to sleep.” I just rolled my eyes at his comment.

“Sleep!? You should have been doing that last night with me when I came home. You promised me we’d go together. We have barely seen each other in the last month.”

“Stop being so needy, (Y/N). I’ll come out with you later. Who cares about watching your brother anyway? It’s not like he’s going to win.”

No I was livid. You can insult me, but don’t you dare insult Pierre, I thought to myself. “If you can’t make it to today’s qualifying, then don’t be here when I get back.”

“Jesus, (Y/N), Cathy would never be this needy,” he grumbled. I doubt he was expecting to hear that. Cathy was his ex-girlfriend who, in my opinion, spent way too much time hanging around Gerardo for them to be platonic. I often let it slide, but it irked me to no end.

“Well Cathy isn’t your girlfriend, I am, in case you forgot,” I declared.

“I’m sure she’d take the job back if you don’t want it… at least that is what she said in Tuesday,” he sneered. I knew it – I knew he had gone out on Tuesday after dinner with me.

I was fuming. Fuck this, I thought. Maybe Charles is right.

“Fine – then why don’t you give Cathy a call. When I get back from this race, I expect you to be gone.” With that, I picked up my bag and headed out the door, making a point to slam it on the way out. As I got downstairs, I saw Pierre was already waiting for me in his car. I hopped into the front seat and smiled.

“No Gerardo?” He gave me a questioning look. I just shook my head and he sighed. “Then off we go.”

Practice 2 and the Sprint Race went well for Charles; Pierre not so much. I tried to ignore the fact that I was fuming that Gerardo had not come to the Sprint Race and just focused instead on Pierre, who was incredibly upset about his car. By the time the sprint race was over, I had a text from Gerardo on my phone with just a plane emoji. Well, it was good while it lasted I guess, I sighed to myself. Pierre, even if his horrible funk could tell that I was upset. He guessed immediately what was wrong.

“I’m sorry (Y/N), but honestly, it’s the best news I’ve heard all day. That guy was an ass, even Daniel Ricciardo didn’t like him, and he likes everyone.” I lightly giggled at his comment. It was true, if Danny Ric didn’t like him – I was likely better off without him.

At the end of the sprint race, as teams were packing up, I wanted to sneak out and talk to Charles, apologize for yesterday and to tell him that he was right – Gerardo was in fact a dick. But as I searched the paddock for him, I couldn’t find him anywhere. I sent him a quick text, apologizing for last night and congratulating him on his race, but he didn’t respond.

Guess I deserved that.

****

Sunday morning I woke determined to find Charles. We’d never let a fight linger this long, and I wanted to wish him luck before the race. I felt terrible knowing that he was going into the race thinking I was mad at him. I headed straight to the Ferrari garage – I knew he would be there early, he was always one of the first drivers to arrive on race days.

“Carlos, have you seen Charles?” I asked the Spanish driver. He just smiled at me with that warm smile and nodded.

“Ahh, so this is the reason Charles bit my head off yesterday,” he said with a cheeky grin. I quirked an eyebrow and looked at him, unsure what to say. “Charles is in his driver’s room – do lover boy a favor and tell him what we both know to be true.”

I mumbled my thanks and headed towards the room, trying to slightly ignore Carlos’ weird comment and sneaky grin. Carlos was a wonderful friend to Charles, but he was always making comments about Charles and I being together and it was constantly getting on my last nerve.

I knocked on Charles’ drivers room lightly, in case he was having a nap or was in an important meeting. “I don’t want to be bothered,” he shouted back on the other side of the door.

“Tough, cause I want to bother you,” I yelled back, hoping my joke would lighten the mood just a tad. I could hear Charles’ foot steps pad over to the door. He opened it slightly and looked at me, as if he was trying to determine if I was really there and not a figment of his imagination.

“(Y/N), why are you here?”

“I wanted to apologize in person… turns out you were right, and I felt like you deserved an apology. I couldn’t stand the idea of you driving off today mad at me. If something happened… I’d never forgive myself.” It all came out in a tumble.

Charles just nodded and opened the door wider, motioning for me to come into the room. “Thanks,” he said quietly. His eyes were looking at me so intensely, but his voice was soft and relaxed, as if he was trying to ‘play it cool.’

“So does that mean its over between you and Gerardo?”

“Yes, we broke it off Saturday when he refused to come to the sprint race, and then informed me that he was still seeing his ex-girlfriend. He then decided insulting Pierr-“

Before I could finish my sentence, Charles’ lips were on mine and my back was pushed up against the wall of his driver’s room. I could feel one of his hands cup my face while the other went to the small of my back. After a few moments I pushed him back a tad, gasping for air and staring at him. His eyes were wild and full of something that looked like lust. That couldn’t be right. Was my crush, Charles Leclerc, lusting after me? As we stared at each other, both catching our breathes, I went to say something but stopped myself. Truth was, I had no idea what to say at this moment. I was in shock. What did this kiss mean?

It's as if Charles could see the internal conversation I was having with myself. He once again grabbed my waist and pulled me into him, peppering small kisses on my hips and face.

“I have wanted to do that for no less than 7 years,” he whispered, still putting small kisses on my neck and shoulders. “I am so sorry it took this long.” I just stared at him, unable to utter words back to him. He smiled a bit, clearly sensing my shock and inability to register what was happening. Before I could respond, I heard a knock at the door.

“Charles, it’s time to hop in the car.” Charles grabbed my hand, brought it up to his mouth and kissed my knuckles, as if I was a princess and he was a knight going off to battle.

“I’d love to continue this discussion after the race, mon amie, if you would like. In the meantime, wish me luck.” I simply nodded at him.

As he was walking down the hallway all I could think to yell back at him was, “Don’t let Pierre beat you!” He laughed and then walked out of his drivers room, leaving me for the first time in a while, completely speechless. As I exited his room, I saw Carlos standing a little ways up the hallway. He waved at me. His body language was calm, but the grin on his face said he knew exactly what had just happened. I rolled my eyes and trotted towards the Alpha Tauri Garage.

*****

“And there you have it”, the announcer yelled into the microphone, “Charles Leclerc is back on top with a well deserved race win!”

The stands full of people were going wild, even though it was the Red Bull ring, Ferrari flags were waving everywhere. As the paddock and track were opened up, I ran towards the podium, spotting first Pierre. I gave me brother a big hug, whispering better luck next time in his ear. He nodded, clearly disappointed at his P15 finish. As Pierre turned to head back to his garage, I searched the crowd frantically for Charles.

There he was – up by his car, still hugging his team and family. I pushed my way through the crowd and got as close to the front as I could. Fortunately Lorenzo saw me and pulled me forward, dragging me all the way up to where the Leclerc family was congratulating Charles. As I moved to step up next to Lorenzo, I felt someone grab my face. I looked up and there I was, face to face with Charles. Over the last two hours I had contemplated what I wanted to say to Charles, but the moment I saw his face, every thought I had went out the window.

Charles smiled – that million dollar smile – and kissed me. He kissed me hard and with such gusto I felt like the wind was being knocked out of me –honestly, it was a little too passionate for us being in the middle of the pit lane. I grabbed onto his chest and he pulled me closer.

“I love you (Y/N) Gasly,” he whispered in my ear. “It’s always been you. Tell me you feel the same.”

“There’s never been anyone else that’s come close,” I whispered back.

Charles put our foreheads together and kissed my cheek one last time before his team dragged him off to the cool down room. At that moment I was acutely aware that everyone around me, including his family, had now started staring at me. Lorenzo smiled and gave me a big hug. “It’s about time,” he yelled into my ear.

I watched the podium celebration; I had never been more proud, or happier for him. Once the podium celebration ended, Lorenzo snuck me back to Charles’ driver room.

I knocked on the door and it quickly opened. Charles pulled me inside and shut the door, pushing me back up against the wall of his drivers room. Unlike the last time, Charles’ hands were frantically all over me – rubbing up and down my body. He was like a man starved, trying to memorize every curve of my body. I felt like I was on fire, ever nerve ending was burning like a million suns.

Charles picked me up and moved me to the red sofa in the corner of his room. He gently placed me down, before continuing to kiss me with such ferocity and passion – passion that I had never experienced before. I pushed him back just a bit.

“Need some air,” I chuckled, staring straight into his beautiful green-hazel eyes. He smiled at me and then continued to kiss that sweet spot on my neck that he had just discovered, pulling a moan out of me in the process.

“Oh, my love, how I have dreamed of hearing those sounds come out of your lips.” He moved his lips back to mine and kissed me deeply, pushing his tongue gently into my lips. His hands slowly went up my shirt, taking their time going up my body before resting on my boobs, squeezing lightly. I let out a small moan – it felt amazing to have Charles touch me like this. I had dreamed about this; all those times I pulled out my vibrator in the dead of night, pretending it was Charles using it on me, instead of myself.

“Oh Charles,” I sighed as he leaned closer into me, his thighs pressed between my legs. Soon his fingers were moving back down to the waist band of my pants. He slowly unbuttoned my pants and looked at me, quietly asking for permission to move further. I nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly, and he smirked, helping me lift my hips as he pulled my pants and underwear off of me. He picked up my red thong and smirked at me. I could tell he felt victorious, and as much as I wanted to snark back and deny his cocky face this victory, I couldn’t manage to get a word out before he said, “Let me show you what it means to put a woman’s pleasure first.”

And show me he did.

Charles spread my legs and held them in place before diving in, licking gentle kitten licks up and down my core. Amazing could not begin to describe how it felt to have Charles between my legs. Slowly he took one finger and pushed it inside me. I was already soaking wet, so his index finger went in with ease. He pumped his finger in and out, all while licking and kissing at my clit. The man clearly had experience, that much was clear. Within an embarrassing amount of time, I could feel my orgasm approaching.

“Charles, I .. uh…” was all I could get out. My moans were getting louder, and I put my hand over my mouth, trying to muffle my sounds. Charles quickly grabbed my arm, yanking it down.

“Absolutely not, my love, I want to hear the sounds of my victory.” He pushed a second and then a third finger in, doubling down on the pressure on my clit. Before I knew it, I could feel myself come undone underneath him. I let out a loud scream of his name, and then tried to catch my breath as I came down from my high.

“You taste so good, princess, just like I knew you would.”

I felt like the nickname should not have affected me like it did, but with his beautiful smile looking at me, I felt like the most special girl in the world. I tried to sit up and grab his belt to undo it, but Charles had beaten me to it. Already unbuckling his pants, Charles pushed them down and took off his shirt, getting back ontop of me. I saw him grab a condom from his side table. He slid the condom on and then stared at me, his pupils were blown and I could see the lust on his face.

Charles Leclerc… all mine, I thought to myself.

He grabbed both my hands and put them above my head, kissing my neck tenderly. He inched in closer and soon I could feel him sinking into me. Even with the initial slight burning sensation, he felt incredible inside me. Charles stilled for a moment, looking deep into my eyes, clearly waiting for me to nod that I was okay before proceeding. After about a minute I nodded shyly, giving his plump lips a small peck before gasping as he pushed into me.

“Oh, mon amie, you feel incredible,” he sighed into my neck, pumping in and out slowly, clearly enjoying how much he was teasing me.

“Oh Charles, please.. need more…” I moaned into him, frantically trying to push him forward to get more friction. He smirked at me, but he picked up his pace. Before I could fully register what was happening, I could feel myself heading towards my second orgasm. Charles slid his hand down to my clit and started to stroke gently while pounding into me, hitting the right spot each time.

“I’m-I’m gonna…” was all I could get out before I screamed into his chest, gasping for air as what felt like an electrifying orgasm tore through me. Charles soon followed, his movements turning more into inconsistent ruts as he whispered my name into my ear and told me what a good girl I was.

We both laid there for a moment, catching our breaths. After a few minutes, Charles got up and threw the condom away in the bathroom before coming back over to me, rubbing a hot wash cloth between my thighs. When he was done, he moved me on the sofa and put me on top of him, my head resting on his chest, a blanket now over us.

I heard a quick ding come from my cell phone and I reached over for it, worried that Pierre was looking for me. I opened my phone to a text that simply read: “Told you so.”

I rolled my eyes, smiling slightly. I guess Pierre’s plan had worked after all.

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