#worked so well in fact that no one knew they were dating for like. a half a year.
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A Lifetime Full of Firsts
based loosely on two asks from anons... stages of falling in love and being domestic and shit.
WC: ~4.8k
In every relationship, there are numerous firsts. Some firsts, you expect: the first date, the first kiss, the first time you say I love you, the first time you have sex- and those are always memorable. And then are the unexpected firsts- and those are almost more memorable than the expected.
The first unexpected first was one that you never saw coming to become a monumental moment in your relationship with Melissa Schemmenti. All that had happened was you got a new job as a second grade teacher at Abbott Elementary. You walked into the staff lounge to simply put your lunch away when you saw her for the first time. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the fiery red hair that cascaded down here shoulders in gentle waves.
“Why you starin’?” Her voice came out deep. “Do I got somethin’ in my teeth?”
“N-no,” you stammered out. “Sorry. I uh, just really like your hair.”
“Thanks,” she practically blew you off. “Now who the hell are you?”
“I’m Y/N,” you answered softly. “I’m the new second grade teacher they hired.”
“Shit, I gotta work with you all year?” she groaned. She almost immediately took a disinterest in you. She didn’t like the vibe she got- a pep in your step, voice soft and demure. She suspected that you would be out of here before the kids even came in for their own first day of school, and if you weren’t out by then, the kids would eat you alive and you would be gone by the second week.
“I’m sorry?” you squeaked out.
“Melissa Schemmenti,” the redheaded woman told you. “One of the other second grade teachers.”
“Oh,” your mouth formed into a bit of a frown. You headed over for the refrigerator and put your lunch in there. “Well, I hope you have a nice day.” And you head out.
That was your first conversation with Melissa Schemmenti, and it wasn’t a great one. It wouldn’t matter though. Life had a funny way of playing out.
During development week, you paid close attention. This school was no joke- you knew that. Growing up in the area, you knew the kids were tough. You knew that this school in particular had a decent amount of turnover every year. But you were determined to stay- make the difference for even just one student like your own second grade teacher had made for you. Janine Teagues, the other second grade teacher in your triad, was just as invested in the seminars as you were despite the fact that this was her third year at Abbott. Melissa, on the other hand, couldn’t care less. She made it very clear she couldn’t care less- busying herself in any other way possible.
Development week was over before you knew it, the weekend flew by, and the kids were beginning to file in. You glanced nervously at Janine, who just gave you an encouraging smile. Then you turned to look at Melissa, whose eyes immediately fell from your own. Was she watching you? You went to say something, but now the kids were actually coming to meet their new teachers, and you weren’t able to say anything more. Instead, you gave her a tight lipped smile.
You survived the first week. And then you survived the second. Soon enough, October came, and you were still at Abbott.
Melissa was clearly intrigued by you and your work ethic. Any other teachers who had tried to keep up with her Janine failed epically and been gone in the first few days. But you? You exceeded every expectation with such grace.
Until you had to ask for her help. It really wasn’t even that big of a deal- the teacher who had the book your manual was referencing before you misplaced it. So, you found yourself hyping yourself up to go to her classroom and ask for help finding it. Finally, you mustered up the courage and were finding yourself knocking on her door.
“Newbie?” she asked. You still hadn’t quite earned the right to be called by your name by the redhead yet.
“Hey,” you sighed out softly. “Listen, I really hate to bother you, but Janine isn’t here, and I need this book for a few days from now. I’d rather not be running around like a chicken without her head on Wednesday.
“What do you want?”
“The teacher that was here before me lost the book the textbook is referencing. Do you know where I could find it?”
“When do you need it?”
“Thursday,” you mumbled softly.
“Newbie, it’s Monday.”
“Yeah?” you cocked your head to the side just slightly. “I hate running around the day before though and feeling unprepared.”
The redhead maneuvered her way over to her desk before rifling through a few things. She produced the book you needed. “Here, just borrow mine. The last teacher in your room set hers on fire when she quit.”
“What?” you raised a brow as you took the offered book.
Melissa just smirked. “She was batshit crazy. Promise you won’t light my book on fire, newbie.”
“Promise,” you chuckled. “I’ll have it back to you on Thursday afternoon.” You raised the book in the air. “Thank you.” You turn to head out of her room and back to your own classroom.
“Hey,” her voice stopped you in your tracks. You turned to face her again, and this time she wasn’t wearing the usual smirk. She actually had an earnest smile on her face- like one she has when she’s chatting with her friends in the staff room. “You’re doin’ alright, Y/N.”
“Thanks,” you smiled back at her.
As you left, you felt your cheeks burning just slightly, and you couldn’t wipe that dumb grin off your face. You didn’t know why she had you feeling so giddy- maybe it was because she actually called you by your real name for the first time, or maybe it was because her smile was one that could light up even the darkest of cities.
That was the first time you ever asked her for help, the first time she ever addressed you by name, the first time you fell in love with that smile of hers.
It took a few more weeks before she finally came into your classroom to ask for your help for the first time. It was silly really- all she needed you to do is stand in between both rooms to keep an eye on her class while she goes to the bathroom. But still, you were surprised she didn’t just ask Janine instead.
The first time you sat with her at lunch, it was not your day. You were running late, forgot your lunch on the counter in your apartment, spilled your coffee all down your front, and then you still didn’t have time to make a pitstop at Wawa to get a new coffee or lunch. So when you came dragging into the staff lounge with a whopping five dollars in your hand, a gigantic brown stain on your yellow shirt, and a frown, Melissa raised a brow.
“Not your day, Y/N?” your colleague asked.
You just let out a heavy sigh as you inserted a dollar into one of the machines. You picked what your vending machine lunch would be for the day before turning back around and going to head for the door. Once again, Melissa’s voice stopped you in your tracks.
“Y/N,” the redhead called again. You turned to face her, clearly unhappy and not in the mood. “Is that your lunch today?”
You just nodded.
“Come sit,” Melissa waved you over to hers and Barbara’s table.
“I uh, wouldn’t want to impo-”
“Come sit,” the hardheaded woman told you again as she kicked out the chair next to her before standing up. She headed over for the cabinets and pulled out a paper plate. With a sigh, you took the seat next to her. Before you knew what was happening, your coworker was spooning out some of the pasta that she packed for herself onto the plate and was handing it to you.
“Melissa, what are you doing?” you asked her incredulously, eyes nearly bulging out of your head.
“I already ate like half of it, and there’s still more that I won’t finish, so eat it,” she told you sternly. When her friends all raised their brows too, Melissa shrugged. “I ain’t going to cover her class if she passes out because all she had to eat today was a bag of Doritos.”
“Melissa, I couldn’t-”
“If you don’t eat it, it’s going in the trash,” she rolled her eyes. “So just take it, and enjoy it.” Then she made her way over to the coffee machine and was brewing a new pot. You took a glance in her mug, and it was entirely full aside from the few sips you had watched her take while she was standing next to you. A few minutes later, there was a steaming hot mug of coffee placed in front of you. Then, and only then, did the redhead sit down. When she noticed that you still hadn’t taken a bite of her food, she practically shoved the fork into your hand.
After the first bite, you groaned. This was the best pasta you had ever tasted. Melissa just gave you a smile as she reached over and stole the chips you bought. She opened them, popped one into her mouth, and then pushed the bag back in your direction.
“Thank you,” you had blushed through a mouthful.
Since that day, Melissa always made sure that you ate, and she was the first to offer up some of her lunch if you forgot yours that day.
The first time you realized you had feelings for her, you absolutely freaked out. You weren’t supposed to like her- your coworker. And yet there you were- falling for Melissa Schemmenti. You had no idea that she was falling just as hard.
The first time she kissed you, she had pretty much ambushed you- after a relatively hard day with the kids, on top of watching the idiot fifth grade teacher flirt with you mercilessly. You were just sitting at your desk trying to grade your second graders’ spelling tests when you heard her enter your room with the slamming of the door.
“Melissa?” you asked, clearly shocked that she was coming in here, and pissed. “What- what’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer, instead crossing the room on straight legs and kissing you rather aggressively. You were so shocked in the moment that you didn’t kiss her back. As she pulled away though, you only pulled her back in for another. You tugged her into your lap as her arms wrapped around your neck. Eventually, air became a necessity, and she pulled away.
“I’m so fuckin’ sick of watching Matthews flirt with you,” she stated as her green eyes turned dark.
“Matthews is an idiot,” you rolled your eyes. “Doesn’t ever pick up on the fact that they only person I ever flirt back with is you.”
“Dinner at my house tonight,” she told you lowly. She wiped off the excess lipgloss from your face before fixing her own. With a toss of her hair, she stood from your lap and made her way out of your room. You couldn’t help but watch the way her hips swayed.
The first time you said I love you, it wasn’t the way you thought that you would’ve told her. Honestly, the first time you said those three special words, you weren’t aware that you had said them. Or remembered.
You were absolutely hammered during one of the happy hours after school. You don’t even really remember how you ended up getting as drunk as you did- you never got that bad. But with Melissa and Mr. Johnson practically feeding you shots after a particularly hard day with your students, you were on the verge of blacking out. So, as a dutiful girlfriend, Melissa took you out of the dive bar before you could make an even bigger fool out of yourself than you already had.
“You’re so pretty,” you had murmured the whole way home, a hand never far from her body. It wasn’t in any sexual way, you just liked being close to her.
She chuckled, that easy laugh that you knew meant she wasn’t uncomfortable with your actions. “Thanks, hun.”
Once she pulled up to your apartment complex, she ushered you inside. You had expected her to leave you, even in your drunk state. But instead, she simply guided you to the couch, wrapped you up in a blanket, and went on her way to your kitchen. Before you knew it, you were eating one of your favorite dishes of hers while she lounged next to you.
“You’re the best,” you smiled at her drunkenly.
She pat your leg with a soft smile on her face. “Don’t I know it? Now, why don’t we get you up to bed so you can sleep this off, and hopefully don’t wake up hungover tomorrow for work?”
“Are you trying to seduce me?” you slurred out.
Green eyes were rolled as she hoisted you into her arms. She carried you up to your room, got you changed, and pulled the blankets over you. She kissed your forehead before going to leave.
“Stay?” you had asked meekly.
You heard her sigh, but your eyes were closed. “Give me a few minutes.”
On the verge of sleep, you felt the bed dip under you and warm, strong arms wrap around you. In an instant, you turned in her arms and tucked your chin into her body.
“I love you,” you whispered before giving into drunken exhaustion.
Melissa stiffened just slightly beneath you, but then with a sigh of relief, she reciprocated that emotion, a kiss being pressed to your temple. She held you like that through the rest of the night.
The first time you said ‘I love you’ and were coherent for it, it wasn’t a grand gesture at all. The two of you were sitting outside of her townhouse after a nice meal when you knew you couldn’t hold it in any longer. So, you grabbed her hand with a smile and breathed out those three special words.
“I love you,” you told her with the softest of smiles, the softest of eyes. Then you take a deep sigh of relief. “Oh God. There, I said it first. Now it won’t be awkward, because I know we’ve both been dancing around it for a while now.”
Your girlfriend responded with a full-out belly laugh, and it shook you. It startled you. Was it too early to say those words?
“What?”
She just continued to laugh. “Hun, you said it first a while ago.”
“I what?” you gasped.
“Do you remember the last happy hour we went to?” she asked you with a smirk.
You grumbled. She loved to hold that day over your head. “Barely.”
“After I got you to bed, before you fell asleep, you told me. You’ve also been mumbling it in your sleep. So, I know you love me. I’ve just been waiting for you to tell me coherently,” your girlfriend laughed. Then she sobered slightly to look at you with eyes she only had reserved for you. “I love you too, mi amore.”
That night also led to the first time… that first time. And it was everything you had dreamed of and more. Melissa Schemmenti was a body worth worshipping.
The first time you spoke of what your future might look like together was rocky- but it was nothing if not informative. She expressed that she wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of marriage, but kids were something that she was wary of. You expressed that you could see yourself marrying her if it all fell into place, and kids were a dream of yours. If they came along they came along. Melissa reminded you that the two of you wouldn’t just be able to create a life the way any straight couple would be able to; forcing you to blush furiously. Of course though, she said that if the timing was right and everything fell into place, it wasn’t off the table.
The first time you had tried to propose to Melissa Schemmenti was one that you’ll never, ever forget. Everything seemed like it was going perfectly- the kids were extremely well-behaved that day for both of you (something that quite literally never happens), the drive home and making dinner was pleasant, and dessert was almost ready. You thumbed the ring in your pocket, just about ready to drop down to one knee and ask her to marry you. But of course, the most important aspect of your day was ruined when you dropped the ring as you went to pull it out of your pocket. You thanked your lucky stars that you were able to locate it and recover from your fumble before she was aware that anything was happening behind her back. But now that you were in such a panic, you couldn’t ask her. So, you enjoyed dessert with the ring carefully placed in your pocket. And it was wonderful.
You figured you had recovered enough from your first fumble to be able to ask her as you were getting ready for bed that night. So, while she was in the bathroom taking off her makeup, you carefully pulled the ring from your pocket again and laid it on her pillow. That was almost a surefire way for her to see it.
You were wrong of course. While she usually rolled into bed, this particular time she decided to flop down and sent the ring flying behind the headboard. It landed with a particularly loud thud- one that made her furrow her brows.
Thinking quickly, you took off one of your own rings and stuffed it under your pillow.
“Oh, dammit,” you groaned, ever the actress. “I knew I forgot to put that ring back on.”
“Sorry, hun.” Melissa looked regretful. “Let me grab it for you.” She goes to roll out of bed and move the frame away from the wall to retrieve your ring.
You were too slow to stop her, frozen in your tracks. She found the engagement ring that was meant to be hers and stood straight up with it, eyes wide and jaw just slightly agape.
“Y/N,” your girlfriend said lowly. “What is this?”
“A ring?” you desperately were trying to figure out how to get out of this predicament.
“No shit,” she was quick to retort. “Who’s is it?”
“Mine,” you say quietly.
“Are you secretly married or something?” Green eyes turn somewhat dark.
“No!” you were quick to reply. Well, you had to come clean now. “Mel, it’s mine… for you. I was going to ask you tonight, but both times I went to, I fumbled.”
Your girlfriend’s eyes grew wide. “What do you mean?”
You explained the earlier events to her with a sigh. “Now, can I please have the ring back so I can at least go to bed with some of my dignity tonight?”
Melissa handed you the ring with an expectant look. But instead of dropping down to one knee like she thought you would, you instead just put the ring back safely in its box.
“What are you doing?” she asked you. “Aren’t you going to propose?”
“Well, I can’t now,” you replied. “It has to be perfect, and that proposal would not be.” You slide back into bed and open your arms for her to fall into. She does with a frown on her face.
“Damn,” she huffed. “I could’ve been engaged tonight.”
“Well,” you chuckled as you pressed a kiss to her head. “You will be soon enough- when the time is right.”
“It’s a beautiful ring,” she complimented softly as she held up her left hand. “Damn! Now I wish I would’ve just put it on!”
The next morning, Barbara came flying into the staffroom to look at Melissa’s hand- she knew of your plan to ask her work wife to marry you. She all but grabbed her best friend’s hand, and the smile that she wore immediately melted away into a frown.
“Where’s the-”
“It didn’t go as planned,” you sighed softly from next to your still-girlfriend.
“What does that mean?” Barbara gasped. “Melissa Ann, did you refuse her proposal?”
“What?”
“Did you refuse her proposal?”
“She didn’t,” you chuckled nervously. “I flubbed it.”
“H-how on Earth would you have flubbed it?” Barbara asked you.
You turned sheepish. “I dropped the ring twice… and then she found it.”
“I tried to get her to propose,” Melissa huffed. “She wouldn’t.”
“And why would that be?”
“Because it has to be perfect,” you sighed as you kissed her hand. “You deserve perfect.”
“What I deserve is for that ring to be on my finger,” your girlfriend still huffed.
She got it eventually. The third time that you tried to propose was perfect, and the rock sat on her finger beautifully. The first time the Abbott crew saw it, they nearly swooned. Barbara nudged her best friend lightly.
“Was it worth the wait?” the kindergarten teacher asked teasingly.
“Yeah,” Melissa whispered as she held her hand out to admire the new ring. “I’d say so.”
The first time that you decided to sit down to wedding plan did not go to plan. It was disagreement after disagreement. And of course, that led to you sleeping on the couch after you said something not particularly called for. But after that, wedding planning was civil and respectful, and the “Abbott event of the century”, as Janine was putting it, was nearly set.
The first time you saw Melissa in her wedding dress was probably the most untraditional way to see her in it. But then again, most of the things about your relationship were untraditional.
You had come home after your own fitting, and there she was- standing on the coffee table as her mother was attempting to do alterations her own dress. Barbara Howard, obviously assuming her duty as maid of honor, was holding pins for Mrs. Schemmenti. In an instant though, she was shooing you back out the door.
“Y/N,” Barbara scolded you. “What the hell are you doing here?”
You chuckled. “Barb, this is my house too, you know.”
“Well, yes, but I thought you knew she would be doing alterations to the dress!”
“I didn’t think she would be standing on our living room coffee table!” you argued. “I thought she would be doing it in the basement or our bedroom, so I was just going to avoid those areas!”
The kindergarten teacher huffed. “Well, please tell me you didn’t see her in it.”
You avert your eyes- you had seen her in it. And she looked stunning.
“You two are the worst, you know that?” Barb rolled her eyes.
You smiled though. “Yeah, we are. But at least we can be terrible together.”
The first time you said your vows out loud was to your future wife, on your wedding day. By some grace of God, you had managed to keep them under wraps, and she had managed to keep hers a secret from you too.
So, there the two of you stood, holding hands up at the altar and looking into each other’s eyes as you made lifelong promises to each other.
Melissa’s vows were short and sweet like she was (despite the fact that she always appears to be an average height… heels be damned). She glossed over the fact that she never in a million years would’ve expected to be standing here today before promising you that she would always be there to make lasagna for your birthday, that she’d never love Jalen Hurts more than you, and that she’d do whatever it takes to keep you happy… even if that meant having to be the one to change the lightbulbs in the house because you were afraid of getting burnt. Her vows to you made you laugh, they made you cry, they made you fall even further in love with her than you already were.
And then it was your turn to speak your vows- ones that you had only practiced in your head because you knew she was always looming around the corner trying to hear you.
“So,” you chuckled softly as you turned to the audience. “As Melissa stated, it was not love at first sight. Not even love at second glance- at least on her part. But… we’ve made our way here.”
Your friends and family had laughed at your light joke, and then you turned back to Melissa. “It may not have been love at first sight, but we’ve had a lot of other firsts happen in life… One’s that we may not have ever expected: the first time you called me by name, the first time we had to ask each other for help, the first time you ambushed me in the classroom to tell me about the feelings that you had for me, our first I love you’s… the ones that I remember at least-” you blushed. “The first time I tried to propose, and the second time, and finally the third time. I guess what they say is true, that the third time’s a charm.” Again, those that you had invited to the ceremony chuckled along with you. “I’ve cherished all of our firsts, and I always will. And now, here I am, ready to read my vows aloud for the very first time.”
You shook your hands out nervously before glancing at the woman before you. You spoke of promising to love her through the good and bad, the beautiful and the downright ugly, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health. And then you diverted from the traditional vows. “Melissa, today is the first day of the rest of our lives, and it’s one that we’ll truly never forget. But just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean that life is going to be boring. I vow to you that we will live a lifetime full of firsts- together. I’m not quite sure what those firsts may be, but I know that they’ll be just as meaningful and as memorable as the rest of our firsts. I love you.”
The rest of your wedding is perfect, and then the reception after is an absolute ball. It was the first night of the rest of your lives, as you had said. And while you maybe wouldn’t remember it all the next morning, you knew that the most important parts would always be held to your heart.
The first time that you really spoke about your future together as a married couple- adding kids to the mix, or maybe a pet, was… it wasn’t pretty. But after a bit of wearing her down, your wife (God, you loved that you could call her your wife) agreed that if she was going to be a parent with anyone, it would be you.
That led you to your first treatments. That led you to the first time you peed on a stick, for once praying that it was positive. It wasn’t. That led you to another round of treatments, another negative test. And after the third round, for the first time, the word “positive” was staring up at you.
Melissa had just smiled at you softly and said, “I guess third time really is a charm for us.”
Your first pregnancy. With that, there were a lot of firsts. The first ultrasound and time you heard your baby’s heartbeat.The first time you experienced morning sickness. The first time you noticed your bump. The first time you had to buy maternity clothes. The first time that you felt the baby kick- the first time she felt the baby kick. There were so many firsts throughout all of that experience.
And now, here you are, holding your daughter, your first born, for the first time. Melissa is perched on the side of your hospital bed, looking at the two of you with such love in her eyes. For the first time, the two of you are mothers. It’s a feeling of love that you never knew before- you understand motherly love for the first time as you hold this beautiful little baby in your arms.
“This is the first day of the rest of our lives,” you whisper as you stroke your little girl’s cheek.
“We’ve already had a lifetime full of firsts,” she tells you softly as she brushes her lips against your temple. “I think we can handle another lifetime of firsts.”
TAGS: (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld
#melissa schemmenti fanfiction#abbott elementary#abbott elementary fanfiction#abbott elementary fanfic#melissa schemmenti fanfic#melissa schemmenti x you#melissa schemmenti x reader#melissa schemmenti
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{ 175 }
heartbreak feels so good.
jinwoo sung x fem.reader
warnings: mentions of physical intimacy, but nothing too explicit.
{ we could cry a little, cry a lot | don't stop dancing, don't dare stop | we'll cry later or cry now | you know it's heartbreak | we could dance our tears away | emancipate ourselves | we'll cry later or cry now, but baby | heartbreak feels so good }
anonymous said: HELLO!! ⭐ anon here and I have an idea. I literally can't stop thinking about it. It's gonna make my brain hurt so I won't hide it any longer ☹️
GAHAHAHAHAHAHA imagine Jinwoo who had a one night stand with reader. It was like after a party and they decided to hook up for one night, but reader regretted it afterwards bc of how shameful she thought she was—like bravely being involved with the Sung Jinwoo in such field??? Also what—he agreed and looked smug too or was she mistaken???
Jinwoo already knew reader and had been eyeing her for a while but didn't say anything about it. Before he even woke up, she was already gone and he was instantly reminded of the night they spent together.
Pookie got awkward after that and started to avoid Jinwoo. Meanwhile, little did she know, he actually liked to observe reader from afar. He'd often find it cute when she'd take one step away from him sideways as the tip of her ears go red.
Idk man one day Jinwoo just said "fuck this let's go on a date" and then boom their relationship bloomed. I'm so into this trope 😭 no toxicity, just two people being awkward and slowly exploring their actual feelings for each other. I'm sorry if this is too long, but still, if you saw this, thank you for reading. I hope you have a good day! I just can't help but yap every single change I get. ♪～(´ε｀ )
this had to be the biggest mistake of your life-
but truly, how could you have possibly even try to think straight when you had wanted nothing more than to just play pretend for one night? to actually feel like you were cherished and loved by someone who meant a lot to you?
the party you attended was, of course, thrown as a celebration for hunters and healers alike. the chairman had gone all out for everyone who had worked hard for the nation and wanted to give everyone a chance to de-stress and enjoy themselves.
from the fanciest bottles of champagne and wine that cost more than your salary to the perfectly catered food that seemed to suit everyone’s cravings and needs-
admittedly, you felt a bit out of your element.
the fact that so many people were here at this venue made you feel incredibly overwhelmed. in hopes of trying to maintain your sanity, you head over to the waiters and waitresses serving glass upon glass of expensive liquor, downing each of them while praying that the liquid courage would take effect and you could properly mingle with everyone else.
after downing just a few glasses of bubbly champagne, you could feel the heat against your cheeks coupled along with a slight tipsiness as the alcohol courses through your veins. yet, in the midst of your increasing drunken stupor, the strange sensation of being watched was what ultimately made you face him-
the tenth s-rank hunter, sung jinwoo.
he was leaning against the wall, tending to his own glass of red wine as his grey eyes remained rooted to your form. an almost mischievous grin was felt spreading across your lips, noticing how a certain blond hunter wasn’t latched on to him like a leech.
jinwoo is an incredibly fine specimen… i could work with this.
the alcohol in your system gave you the much needed courage to sidle up to him, your lips turned up in a smile as you casually smoothed out your dress. “hey hunter sung, funny seeing you here. you have always remained so elusive during gatherings like this.”
a look of pure amusement was shining within his grey eyes. “well, i figured it was time to change that, since it would be rude not to show up to at least one of the chairman’s events.”
you hum at his answer while sliding your hand up his dress shirt, earning a choked sound from him. “hm, you know, i was shocked to not see hunter cha clinging to you tonight. she’s the type that can never seem to leave you alone…”
“ah, w-well, she doesn’t always wish to hang out with me now that i’ve- wait, what are you doing?”
wow, his skin is so smooth… i can feel his muscles from beneath this flimsy dress shirt.
jinwoo’s breath hitches when your press the palm of your hand against his chest, purposely trailing your touches down to his abdomen as you leaned up to whisper in his ear. “the chairman said he rented out some floors of the hotel in case his guests got tired. shall i keep you company instead of cha hae-in tonight?”
you never got a chance to hear jinwoo’s answer or see his expression. simply grabbing a hold of his hand, you took the elevators to one of the booked floors, taking a card key from one of the hotel staff before shoving jinwoo into one of the rooms.
all you wanted was a chance to experience this type of intimacy with a man you respected and admired-
but you weren’t expecting jinwoo to be so gentle with you throughout it all.
you didn’t expect him to kiss every inch of your skin, filling you with so much pleasure that you became sensitive to his every touch.
you didn’t expect him to slowly make love to you, tangling your limbs together like he never wanted to let go of you.
and you certainly didn’t expect to experience such an intense release throughout your night together with jinwoo.
with the post lovemaking (and post champagne) quality kicking in just a few hours later, you awaken in the middle of the night with a start, feeling cold as the night air pricked at your skin, sending goosebumps down the length of your arms. your heart was a pounding mess as you ran a hand through your tangled hair.
recalling the ache felt between your legs, you look behind you to see jinwoo still sound asleep. he lay on his stomach, with the sheets just barely clinging on to his muscled back, making your mouth water in response.
your lips itched with the sudden desire to latch against his skin;
your whole body was screaming at you to just lay next to him and bask in his warmth;
but it was the more rational part of your mind that stopped you from acting on those irrational urges.
he’s going to wake up and regret sleeping with you.
with a purse of your lips, you allow your bare feet to touch at the carpeted floors. you slowly began to pick up the remnants of your undergarments while hastily putting them on along with your now wrinkled dress.
never once did you avert your gaze from jinwoo.
never once did he awaken to try and stop you from leaving.
it’s for the best.
giving the sleeping jinwoo one last look of yearning, you silently left the hotel room with every intention of never seeing the famous hunter ever again.
{ … }
to say you were embarrassed after that night would be the understatement of the century.
you had little clue as to truly how much time had passed, since your mind kept giving you flashbacks of how drunk and needy you were-
and also how caring jinwoo was when he willingly spent the night with you.
this embarrassment was what fuels you to continue avoiding jinwoo like a damn plague, with you taking on much lower leveled raids, raids that jinwoo wouldn’t pay the slightest attention to while slowly burying yourself with your duties.
you never sought to join any guilds and made it your life’s mission to stay far away from ahjin’s building, never once wishing to run into jinwoo.
in fact, you were perfectly fine with acting like your one night stand with him never happened at all.
however, unlucky for you, jinwoo himself didn’t seem to share that same sentiment.
{ … }
the moment you left him that night was the moment jinwoo had his first taste of true regret.
he felt so happy and excited when you approached him and invited him to spend the night with you. you never knew it, but jinwoo was achingly in love with you. he had hoped that with this chance, he could spoil you rotten with pleasure while taking great lengths to worship you; to love you like he had always wanted to.
when he could feel the pleasure washing over you with each and every stroke, jinwoo had gone a little crazy over you. the poor hunter had to bite down on his lips to prevent his words of utter love and devotion for you from spilling out.
but instead of choosing to tell you with words, he tells you with his actions alone.
yet still, it wasn’t enough to keep you by his side-
which was frustrating, to say the least.
jinwoo was no fool; he could tell that you were taking great lengths to avoid him. each time he would try to find you (whether it be during raids or just in general around the city) you would find ways to avoid ever meeting him by either switching out with another hunter / healer, or using the crowd to hide yourself away from him.
whenever this happens, jinwoo could only manage to let out an exasperated sigh in response. his hair would become a mess from the sheer amount of times he had run his fingers through them, trying to think of new ways to talk to you and finally confess.
throughout it all, jinwoo was left feeling a little listless, his mind always managing to go back to you…
by now, jinwoo had become desperate to finally have you.
while staring blankly at the ceiling of his office, jinwoo leans back against his chair while whispering your name.
if jinwoo couldn’t get to you by fair means, then he would have to start playing dirty, using his abilities as the shadow monarch to finally get through to you.
{ … }
so far, everything had been going according to plan on your end.
you had been successfully avoiding jinwoo for close to 4 months now, and when you were certain his lingering presence was no longer felt or seen within your periphery did you finally decide to head out for the night.
you were dying to get out of your apartment, wanting to try that new café or head to your go-to bookstore to read a new novel or two. yet your desire to always avoid jinwoo made you turn into a bit of a hermit (albeit unwillingly, but still.)
basking in the night air and the bustling sounds of seoul, you walked with a bit of a bounce in your step, thinking about your plans for the night. while you walked, you kept your gaze forward, and was caught off guard by the strangest phenomenon.
one minute, the sidewalk was free of any pedestrians, and the next, a man wearing an expensive looking coat appears just a mere inches away from you.
you recall letting out a gasp, hands already outreached to try and avoid face planting against the man’s broad back-
however, when he turns around was when you felt all of the air leave your lungs.
sung jinwoo was now facing you, his height still towering over you as his arms remained open, casually catching you within his embrace as your face landed against his chest. by now, your heart was pounding, making the blood rush to your ears as you began to feel dizzy.
“looks like i finally caught you.” a rich chuckle fills your ears when jinwoo places a lingering kiss against the top of your head, causing you to let out several sputters of his name.
“h-how did you-“
“did you forget who i am… and what i can do?”
his question successfully makes your heart skip beats, thinking back to the rumors that pertained to jinwoo and his ability to summon millions of shadow soldiers. along with this ability, you also knew that he could place many of those soldiers within anyone’s shadow while exchanging places with them on a whim.
“what? w-when did you manage to place your soldiers within my shadow?”
jinwoo hums, placing a hand beneath your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye. “when you came up to me at the party and lead me back to the hotel room.” a sly smile paints his handsome features when he leans down to whisper against your ear, “but you have to understand, even before that night, i was already half in love with you. i couldn’t help it when you gave me such a perfect opportunity.”
his sudden confession nearly makes you fall to your knees, but jinwoo manages to catch you in time, wrapping his arms around your waist while holding you even closer to him.
“so tell me, my beloved treasure, why you were so dead set on avoiding me?” he meets your gaze then, eyes filled with a subtle look of pain. “do you know how much it hurt me, seeing you ignoring me so blatantly like that?”
your breathing comes out as uneven, with you avoiding his gaze as you played with the front of his shirt, “i’m sorry, i thought that night was the only way to experience that type of intimacy with you. i convinced myself that i was nothing to you… and i-“
you hear jinwoo let out a hiss of your name before crashing his lips against yours in a searing kiss. it was enough to make you swallow your words as you moaned into his kiss, shyly kissing him back as jinwoo tightens his arms around you.
“shut up.” he manages to hoarsely say against your lips. “you drive me so fucking crazy all the time, but i still love you this much. never talk down about yourself in such a way ever again, because from this point on, you’re mine.”
you look into his eyes once more and see them burning a deep purple for you. there wasn’t a hint of a lie within the depths of his gaze, and the truth of his confession was finally beginning to sink into you.
“o-oh…”
your heart seemed to be beating a mile a minute now, racing so much that it overwhelmed you with its rapid palpitations.
letting out one last sigh of your name, jinwoo brings your head back into his chest, hugging you tightly. “when i’m done holding you like this, i’m going to take you out on a much needed date, and you are finally going to give us a chance. if you try to run again, just know that i will keep chasing you while chipping away at the walls you stubbornly built around your heart.”
you let out a tiny squeak, but couldn’t help but grin in response to his passionate words. “your plan is already working.” you murmur against his chest.
moving away from jinwoo, you look up at him with bright eyes all while giving him a genuine smile. “my heart is already yours, so-“
jinwoo interrupts you yet again, this time by picking you up and spinning you around in happy circles, hands clutched tightly against your sides when he brings you back down to him. nuzzling his nose against yours, you watch as a smirk paints his gorgeous features.
“it’s about damn time you finally admitted your feelings for me.”
and with yet another kiss shared beneath the city lights, you no longer felt the pangs of heartbreak filling your veins, feeling it slowly morph into the requited love you had always desired with your beloved sung jinwoo ♡
a.n. - and i’m so happy to finish this. this should be my 40th jinwoo oneshot, which is insane to think about 😭 currently unedited but, i hope you enjoyed this @ ⭐️ anon 🥹
all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.
#sung jinwoo x reader#jinwoo sung x reader#sung jinwoo x you#jinwoo sung x you#solo leveling x reader#.stories
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Florida.
Pairings: Emily Prentiss x reader.
Summary: Emily Prentiss was known to be a sweet, kind, funny and playful person, while also being dedicated, determined and serious, etc. But when y/n joined, everyone noticed the bundle of nerves she was around her, and the teasing was very present too.
A/n: This is for @storiesofsvu 's birthday bingo with the prompt 'Heatwave'. This is my first time participating and I hope this was good hehe, excited to do this and to show you this cute one shot🫢 I dunno why I decided that in Emily's fics, reader will have the last name of 'Carter', I just love it. But anywayyyy, I wanted to do this for my birthday, post today cause I just felt like it and so here it is. I hope you guys enjoy this, if you got any requests for Emily, send them my way. Leave comments, hearts, whatever you like and reblog so this gets some love🫶🏻
*not my gif*
When Hotch announced that there would be a new agent joining the team, it was no surprise that they were curious of who it could be. Maybe an old agent that worked with Hotch before, or maybe someone who knew Rossi, maybe a new ‘baby’ agent as they liked to call them, maybe someone who had been recommended. For the rest of the day, they all had been talking about it and trying to figure out who it could be; Penelope got her skills working, trying to see if there was anything about this new agent on the system already, but so far, nothing. So, on Monday, when a beautiful, young girl walked to Hotch’s office, all eyes were on her. To say the least, they were all surprised that the chosen one had been a ‘baby’ agent; soon enough, Penelope had her file shown to everyone before Hotch could walk in and introduce her.
It was no surprise that everyone found the new girl beautiful, interesting by the way she looked so serious and quiet, but there was something that changed in Emily that day. Since the moment she laid her eyes on the new recruit, she had gone completely silent, her eyes locked in the girl. Everyone around her kept talking about her, making assumptions, or just commenting on how beautiful she was, but Emily? She didn’t say a thing. She just kept her eyes on her, which…was creepy, if Emily thought about it. She didn’t mean to do that, she didn’t mean to keep staring, but it was impossible not to. Soon enough, y/n got along with the whole team, she has started to join them for drinks, she went out to lunch with them, Penelope had even dragged her to their girl's night and had announced that y/n was now the new member. Y/n couldn’t have been happier with the fact that they all were making her feel like she really belonged with them.
It wasn’t too long after Emily started noticing her behavior around y/n, the way she acted, the way her voice changed, the way she smiled even more than usual, there were so many little things that she started to notice and that she hoped that no one else would. And that’s when it clicked; she had a crush. She has not had a crush in years. Years. She had focused on her job, she had said that she didn’t have time to date or even go around meeting people, and the thought of one-night stands…they were a big no. But y/n had completely changed that, she liked her, she liked being around her, she loved to see her smiling, she loved to hear her laugh, she loved to see how well she got along with everyone, she loved the way she dressed, the way she talked, the way she walked…yeah. It was definitely a crush.
Emily sat on her desk and was focused on the file she had right in front of her, but the moment she heard y/n’s laugh, she couldn’t help but look her way and smile at how cute she looked. She didn’t know what stupid thing Spencer and Morgan were saying, but the fact that she was laughing and smiling, made Emily feel warm inside. She didn’t notice that JJ and Penelope were right behind her, quietly laughing as they stared at Emily for a while. JJ leaned down to whisper in Emily’s ear, trying to hold back her laugh.
“Like what you see, Prentiss?” JJ whispered softly, making Emily almost jump from her seat.
“Jesus, JJ!” Emily looked back at Penelope and JJ laughing hysterically at her reaction, making Emily groan. “Why would you scare me like that?”
“Oh, you were just very distracted and well…we didn’t want to interrupt.” JJ teased as Penelope kept laughing beside her.
Emily shook her head and then shrugged. “You were not interrupting anything.”
“Oh, so you were not just staring at Carter over there? Cause I wear glasses, m’lady, and I am pretty sure you were just smiling and admiring her from afar.” Penelope teased as she leaned over Emily’s desk, mocking the position Emily had been in while staring at y/n.
Emily rolled her eyes as she scoffed. “Yeah, whatever.”
“C’mon, Em! We know you have it bad for our girl over there. We don’t blame you.” JJ grinned softly as she crossed her arms.
Emily turned her chair and tried to go back to her file. “Don’t know what y’all are talking about.”
Penelope looked at JJ with a smirk on her face. “Denial is the first step.”
JJ chuckled softly as she nodded. “Oh, yes. Let’s see how long she stays in there.”
Emily could feel her cheeks getting warm as she heard her friends, unable to deny it because they were entirely right, and they knew it. This couldn’t be good, because now that they had figured it out, there was no way in hell that they would stop teasing Emily, so now she had to prepare mentally for the torture into which she had just walked.
“Earth to Emily!”
Emily snapped out of her trance and looked up to find y/n leaning over her desk. “Oh, hi! I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
Y/n chuckled softly as she nodded. “I was saying thank you for the coffee this morning, and for the muffin. It so happened to be my favorite actually.” She grinned softly as she stared at Emily.
Emily smiled widely as she nodded. “It so happens to be my favorite too, so I’m glad I got the right one.”
“You have good taste, Prentiss.” Y/n grinned as she stood up. “Next coffee is on me.” She squeezed Emily’s shoulder before she walked away.
Penelope scoffed as she looked at Emily. “You’ve never brought me muffins!”
“That’s because she has a crush, of course she’d buy her a muffin too.” JJ smirked as she walked away.
Emily chuckled softly as she nodded. “Can’t deny it.”
“Knew it!” Penelope whispered/yelled, making Emily blush more. “You’re so soft around her. It’s cute.”
“I am not soft.” Emily raised her brow as she looked at Penelope.
“Oh, you definitely are, Em. Soft Emily! Adorable.” Penelope pinched Emily’s cheek and then walked away.
********************
If there was once place that most of them hated to go to, was Florida. There were many reasons why they didn’t actually like to be there, of course their main focus was to help people and solve the case, but the fact that there was an actual heatwave and there were some psycho out there murdering people in the middle of it, was annoying and frustrating. The moment they landed, they all literally almost stripped out of their clothes as soon as they walked out of the jet. The sun was their biggest enemy at the moment, if they were pissed about the case, now with the heatwave, they were done. Luckily, the precinct they had to go to had air conditioning, and it was nice to stay there, but the fact that Hotch had to send them to different locations got the whole team in a mood. Reid and Rossi were sent to the morgue, while Morgan, Emily and y/n were sent to the last crime scene.
“I swear, I’m about to strip down and give two shits about who sees me.” Morgan says as she got out of the car, slamming the door.
“Yeah, I don’t think it’d be a good picture to keep in my mind, so thank you but no.” Emily shook her head as she followed Morgan, almost rolling her eyes.
“C’mon, Prentiss. You’re gonna tell me you don’t wanna see some of this?” Morgan smirked as he raised his shirt to show his abs.
Y/n rolled her eyes as she pulled his shirt down. “The heat is annoying as it is, please don’t add to the annoyance. We’ve got enough.” She said in a playful tone as she kept walking.
“Carter, baby, you’d love to see what’s underneath all this.” Morgan raised his brows as he wrapped his arm around y/n’s shoulders as they walked.
“In your wildest dreams, my man. But I don’t play for that team.” Y/n grinned as she pushed him away. “And please, do not get near me again, I like you, but right now I do not need sweat from someone else.” She raised her brows playfully and got her gloves out of her back pocket, walking to the crime scene.
“This girl is something else, isn’t she?” Morgan smirked as he stood beside Emily, turning to look at her for a moment.
Emily cleared her throat as she nodded. “Definitely.” She then looked at Morgan who was already staring at her with a smirk on his face. “What?”
Morgan raised his brows. “You like her, don’t you?”
“Oh, my…” Emily sighed loudly as she covered her face. She then looked back at Morgan and raised her hands. “Is it that obvious or what?”
“Nah. The thought just slipped my mind just now, but you just confirmed it.” Morgan winked as he followed y/n.
Emily groaned and shook her head as she followed them. Not only was it embarrassing that JJ and Penelope teased her about it every possible chance they had, but now Morgan wouldn’t drop it either and she was sure that her soon join the girls. But could he actually blame her? Y/n had talked on the jet how she had prepared herself for the weather and soon enough she’d get rid of her blazer, but Emily hadn’t expected anything more than y/n having a comfortable shirt or blouse underneath, but when she did take the blazer off, not only was a sleeveless shirt but the shirt hugged her figure perfectly, and that’s when Emily stared at her arms, fascinated by how strong she looked, and suddenly she felt like a perv, imagining things that she could only talk with herself.
It was no better once they headed back to the precinct. In their way back, Emily looked at the backseat to tell y/n something about the case and that’s when she noticed y/n had put her hair back in a ponytail which gave Emily a better look on her beautiful face. Emily turned back so fast to try to hide the redness on her face. Morgan of course noticed this but didn’t say a thing as he kept driving. Once in the precinct, Emily tried her best to focus on the case, directly staring at Hotch and at the board, but she couldn’t help but stare at y/n every now and then, and at times, she caught y/n looking back at her, which caught her off guard.
The next day was no different, having to go to different places to find evidence or witness made it hard to stay sane. The weather seemed to be getting worse or maybe it was just them that couldn’t deal with the heat. All day, Emily and y/n had been working apart, so Emily had a chance to focus more on the case and keep y/n away from her mind. Once Rossi and Emily were back in the precinct, Emily was going through some files when she felt a hand on her back, sending a shiver down her spine.
Y/n smiled softly as she sat beside Emily. “Hey you.”
“Oh, you’re back.” Emily smiled as she turned her chair to get a better look of y/n.
“Yep, and I come bearing gifts.” Y/n placed an iced coffee in front of her, along with a muffin. “Found our favorite in a local coffee shop.”
Emily smiled softly as she grabbed the muffin. “How did you know I was hungry?” She raised a playful brow as she looked at y/n, grabbing a piece and then offering the muffin to y/n.
“With this heat, everyone is either thirsty, hungry or both. I know I am.” Y/n chuckled as she grabbed a piece of the muffin. “How’s the reading?”
Emily took a sip of her coffee and sighed. “I feel like I’m crossing words now. The AC here is great but I’m going crazy with this heat.”
“Tell me about it. I’m used to the heat, but this is something else.” Y/n leaned back in her chair.
“Yeah, me too.” Emily nodded as she kept eating and drinking her coffee.
Y/n smiled softly as she stared at Emily. “I don’t think I’ve seen you this long with a ponytail. I like it.”
Emily turned back to look at y/n, a faint blush on her cheeks. “Well…it’s my Florida style for the next few days.”
“Hope I get to see it more back home and not only in the field.” Y/n grinned softly as she grabbed her own coffee.
“And what about you? Will I get to see you in a ponytail more often?” Emily grinned back, biting the straw of her coffee.
For the first time, Emily caught a blush on y/n’a cheeks, making her grin grow wider. Y/n cleared her throat as she looked away. “Well…I uh…my hair has been growing so maybe you will.”
“Good, hope so.” Emily grinned as she returned to read the file.
Y/n cleared her throat softly as she grabbed a file and started reading it, completely missing the way Emily looked back at her with a grin on her face. Y/n was not sure if she was sweating because of the heat, or she was sweating because of Emily’s comment and stare. She had been trying to act bold and flirty this whole time, but Emily had finally made her go back to feeling all giddy and shy. She had tried her best to be the one getting Emily to smile and her cheeks to go all red, she was still not sure if Emily just liked the compliments and the way y/n acted or it was for another reason…but in her case, Emily was driving her insane. More now with that beautiful red top that she was wearing today, the way she could see her cleavage…stop right there before you go somewhere you can’t go back from. Y/n shook her head and tried to focus back on the file. Emily would be the death of her.
********************
Y/n groaned softly as she walked into the precinct, throwing her head back as she JJ laughed. She looked back at her and raised her brow. “What you laughing at?”
“You seriously hate heat this much?” JJ laughed.
“Are you kidding me, JJ? I’m seriously considering taking Morgan’s idea and strip down. But thank God for AC.” Y/n smiled softly but then stopped in her tracks as she stood by the door of the conference room, her cheeks suddenly growing even more red.
JJ raised her brow at the reaction and then looked back into the conference, noticing that Emily was standing up and putting some things away. She returned her stare to y/n and grinned. “All good, Carter?”
Y/n swallowed as her eyes widened slightly. “I…uh…”
If the top yesterday had driven her crazy, todays had definitely taken her to heaven and back to earth. Emily was wearing a sleeveless, red shirt that hugged her figure just perfectly, and with the pants that she was wearing plus her hair in a ponytail? Yeah, she was definitely going to lose it right here and right now. She then noticed she had stared for longer than expected and JJ was still by her side.
Y/n looked at JJ and chuckled softly. “I uh…I forgot something at the car.”
“I thought you didn’t want to go back to that hell. And we’re about to leave.” JJ grinned playfully.
“Forgot my phone. Be right back!” Y/n said before she was walking as fast as she could.
Emily looked up to find JJ laughing, making her furrow her brows. “What’s up?”
JJ shook her head as she still laughed. “Nothing, nothing. Need help?”
Emily decided to leave it and they all finished gathering their stuff. They had already prepared everything to go back home, but the jet ended up having some issues which made them have to book another hotel, which ended up being a disaster because they had to share rooms since the hotel was almost completely booked. JJ was quick to ask for a room alone, while Morgan had picked Spencer and Rossi said he’d only share with Hotch, which ended up leaving Emily and y/n on their own. Y/n stared at JJ for a moment, a playful smile on JJ’s face and while y/n was confused, Emily couldn’t help but give JJ a deadly stare, knowing perfectly what she had just done.
Both women headed to their room, not saying a word. Y/n had tried her best not to stare at Emily, trying her best to keep her mind clear of thoughts and to stay as sane as possible, while Emily couldn’t keep her eyes away from y/n, wondering if she had said or done something that made y/n go completely quiet. They walked into the room and y/n went straight to the AC remote, trying to turn it on only to find that it was not working.
“No, you gotta be kidding me!” Y/n groaned as she threw the remote to the bed.
“Oh…no. Is it not working?” Emily sighed as she threw her bag to the floor. “This is great, and I’m sure they don’t have any more rooms available.”
“Guess we’ll have to die in here.” Y/n chuckled as she turned back to look at Emily who was getting rid of her pants, making y/n’s heart stop. “What…w-what are you doing?”
Emily looked up at y/n and shrugged. “I am not about to keep sweating on this pants. Do you mind?”
Y/n swallowed as her eyes darted down to Emily’s legs, noticing the red underwear that she was wearing. Shit. “Uh…n-no. I mean…you’re right. I’ll…I’ll try to call the reception.” She dropped her bag and went to sit on the bed, grabbing the phone from the nightstand.
Emily raised her brow as she walked to the bed where y/n was now sitting, placing her folded pants on the bed, and walking to stand right in front of y/n. “Y/n?” She placed her finger under y/n’s chin to make her look up, grinning softly. “Are you okay?”
Y/n swore her heart stopped right in that moment as Emily stood right in front of her; half naked. “I…you just…I…” she sighed. “I’m a mess.” She chuckled softly.
“The heatwave effect I guess.” Emily chuckled back.
“More like the Emily in red effect.” Y/n mumbled as she looked back at the phone, putting it back.
Emily furrowed her brows as she stared at y/n. “What did you say?”
Y/n knew it was now or never, so might as well be right in this moment. She looked up at Emily. “Did you know that red is definitely your color?”
Emily blushed as a small smile appeared on her face. “You…you think so?”
“Em, have you seen yourself in the mirror You’re…fuck…you’re gorgeous. I mean you’re gorgeous in everything but like…in red? Wow.” Y/n exhaled as she stood up, trying to get more courage to speak.
“You really think that way about me?” Emily grinned softly.
“Have I not been obvious? Because honestly…I feel like I’ve made a fool of myself whenever I’m around you.” Y/n chuckled softly as she tilted her head.
Emily laughed softly as she shook her head. “Are you serious? They’ve been mocking me and making fun of me saying that I get all flustered and soft around you, and only you. Have I not been obvious?”
Y/n smiled widely as she stared into beautiful brown eyes. “I…guess I had an idea, but I was not sure.”
Emily tilted her head as she smiled. “Well, your idea is very right. I…I like you.” She shrugged. “And these last few days…you’ve been driving me insane.”
“I have been driving you insane?” Y/n huffed a chuckle. “I couldn’t think whenever I stared at you.”
Emily laughed again. “So, I guess we drive each other insane.”
Y/n nodded as she laughed slightly. “Seems so.”
Emily bit her lip softly as she stepped closer to y/n, placing her hands on y/n’s neck, one of her hands playing with her ponytail. “And…should we do something about it?”
Y/n grinned as she placed her hands on Emily’s waist, pulling her against her own body. “How does a date sound? When we’re back. I’d like to take you out.”
Emily smiled, feeling the butterflies in the pit of her stomach. “I’d love that.”
Y/n smiled softly as she leaned in, but before their lips could meet, the power suddenly went out, leaving both women in the darkness, the only light came from the moon outside of the window.
“Fucking hell!” Rossi yelled, making both women laugh.
“Guess we’ll have to camp outside.” Y/n chuckled softly as she looked at Emily.
Emily shrugged. “We can meet them in a bit, we were about to do something.”
Both women smiled before they closed the gap between them, their lips pressing against each other’s in a soft, tender kiss. The heat, the sweat and the darkness completely forgotten as their lips moved in perfect sync.
#emily prentiss#emily prentiss x reader#emily prentiss x female reader#emily prentiss fanfiction#criminal minds fic#kbdaybingo2024
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Buck sat back at the table with a grin. Christopher might be too old for him to think it, but he was adorable with Eddie's medal around his neck.
Buck's eyes turned to where Eddie stood laughing with Tommy and Chim, giving a soft smile and wondering how he got so lucky to have them all in his life.
"It must be great," he was pulled out of his thoughts by Marisol to his right, diverting his eyes to her as she gazed fondly over at Eddie. "Working with people you have so much trust in."
She turned back to him with a warm smile and Buck just nodded.
"Best part of my job," he said. "Though kind of the most nerve racking as well."
"I'll bet," she chuckled. "Must be hard too going into such dangerous situations with people you love."
He knew she was talking about Eddie and Chim, but his ears still flushed as his eyes flitted over to Tommy for another moment.
"Just balance I guess," he said. "And honestly I see them outside of work just as much, I feel like the good outweighs the danger."
"You're telling me!" she said with a light chuckle as she sat back and crossed a leg over her knee. "I know how much Eddie and Chris love you but you're really cutting into my date nights!"
For a moment, Buck's brow knit with confusion and he just looked back at her with his mouth slightly ajar.
"Uh, what do you mean?" he said with a breathy chuckle, thinking maybe the joke had gone right over his head.
"All the time Eddie's been spending at yours lately," she said, as though it was obvious. "He blew me off twice last week for you."
Buck was still confused. He had seen hung out with Eddie the week before, but Marisol had been at work. The only other times were when Eddie dropped Christopher off for their dates.
"And then when you needed help with your car," she continued. "And he had to rush off to help."
An unconmfortableness crept into Buck's stomach, because he knows for a fact that that never happened. He knew he had been silent too long so he just let a smile fall to his lips and nodded.
"Yeah, sorry about that," he said, and she just shrugged before turning to look at Eddie who had now walked over to them and had his hand on her shoulder, leaning into press a kiss to her temple.
He was grinning widely as he walked over towards Christopher and put his arms around his neck to give him a hug as his eyes turned to Buck with that gleam of happiness in them.
Buck gave a small jolt as he felt a set of large hands on his shoulders, Tommy's lips coming down to kiss him on the cheek.
"Hey, everything okay?" he said, sensing the tension in him.
Buck Just nodded putting a hand over one of Tommy's and looking up with a forced smile as he turned his eyes back to Eddie.
He wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. He knew that surely he must have a good reason. He trusted Eddie enough that he did, but he couldn't ignore the feeling inside him that something wasn't right. Why else would Eddie bother to lie to him? It wasn't the time to ask, so instead, he just nodded, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in his belly.
"Yeah, I'm good."
#911 spec fic#911 speculation#evan buckley#eddie diaz#911#911 spoilers#911 s7 e9#tommy kinard#marisol nolastname
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Your Type
Paige, a trans woman, goes on a date with a reality-warping lesbian who is determined to mold her into ‘her type’
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“So,” Paige said, watching her date carefully over her wine glass as she took a sip. The bar’s house white - good, but a touch dry for her palate. “What’s your type?”
Sophia, the woman sitting opposite her, laughed, amused. “Quite a question, for a first date. It really puts me on the spot.”
“Does it?” Paige challenged playfully.
She was having a good time. Paige had been skeptical - when you were a trans lesbian, dates with strangers could be risky. But she’d decided to take a chance and, fortunately, Sophia was making a good first impression. The woman her friend had set her up with was dressed smart, in a white, satin dress that matched nicely with her fair skin and platinum hair. She was pretty, too, and seemed professional - a good match for a career woman like Paige. Yes, it was strange that she was wearing darkened sunglasses inside a bar, but Paige was happy to overlook a small affectation.
“Well,” Sophia mused, stroking the rim of her glass, “if I tell you that you’re my type, it sounds like nothing more than boorish flattery. But if I describe anything else, then I’m offending you. I’m in a bind.”
Paige laughed too. She was pleased her date could enjoy a little verbal sparring. The atmosphere was perfect for it. The bar was classy - quiet but not dead - and the two of them were tucked away in a private corner so they could talk. Paige had come straight from work but she’d still been able to steal some time to freshen up, and she knew she looked good in her tailored suit, with her long, brunette hair up in a nice ponytail and her nails newly-manicured.
“It’s actually something I ask on all my first dates,” Paige explained. “The answer tells you a lot about someone.”
“And what are you looking to hear?” Sophia shot back, smiling.
“The truth.” Paige shrugged. “Look, I’m not expecting to be exactly your type. That would be one in a million. I just want to see if we have a real shot. I turned thirty a few years ago, I don’t feel like playing games anymore. I’m in your strike range? Wonderful, and we can make sure the mismatches aren’t deal-breakers. If I’m not? We make this just a drink, maybe a night of fun, and go our separate ways.”
Paige knew exactly how that sounded. In fact, it was part of the test. If Sophia got spooked by Paige’s no-bullshit way of doing things, it wasn’t going to work out. Better to find out now than in two months’ time. Fortunately, Sophia was still smiling. The other woman raised an eyebrow as she sat back to sip her wine.
“You’re a woman who knows what she wants,” Sophia noted. “I like that.”
Paige nodded appreciatively. “Oh, and I’m not afraid to put my cards on the table first. You are definitely my type.”
Sophia giggled. “Well, thank you. I’m happy to share, really - I love games, and this is a delightful one. So, let’s get very clear on something first, shall we?”
“What’s that?”
Suddenly, Sophia leaned forward and reached up to lower her sunglasses. She fixed Paige with a devastatingly sharp gaze.
“You are going to be my type. In fact, you need to be. You’re desperate to be.”
For a moment, as Sophia spoke, Paige stopped breathing. It wasn’t Sophia’s words. It was her eyes. Her irises. Paige had never seen anything like them. It was impossible. They were moving, shifting, a hundred times a second, endlessly; an infinite fractal-pattern of shapes, sharp and round and spiraling all at once. And the colors! Every color was in those eyes. In those patterns. A rainbow, kaleidoscopic, but more than that, too. Colors Paige had never seen before. Impossible colors. Maddening colors.
Staring into Sophia’s eyes was like looking into a glitch in reality. And the longer she looked, the more she felt like that unstable glitching was spilling out. Enveloping her. Engulfing her. Paige felt the very fiber of her being as it was unwritten and rewritten - and all just because she’d seen those eyes. It made the skin of her own existence feel so perilously thin, and her very reality feel dizzyingly malleable.
But then Sophia pushed her sunglasses back up over her eyes, and it was all gone. And then the words caught back up with Paige.
“I’m going to…” Paige repeated dumbly. “I need… desperate…?”
She looked at Sophia, in urgent need of clarity. Sophia just nodded.
“That’s right, Paige. You’re going to be my type. You need to be my type. It’s probably why you’re so keen to ask me about it.”
Paige’s mind was racing with a million questions. The big ones - what was wrong with Sophia’s eyes? What was that feeling that had washed over her? - were far too great to fit into words. Perhaps that was why, instead, she found herself latching onto the small incongruities.
“N-no,” Paige said slowly. “No, that’s not right. That’s not why I ask. Like I just told you, it’s because I think-“
Paige stopped talking. She froze because she was realizing that somehow, impossibly, she was wrong, and Sophia was right.
She needed to be Sophia’s type. She was desperate to be. And she was going to be.
Paige barely understood what that meant, but all the same, she was filled with a breathless eagerness. She felt like a butterfly about to burst from its cocoon, ready to taste the world in newly metamorphosed lungs - but to experience that plunge, that freedom, she needed an answer. She needed the answer that only Sophia could speak. Suddenly, Paige’s need for it was agonizing. She was trembling. Craving it, like an addict for a fix. She needed to know what Sophia’s type was.
But clearly, there was something more important than that going on. Paige suppressed the new urge and gripped the edge of her seat, knuckles white, to steady her nerves.
“What did you do?” she demanded, shocked.
“Hm?” Sophia seemed faintly surprised. “Oh, yeah, you’re probably a little distracted, aren’t you? Let me explain, although I won’t get technical on you.” She reached up and tapped the corner of her sunglasses with a fingertip. “With these eyes, I’ve got reality wrapped around my little finger. Past, present, future. Body, mind, soul. All of it.”
“You… you can just… change reality?” Paige was dumbfounded. It sounded impossible, but the urge welling up inside her was all the evidence she needed. Was the woman sitting across from her a superhero? A goddess? “How is that even possible?”
“Tsk.” Sophia shook her head. “This always happens. Sorry babe, but we’re supposed to be on a date. I’m gonna need you to focus on me here. So…”
Once again, she reached up and lowered her sunglasses. As soon as Paige realized what was happening, she tried to look away - but it was too late. The very first glimpse of those impossible, reality-glitch eyes had her captivated. And there it was again: the gnawing, discomforting awareness of her own malleability. As she stared, entranced and powerless, Paige felt like nothing more than an origami doll. Her existence was as thin as paper - and here was a woman who could bend and fold her into new shapes.
“Just don’t worry about it,” Sophia told her.
Paige blinked back to life as those eyes once again disappeared behind the sunglasses. As the existential unease faded, Paige expected her intense concern about the nature of Sophia’s abilities to return - but it didn’t. It just didn’t. Somehow, Paige couldn’t seem to muster up any particular feelings about what Sophia could do, or what she was doing to her. It simply didn’t seem important.
She wasn’t worried about it.
“Oh…” Paige said faintly, as that dawned on her. “OK.”
Perhaps not worrying should have itself worried her, but she proved to be equally cut off from that. Instead, as momentous as Sophia’s power seemed, it quickly became unremarkable to Paige. She wasn’t worried about it. Her date with Sophia was far, far more important.
And Paige’s new need came roaring to the forefront of her mind.
“So, um,” Paige said restlessly. She took a sip of wine to try and calm herself. It didn’t help. “What’s your type? I really need to know.”
“You do, do you?” Sophia's thin smile widened. She sat back again, clearly pondering. “Let’s see… what’s my type today?”
Paige was hanging on her next words. She could sense they would mean everything to her.
“You know,” Sophia said eventually, with an air of frivolity that was entirely at odds with how Paige felt about the pronouncement, “I think my type is girls with short hair.”
A pang of disappointment made Paige inhale sharply as, for the first time ever, she regretted her commitment to growing her hair out. But it faded just as suddenly as it had appeared, when Paige realized there was no problem whatsoever.
She had short hair.
Paige had to reach up and check, which was funny, because having short hair was perfectly normal for her. That was just the kind of girl she was. Sure enough, instead of a ponytail - why had she expected a ponytail? - her fingertips touched the ends of her short bob. That seemed wrong - but only for the briefest of moments.
“I… I have short hair?” Paige said dumbly. She wasn’t sure why it came out like a question.
She had short hair. Of course she did.
But why? That fact seemed oddly incongruous. After all, long hair had always been so important to Paige. It was a symbol of her transition. Of her femininity. She’d always hated the thought of getting it cut. So, why would she have short hair? The more she dwelt on the incongruity, the more it became an insisting, throbbing ache at her temples. She needed to make it make sense.
And then it did.
Paige felt herself plunged into an unfamiliar memory. Herself, rushing to a salon the morning after a sobbing breakdown, voice trembling as she asked the stylist to cut her hair off. It had felt so freeing. Her long hair had become a prison of expectations. Cutting it off had been a ritual. An affirmation.
She didn’t need long hair to be a woman. To be feminine. She simply was. Paige could look the way she’d always wanted. Peering further back, to those miserable college days before her egg had cracked, her memories of her transition goals were shifting. Sigourney Weaver in Alien. Winona Ryder in Girl, Interrupted. Of course. Of course Paige had ended up with short hair. It made perfect sense.
Soon enough, her memories lost that unfamiliar flavor. They had always been like that. She had always been like this. Paige had short hair.
“Wow,” she giggled, “I’m off to a lucky start. Looks like I’m your type.”
Right away, the fact of her short hair became euphoric. She had short hair. She was Sophia’s type. That was wonderful. Amazing. It was the best news she’d heard in months. It was what she needed.
“Indeed.” Something twinkled in Sophia’s eyes. “You’re rocking the look.”
“Thank you.” Paige reached up and touched her hair. She did that a lot. It made her happy. Short hair didn’t take a lot of effort to keep neat and sleek, but still, it was nice to be complimented for it. “I’m glad you like it.”
She was. She was unbearably glad. Paige just had to hope her grin wasn’t too off-puttingly eager. Knowing she was Sophia’s type made her so happy.
Only, surely Sophia’s type went beyond just hair. The gnawing craving in Paige’s chest itched at her anew. It wasn’t even close to sated.
“And…” Paige pressed. “What else? Tell me more. What’s your type?”
She had to strain to keep her voice measured. Paige didn’t want to make this creepy. But she couldn’t help sounding a little urgent. This was so important.
“Hmm…” Sophia mused. It was plain that she was enjoying the way Paige was sitting forward, shoulders tense, desperate for an answer. “Now that you mention it, I’ve always felt like girls who are all about pink are my type. Know what I mean?”
“P… pink?” Paige said plaintively.
She tried to reason with herself over it. Paige liked pink. She liked it as much as the next girl, anyway. Didn’t that count? In her heart, she knew it didn’t. Sophia’s type was girls who were all about pink, and Paige had always felt faintly at odds with the color. Pink clothes, pink lipstick, pink accessories - they all made her feel like she was stereotyping herself a little. Girls didn’t need to wear pink all the time.
But Paige did.
It hit her like a roaring wind. The infatuation. The obsession. Paige loved pink. It was a touch stereotypical, yes, but that was exactly why Paige adored it so much. There was something indulgent about surrounding herself with it. It was something she could rest her identity on. Blue was for boys, but pink? Pink was for girls. Girls liked pink.
“Pink,” Paige sighed happily, reverently, as the story of her life flailed and twisted out behind her like a serpent’s tail.
When she’d started her transition, pink had felt like coming home. Everything pink she’d bought had become a source of joy. It was funny, though, because Paige remembered feeling a little tokenized whenever someone - a family member, a friend - had given her something pink to clumsily signal their acceptance. Then, a moment later, she remembered more. She remembered overcoming that little hang-up. All of a sudden, her unwillingness to embrace pink was recast as early-transition blues; as holding back, as instinctive repression.
She’d overcome it, of course. And now Paige was all about pink.
Paige looked down. Her suit was pink. Of course it was. She owned a black suit, sure, for somber occasions, but mostly it was consigned to the black of her closet to gather dust. Paige always wore pink suits to work. It turned heads, naturally, but she didn’t mind - not as long as when people looked at her, they saw ‘pink’. Plus, she rationalized - and as she rationalized, it became her truth - it was a nice way to make sure her short hair didn’t mislead people into thinking she was aiming to be androgynous.
“I’m all about pink!” The words burst out of Paige; a cry of joy, a plea for attention. She was Sophia’s type, and she needed Sophia to know.
“So you are,” Sophia giggled. “You’re quite the Barbie.”
The comment made Paige shockingly euphoric. But why wouldn’t it? She was all about pink, and what was pinker than Barbie? Paige remembered seeing the movie posters, and the ads, and- no, no, suddenly she remembered seeing the movie itself. Making time on opening night, despite the pressures of work.
It had been so worth it. So much pink.
“Thanks,” Paige replied, still glowing with the pleasure of being Sophia’s type. “I know it’s getting a little much, at my age, but I just can’t help-“
“At your age?” Sophia seized on that gleefully. “That’s another thing. My type is younger girls, actually.”
“Younger girls?” Paige was immediately crestfallen, but she could already feel the explosive energy of change welling inside her. Already, lines were disappearing from her face. She was caught between despair and hope. “Younger than… you?” She wasn’t sure how old Sophia was, exactly. Suddenly she was hoping for late thirties. Perhaps even pushing forty. “H-how young?”
“Oh, you know.” Sophia seemed to be deciding. She made a little show of counting down on her fingers. “Early twenties, say.”
“Fuck,” Paige breathed - both out of regret, and out of awe at the reality shift that was starting to take her.
This one was different. It made her head throb like nothing else. It felt like her skull was going to implode. Paige could feel her past not just changing, but contracting. Memories gone. Birthdays snuffed out. Suddenly, the nineties she’d grown up in was nothing more than a set of images on TV; a set of anecdotes recounted by older coworkers.
Growing up without the internet? It was a crazy thought, suddenly. Paige found that, even in her last moments of remembering it, she couldn’t seem to comprehend it.
The process was terrifying - or it should have been. But Paige wasn’t worried about it. Couldn’t worry about it. Instead, her eagerness to please, to be Sophia’s type, forced its way through her confusion.
“T-that’s good,” Paige struggled to say. “I’m y-younger.” And she was so pleased about it, too. “I’m… I’m…”
It was a little alarming to realize that she didn’t know quite how old she was. Paige’s age was still in flux. It was like Schroedinger’s cat. She’d yet to settle on it. Paige found herself torn. How young was ‘younger’? Part of her wanted to push her luck. To save what could still be saved of her past. Twenty-four? That could still be ‘early twenties’, right? It was younger than twenty-five, at least.
But what if it wasn’t good enough? That was the other thought, and it soon carried the day. Above all, Paige needed to be Sophia’s type. It was so important.
“I-I’m twenty-one!” Paige sang out, in a voice that was suddenly just that bit fresher and higher.
Twenty-one. Of course she was twenty-one. It had only been last month - her birthday, that little ritual, going to a bar, buying a drink with her real ID as her friends cheered and the bartender winked. As moments passed, that memory became more and more solid and concrete in Paige’s head. It was real, undoubtedly. Far more real than the ten or so years she’d just lost, all of that life and time metaphysically shredded into nothing more than hypothetical abstraction.
“Twenty-one?” Sophia cocked an eyebrow playfully. “That’s kind of hot.”
Paige tittered and blushed. That was so naughty. There was something thrilling about going on a date with an older woman - why did that thought taste so new? It wasn’t. Paige was sure of that. At least, she thought she was. She’d been giddy with anticipation ever since her friend had, with a knowing wink, proposed setting her up with Sophia.
Paige had a thing for older women. She must. Why else would she be on a date with Sophia? Her attraction to Sophia took on a new flavor.
“Twenty-one,” Paige repeated. The thought was settling. “Yeah. Um. Yeah.”
Twenty-one. She was twenty-one. Fuck. She was younger than Sophia.
She was still dizzy from the change. So much of her life had been put into flux. Only slowly was it falling into place. Paige struggled to make sense of it all, grasping at possible solutions that turned to stone - to reality - as soon as she latched onto them. Her transition moved backward, to her teenage years. The miserable, closeted portion of her life was high school now, not college. College - that felt like just yesterday. Paige had only just graduated. She was so young!
But of course she was. She was twenty-one.
It changed everything. Only the bare outline remained fixed. Suddenly, instead of Sigourney Weaver and Winona Ryder, Paige had been showing her hair stylist pictures of Miley Cyrus. Kristen Stewart. Those were her idols now - at least, in some ways. Neither of them was quite pink enough for Paige’s liking.
2010s pop culture was pouring into her head, replacing what she’d lost. It was a wild experience. And somehow, it felt like it had always been there.
And then there was her job. Paige was a successful career professional. She worked in management. A twenty-one-year-old manager? Wasn’t that absurd? Paige tried her hardest to cling to that one thing. She was so proud of it, after all. Mercifully, the thread of reality she was pulling on didn’t quite snap.
Right. Yes. She remembered now. She was a twenty-one-year-old manager. Paige had started interning in college, and she’d made a big impression at the company she’d worked for. They’d been willing to take a chance on her and hire her into a senior role right out of college. She was a rising star. It was rough sometimes, of course, having so many subordinates who were younger. It was a fight to get them to take her seriously. Especially given all the pink she wore. But Paige couldn’t be stopped. The pink became a statement. Young women - young trans women - of her generation could do anything. She was a girlboss. The world was her oyster.
And a thousand other things about her reality shifted. Big changes and small ones, spreading out along implications and possibilities like cracks in ice. With the strange power Sophia had infused into her, Paige was rewriting her entire being - and all of it, just to be Sophia’s type.
“How old are you?” Paige asked. She just wanted to hear it.
“Old enough,” Sophia replied rakishly. “The waitress probably thinks we’re mother and daughter.”
Paige shivered rapturously. It wasn’t the age gap, not really - although, yes, she found that hot, now. Frankly, working in management was a little distracting in that department. So many hot, older women were Paige’s coworkers. It was the kind of thing a young lesbian could get worked up over. But what mattered far, far more than that was that she was Sophia’s type.
“So… I’m perfect, right?” Paige was desperate to be. It was written into the fiber of her being now. “Perfect for you?”
“You’re getting there,” Sophia offered. Just hearing that was intoxicating. “But… oh, I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t say it.”
“What?” Paige’s heart skipped a beat. The mere possibility of a mismatch between herself and Sophia’s ideal was panic-inducing. “No. No, tell me.”
She needed to know. She needed to know, so that she could become.
“It might be a big ask,” Sophia warned. The smile on her face was more than a little cruel. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“Yes!” Paige answered at once. Her apprehension was swept away effortlessly by gnawing desperation. “Please.”
“If you insist,” Sophia replied. Her manner was painfully unhurried. “The thing is, my type happens to be girls who are… well… dumb.”
“W-what?” Paige whimpered. “That… that’s…”
It was awful. Sophia’s type was dumb girls, and Paige had always prided herself on her intelligence. But as much as she feared losing her brains, the inexorable pull towards becoming Sophia’s ideal was stronger. Paige could already feel it, taking her into its flow, draining hard-won knowledge out of her head.
“I’m dumb,” Paige pleaded, half-sincerely, searching desperately for an angle to shoot for. “At least… um… m-maybe a little forgetful? My friends are always saying-“
She froze. Saying what? Paige could feel reality shifting beneath her feet as the memories came back to her.
Ditzy. Airheaded. That’s what her friends always called her, wasn’t it? After all, she’d always been the slow one in the friend group. Even in college, someone had to be the dumbest. Of course, in Paige’s case, they even joked it was a miracle she’d been able to graduate. Paige could feel it, even now. Her head getting a little foggier. Her thoughts, a little simpler and cruder. As soon as she felt it, it became familiar.
“Oh, no,” Sophia said, dashing her hopes. “I’m afraid it goes a little beyond that. I’m talking about really dumb girls. That’s my type.”
Paige’s head throbbed painfully as she absorbed that, and reconfigured herself again. College? No way. She’d tried, sure - middle-class family expectations - but Paige had ended up dropping out in her first year. She simply couldn’t follow along in lectures.
“I’m… I’m really dumb,” Paige confessed bashfully. It was kind of embarrassing, coming right out with it on a first date - but hey, it was better than a new lover dumping her after three months once she realized Paige couldn’t hold an intellectual conversation.
Not that she had to worry about that with Sophia, of course. Dumb girls were Sophia’s type, and that alone made it something to be proud of. For the first time ever, Paige was truly, wholeheartedly glad of what a total ditz she was.
"That’s really cute, honestly,” Sophia told her, any predatory glint in her eyes concealed behind those dark sunglasses. “Adorable.”
Her approval was like a red rag to a bull. “When I first got my job, everyone was, like, so surprised!” Paige gushed. “I mean, me? Working in management? That was… was… um… I-I mean, that wouldn’t even make…”
A fresh wave of dizziness hit Paige as the total incongruity of her career dawned on her. It didn’t make sense. A twenty-one-year-old working in senior management was already pushing it. Only exceptional aptitude could possibly justify that. Now that she was dumb - which, of course, she’d always been - that particular thread of reality was finally snapping. It gave way, plunging Paige into another pit of uncertainty.
What was her job again?
There was only one real answer, as embarrassing as it seemed. Paige was a secretary. Not a manager. A secretary. Why had it ever seemed like she’d been anything else? Secretary work was the only kind of office job Paige could handle.
“When I first got my job,” Paige said slowly, trying to pick up the anecdote, “people joked that I might not be cut out for all that, like, reading and typing. Sometimes I kinda need help with some of the more, um, technical documents.”
It was true, she realized a moment after. Paige could now remember hearing workplace rumors about how she’d only been hired because her pink outfits really brightened up the office. She looked down. Her legs felt a little chilly all of a sudden - only, it wasn’t sudden. Paige had been wearing a cute little pink pencil skirt all day. Not pants. A pantsuit was a little much, for a secretary.
“I guess I’m kind of a bimbo,” Paige giggled self-consciously, as she joined the dots between her ditziness and her obsession with all things pink.
And she was. She really was. Maybe that was why she was so confused. Maybe that was why she kept half-remembering another Paige - a Paige that was older, and smart, and successful, and serious. But that wasn’t her. Not anymore. No, not ever. That Paige wasn’t real.
She was becoming less real by the moment, as the waves of this latest change rippled back into her past. Her high-school grades retroactively plummeted. When she’d first started transitioning, there had been more than a few sexist little jokes about being girly and pink suited her better than trying to be smart and serious and masculine. The dizziness started to recede as, more and more, Paige’s life started to make sense again. Once again, the implications went deep. Everything about Paige was malleable. The only fixed points were the things Sophia liked.
Paige wasn’t worried by that, of course.
“A real girly girl,” Paige added, as her reality settled. “You… you like that. Right?”
“You know?” Sophia mused. “Now that I’m seeing it, I’m not so sure. It’s a little, well, cliché.”
“Cliché?” Paige echoed, in a wounded voice. “Is that, like, bad?”
It certainly sounded like a reprimand, but Paige had to be sure. Already, she felt her existence becoming fluid again. The sensation was like nothing else; a dizziness, a fuzziness around her thoughts, around her memories, especially, as they blurred, ready to change.
“I suppose what I had in mind was something a little… rougher?” Sophia continued. “Punk? Is that the word I’m looking for? You know what I mean. A little bit of that blue-collar charm. Dumb, strong, rough.”
“B-blue… collar?” Paige panted. “Punk?”
The headache was like thunder inside her skull. Gale winds, too, blowing away the Paige she’d been steadily coming to terms with. There was no fighting it. At once, Paige’s head was flooded with stereotypes. Punk girls. Working-class girls. She dredged up every impression she’d ever had of them to fuel her transformation. A transformation that tore her life story to shreds.
College? Fuck no. Her family had never had a lot of money. They couldn’t afford to waste it paying tuition for a girl with rocks for brains. Paige had struggled to graduate high school, let alone get a degree. What would have been the point? You didn’t need book smarts to haul ass on a construction crew.
Right. Construction. That was where Paige worked. Suddenly, the idea of herself as a secretary seemed preposterous. Lame. Paige would take fitting joints and carrying pipes over some stuffy office any way of the week. Hers was a good, respectable, union job. Those ran in the family, didn’t they?
Yes. Yes, of course.
Paige was good at it, too. Strong. Sophia had mentioned strong, hadn’t she? Paige was sure of it. Her self-confidence was bolstered back a little. Everyone wanted a strong girl like Paige on a construction site. Even a trans girl. Oh, sure, she’d heard plenty of shitty comments about that. But Paige didn’t take them lying down. She wasn’t that kind of girl. She could stand up for herself. She was rough.
Paige smirked at Sophia. She let her legs fall apart as she slipped into her natural, girlspreading stance. For some reason, wearing a pencil skirt crossed her mind. She wrinkled her nose at the thought. That sounded so needlessly restrictive compared to her loose-fitting pink jeans. The glass in her hand wasn’t wine anymore. Beer.
“Good news, miss,” Paige said, and her accent sounded classless and coarse to her until it didn’t, because she’d always talked that way. “Looks like I’m your type, right down to a fucking T.”
Sophia giggled. Paige lapped up her approval. It felt wonderful. Being Sophia’s type was all-important. Now, though, she was used to girls giggling at her that way. What kind of lesbian didn’t love a tough, strong, working-class dyke?
“You sure are,” Sophia cooed. “You look really punk.”
Paige really did, she realized. In fact, she was a little out of place at a classy bar like this, with her studded choker, heavy boots, and her battle jacket - blue, but covered in pink patches and pins, of course. She’d always dressed that way. Ever since… when? Paige soon supplied the answer. Ever since she’d come out as trans. Her transition goals shifted again. Siouxie Sioux. Joan Jett. The goddesses of punk rock.
For a moment, the fact that Paige liked pink so much bothered her, but her warping mind soon resolved the contradiction. Pink was punk. That was now - always - Paige’s defiant battle cry every time someone questioned her punk cred. In a world that hated women and denied trans women at every turn, pink was punk.
Paige’s music taste, having lurched violently away from pop, started coarse-correcting back. She was punk, for sure, and she loved the classics, but she had to admit that pop punk was a guilty pleasure. Avril Lavigne was so hot. She really got it. Pink was punk.
"So. Anything else?” Paige asked. In this new reality, she was cockier and more confident than ever - but she couldn’t help being insecure about exactly one thing. “Or am I completely your type?”
“You know,” Sophia said slowly, looking Paige up and down as she weighed her up. “I think you’re exactly what I was feeling today. Yeah. You’re my dream girl.”
Paige grinned. Her whole body was thrumming with the delicious pleasure of affirmation. It was like a gnawing emptiness inside her had just been filled. And now she felt so good, there was only one thing on her mind.
“In that case,” Paige said, sitting forward, “how about we get out of here and I show you exactly how good I am at laying pipe?”
She laughed at her crude double entendre - by her standards, an impressively witty joke. A classy, older woman like Sophia was out of her league in at least three different ways, and Paige would hate to blow her shot by moving too fast, but this kind of bar really wasn’t her scene, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up in conversation. Besides, she knew Sophia liked her rough edges. She was Sophia’s type, and she couldn’t wait to have her moaning all over Paige’s bed.
Paige had undergone a head-splitting number of metaphysical changes throughout her date. But one thing that had remained constant throughout was that Paige was a top - and a damn good one.
But Sophia didn’t seem to agree. “Actually, maybe you’re not my type after all,” she said, with an air of particular malice.
Paige was immediately heartbroken. “W-what?” she gasped, shocked. There were tears in her eyes.
“Sorry.” Sophia didn’t sound sorry at all. “It’s just, I’m not that interested in the kind of girls who lay pipe. Bottoms are really my type.”
Paige head started throbbing dangerously again. “I…” she pleaded. “I could… I can bottom.”
And she could, Paige realized as it became true. She called herself a top, sure, but that was just part of the game. Paige could feel her orientations and preferences shifting beneath her feet.
“Really?” Sophia replied idly.
“Yeah!” Paige panted, eager to convince. “I-I love to bottom!” A secret thrill entered her voice. Oh god, she really did. It went against her vibe, her style, her demeanor - but that was part of why it felt so fucking good. “ I’m, y’know, v-… um… I’m… vers?”
It just didn’t taste right in her mouth. Paige wanted to say it - wanted to keep that part of herself within her grasp - but she soon realized why she couldn’t. Sophia had said she wasn’t interested in girls who top. Even being vers was out of the question. Paige felt a sorrowful pang as that part of herself vanished into abstraction - but then the sorrow vanished too, because this was just who she was.
A complete and total bottom.
“Are you now?” Sophia queried.
“No,” Paige admitted. She blushed and leaned in, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I just… god, if word got around, I’d never hear the end of it, OK? Big, tough Paige? But I’m… um… yeah. A bottom. Totally.”
Still the rough kind, of course. Paige wasn’t the type to go down without a fight. She needed to be overpowered. To be dominated. To be shown who was boss. A punk brat. That was her, she decided. It was a little frustrating people always mistook her for a top. What did they think all the pink was about? Couldn’t they take a hint?
Sophia giggled, and said in a teasing voice, “A punk bottom. Now that’s fun.”
Paige stiffened briefly at being mocked, before that, too, was folded into her sexuality, and she squirmed in her seat. Sophia liked bottoms, so she had to be a top, right? Paige loved getting teased by tops. It was so hot.
“It’s kinda embarrassing,” Paige offered, eager to please. “I get these subby girls coming on to me all the time, but… god, I just wouldn’t even know what to do with them in the bedroom.” Her blush deepened, but she made sure to flash Sophia a defiant look that she hoped would stoke her interest. “But… I don’t know if I believe you’re the kind of woman who knows what to do with me.”
Prove me wrong, she was begging with her eyes.
Sophia didn’t rise to the taunt. At least, not directly. “You wouldn’t know what to do with them?” she repeated curiously. “That’s pretty cute. So would you say you’re a pillow princess?”
Paige bit her lip. She could feel it inside her again. The empty, gnawing need that was the furnace of her transformations. “Would… you like it if I was a pillow princess?”
“Oh yes.” Sophia laughed at her. “Definitely. That’s my type, for sure.”
“Fuck!” Paige whimpered, as she was rewritten once more.
She was so pleased. An older woman who liked pillow princesses? Paige had hit the jackpot. She couldn’t let herself fumble this. She just needed to stop pretending to be something she wasn’t.
Bratting? Giving a top some attitude? She’d tried it once, sure. It had seemed a little more dignified, somehow. A little more like what people expected from a punk girl like her. But it hadn’t felt right. Paige was the kind of girl who blew over in a stiff breeze.
She loved the way Sophia was toying with her. Playing with her expectations. Making her change to match them. Paige could feel herself getting hard under her jeans. She’d never been so turned on. And the best part was, she could sense that she could count on Sophia to understand that just because she had a cock, it didn’t mean she was interested in using it.
“That’s better,” Sophia purred approvingly, as she watched Paige whimper and squirm. “Yes, that was just the finishing touch you needed. Now you’re perfect.”
“T-thank you,” Paige whined instinctively. God. She knew how absurd it was for a rough-and-tumble punk like her to sound so meek and submissive. She hoped Sophia was going to bully her about it. “So, um. Maybe, if you wanted, w-we could… get out of here now? Please?”
It was pitiful to beg, but Paige couldn’t help it. She was burning with need. Being around Sophia made her feel even stupider and more tongue-tied than she always was.
Sophia just stared straight at her. Paige could sense those ineffable, eldritch eyes burning behind her sunglasses. “Please what?”
Paige let out a low moan. “P-please, mistress.”
“Good girl,” Sophia told her. Paige moaned again. She could feel herself making a mess of her panties. “Very well.”
Paige shot to her feet with embarrassing eagerness. “Thank you! Um. God. Thank you. I-I’m just really excited, you know? I really got lucky here.”
“Don’t mention it,” Sophia replied kindly, as she rose to her feet. “Besides, I’m the lucky one.”
“You really think so?” Paige asked timidly.
It was hard to believe. A young, dumb punk with a construction job? Paige knew she wasn’t much of a catch for a lady like Sophia. Compared to her classy outfit, Paige’s pink, punk style and short hair were more than a little garish. And she couldn’t even top.
“Of course,” Sophia giggled, leading Paige towards the door of the bar. “How often do I get to meet a girl who’s exactly my type?”
---
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hiii!! since your ask box is open, how about the reader not being mc and rafayel being with since he thinks he'll never find mc again, but then yk according to the story line meets her. it's up to you to decide. feel free to ignore it. thank you🩷🌷
i hate angst [sob] /lh but i do think this is gonna go angst and stay angst bc,,,,i see the person he meets in the timelines basically being his true love and the one person he'll go back to no matter what :(( i decided to do like. idk reconcilation sorta at the end bc i think hed also feel bad for dating someone when he knew he couldnt love them as much as mc [sob]
You thought that Rafayel loved you and he just had a strange way of showing it. He's always been a little cold to the people around him, flippant and dismissive but when it comes to you he warms up just a little bit. He's never been cruel to you but you always feel like he's holding back. Sometimes, he loses himself a little, hands holding onto you tightly as he kisses you hard, puffs of his breath brushing up against your lips.
At the very least you never doubted his loyalty. You knew that he wasn't seeing anybody outside of you and he treated you kindly, even if you couldn't see all of him. He was just reserved and private and you respected that - you'd never pressure him into saying or doing something that he wasn't comfortable with because you love him.
One day, you meet his new bodyguard. She's kind and polite and unwilling to put up with Rafayel's antics, something you commend her for. You never had any reason to doubt her intentions because she never gave you any just cause, warming up to her just as quickly as Rafayel did.
It doesn't take you long to realise that something's different about her. Rafayel doesn't do anything outwardly strange but the way he starts to look at her and almost boyish shyness you see in her presence warns you of the inevitable. You hope that it's just because she's someone new, that he's just trying to figure out how to act around her but when he asks you to come over to talk as soon as you can you know what's happening.
He barely looks at you as he tells you he's enjoyed his time with you but he doesn't love you the way you need him to. You don't even need to ask him to know that it's because of her and as you drive home you're so unbelievably angry. You wish that he did something worse, that he had an affair and things were escalating between the two of them to give you the ability to be angry at him but you can't. He was honest and fair with you, recognising his feelings and leaving you before they became something harmful to you.
The breakup is amicable at least and Rafayel texts you another apology in addition to a basket of gifts to you. You choose not to respond, letting the basket sit outside for days until finally it disappears, rotting in bed as you try to work on getting over him.
It's months until the next time you see him in town, walking with the bodyguard. All the hurt comes back and you have half a mind to storm over and cuss him out but when you see the look on his face you take pause. He looks happy for once, something soft and innocent that you could never draw out of him yourself. She looks at him just as happily, the two of them seeming to have some sort of understanding that you'd never been able to achieve with him.
All the hurt in your chest dissipates. You love Rafayel more than anything and still do - it'll take you some more time to get over him and as much as watching him like this stings you know that all you've ever wanted was for him to be happy. You slowly come to accept the fact Rafayel couldn't be this happy with you and you're glad that he's found her.
Rafayel still feels guilty because in his mind, he led you on. He thought he'd never find her again but now that he has the weight of what he did to you is lessened. However, he knows that if he were in your position it'd hurt him as well which is what leads him to inviting you to one of his shows as a show of good faith. The two of you don't even talk at that show but when you offer him a slight smile and wave he's glad to know the two of you have come to some sort of agreement, finally able to put to those worries of his to rest.
#love and deepspace x reader#rafayel x reader#lds x reader#lads x reader#l&ds x reader#lads rafayel x reader#l&ds rafayel x reader
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reading "some people are just in it for the money and fame" to be about tai is great, actually. imagine him being a young man with big dreams, seeing stardom in his horizon, wanting to be as popular and as cool as possible (is actually a dork)... and somewhere along the way he learns that not only is he not finding any joy from that, he's finding it from the smaller things; his own team, his closest friends, the people he now considers his family, and the thought of a quiet life, settling down with someone on a nice, quaint island perfect for raising a family
and he takes one look at raven branwen, the weirdest fucking girl at beacon, and goes "yeah, that one".
#truly a believer that whatever tai and raven had between them#truly was between only *them*#no one outside them understood it#absolutely clueless#it should not have worked#but somehow it did#worked so well in fact that no one knew they were dating for like. a half a year.
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Pros of dating Margaret in RF4 - she's very cute and sweet and all around lovely. She's also the only girl to get a skill exclusive to romancing her, and it is BUSTED. Her healing rainbow wave is the best support move in the game, IMO.
Cons of dating Margaret in RF4 - Unless you get obscenely lucky or choose to save scum a lot, you will NEVER be able to marry her.
#rune factory#rf4#rf4 margaret#to be clear this is a SLIGHT exaggeration. eventually you'll get her FOUR required events. but...#expect it to take so long that there is virtually NOTHING left to do in the game#you can EASILY beat rune prana AND do all the eliza requests before being able to marry margaret#and at that point what is left? trying to gold crown all shipment stuff? that's SO tedious and NOT fun#at that point i can't find the motivation to keep playing and just want to start over#fun fact on my FIRST playthrough of the game - before i knew how everything worked - i dated margaret#i fell in love with her almost instantly and get her 'thoughts lost in the lake' event very early on#we were like 3-4 FP level so it felt like the natural and organic point to switch to calling her Meg#and THEN i got her mini-event right before confessing (successfully! on the first try!) at 7#so not only was i REALLY digging her but the game had given me these lovely coincidences to make it feel RIGHT#it just felt so natural and real to date her and i was so excited to eventually marry her#but then. BUT THEN. literal YEARS passed in game. so many dates. affection WELL PAST 10 hearts.#but her other 3 events eluded me. i got ONE eventually. but my patience ran out.#i didn't necessarily want to be a cheater but i knew the game allowed me to date multiple people with no repercussions#so i started confessing to the other girls. at first just clorica since she was my second fave at the time...#but then xiao pai as well since clorica was NOT biting and i could only take so many platonic just friendsly 'i love you too's#i ended up dating xiao pai 2nd and she was the first person i married. and she's probably my favorite girl now#but i kept a save file where i rejected her because i still held out hope for margaret#in the meantime i decided to go for as much content as possible and aimed to date/marry ALL the girls#and let me tell you - i SUCCEEDED. in ONE file where i initially JUST wanted to marry margaret...#i ended up dating and marrying EVERY OTHER GIRL first. and i STILL never got all the events i needed before finally giving up#i like margaret a lot but marrying her is SUCH a pain. on my recent NEW file i got lucky and got 3 of her events in a single year#so my hopes are up and i chose to date her again. but in my mind and heart i know - i FEAR - her final event will just never proc#anyway take it from me - she's a trap. unless you have the patience of a SAINT you should pursue literally anyone else#thank god none of the dudes cause me similar issues
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I met a guy in the Summer (dilf!Konig x fem!Reader)
Your boyfriend is an asshole. Luckily, his hot dad just returned from deployment.
CW and Tags: Cheating, dub-con, size kink, daddy kink, age gap(reader in 20s, Konig is early 40s), Konig is a pervert, slightly obsessive Konig, love(and lust) at first sight, fingering, dom!Konig
Word count: 3713
AO3
“Just one more game, babe, don’t be a buzzkill. I don’t want to end at a loss.”
You didn’t want to be a buzzkill, of course. You simply wanted to be a good girlfriend, have some domestically cozy date, and for your boyfriend to at least try to put an effort into being with you. It wasn’t much to ask for, really. You hoped so, at least. You didn’t want to be an annoying, nagging girlfriend who only ever waits for another reason to yell at him, but your patience started to run thin.
You spend the past three hours either listening to his apathetic rambling about the shows he watched – really, you wanted to invest in stuff he liked, but an abnormally large amount of animes he talked about had 1000-year-old girls who looked like they were 10, wearing inappropriate outfits, and you started to raise the alarm.
You also watched him play – and also listened to his rage quitting and angry voice messages to his team that, honestly, made you slightly anxious. You never liked loud people, people who were so easy to rage about something as silly as some colorful video game with too many characters to look after.
So, like a good girlfriend would – you wanted to be a good girlfriend, he was such a nice guy before you started dating, and you need something to think about besides the tremendous amount of study work you are doing for college – you decided to go and look for snacks. Maybe bring something for him as well.
— I’ll find something to eat, alright?
He didn’t respond at first, so you shook his shoulder. Your boyfriend took off his headphones with annoying look on his face, half-turning to look at you. You gulped, suddenly feeling like a child in front of the principal – not a feeling that you were supposed to feel around your partner, but with him, you somehow constantly felt like you were being judged.
— Nah, stay here. I don’t want my father to see you.
— Ah…your father is at home?
You never heard anyone else being at the house – big house, you must admit, and it’s embarrassing almost how you never thought about his family. He lives with his dad, apparently, and the depth of your relationships can only be judged by the fact you literally didn’t know what his father’s name was.
— Returned from his fucking deployment. He’d ask too many questions about you.
— You didn’t tell him about me?
Ah, now you’re hurt a little bit. You knew it wasn’t anything serious or too committed yet, but you intended to make this work. To try and fix all the problems you can without ending things abruptly.
— He never asked. Not like he cares too much, but…
An apathetic dad, huh.
You started to slowly piece together the puzzle that was your boyfriend’s horrible boyfriend skills. Now, you want to meet the man who conceived him and kick him in the nuts for creating such an unlovable human being who somehow captivated your chronically lonely heart.
— If you don’t want me to come and meet him, I can go home.
He doesn’t answer because his queue is finally coming to another match – you simply nod, knowing everything you need to. You can grab a little snack for yourself, fuck off to your dorm and rethink your life choices while your roommate is getting pounded by some gruss British bloke with an accent that makes your ears bleed.
You have dignity, and right now, it has asked you to get some snacks from the kitchen.
***
Now, the only thing König wanted after returning from deployment was to take as many hot showers as he could, shut his bastard of a son up, and get some delicious food waiting for him in the freezer. He was already home for a few days, but adjusting is always hard when you basically fucking hate living at your own house. Of-fucking-course, his son was watching the house while he was away – and now he can’t even think of a good excuse to set him off to his mother. Too old to do this, and split custody never really worked when not even one part of the relationship wanted to take care of the kid.
König closes the door of the refrigerator – of course, his son took every good thing that he stashed for himself. With a groan, the colonel fights the urge to finally throw him out of the house – a thing he needed to do a few years ago, just when he celebrated his 18th, but some sentimental part of his heart instead promised to help with finding a place close to the college. No good deed goes unpunished.
With a groan, he takes a few steps from the fridge – and then he almost stumbles across an angel.
Scheisse
Now, König never thought of himself as a predator who prefers running after college girls who might as well be his daughters. He never thought of himself as a gut who liked them young – his wife, god forsake her name, was his age when they started dating, and he hardly had any sexual encounters with a person under 25 in the past few years. Well, not like he had any sexual encounters in the past years, but…
The thing is – he never thought he liked girls with wide eyes, pouty faces, and trembling hands who were holding a bag of his cookies that he carefully stashed away from his son.
You are wearing something cute, a nice skirt and an adorable pink cardigan that looks so cozy and warm and soft, and he fights the urge to grab your skirt and simply lift it, You’re dressed up for a cute coffee date, and König has to double check if he isn’t dreaming and no one has decided to play a prank on him and send him a cute callgirl.
— Oh! Sorry. It’s yours, isn’t it?
You give him his cookies back – but not before your fingers fished another salty caramel goodness out of the bag, and you bit it. He looks at your teeth, at your lips, and glimpses of your tongue – god, he is an old, dirty bastard because even his baggy pants aren’t enough to hide his boner. You have no right to look this pretty for a man who hasn’t seen a woman in three months and hasn’t had sex in the past few years.
You lick the crumbs from your fingers – it’s such a deliberate action that he can’t believe he actually sees it, and it’s not even something from porn he used to like.
— Ja. You can have it.
He would give you the code to his bank account if you asked for it.
— Thank you, sir. I’m…well, I assume if Paul didn’t introduce me to you…I’m his girlfriend. Nice to meet you.
You lick your lips and take a step back, pressed against the counter. He looks at the sway of your hips, a bit of crumbs on your shirt, and almost brushes it away with his hands. It would be a good excuse to touch your chest – but he can’t be like this, he has to keep his urges under control, or else his son will never forgive him.
Yeah, like he needs a better reason to throw his useless son from his home.
— Girlfriend? He never spoke about you.
You look sad, and he immediately curses under his breath. For a moment, you look too fragile – too real. He can’t handle this look on a woman, especially as pretty and young as you are. You bat your eyelashes, even involuntarily, and he already prepares to give you the keys to his home just so you’d stop with such miserable expressions. He has a spare bedroom.
He has his bedroom with a bed that would be enough for both of you.
— Ah. Um. We’re…I guess we’re not at this stage yet.
— Knowing him, you’ll never be, Schatz.
You look at him immediately – you’re offended, angry, and sad at the same time. There is a certain stubbornness in your eyes that immediately makes him want to simply scoop you in his arms, lift you, and drag you straight to the altar – and here he thought that his impulses over getting married would be over after his first divorce.
— What do you mean by this, sir?
You look uncertain now, he can see this in your eyes – and really, knowing his asshole of a child, he is almost sure that Paul never once got you off, either physically or emotionally.
Now, König never once considered himself to be a good man. He has killed countless people, overthrown many governments, and made shitty jobs for shitty people way more than saving hostages to help the good guys – and in the romantic field, it’s even worse. Wife, unsatisfied with his controlling tendencies and inability to feel normal love for a human being – and a son who hates him because, in fact, he never once wanted to have a kid.
He looks at you and sees a pretty young thing, still in college or freshly out of, probably without a stable job and normal social standing – a good girl won’t be with his son if she isn’t stupid or extremely desperate for a relationship.
The thing is, König is also extremely desperate for another warm body next to his, to feel a woman beside him, to love and obsess over someone – he looks at your pouty lips and shaky hands, at the way you bite the corner of your glossy mouth, and he almost wants to drop you on this very table and fuck you until you’re crying under him. He can’t do just that, of course. It would probably make you extremely uncomfortable and scared, but…well, quite frankly, his son doesn’t deserve you.
König is.
— I won’t sugarcoat it, Schatz. My son is a Scheiß Arschloch…fucking asshole, that is. I’m surprised he brought home someone as cute as you.
You feel embarrassment collecting in your body. Paul’s dad is a…interesting man.
Tall, broad, very muscular – even his baggy house clothes aren’t really concealing his extremely interesting physique from your eyes. He looks yummy and tasty, and you fight the urge to eye the bulge in his pants because you’re a good girl, you don’t look at your boyfriend’s dad like this.
König has greying ginger hair, locks already curling slightly at the lack of cutting, and you fight the urge to sit on the counter and get your palm in his scalp, massage his head gently, and pull him closer for a kiss. You feel like a dirty, horrible woman – your boyfriend is in his room, probably enjoying his time on your “date” while you’re lusting over his father.
Then again, this date already felt like a disaster. This relationship, too.
— Paul isn’t all that bad, sir.
“He at least has a nice dick,” you wanted to add but stopped yourself. Paul is tall and somewhat strong – if he weren’t sitting at his computer all day, you would call him even muscular. And he has a nice dick, yes, even though he had no idea how to use it. You liked the idea of laying with him, of spraying your jaw trying to fit all of this in your mouth, but his kinks and his sex skills being directly taken from porn…not really your thing.
You look at König and wonder if they are similar in all of the places. He is his father, after all.
König catches your gaze locked on his bulge and smirks.
God, if he knew his son had such a cute girl, he would ask her to come earlier. He is two weeks off deployment and probably won’t take another long contract for a few months because they just upped his retirement payings, and he can afford to slack off a little bit, only visiting the home base for some training and instructions for rookies.
He can afford to retire and never worry about money again – but he needs someone to make his days less boring, right?
You look like a good candidate.
— I’m sure my son was convincing, but I know him better than anyone. He doesn’t deserve you, Schatz.
He is shitty at flirting, it’s not his forte – he can flaunt his money, maybe, show you in his wallet and bank account face first. He can just straight up ask you to be his sugar baby and suck his cock instead of doing your studies, but he can’t flirt and manipulate to save his life. Lying isn’t something he is good for, this is why his wife has left.
— I…not sure we should be having this conversation here.
You’re a good girl, and it’s infuriating. He knows that having someone in his bed shouldn’t be the end goal for his leave, but he wants you, and by the look on your face, you aren’t opposed to the idea. König doesn’t understand if he likes that you’re so reserved about it or if he wants you to be a bit more slutty – but he captures you in the space between the kitchen counter and presses you with his body.
— You want to see the bedroom then?
Pushes you so close his knee gets between your legs – it might look involuntary like he didn’t exactly want for it to be placed here, but you aren’t dumb, you know what he wants from you. Like a good fucking girl, you’re too shy to give it to him right about now. God, sometimes he hates being so nice to people around him.
— Sir, this is very…
He got you caged in his hands, body trapped in his embrace – you jerk your head upwards a little bit, staring at him like a small bird in the hands of a predator. He isn’t a strong man in regard of morals, he doesn’t see anything wrong with fucking his son’s girlfriend – if the girl is up to it. And if she isn’t…well, he better make sure she is.
— What is it, Schatz? Paul won’t hear us in his headphones.
You know just how wrong it is, and you almost want to escape – his dick grinds on your pelvis through his pants, and you’re horrified to see how big it is. Excited too, of course, he is bigger than your boyfriend ever could be, and you don’t want to be a slut, but, oh well, not like you were in a committed and serious relationship anyway.
Paul was seeing your friends more than you ever saw them – it’s probably a sign that you should settle for someone older. You did enjoy Lana Del Rey's songs, after all.
— I don’t want to break his heart.
— He doesn’t have one.
You’re lost when he pushes his lips to kiss you over and over again – a surprisingly good kisser, and you give in because it was the first time in forever a kiss made you feel this good. His lips are sending electricity down your spine, you want to moan just from his knee, pushing on the softness of your cunt through that adorable skirt you liked so much – you feel so small like this, so tiny in his hands, you…
God, you feel like a slut, and you like it.
Soon enough, you answered the kiss, your lips meeting his in a dance that made you feel hot, that made you feel like your boyfriend never could. Never thinking of yourself as someone who can fall so easily into the hands of an older man, now you know that he got you right where he wanted.
You push your hand on his pants, trying to get the control back – but he stops you, a giant hand enveloping your wrist and pushing you back. With a surprise on your face, König just wants to kiss you all over. God, you’re adorable, and he knows that you deserve way more than being fucked on the rough kitchen counter while your so-called boyfriend is too busy dickriding his friends in some useless online game.
— Not now, princess. You deserve better than being fucked on the kitchen counter, ja? It can come later.
“Later” sounds like a promise, and you bite back your moan when he keeps pushing his knee against your cunt, making you throb and clench on nothing. He is such a gentleman, you can’t help but compare him to his son – and his fabulous ability to make you feel dirty after fucking you in the backseat of his car and tossing you to your dorm with your pussy still wet and messy after you didn’t cum.
You sob, not from sadness, but from pleasure mixed with some weird, unnatural for you emotions – you feel weird, strained here like this, but you hug his neck and whisper something in his ear. Something, dangerously sounding just like “daddy, please”
König is blushing, and he looks fucking adorable.
— Daddy, ja? God, you’re dangerous, liebling. Going to get me in trouble with my son later.
He laughs when he kisses you again, his hand slipping in your panties only to find them completely soaked – he knows you deserve a nice pillow and soft sheets under your body, and he pushes you up so you can hug his waist with your legs. You rely on him like a cute pet, and you’re so perfect in his hands he curses himself for not seeing you before.
He is going to ruin you for anyone but him. Put so much cum in you, it will make your tummy bulge – make you his precious sugar baby, pay for your dumb college and make you move to his bedroom instead of some shitty dorm you probably share with four other people.
He can be good for you – but he will ruin you for anyone else, anyone appropriate, every guy your age who clearly doesn’t know how to treat a lady right.
— So wet for me…such a filthy thing, I didn’t know my son dated a whore.
— N…not a whore, please…
He kisses you on your forehead, silently apologizing. You feel his crooked, scarred smile, and you push your face up to kiss him – you want to touch him so badly it makes you feel stupid.
— Sorry, Schatzen. Not a whore, a good girl for her daddy, ja? So nice for me, too fucking young…
— W…we really shouldn’t…
— Tshhh, don’t think about it. Thinking will only hurt your pretty dumb head.
— I’m not…
— Quiet, little one. Let daddy handle everything.
He kisses you over and over, his fingers playing with your pussy – meaty digits digging in your hole, making you whimper from sudden intrusion. He is big, bigger than anyone else, just two of his fingers are enough to spread you as much as normal cock would, and even though you’re used to taking Paul’s size, you just know that his dad would be much, much bigger. He is going to split you open, and you will love every fucking second.
It feels so wrong, you still aren’t sure if you want him to touch you like this.
It feels so right, he is experienced and eager, pushing every button to make you squirm in his grasp. Your orgasm comes embarrassingly quick – maybe because you haven’t gotten off in ages, only miserable masturbation sessions and poor attempts at faking your orgasm made it feel real. Paul never cared enough to actually get you off – but now…
You aren’t ready for him. You squirm in his grasp when the pressure becomes too much, and he soothes you, two fingers still buried in your soaked cunt. You feel so dirty, so wrong right now – you are cumming on the fingers of your boyfriend’s absent father, and you love every second of it.
Post-orgasm clarity makes you whiny and sobby, and you whimper in his shoulder when he gently lifts you in his hands. God, you’re adorable, and he knows that he just scrambled your brain with that orgasm – it’s good, really, he might just want to keep your pretty head nice and empty for him. Not like you would ever need to think in his presence, the colonel can handle everything in- and out- of bed.
König holds you close, not allowing you to scramble away no matter how embarrassed you are. You are his precious thing, with a pouty face, and he will do everything in his power to make you squirm on his fingers again and again before he makes you his wife for good.
So impulsive, maybe this is why his son is such an asshole – taking the worst traits of his father.
— Don’t cry, Schatzen. You’re okay, it felt good, didn’t it?
— W…we shouldn’t have. Shit. I’m sorry, it was a m…god, I need to tell Paul.
— I’ll tell him.
— No!
— I will tell my asshole of a son that you’re my girl now, ja? And then I will take you to the bedroom, so we can fuck.
— I need to return to my dorm.
— And then I will dine you properly, okay? Sorry, Liebling, I know I should court you before all of this…but we can afford to go a bit off board, ja?
He is smiling, so smitten and obsessed over just having you cum on his fingers once – you don’t have the heart to say no. Never did. You’re a good, proper girl, and Paul was never treating you right anyway. You feel dirty, yes, but somehow, it is almost right.
He peppers your face with kisses, like a dog lapping its tongue all over your skin – you’re so concentrated on the warmth of his strong, seasoned body that you don’t even look in the direction of the doorway to the kitchen.
Paul, however, looks straight at you, disheartened and shocked.
— W…what the fuck, dad?!
König laughs, kissing you once again – deep, hot, with tongue and loud, sloppy sounds of your mouth pressing into one another. You’re stuck in place, still caged in his arms like a precious little pet you are.
— She’ll make a good step mom, ja?
You don’t even register his hands slowly caressing your fingers as if he already tries to check the ring sizes.
#cod#konig x reader#yandere konig#konig#cod x reader#call of duty#cod x you#yandere cod#konig mw2#reader insert#yandere x reader
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Milk and Water (Pt. I)
pairings: doppelgänger!Milkman x fem!Reader
summary: One of the newest residents’ very first doppelgänger comes in, trying to sway you into to letting them in. Will you..?
pt.II
art credit (twt: loafuu_chii)
warning: 18+ content
“…what’s the story behind your um… ears(?)” You ask the doppelgänger before you. It was a clone of one of your favorite neighbors actually, her name was Maria.
A woman around your age that you became really close friends with over the few months of you working here.
“@&! !$?&” The doppelgänger let out a series of sounds.
“right, so give me one second” You press the bright red button next to the window and the steel blinds shut with a blaring alarm sound.
You call D.D.D. and they clean up their mess per usual. You once again, you were just thankful you didn’t have to work on that side of the glass.
You check your wrist watch, and happily sigh at the fact that you only had one more hour left to work.
“ mmm, someone’s eager to go home i see” A familiar voice speaks up.
“oh, Mr. Francis” You give the man a polite grin. He gave you a sly one in return. You knew it wasn’t him off the bat. Francis was usually shy towards you, making you want to tease him into blushing whenever you saw him.
Well, you suppose you could kill two birds with one stone. Flirt with the doppelgänger of your crush, and have some entertainment.
“how are you pretty girl” He asks, sliding an I.D. and sheet through the slot.
You examine the documents and identification and beam a smile up at him.
“the date on the I.D. is a little expired hun” You declare. He lets out a small chuckle and leans a little toward the glass.
“mmm, been busy with the milk business, love. must’ve slipped my mind to renew it” He replied. His eyes were low but he still held his sly grin. You leaned back in your chair, with a bored look on your face.
“you’re not like my Francis” You huff and tilt your head with a disappointed look.
His grin faltered and he stepped closer. His breathing had quickened a bit and he took off his hat. “who knows, i could be better” He suggests.
Now that his confidence had depleted a little, you were growing bored of him. You checked the time again and you had 45 minutes left.
“well i’ve gotta get you moving now. it was nice to see such a handsome face though, so thank you” You beam and reach for the button
“you don’t want to do this, trust me” He states with a warning tone. This wasn’t unusual, getting threats after realizing they’re doppelgängers, but being that this one was this aware… they must be evolving.
“and why would i trust you?” You ask out of curiosity.
“i mean look at me” He smirks, one arm leaned against the top of the window. His irises turned from their chocolate brown and into an empty pure white.
“hm” You nod and press the button.
“(Y/N)!” He roared with what you assume was his fist banging the glass.
You call D.D.D. and wait for them to clean their mess, again.
The steel blind begins to lift and you sit back in your seat, checking your watch again but noticed the new pink lighting that shone in.
You furrow your eyebrows and look up in horror as you see blood streaks on the window in thick, and dripping amounts. You jump out of your chair and put your back against the wall.
About 5 D.D.D. workers were piled up, bloody and battered in the corner of the room, and there the doppelgänger was.
Staring at you.
His eyes were low, his shirt was torn, revealing his pecs and the start of his abdomen. He was panting with his (surprisingly still) neat hair and an almost psychotic expression.
“oh no…” He starts with a laugh, still breathing heavily.
“what did you do..?” You cover your mouth with your hand.
“it’s what you did. you got me all riled up.”
He looks down for a brief moment and you swear you hear a zip. He holds his tie and the end of his tattered shirt in his mouth and looks up at you with knitted eyebrows.
His breath fogging up the window as he asks you. Looking like a poor starving puppy. “will you let me in now…? I need your help…” He slightly groaned.
“…what. the. fuck.”
#milkman#milkman x reader#francis mosses#francis mosses x reader#ciaoteamo#x reader#imagine#smut#fem dom reader#thats not my neighbor#milkman smut#milk the man
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Part Four
Can't stop thinking about reader losing her cool.
"So we're closed, John." You said, trying to be cordial.
"Is that all you have to fucking say?" He practically growled before huffing. A humorless chuckle rumbling out of his chest. "I suppose not since you won't respond to any of us."
"Don't do that." You said taking a step back. Trying to create some distance between you and him. John would never physically hurt you. That much you knew.
"What?" He asked. His voice rising as he stepped closer to you. "Be angry that you pulled that shit and then left? Stopped talking to us. Changed your fucking locks. Last thing we even knew about you was that you got on a fucking plane and left. Even your friends wouldn't tell us anything besides that you were okay." "Which considering this came out of bloody nowhere, I find it highly unlikely that you are in any way 'okay'."
You took a deep breath. You wouldn't be intimidated. You wouldn't clam up. You wouldn't cry. You won't go back on your decision. You will be cordial and polite and not unleash everything you want to.
"I understand you might be upset, but it's for the best. It wasn't working out and I wanted to end on somewhat good terms. I would appreciate it if you lowered your voice and stopped speaking to me in that way." You could barely recognize your voice. It sounded so scripted. So robotic. But it was something you had been telling yourself. Excuses you had been telling yourself.
Because if you told yourself the truth. The picture you would paint would tell a different story. It wouldn't highlight the fact that John spoke to you like he was one of your men or that Johnny had the emotional capacity of a teaspoon. It wouldn't show what a flake Kyle was or that Simon was well and truly a mean-spirited person.
It would show how you weren't worth it. Four possible men. Four possibilities of happily ever after and none of them chose you. That no one ever did and no one ever would. You weren't worth it. You weren't loveable.
It wasn't right, but it was what the voices had been telling you late in the night. When you would crawl into your cold bed. The silence of the room not filled with John's steady breathing or the sound of Kyle's heartbeat as you laid you head on his chest. The absence of Johnny's occasional snoring or whatever Simon was watching playing in the background of your dreams.
In the void, all your dark thoughts came back at you.
"Upset?" He asked, his voice still louder than you would have liked. "An understatement considering the stunt you pulled."
"You think it was a stunt?"
"So Johnny thought with his dick and didn't plan things out. You should have told him instead of crying to Simon and then pulling this shit." "Christ, I knew you were still young, but I didn't take you for that immature."
"You know what?" "I'm done." "I am so fucking sick of making excuses for you all." "You want to act like I'm the immature one, John?" "You are 35-year-old man who cannot separate his work from his work like. You have continuously talked to and down to me like I am one of your men, only to turn around and always blame your shitty fucking attitude on work. I get that your job is stressful, but I did not sign up to be your verbal fucking punching bag."
"And this come and fucking go incident with Johnny. It has been a consistent issue with him coming over just to fuck. I've asked him for that last six months that 'hey, we've been seeing each other for a year and a half, I would love to meet your family' and suddenly the dates stop. He doesn't ask to see me until after 7 PM. He brings food occasionally, fucks me and leaves. Sometimes before I even wake up."
"And the only reason Kyle is the person I am the least pissed off with is because I haven't even seen him." You took a step closer, not noticing how the anger in John's eyes had softened. "I have not seen Kyle in weeks, to no fault of my own. I stopped reaching out to make dinner plans after the third time he canceled on a date night when I was either on my way or already at the restaurant."
"And Simon?" You scoffed. "Well, it doesn't really matter. After all, as he said I get mine. You all make me cum which is supposed to magically erase how shitty you've all been as partners. It's supposed to erase the nights I've cried myself to sleep debating on whether or not there was something wrong with me. How I'm not good enough to meet anyone else in your lives like some dirty fucking secret. How none of you can even bother to pencil me for a group dinner so I can tell you a publishing house picked up my book. How at some point you all stopped caring or maybe never did."
You took a breath. Blinking quickly to keep the tears at bay.
You wouldn't cry. You wouldn't cry.
"As Simon said it best, I should have known that spreading my legs wouldn’t end with one of you putting a ring on your finger.”
For once, John was silent. Unsure of what to say. An apology starting to form at the tip of his tongue before realizing 'sorry' wouldn't cut it. Not this time.
Had he really been that sharp with you? He knew that there were times he had gotten short, but he almost always apologized immediately after. If not at the very moment he took in your crest-fallen face, then definitely later. But he almost always told you he was sorry. Didn't he?
"So as I said," you swallowed down the lump in your throat. "I'm closed. We're done. Now get out." Your face held no sadness. Even though your eyes were nearly full to the brim with unshed tears, you weren't sad.
You were finally angry.
#captain john price#kyle gaz garrick#simon ghost riley#call of duty#john soap mactavish#angst#angst with a happy ending
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Brooklyn Baby - G.S.
Synopsis. Everybody wanted to fuck Suguru Geto, lead bassist of Tokyo Special Grades. Said Suguru doesn’t want to fuck anyone else but you. He couldn’t give less of a fuck if anyone walked in right now. In fact, a small part of him wishes someone would.
Pairing. Geto Suguru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rock star! AU, fwb-to-lovers, unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), fingering (female receiving), Suguru is sinfully sexy and in l*ve with you, Satoru is a menace, pet names (darling, my girl), Suguru has tattoos and piercings, swearing.
Word count. 3.2k (DAMN I got carried away)
A/N. Happy Valentine’s day! *throws somewhat-fluffy smut at you and leaves*
Art by @_3aem on X.
Also, wild west! AU longfic with someone dropping on Sunday night (EST), keep your eyes peeled yeehaw.
Everybody wanted to fuck Suguru Geto, lead bassist of Tokyo Special Grades.
You did. Your fans did. Hell, you’ve even caught your overworked band manager sneaking a few too many glances.
And, you conclude, the groupies currently batting their lashes at him definitely did.
You watch as they swarm to him during open rehearsal, giggling at his pretty smiles.
Whatever, part of the job anyway.
It’s not like you two were dating. Yeah, a few fucks here and there throughout the years - but what’s one to do when on the road and in such close proximity with a guy that’s practically walking sex?
Trying not to scowl, you turn away from the commotion, continuing to tune the strings of your trusty Fender. You’ve had your fair share of die-hard fans, so lately why did it bother you so much when Suguru entertained their thinly-veiled advances?
“Ohoho~ Quite a look on your face there, why don’t you go and caress his biceps too?~” you hear idiot brigade member #1, Gojo Satoru, cackle from beside you.
If looks could kill, Satoru would’ve been 6 feet under and rotting already. “I thought you stopped writing band fanfiction, Satoru.” you raise a brow.
“THAT WAS ONE TIME.” he whines dramatically, clinging onto you and shaking you back and forth as if to knock the memory of his Wattpad tendencies out of you. “WHY ATTACK ME JUST CUZ YOU’RE JEALOUS? C’MOOON ADMIT IT.”
You were not jealous.
Suguru knew you were jealous.
Sneaking a glance, he had to fight the urge to coo at the adorable little furrow of your brows. How unprofessional would it be if he walked off mid-conversation to kiss that pout off your lips?
He knows it’s just sex for you. But - foolishly - every time he held you he could only hope that he ran through your mind as often as you did through his. It elated Suguru to know you were getting that worked up over him.
That is until, out of the corner of his eye, he spots Satoru draping himself all over you, whispering god-knows-what into your ears.
The rational part of Suguru knows Satoru is a very touchy person, but why was he so…close? And why weren’t you pushing him off?
Smile tightening into something a little more artificial, he turns to the girls fawning over him. “Well, ladies, I’m sorry to say I’ve gotta go practice before Shoko yells at me again. I’ll see you all in the front row, yeah?” he lies smoothly, disappointed whines following him as he makes a beeline for your figure.
“Well! What have we here, Satoru, are you done tuning?” Suguru pops a head between yours and Satoru’s overly close ones, interrupting whatever conversation you were heatedly whispering. What was so important that you two needed to be that close to talk anyway?
He narrows his eyes at Satoru’s surprised ones, an invisible conversation taking place between them before Satoru cracks a smug grin. “Alright alright. I’ll go tune my guitar.” he rolls his eyes, heading for his electric blue Gibson.
Your confused gaze meets the twinkling eyes now boring down at you. “Done with the meet-n-greet already?” you question, eyes darting to the group now watching you two like hawks.
The smile on Suguru’s face grows, “Yeah, remembered I didn’t do my pre-concert rituals right.”
“Oh?”
“Wanna help me with it?”
He doesn’t give you time to answer. Quickly setting down your guitar, he drags you out into the corridor - hand tightly in yours and pointedly ignoring Satoru’s wolf-whistles.
Hallway sex is overrated, Suguru believes - which is why he heads for the dressing room.
“Pre-concert rituals” his ass, Suguru just thinks he might pass away if he doesn’t get his hands on you right now. Make you feel like his.
It’s not long before the door is locked and he has you bent over the vanity, knuckle-deep in your dripping cunt.
“S-Sugu! Why now? The concert- Hah-” You gasp in pleasure as two long fingers probe inside of you, ruthlessly searching for the spot that Suguru knows would have your toes curling and eyes watering deliciously.
“Fuck the concert, darling. Barely even started and already so wet f’me.” he drawls out over your whimpers. “Wanted you to come over y’know? And save me from those groupies trying to get in my pants.”
In your lust-hazed mind, you find the words to respond to him, “You s-seemed to - hah - be enjoying that.”
“Of course not.” he leaves a trail of kisses down your back, “Wasn’t my favorite girl.” he whispers into your heated skin.
He’s being rougher than usual, he knows. In the back of his mind he wonders what it was that he was so pissed at. But all thoughts of that are thrown out the window once he presses into that plushy spot inside your wet core, drawing a sinful whine from your mouth. There.
Pulling back to tease your folds with your own slick, he plunges into your swollen pussy once more, easily hitting that spot over and over.
“Hngh- Suguru, more!” you grind your hips to meet his merciless rhythm, clenching around his fingers.
You feel as if you’re losing your sanity when he adds in another finger, walls burning as your cunt stretches around his thick rings.
Suguru was definitely losing his sanity.
Anyone could walk by. The concert was about to start any second now. But he couldn’t give less of a fuck, too focused on how his fingers were being sucked back in every time he pulls out, your pretty pussy dripping all over his numerous bracelets.
He has to hold back a moan at the way your ass jiggled every time your hips buck to meet his fingers.
Leaning down over you, he hums lowly into your ear “So desperate for me, hm?”. Pressing the erection straining against his trousers against you, he huffs out “I’m the same, darling. You drive me absolutely mad.”
He feels the way you squirm in impatience at the large outline of his dick, raising your ass in an attempt to get more friction. Eyes crinkling in satisfaction, he pushes down on his girl’s slutty hips, cold rings digging into the small of your waist.
“Now now…not yet.” he tuts mockingly.
“Please, Suguru. Please let me cum.”
Increasing his pace, abusing your g-spot relentlessly, Suguru knew by your breathy moans of his name that you were getting close.
His hand moves from your waist, leaving behind purple marks to remember him by. They wander the expanse of your body - groping your curves, and pinching your nipples through your thin top - delighting in your mewls.
God, you were perfect. He really needed to take his time with you later.
Suguru’s hands, nail polish chipped and fingers calloused from years of playing, finally rest on your face. He pushes your cheeks together, drool pooling at the corner of your mouth and forcing you to look at him through the vanity mirror in front of you. Your dazed eyes meet his darkened ones.
Suguru was so feral. The man that was usually the personification of grace and poise was falling apart at the seams. His eyes wild and grin spread devilishly as his fingers abuse your cunt never-endingly.
“Look at me when you cum.” he murmurs raspily into your neck, teeth ghosting over your rapid pulse.
You don’t know what it is that sends you over the edge - maybe it was his lustful words, or the way his fingers quirked just right inside of you. All you know is you’re cumming all over Suguru’s fingers, hands clutching the vanity table and eyes locked with Suguru’s in the mirror, mouth dropping into a gasp.
“Fuck! Suguru- Suguru!” you whimper.
Suguru watches in wonder as you ride out your orgasm, using him. He couldn’t give less of a fuck if anyone walked in right now. In fact, a small part of him wishes someone would.
Let them see how beautifully you fall apart because of him.
Finally pulling out, Suguru inspects his fingers. “Now now. That won’t do.” he purrs.
His tongue erotically licks up your juices covering his rings, still holding eye contact with you through the mirror. He catches the way your thighs press together at his lewd act. ‘Oh? Want some?“ he teases.
Before you can retort, he’s bullying his fingers into your mouth, making you taste yourself.
The way you moan around him sends blood rushing straight to his cock. Fuck, he has to steel himself from cumming in his pants right then and there - that wouldn’t be very “sex icon” of him.
You have no idea what you do to him.
Not willing to wait any longer, he leisurely takes a seat on the spacious vanity sofa. You whine at the loss of contact before catching the predatory look in his eyes. Suguru was going to eat you alive.
“Come on, darling. Show me how badly you want me.” he grins, legs spreading and prominent bulge on display.
You take a second to admire the view. Tousled black hair falling enticingly along Suguru’s muscled shoulders, tattooed dragon peeking through where his shirt was messed up. His eyes lustful, and locked on you.
He was devastatingly handsome. Your mouth waters at the chance to get what so many people would kill for.
Suguru chuckles as you struggle to unbuckle his belt - did rock stars have to always wear such complicated trousers?
Finally, you pull them down along with his boxers to expose his creamy thighs. Suguru’s throbbing erection lays on his abs, flushed a delicate pale pink.
Your pussy quivers with excitement as you press wet kisses to Suguru’s leaking head, precum dripping down his length to where you’d gently grasped him. A strangled hiss leaves his mouth as you swirl your tongue around the slit. You find yourself lost in his heady taste - he tastes so good.
“Having fun, darling? C’mon now, use me the way you want.” he murmurs, need laced into his voice.
You’ve never gotten used to how big Suguru is. Soft groans leave his mouth as you flatten your tongue and take him in inch by inch, eyes locked with his blown-out ones.
Suguru’s back arches as the heat of your mouth envelops him, hands bunching your hair into a messy ponytail. His pornographic groans echo across the dressing room as you suck on his cock, tongue swirling in just the way you knew he liked.
He can’t even catch his breath with the way you bob your head so heavenly, sucking the soul out of him. It drives him wild to think about how he’s got his lead guitarist on her knees, choking on his cock as your fans wait outside.
Suguru’s eyes roll to the back of his head as you pop off his cock to take his heavy balls into your mouth, moaning around them as you suck on both erotically.
Shit, he was really feeling it today.
Through the bangs now sticking to his forehead, he makes out the way your thighs grind against each other for relief.
You were, too.
If this keeps up he really will lose his sanity.
“As much as I’d love to paint your pretty face with my cum, I think we both prefer it inside, no?” he grits out, cock twitching at the strings of spit and precum connecting you to him as he pulls you off.
“Need you inside me so badly.” you nod, brain foggy and filled with only Suguru.
He’s quick to lift you into his lap, resting your ass against his pulsing cock, sly grin spreading at the way you’re already so fucked out.
Suguru feels like he could cum just from the sensation of your juices smearing all over his length, pussy dripping and aching for his throbbing cock.
“Oh yeah? How bad?” he purrs, eyes half-lidded and already knowing the answer.
“Please. I want you to fuck me so badly, Suguru.”
“Badly enough that you’d fuck me out there - where everyone is? Show ‘em who I belong to?”
“Yes.”
At your whimper, Suguru thrusts fully inside you, a moan of relief leaving you both as you finally get what you’ve been craving for.
“Shit, so tight. Always so good for me, darling.”
Once you start, it’s hard to stop, Suguru finds.
It happened when he first fucked you in high school - in his car after your first show, running on adrenaline and teenage hormones. And, years later, it’s happening now as he sheathes himself in your wet cunt.
He just can’t get enough.
He fucks you animalistically, cock ramming in and out of your hole in a way that makes it feel like you’re missing something without him. Nothing in the world other than your two connected bodies. He feels you clamping down on him deliciously, ego growing at you struggling to accommodate his size.
“F-fuck, darling. Hah- It’s s’tight. Take it like my good girl.”
“Hngh- Suguru, faster!” you groan, fingers delicately playing with the nipple piercings peeking out of his barely-buttoned shirt, euphoric at his drawn-out moans.
Unlike Satoru - who takes off his shirt every chance he gets onstage - Suguru was one to shy away from showing skin, slutty piercings and tattoos hidden to the world. It just makes it all the more satisfying as you lick a long stripe along the dragon on his shoulder.
Feels like your little secret. You wanted to be the only one to see this ethereal sight.
“Ah- So good, darling.” Suguru leans back, allowing you more room to play with him as you please. Cock twitching - so close - as you bore into his eyes, sucking his flashy piercings.
He ramps up his pace, bouncing you on his cock in a way that was carnal. It was so feral, the way his balls sting as they smack your ass, a ring of spit and precum forming around his base.
His cock aches for release, but he wants to see you cum first. His pretty girl, cumming all over his throbbing cock.
You pull yourself off his swollen nipples and attach your mouth with his, tongues swirling sensually as he kisses you like he needed you to breathe.
He’s almost as unforgiving with his mouth as he is with his cock. Almost.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
“YOOO I don’t know if ‘pre-concert rituals’ was a code-word for something else but we’re on in twenty minutes.” the unmistakable voice of Suguru’s best friend - and occasional bane-of-his-existence - made you two jump apart.
“The ultimate cockblock.” Suguru sighs out - his pace, however, does not slow down. Each harsh thrust makes it difficult to muffle your yelps of pleasure from Satoru, who was still calling for you two from outside.
Noticing your predicament, Suguru grins dangerously. “Oh? My poor girl finds it hard to stop her moans? Aww, better try harder unless you want dear Satoru finding out.” he mocks in your ear.
Both humiliated and turned on by his words, your dripping pussy clenches around his cock. He lets out a choked-up groan, biting hard into the crook of your neck to stop it.
A satisfied smile spreads across your face, “Who should try harder now, Suguru?”
Ah, perfect. You were perfect, perfect for him.
As Satoru’s yells about “cutting a chunk out of Suguru’s pay” disappear across the hallway, both of you let out exhales of relief.
“Dangerous game you played there, mister.” you raise a brow, teasingly.
He chuckles out, before pulling you to him closer by the waist. Lips ghosting over your own, he whispers “Only with you, my darling.”
Slightly more clear-headed but still dripping with lust, you meet the bounce of Suguru’s hips with your own. Eyes still locked with yours, he stuffs you with every inch - tip kissing your cervix so painfully good.
The steady slapping of skin and synchronized moans fill the room, blocking out the cheering of the audience awaiting your band.
Yet, the air crackled with something different this time. For the first time, it didn’t just feel like just mindless fucking.
Bite mark on your neck stinging, you could feel Sugurus heartbeat thundering under your touch - synchronized with your own.
In this moment it felt like just you two in this world.
You wanted to be the only one in his world. Not his fangirls, not some manager, not anyone else.
Maybe that was the reason for your courage, feeling like everything has finally come to a boiling point.
“S-Suguru.” you breathe out as you feel yourself getting closer.
“Mhm?” brows furrowed, he looks up at you with a tenderness in his eyes that does not translate to the merciless cadence of his hips.
“Be mine.”
And that’s all Suguru ever wanted.
With a final hard thrust of his cock, he pulls you into a searing kiss that sends you both over the edge. He cums in hot spurts, thick ropes of seed filling your quivering cunt. It was feral - and it made you feel like his.
Suguru’s seed drips down the side of his length, forming a white ring at his base as he fucks it deeper into you, letting you ride out your highs together.
As your climaxes bate, he buries his face in your neck, kissing softly over the mark from before. “To be yours is everything I could ever want, darling.” he breathes out, hugging you closer as if to hide this vulnerable moment. But you feel the heat of his cheeks on your skin.
Embracing him, you gather his beautiful black locks in your hand, fingers deftly taking the hair tie around your wrist to tie his long hair into a messy ponytail.
Pulling back, you admire Suguru’s angelic features. Face flushed, lips swollen, and dark eyes half-lidded as he stares up at you in surprise.
“Wanted to see your pretty face.” you huff out a low laugh.
The expression on Suguru’s face is indescribable, such pure adoration in his eyes.
Voice low, he murmurs words meant only for you, “I…I’m in lov-”
“HEYYY I’m serious, stop doing the devil’s tango and GET THE FUCK OUT.” Satoru’s voice bellows once again through the door, shattering the little bubble you and Suguru had found refuge in.
“Ah- um-”
“You-”
Both of you stammer out at once, chuckling at how shy you were acting with one another even after all that had transpired in this room.
“We should probably go, before Satoru and Shoko pop a blood vessel.” Suguru jokes. You laugh out in agreement as he carries you tenderly to the washroom, his interrupted words weighing heavily on both your minds. It’s okay, you have time.
Rapidly cleaned up and dressed, Suguru stops, a hand on the dressing room doorknob. “”Hey..” he starts almost-hesitantly, “After the concert, would you maybe want to-”
“Yes.” you interrupt, excitement lacing your voice.
Chuckling in pure euphoria as you both exit, your smiles turn more sheepish as you’re faced with a bored-looking Shoko and an impatient Satoru tapping his foot. “You horny lil’ fuckers almost missed the show, think of my poor fans~” he exclaims, though the glee in his eyes at your intertwined hands was very evident.
“Hope the sex was good at least.” Shoko drones out, eyes flitting over your guilty flushed faces.
‘Oh yeah, and Suguru - next time you dump your fangirls on me, I chop your balls off.“ she chirps out, pointing her drumsticks threateningly at his neck as you all head back.
Blinding lights.
Deafening screams.
Hair pulled into a messy ponytail, he was fatally beautiful onstage.
Everybody wanted to fuck Suguru Geto, lead bassist of Tokyo Special Grades.
But he only wanted to fuck you.
A/N. MMMMM long-haired men.
Plagiarism not authorized.
#geto x reader#geto x you#geto smut#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk smut#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x you#geto suguru smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fic#jjk#geto suguru#tonywrites
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Movement
pairing: mike schmidt x afab!reader
summary: a double date that leads to mike schmidt coming home with you in the name of "helping your friend" and he ends up fucking you.
warnings: unprotected sex, no foreplay, creampie??, female pronouns, slight degrading??, pet names, heavy cussing, mike being hashtag v hot, no established relationship, porn with no plot, not proofread
word count: 2.1k words
author’s note: listen to movement by hozier for the full experience!!! I know this fic wasn't voted to be the first mike one to be posted but I had to do it okay!!!! he's so hot n sexy in this and i need him badly...please enjoy! mwah!
Your eyes scanned the restaurant in front of your car, you were promised a very nice dinner with a very nice man and the place you ended up might as well have been a denny’s. Gia somehow managed to rope you into a double date and as the amazing friend you are, you obliged. Now, you wanted to take it back. If the guy you were set up with wasn’t just an absolute heartthrob you might consider strangling her in the bathroom.
“Gia, this better be the best damn food and the hottest men you have ever experienced or I’m never doing you another favor ever again.” You teased, getting out of your car as she walked up to it.
“I swear he said this place was nicer! Thank you so much babes, I owe you one!” She responded, slipping her arm inside of yours to walk inside. “Maybe the inside is really nice and it’s just a shady exterior.”
You’d never seen the man Gia was seeing tonight so when the two of you arrived at the table you weren’t sure which man was yours, but you knew which one you wanted. He looked gentle, shaggy hair untamed almost like he wasn’t prepared to go on a date tonight.
“I suppose I’m your date.” He smiled softly, getting up to pull your chair out for you. “I’m MIke, you look uh, really beautiful tonight.”
After the introductions and small talk the two of you hit it off right away, it helped that Gia and her date were more interested in each other than remembering that the people they brought also existed. The more you talked the more Mike came out of his shell, he wasn’t as shy as you first pegged him to be. Your heel was slowly caressing his calf, neither of you were quite sure when it had ended up there but he wasn’t complaining.
“A man in uniform is hot.” Your flirting was a little rusty, but it seemed to be working just fine for you.
“It’s just a security gig.” He shrugged it off, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time.
You grabbed the straw of your drink, wrapped your tongue around it, and took a sip. Mike choked slightly but covered it up with a cough, adjusting his pants under the table at the same time.
“She’s not going to go home with him unless I go home with you.” You whispered in his ear as you leaned over the table, tangling your fingers in his hair to trick Gia into thinking you were whispering something dirty. “I’d really like to go home with you.”
You could feel the heat creep up his neck, his face was flushed. His heart might as well be on the outside of his chest with the intensity that it was beating, it’d been a long time since he’d been on a date or even gotten laid but Abby was at home and that just wouldn’t work.
“Uhm, my sister’s at home, can we go to your place?” Mike’s saliva was thick and pooling in his mouth, it felt almost impossible to swallow. He had to be dreaming, this just didn’t make sense otherwise. He was just doing his friend a favor and now your breath was hot on his neck and his jeans were uncomfortably tight.
The second the two of you walked outside he got fidgety, like he was going to take off the second you let go of his hand. Frankly he was surprised you hadn’t let go of it the second you picked it up, he was dripping sweat from the moment he realized you were his date. He quickly made a mental note to send a letter to the company who made his preferred deodorant, the fact that he didn’t smell absolutely putrid spoke volumes on their product.
“So did you mean what you said inside? Because I’m perfectly okay with just going home.”
“I meant it, don’t be so nervous.” You smiled back at him, handing him the keys to your car.
The tension was thick, his knuckles were white as he tried to keep his focus on the road ahead and making it back to your place safely and not the fingers drawing figures on his thigh as you spoke about something he couldn’t quite grasp.
Your place wasn’t too far from the restaurant that Gia’s date had picked, that Mike was thankful for. The longer he had to endure the torture that was your fingers on this thighs, the less his ability to be a gentleman and control himself existed. If it was up to him, he’d probably just pulled over and fucked you in the backseat of your own car but it wasn’t. He was a gentleman, he’d just met you all of a few hours ago, he knew better.
“This is the place.” You smiled softly as he pulled into your driveway.
“It’s nice.” He stated, handing your car keys back to you and taking your hand. “Suits you.”
Mike’s eyes wandered the walls, taking in every aspect of you, as you led him through the house. It didn’t take him long to notice that you lived alone, another thing he was now thankful for. His fingers trailed the zipper of your dress as he stood behind you in your bedroom, his other hand rubbing your arm and leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“Are you going to take it off?” Your voice was shaky and quiet, for the first time tonight you were nervous.
“And you thought I was the eager one.” He chuckled, tugging your hair back softly to give him just enough access to your face to make eye contact with you. “Do you get off on bringing strangers to your home and having them fuck you?”
A soft whimper escaped your lips, blessing the ears of the man behind you who responded with a groan. His lips made contact with your neck, biting and sucking at any of the skin he had access to. The hand that was holding your hair back made itself busy drawing the zipper of your dress further and further down until it couldn’t go any further, you shivered as the cold air hit your back.
Mike detached himself from your neck and took a step back, briefly admiring how disheveled you looked despite still being fully dressed, he made a quick motion for you to turn around and you obliged almost immediately. If you got his dick any harder it might’ve fallen off before he ever got the chance to use it.
He backed you into the bed, laying you down and sliding your dress off and into a pile on the floor. Another deep groan was emitted into the air as he took in the sight in front of him, you hadn’t worn a bra and the underwear you’d chosen left nothing to the imagination. Mike immediately started thanking whatever god was above for you and the experience he was about to have.
Your heart was pounding out of your chest. Truthfully, you hadn’t planned on sleeping with anyone tonight but then you saw him and your entire plan was flipped upside down. You lied about your friend not going home with her date if you didn’t leave with him, you didn’t want him to think you were desperate but he knew now. The second he touched the zipper of your dress, anything left of your facade was gone. You needed him.
“If you weren’t so fucking wet I would’ve thought you were only doing me a favor.” He spoke nonchalantly, rubbing his finger over your folds through your underwear. “ Or maybe you’re just a whore? Huh?”
“For you.” You choked out, words getting caught in your throat over his words.
At the beginning of the night you would’ve placed money on the fact that he wasn’t capable of things like this, it was like another side of him had come out during the drive to your house. You weren’t complaining, his words were getting to you in a way you’d never experienced.
“Yeah? For me? Mikey’s own personal whore.” He slipped your underwear to the side and slid his finger through your folds, collecting your juices and bringing them to his mouth. “You’re as sweet as you look, need a honey jar full of you.”
You cried out at him softly, trying to use anything you had to stop his teasing. He was winding you up but edging you right before you could pop, he could’ve said anything and you would’ve agreed just to get him to fuck you. Being this desperate for a man you hardly knew was an exhilarating experience.
“Please, I need you.” You whined, grabbing at his shirt in a desperate plea. “Please.”
“Good job using your words, pretty girl.” Mike praised, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your underwear and pulling them down, throwing them in the same pile as your dress.
His clothes soon joined yours on the floor, a small pout emerging when you realized you wouldn’t be able to suck him off, his eyes catching yours as he climbed up your body. He kissed his way up, biting occasionally. Fingers tracing your skin just as you had done to him earlier in the night, lighting a fire on your skin as they went. It was like his body was made to fit yours, like your souls had searched for each other through every lifetime and yet this was the first time they had met.
His lips finally met yours for the first time, teeth nipping at your bottom lip as he pulled away to breathily whisper something in your ear. You shook your head in agreement at whatever he said, as long as he kept touching you like that and making noises in your ear you’d agree to anything he said to you.
Shaking your head yes was the best decision you’d made so far, you felt two fingers slip inside of you. Thrusting for a few moments before they were replaced by the tip of his cock, slowly pushing in as his mouth found one of your nipples. The gentle man you had once perceived had been replaced by a god who was hung like a horse, splitting you in half with the cock fit for a god.
“Fuck.” Mike moaned, tipping his head back when he bottomed out, taking your legs and placing them on his shoulders. “So good, pretty girl.”
Anything you had planned on responding with quickly dissipated the second he pulled out and thrusted back in, a low groan coming out insead. His fingers were digging into your thighs as he held them up where he wanted them, all you could hope for was the imprints bruising as a reminder that this actually happened. What hair that wasn’t sticking to his skin from the sweat covering it was dangling backwards freely, all his focus was on not cumming too soon and if he continued to look at you he definitely would.
Your eyes had glossed over a long time ago, tears streaming down the sides as a byproduct of the blissful state his cock had put you in, fingers gripping desperately at the sheets and your tits bouncing with each thrust. He was once again praying to every god that he would get to do this another time, then he could sear the image of you under him into his mind.
“Mike, Mikey I need..” You whined, the knot in your stomach twisting and turning, threatening to spill before you could even finish a coherent thought.
“C’mon pretty girl, you can do it, let it go.” He praised you, bringing his thumb down to your clit and drawing figure eights in time with his thrusts to help your orgasm spill over.
His words were the final piece in the puzzle, your orgasm hitting you soon after he spoke. Legs shaking, mind blowing, tears, and silent moans was all your body could do at the supernova your orgasm had proved to be. You’d never cum this hard before but if every orgasm after didn’t measure up, he had ruined you.
“You did so good.” Was all you heard as you came down from your high, Mike’s hands soothed down your hair as he whispered into your ear.
His thrusts continued at the same pace for only a few seconds before his hips stuttered and he painted your insides white.
“I guess tonight wasn’t a total waste.” You joked quietly, turning to the side to smile at him as he laid down next to you.
“We need to do this more often.”
#maddies fics#mike schmidt smut#mike schmidt#mike schmidt x reader#mike schmidt x you#mike schmidt fnaf#mike schmidt imagine#vanessa afton#steve raglan#fnaf mike#william afton#michael schmidt#josh hutcherson smut#josh hutcherson#josh hutcherson x reader#josh hutcherson imagine#fnaf 2023#fnaf smut#fnaf
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The Invisible String Theory
PAIRING: König x F!Reader
SYNOPSIS: You didn't expect the man who gave you his coat to be the same one to bust down the door where you and the other women slept - sniper hood scaring everyone within an inch of their life. You didn't expect him to become so important to you, either. (Based on König's in-game backstory).
WORDCOUNT: 9.2k
WARNINGS: Human trafficking, mentions of unwanted touching, trauma, blood, gore, guns, bullets, protective!König, soft!König, nightmares, mentions of bullying, etc.
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
'DATE: 25, NOVEMBER, 2021
LOCATION: BERLIN, GERMANY
TIME OF EVENT: 0230
MISSION REPORT: PENDING….'
You don’t remember much from the day that could be called out of the ordinary. Ever since you’d been moved here with the other girls, everything was predictable down to the time the men would come over, to the point where the screams had to be muffled by pillows.
Never in your life did you think you’d be part of the nearly fifty million people stuck in this situation, and neither did you think you’d be the one in one hundred who got out. But before you can think about November twenty-fifth and those pale gray eyes, you have to go back to the beginning. To Al-Qatala.
You hadn’t been with this cell initially—you’d been moved around and bartered off more times than you could count; the initial founder of your predicament was long gone at this point. North and South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and Oceania…you’d been practically everywhere and on every continent barring the obvious last. In Europe, you couldn’t name the countries, but you knew this for a fact: you’d never been to Germany before.
They had you with five other women in a large SUV in the beginning, this international ring of human traffickers. You had watched from the window, face blank and eyes unblinking, at the men who met near the docks. They had brought you in through Hamburg, first—not only the largest seaport in Germany but the third largest in Europe; you think you read that on a flier at some point. One of those flimsy ones that you find in gas stations with bright lettering to attract the tourists with their interesting facts.
You wished you were only a tourist.
You’d watched the men shake hands, and that was when you knew your fate, as well as that of the five other women, was sealed. You were going to all be here for a long time.
This Al-Qatala cell was ruthless, but you supposed with being around terrorists, ruthlessness was better than being executed.
For days you’d be exploited with the false promises of moments of freedom, breaks, food, and water. For some of the women it was drugs or money, but when your stomach was empty and your eyes blurring from lack of sleep, even addictions seemed to pale for brief hours. But above it all was the threat of death at every corner. These men would kill you.
It was only a matter of time unless you could give them what they wanted.
You yourself had developed a system, and it was probably the only reason you were still alive. Pick one of the handlers, gain his favor, and pray that he treats you specially while you keep up the act of a mindless, weak, woman.
Ivon was the man’s name this time around. Born and raised here in Berlin before the clutches of his fanatical ideations brought him to Al-Qatala. You hated him.
Hated his touch—hated his scent and how he talked; every bit of him was corrupted like a black dog at a crossroads, always leading people down the wrong path. Your only saving grace was that he was stupid. The other girls called you Cat—said you managed to nuzzle up to someone and soon after got them to give you what you wanted. Everything you wanted except freedom, that was.
You didn’t deny that Ivon did give you privileges, but that was the point. About a week into your stay in Berlin, he allowed you to go into public with him. Arm-candy.
A doll.
The townhouse you’d been stuck in had disappeared into a spec behind the rearview mirror, the chilled air from outside making you shiver at the lack of heat and the thin shawl you’d been thrown. No jacket.
The care of your health only extended to how well you were able to work—at the moment you were relatively healthy despite the bulge of bruises and constantly shell-shocked look behind your eyes.
But the trip—the trip. You supposed that was when it had fully started, and you didn’t even realize it before you saw those gray eyes again.
“Come,” Ivon orders, holding tightly to your arm and dragging you along from the corner shop without making a scene. Your hands loosely brush the wrack of clothes, fabric soft under your fingertips as it sways.
Fixing your shawl, you try to burrow your neck into it, gaining what little heat is available to you. It was cold out—you were shivering. People send looks, eyes tight as they shift up and down your form, but no one ever says anything. To be this bold, this cell had to have been at this for a long, long time. The realization didn’t make you feel any better.
That was when you first saw him.
You were standing outside a coffee shop, quivering like a newly hatched butterfly, Ivon making a call only a few feet away with fast motions of his arms. It was hard not to make a run for it right then and there; hard not to take those few seconds of open air and dash away—start screaming and yelling until the authorities came.
It would save yourself, but what about the others? They wouldn’t be so fortunate, you’d be sentencing them to death. None of this was simple—it needed to be thought out. Two games of chess being played at the same time.
The irony of it was that König had been off-duty that day. It had been a shot in the dark.
“Are you alright?” A thick Austrian accent makes you flinch as it appears beside your right ear, grating.
Your eyes snap to the side, moving one foot back as you blink wildly up at the blue-gray orbs that would become a staple. You liked to call it as everyone else did—the invisible string theory. A theory that stated that the universe connected people who were destined to meet one day. Through thick or thin waters, it was inevitable. He was inevitable.
“Yes,” you say quickly, holding your hands tightly around you. The man ahead of you was tall, almost startlingly so, with muscles more bulky than a boulder and his buzz-cut head open to the chilled breeze. He wore a surgical mask over his lower visage, his hoodie under the thick material of a canvas jacket. “Yes,” you say again, hearing Ivon’s voice behind you still on the phone. “I’m fine, thank you.”
Gray eyes furrow slightly, gaze darting over your head.
“Are you…sure, Ma’am?”
“Thank you for your concern,” you fake laugh, eyes pained, backing up farther. That invisible string snaps into place, pulling tight at only those few simple words.
His stature made you slightly nervous—large, intimidating; those hands could do quite the damage if given the chance. Your eyes had hit and bounced off the identity discs at his chest with little thought, too preoccupied to notice the fact that he was in the Service.
König’s eyes had narrowed softly, dark brows minutely moving in.
Ivon hangs up his phone.
“Can I help you?” He asks, coming up and sliding a hand around your waist. The man had stared at him for a long minute, and you had felt Ivon tense slowly at the unblinking eye contact.
This stranger had commented in German a long string of frim words, hands going to his jacket and grabbing at the arms—he slips out of it while still uttering.
Before you can react, the large coat swallows you whole and you snatch at the heat that’s still inside instinctually, now only realizing how much you were shivering. Your body sags into the weight of the fabric, the scent of sweat and coffee.
You don’t even pay attention to the growing tones, shocked. People look over to the two fast words being tossed.
Yet it could only last so long.
Ivon’s hand latches onto the side of your arm, beginning to drag you back and away from this kind stranger like a lap dog while throwing curses behind him. Gray eyes meet yours as old shoes skid and stumble.
König had taken a firm step towards you that day, his body tense and his hands clenched at his side—ready to do anything on a moment's notice should you ask for it. But all you do is stare, jaw loose, and the given coat still on your shoulders. You just couldn’t understand why he would do that.
The stranger gets swallowed by the crowd, and just like that, he’s gone.
That was all it had been; a moment—a few mere seconds in the large plot that was this almost impossible tale. You were glad it had been him, or else the events of the future could have been very different.
Of course, they hadn’t let you keep the jacket, but the memory was enough to warm you for days even as old pains faded and new ones took their place.
But those gray eyes would help you in the future, like a guardian; a protector in your dreams as you watched the snow fall from the sliver of outside light in your room with the others. Your mattress was on the floor like the rest, thin blankets and clouds of cold breath wafting up from sleeping forms.
This was the time it happened, and you’d just woken up to find the curtains shifting as one of the women near it moved in her sleep. Shadows slip past, the light interrupted as it shifts over your tired face with broken fractures.
You were always kept on the ground floor.
'CLEARANCE: APPROVED
TRANSLATING MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’…
STAND BY…
Operation Red Freedom took place on November twenty-fifth, 2021, at approximately 0230 in the neighborhood of [REDACTED], at the residence of [REDACTED], Berlin, Germany. A squad of ten highly trained [REDACTED] personnel covertly entered the residence in two teams of five. Fireteam One advanced from the back entrance while Fireteam Two entered the residence from the balcony at the top floor, accessed via ladder.
Squad Leader [REDACTED], part of Fireteam One, set foot in the residence of [REDACTED] at approximately 0238 and began sweeping the ground floor as Fireteam Two cleared three of twelve known individuals belonging to the terrorist organization, Al-Qatala, on the top floor….'
You shift and shiver, your body trying to warm itself as the world blurs at the sides of your vision. Fingers twitch as your hand goes to wrap your waist, curled into the fetal position, creaking emanates from above you. Blinking softly, you frown and take a quivering breath, head nuzzling the thin mattress.
“Cold,” you say, the following low exhale of air out of your lips only making it all worse as everything seems to drop another degree. The darkness didn’t help either, only that one line of light trying desperately to fill the room like a bucket descending into a dry well.
You’re only clothed in the dirty and tattered remains of a large shirt, your legs feeling like they don’t hold any blood in them as they quiver without your knowledge—shaking the blanket above you. A few of the girls had said it would be okay to share, but everyone was afraid of the lock on the door clicking open and the men coming back in and seeing them. In the end, you could only look after yourself.
A thump makes you startle, drooping eyes snapping back open as you gasp.
Head shifting, you blink rapidly upward to the ceiling, confused as to whether that had been a part of a failing mind or if you’d really just heard a muffled bump upstairs. Brows furrowing, you lightly sit up, hands still around yourself and legs limply outward; spine hunched.
Your fingers had lost feeling, just as your nose had gone numb, but moving helped a little. Your hands dig into your flesh and your ears twitch at every creak in the wood—every pass of silent feet that suddenly becomes all the clearer as the sheen of fatigue slowly leaves your brain.
Walking? Small pains move along your body like needles, poking and prodding, but you ignore them as easily as you do the vile hands that had touched you. Survival had forced you into a constant state of self-preservation—pain couldn’t bother you, because if you stopped, you wouldn’t get back going again.
Your head tilts so you can side-eye the door to the room, sleeping forms all around shifting, singular groaning of tired lungs. But there’s something inside of you that stiffens like a prey animal, and you don’t know why. Inside of your sockets, your eyes hone in, bones stiff and your chest stilling as the grain becomes the most interesting thing to you beyond breathing.
There was someone….out there.
Watching, the sides of your vision shadow over to focus harder, your muscles tight. Your mind goes to the thumps from upstairs, the moving feet that sounded far more careful and deliberate than the ones your jailors took care to walk with.
Inside your ribs, your heart patters a bit faster, adrenal glands sending a certain flight or flight through the few veins you hold that aren’t chilled over.
Something was happening. Something wasn’t right.
Only when you move to shake the shoulder of one of the women sleeping beside you does it happen.
A yell.
A scream.
The girls in the room all startle awake, sounds of concern and shock entering the air that you mirror; faces snapping to the ceiling and the door. The townhouse erupts into gunfire and the sound of slamming wood—a warzone that only is separated from all of you by the thin material of the four walls.
You feel yourself being grabbed and held in fear in the dark, as your open face holds the expression of a rabbit in an open field, looking along the long, hidden grass.
The sounds persist, loud German shouts going up over the house and echoing with heated fever. This continues for minutes, added in with the sound of doors breaking off hinges, bouncing off the ground, and shaking the foundation so hard that you can feel it reverberate. The women go silent. Stone-still.
But the gunfire—so much gunfire. The constant pop of assault weapons and a pound of multiple booted feet.
What was going on? You can't make sense of it, so you only freeze and listen; trying to understand the longer the fight goes on, heart hammering; mouth slack-jawed. And then it’s like it never happened.
Silence.
You share quick looks with the others, all gripping one another and heads angled to the door. The heavy feet start back up again, coming closer. Your mind slashes to the window across the room, but it’s hard to think beyond the sudden body that shakes the door that leads directly to you all—the women scream, some standing up and racing to the glass with the same idea as you.
'…Squad Leader [REDACTED], and both Fireteams successfully eliminated all targets inside of the [REDACTED] residence, leaving the room occupied by known hostages last to prevent casualties and/or the usage of bargaining chips. Squad Leader [REDACTED] made contact with hostages at approximately 0244 after the final sweep of the townhouse had been completed and all personnel accounted for.
Local authorities had been contacted by neighbors due to noise but were dismissed.'
The door busts off its hinges and the room devolves into panicked yells and hurled bits of mattress material. Loud pleas and curses stuck like gums to teeth as they were forced out in fear and bone-crushing terror. You remember pushing back into the wall, many others doing the same, as a beast of a man enters the room with his face covered with a loose fabric hood of some sort.
Large—brutish. Like a demon walking with the color of black printed over his entire body; gear hangs from a combat vest, hands holding an assault rifle as a sidearm is strapped to his bulging thigh. Forearms the side of your head stays near his chest, and in order to not hit his head on the doorframe, the individual has to bend slightly. Over that hood, the lenses and head-gear of a night-vision rig sit heavily before it’s moved back with a firm hand that is nearly double the size of yours.
A monster.
Your entire being is tight with quivering tension, eyes blinking away tears at the smell of blood that rolls in from the hallway. The women at the window duck down, hands to their heads as if expecting a bullet to carve its way between their skulls.
“Cat,” one of the ladies behind you mutters, voice quivering. You shush her on bitten lips and move her farther behind you.
“Don’t speak,” you mutter. “Don’t move.”
You don’t know what you expect, but nothing about this is correct.
The man raises his hands, the rifle slapping his chest as it hangs from a strap. He speaks in German, and the heavy and fast noise of it makes your already addled head spin. No one answers beyond the slide of their own feet over the hardwood floors.
“Ich heiße König,” his head swivels from one to another, “Sprichst du Deutsch? Irgendjemand?”
You stare blankly, panting.
After a moment, and a slow step forward from the stranger, he speaks again, though this time, it’s in English.
“My name is König.” His voice is familiar to you, and you blink in confusion quickly, hidden near the back of the shaking bodies. “I am with the German Military, yes? We have conducted a raid on this residence.”
Military? Raid?
“...I am not here to hurt you.” He nears one of the women, beginning to bend down slowly. She squeaks, balking back—making him tense and halt. It didn't matter what he said, König was the epitome of a man who was intimidating on body alone; the gear wasn’t helping. Neither was the hood.
A soldier appears in the doorway, calling out to him in his native language as you flinch at the noise.
König calls back calmly, trying to keep an air of gentle strength around him.
The second soldier comes inside, dressed similarly despite the lack of fabric over his visage which instantly puts many at ease again. He clears his throat as König steps back, gargantuan hands coming up to rest at his vest collar as his legs shift. He seems a bit put off at the fearful stares from everyone, rolling his shoulders for a moment as he turns his head to look out of the doorway.
Your eyes don’t move from him, though. A nagging feeling in the back of your skull.
“We have to leave this place,” the second soldier tells you all, kneeling and resting a hand over his knee. “We’ll get you medical attention. Food. Water. There’s no need to suffer here any longer, hm? We can see to it that all of you will get the best care that can be provided.” A pause. “We can get you back home.”
That certainly got the attention that was needed.
Meek questions started falling out, then louder ones before pandemonium was roused in that tiny room pushed to the very back of the townhouse. Home. It was a word that had almost lost all meaning but was still that constant shining light in the back of everyone’s mind.
Home.
Did you even have one of those left?
As the rest of your fellows all got to their feet, taking you with them, you had to think over that fact as the soldier guided them gently out of the room to join the others waiting—trying to answer their questions and get them away from the gore before they saw it.
You stayed behind, feet shifting over the floor and your lips thin. As the silence settles in, you hold yourself a bit tighter and glance at the mattress all mashed together and stained—those thin blankets as you shiver.
“Are you alright?” Your head snaps over.
You’d forgotten about König.
He still stands there, still and with his hands at his collar; he clears his throat softly, speaking up from his low utterance. “Please…do not be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” you say tinily, your voice cracking in the lie.
You can’t see his eyes—not with the shadow from his hood or his head rig, but you can see the way his skull lightly tilts to the side, trying to see you better in the low light.
“That is good,” he answers, not convinced. “I’m glad. I did not wish to scare anyone.” He moves back and motions with a hand to the door from where they hang. “Please. It is best not to linger, yes?”
“Do I…” you hesitate, shivering. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
König’s face isn’t visible, but you can still sense the feeling of confusion leaking out of him. The man takes a small step closer, and you gaze up at him until his eyes are visible.
Blue-gray.
You stare, mouth parting in shock.
König blinks twice, quickly making a noise in the back of his throat at the sight of your eyes gazing into his—the same woman outside of the coffee shop from days ago.
That little invisible string pulls you closer, small millimeter by small millimeter.
“You?” You both say it at the same time, laced with surprise and shock.
It’s a long moment of gazing into each other, a battered body and another more strong than an ox. All fear of the man dissipates.
“You gave me your jacket,” you whisper, still torn up about it.
König’s hood shifts as he glances back to the door, German speech over the radio strapped to his chest which he takes in and processes in the back of his skull. But he always looks back at you, eyes crinkled with concern and perhaps even a bit of misplaced guilt.
A protective knife sides into his side.
“Come.” The man reaches out a hand, hovering it over your arm. You stare at the gloved limb for a moment before softly moving towards it with your breath caught in your throat, hesitant. König’s fingers delicately slide over the flesh, not closing around it until he feels your muscles loosen. “...Let’s get you warmer, Schatz, yes?”
You blink.
“It’s cold here,” you mutter, letting him guide you along, his gray orbs always keeping you in the side of his vision.
“Yes,” he agrees, nodding. “Very cold. Have you been to Germany during the winter before?”
Your head slightly shakes, bare feet padding along next to the pair of great boots—you lean closer unconsciously to the promise of warmth. König guides you away from the seeping blood on the floor and protects your eyes from the view of the bodies across the room with his own as a guard dog would.
“No.” He notices your leaning and brings you nearer to him, letting you use him as a brace. The man knows the effects of shock, and you wear it as plainly as any other. “I’ve never been here before.”
König hums and his free hand goes up to press into the radio, muttering in his native tongue. He releases the connection and asks as he blinks at you, “Do you require any immediate medical attention?”
Again, you shake your head.
“Where are the others?” You sink further into him, being guided to the front door, open to the soft snowfall and a chilled wind as your shoulder hunch.
“Just outside,” König glances at the bodies across the room—the ones he’d riddled with bullets that still twitch even as the minutes draw longer. Gray eyes going from one to another, the house is heavy with the weight of dead men. Twelve in total and all getting colder just like the temperature outside. König didn’t feel bad about it, and when he’d finally busted open that door to find you and the women, he was satisfied with the blood on his hands. If hell were to be his home, he would walk there with a golden-fanged smile.
But now wasn’t the time for that.
“I will bring you to them,” the soldier speaks, snow blowing in from the entrance. “Slowly, now, Schatz, watch the steps. Allow me to help.”
You stop at the doorway, bringing a hand to your mouth to cover a haggard cough as König makes his way down the first concrete step ahead of you—large armored vehicles had pulled up from a ways away. The women huddle around one another, the rest of the soldiers sticking by them and opening the doors to the vehicles as the night gets only more cold and stormy.
Gray eyes flicker for a moment down to your lack of proper protection, fingers twitching and tapping at his thigh as König remembers your expression the day he’d first met you.
“Do you want me to carry you?” He says slowly, cautious in his approach. The man wasn’t stupid—he wouldn’t touch you unless you explicitly stated it was alright for him to do so. “I will be gentle, I promise. I do not wish for your feet to freeze, I...” He pauses as you blink, staring into his soul. “I…will not touch you if you do not tell me to do it. You have my word.”
You continue to stand there for a moment, face unreadable before your head slowly turns to the vehicles in the street.
The neighborhood was so normal it still caused you to wonder how no one had spoken up and seen something. Rows of connected houses now with their lights on—faces peeking from the windows like little children on Christmas morning; trying to get glimpses of Santa and the man’s reindeer.
Finally, your gaze moves back to the hooded visage of König, able to see it better under the moonlight and the glare of falling snowflakes—a few of those frozen pieces sitting in the folds of the fabric.
“The hood scared them,” you utter about the others. König stiffens a bit, blinking at you but not looking away. “They’re used to people trying to hide their faces, but yours…with how large you are…”
“I understand.” König doesn't tear away his eyes. “...Did I scare you, Schatz?”
You don’t know why, but for what seems like the first time in years, the question makes you giggle. The beast of a man goes still with his feet on the ground, usually jittery and moving body captivated by the sound as it echoes over the night’s air—the puff of your breath as it moves around his hood; rustling it like leaves on a tree.
Eyes widening only a sliver more, König’s breath is in his throat.
It was like listening to a bird’s song.
“Maybe only a little,” you whisper to him. “But it’s okay. I’m scared of most things.”
He licks his lips, but you’re unable to see the slight quirk of them afterward.
“Then I will make it up to you, yes?” He holds out a hand. “Let me? The car is warm and your friends are waiting for you. My men say they ask about your health.”
You softly nod, the shadow of the house trying to drag you back into it—its blackened arms reaching and latching onto old scars. When your hand connects with König's, the man takes his time putting one foot back to a step and scooping you up from behind your knees. With a tiny grunt, you settle at his chest, calming your heartbeat with the fact that you know he won’t hurt you.
“I’ve got you,” he says.
In his arms, your bare legs hang in the air, hand wrapping his neck, and with a slightly nervous look to you as your body hovers. König watches for a moment, hesitating before he begins walking to the same vehicle the other woman had been moved into out of the snowfall.
“Can you tell me your name,” he asks to distract you from his hold, to get you more comfortable with him as his boots crunch through the packed powder on the ground—making sure to watch his step so as to not jostle you.
“Everyone calls me Cat.” Gray eyes blink your way, visible skin painted black. König’s head tilts. You can’t help but find it endearing.
“Katze?” He hums, and you can imagine his lips moving slightly upwards from the innocent tone of his voice as if taken by the strange moniker. “That is…interesting.”
You huff tinily, shivering again as your body moves to curl a little more.
The soldier quickly reassures you. “Nearly there.”
The vehicle is in front of you, and a nearby man opens the door for König as he carries you over. Nodding in thanks, the large individual eases you into one of the seats as the blast of warm air makes you sag—the other woman in there mulls closer, grabbing onto you and laughing through tears.
Looking back at them, you smile and feel yourself get a bit teary-eyed as everything starts to slowly come into focus.
Glancing outward, you stare at the snow that hits the dark hood of König, sticking and hanging off until the tiny white dots melt from the heat of his body. With his legs shifting he moves back a step and nods to you, eyes moving to stare at the ground for a moment.
“We will take you to base. From there you will all be given dorms and fresh apparel to—”
“Thank you, König,” you interrupted him. He stares, lips parted with the half-tones of cut-off speech. “And please extend my thanks to your men as well.”
“...Of course, Katze.” König stands straighter, always twitching fingers moving to the car door as engines start with a grinding roar. He nods again, the loose fabric swaying as the lenses of his rig stay firm at the movement. “There is no need to thank us. Relax. Sleep, if you wish to do it. The ride will be long.” The man’s gray eyes linger for a moment on your own, studying the bumps and small marks on your face. His hand tightens over the door as your gaze is stuck with his own; warmth blooming in his chest. He was glad he had found you.
König slips out a soft, “There are blankets under the seats,” before he closes the door with a firm thump of metal.
You can’t help but smile.
'…Hostages were taken back to [REDACTED] and received minor medical attention on site. Housed in [REDACTED] and were admitted for needed treatments/medications - all details/names listed in File 3 Section 6 for future reference. DNA was placed into databases.
Next of kin were informed of their family members’ position and/or state of being via phone call to the corresponding government official that then traveled through the appropriate channels once identified.'
You sit as a nurse hands you heating pads for your hands, which you take with a small thanks and clenched tightly, sucking every ounce of warmth from them to stop the shaking. Your body was heavy with the weight of new clothes and heated blankets, the room utterly normal in a way you’d not known for years. A corner table with books and a chess board—a connected bathroom stocked with amenities you may need; even a rug on the tile floor. You don’t know why that was shocking to you, but even the simplest thing was awe-inspiring. Your eyes had even slipped over a tiny nightlight near the door.
It nearly made you cry.
Your nurse moves back a bit, smiling down at you kindly.
“Is there anything else you might need, Dear?” Her accent is prominent, though not as much as König’s had been. She waits for your answer diligently as the pitcher of water and a similar glass sit on your nightstand.
“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your socked feet rub together like a grasshopper. “I think that’s all.” Your eyelids blink. “But…” you stop.
“What is it?” The lady asks gently, hands slack at her sides.
“The man—König,” you pause. “Is he here?”
Blinking at you, the nurse tilts her head to the side in curiosity. “Not currently, no. At least, not in this specific building. He and his men are being debriefed across base. They will be there for a long while.” At your blank look, her brows slightly move up in accommodating comfort. “Would…you like me to tell him something for you?”
Playing with the heating pads in your hands, your face gains a slightly embarrassed sheen. You liked the thought of being near König, truthfully. No one had made you feel safe like he did—him and his selfless action of a large coat given with no intention of getting anything in return.
“Just,” you breathe softly. “Just that I’m sorry for losing his coat, and that I hope it wasn’t expensive.”
The nurse stares, very much confused but not about to question you. Her feet shift over the floor, and a light nod is sent your way.
“Of course. I’ll tell him.” She motions to the bed with a hand and explains that whenever you wished to sleep, you were free to use the bed—and the TV was open to you as well, though you might not be able to understand the local stations. With that, she exited the room.
Left alone, your head moves around the room slowly, taking it all in once more as the small bandages under your clothes pull at your flesh. The tears start slipping down your cheeks with no warning.
Wrist coming up to your eyes, the limb presses in tightly, water staining the flesh as it dribbles down, and your lip quivers like a worm below it. You don’t know why you’re crying now and not when König had gotten you out of that townhouse. Why now, when there wasn’t anything prompting you to do so?
But something was prompting you—the knowledge that you would never be going back to anyone who would mistreat you again. You had your own room. Good food. All the water that your stomach could drink down. A nightlight that pushes back the darkness even if you’re so used to living in it.
Through your soft sniffles, chuckles move out, filling the space with a warm echo. You pull the blankets closer to you and collapse backward onto the mattress, smiling widely at the ceiling.
That little invisible string dances as your heart pulls at it.
—
König’s leg lightly jumps from under his table, signing off his name at the bottom of a report before he stands and rubs a hand over the top of his un-hooded head. He grabs the paper and slips it into a manila folder, hands pale with deep scars running the length of them like fissures in the earth. Deftly taking the item, he walks out of his office and begins moving down the length of the building, fingers tapping over the yellowish material with a small connection of flesh and thick envelope.
Tap-tap, tappity-tap.
His fingers were always fidgeting—moving, tensing, twitching. It was one of the reasons they never let him become a recon sniper; the more obvious being the blatant size of his body. Both of which had been the cause of much teasing throughout his childhood.
But König’s mind was on something other than the report in his hands, and it was starting to become a very strong distraction. You. The women. Al-Qatala.
He was angry he hadn’t acted outside of that coffee shop—angry he hadn't noticed the signs right in front of him even if he had been powerless to stop it then. The soldier’s jaw clenched, the strong muscles of his jaw roving.
“Verdammt,” he hisses under his breath, glaring at the tile. “Should have done something.”
König gets to his commanding officer’s office and knocks, only staying long enough to hand him the folder with his finished report and leave once more. His mind wouldn’t stay silent tonight. There’s no doubt that he won’t be able to sleep unless he reassures himself that you and the others are okay.
The man’s head shifts back to the email he had gotten from your assigned nurse, whom he’d taken it upon himself to know the name of when he carried you into the base’s hospital—Eva.
‘...She says she wants to apologize for losing your coat…”
König’s heart had twisted at that—that was what you were concerned about? He had to tell you that it was alright, or else he would never know peace. Perhaps even ask how you’ve been treated so far, just to make sure that everything was comfortable for you.
The man’s eyelids move slightly downward in thought, a pull at his heart to walk outside. He passes a few other soldiers in the hallway, nodding to them with a tiny greeting but unwilling to stop and talk. In only fatigues, König exits the main doors quickly, lightly moving into a jog as his body shivers at the sudden chill touching his arms under the black compression shirt. Under him the snow has grown deeper, the large lights illuminating the almost greenish reflections of the winter landscape of open roads and large buildings.
Curfew was long past—this had to be quick.
Just a check-in, König tells himself as he nears the hospital, his breath puffing in the air. Then I can wipe my hands of it.
He slows as he nears the doors, huffing a breath as he pushes on the barrier, opening it with a squawk of hinges and metal. Entering, the front desk staff looked up at him in surprise, muttering his name in question.
“Katze?” He responds, pushing a hand over his head and feeling the melting snowflakes. His cheeks are a light shade of exposure-red, and inquisitive eyes shift over the two individuals slowly. “What room?”
The pair share a glance and tell him in the same breath. Room ten.
It’s no sooner after that König finds himself there, hand hovering over the handle as the hallway clock ticks beside his right ear. His gray eyes blink at the door, feet shuffling from under him before he clears his throat under his breath, glancing away for a second in hesitation.
Was this appropriate?
König didn’t have an answer, but the pull in his chest was tight and firm—he just needed to see you. A glimpse, nothing more. He raises his fist and raps his knuckles over the wood delicately, three tiny knocks that hit his ears like bullets from a gun; the bullets he’s put into pathetic Al-Qatala bodies and watched burst like sacks of fluid.
He waits, hands going to grasp at his shirt collar, pushing out a low breath to calm himself.
After a long moment, his foot taps the floor, blinking. Again he knocks—a bit louder.
“She is sleeping, you evolutionsbremse,” he utters, accent low and grating. “Leave her alone.” But even if you are, his nerves peek their head over the brimstone wall of his brain.
With his fingers caressing the handle, slowly moved to clutch it fully, swallowing the metal in his grip. König takes a deep breath into his lungs, letting it fill them up. Again, he tells himself, just a check-in.
He twists the doorknob and sets his forearm on the wood, pushing the barrier open.
König moves so that his body makes no noise, even with how large it is as he angles the side of his head through the opening. He finds a large mound of blankets atop the bed—stacked and layered so heavily that he has to blink in surprise at how you can breathe under them; because you were under them.
Gray eyes make out the small sliver of skin peaking out from the side of the bed—fingers—and the top of your forehead near the pillows formed around your skull. Unconsciously, a soft smile works its way over König’s lips until he finds himself chuckling.
“Niedlich,” he mutters, scars over his face shifting as he speaks.
Sighing lowly, König pulls back his head, beginning to close the door once more.
“König…?” Your tiny voice makes him halt like he had in the townhouse.
Eyes wide and lips parted at being caught, the door remains open, only a sliver visible to your vision as your furrowed brows are stuck at the barrier. A red sheen moves across the soldier’s face in a slow sweep of embarrassment that goes bone deep.
With a lick of his lips, König re-opens the door slightly.
“I did not mean to wake you, Katze.” He finds your eyes and nods to you. “I apologize. Go back to sleep—you must be tired.”
“Wait,” you utter, moving your head fully out from under the blankets. König pauses, eyes staring as his other hand comes up to itch at the back of his neck.
“What is it,” the man asks, opening the door fully and moving inside. “Do you need anything?”
The question had hit you in your thin slumber, interrupted only partially by the opening of your door to the familiar pull of gray eyes and a strong build. A buzz-cut head. You take a slow breath to wake yourself up more, watching him from your bed. “...Did you know that I would be in that house?”
König tilts his head at the question, sighing slightly and glancing at the clock inside of the room on your nightstand. He frowns.
“No,” he explains gently, coming closer. “No, I did not. I do not get told such things—only where to shoot and where not to.” The man tries a small smile, kneeling on one leg down by the bed and staring into your sleepy eyes. “But I am glad I found you again, yes? You had me worried.”
“You were worried?” You can’t quite grasp it.
“Ja,” he nods. “Your eyes—they have stuck with me, Schatz, you understand?”
Your eyebrows pull up your face, blinking in shock.
“...Yours, too,” you confess. König’s heart flutters, listening until your lips have fallen still. “They’re very nice, König.”
He goes sheepish, lips flicking up into a smile and his eyes daring away for a moment. “You can thank my mother for them, then.” He chuckles. “I have stolen the family's eyes, I was told.”
You chuckle with him, hand coming to rub at your cheek. A silence falls between the two of you.
“I don’t sleep well,” you tell him in the relative darkness, light from the hallway and your night light illuminating the dips and bone structure of his face. “I was awake when you opened the door.”
He nods after a moment. “Ja.” A pause. “I don’t either…Nightmares?”
You watch him before nodding tinily.
“Ah,” he mutters. “They are not pleasant, I’m sorry that they have been plaguing you. Do you…” König wonders if he should leave—this was far more than he had anticipated. “Do you wish for me to stay?”
Why had he said that?
The string between the two of you tightens evermore, gaining another thread just as it would for the years to come until it became as unbreakable as steel.
“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” you begin but are quickly interrupted with a shake of a square head and a huff of a sharp nose.
“You are not. Do not call yourself such.” His accent deepens with emotion, eyes narrowing as the dark brows on his face pull in. “If you want me to stay, I will stay. Wake you if you become shaky, yes? Keep the bad dreams at bay.”
“But what about you?” Your voice moves around the room as König stands and goes to the table in the back, shifting one of the chairs so that it’s angled your way. You shift so you can watch him sit back, grunting as his legs move out in front of him, opening so he can be more comfortable. He needed a bigger chair, but he wasn’t going to complain about it.
“I’m not tired, Schatz.” A lie. His muscles are heavy, and he longs for his bed in the barracks. He pushes out, “Please, go back to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”
You stare for a long while, studying him and how he fidgets in his seat of choice. A small laugh meets the man’s ears as he crosses his arms over his chest. König pauses, blinking over in confusion. His lips move upwards slowly.
“What are you laughing at, then, hm?”
“You look like you’re about to break it,” you mutter, head nuzzling the pillow under you as fatigue claws its way under your skin.
König huffs, fingers twitching over the meat of his biceps as he slouches. He nods jokingly. “Perhaps,” he shrugs, the window behind him letting a slight tinge of cold air in from outside. “It would not be the first, I’m afraid, though it would be quite the embarrassment to do it in front of you, Katze.” He smirks. “But I’ll say, hitting my head on door frames hurts more than letting my arsch kiss the ground.”
You laugh under your heap, your body jerking to the movement of your lungs.
“I bet,” you say, fingers grasping one of your blankets and pulling it closer. “It’s a funny image.”
“You can laugh all you want,” König jokes, eyes soft as they gaze at you. “It does not bother me.”
Your sweet sounds of amusement waft out from under the crack in the door, where a small group of curious nurses mull and listen with glances to one another. A doctor moves past the hallway where they stand, and all scatter on quick feet.
'…Signed,
[REDACTED]
SUBMITTED: 0517, 25, November 2021
END OF MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’
RETURNING TO SELECTION MENU…
STAND BY…'
It’s only after most of the other women leave—sent home to awaiting families or loved ones—that you know your time is coming to a close here in Berlin, Germany. While you’re excited to put this behind you, you can’t help but feel a bit…lost.
There’s something that keeps you here, on this base, until you’re the last out of all of them, waiting. And then you’re given the green light to go—go home—and suddenly you have a backpack full of necessities and you’re closing the door to your room with the little nightlight’s plastic body pushing against your spine. Yet, you stand in the hallway for a long minute, fingers interlocked.
You take a long, deep, breath.
Over the weeks of recovery, König had been a constant companion when he wasn’t needed. He had eased you back into a comfortable state, letting you somewhat lose the black-and-white view you had gained of the world. But there was only so much he could do, even if his soft eyes were still stuck in your dreams—the good ones, of course.
You needed to go home, and, today, the C-17 was whirring on the tarmac, waiting for you to be transported to a military base far from here where you would be processed and, ultimately, let go.
Let go. It was jarring to think about, all of that freedom. What would you do with it? Right now, you don’t have the faintest clue. It was the best feeling you can remember having.
Smiling, you take one last look at the room behind you and walk on.
At the entrance, you say a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to the nurses and doctors in broken German, shaking their hands as Eva kisses your forehead and whispers how happy she is to have had you here for such little time—you know what she means and you chuckle with her at the double-edged sword.
König waits by the door, holding it open with…you blink at the item in his hands as well as his sudden appearance. Canvas fabric. A coat.
The coat.
“I had to have it processed,” he says, smiling as you gape at him. “Very long process. It was found in the closet in the townhouse.”
“Then why are you handing it to me,” you ask, tilting your head and walking closer.
“I gave it to you, did I not?” The man hums, head tilting as he motions with it again. “It’s a good coat, Katze. Winters get cold.” Gray eyes crinkle gently. “I would hate for you to shiver, wherever it is that you end up, yes?”
You shake your head, cheeks hot. But your hands don’t hesitate to grasp the item, König’s hold on it remains fast, though, and you blink at him as you both keep it gently clasped like it’s worth its weight in gold.
König stares at you, the door still kept open behind him. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment as you tilt your head.
“Keep it safe for me,” is what he ends with, but his expression tells you he’s not talking about the coat.
It makes your arms tingle—your heart skips a beat.
“I’ll be sure it never gets lost,” you smile warmly, eyes malleable as the make of their color glints. There is a connection to this man that transcends words, and it is tied to you just as heavily as it is to him; unexplainable, incomprehensible, non-describable.
Enigmatic.
König’s reverential face is soft with care.
“Good,” he mutters, unable to look away. “Very good.”
Clearing his throat, his grays dart to the floor, shifting his feet to move backward. He pushes open the door wider for you, and you hold your backpack in one hand as you shift past him and slip into his coat.
It was exactly how you remembered it, and you sank into the fabric with a thankful sigh and a fluttering of your lashes. You shift the bag back over your shoulders, letting the straps fall into the bulk of the extra material.
The snow wasn’t falling today, and the ground was shoveled of any white powder too. On the air, you can hear the whir of the C-17.
König comes up beside you, a hand hovering over the small of your back as he guides you along. For the most part, the walk to the tarmac is silent with the weight of the future. You had no phone. No socials. You didn’t even know if you wanted any, to be honest. Your mind had convinced you that a good bout of soul-searching was exactly what you needed. And you had to do that alone.
Your lips are thin as your legs take you closer to the plane, König’s scent stuck into the stitches of the coat and covered your senses.
At the ramp, he stops as your feet take you onto the metal. Closing your eyes for a moment, you turn and lock gazes with him—gray hiding away what other, more human, emotions to be found. It was a slate of carefully crafted acceptance, and your own followed soon after.
It had to be this. The string wouldn’t break, no, but it had to be stretched to such a point to come back stronger.
“Thank—”
“Don’t,” he says, not blinking, looking up at you.
You smile. “What do you want me to say, then?”
“You don’t have to say anything to me.” You hadn't known it then, but the both of you had truly thought that this would be the last of your meetings. It produced a pulse in both of your hearts that would never be told aloud. “....Live well,” König utters. “Heal, Mein Schatz.”
The soldier wasn't one to give his chances to hope.
Your eyes follow as he backs up, moving away as you stare. In his head, König pleads with you to stop and give him a reprieve from the hypnosis of your gaze, the addictive movement of your head as it tilts to the side.
Live well.
You send him a smile, a delicate thing, and then you back up a step and turn, disappearing into the darkness.
The string follows, and it continues to do so even as your hands slip into your pockets hours later, bumping into the small form of a black flip phone. The note hidden inside of it.
‘For whenever you find what you’re looking for.’
'REQUEST FOR ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE
REQUESTED BY: [REDACTED]
ENTERED: DECEMBER 15, 2021
TIME: 1422
OPEN FILE?...
REQUEST CANCELED….
RETURNING TO FILE SELECT MENU…
FILE SELECTED….
TRANSLATING…
STAND BY…
REQUEST OF HONORABLE ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE OF [REDACTED] APPROVED ON JANUARY 2, 2022
OPEN FILE?...
REQUEST CANCELED…
SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN'
You sit in a coffee shop in Berlin, Germany, by the window. It wasn’t just any coffee shop, but you try not to think about all of that. It was all in the past—three years, now. You like to think you’d learned something in that time.
“Danke schön,” you say to the woman who brings you your drink, nodding kindly. You take a small sip, humming and winking at her teasingly. “Perfekt.”
She chuckles, wiping her hands on her apron. “Möchten Sie noch etwas anderes dazu?”
“Nein, nein,” you shake your head, waving a hand that soft bumps the flip phone on the table. “Danke.”
The lady walks away, and you take another sip of the hot beverage, never put off by the heat.
It was winter again, and your eyes followed the flakes as they fell from a cloudy sky, finding the beauty in it easily as you sat inside. The scarf around your neck is loose—your gifted coat open. You smile to yourself and hum, watching people walk past outside, thinking about their lives and how they live them.
A large form travels out from a shop across the street, a plastic bag in his loose grip. He was not small, no, this man was a beast of height and strength alike. The loping, canid-like, walk was accented by the twitch of his fingers over his quarry.
Your wide eyes stay stuck to him for a long moment as he moves to the crosswalk, people shifting out of his way as he ignores them. Familiarity strikes like lighting—a buzz down your spine that leaves you straightening.
After a long moment, a breathless laugh sneaks out of you.
There were just some things that people were never meant to understand.
Your hand places your cup back on the table, picking up the old flip phone and pushing it open. Your thumb runs the keypad, moving to the only contact that had ever been entered into the device.
Pressing, you move it to your ear as you watch with a soft expression, heart pattering.
Across the way, the man tenses, hand patting his leg before the other hand moves inside his pocket and shifts the item out. People walk away, moving to the other side of the crosswalk as he stares at the contact.
A minute passes, and all the while you hold your breath.
He presses and moves the phone to his ear, staying as still as stone. As still as a man afraid his hood might scare a group of terrified women.
His voice graces your ear.
“...Katze?” You beam, trapped in the warmth of the coat around your shoulders.
“How do you feel about coffee, König?”
Blue-gray eyes had never been more beautiful than when they snapped up to meet yours.
TAGS:
@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @aldis-nuts, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot
#cod#cod x reader#cod x you#call of duty#x female reader#call of duty x you#cod mw22#mw2#mw2 2022#cod konig#konig#konig mw2#konig x reader#konig cod#konig call of duty#konig modern warfare#konig x you#call of duty x reader#cod mw x reader#mw x reader#mw ii#mw fics#modern warfare x reader#modern warfare x you#cod x female reader#x fem!reader#female reader
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⭐️Yandere Husband x reader⭐️
Premise: Your husband really wants kids, but you're not really all for the idea
Warning: Noncon, breeding, fem reader
Minors DNI
You prepared a cute little basket with bread, some homemade jam and a couple of sandwiches along with a delicious strawberry cake you baked just for today! You look up at the playground from where you're sitting, the breeze feeling just right. It's a beautiful day out. Kids playing, people walking their dogs, couples like yourself picnicking. You and your husband have been together for three years and married one. He's the sweetest man in the world and you couldn't feel luckier to be with him. Your mother introduced him to you. He was her close friend's son. His mother and yours just so happen to go to the same knitting class. Although his mother was of a higher class, your mother and his had a lot in common and hit it off right away. Your mother would have buried you six feet deep if you refused to see him, not that you would've. He's handsome, sweet and has a well-paying job. Of course, that's the side of him that he allows you to see.
He begged his mom to introduce you after he saw you sitting on your porch one day when he was picking his mother up from your house. You waved at him and smiled. His heart was about to pop out of his chest. Your beauty was nothing he'd ever even imagined before. Everything about you is perfect. Everything. He asked his mother about you as soon as he drove off. She was more than happy to tell him. She's quite fond of you and would choose you as a daughter-in-law over anyone else. She couldn't be happier that her beloved first son has shown interest in a jewel like you.
He couldn't help but fall even deeper in love when he got to meet with you. Your voice rings bells in his heart and your eyes speak to his soul. He knew from then on that you were made for each other. He would never admit it, but he's absolutely obsessed with you. He would prefer to say that he's in love with you. Dating was smooth. He quickly proposed as soon as an appropriate amount of time passed. It couldn't come soon enough to him. You're so sweet and understanding. So thoughtful and intelligent. You share interests and when you don't, you make the effort to try. So does he, of course. You're so perfect.
Once married, he was happy to go to work and come back to your loving embrace. He'd rather die than have you support yourself. Anything you want, anything you need is yours. You don't even have to ask, your husband is very observant. You might mention something in passing that he'll overhear. Something small, something you didn't even put a lot of focus into, but he'll remember. He'll remember and he'll get it for you as soon as possible. He'd do anything...and that means anything. If anyone made you cry, he'd comfort you...before beating them unconscious. Getting his hands dirty is a small price to pay for you. But dear god, if anyone dared to lay a finger on you... well...consider them gone. Consider them erased actually. Consider the fact that they won't be bothering anyone ever again. Consider people closely associated with them being severely injured.
He's a ray of sunshine. You love him and he loves you. He loves you very much. You've never had any serious arguments. The two of you got along so well that there weren't any disagreements, but there were, he'd just fold and let it go. The only problem is that now that you're married, he wants kids, but you're not ready. You've never been very good with kids. They make you anxious. The sticky fingers, their delicate little heads, the fact that they could become psychopaths if you don't raise them properly. Not to mention how expensive and time-consuming they are. You spend all that time and energy on them and get almost nothing in return. Don't even get you started on the effects it'll have on your body.
There's just too much that could go wrong and besides, you just font feel like you're mature enough to have a kid of your own when you still feel like one yourself. You're not ready to raise a human being. There's so much you want to do, want to explore and you can't do that with a baby. Your husband on the other hand is great with them. He's the eldest brother of six so he's used to taking care of kids. At birthday parties, you can find him carrying three kids at a time, one over his shoulders and two in his arms, even the older ones, which doesn't surprise you because he's built big and strong. Must've eaten his vegetables when he was a kid, you snicker, inwardly. Your husband pokes you every time he sees a cute video of a baby on his phone like a boy asking his parents for a puppy. "Just watch! Aren't they cute!? (Yyyy/nnnn)!" He sticks his phone in your face and makes you watch a bunch of videos. He has a severe case of baby fever.
You look over at your fiance. He's looking out at the swing set with a dreamy look on his face. A little boy is pushing his younger sister and they look like they're having a blast. You cringe, knowing your husband is gonna bring up the baby talk again when you get home. Just then, you feel a light tug on your dress and look over to see a little girl around the age of 4, wobbling on her feet, looking up at you. You at least try to be good with kids. "Hey, what are you doing?" You laugh nervously. You know you're in for it now. You can feel your husband's intense gaze on the back of your neck.
"...Mama said that if I'm good, I can have cake. I was good today, so can I have some,...please?" You look up to see a woman face palming and yelling at her daughter to come back and stop bothering the nice lady. You smile at her mother, letting her know it's okay. "Well you asked so very nicely, how can I say no?" You cut a small slice and plate it for her. You give her the plate, but she just looks up at you with puppy dog eyes. "I...I always let Mama feed me," she says as fiddles with her fingers nervously. So adorable. You look up at her mother, who seems to be busy dealing with one of her other kids and decide to give her a break. Although this is breaching your comfort zone, you just can't say no to that face.
You pick up a fork and begin feeding her. You just know your fiance has the most love-struck look on his face, if you were looking at him, you'd be able to see big hearts in his eyes. You peek over at him to see just that and roll your eyes. "Mm so yummy! Thank you miss!" She gets on her tippy toes and kisses you on the cheek. You must admit that was adorable, but your opinion remains firm. No kids. No way. You still have plenty more reasons not to have any so cuteness is not enough to sway you. The little girl waddles away back to her mom. You don't want to turn around. You sigh and look at your husband to see he is still swooning.
"Oh my god! That was beautiful. You be such a good mom!" He coos. You groan. "We talked about this so many times, honey. You know how I feel about kids," you pout, folding your arms. You could've sworn you saw his eyebrow twitch like he was upset. "You'd be great, I believe in you. I just know it," he beams. Oh, he's not mad. Must've been your imagination. You roll your eyes. He didn't listen to a word you said though. You love him so much, but he's a brick wall when it comes to things like this. He's been on your ass quite literally about kids ever since you got married. "I need more time," you say, looking away from his pouting face. He was a bit gloomy for the rest of your outing after that. Last night, you misplaced your birth control pack. You were worried about it, but you just brushed it off and decided to take two the next night when you do find them.
Soon, your picnic comes to an end and you head home. He's on you as soon as you shut the door, kissing you passionately. You return the gesture, hugging him close. "Don't take your birth control tonight," he whispers huskily in your ear. You stop and push his chest. He takes a step back and looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed. "We literally just talked about this! Respect that I don't want any dumb kids!" You shout. You expect him to apologize, to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness like he always does when he's in the wrong. Then he'd go and get you flowers, and cook for you, but this time, he looks down at you rage evident in his expression. He looks really pissed. You shrink in your spot. What?
"You're being ridiculous, (y/n)! It's time for you to grow up! You're old enough to be a responsible mother so stop acting like a child. I can support the both of you easily. You don't have to lift a fucking finger, just have my child already. I've been so fucking patient with you. My mother and yours have been asking us where their grandchild is. What the fuck do I tell them? I'm wondering too! I've been waiting for you to change your mind and be reasonable, but you're really getting on my nerves now," he grits his teeth as he finishes his sentence. Each sentence felt like a stab to your heart. He's never said such cruel words to you or even cruel words in general before. Your husband hasn't so much as insulted you. You never could've imagined your husband had this side to him.
He gripped your arm and began dragging you upstairs. "Hey! S-Stop! Stop it!" You cry, holding onto the stair rail. He looks back at you. That was the last fucking straw. You hear a loud clap and your head turned. Huh? Your cheek stings? Tears begin to well in your eyes as you hold your reddening cheek. He takes the time to pull you the rest of the way up and into the bedroom. He sets you on the bed and locks the door, taking his clothes off right there, his well-built figure casting a shadow over you. You begin sobbing in your place on the bed, covering your face with your hands. He walks over and gently hugs you, rubbing your back. You push at him, but he keeps you still pressed to his body. "Stop that," he whispers in your ear. His voice is commanding yet gentle, but you ignore him and continue fighting his hold. "That's it. I'm so tired of you acting like this. It's time you give me what I deserve, a family." He grips your dress and violently rips it off you, leaving you in your bra and panties. You've had sex before, but never like this. This is the first time your eyes held fear while looking at your husband.
He shoves you back onto the bed, climbing over you and trapping you beneath him, smiling. He traces a finger from your collar to the center of your bra, where it stills before ripping it off you. You know better than to scream so you whimper as he throws it to the side. He places a hand over your breast, squeezing it painfully. You grab his wrist, trying to pry it off. "You are gonna be a great mommy. Can't wait to watch these fill up with milk." His face takes on that dreamy look again. "Seeing you today in the park confirmed it. You're more than ready." You feel his cock rubbing your thigh. He yanks your panties down your legs, tossing them into the forgotten corner with his clothes and yours. With his other hand and rubs your pussy. You whine and struggle under him, but you know you're no match for him. He spreads your thighs open and lodges himself between them, his cock rubbing up and down your fold, taunting you. "I love you...so much," he says before slowly entering you. You are NOT having a fucking baby. You'll take your birth control and that'll be that. He smiles down at you, knowing what you're thinking and bucks his hips. He laughs like he knows something you don't, but the idea is completely lost on you.
He bottoms out, moaning as he does. He rubs the bulge in your stomach lovingly. "I want a big family, honey. Make me a daddy. Let me breed you," he says, rutting into you. Even though he's being so rough, it feels so damn good. He picks up your thighs and pressed them down beside your head, squishing your cervix with his cock. Your tongue rolls out your mouth as your eyes roll into the back of your skull. He kisses your neck and cheeks, giving you soft praise. "I knew you'd be good for me. Such a good little wife and soon to be mommy. You're gonna look so cute stuffed with our baby. God, I fucking love you," he chants as he rams into you again and again, your brain is far too clouded by the feeling of him spearing your guts to understand him.
You dig your nails into his back as continues bruising your poor cervix. You let out a choked whine. "It's ok, honey, you can cum. I'll allow it." As if on command, you do. He kisses your lips passionately, quickening his pace. Moans leave your mouth each time he pounds into you, the air and sound being forced from your lungs each time on impact.
His fists curled in the sheets, his eyes clenching. He slams his hips to yours, your body being forced farther before he grabs your hips and forces you back. He grunts as he cums deep inside you, your stomach filling to the brim with his seed. He sighs and kisses your cheek. You breathe heavily, waiting for him to get off, but he doesn't. He just starts going again like he didn't just fill your guts up.
"W-Whah?" You whine. "I need to make sure my seed takes, darling. We'll be doing this until I say we're done so don't complain now." You can tell by his tone that he's daring you to try something. You just clench your eyes and keep taking him. You're so bloated with cum. He's never been like this before, always stopping when you wanted to and treating you like porcelain. Now he's grabbing you and fucking into you like he's been holding back for years, which you now think he has. Your eyelids begin drooping after the sixth time he forced you to cum. You can't keep them open and he notices. "It's ok, take a nap. Warning, I'm not stopping. I guess I tired you out," he laughs.
You wake up to him hugging your back, spooning you. You look at your alarm clock. It's been hours and judging from the still-wet cum all over your thighs, he only stopped recently. You slowly and very carefully slip out of his hold and off the bed. You feel a soreness like never before in your stomach and almost fall to the floor. Oh god, your uterus. More cum slips out of you as you walk to your vanity. You open a couple of drawers where you think your birth control might be, but it's not there. Where could it be if not in your vanity!? You look around frantically, but you still can't find them! You begin looking everywhere. You check the bathroom cupboard, opening it slowly so it doesn't creak and wake up your crazy husband. It's not in there! You look down to see the crumpled package in the trash. You pick it up to see it empty. Every single slot, even the pink period pills. You begin tearing up as you see there are tiny white specs by the sink. No! He washed them away! How could he!? You clutch the sink as you stare at the empty package. You feel a presence creep up behind you. You look up in the mirror to see your husband right behind you, looking down at you with disdain.
"I knew you were going to take them after I told you not to so I got rid of them last night." He planned this!? "Let's go back to bed...Common," he says tiredly and grabs your arm, forcing you back into bed with him, your back to his chest. You feel his cock harden and you try to inch away, but he grabs your hips and rubs his cock up and down your folds before jamming it inside you until he bottoms out. You whimper with your hands over your mouth, knowing that if you annoyed him while he was tired, you'd get in real trouble. He lazily humps into you, rubbing your bulging tummy from behind you, his lips kissing your head. You pass out later from exhaustion.
You wake up to find him not in bed. You take the chance to get up and throw on a sweatshirt and sweats. You grab your wallet and sprint out of the room and down the stairs, ignoring the painful limp he gave you and the soreness in your poor tummy. Your wrist is caught mid-air..." Where the fuck do you think you're going, honey?" He asks, his sweet smile contrasting the bone-crushing grip he has your wrist in.
"O-Oh! Um...we...need-" He cuts you off in the middle of your lie, yanking your wrist and forcing you closer to him. "You were going to go kill our baby." You've never seen such darkness in his eyes. "Well, you can't. I won't allow it. The doors have new locks just for you, love. You're not going anywhere." He smiles down at you, that same handsome face you love, but now come to fear. You gulp as he leads you into the kitchen where he prepared a beautiful breakfast.
You soon accept what's to happen. Your husband is a loved man. Loved by all. His family, your family, his job, the community, everyone. Your husband is often described as charismatic, funny, helpful and friendly. If you told anyone of them what he's done to you, they'd call you a liar without hesitation or even better, take his side, agreeing that it's time you give him a child because it's your duty as his wife to do at least that for him. Be a little grateful for all he does. Providing for you and taking care of you. You'd rather keep your mouth shut. Nothing good can come of telling anyone. It only took a few days of brutal fucking till you woke up early in the morning feeling nauseous and ran to the bathroom, him hot on your tail, ready to hold your hair back as you emptied your stomach into the toilet. You sob as you hug your knees on the bathroom floor. He got on the floor with you, wiping your tears with his thumbs and holding your face. He smiles wide and hugs you tightly. "Yes! (Y/n)! I'm so proud of you! We're having a baby! I love you!"
Yandere husband with pregnant reader head cannons:
- You're allowed out of the house after a while of proving your obedience! Hooray! With the exception that he has to be there, of course. A man flirted with you a bit while you were shopping and your husband was within earshot. You still cringe when you remember the sound the man's nose made as your husband punched him. It took three security guards to get him off the guy.
- Your husband makes you eat so much! "Sit down and finish your food. You're eating for two, remember!? Or did you forget?"
- Paints the baby's room with non-toxic paint and will not let you help or hold anything. "No, it's too dangerous, (Y/n). Sit back down, I've got this, ok?"
- Spares no expense for you and the baby. Buys everything people recommend to him
- Watches youtube videos for things he needs to watch out for during your pregnancy
- Does pregnancy stretches with you and won't take no for an answer. "It's good for you and the baby so get to it! I'll do them with you so we look silly together!" You both still have a fun time.
- You once dropped a book on the floor and your husband burst through the wall to get to you, leaving a cartoon cutout of himself and all. "WHATHAPPENDAREYOUOK!?" He shouted all in one breath. You assured him that you were just fine and that you'd only dropped a book, but he still cradled you in his arms crying.
- Cooks all your meals and cuddles you every single night.
- You being pregnant does not mean he stops fucking you, no. He's just a lot more gentle with you.
- Has everything about your pregnancy and birth planned to the exact detail, even when you'll have the next one.
- He rubs his face against your tummy and kisses it, singing to the baby.
- Do you need to get up? "Here, take my arm...actually...I'll hold you!"
- He picks up the phone on the first ring...and you better too or he's racing home.
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ANT!FRAGILE – 최산
synopsis . in which you pamper your successful boyfriend after his dream night at coachella.
pairing . choi san & fem!reader
genre . smut (mdni!) fluff at the end, comfort, established relationship, idol!au, and a poor attempt of comedy.
taglist . @bro-atz @purplenimsicle | comment your username if you wanna be added to my permanent taglist! ♡
word count . 3,1k
DISCLAIMER! unprotected sex (wrap before tap!), bath sex, slight degradation? (reader’s referred as “dumb girl” once), dirty talk, softdom!san, sub!reader, dacryphilia?, slight overstimulation, hickeys, size difference, bulge kink, cow girl position, petnames (princess, love, darling & more), teasing, squirt, suggestive language (yn tells wooyoung to kill himself, jokingly! they’re two very friendly friends ;)), coachella san (as a warning itself, yes).
NIC’S NOTES this took way too long for no reason at all (￣ヘ￣;) but here it is! my brain rot of coachella san (ofc with teeth rotting fluff at the end bc i’m the one writing it) also, lowercase is intentional! (again, to lazy to write it properly;;)
you should’ve seen it coming after you found out that your boyfriend, san, would be performing at an event as important as coachella. not that you were complaining though.
you knew how much your boyfriend loves attention, how much it turned him on to hear the fans scream for him, and how the cameras adjust their lens to zoom in on his face or his toned muscles from dancing and moving from side to side. there were constant conversations in which san would ask you “should i wear this?”, “if i unbutton a couple of buttons will i get a reaction from atiny?” of course, you’d tell him dismissively that no matter what he does, he’d always get a reaction from everyone, from you especially.
but taking off his shirt in the middle of a concert? really?
you had already seen him without clothes on the upper part of his body, of course, —and also without clothes down there, but let’s omit details—. the thing here’s that you knew how cautious he was with his clothing, always trying to cover what was most important. but this surprised you, and immensely.
it is, in fact, a sight for sore eyes. but a certain level of jealousy invaded your body; you liked to think that you were the only one with the privilege of seeing his well-worked body. but now millions of people and locals would have photos and videos of your shirtless boyfriend on stage. you definitely couldn’t accept it, even though the entire internet already knows exactly what ateez’s choi san looks like underneath the expensive fabric that covers him at concerts.
you were fully aware that this was his job, and that he was paid for it, but did it really have to be him? why not any other member? maybe seonghwa? or mingi! what about him? he also has a pretty active and... desperate fanbase. it was obvious that more than one fan would pay to get, at least, a glimpse of his abs. so, with so many options, why was your boyfriend the exposed person?
but of course you couldn’t show up in his dressing room with a jealous expression clearly decorating your face, you had to act like the sweet and tender girlfriend you were and put jealousy aside for a moment. your boyfriend had just finished performing on a dream stage for any artist, you couldn’t ruin his night because of a little scene.
you weren’t a jealous or toxic lover; you were a conservative one. you liked knowing that you were special to san and you expected exclusivity from him; consequently, he would receive the same treatment. but you should’ve expected it when you started dating choi san. he’s an idol and that's his job: to cause, in any way, the attention of the fans which, consequently, would keep them afloat or flying through the charts.
but, that was an indelible feature of yours. therefore, in some way, you would make it noticeable.
you hit your knuckles a few times, with moderate intensity, against the modern metallic door decorated by a gold star that highlighted your boyfriend’s band name. you watched as the handle turned slightly and opened the door wide, managing to discover wooyoung with a foaming glass of champagne that found its rest in the palm of her hand. behind his figure, you could see mingi sitting on a noticeably comfortable leather couch next to yunho, both of them clinking their glasses together with a clink; yeosang and seonghwa taking a selfie in the mirror and jongho and hongjoong talking animatedly, perhaps about the upcoming scenarios you thought.
“what the hell are you doing here?” wooyoung said, looking at you confusingly. you narrowed your eyes slightly at his quick lack of courtesy.
“good night to you too, wooyoung. you were incredible out there.” you replied sarcastically, hoping he would finally greet you properly.
“oh thank you so much. but seriously, what are you doing here?” he asked once again.
“what do you mean what am i doing here? i came to congratulate y’all for the show because you totally killed it. all the atiny around me went absolutely feral because of you guys.” you praised, and wooyoung grinned nicely. jongho and hongjoong came up behind him, intrusively joining the conversation.
“well thank you very much, yn.” jongho responded and you gave him your purest smile, truly meaning your words.
“but i also came here to congratulate my boyfriend personally?” you interrogated since his figure wasn’t appearing in your visual field.
“that’s why i was asking! damn, you really don’t listen." wooyoung sentenced, his gaze being comparable to that of a mother scolding her daughter. “as soon as the concert was over, he changed and went to the hotel to see you. he thought you’d be there.”
“but i don’t have a ride home, and my phone died” you explained, doe-eyed as you waited for wooyoung, or any of the boys, to take the hint and quickly take you to the hotel to your boyfriend.
“you could just ask for it, you know?” wooyoung tsked, but finally surrendered to your big, brown eyes with a sigh. “give me two seconds to look for the car keys. i’ll take you there.”
and that’s what he did as fast as lighting since he knew they’d only have that night all for themselves before flying back out to korea. the next day would be full of promotion of their songs to the locals and their stage in coachella, so san wouldn’t be able to even spend a bit of his day with you.
during the ride to the hotel, wooyoung spoke, “hey just don’t tire him out since we have quite the amount of work to do tomorrow.”
“you know, you could say something like ‘have a nice time together’, ‘take care of him’, ‘call me if you need anything-” before you could continue, he interrupted you briskly.
“oh hell no. the both of you are responsible adults who know how to take care of themselves without someone else’s help so don’t even try to bother me tonight because i’m exhausted as shit.” he confessed, hands adjusting their position on the steering wheel when cornering.
“oh so now you’re saying i’m a burden?” you asked ironically, knowing wooyoung would catch it was only a joke.
“oh you do know how to think!” he smiled looking away from the road for a bit to lock gazes with you. wrinkles decorated the corner of your eyes as you closed them a little.
“go kill yourself.” you huffed.
“shut up, you love me,” his puckering lips sent a flying kiss to you. he stopped his words briefly, “actually you kind of have to, since i’m taking you with your beloved boyfriend.”
“touché” you agreed.
the ride to the hotel was quick and calm since you were talking and joking animatedly with wooyoung. and when you least expected it, the car stopped moving. consequently, you turned to look out through your window, yellow lights, and gold decorations hurting your eyes with how beaming they looked, even when it was one in the morning.
“here we are.” wooyoung turned to look at you, his sincere eyes transmitting warmth, “remember what i told you-”
“yeah, i got it mom,” you answered, rolling your eyes vexingly. the man gave you an annoying gaze, so you replied, “what? you’re acting as if you were my mother! chill out, for fuck’s sake. as you said, both of us are responsible adults who know how to take care of ourselves.” you used his own words as a weapon to defend yourself against his exaggerated concern.
“whatever. just go,” he unlocked the car’s door so you could get out of the car once you finished your little conversation. “he’s been a pain in the ass lately because he hasn’t had time to see you.”
“imma get going then,” your hand approached the car door handle and finally opened it and got out of the vehicle. “thank you, woo. i owe you one.”
“you owe me way too many to count ’em” wooyoung wheezed. “but yeah, we’ll add it to the list.” he gave you one final smile, which you reciprocated sweetly.
you finally closed the door and watched wooyoung make his way back to where coachella was taking place, he’d probably go to enjoy the rest of the night’s stages with his members. you genuinely wished for him to do well and arrive with the boys safely, but now you had something more important to do: pamper your successful boyfriend after his dream night at coachella.
after you saw wooyoung getting lost on the dark LA highway, you turned around and ran towards the hotel to get into the elevator and quickly dial the floor of your boyfriend’s room.
once there, before your brain could think about it, your legs moved on their own and guided you recklessly toward the door. you hit your knuckles against it a few times, but there was no response.
“sannie? it’s yn. are you there?” you mutter softly against the door frame. another moment of silence came in response.
remembering your boyfriend had given you the key card, you pulled it out of your coat and faced it against the handle. after a soft peep sounded, you opened the door. just to be greeted with a dim-lighted room.
you wandered around the room, looking carefully at the floor so as not to bump your feet against any furniture or step on any item of clothing that, perhaps in a hurry, had been forgotten on the carpeted floor. you kept repeating your boyfriend’s name until the silence stunned you. the dazzling city lights illuminating what the poor little lamp that rested on the nightstand could not illuminate.
suddenly everything went silent. until you heard, in the back of your head, a faded tune. you quickly recognized the melody and started humming the song, the lyrics of the weeknd’s starboy being the only thing you could think about.
once again, you knocked a few times on the door, this time receiving a response from the other side. a dull “who is it?” was heard. “it’s me, love. yn.” you replied.
“oh, babe! come in!” he said happily, you could imagine the adorable smile drawn on his lips.
you turned the handle gently. and lord, didn’t the scenery you were greeted with turned you on.
your boyfriend’s toned body resting on the bathtub, lavender-scented bubbles covering most of it, his nipples being exposed to the fresh bathroom air that would soon turn into a heavier one, and his arms resting on each side of the tub. a serene, yet excited, expression decorating your boyfriend’s gaze.
“hi, beautiful,” he welcomed you. his eyes becoming crescent moons due to the effect of his beaming smile.
“there they are, those beautiful eyes i love so much,” you mumbled, walking right next to him to caress his left cheek soothingly. “how’re you feeling, champ?”
“alive as fuck,” both of you giggled at his response, your loving gaze locking with his for a moment of comfortable silence. suddenly you felt his hand fondling yours.
“mind joining me here?” his sharp eyes turning darker than they already were as they looked at you. fortunately for your boyfriend, you were willing to give him the moon and the stars that night.
you still can’t explain how you ended up on top of san, the water covering up to your navels, while he moved his thumb masterfully over your clit and his fingers repeatedly entered your cunt. his phalanges stretched you deliciously, causing several moans and moans from you.
“is that the spot, sweetheart? you're shaking so much.” his voice was hoarse and deep as the ocean, causing dizziness to affect your common sense.
“y-yes, don’t stop, please- ahh! ngh...” you could barely answer.
“sorry, love.” he announced before stopping his movements, drawing a annoyed, pathetic whine from your swollen lips. before you could insult him, he spoke first. “’wanna feel your tight cunt cumming around me, pretty.” during his brief pause, a pitiful cry from you was heard. “will you let me?”
“yes!” you answered desperately, “y...yes, i’m all yours, sannie. use me.”
san let out deep groan, which resonated inside your ears and made your heart jump out of your ribcage for a second. you rapidly adjusted yourself so you could reach the height of his crotch and massage his veiny, prominent erection, then align it to your entrance.
“go down slowly, don’t want my pretty girl to break.” he expressed, his soft, low voice driving you insane. still, you looked at him with cocked eyebrows.
“break? hah. surely, coachella drove your ego up to the clouds.” your eyes stabbing daggers into his. his hands found a home on your hips, slightly drawing them down to insert his cock inside you. your hand landing on his bare chest stopping his every move.
“nah. it’s just that you’re kind of fragile after all.”
you knew he was messing with you, provoking you. if there was one thing he always reminded you of, it was how strong, determined, and passionate you were, and it was one of the many features that made him fall deeply in love with you.
“let’s see who’s the fragile one here” you went down without warning on his cock, surprisingly touching your cervix all at once. a moan was snatched from both of you. your shaking body began to move carefully up and down him.
“f-fuck, yn- mm,” you heard a strangled moan from your lover, his lower lip was caught in between his teeth.
“f-fragile? that’s y...your- ah! your shit ass cock.” you manage to respond, notoriously provoking him.
“i don’t think it’s a shit ass cock, beautiful- ngh.” he panted, “just look how full you are.” he held your hand delicately despite the momentary brutality and placed it over your belly, a small lump formed there, “full of me, and my shit ass cock.” san breathed, kissing your collarbone, leaving cute lovebites in it. “you cry and beg for it every single night, hun. what does that have to say about you, hm?” a pitiful whine left your lips, demonstrating san that you were truly incapable of formulating coherent words. you were just too fucked out.
“well, lemme tell you,” he continued. “you’re just a dumb girl who needs to be fucked by a big fucking cock, otherwise, you don’t stop whining.” he said profoundly, his voice stimulating all your senses at once as he absolutely ravished you. “isn’t that right, princess?”
“i- ah! sannie, pleeease.” you blubbered, your eyes shedding the most precious tears.
“i asked you a question, darling. and i expect you to answer.” he sentenced sternly, grabbing your jaw and mushing your cheeks together. a pout was, therefore, formed on your lips.
“yes! yesyesyes, you’re right. i just need and think about being fucked by your big fucking cock-” you acknowledged, immersed and lost in the feeling, feeling like he was fucking you just like the first time.
“you’re such a cutie when you whine for me.” he chuckled while you, on the other hand, couldn’t hold back your screams anymore. his eyes stuck to your bouncing breasts, and your parted lips.
“what happened, princess? is it too much?” he cooed at you, looking at you adoringly, his eyes beaming at the sight of you.
“n-no,” you tried with all your might not to stumble over your words, but it was almost impossible since your thoughts were interrupted by the intrusion of your boyfriend's cock into your tight cunt.
“no? let’s see if it is now,”
your bastard boyfriend directed his hand toward your vagina, his ring finger and middle finger deliciously touched your clit. san watched as you exploded inside, his cock was bringing you closer to an abysmal orgasm that you doubted you could withstand, but you were a masochist, and despite all of this, you continued to go up and down on his cock sloppily.
“san! i’m s-so close- fuck!” your frowned eyebrows, reddened cheeks, swollen lips, and arched back made san float, he couldn’t worship you more than he already did at that moment. he was internally so grateful that you were his. only his to kiss, to hug, to fuck, and to adore.
you had had many guys behind you in the past, and they all promised the same thing: ‘i promise you the moon and the stars’, but absolutely none of them reached the level that choi san reached, who promised and delivered to make you see the stars, the moon and– fuck, he made you see the entire milky way every time you were with him.
“go on, babe. let it out for me, i got you,” he hid his face in the crook of your neck when you slowed down bouncing, and then he lifted it up. his lips brushed your neck, a position which he took advantage of to lick and suck on the side of it, adorning it with some nice and new hickeys next to the ones he did some moments ago.
san did everything he could to give you a good orgasm, a strong one, but pleasant. he loved seeing your expression as you had reached the peak of pleasure, a squirt erupted between your bodies, causing strangled moans to come from both mouths. your walls became tighter, squeezing out every drop of cum held in san’s hard cock. you felt how a strip of that viscous, white essence warmed your insides even more. the feeling even being comfortable in some kind of way.
“see? i didn’t break, idiot. hah,” you huffed out a sigh, looking at that beautiful face that you would never get tired of.
“mhm, you’re always so strong and beautiful. aren’t you, my love?” he reacted breathlessly as he stroked your cheek, as if it were the finest diamond.
“always, and only for you,” you wrinkled your nose as you looked at him foolishly in love.
you turned and felt stupid every time you were around this man, but what could you say? you weren’t complaining at all.
that man was capable of loving you in all your facets, in all your states and moments.
you were also grateful that choi san was yours, and solely yours.
“well, big boy,” you started, settling into his chest with him still inside you, keeping you warm, “i’m very proud of you and your achievements, love. you really brought home the trophy.”
“actually, you came here all by yourself.” he flirted, a cocky smile causing a giggle to ring inside your ribcage. “hm. thank you, princess. but the actual trophy is you and will always be you.”
you hid your face with your hands, splashing a little water unintentionally, “don’t start being all mushy, you softie. i’m gonna cry otherwise,”
he laughed, his voice causing your skin to vibrate lightly. “okay okay. wanna finally wash up?”
“can we just... stay like this? just for a bit,” you closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth your boyfriend provided you.
“of course, princess. whatever you want,” he held you in his arms safely, making you sleepy. two minutes of silence filled with tranquility and love passed, until san started talking, “remember you’re always my trophy.” he muttered lowly with his honey-dripping voice.
“babe,”
“hm?”
“shut up.”
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