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gyupinkys · 5 months

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LIKE CRAZY

PARK SEONGHWA X READER

WC: 7.4K

WARNINGS: MURDER, YANDERE, VIOLENCE, DOMESTIC ABUSE, GORE, KIDNAPPING, DRUGGING, SMUT, power imbalance, questionable morals, unprotected sex, rough sex, heavy talks of breeding, creampie, oral, guided masturbation, possessiveness, very inaccurate medical terms idk what i'm talking about, lots of dirty talk, seonghwa is actually crazy...

Synopsis: Park Seonghwa, 25, charged with 10 Counts of second degree murder, acquitted of all charges by reason of insanity. You find his story hard to believe, seeing through his lies. As a new psychiatrist you're not sure you're ready for the anomaly you're tasked to treat

A/N: Thank you guys so much for all the support!!! I love this fic <3

You love your job, you really do but moments like this make you question why you’re here. As you stand in the bathroom of your office cleaning the mashed potatoes your patient threw at you in a manic rage off your face, you question why you do this. As a psychiatrist you pride yourself in your patience, but you can't help but stomp your foot in a mini tantrum. You spent so long doing your makeup this morning and it’s all going to waste. You throw the final wipe in the trash and stare at your reflection. The bags under your eyes are much more prominent than a few days ago. You’ve been up all night trying to prepare yourself for your new patient coming today. Park Seonghwa, 25, acquitted of all charges by reason of insanity. He claims a “demon” took over his body, subsequently leading him to murdering 15 people across a 1 month killing spree. You don’t buy it. Something about this guy is off and the state made it your job to find out why. Your phone ringing snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Doctor L/N, the patient has arrived, we are transporting him to his room.”

“I’ll be right there.”

You take a deep breath and walk across the hospital to his room. You expect to hear shuffling and yelling but the room is eerily quiet. The guards in front of the door step aside and let you into the room, keeping a close eye on Seonghwa.

“Hello Mr.Park, I’m Dr. Y/N L/N, and I will be treating you for your stay here.” you smile at him., surprised by his appearance.

“Hello, Y/N.” he says, staring up at you from his place on his bed.

His curly black hair and plump lips suit him so well.

“I hope you adjust well, we’ve been anticipating your arrival. Breakfast begins at 8, so you are expected to be up and ready before then. Lunch is at 2 and dinner is at 7. Your therapy time with me is at 4 Mondays, Wednesday’s, and Fridays. Sounds good?”

“Sounds great” he says with a smile, showcasing his pearly white teeth.

“I look forward to working with you. My job is to take care of you and I promise to do that.” you smile.

You take a second to look at him, watching the dead look in his eyes. His smile says one thing but his eyes say another. With one last smile you leave the room, almost certain he’ll be causing problems before the night is over.

_________________________

You come in the next morning and check in with the nurses. Surprisingly there were no issues from Seonghwa, he even took his medication with no complaints. Maybe you had the wrong idea about him. You meet with several of your other patients, thankfully avoiding potatoes in your face again. It's 3pm when you take a break, looking outside your office window. You see him sitting at the edge of the courtyard, eyes fixed up at the sky. Four guards surround him out of precaution, but he seems completely unphased, eyes staring at the clear blue sky. For someone capable of such evil things he’s beautiful. His curly hair has grown quite long during his time in prison awaiting his trial. His eyes are wide and bright holding so many secrets. As if he can feel your eyes on him he looks up, directly into your office window somehow making eye contact with you. Your eyes widen and you quickly look away, pretending you weren't staring at him. It’s not uncommon for new patients to stick to themselves, often untrusting of the new environment. You can only hope Seonghwa will begin to trust you so you can treat him, if not you’re not sure what his future might hold.

_________________________

He is brought to your office at 4 on the dot, accompanied by the four guards assigned to him. He looks rather scared, the new environment keeping him on his toes. You welcome him with a wide smile that he doesn't return, instead staring straight at your shoes.

“Hello, Seonghwa.”

“Hi.” he responds quietly, reminding you of a scared child. You find it in your heart to feel sorry for him.

“How are you adjusting?”

He shrugs in response, eyes still on the floor.

“Can you look at me?”

He shakes his head no.

“Ok, that's fine. I know it’s scary here, I’d also hate to be constantly monitored, but we just want to make sure you’re safe.”

He keeps quiet so you continue.

“Tell me, do you like the food here?”

No response.

“I’ve only tried some of the patient food, well besides when it gets thrown at me. Last week Sandy with the weird haircut threw her potatoes right in my face, I looked like Ms.Doubtfire in that one scene.” you say with a laugh, gauging his reaction. He smirks but remains silent, you decide it might be best if you keep talking in hopes of making him comfortable.

“I’ve only been working here for about 5 months. I can’t say I’m settled completely. Some patients don’t seem to like me very much, hence the mashed potatoes. But I don’t let that discourage me, I mean if I was in their shoes I wouldn’t want some random lady talking my ear off. Well, I guess that’s what I’m doing now, I’ll shut up.”

He looks up at you with a wide smile, showcasing his perfect teeth. “Don’t stop," he says gently.

“I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into here, I can talk for hours.” you say with a light laugh.

His eyes widen a bit, he looks at you as if he’s psychoanalyzing you, the roles seemingly reversed. You squirm under his intense stare, deciding to just start talking.

“How about this? If I tell you one thing about me, you tell me one thing about you?”

“Deal.” he says much quicker than you anticipate making you laugh. You hear his breath hitch, concerned you did something wrong.

“Are you ok?”

“I’m fine. Start talking.”

“Ok, Ok. Hmmmm, Oh how about this, I haven’t finished paying off my student debt.”

“I could pay it off,” he says seriously.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m sure that violates many rules.”

“I’m not one to worry about rules.” he says with a smile, making your own fall. He quickly reacts, trying to soothe the situation. “That was a joke, I’m joking.”

“Noted.” you say hesitantly. “Your turn.”

“I miss my cat.” he says, sadly.

“You have a cat?” you ask in surprise. “I love cats, I have two.”

“Can I see?” he asks, scooching to the front of his seat, making the guards jump hold him back.

“You guys can relax.” you say and they let go of him.

You grab your phone from your desk, missing the way his eyes drop to your ass.

“They're named Brad and Chad. And yes I know those are weird names for cats.” you show him the pictures of your cats, seeing his body visibly relax.

“What’s your cat's name?”

“Matz.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Girl. I think my friend Hongjoong has her but I’m not sure.”

“If you give me his last name I can try to find out for you.” you say with a smile.

He leans forward again in excitement. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course, I know It’ll give you peace of mind.”

“Kim, his last name is Kim.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Kim Hongjoong has Matz and says you raised a very disrespectful cat.” you say and slide into the chair across from him in the cafeteria.

He looks a bit shocked at your presence but he gives you a wide smile when he registers what you said.

“She was born like that, I had no part in her sassiness.” he laughs.

“Did he say anything else?”

“He said, “Don't forget to look at the sky.” and stopped responding after that so do with it as you will.”

“I really appreciate it.” he says and grabs your hand, making the security guards restrain him.

“It’s ok, let him go.” you sigh, understanding the guard’s worry, but also feeling sympathetic for Seonghwa.

“I’ll see you around, Seonghwa.”

“Call me Hwa.” he smiles.

_________________________

Seonghwa has made great progress, now only being followed around by two guards as opposed to four. He’s been much more responsive with you and willing to let you into his mind, but he refuses to talk about the murders. Whenever you attempt to touch on the subject he locks up and asks to leave. You think he needs more time to accept and confront his past. You know prying too much will only erase his progress. You’ve learned so much about him and he’s learned so much about you. He’s so attentive to every word you speak, constantly bringing up small details you forgot you said. You’d be lying if you said it wasn't sweet. Today you decided to try group therapy with him, maybe if he sees someone else sharing he’d be inclined to share as well. You’re also hoping he’s able to make a friend here, since he expressed to you how lonely he’s been feeling. You can see the shock on his face when he walks into your office and see’s San sitting on the couch. He freezes in the threshold of your office, his face morphing into something you’ve never seen before.

“Who is this?” he asks with venom.

“Hwa, this is San, he’ll be joining us today.”

“Why?”

“I think it’ll be a good change of pace. Now come on in and sit down.”

He slowly walks in, eyes never leaving San.

“So, I was thinking of doing a joint session today. I think you two can be great friends and what better place to facilitate this friendship than here?”

“I’d rather be your friend, or more than friends if you’re interested.” San says with a smirk.

“San, don’t start.”

“If you show me your tits I’ll stop.”

“I will write you up.” you deadpan.

He holds his hands up in defeat as you look over to Seonghwa. He’s sitting in his chair with a hard face and tense body. You want him to feel comfortable, understanding why he’s nervous.

“Hwa, San also loves cats. Why don’t you tell him about Matz?”

“I have a cat named Matz” he whispers, eyes never leaving you.

“I used to have a cat but it died. I was thinking of getting a new one.” San says with a wide smile.

“What kind of cat is your favorite?” Seonghwa asks, seemingly interested.

“I like cats that are nice and wet, even better if they're tight.” he says with a wide smile, showing off his dimples. “Can I take a look at your cat, Doctor?”

Before you can respond San’s on the floor, face being beaten in by Seonghwa.

“HOW ABOUT YOU TREAT HER WITH SOME FUCKING RESPECT.” he yells as his fist fly into San’s jaw. As the guards peel him off San and sedate him he’s staring straight at you, tears in his eyes.

“I can’t sit here and let him talk to you like that.” he slurs as the sedative takes over his body.

“Thank you, Hwa.” is the last thing he hears before everything fades to black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You did a real number on San.” you say with an awkward laugh at your next session, trying to make him comfortable. He’s back with four guards after he broke San’s jaw two weeks ago. He was placed in a higher security ward inorder to avoid more altercations.

“He deserved it.” he whispers with an eye roll.

“Maybe, but we don’t have to solve our problems with violence.”

“I do.”

“Well, If I upset you would you beat the shit out of me?” you ask, trying to prove your point but hoping he will say no.

He leans forward and looks directly into your eyes. “Y/N I will never hurt you. I swear on my life.”

“That's good to hear” you say with a laugh.

“Ok, let's begin. I want you to write three things you like here and three things you dislike. I want you to start seeing the good in the bad.”

“Not much to love in this shit hole.” he grumbles.

“Hey, At least the chicken tenders they serve on wednesdays are good.” you joke.

You hand him a piece of paper and a pen, your fingers brushing making you clear your throat.

“Ok, go ahead.”

“You do it too.” he says with a smirk.

“How about I just write things I do like? ”

“Deal”

You write three things you like:

Chicken tenders

The sunlight

Seonghwa

“Ok, you share first.”

He clears his throat.

“I like my doctor, I like the girl I meet on Monday’s, Wednesday, and Fridays, and I like Y/N.”

Your eyes widen and you can’t help but smile, feeling your cheeks tingle. “Well that's definitely something.” you say with a laugh watching his eyes light up.

You read out your list and watch his smile widen when he hears his name.

“Don’t let it go to your head.” you say with an eye roll.

“Oh baby, it already did.”

Your heart stops at the pet name, willing yourself to remain professional. He’s a goddamn serial killer you internally yell.

“Ok, now read the things you don’t like.”

“I don’t like Tuesdays and Thursdays, I don’t like San, and I don’t like your boyfriend.”

You choke on the sip of water you were taking.

“How do you know I have a boyfriend?”

“Your reaction just told me.” he says and you can see him becoming upset.

“I don’t have a boyfriend, and frankly it’s none of your business.” you say, slightly annoyed.

He gives you a look you’re never seen before. You hate to think it but he genuinely looks insane. You’re suddenly thankful for the guards in the room.

“I think that’s enough for today.” you say. the guards picking him up and dragging him out of the room, his eyes never leaving yours.

You weren’t lying, you don’t have a boyfriend. Well, that’s because he doesn’t want you. All Chris wants from you is sex, claiming he’s “too young for a relationship”

You wish you were strong enough to stick up for yourself but that’s exactly how he likes you, weak.

As you sit at your desk you're puzzled by Seonghwa’s reaction. Sure, you've had patients crush on you in the past but they've never reacted like that when they found out about your partner. He looked almost… murderous? You write this in his file, concerned for both your safety and his. Maybe someone else should get assigned to him? No, that’ll only aggravate him more. You sigh, at a loss about this situation.

_________________________

When you enter your office you see an envelope on the floor, presumably slid under your door. You pick it up and see it’s addressed to you.

You open it and pull out a letter.

“My dear Y/N,

I don’t know what I was thinking yesterday. I guess I got jealous, knowing I can’t have you in the ways he has you. I can tell you guys aren’t in love. You deserve to be loved, in every sense of the word. I wish we met in different circumstances, I’d do anything to have you, to hold you, to love you. I’m sorry if I scared you. You’ve been nothing but perfect for me and I’ve done nothing but give you headaches. I’ll be better for you, I promise.

-Hwa”

Your heart softens. This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for you. You choose to ignore the parts where he confesses his love for you. That just complicates things. You decide to pay him a visit in his room.

You walk to the other side of the hospital, rehearsing what you're going to say to him. You stop in your tracks outside his door, hearing moans and groans coming from the other side. Is he ok? You press your ear to his door, only hearing more moans and whimpers. As you’re about to open it you hear him moan out your name. Oh. It doesn't take a genius to guess what he’s doing. It would be a lie if you said you weren't imagining his face right now. He’s already so pretty, he must look even better right before he comes. You bite the bullet and knock on his door.

“Hwa, can I come in?”

You hear shuffling and a meek “Come in.”

You open the door and pause. You expected him to stop but he’s sitting up on his bed with his back against the wall, cock in his hand. Your eyes stray from his face to his dick, hard and long.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“No.”

“I’ll come back later.”

“No.” he yells, making you stop in your tracks.

“Turn around.”

As if you were in a trance you turn around, eyes trained on his large hands wrapped around himself.

“Can you come help me? It hurts so bad.” he whispers. “You’re my doctor aren’t you?” he smirks.

“No, this is wrong.”

“Then why are you still here? Why are your eyes on my cock rather than my face?”

“I-”

“Y/N, all I can think of when I close my eyes is you.” he says as he strokes his cock, looking into your eyes. “Your pretty eyes, your lips, your perfect fucking smile. You make it so hard to focus. I gotta come back here after every session to stroke my cock to you, I can’t help myself.”

You’re frozen in place, unsure if you’re even breathing. “Come wrap your hand around my cock, baby. Please?”

Your legs move before you can think this through, hesitantly wrapping your hand around him. He’s so big in your hands, you can only imagine how perfect he’d feel inside you.

“I shouldn't be doing this.” you whisper to him.

He wraps his hand around yours and guides you to begin stroking him, moaning at the sensation. “You aren’t doing anything wrong, just helping your patient.”

His breathing picks up as precum leaks from his tip onto your hand. “Baby, can I tell y-you something?”

“Yea.”

“I really wish it was your pretty little pussy wrapped around me right now.” he groans. “I’d treat you better than you could imagine, I’d have you addicted to this dick.”

“Hwa”

“Shh, keep going. You're making me feel so good, beautiful.” he breathes out, throbbing in your hand.

“Do you do this to your other patients? Or am I special.”

“You’re special, Hwa. You know that.”

“Do you do this for that ungrateful bastard you call a boyfriend?”

You freeze, but he continues.

“I know you don’t. If he treated you how you deserved you wouldn’t be here with me. I’d make you a queen Y/N, you don’t even have to love me back.”

You look at him in the eye, he looks fucking insane but you can’t find it in you to care. You crash your lips into his, feeling him suck in a deep breath before returning the same ferocity. The kiss is deep and nasty, nothing but tongue and teeth. You grip him harder and begin pumping him faster, desperate to see his face when you come.

“I want you to come for me ok? I wanna see how pretty you look when you feel good.”

“Yes, yes, ok. I’m gonna come for you.”

You hear him let out one last whimper before he comes, his seed dripping down your hand. When he’s done you bring your hand up to his mouth, watching him lick his cum off your fingers. You feel yourself clench around nothing, but you know you’d have to handle your little issue at a later time.

“So good for me, Hwa.” you smile, giving him one last peck before getting up.

He’s laying on the bed, looking completely blissed out, a wide smile on his face.

“I got the letter by the way. I guess flattery has gotten you pretty far.”

_________________________

You arrive home later than expected, getting caught up in some paperwork and losing track of time. When you arrive at your apartment you see none other than Chris waiting outside.

“Where have you been?” he immediately spits, slurring his words, making you roll your eyes.

“Why are you here?” you sigh, unlocking your door.

“What? I can’t come see you now?” he says, going to hug you, but you push him away, smelling the alcohol on his breath.

“Thought you’d be more interested in seeing Irene.”

“Y/N, don’t be like that. You and I aren’t together.” he says, getting aggravated.

“Thank God.” you say under your breath, unsure where this confidence came from.

“Come again?”

“Nothing.”

“No. Fucking say it.” he says, getting in your face.

“Chris, just leave.”

“Youre fucking impossible, Y/N. I don’t know what you fucking want from me. You get mad when I fuck other bitches but you talk to me like this? You don’t deserve me.”

You can’t help but laugh, turning to walk into your bathroom, which makes him even more upset.

“Whats so fucking funny?” he yells, grabbing your wrist a little too tight.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” you spit, trying to pull your hand away, but unable to due to his tight grip.

“You’re hurting me.” you cry as he tightens his grip and pulls you towards him.

“Imagine how much you hurt me when you act like this? You’re a fucking bitch Y/N. Why are you acting like this? Are you fucking someone else is that it?” he’s getting angrier by the second, beginning to scare you.

“GET OFF OF ME.”

“ADMIT IT. YOU'RE WHORING YOURSELF OUT AREN’T YOU? “

You yank your hand from his grip, only to be greeted with a sharp slap across your face.

You look at him with wide eyes, shocked at his actions. He seems equally as shocked as he stares at his hand then you.

“Sweetheart, I’m-”

“Get out before I call the cops.”

He rushes out, spewing bullshit apologies in his drunken state, but you’re having none of it. As soon as he leaves you begin to cry, the reality of what happened hitting you. You look down at your wrist, seeing his hand imprinted on your skin. You cry more, wondering how you got to this point.

_________________________

You tried your best to cover the small mark on your face, but the bruise on your hand was a no go. You just hoped the sleeves of your lab coat would cover the mark. You see multiple patients today, trying to keep up your usual happy persona but most likely failing. San is the only one who asked if you were ok, saying he “knows ways to make

You feel better.” Maybe Seonghwa needs to beat him up one more time so he can learn his lesson. Speaking og Seonghwa, you are nervous to face him after your encounter yesterday. You violated so many rules, if he were to snitch on you not only would you lose your job, but your license. You take a deep breath as the guards bring him into your office, two instead of four now due to good behavior.

He takes a seat but you’re not sure what to say. He frowns at the unusual silence, immediately asking what's wrong.

“I’m fine, Hwa. Just having a shitty day.” you say while subconsciously rubbing your wrist, bringing attention to it. He shoots forward in his seat and grabs your arm, pulling back your sleeve and looking at your wrist. The guards immediately grab him, but you signal at them to stand down.

“Did he do that?” Seonghwa asked, venom dripping from his voice.

“He was drunk.”

“That's not an excuse.”

“I know.” you sigh.

“That bastard doesn't deserve you. I hope he fucking dies.” Seonghwa spits.

“Hwa, don’t say that.”

“I want to leave.”

You nod your head and the guards lead him back to his room. You decide to head home, hoping a night out with your friends will clear your mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seonghwa’s tells himself he’s doing this for you. Everything he does is for you. No one can lay a hand on his sweet girl and think they won't experience any consequences. He’ll be damned if this fucker lives another day. He watches Chris dance and kiss other women like nothings wrong, like he didn’t put his hands on you. Seonghwa can feel the rage flowing through his body, this is the feeling he gets right before he kills. He can’t wait to see the light leave Chris’ eyes tonight. He’s eternally grateful for Hongjoong finding this fucker for him, he knows he’ll avenge you tonight.

He waits for him near his car, watching him fumble with his keys.

“Excuse me.”

Chris turns around and sees Seonghwa standing next to the car parked behind his own.

“Yes?”

“I know this sounds weird, but I’m trying to dump my couch, but I can’t get it out of my apartment by myself. Can you help me?”

“Yea sure.”

Seonghwa couldn't help but smile, knowing what was about to happen. As soon as the pair enter Hongjoong’s old apartment, Seonghwa wastes no time and stabs Chris in the chest, watching him crumble to the floor.

“You think you can touch my dear, Y/N and get away with it? No one is going to hurt my girl.” he spits, rage consuming him.

Chris doesn’t get a chance to respond as Seonghwa plunges the knife into his chest, repeatedly, aiming for his heart.

“This is how my heart felt when I saw those bruises on her.” he spits, mutilating Chris’s body.

When his body is nothing more than a pile of flesh and blood, Seonghwa stands, changing out of his soiled clothes and exiting the apartment, leaving Chris’s body to rot.

He pushes through the crowds of the rowdy club, searching for you. He spots you dancing with your friends, looking carefree and happy, exactly as you should be. He smiles at the sight, falling more in love with you as the seconds pass. He wants to experience everything with you, he wants to marry you, have kids with you, die with you, and he will. He’ll make you his, he’ll fill you up with his seed and watch your body grow. He’ll keep you where no one can find you, make sure you’re his forever.

He watches you search for one of your other friends from your spot at the bar, hoping you’d make eye contact with him. When your eyes meet his heart stops. He watches your eyes widen, and confusion grow on your face. You rub your eyes to make sure you’re seeing correctly and when you open them again he’s gone.

He walks back to the asylum elated, happy he served you justice. He passes by the security who knows better to question him and the nurses who keep their heads down and mouths shut. There's nothing money can’t buy, and the hospital staff’s silence is definitely not one of them. He changes back into his patient attire and gets into bed as if nothing happened.

_________________________

You’re 100% losing your mind. Either that or Seonghwa was in the same club as you last night which is impossible. You've run through every scenario you could think of and you’ve concluded whatever you feel for him is becoming too strong. You’re considering transferring him to another doctor, the guilt you have from what happened two days ago is sitting on you. That was completely unprofessional and foolish, your risked so much because you’re too fucking horny. Not only that but you took advantage of him, you're in a position of power, you should've said no. You know you wouldn't be able to treat and diagnose him properly. But you also know he’d throw a fit if he gets assigned to a new doctor. This is all too much for you to handle.

Your thoughts are interrupted by someone barging into your office. You look up and see Seonghwa, eyes widening.

“Hwa? Why are you here?”

“I needed to see you.”

“Where are the guards?”

“Don’t worry about that.” he says and locks your office door, worrying you a bit.

“Seonghwa, you’ll get in trouble if they find out you’re here.”

“They won’t find out if you don’t tell.” he says with a smile, walking to your desk.

“Why did you need to see me?”

“I’m sorry for how I acted yesterday. It wasn’t my place to react like that, and I know you were probably already stressed, I shouldn’t have added to that.”

“It's ok, don’t worry.”

“No, it’s not Ok. I keep saying I'll treat you right but I haven't. Let me make it up to you.”

You smile at how much he cares when it should be the other way around.

“And how are you going to make it up?” you say with a light laugh.

“Let me eat you out.”

Your eyes widen.

“Hwa. What happened was a one time thing. We can’t keep doing this.”

“Why?

“You know why.”

“I won’t tell anyone. No one needs to know, Baby. I love you, why would I jeopardize you?” he says, getting on his knees next to your desk chair.

“What if someone sees?”

“I’ll take care of them. With the way I’m about to have you, no one but me gets to see you.”

Your breath quickens. No way you're actually contemplating this. You watch as he turns your chair towards him and places his hands on your thighs.

“What do you say, Sweet girl?”

You nod hesitantly. He smiles up at you spreading your legs and running his hands up your skirt. He flips it up and looks at your pink panties, sucking in a deep breath.

“Just like I imagined.”

He puts his legs on your shoulder and pulls your hips to his face, running his nose along your inner thigh. He’s breathing heavily, his grip on you tightening. He licks a long stipe up your slit over your panties, teasing you. Your hands fly to his soft curls, pulling him closer.

“Please don’t tease” you whisper.

He begins to kiss your cunt, practically making out with it. He’s so sloppy with it, soaking your already soaked panties more. He pulls off your panties with his teeth, shoving them in his pocket before pulling you flush to his lips. He goes straight for your clit, sucking harshly. He's moaning into your cunt, lapping at your pussy like it's the last he’lll ever eat.

“So good, Baby. You taste so fucking goof. The best I’ve ever had.”

He runs two fingers through you, wetting them before easing them inside.

“Fucking hell, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

You can only moan in response, trying to control your volume.

“Tell me how it feels.”

“It’s so good, Hwa. Feels so good.”

“Is it better than that fucker Chris?”

“Yes, so much better.” you moan out, not having enough brain power to question how he knows chris. All you can focus on is his soft tongue running through you and his fingers hitting all the spots you need.

Your back arches as you feel your orgasm coming. “Give it to me baby. I deserve it,I’ve been so good to you.” he speaks into your cunt, his fingers never stopping.

You look down into his wide eyes and see so much emotion in them. He’s so fucking pretty, just the thought that this is the man eating you out makes you let go. Grabbing his hair harshly and somehow pulling him closer as you soak his face. He keeps sucking and licking your clit, slowing the pace of his fingers. When it gets too much you yank his head back, out of breath.

“Fuck, Hwa. That definitely made it up to me.” you laugh, blissed out.

“I’m glad.” he laughs, licking his fingers clean before standing up and kissing you.

“I can make you feel even better.” he smiles, testing his luck.

“Nice try. Can I have my panties back?”

“No can do.” he smiles, kissing you one more time before backing up, helping you put your clothes back in place.

“I’ll see you four, Love.” he says with a wide smile.

“Actually, I need to cancel our session, something came up.” you say solemnly watching his smile drop. All the guilt from before it you once again. You can’t keep doing this. He’s you patient for fucks sake, you can’t fuck him. This is wrong on so many levels.

“So when am I going to see you instead?”

“I’ll let you know.” you say with a frown.

“Oh, Ok. Have a nice night, Y/N.”

“You too, Hwa.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seonghwa can feel something's off. He thought after he ate you out you’d realize you feel the same way about him. But he could tell it had the opposite effect. He tries to sleep but all that's on his mind is you. He looks at the clock on the wall, it's well past 4am, you should definitely be gone. He gets up and opens his door, seeing the guard on night duty fast asleep. He walks to your office and uses the master key he stole from the janitor to unlock the door. He walks over to your desk and scans the papers littering it. He sees a printed out email from your supervisor, listing reports made about you from other patients. Other patients claim you show him favoritism? He knows San was behind this. They claim patient reports you write for him are much more detailed and that's somehow proof of favoritism? You eating lunch with him is somehow inappropriate? He laughs at this, they really have no idea how inappropriate your relationship has gotten. He continues reading, Your supervisor claims he’s showing no improvement and has requested a new doctor for him. He can feel the anger coursing through his veins but he wills himself. He’ll be damned if they try to take you away from him. His months of planning will not go to waste. He’ll live out all his dreams with you, there's no way he won’t.

He walks out of your office, filled with rage. He can’t believe this. He can only imagine how crushed you are. He knows you love him, even if you don’t know it. He knows you’re probably at home distraught. He owes it to you to make sure you two remain together forever.

He goes back to his room, but he still can’t sleep. He stares at the ceiling, imagining your pretty face in an attempt to calm his spirit. He’s rudely interrupted by his door opening. He looks at the clock and sees it's somehow 8am. Time flies so fast when you're on his mind. In walks another doctor he’s seen around the hospital. There's no way this happened so quickly. He can’t believe this. He sees the man speaking to him but he’s not hearing anything besides the ringing in his ears.

“I want Y/N to be my doctor.”

“Unfortunately, she can’t. She hasn’t been making much progress with you. We're hoping a more experienced doctor like myself can help you more than she can.”

He looks at him blankly. He feels himself slipping away. His hands clench and reach under his pillow, grasping his knife as the doctor reads from his clipboard. He won’t let someone speak about you like this. He won’t let them take you away from him. He grabs the doctor's hair and slits his throat, sawing through the man's blood vessels until he falls limp. A guard runs in and attempts to wrestle the knife out of his hands but he overpowers him, plunging the knife into his chest repeatedly. Seonghwa’s fuled by blind rage, no one will stop him from avenging your honor. How dare they speak of you like this as he kills the fourth and final guard to come in. He hears alarms blaring in the distance and looks at the clock. It's 9:05 am, he can feel you on your way to him.

_________________________

The blaring of the alarms push you to run faster, entering the high security section of the hospital. The commotion from down the hall gets louder as you approach his room. You come to a halt as you see a stream of blood running down the hall, coming from beyond his door. A loud thud from inside his room breaks you from your trance, you push open the door, seeing the bodies of guards surrounding his bed.

“Hwa” you gasp, eyes trained on the battered bodies. “What did you do?” you breathe out, finally looking up at him.

He looks up at you from across the room, eyes wide and bloodshot.

“What did I do?” He laughs maniacally. “Y/N, This is your fault. I did this because of you.” he says as he begins to approach you.

“THEY TRIED TO KEEP ME FROM YOU!” He yells. “You were supposed to take care of me. YOU PROMISED!” He traps you against the wall next to the door. “Isn’t that your job? Nurse me back to my right state of mind? Figure out what's wrong with me? But you didn’t do that. No,no, no you just made me fall in love with you, you made me want you! So don’t act like this is my fault.” he says as he lightly drags the knife across your throat.

“No ones going to keep me away from you, my love.” he whispers into your ear. He leans over and locks the door before looking back at you.

“Do you think I’m going to hurt you?”

“No.” you answer with full confidence.

He smiles at you, but it's not the same smile your Seonghwa gives you. You don’t know who this is.

"I want my Hwa back, I don;t like you like this.”

“I am your Hwa, Baby. I did this for you Y/N. Don’t you see how much I love you?” he says, dropping the knife and kissing down your neck.

“I know, Hwa.” you sigh heavily, feeling his cock hardening against your stomach.

“Say you love me too. I know you do.”

Do you love him? Can you love someone who’d do this? The longer you stay quiet the more upset he gets. “It's ok baby. I’ll love you enough for the both of us.” he sighs. “One day you’ll realize how much you love me.”

He runs his hands down your body, squeezing your ass. He flips you around, pressing your chest to the wall.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, Y/N. I’ll be all you think about for the rest of your life.”

He shoves your pants down and rips your panties off you, rubbing his fingers through you. “Fucking hell, you’re a filthy fucking liar. You do like me like this, look how wet you are.” he says bringing his soaking fingers in front of your face. Your breath quickens, seeing evidence of how wet you are.

“Just fuck me, Hwa.” you groan.

He pulls out his hard cock and rubs his tip through you. “I’ll make you mine, Y/N. You’ll let me cum in you right? Own this pussy”

“Yes, Hwa. Please.”

He lines himself up and slides in slowly, gripping your hips tightly at the sensation.

“F-fuck, Baby. You feel so good, the best I’ve ever had.” he moans out. He fills you up completely, stretching you so painfully but not nicely. You savor the pain, it reminds you of how taboo this is, how much you deserve to feel pain. Youre letting this psychopath fuck you in a room full of bodies, your colleagues blood on your body doing nothing but turning you on. You deserve to feel pain, but he turns that pain into pleasure with the first thrust. It’s like your pussy was made for him, you fit together perfectly. You can feel him in your stomach, so deep inside you, you can feel yourselves becoming one. He picks up his pace, thrusting into you harshly.

“I’ve dreamt of this for so long. I’ve fucked my fist imagining it was this pussy. You couldn't even imagine all the nasty things I’d do to you, Bbay. I’d hurt you so bad but you’d love it, you’d beg me for more. B-beg me to make you mine.”

He pulls out quickly and flips you around, hiking you up the wall. You wrap your legs around his waist as he slides back in, fucking into you while staring into your eyes.

“I need to see that pretty face when I breed you. I have everything planned out for us, Y/N. There's a beautiful house waiting for you, so many rooms to fill up with our beautiful babies. I know you’d be a great mother, my perfect little housewife.”

He picks up his pace, feeling you clenching around him, but desperate to come together.

“I’d keep you full of my seed all the time, my love. You’d always feel me dripping out of you, I’d keep you nice and round with my babies for as long as I can. You want that don’t you? You wanna be my slutty little cum dump?”

You can barely answer him, let alone breathe. He’s hitting it so deep, you feel like your on another planet. You look down into his eyes and nod, mesmerized by his beautiful brown eyes. You’d let him do anything he wanted if it meant you felt like this forever.

“Cum for me, my love. I’m going to fill you up so nicely, ok?”

You let go, clamping down on his cock and hearing his deep groan. His warm cum fills you up to the brim, leaking out of you, despite the vice-like grip your cunt has on him.

“So fucking tight and warm, baby” he blabbers, shallowly thrusting his seed back into you. He pulls you in for a kiss by your neck, claiming your mouth as his own. You pull back for air, giving him a blissed out smile. The words he so badly wants to hear hang on your tongue but you can’t give it to him yet.

“I know, baby. You don’t have to say it, I already know.” he whispers against your lips and sets you down.

He helps you fix your clothes and begins to pull you out of the hospital. As you see the chaos ensuing, the reality of the situation hits you.

“Hwa, where are you taking me?”

“Hongjoong is outside we gotta go before the cops come.”

“Wait, what?” you pull back from him, stopping him in his tracks.

“Y/N, now's not the time.” he growls.

“Tell me what's going on.”

“You really think I was going to stay in this shit hole forever? Y/N, I’m not fucking crazy, I killed those people on purpose. The only reason I’m not rotting in jail is because I paid off the judge. I was planning my escape from the moment I got here but I only stayed this long because of you. So let's go.”

His words break you from your trance. This man is actually insane. You begin backing away from him but he gets visibly upset. “Y/N, don’t try this shit with me. You’re coming with me whether you like it or not.”

The dim lighting of the hallway and red lights from the alarms make him look sinister. For the first time you feel afraid of him.

“I don’t want to go with you, Seonghwa.”

He looks at you blankly before grabbing you harshly. “

“I didn’t want to do it this way, Y/N. I wanted us to be happy, but if I have to force you to want me, so be it. He pulls out the sedative he took from one of the guards and pulls off the cap with his teeth. “You’ll be mine forever Y/N. That baby growing in your belly is proof enough.”

He sticks the syringe into your neck, releasing the chemicals into your body. You feel the drugs immediately kick in, falling limp in his hold.

“Hwa, please don’t.” you whimper.

He caresses your face with a pout. “Don’t worry, Baby. You’ll love me eventually, I’ll make sure of it.”

He flashes you a wide, beautiful smile before everything fades to black.

#ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez x reader #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa fanfic #seonghwa smut #yandere ateez #yandere kpop #yandere seonghwa

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rafeysdoll · 1 month

Text

what arguing with rafe cameron is like.. ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

authors note: request found here, i actually wrote this awhile ago and thought it was perfect for this!

warnings: established relationship

“rafe!” you whine, the tears collecting in your lashline. “are you even listening to me?” you yell out, stomping your foot against the floor when he just rolls his eyes, he was hardly paying attention which only ceased to upset you more. you think to yourself, ‘who could blame you?’ he was just so mean. it was too much for your brain as well as to your sensitive heart.

“what do you want me to say? huh?” he grumbles, he's trying to control himself from just up and leaving back to the party downstairs in tannyhill, he really is. he thought the whole thing was ridiculous. you, throwing a tantrum at him because some girl was in your eyes, way too touchy when he was pushing product, saying she didn’t have to touch his hand for the little baggie as long as she did.

but to you it was so much more than two extra seconds. you saw how she always giggled in a corner with her friends when he was around, liking every single post on his instagram expect for the ones with you in them, even commenting little things in most. always lowering her top and pushing up her tits before applying a new coat of lipstick when she was heading his way.

but to him, rafe had decided long ago you were the one for him. you were the one that he was going to take care of, the one he was going to love and pump full of cameron babies so that one day you could be his little housewife.

so, what was the big deal?

“can't just.. can't just freak out on me like that, alright? got business shit to take care of and you cannot be latching onto me just because you think some.. some coked up chick is gonna make a move, okay?” he stresses, walking closer to you now.

when you let out a small whimper in response, he freezes just a little, seeing you let your head fall as you look down at your heels, feeling stuck in what to reply because really — you didn't want to argue with him. you hated it more than anything. you wanted to be good for him, you just hated seeing the sight of some random girl cuddling up to him.

rafe sucks in a deep breath and sighs, biting his lip. he wasn't going to continue trying to sweep this under the rug, downplaying it when it was clear that this was important to you. so, he clenches his fist and tongues at his cheek, and starts nodding to himself. “yeah.. uh. yeah, alright- okay. fine.” he admits, thinking to himself too how he would react if some dude was creeping up in his girls space.

“just want you to understand me rafe," you say softly. the tears that collected in your eyes now freely falling. "i know, i know.. i'm sorry okay? i understand baby.. i do.” he coos, walking closer and sitting you down at the edge of his bed, squatting in front of you.

“hey, hey look at me.” he says while moving his left hand to your cheek, stroking it softly— one of your favorite things rafe did. “im.. i'm sorry, baby. i'm sorry. should've been more.. nice to you.”

you sniffle, leaning your head into his cheek. “oh rafey.. was just.. was just so upset and i took it out on you.. i'm sorry papi, .. am i.. am i bad?” you mewl, mascara dripping down your face. your emotions were really catching up to you. it was all mushing up together, making you feel all overwhelmed.

“no, no baby, you're good. you're good, doll. just take in a few breathes alright? you're fine..” rafe whispers, wiping your tears and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “say it with me doll.. can you do that for me baby?” he speaks softly, smiling at you.

“i'm good. i'm good,” you whisper back, nodding. “there you go baby, just relaxx, doll.” he prompts, dragging out the x's. “we're fine, alright? no chick is gonna steal me away from you, 'kay?” he speaks while pulling strands of your hair behind your ear. “i'll finish up selling and you can cling on my arm ‘till im done. alright, baby?”

“mm, mhm” you mumble with a cheeky smile.

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babywriter · 2 months

Text

“I need to peeee!” she squealed. Alyssa was in line at the grocery store and couldn’t help, but complain to the slightly older woman in front of her to hurry up so she could go home. Her excuse? Well, she needed to go to the bathroom. Yet, the petulant whining of a woman in her mid-twenties did not impress Carla. As an actually mature woman, Carla was not petty enough to slow down, but she sure wasn’t going to be kind enough to hurry up either.

However, by not hurrying, she provoked a second tantrum in Alyssa.

“Come on, lady!” she said while stomping her foot.

Carla sensed something odd in Alyssa. Surely, this young woman was sufficiently self-aware to know that she looked like a two-year-old? Carla heard the yelps and angry moans of the woman next in line, until she didn’t. They, very suddenly, stopped. But Carla did not turn her head until she had finished paying. She saw a decidedly dazed Alyssa biting the tip of her thumb.

A strange impulse made Carla approach Alyssa and an even stranger impulse made Carla touch Alyssa’s crotch. It was warm, it was padded and it crinkled.

“Ah.” Carla muttered out loud. “That explains it.”

Meanwhile, Alyssa was absolutely terrified of what was happening. She couldn’t quite fathom that she had peed herself. When she looked down at herself, she was dry. But she had felt it, hadn’t she? She also felt that her underwear had changed. Deep down, Alyssa knew exactly what had happened, but at no point did she want to face it. Worse, this woman was now groping her. Even worse, Alyssa felt a thick, warm slush of a padding pressed up against her. What else could she do, but start tearing up?

Photo credit: @babypeachy-16

For more stories by me: https://reamstories.com/babywriter

#ab/dl caption #ab/dl girl #ab/dl stories #ab/dl #ab/dl community #diaper captions #ab/dl fiction #ab/dl diaper #diaper stories #regression caption

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todayisawthewhxlewxrld · 10 months

Text

"i wanna Be Cool, but only if you want me to."

"want to impress you"

synopsis// everyone knows that basketball is the way to someone's heart.

pairing// satoru gojo x gn!reader

word count// 3.8k

contents// college au, basketball au, mutual unknown pining?, friends to lovers?, gojo is a loser, obligatory this is for you and misses

notes// lu wanted a basketball au so lu gets a basketball au. also obviously inspired by the basketball scene in jjk s2 anywho this is just kinda short n goofy :p also inspired by the song i wanna be cool by super whatevr. also i have no idea how basketball works and only ever played for fun so ermmm if anything is wrong bring that up with the universe !

Shoko unwillingly finds herself sitting on a random bench in the boys locker room, her arms crossed as she glares at the two boys in front of her.

“Why did you guys drag me in here?”

Geto speaks up first: “In my defense, this is all on Satoru, and I have no part in this.”

“You still dragged me in here, did you not?”

“…Yes.”

“Then you took part in it.”

Gojo smiles as he smacks Geto on the back. “Exactly! You’re my accomplice.”

Shoko rolls her eyes. “Again, why did you guys drag me in here?”

“A presentation!”

“A presentation I have nothing to do with,” Geto chimes in as he takes a seat beside Shoko.

She briefly raises her eyebrow at Geto before directing it toward Gojo. “A presentation?”

“Yes!”

“I don’t see a projector or anything worth presenting here,” she says, looking around the room unamused.

“A presentation minus the actual presenting part...”

“So you dragged me in here just to talk to me?”

Geto leans in and whispers, “He actually wants to ask you something.”

Gojo stomps his foot like he’s about to throw a tantrum. “Geto shut up!”

“Can you just hurry up, Gojo?" She asks impatiently. “It reeks of axe body spray in here; I think it might actually kill me.”

He ignores her dramatics because, honestly, she’s not wrong. “You're coming to our game tonight, right?”

“I mean, yeah? Who isn't? It's the biggest game of the season.”

Geto adds, “That's what I said!”

“Do you know if Y/N is going?”

“Is that what you seriously dragged me in here for? Why didn't you just ask Y/N themself? You guys are friends, are you not?”

“Well yeah!” Gojo mumbles sheepishly, “But when I asked, they said maybe...”

“That means no,” Geto says quickly through a cough, as if trying to cover it up.

Gojo hears anyway and outstretches his arms toward Geto as if trying to draw attention toward him. “Exactly!” He then brings his hands in front of his face in a praying motion and begs, “Shoko, please!”

“Oh my fucking god, I don't know why you don't just ask them out already.”

“That's what I'm trying to do! But in order to do that, I kinda need them to go to tonight's game.”

Shoko glares at Gojo for what feels like forever, and Gojo glares back like they’ve suddenly entered a staring contest, and it’s Shoko who breaks eye contact first.

She sighs and pushes the hair out of her face as she mumbles, “God, you're lucky I'm tired of both of you pining after each other.”

“Thank you, Shoko!” he beams. “Also here.”

Shoko takes whatever Gojo is handing her and holds it up, her eyes slightly wide as she inspects it. “…Is this your jersey?”

He nods, fully confident within himself now that Shoko has agreed to drag you to the game, but tilts his head at her because he has no idea why she’s confused. “Yeah, I want them to wear it?”

“You make me sick to my stomach, fine.”

“Shoko, do you wanna wear my jersey?” Geto suddenly asks.

She stares at him blankly, as if to ask if he really asked her that, knowing damn well she does not like him like that and she has a girlfriend, though after a few moments he finally gets the hint.

“Oh my god, not like that; I just want someone supporting me too.”

She sighs in relief, “Oh, thank god, don’t scare me like that, but yeah, fine, I’ll wear it.”

“Wait, what the hell?” Gojo exclaims, drawing Shoko’s and Geto’s attention back to him. “Shoko, would you have worn mine if I asked?”

“No.”

“What?! Why the hell not?”

“I like Geto more than I like you.”

He glares at her and quickly points out, “You're lying; if that was true, you wouldn't be helping me!”

Shoko simply shrugs and mumbles a small “bye” before getting up and leaving.

Geto stands up and takes his place next to Gojo, softly patting his back as he whispers, “Dare I say this ends our lifelong debate on who's superior?”

Gojo shrugs his hand off of him and speaks harshly through clenched teeth, “Shut. Your. Mouth.”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

“Why would I want to go watch a bunch of sweaty men fight over balls?” You mumble offhandedly, focusing your attention on netflix playing on your phone rather than on her.

“Ok, Y/N, first of all, there's only one ball, and second of all, did you forget Gojo is on the basketball team?”

You quickly turn off your phone and sit up, clasping your hands together in your lap. “….Have I ever mentioned that basketball is actually my favorite sport?”

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters under her breath, pinching her nose bridge. “You're so obvious; why haven't you told him yet?”

“Are you insane? Gojo is hot, and on the basketball team, do you know how many people he already has crushing on him? I'm literally just another name on that list.”

“Sure,” she nods, “But the difference is that you're his friend too; you have more of a chance than anyone else.”

You sigh and frown at her. “Doubt.”

Shoko shakes her head, knowing that you two could spend all day here in your dorm debating whether you have a chance or not, but that’s not what she’s here for, so she’ll let you believe what you want, knowing that (hopefully) Gojo pulling whatever it is he wants to pull will prove you wrong.

“Whatever, put this on,” she says, throwing the jersey at you.

You catch it, your mouth slightly agape as you stare at it curiously. “…Isn't this?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, is it?”

“Shoko.”

“Can you just trust me?”

“I'm literally just gonna look like another one of his groupies," you say, disdain and disappointment lacing your words as your eyes dart back and forth between her and the jersey.

She smiles, and it’s off-putting because it’s not her normal smile; no, you know, this is the smile she only wears when she’s about to drop a bomb on you. “Difference is that that's his actual jersey.”

You freeze.

“What?”

“I’ll save you a seat. Bye,” she says as she walks out of your dorm.

The slam of your door restarts your heart, and suddenly it and your mind are racing at 100 miles per hour, and the only thing you can do is word vomit despite the fact that Shoko is gone.

“What do you mean by that?! What do you mean this is his actual jersey?!” You run and fling open your door to yell out into the hallway, “Get back here!?”

Shoko is a good bit away at this point, but she still hears you call out for her and acknowledges that with a wave, yet she still keeps walking away, and you're stuck in your doorway with your chest heaving. You look back down at the jersey in your hands.

Holy shit.

Not only is this a jersey with Gojo’s number on it, but it’s his jersey. How did Shoko even get this? Did she just take it without him knowing? Too many thoughts are in your head, but there’s only one that keeps overlapping the others, there’s only one that’s consistent, only one that electrifies every neuron in your body:

Holy shit, this is Gojo’s jersey.

Fuck the questions and fuck the answers you know you won’t get; the only thing that matters to you right now is that you have and are about to wear Gojo’s jersey. You have to be dreaming; really, that’s the only logical answer, but holy fuck, if you’re dreaming, you do not plan on waking up anytime soon—or ever.

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

The two teams quickly start filling up the court and taking up their respective spaces as they warm up, but Gojo, being Gojo, isn't doing that. Instead, he’s standing on the sidelines, looking in at the crowd of people starting to take their seats for the game, and his heart is racing as he searches the crowd for you, and it drops when he inevitably doesn’t find you, but he’s not discouraged, not yet at least, because the game hasn’t officially even started yet, so there’s still time for you to show up.

There’s still time.

He has to keep reminding himself that the whole time he’s warming up—now that he’s actually being forced to, though it’s a half-assed warm-up—he and his coach don’t even know whether what he’s doing could be considered a warm-up in the first place. The game is about to start any second now when Geto approaches Gojo.

“Nothing?”

Gojo’s head drops as he reluctantly shakes it.

Geto hums and searches the stands for you, but when he doesn't find you either, he tries to find the next best person, Shoko, and it's quite easy to find her considering she’s wearing Geto's jersey.

“Shoko!”

She looks down from the bleachers and sees Geto staring at her as he gestures toward Gojo, and she knows he's trying to ask where you are, but in all honesty, she has no idea either. She shrugs, and even from as high up as she is, she can hear Geto groan before grabbing Gojo by the shoulders and forcing him to look at him.

“I'm sure they’ll come, dude.”

Gojo blankly stares at Geto, an eyebrow raised skeptically, as if to say, really? but before he can verbally reply, their coach comes over and removes Geto’s hand from Gojo’s shoulder to place his own hand there.

“I don't know what's going on with you, but whatever it is, fix it.”

Geto and Gojo tense up at his tone, full of nothing but pure determination. This isn't him asking; this is him demanding that Gojo get his shit together.

“This is the biggest game yet, and I'm not gonna let you and some petty college drama get in the way of that. You're our best player. Act like it.”

Gojo can only nod. His mouth suddenly feels dry, and it's like his throat is closing, but he tries to will the feeling away. Though his reaction is enough for his coach, who starts walking off.

Geto stares up at Gojo with his eyebrows knit, concern lacing his voice, “Gojo...”

Gojo shakes his head and takes a deep breath before flashing Geto his signature smile. “I'm fine, Geto; cmon, we got a basketball game to win.”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

To be totally honest, the reason you were running so late to the game was because you were mentally shitting your pants the entire time you were getting ready. For a good chunk of time, you just sat on your bed with the jersey laid out in front of you, staring at it. Just staring at it, that's all. Because yes, even though you said fuck the questions and fuck the answers, you very much could not do that, not when too many questions and unknown answers were flooding your brain like a dam had cracked. You think you probably would've stayed like that all day and night, missing the game entirely, if not for Shoko spam calling your phone.

“What?”

“Don't 'what' me, where the fuck are you?” She snaps through the phone.

“Uh, getting ready?”

“Y/N, the game started twenty minutes ago.”

“Oh shit,” you say, hopping off your bed and quickly grabbing the jersey.

“Yeah, oh shit! Get your ass down here!”

You don't bother saying goodbye; instead, you quickly hang up, throw the jersey on as fast as you can, and bolt out the door. The halls are empty as you race through them, and you're not surprised; everyone is already at the game—everyone but you—and you speed up your pace just a smidge more. God, you're an idiot, missing the best game of the season—okay, you don't actually care about that. God, you're an idiot, missing seeing Gojo and maybe getting answers on how Shoko obtained his jersey—that's better.

You get to the gym in record time, slightly surprised at how quickly you got there, but you ignore that as you try to catch your breath before walking in and try to prepare yourself for the amount of noise that will assault your ears when you do. You can already hear how loud it is; the walls not doing very much at all to muffle the yells of people. You walk in and wince slightly at the noise as you look around for Shoko. She immediately finds you and waves her hand in the air for you to find, as does Utahime, who's sitting next to her. You smile and quickly make your way toward them, apologizing to the people you pushed through to get to them in the first place. You take your seat next to Shoko with a sigh.

“What did I miss?” you ask, leaning forward slightly just so you can look at both Utahime and Shoko.

Utahime has a small grimace on her face, and Shoko merely motions toward the scoreboard, and the minute you look, your jaw drops. Gojo’s team was losing. No. Losing isn't even the right word here; they were getting absolutely destroyed. They had zero points—none at all. You look back toward the two girls in disbelief.

“What the fuck?”

“Gojo is literally sucking so much ass that it's throwing everyone else off,” Utahime says with a shrug before glancing down at your clothes. “Are you wearing his jersey?”

You clear your throat awkwardly and look away, ignoring the smirk on Shoko's face.

“So, uh, do we know why Gojo’s sucking ass?” You ask after a brief moment of silence.

“Nope,” Utahime responds with a shake of her head.

“I do,” Shoko says nonchalantly.

Your head snaps back toward her. “What? Why?”

“Yeah, you didn't tell me either!”

Shoko rolls her eyes and ignores both of you as she loudly calls out to Gojo, who, by some grace of god, hears her over the hundreds of other people yelling for him. Gojo’s eyes immediately find hers, and he watches how she subtly jerks her head to the side, and like some angel descended from the heavens, like a god showing itself in a moment of dire, he looks and finds you sitting there in his jersey, and he can't help the smile on his face, can't help how just your presence lit a fire underneath him, can't help how just seeing you gave him his pep back in his step.

Gojo finds Geto’s eyes on the court and nods determinedly. They are winning this game, whether it's the last thing Gojo does. He's not going to look like a fool in front of you. So that's exactly what Gojo does. Once the second period starts, Gojo steals back the ball with a new sudden ease, and by halftime, he’s gotten the team caught up to the other one, starting the third period with a tie.

“How the hell did he do that? I thought you guys said he sucked!”

“Aw man, I was rooting for the other team,” Utahime says, frowning, and you have to resist the urge to chew her out in defense of Gojo.

Shoko shrugs. “He was till you know…”

You stare at her blankly. “No, I don't know, actually. Care to enlighten me?”

“No, I do not,” she says before turning to Utahime. “And don't worry, they're only tied; there's still a chance the other team will win.”

Utahime cheerfully hums as she rests her head on Shoko’s shoulder. “You’re right!”

“Don't encourage her to root for the other team?!”

Utahime sticks her tongue out at you, and before any of you can say anything else, a loud buzzer rings across the gym, indicating a point was made, and to your delight, it was for Gojo’s team. For the rest of the third period, it was just buzzer after buzzer as Gojo’s team took back their rightful place on the scoreboard, completely smashing the other team into the ground, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride swell in your chest. Watching Gojo in his element was doing detrimental things to your crush on him, only making it worse, but you can't even seem to care. Shoko looks over to you and laughs.

“I can practically see the hearts in your eyes.”

You scoff. “Shut up!”

Down on the court, they had just started their last two-minute break between third and fourth period, with the coaches gathering their respective teams into a huddle.

“Alright guys,” Gojo’s coach began, “Keep your heads in the game; we’re taking this victory home, got it?”

All the boys nod hurriedly, and the coach leaves them to do what they need to before the last period starts, but Gojo doesn’t let them get far.

“Whatever fucking happens, I'm getting that last score, got it?”

Everyone on the team exchanges uneasy glances, and Geto rolls his eyes and sighs before apologizing for Gojo.

“He just has a plan and wants to do something, guys.”

The boys nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer.

“If you guys mess this up for me, I swear to god, I will make you wish you were never born,” Gojo says with his usual smile, but in this case, all his smile does is make him seem feral.

Geto slaps Gojo across the back of his head and huffs, “He doesn’t mean that, don't worry.”

“Oh, I fucking mean it.”

“Gojo, shut the fuck up.”

Before anyone else can say anything, the timer goes off, and into the last minutes of the game they go. As the game goes on, everyone is on the edge of their seat, even if deep down they know who will win. You and Utahime are no exception to this, but apparently Shoko is.

“Why the fuck are you guys on the edge of your seats? It's obvious we’re gonna win.”

You go to glare at her but can’t even hold your stare long enough because you're so enthralled by the game. “Still, it's so nervewracking!”

Utahime laughs. “I'm only on the edge of my seat because I want the other team to win.”

“Why are you such a hater, dude?” you ask defensively.

Utahime doesn’t mind; she knows all too well about your little crush on Gojo, so she doesn’t take offense to your tone. “When it comes to Gojo, I'm always a hater.”

You finally find it in you to glare at her. “I hope Shoko breaks up with you.”

She rolls her eyes and glares back. “Oh, haha, you're so mature.”

You say nothing but stick your tongue out at her childishly, and she does the same, to which Shoko groans and rolls her eyes before grabbing both of your heads and turning them to face the game.

“You can fight after the game; there's only a few seconds left.”

Gojo glances at the time and realizes it’s now or never. He finds that Geto has the ball and calls out for him. Geto, on the other hand, hesitates to pass him the ball, with a look on his face asking if he really wants to do this, and Gojo can only nod. How could he not want to do this? This is the only thing he can do; it's not like he knows how to ask someone out the normal way, so this will do; it has to. Gojo tries to control his breathing as he makes his way to the hoop, the ball dribbling in tune with his heartbeat, and nothing matters to him in that moment except you and scoring—his surroundings completely drowning out. Everyone holds their breath waiting for him to shoot, and right before he does, his eyes lock onto yours.

“This is for you, Y/N!” He yells out as he shoots, and…

And he misses.

Horribly.

And there's no chance for him to redeem himself because the minute the ball hits the ground, the buzzer goes off, indicating the end of the game, and everyone seemingly ignores whatever the fuck he just did and erupts into an uproar at the fact that they won regardless of Gojo’s miss.

“What-“

Shoko slaps a hand over her mouth, attempting and failing to hold in her laughter. “Did he just fucking miss?”

Utahime is hunched over, her head between her knees, laughing. “Oh my fucking god, he's an idiot!”

You blink, not moving, not saying anything, but with how hard Shoko is laughing and Utahime leaning against her as she laughs as well, Shoko ends up bumping into you, and she instantly grows quiet, her head snapping toward you.

“Oh, why are you still here?”

“Huh?”

"Why aren’t you down there?” she asks, pointing down to the court.

“Am… Am I supposed to be?”

“Uh duh!” Utahime speaks up, peeking out from behind Shoko. “He made that shot for you! Well, he missed that shot for you.”

“Oh,” you say blankly. “Oh. Oh shit.”

You stood up abruptly, and with how fast you went down the bleachers, you almost tripped once you made it onto the ground. You quickly catch yourself, and the moment you look up to find Gojo, he’s already standing right in front of you.

“You're-you're wearing my jersey,” he says breathlessly, but not in a I-can’t-breathe way, more in a holy-shit-my-crush-is-actually-wearing-my-jersey way.

You swallow thickly and nod. Your gaze flickers down to the jersey before going back to his face. “I am.”

“You are.”

“What was that Gojo?”

He seems to grimace at your question. “Ah, well, you see, I was actually gonna say if I make this, you owe me a date, but that’s a really long sentence to shout, and what if I didn’t make it? That would’ve been so embarrassing.”

You laugh under your breath. “Gojo, you didn’t make it regardless.”

He frowns. “Don’t remind me.”

You smile and push a strand of hair stuck to his forehead out of the way, watching how he blushes furiously at your touch, and it makes your heart swoon. Who knew the confident number-one basketball player could crumble so readily under your touch?

“You know, I’m still more than happy to owe you a date.”

He smirks as he pulls you closer toward him by your waist and coos, “Yeah?"

“Yeah… But get the hell off of me, Gojo; you’re sweaty and you stink,” you grumble as you push against his chest, trying to free yourself.

Gojo ignores you and pulls you in closer (if even possible), his body engulfing yours as he rubs his face against yours, making sure his sweat rubs off on you too.

You struggle against his hold. “Gojo gross!”

“Sorry, I can't hear you over the people. What are you saying? Hug you closer?”

“Gojo, don’t you dare.”

You hear him chuckle before rubbing up against you again, and you groan but stop resisting, which he hums happily at before starting to pull away. You watch how his face abruptly twists into feigned disgust.

"Ew, Y/N, get the hell off of me; you’re sweaty and you stink,” he mocks as he pushes you out of his hold.

“I hate you.”

“If you hated me, you wouldn’t be going on a date with me,” he singsongily says.

“Yeah, not anymore,” you mumble with a wry smile as you start walking away.

“Hey, wait, Y/N, come back!”

©TODAYISAWTHEWHXLEWXRLD

2K notes · View notes

highvern · 5 months

Text

Teach Me V

Hands on

Pairing: Lee Dokyeom (Seokmin) x fem!reader

Genre: smut, humor, college au, frat!svt

Warnings: fingering, mastubation, dom!reader, spitting, ass play, doggy style, facial, sex tape. Dokyeom with a praise kink pt. 2 (he's a good boy :c), unfortunately we have reached the actual angst. Poor DK gets his shit rocked :/// and everyone is upset

Length: ~7.6k

Note: picking up right where we left off in part 4 so go back and read, honestly every thing bc nothing will make any sort of sense. i think this is the longest part so far which is BANANAS but a lot needed to happen before the final part. ANYWAY! leave comments or silly tags in the reblogs, I read every single one obsessively

and because bennie aka @miniseokminnies is the number one lover of this couple, i'm giving them a shoutout for being the absolute sweetest

read more here

“Then go lock the door.”

Dokyeom nearly knocks himself out in the scramble for the door, catching himself before he can fully topple into the floor head first. You’d laugh if you weren’t just as desperate.

With a quiet click he launches over the end of the other bed, tackling you back into the mattress to reconnect your mouths.

Sweltering drags of sharp teeth bruise your lips, puffing them into a delicious swell before his tongue soothes them back down. If you had all the time in the world, you’d stay right where you are, bracketed beneath his arms and crushed beneath his hips.

The damp chill of sweat blooms under your clothes, anticipating the next delicious roll of friction between your legs. Dokyeom delivers eagerly, lewdly curling his crotch against yours, echoing your moans of depravity.

“Wait,” you murmur into his mouth, stealing another searing kiss. “I haven’t told you the–” another pass of his tongue, “rules” and his teeth, “yet.”

Dokyeom moves back an inch when your finger digs into his breast bone uncomfortably. The down turn of his mouth tells you he hasn’t heard a word since “lock the door.”

“Rules, Kyeomie.”

A childish whine leaves his lips, clearly having no interest in whatever you're about to tell him as he dives back down for more kisses. His mouth drops in shock as the warm skin of your palm covers the lower half of his face. You fling it away when the wet pass of his tongue across the crease between your fingers nearly makes you falter.

“Rules?” Dokyeom eyes you skeptically from above. You wouldn’t be surprised if he stomps his foot and throws a full tantrum on the floor in the next few minutes.

“Mhmm,” you confirm, eyes dropping to follow your fingers tracing down his chest. When you brush the waistband of his pants, you look back up at Dokyeom as he stutters a breath. “Rules.”

In typical fashion, Dokyeom tries to distract you from things he doesn’t like, hoping they’re forgotten under nips of teeth and the heat of his body burning into yours. Pressing into your space, he drops his elbows to the mattress on either side of your head to leer over you.

You forget how broad he is sometimes, but you're reminded now by the way he eclipses your view beyond his shoulders before he swoops for the kill, sucking your lower lip between his own.

Indulging in the peace of a good makeout, you let him think he’s got you where he wants you. And for a second, Dokyeom does; eager to fold you in half and give you his cock. But this is your prize and reward. Maybe you should save one of them, but patience has never been one of your good qualities.

Slowly snaking your fingers up his neck, tickling his jaw before raking your nails through the short strands of hair at the base of his scalp. Gentle touches make him cocky, enticing him to drop more of his weight and shuffle you up towards the pillows.

A firm tug disconnects him, causing Dokyeom to yelp in surprise.

“Rule number one, I’m in charge.” You start, brushing over the patch of hair you just pulled on to calm the sensitive skin. “Rule two, no touching unless I say so.”

“I don’t like these rules.” He mumbles, pouting once again.

Laying back on the bed completely, you entice him with honey eyes and a sweet smile. “If you’re a good boy, I’ll let you do whatever you want. Next time.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Within reason.” You agree, shrugging your shoulders lazily.

“And if I’m not?”

You scramble to think of a punishment, not expecting him to call your bluff so suddenly.

“I’ll rub one out in the shower and you can listen at the door.”

Dokyeom huffs at the idea, “That’s not fair!”

“You said you’d give me whatever I want. And this is my prize for winning.”

“Will you let me…”

“If you behave you can come anywhere you want. And I want a video of it.”

“Fuck, okay.” he nods. “What do you want me to do?”

“Take off your clothes.”

Rising to stand before you, he pulls the hem of his sweater up to reveal the soft trail of hair leading beneath his pants. When he notices you're not moving, Dokyeom cocks his head sideways. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you gonna take yours off too?”

“Hmmm, it's kinda cold. Maybe later.”

“You’re mean.”

Batting away his hand attempting to snake up your shirt, you motion for him to start again. “Yeah, yeah. Now drop ‘em.”

Standing between your spread legs, Dokyeom fists the neck of his sweatshirt. Each inch the worn navy fabric rises unveils another stretch of warm skin and clenching muscles. His stomach ripples deliciously, before his chest tightens as well. When his arms come free, he not so subtly raises them above his head in a laze stretch, monitoring your face for a reaction.

Shaking your head, you bite back a laugh at his ridiculousness. When he spins to flash his butt as his thumbs dip into the waist of his pants, chin turning over his shoulder as his mouth puckers before one of his hands covers it, you can’t control it any longer.

He laughs too, happily dissolving the tension in the room.

Sweatpants hit the floor with a quiet thunk, his underwear remaining on his hips. Raising your eyebrow in a challenge, Dokyeom steps back into your space. He’s half hard under the black fabric, bulge prominent already.

“Underwear too.”

He keeps climbing over you, pressing you back into the blanket. “Maybe later, it’s cold.”

“Kyeomie, you’re not being good.” You chide, cupping him softly in a loose fist as you rut the heel of your hand against him.

To his credit, Dokyeom tries to play it cool. But the red tips of his ears and stutter of lungs do all the talking he’s refusing to. Lending a helping hand, you free him from the cling of his boxers before digging the pad of your thumb into the weeping tip of his cock.

Bare from head to toe, you lean back to drink your fill of the sight before you. The shy twist of his lips is a laughable contrast to the rest of his body. Strong arms, hard chest, thick thighs, and a beautiful cock hardening to full mast under your gaze.

Fuck. You think with a harsh swallow.

Pulling your eyes away from ogling his body to glance at his face, you find him already watching you. Eager for your next move. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yeah.” He sighs, cock twitching at the idea.

“Show me how.”

With your permission he begins palming his cock, spreading the sheen of pre-cum down the rigid shaft. But it’s not enough to fend off the unpleasant friction.

Dokyeom’s breath labors under the twist of his wrist, flushing tip nearly purple.

Throwing to the poor man a bone, you nudge his hand away from his cock and towards your mouth, spitting lewdly into his palm before leading it back where it was. Not one to waste time, he quickly squeezes a tight grip, hips rushing forward to work through his fist as his other hand drops to fondle his balls. On a particularly sharp thrust of his hips, Dokyeom sings a throaty groan to the ceiling as his head tips back.

Dokyeom is beautiful. Neck elongated, throat bobbing over his own obnoxiously loud grunts. Beads of perspiration slip from his temple, racing down his neck to etch a path across his chest. The shoddy lamp in the corner is bright enough to highlight the heat on his cheeks that spreads from the tips of his ears to his dusky nipples.

There's too much to look at, but the way his stomach sucks in as his wrist twists across his head makes you feel breathless. And the vein that you love to trace with your tongue rises, webbing from his cock up to the trail of hair dusty his abdomen strings you out as much as Dokyeom feels.

You’d fucked him enough to know when he’s about to cross the point of no return. It starts with a whimpered “baby,” and a few desperate “please”s, then Dokyeom’s muscles pull tight like a frozen rubber band, more than ready to snap under the pressure.

You sit forward, close enough to feel the aura of heat cloaking his body. “Are you gonna cum?”

Dokyeom tries to deny it, shaking his head clumsily before a whimper rips from behind his teeth.

“Stop.”

Chest glistening in the light, Dokyeom gives himself one last tug before he steadying his breathing for what’s next. When you stand, the coarse fabric of your sweater covering your stomach rasping against his sensitive cock as you step into his space, he curls into the friction before calming again. Dokyeom watches you down the slope of his nose, eyes scanning your face for any betrayal of your thoughts. Your cheeks are hot, and no doubt your pupils are dilated like his but you don’t smile or crinkle your nose teasingly. Just a simple low lidded stare as you assess him.

Dokyeom’s shiver has nothing to do with the chilly air seeping into the room.

“Sit on the bed.”

A beat passess, a vague challenge against your authority, but he steps around you and takes his place at the edge of the red and blue quilt. Legs wide, arms behind him to prop him up; cheekily cocking an eyebrow.

“Start again.”

Not waiting for you to change your mind, he picks up right where he left off, finding his rhythm with ease.

But you can’t have that.

So you fall to your knees between his spread legs, eye level with Dokyeom’s cock, allowing your hands to squeeze the cords of muscle flexing around his thighs, nails biting into the bulging flesh. The sting of pain is rewarded with a squeeze of his fist around the puffy head of his cock, leaking a gooey pearl of cum for you to lick away.

Dokyeom tries to chase the brief touch but fails when you lean back out of reach. “Does it feel good?”

“Yeah.” He stutters, eyes heavy as he focuses on how incredibly close and incredibly far from his cock you are.

“Do you want me to touch you?”

He nods hopefully.

“Ask nicely.”

When he fails to respond, you dig flex your fingers still on his thighs, nails leaving crescents near the crease of his hip in warning.

A warning to who, you have no idea since Dokyeom squeezes the base of his dick to stop himself from cumming.

“P–please.”

“I am, silly.”

You spot the indignant frustration bloom on his face, tears welling in his eyes as you tell him to beg for every last drop of satisfaction. And to rub salt in the wood, you flash our best innocent smile.

“Want your mouth.”

“My mouth? Like this?” You leave a cheap kiss on his knee.

“On my cock.”

“Oh so like this.” The same kiss on his tip, pre-cum sticking to your lips as you dive away before you can fold and give him more.

“No,” he whines, frustrated, muscles in his thighs jumping.

Dokyeom hasn’t stopped his hand, but he’s loosened his grip to stave off his organism. Teasing himself, helping you torture and edge him.

“You have to tell me what you want or I can’t give it to you, baby.”

“I can’t—,” he cries “please just—”

You wanted Dokyeom whining and needy, to string him out till he can barely think straight. And you have, but you overestimated how long it’d take. And how long you’d be able to deny yourself any pleasure either.

Rising to your feet, you loom over him. “Take off my pants.” You command, busy with removing your sweater.

Eager for the possibility of relief, Dokyeom jams you panties and underwear around your ankles swiftly. His tongue tracks along the crease above your thigh where it becomes your torso, rough palms squeezing and spreading your ass harshly as he reaches behind to press you closer.

You don’t bother with unclasping your bra, ripping it overhead along with your undershirt in haste to be naked. Scrambling for his face, you suck him into a sloppy kiss before tripping over the fabric snaring your legs and tackling him to the bed.

“You’re so fucking hot” He hisses into your mouth, bucking into your fist as you play with his cock, thumb harsh against his weep slit.

“Remember our deal.” You pant, reminding both of you what’d been agreed on outside the door.

Dokyeom sighs, the back of his head hitting the bed to observe your nude body above him. Enraptured by the endless stretches of skin. “Whatever you say.”

A few minutes of mindless groping grants you both a reprieve. Dokyeom wedges his thigh between your legs, flexing as you grind against him, soaking him with each pitiful pass, his hands splayed wide across the meat of your ass to assist.

Two of his fingers catch on your entrance, dipping in lightly, waiting for your protest. But when your hips lift to search for firm contact, Dokyeom stuffs you full, stretching you to hopefully take his now neglected cock leaking just below his belly button.

Working up to a third finger, you ride his hand as your clit wears against the friction of his leg. Dokyeom busies his mouth with your neck, a constellation of teeth marks and bruises staining the sensitive stretch of skin.

It almost better than fucking him. Giving freedom to the supernova building in your core, tickling the nerves of your extremities in a tease. Everything is tight; the muscles cinching his finger as he curves them, your lungs screaming for air, even the squeeze of your eyes leaves a collage of colors and static across your vision.

The sting across your scalp as Dokyeom pulls your hair, forcing your face out of hiding over his shoulder, sends a painful mewl in between you.

He watches your mouth hang open, eyes rounding under the furl of your eyebrows. Dokyeom gives another tug when your forehead tips forward, his tongue catching your squeak of shock.

“Please cum, fuck please.” He begs into your mouth, breathy as he presses his fingers gloved inside you a fraction harder before adding his pinky. “Need it, please baby.”

His hand slips down to hold your chin between the curve of his thumb and index finger, drooling as you bite his thumb between your teeth.

“C’mon baby,” Dokyeom grunts, rocking you forward from the gusto of his other hand. “Let me make you come.”

Wrecked moans fill the silence, breaking the band in your gut to free fall over the edge. You land on his chest as your arms give out, muscles spasming under the flood of endorphins bolting through your veins. Dokyeom doesn’t stop, arm flexing as he works through your high, a pornographic squelch echoing with each press. Darkness consumes you, floating through space as you cry from delectable torture, hips canting into overstimulation.

Squeezing your thighs together tightly, Dokyeom tries to work through the sudden barrier but stops when you bite his shoulder painfully.

“Too much,” you whine, voice horse.

Panting in unison, you only rest for a moment before returning to your plan. Damn Dokyeom’s fingers for distracting you so easily.

Rolling to your side, he follows, waiting with baited breath at your next move.

Technically, he broke the rules. It’d been to your benefit, but misbehavior nonetheless. If you were cruel, you’d send him to the bathroom to take care of himself. But your orgasm only made you want Dokyeom’s cock more.

You feel him crowding over you, a smatter of gentle kisses peppering your face, his thumb working against a knot in your thigh from being on top for so long. You don’t focus on the sticky discomfort between your thighs, or else you’ll be tempted to have his mouth there next and you know you’re already operating on borrowed time.

Opening your eyes, you find his brown ones staring back. He looks a little afraid.

Good.

“Kyeomie,” you chide, tutting at him.

“Come on!” he protests, mouth dropping in shock.

“You broke the rules.”

“Baby, please don’t do this to me.”

Drama queen to his core, Dokyeom won’t stop to see your failure at hiding a smirk. He riles himself up without your help, pretending to be upset was just too easy of an option.

Shaking your head disappointedly, you move to sit up. “You said you’d listen.”

“I promise I’ll be good!” He whines, slinking to the floor between your legs, hands clenched together in front of him. His cock is solid as steel, head nearing purple under the need to release.

“Promises, promises.” You sigh.

“Do you want me to cry? Because I will. If that’s what it takes.”

He starts rapidly blinking, trying to draw up a reserve of tears, only stopped by the press of your foot against his chest.

“Stop.” You bark, the bite from the laugh hiding in the back of your throat.

You don’t see his expression as you twist onto your stomach, rising to your knees, chest pressed in the bed to give a salacious arch to your spine.

A draft curls around your exposed cunt, causing you to squeeze and forcing more arousal to drip down your legs.

“Shit,” Dokyeom murmurs behind you.

Turning to watch him over your shoulder, you wait until he meets your heated gaze. “Make me cry, Kyeom.”

Nodding like a bobble head, Dokyeom rises, pressing into you swiftly. Sheathing himself to the hilt, he wastes no time before retreating to come back once more.

The pace is bruising, knocking the wind from your lungs. He’s so deep you swear you can feel him in the back of your throat.

‘Make me cry’ is vague enough he hesitates, afraid of breaking the rules despite the wet groans shaking in his chest.

“Touch me, Kyeomie.” You bawl, drooling on to the patchwork quilt below you.

A sting on your ass is the first blow, followed by two more. The snaps against your skin leave a hot mark behind, encouraging you to whine for more as a cold sweat clings to your spine.

“So tight, shit.” Dokyeom bites between his teeth, folding over your back to suck on your neck.

He brushes the spot he’s only ever found with his fingers, sending you into a spiral, springing tears in your eyes.

“Right there,” you pant, “fuck don’t stop.”

The headboard knocks against the wall in time with his thrusts, one knee landing on the bed to give him more leverage to fill you deeper. Dokyeom’s breath puffs against the side of your face, uneven like he’s been punched in the gut.

Ripping one of his hands away from your side, you bring his hand around your neck, eager to feel his long fingers collar you. There’s a tentative quake before Dokyeom delivers a gentle possessive squeeze, rushing to you when you choke on a noise somewhere between a groan and a sob.

You devolve into a symphony of primal grunts. Tearing himself from your back, Dokyeom twists the hand around your throat back into the hair at the base of your spine, the other hand dropping to spread your ass apart. Something wet lands on your puckered hole, his thumb grazing your rim with the added lubrication.

You realize he spit on you.

“Fuck Kyeomie, do that again.” You squeal, delighted by another swat of his hand as he gives you what you ask for.

When he whines “Gonna cum.” you stop him with a hand against his stomach.

“Please, can’t,” He whimpers, curling his hips once more, staying flush with the meat of your ass as he rocks inside you.

Eyes tight to savor the stretch, you swallow the desire to give in down with the knowledge something better waits on the other side of your demand. “Kyeomie stop.”

And with herculean effort, he steps back, soaked cock threatening to drip on the carpet as your hole tightens in mourning.

“Where’s my phone?” You ask, collapsing forward to catch your breath.

Dokyeom crouches down for your forgotten pants, searching the pockets before he finds the device.

“Here.”

Entering your passcode, you open your camera app and set it to video before passing it back.

“Wha—”

“You were good.” You explain, slipping to the floor like smoke. The hard floor stings into your knees once again before taking him in your mouth.

A series of gurgled noises flee his chest, but you open your eyes to see the camera about a foot above you, catching the way your lips stretch around his cock, your fist taking what your mouth can’t. The combination of pre-cum, saliva and your arousal floods your mouth, excess pushed out of your lips and drooling down your chin. You manage to get him settled in your throat after a few passes, delivering a harsh such on the upstroke that has Dokyeom batting you away, jacking off over your face as ropes of white land haphazardly.

Mouth open wide and pink tongue extended, the familiar musky tang flares through your taste buds. Thankfully Dokyeom attempts to aim away from your eyes, albeit sloppily. You feel the hot stickiness across the bridge of your nose, dripping down the apples of your cheeks as it keeps coming with every slick squelch of his hand.

Thoroughly spent, he taps the head against your lips, urging you to suck him in one last time. Flashing your eyes open, you meet his over the edge of your phone as you kitten lick the sensitive head. Chasing his hips when he steps away, Dokyeom lets the camera get every angle of the magnificent mess he made before brushing his fingers across the dip of your chin, panting as you lave against them in place of his cock before smiling up at him shyly. With one last lick to your lips, he cuts the recording and tosses your phone on the bed.

“How was—”

Your question dies on your lips as Dokyeom claims them, ignore the sticky cum now drying on your face. Dragging you to stand, he pushes one hand into your hair, the other circling your waist as he tastes his spend on your tongue.

Only the desperate need for oxygen pulls you apart.

Struggling to catch your breath, his saccharine grin is a stark contrast to your activities a moment ago.

Ushering you into the cramped bathroom to clean away the mess, you find yourself in the too small stall, firmly snared in Dokyeom’s arms. Peppering endless kisses up and down the curve of your shoulder, he noses behind your ear when you hum pleasantly in his hold as he gives a firm squeeze.

But the water begins to chill before long, prompting you to wiggle free which isn’t really free at all in the compact stall. You keep him at bay with hands full of shampoo, working his hair into a faux Mohawk full of perfumed bubbles. Returning your generosity, Dokyeom soaks a washcloth in a comical amount of the cheap body wash sitting in the corner before swiping the sudsy fabric over your skin. He's surprisingly thorough, methodically working up your arms and down your chest in loose circles, focusing on your breasts before you tsk at him with a smile. A twirl of his fingers prompts you to turn so he can focus on your back. When he drops to his knees to finish, he shoulders apart your legs, dropping his mouth against the cleft between your ass and your thigh.

One hand finds your exhausted cunt, the thick gloss of fluids clinging to your folds despite your time under the hot spray of the shower head. You wait with baited breath as Dokyeom silently works, his middle and pointer finger parting your lips, forcing you on the balls of your feet when he grazes your sensitive clit. A nudge against your leg has you spinning to face him, mouth dropping open as he lifts a leg over one of his stronger shoulders to get a better look.

And then, as if a spell is broken, he drops a kiss to your hip before continuing with his rag, foamy soap lacing your legs.

“All clean.” He decrees, rising to meet you with another peck on your parted lips.

Now lukewarm water rinses away the evidence of his efforts. Still dumbfounded, you let him guide you from the stall, patting you down with a scratchy towel before wrapping his own around his waist.

Watching each other in the mirror as you brush your teeth, skin still damp and glowing in the steam, you make an attractive pair. Exhausted, but fitting together like two perfect puzzle pieces.

The bathroom should only fit one person at a time, so the two of you are practically on top of one another as you shuffle back and forth between the sink. Dokyeom has the bright idea to lift you to the counter, standing between your legs as he watches you apply your skincare.

He’s already finished his business, but he refuses to leave your side. “What’s that do?”

“Lotion.” You respond, patting it across your face.

“Can I have some?”

“Sure.”

Grabbing the bottle to pump some in his hands, you return to find his eyes closed, offering you his face. Puffing a breath of amusement, you dab a few dots across his skin before gently massaging it in. Tracing the curve of his eye socket, down to his cheek bones, the sharp edge of his jaw. When you brush his chin, you curve two fingers around the bone, pulling him forward to meet your lips.

And the way he looks at you when his eyes open after you separate hurts. Hurts so much you slipe down from the counter, fleeing the suffocating tension of the bathroom to return to the real world of the bedroom.

“Are you okay?” Dokyeom asks, following after you.

“Yeah!” You agree too loudly, digging around your bag for something to sleep in. “Just got lightheaded for a second.”

You know he doesn’t believe you when he mutters a skeptical, “Okay.”

Donning a pair of boxers and a long sleeve that may or may not belong to the man behind you, you hop into bed next to him, praying he won’t hear the staccato beat of your heart.

Curling around your back, Dokyeom spoons you from behind as you both face the windows to watch the storm ragging on outside. A bolt of lightning webs through the black clouds, reflecting off the murky lake sloshing in the wind.

Despite your earlier nap, you're spent both mentally and physically. The gentle woosh of Dokyeom’s breath lulls you back across the bridge to sleep.

—

A sudden shake of the bed wakes you. The room is pitch black. Dokyeoms body is still behind you but he’s whisper-shouting at whatever the source of disturbance is. A teary whine informs you Soonyoung has decided to put himself to bed. In the wrong bed.

“Dude, get up.” Dokyeom groans, twisting to push the older man off the mattress.

You burrow further under the comforter, face squashed in the fluffy pillow under your head.

A disgusting sniffle responds, before Soonyoung moans. “You’re my best friend.”

“Thank you but you’re gonna wake her up.”

Everything is happening like you're below water, their voices muffled and miles away but you’re rising to the surface fast. If Soonyoung is the reason you can’t fall back to sleep later, you’ll wring his neck.

“Oh wouldn’t wanna inconvenience your girlfriend. Do you know how many times I’ve been woken up by you two?”

“Shut up.” A swift smack rings into the silence, followed by more drunk tears.

You feel something, or rather someone, wiggling between you and Dokyeom. Turning over to face the intruder, you open your eyes to the dark room and the shadow of Soonyoung a few inches from your face. Red as a tomato and eyes struggling to remain open.

“Hey! Hey, Y/N.” Each call punctuated with a poke to your ribs.

Huffing an exhausted breath, you humor Soonyoung in hopes he goes away. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Do you like Dokyeom?”

You’re certainly awake now. “Huh?”

“He likes you.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Dokyeom yells behind, trying to snake his hand over Soonyoung’s mouth.

“I’m just speaking the facts!” Soonyoung protests.

The waft of alcohol hangs around your face as Dokyeom successfully drags his friend from the bed. They’re wrestling on the ground in the narrow strip of floor between beds, jostling you with their roughhousing.

Having reached your limit, fueled further by Soonyoung’s ill timed remarks, you snap. “Girls you’re both pretty, now can we please go to bed?”

“Fine.”

“FINE.”

Cocooning in the blanket, you wiggle to the opposite edge of the mattress, as far away from the chaos as you can manage. The springs on the other side of the room squeak under Soonyoung’s weight as he flops down bonelessly, bouncing twice before he settles.

Once Dokyeom is satisfied he won’t get up, you feel the dip behind you as he shuffles under the covers.

Several uncomfortable inches separate your bodies as Soonyoung begins to snore.

Minutes pass, your heart thudding in your ears, breath uncomfortably labored.

This was a bad idea. A string of bad ideas actually. Partnering with Dokyeom in lab, agreeing to go to the frat party at the beginning of the semester. Kissing him a few weeks later, taking his virginity. Hooking up with him again and again. Letting him hold you like he was more than a friend. Letting him kiss and touch as he pleased, doing the same. Spending the night. Driving up to this cabin and pretending it all meant more than it really did.

If Dokyeom liked you, he would have said something by now. He doesn’t stop talking unless he’s sleeping or eating, and both of those instances are more loose guidelines than strict rules. He wears his heart on his sleeve so if he felt anything for you beyond mutually shared sexual attraction you’d know.

And the way he reacted to Soonyoung’s declaration proves he doesn’t.

There’d never been a promise of something more. You were his fuck buddy and chemistry partner. Romance and dating never came up. Nevermind the fact you hadn’t entertained another guy all year and Dokyeom never mentions other girls. Only awkwardly laughing when someone boldly approaches him, gently rejecting them with stuttered reasons why he isn’t interested.

Sometimes you think he’s looking at you to step in and say something, but it’s just a convenient excuse to not hurt someone’s feelings.

And because you’re selfish, you come up with a solution.

You’ll enjoy the next two days, bury your heart deep in your chest and pretend nothings changed in the ripples of tonight. When you return to campus Monday afternoon, whatever feelings you may have will be left behind in this room to wither in the darkness. Dokyeom will go back to being the cute guy you’re partnered with in chemistry and that’ll be that. No more hookups, no more movie nights on his couch, and certainly no more parties where alcohol will convince you to fold on your plan.

So you might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

Dokyeom jumps when you turn around and snuggle into his back, nose following the valley of his spine as your arm curls around his waist to rest on the soft skin of his stomach. A few chirps of the crickets outside the window pass before you feel his fingers twine with your own, pulling your connected hands to his mouth, dropping a gentle press of lips on your knuckles.

And somehow it makes everything worse.

—

Sunday morning, you wake with determination and indulgent kisses to Dokyeom’s sleeping face.

But day one of your flawless plan comes with unforeseen road bumps.

Once you finally manage to slip from bed, batting away the arms of your still dreaming lover, you find your phone flooded with a collection of pictures courtesy of Seungkwan. Snaps of you next to Dokyeom, laughing in time with mouths wide and chins tipped back. A few of you in his lap, watching the chaos of a drunk game night as he watches you, face relaxed and lips turned into a soft grin. And one picture of him staring out the living room window into the front yard illuminated with the high noon sun, like a puppy waiting for its owner to return.

Roadbump two boils down to your nativity.

After deciding to freely enjoy whatever Dokyeom has to offer for forty eight hours, he’s turned everything up to a hundred. Back hugs when you’re washing a dirty coffee cup in the kitchen sink, disgustingly cartoonish kisses where he can land them, his hands burning into your skin at every chance. Which are more frequent than you’d imagine considering he doesn’t let you out of his sight all morning.

His presence is intoxicating, sweet the same way the first warm breeze in spring is. But instead of drumming up new blooms, all he leaves is confusion.

Soonyoung’s slip off tongue doesn’t come up again but there's palpable tension between the two of them. The usual twin laughs silent as they avoid one another like the plague.

But the subtle apology comes when Soonyoung mentions the jacuzzi on the porch in passing when Dokyeom runs to the restroom.

“If you and DK wanna use it, I’ll keep everyone else out.”

Smiling as if he didn’t cause the thick anxiety in your gut, you thank him.

Luckily, the hot tub is conveniently covered by a tin awning, the echoing pitter patter of the sky falling around you as you both sink into the steamy water, string lights crossing above provide a warm glow.

Even if Soonyoung hadn’t agreed to be referee, no else is dumb enough to risk the cold snap settling in the air; despite the reprieve of the soothing jets and steaming water.

Thighs caging Dokyeom’s own as you rest in his lap, facing him. Hands busy at the sides of his neck, thumb massaging the tight knots of muscle along his shoulders, following the beads of steam that cling to his skin, trailing down to pool in his collar bone.

Content washes through your bones. Here, in his arms, all alone. Touching just to touch, the way couples do simply because they can.

And it drives you mad.

“Minnie?”

Dokyeom hums in response, continuing to trail his nose around the curve of your jaw, feathering fleeting kisses in his travels.

“What are we doing?”

Lifting to your temple, he whispers “What do you mean?”

What did you mean? The question came out before you realized what was happening, so high on conflicting emotions you’d lost your carefully crafted control. But it’s too late now.

“Why’d you invite me?” You clarify, hooking your chin over his shoulder to avoid looking at his face.

“Because I like having you around.”

He says it with mild disbelief, like you asked what color the sky is.

“That’s it?”

“I don’t—,” he pauses. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. I just thought...”

“You thought what?”

Shaking your head, you lock yourself behind the vault door again. “Nothing, it's stupid.”

But Dokyeom isn’t willing to let you run away so easily. Gently lifting your chin till you’re out of his neck, he waits until you look at him before asking again.

“Tell me. Please?”

“I just thought maybe you invited me for a reason.” You grumble, burning under his inquisitive stare.

“I mean I did.” he swallows, thumb caressing the soft dip beneath your chin absentmindly. “I missed you.”

His confession melts your resolve slightly. But it’s not enough.

“Is that it?”

“What else is there?”

Any part of you that softened in the last minute tenses again. You got your answer.

“You’re right.” Your voice is hollow.

Dokyeom senses it immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You're upset.”

“I’m fine.” But your voice says you’re clearly not.

“Talk to me.” He begs in a tiny voice you wouldn’t think someone as loud and bright as him would be capable of, fingers tangling with your own beneath the water.

All of it leaves a bitter taste coating your mouth like oil.

“Do you like me?”

He flounders at your sudden boldness, “Do I— what?”

“You don’t.”

“I didn’t say that!” He objects, distressed from the bite of your words.

“Well Soonyoung did and you couldn’t have shut him down faster!”

“Because it’s none of his business!”

“Then whose is it?”

“Well, do you like me?”

“I asked first!”

“I asked second!”

“God you’re such a fucking child!”

Dokyeom stands up, dumping you from his lap into the water unceremoniously.

Swiping at the water caught in your eyes as you surface, you scream. “What the fuck?”

“Oh I’m sorry! I’m just sooo childish I didn’t think about it!” He huffs, already wrapping a towel around his waist as he stomps into the house. A trail of wet footprints glistening in the lights behind him.

Through the glass sliding door, you see dozens of heads turn to follow him up the stairs. And when he disappears down the hallway at the top, they all turn to see you. Alone. Tears trickling down your face to blend with the beads of water.

—

Seungkwan comes to your rescue. Swaddling you in a large beach towel before ushering you to his room, eyes daring anyone to step in his way. The walk is filled with long awkward silence, everyone watching intently, curious as to what happened on the back porch.

Depositing you on his bed, Seungkwan leaves you to yourself with a promise to return soon. Snot drips from your nose, vision blurred as you fight to stifle your pathetic sniffles, face burning as you wipe the mess away over and over again with the edge of the towel.

You take to focusing on your surroundings. The room is decorated in the same garish collection of bears and tartan as Dokyeom’s. But it only houses one measily twin bed, a long cherry stained dresser hugging alone the wall, and an air mattress pushed into the corner next to the closet. Seungkwan’s roommate is unknown to you but you’d bet money it’s Vernon’s black duffle in the corner.

Shivering in your bikini and towel, you remain on the bed as you turn to look out the window. Focusing on the different cars peppering the front lawn and driveway, your own blocked in by a black SUV.

You’ll ask Seungkwan to find the owner so they can move it. No intention of staying further into the morning than you have to.

On the opposite end of the house, Soonyoung listens dutifully as Dokyeom paces the limited floor space in their room.

“...and she wants to say I’m childish! Me!”

Soonyoung knows it’s in his best interest to act surprised, disgusted by the insult. But one person stormed through the house dripping water everywhere, and the other was nearly carried while she cried because of said first person.

He also realizes that this entire incident can be traced back to himself so stays quiet.

“I don’t even know why I asked her here in the first place.”

“What happened?”

Dokyeom looks at Soonyoung as if he forgot he was present at all. “What?”

“I thought you two were having fun?”

“We were. And then she asked if I liked her and before I could say anything she jumped down my throat.”

“Did she say if she liked you back?”

“No, but she obviously doesn’t.”

“I don’t know dude, she was crying pretty hard when Seungkwan brought her inside.”

As if the news shocks him like an ice bath, Dokyeom flinches before asking “She was crying?”

“Yeah she—”

The crack of the door hitting the wall silences Soonyoung. Seungkwan stands in the threshold, face eerily calm but body clenched.

“You piece of shit!” is all the warning Dokyeom gets before Seungkwan is on him.

Dokyeom is a victim of his own shock, allowing Seungkwan to put him in a headlock before he has a chance to blink.

They crash onto the bed next to Soonyoung, attempting to grapple one another as Soonyoung works to pry them apart.

“What the fuck!” Dokyeom’s voice shakes as Seungkwan snakes his arms around his neck.

“My best friend is crying her heart out in my room because of you.”

Dokyeom manages to evade, getting Seungkwan underneath him. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Bull shit!”

“STOP!” Soonyoung bellows, using a tone he rarely thinks himself capable of. The one his mom used just before she lost her shit from him and his sister fighting.

He pins them with a glare, ripping his roommate back by the collar of his sweater. “You sit the fuck down.” Then he’s on Seungkwan who watches him with a wide mouth, “You take her bag to your room.”

To their credit, they both listen. Seungkwan snatches your bag up, slamming the door so hard it rattles on its hinges as he exits. Dokyeom fumes but sits, watching the older man as plants himself on the opposite mattress once again with a hand scrubbing down his face.

“Do you like her?”

Dokyeom looks uncomfortable but answers. “Yes.”

“And you think she doesn’t like you?”

Another pause. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because she—,” Dokyeom flounders, hands flailing to provide some intangible explanation.

Much to other’s doubts, Soonyoung is smarter than that.

“Because she drove almost three hours to be here? Because you guys giggle like idiots whenever you’re together?”

Dokyeom collapses backwards, head bouncing against the mattress before he sullenly sighs. “She just sees me as a friend.”

“Weirdly enough, her and Seungkwan are friends and she isn’t all over him.”

“That’s different!”

“Why?”

“If she liked me, she would have said something.”

“Maybe you’re just not listening.”

—

Seungkwan returns to his room, met with red rimmed eyes and damp cheeks as you watch him from the end of his bed. The beach towel he left you in is soaking wet, providing little protection from the mountain air that seeps through the seal in the window.

“I brought your stuff.” Seungkwan says gently, disturbed by your silence.

You notice his clothes are wrinkled, and his hair is a mess. But when you open your mouth to ask what happened, a fresh batch of tears enter the space between you.

Approaching you like a frightened animal, he pulls you into a comforting hug. “I’m sorry.”

The shoulder of Seungkwan’s long sleeve dampens like the towel as you shake. “I can’t believe he’d—.”

“It’s okay.” He coos, hand stroking the back of your head.

A few hours later, you rest on your back, bundled under the quilt of the twin bed. You’re freezing despite the layers of clothing you’d worn, curious why you hadn’t felt this cold the other night. Even when the answer is obvious you don’t dwell.

Seungkwan snores on the air mattress, whispering something undecipherable in his sleep; apparently Vernon agreed to sleep elsewhere for the night. Whether it was of his own volition or under a direct threat, you're thankful no else has to see you like this.

Closing your eyes, you try to break the barrier of sleep. You need to be up in a few hours, and god knows leaving the sanctuary of this cramped room will be exhausting enough.

—

Five in the morning on a long weekend should be a time of peace and quiet. Birds chirping into the calmness of the early dawn, dew cling to the grass in an effort to hide from the sun.

But a slip down one of the slick wooden steps sends you to your ass with a loud thud. No harm, no foul. Just a sore tailbone and another coal in the fire of your annoyance.

Closing your eyes to compose yourself, lest you scream like you’ve wanted to since last night. Several deep calming breaths, in through your nose out through your mouth, before you rise.

And at the bottom of the steps sits another reason to scream.

Dokyeom looks like shit, for lack of a better word. Hair tangled, dark locks flat in some areas and defying gravity in others. His face blotchy, eyes rimmed red with sullen dark circles curving along the top of his cheek bones, like he hasn’t slept a wink. Even his clothes are a mess, the collar of his crew neck stretched more than it was before.

All to say, he is a mirror image of you.

Staring at one another like two startled deer, you rise to your feet before tilting your chin defyingly.

Crying in front of everyone had been enough embarrassment. The next time you lose control will be in the privacy of your car as you drive back to campus, where you can wail until you lose your voice.

“Hi,” he croaks.

Ignoring him, you descend the remaining stairs, aiming to breeze past. But Dokyeom steps in your way and waits till you look up at him again.

“I’m sorry.”

Seconds tick past and neither of you break the staring contest. Grinding your teeth, you try to side step Dokyeom again but he’s right there.

“Can we talk?”

Talking is the last thing you want to do. More tears are welling behind your eyes with each beat of your heart, and if you open your mouth it’ll say whatever it takes for him to hold you again.

This time when you push against his shoulder, Dokyeom lets you go.

And you hate the part of you that wishes he didn’t.

#svthub #lee seokmin #lee seokmin x reader #svt x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt #dokyeom #seokmin x reader #seokmin smut #dokyeom x reader #dokyeom smut #🫡 highvern

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updownlately · 10 months

Text

i hope he's home for you (even though i had to lose you)

| leah williamson x reader

~~~

“Leah, are you kidding me?”

You couldn’t believe this. You never thought you’d be put in a position where you’d have to fight for your girlfriend’s affection yet here you were, doing exactly that.

You only got a shrug in response, the blonde shuffling on the couch, trying to get more comfy as she continued texting on her phone.

“I’m going for a little over a month and you’re already replacing me?” The incredulous look on your face didn’t do your emotions justice, the thought of the blonde not cherishing your last few days together absolutely shocking you.

“It’s nothing serious, I promise. Plus, he’s cute, outgoing, and really friendly…it’s going to be a good time,” she replied, not bothering to look up from her phone.

The nonchalant retort didn’t have the comforting effect that the blonde had hoped, actions not lining up with words, only managing to irritate you further.

Eyebrows furrowing, you got up from your place at your kitchen island, making your way to stand near her. “I hope you do realize that these are our last couple days together before I literally fly across the world for the tournament for a whole month and then some?”

Just barely getting a nod in reply, you huffed, face twisting in annoyance.

You continued, hoping the midfielder would rethink her decision. “You’re gonna miss me you know? Especially when he can’t cook any of your favourite foods. And when our usual Sunday dates don’t happen, you’re going to feel it.”

“It won’t be that bad…he’ll be good company while you’re gone…”

You threw your hands up in exasperation, not believing that these were the words coming out of Leah’s mouth. The same Leah that had practically moved into your apartment after you had made things official. The same Leah that would constantly plan date nights for the two of you, wanting to spend as much time together as possible during the season. The same Leah that would complain every morning when you’d leave your shared bed to only start the coffee pot for the both of you. The same Leah that was now treating you like a spare choice, too caught up in the novelty of the new to even bother to remember the good times you two shared thus far.

Silence hung in the air, disbelief making you momentarily mute, the other girl too caught up in texting that verbal communication was a hindrance.

It was only when Leah spoke again that you snapped out of your bewilderment.

“Actually, I think I’m going to go out today with him, I’ve just texted Beth and she’s free too…”

You couldn’t believe it. You really couldn’t. This was actually happening. Throwing your head back, you took in a deep breath, one that Leah could hear even from her seat a handful of feet away.

“So what? You’re going to make time for him but not for me? That’s how important I am to you? I leave soon Leah!”

“Oh come on, you’re acting like I’ve gotten a new boyfriend or something!” It was Leah’s turn to be annoyed, the blonde turning towards you as she got up, mild amusement littering her face.

“You practically have!” You whined back, shoulders dropping, foot gently stomping petulantly.

“Babe, Cheeto won’t be replacing you, he’s just going to keep me company while you’re gone.” Leah was fully smiling now, hands on her hips as she observed your little temper tantrum, it amusing her more than she’d ever let on.

You raised your eyebrows at the skipper, not pleased with her reply.

“He’ll be here when I’m back…he’s not gonna go away.” You were aware that you sounded absolutely childish right now but the thought of him being here and getting all of Leah’s attention while you were oceans away didn’t seem fair to you.

“Love, trust me, you’ll like him, he’s full of love.” The fond smile Leah expressed as she spoke the words set an uneasy feeling in your stomach.

“You realize he probably won’t like exercising right? He’ll be more trouble than peace? And what kind of name is ‘Cheeto’? It just sounds stupid.”

Leah couldn’t help but laugh at your last comment, the immatureness of it finally breaking her.

“It’s not like I can move much anyways? And he’ll keep things interesting. Plus, I think the name’s fitting, he does look like a ‘Cheeto’.”

With the blonde recovering from her ACL, you knew she was right. Another presence around would help. Still, it didn’t mean you had to like it.

Rolling your eyes, well aware that you had no retort, you turned away from the Englishwoman and hoped that your body language spoke your aversion.

You heard a gentle laugh behind you before the patter of Leah’s footsteps filled your ears, her hand coming to rest on your waist and turning you to face her quickly after.

Bringing both of her hands to intertwine with yours, the blonde waited for you to meet her eyes before speaking.

“Listen…I’m not replacing you. Especially not with Cheeto. Yes he’s a great puppy but he’s no you, okay? Also you love dogs, especially corgis. You’ll love him, I promise.”

Finally giving up your act, you let yourself be pulled into Leah, letting go of her hands in favour of wrapping them around her while she did the same.

“I hope he treats you better than I ever could,” you mumbled into her neck, a teasing smile present on your face as you cuddled further into her warmth.

Leah’s laugh rang melodically throughout the apartment, her arms wrapping tighter around you. “Oh shut it you.”

Grinning, you knew you wouldn’t mind having Cheeto around, glad that Leah had something to fill her heart while you were gone, even if you weren’t the one she was choosing.

“You deserve the world times two and I hope Cheeto and I can give that to you…”

Feeling Leah’s pull you impossibly closer at your whispered words, you sighed in comfort, contentness spreading through your body.

#inspo: chicken tenders by clinton kane (but i didn't wanna write a sad fic so this is what i got)#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso community #fluff #ihhhfy #blurb #my writing #not properly proofread

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houseofhyde · 1 year

Text

i. a game of westerosi whispers.

pairing. daemon targaryen x fem!reader

synopsis. the five rumours about you that made the rounds amongst the court and the five times your uncle taught you to use them as a weapon. read part two here!

warnings. niece!reader, targcest, canon misogyny, mentions of infertility and starvation, attempted rape (not daemon), kinda manipulative behaviour from daemon ig, angst, fluff, smut (heavy petting, fingering, dry-humping). disclaimer!! reader + rhaenyra's age may not be accurate to the time of events but i don't feel comfortable writing about daemon going after a minor, so just roll with it.

word count. 5.5k

taglist. @nyctophilic0vitnir

hyde's input. i wrote this on a whim with no clue what the actual plot was gonna be other than the last sentence, so enjoy whatever this clusterfuck of words is. ngl, i felt a little iffy writing targcest but hey, at least it serves as a reminder that i’m 100% not into this shit irl. also, thank you so much for the reaction towards my first (and only other) daemon fic, dressed in white, i'm completely shocked at how many people actually read it and enjoyed it. you're all cute for giving it notes :(

bearing the targaryen name was as much a burden as it was a blessing.

while on one hand it came with dragons and power, on the other it came with prying eyes and hushed gossiping. it was a fact of life: as sure as the sun would rise come the morning, a targaryen’s name would be the centre of the capital’s gossip.

so, why on earth would you ever have believe yourself exempt from this rule, solely on the grounds that you were the second born daughter and not the apple of your father’s eye?

the first rumour was always the worst.

“i heard she threatened to feed herself to her dragon after the king named her sister as his heir.”

“no doubt that’s how she claimed inheritance over dragonstone!”

it hadn’t mattered that you’d never wanted, nor asked, for dragonstone, just the same as it didn’t matter that you’d happily cheered your elder sister’s future ascent to the dreaded iron throne. the ladies and lords who filtered through your father’s name-day feast had staked their claim over the truth, all so humoured by the thought of you, screaming like a small babe and stomping your foot like a spoilt brat, threatening your father with violence against yourself, that they failed to search for the source of such gossip, blindly believing it for the sake of a laugh and fuel to strike up a conversation within the great hall.

like wildfire, the rumour did spread.

lords whispered it into the ears of their dance partners, ladies who would then make their way back to their tables to share the news amongst those sat around it, all of whom would retire to their chambers and muse upon your supposed temper tantrum with their maids and knights, who’d filter out into the streets of king’s landing and spread the word like it were a plague, till even the rats in the sewers were aware of your untrue outburst.

by the next morning, you were branded the scorned princess.

“gossip is where truth goes to die.” he’d startled you out of your own self-pitying thoughts, back pressed up against the tree in the godswoods and book laying open across your knees, not a single page turned in what had to have been well over an hour.

“uncle,” clutching at your heart, your dizzied fright had blinded you to the way the man above you burned his eyes into what little he could see of your developing bosom. with the summer heat in full-swing, you’d taken to lowering the necklines of your dresses and the prince had taken to despising that you’d once dared to hide such a delectable sight beneath layers of clothing. “’tis not wise to sneak upon a woman armed.”

a charming smirk branded his face as you tugged the hem of your dress half-way up your leg, shamelessly letting him gaze upon your supple skin and the dagger sheathed in it’s own miniature scabbard against your calf.

a gift, on the name day in which you had turned ten and seven, from the very man who casted a shadow over you now. (”you told me you wanted a piece of old valyria, little dove. so there you go, your very own valyrian steel.”)

“just the same as it ‘tis not wise to sulk in public spaces, niece.”

“i was not sulking!” the book snapped shut as you rose to a stand, defensive in the way you held it pressed to your chest. his jaw clenched, what little morals he owned swallowing down whatever undesirable comment he had for you newly covered breasts.

his attention redirected itself to your mouth, lips red from the way you'd shamelessly gnawed upon them through all your distressing thoughts, the bottom one jutting out against your own consciousness.

“my brother’s new born babe aegon pouts less than you.” daemon mused, hand reaching out to swipe his thumb over your puckered petal, teasing himself with what they’d feel like pressed against his own. “if your concern is the whispers, ignore them. the cunts in your father’s court mean only to make themselves believe you are lesser than them. they’ll tire by the morrow and move on to someone else in our house to discuss, nyke kivio ao bisa.” i promise you this.

daemon was glad you’d never read into his words too much that day, least he’d have to admit to feigning a drunken state and causing a scene in a brothel that very night just to get your name out of their mouths.

the second time you found your name floating the keep’s halls was a few years after the first.

“they say the princess scarcely bleeds. barren, that’s what the grand maester called her.”

“regardless, she lacks the shape of a proper woman. i’ve seen men with hips more apt for childbearing than her’s.”

once more, no one took notice of the times your handmaidens had stripped your bed clean of bloodied sheets, nor did they pay mind to the fact you’d rushed out your father’s wedding to alicent hightower, dress sporting a bloodied stain and eyes filled with tears of embarrassment.

the scorned princess being also the barren princess? it made for a better story than the truth: a combination of stress induced starvation and lack of sleep had lead to an irregularity with your moon’s blood.

the room around you had long ago emptied itself of guests, those who remained behind either too drunk to make it out of their seats or in too high a spirit to retire to bed.

you were one of the former, head resting against your crossed arms which had found purchase on the table. never having been fond of drinking, it had only taken a few cups of dornish wine to render you inebriated, and thus your pity party had began, lamenting your own withering reputation to whichever poor, unfortunate family member had been a great enough fool to sit themselves next to you.

“father thinks me ruined, hic,” your sentence paused to make space for your drunken hiccups, which served to cover up the little sobs your body shook out. “i heard him speaking to the hand about how he’ll never, hic, find someone to marry a, hic, princess who can not, hic, give any heirs. ziry emagon daor gīda eptan issa, hic, lo ziry iksos drēje!” he has not even asked me, hic, if it is true.

“ao gīmigon skoros ao jorrāelagon naejot gaomagon, byka dove?” you know what you need to do, little dove?

you shot up straight, no longer caring that your face was stained in tears, mind too busy wondering why daemon had been sat next to you and was not off with some whore, indulging in a victory fuck to mark the end of the celebrations for his return as king of the stepstones.

you voiced your curiosity, hand instinctively curling around his own as he reached out for you, the scraping of his chair ringing in your ears when he inched himself closer.

“can i not want to spend time with my niece?”

“yes but we, hic, already broke our fast together this morning.”

“and yet i never managed to speak with you, your father was too busy with his gloats on my return.” he spoke no word of lie, the king had been an unstoppable force of laughter and joy ever since daemon had given him his crown and the crabfeeder’s sword. a part of you had been endeared, watching how he reminisced on his and his brother’s younger days, filling daemon’s cup with wine every time it had emptied, a smile on his face like no other you’d seen since the passing of your mother. “now, you’ve yet to answer my question.”

“your, hic, question?”

“you make for an endearing drunk, little dove.” giving your hand a gentle squeeze, there was nowhere for you to hide from the fondness in his eyes as he brought your intertwined fingers up to his lips, brushing them over the expanse of your knuckles. a chill ran down your spine and a fire lit within your loins. “my question was regarding those who speak on your fertility, or supposed lack thereof. do you know how you must handle this?”

“if i did, do you believe i’d have, hic, made myself so familiar with the wine this evening?”

the prince laughed, you smiled. something sinful flowed through your veins as you took note of his posture, how his whole body was pointed towards you, how his back hunched over enough for him to lean down and level his eyes with yours, how he didn’t seem to take notice- or, if he did, didn’t seem to care- of the remaining guests stares being glued to you both, analysing each detail of your interaction.

“and here i thought you’d turned to drinking to cope with the absence of your favourite relative in these past years.”

“i accepted corlys', hic, absence years ago, kepus.”

“just for that,” he pushed his chair back, hand dropping your own as he stood and straightened out his wrinkled clothing. “i shan’t be telling you what to do about these rumours.”

before he could walk away from you, your hand shot out and grasped at his wrist, foolishly believing you carried the physical strength to hold him in place.

“no!” you were certain everyone who remained in the hall had heard your panicked exclamation, but it mattered little as the desperation to have him near, to have him guide you, to have him tell you how to make everything better took over your sanity. “please, i only, hic, jest! tell me what to do.”

for what felt like an eternity, and was only a mere few seconds, daemon stared down at you, blank in the face. his eyes narrowed in on the tear tracks down your cheeks, and an unspoken- and impossible- vow was made in that instant: he’d pay any price to ensure you’d never cry again.

“what you need to do, niece,” he leaned down, till his lips were near pressed against your ear, ghosting over it with his hot breath and the faintest brush of his moving mouth. “is make sure your future husband fucks you so full of his seed that no one dares question your capability of carrying on the targaryen lineage.”

there still remained plenty a drunken fools and dancing buffoons by the time you decided to retire for the evening, yet you payed no mind to their wandering eyes as you let daemon guide you out the hall and escort you back to your chambers.

you’d awoken the next morning to an aching head and a burning cheek, unsure of whether daemon had pressed his lips against it before bidding you goodnight or if that was but a drunken dream.

the third rumour came not shortly after.

“did you hear about the princess and ser criston? apparently she’s requested he train her in combat.”

“the only combat she wants is within his bed.”

no one cared to enquire on the truth of why a young princess would request to be trained in the arts of the sword, just the same as no one cared to address the fear you’d been left with after an attack on your life within your own chambers, when a knight, angered with his dismissal from the city watch after breaking his vows of chastity, had decided to seek revenge on the king on a personal level, a fatherly level: stripping his daughter of her purity.

your night dress was nothing but torn rags and his breeches were halfway down his legs by the time ser criston had burst into the room.

and though he may have failed at stealing your virtue, he’d succeeded in stealing your safety.

the first few nights, you found no comfort in your own bed, seeking out your elder sister and crying into her welcoming arms till your body grew tired from the sobs and your eyes had dried up. your return to your own chambers had been under certain conditions, your father unwilling to risk putting you in harm’s way again, and thus a collective of knights stood post outside your door at all hours of the day.

none of it made any difference when you fell asleep, however, your slumbering mind taking to bombarding you with nightmares of sweaty palms on your skin and the putrid smell of the knight’s breath as he forced himself atop your helpless body.

when you’d asked ser criston to educate you in manning a sword, he’d taken no interest in asking for a reason, understanding what had been ailing you without you having to relive it through verbalising it.

he was surprisingly patient with his teaching, not caring for the number of times he’d need to repeat himself, nor the plethora of time you’d struck him in the face with the wooden training sword he’d bestowed you with.

but ser criston did not go easier on you, did not lessen the blows he’d deliver your way on account of you being smaller, frailer, nor for the simple fact that you were the princess. he pushed your face into mud, he bruised your skin with his blows, he worked you till you were short of breath and drenched in sweat. all in all, you’d believed him to be a great teacher. perfect, even.

until you found yourself disarmed, a boot digging into your shoulder to keep your back pinned to the ground below and the end of a sword barely gracing the skin of your neck.

“ziry kostagon daor hīlagon nykeēdar gīda lo ziry ropatas hen hen nykeā lōgor.” he could not hit water even if he fell out of a boat.

the heel of daemon’s boot dug further into your shoulder, unknowingly grinding into a bruise you’d earned two days prior, a fair price you’d payed to at last disarm ser criston for the first time.

the man above you glared down in your direction as a series of giggles erupted from your chest, the man already irritated from hearing how you’d taken to training with the cunt in shiny armor.

“ziry kostagon’t sagon sīr quba, lo ziry pyghagon ao isse se tourney.” he can’t be so bad, if he beat you in the tourney.

“urnēbagon ziry, byka dove, ao kostagon find aōla zālagon lo ao tymagon rūsīr perzys.” watch it, little dove, you may find yourself burnt if you play with fire. as if to punctuate his threat, he pushed the edge of dark sister harder against your skin and you felt the unmistakable sting of skin prying itself apart under the sharp pressure. the faintest line of red trickled down the back of your neck, staining your skin and straining daemon’s breeches, much to your own unawareness.

“īlon’re zaldrīzoti, keepus. perzys kostagon daor ōdrikagon īlva, mērī excite īlva.” we’re dragons, uncle. fire can not harm us, only excite us.

the next few moments passed in silence, save for the occasional screech of a bird or the rustling of leaves in the wind. and all the while he was gazing down at you, eyes hooded and chest heavy with each breath. he was contemplating something and you longed to know what.

it went far beyond a longing to know, you wanted to be in his mind, wanted to split his skull in two and burrow yourself in whatever space he may have left for you, taking up as much of his mind as you physically could.

meanwhile, he thanked any god who may exist that you had no insight into his maddening thoughts, safe to imagine you laid out atop his bed and with his hand around your throat rather than the blade of his sword, every rise and fall of your chest punctuating another delicate whine for him to swallow with his own deranged grunts.

only after he’d sheathed dark sister once more did he speak.

“i will inform ser crispin of his dismissal from training you.” it was not a request but, rather, an order. the kind of thing you’d typically quarrel with your father over, yet with daemon you were too busy melting into a puddle under the warmth of his stern tone to care.

“and why,” as he interrupted your own efforts to stand, hand grasping your arm and swiftly pulling you to your feet like you weighed no more than a bird’s feather, you lost your footing, sending you barreling against his solid chest. he stood taller this way, your head having to tilt further back to hold contact with his eyes. “would you be doing that, uncle?”

“because you’ve no need for two swordsmen to train you. it’ll only lead to conflict in training methods.”

“how so?”

“ser crispin is a technical man, commanding the style in which you move and the strategies you must implore to predict his next blow.” his face inched lower, closer to yours and invaded your space in a way only he could. “my training is more... hands-on.”

the fourth rumour was the one you cared the least to disprove.

“i suppose it is only expected that she follow in her family’s tradition.”

“still, i do find it odd how she can lust after her own kin, her uncle! i guess not even the rogue prince’s niece is blind to his charm.”

perhaps the spiders around you were finally beginning to use their countless eyes, staring the truth in it’s face and choosing to spin their web of lies around it, a step forward from their usual habit of spinning straw into gold and staking barbarian claims against your honour.

if they were going to talk, least it be with some truth.

because while no, you had not begged daemon to bed you like the ladies claimed, nor had you followed him out of the castle and spied on his depraved actions in fleabottom as the lords had said, you certainly could not deny there was something going on.

from touches that lingered on the training grounds, your hands clinging onto him long after he’d pulled you back to your feet and his hands remaining on your cheek long after he’d whipped away the traces of dirt.

to public interactions deemed far too intimate for an uncle and his niece, even for the house of dragons. countless feasts passing where neither one of you were keen to take your eyes off each other, whether your bodies were pressed right up against one another in a dance or a sea of people stood between you both on opposite ends of the hall.

two tourneys, one for prince aegon’s first name-day and another for the upcoming marriage between rhaenyra and your cousin, laenor velaryon, and in each the events had played out the same: daemon would stride in on his steed, dressed in the most ridiculous armor one could find, and request your favour, boldly and unabashedly before every gossiping housewife and envious lord, only to defeat his opponents and ruffle some more feathers when declaring you as the queen of love and beauty.

which lead up to this moment in the throne room, the king looming large over both of you from the pile of swords despite his visibly worsened health, anger decorating his features as he spied the wreath of flowers upon your head, still present hours after the rogue prince had crowned you for the second time.

the first time, he’d overlooked it, laughed it off.

the second time, he’d felt his blood boil, shoved his second wife’s hands off him as she whispered in his ear of how his brother meant to ruin his daughter in the eyes of potential suitors.

if the king were half as smart as he was kind, he would have seen the truth in queen alicent’s worries.

“please, father, don’t be so ridiculous! daemon has merely been training me.” you had the nerve to smile at him after he lay the allegations of your indecent meetings at both your feet, trampling them under your pretty words as though they were far too implausible to even entertain with anger.

“i thought ser criston was aiding you with your sword skills.” your father replied, his full-fingered hand curling over the edge of his armrest and supporting his weight as he leaned forward, as though to get a closer look at you.

“there was a conflict of interest.” daemon answered in your place, to which viserys scoffed and kept his eyes on his daughter.

“how so?”

“his methods, i did not find myself... responding as well as i do to daemon’s.” it was only a half-lie, for while you would still argue that ser criston was just as skilled with a sword as daemon, there was no competition when it came to who could hold your focus. in ser criston’s lessons, you’d counted down the minutes till you were free to rest, while with daemon you would often implore him to skip whatever small council meeting required his presence and remain with you on the field. “i have grown good enough to disarm him, though my uncle denies it happening.”

“‘tis my niece who negates the truth of how the rain that soaked us both lead to my sword slipping from my grasp.” the king watched, disgruntled, as daemon spoke towards you, holding you captive in his gaze in a way that was dangerously easy, a power the monarch could recall his beloved first wife held over him. “what she showed was an act of luck, not good swordsmanship.”

when neither three of the targaryens spoke, the echoes of celebrations within the gardens began to travel through the air, as if to mock the king, reminding him that he should be out there celebrating the union of not only his daughter but the realm’s alliance with the lord of the tides becoming stronger than ever, instead of trapped within the seat that brought him nothing but gripe and before his two political headaches- his brother the original, and his daughter the most recent.

the king heaved a sigh.

“very well, you’re dimissed.” he waved what remained of his hand, the stump where fingers once lived a sickening reminder of how his body was slowly falling apart. with a nod and a curtsy, you both made to leave the king’s presence, only for his voice to ring out once more. “not you, daemon. you and i need to discuss something.”

with you bidding them both goodbye, dress trailing behind you as daemon allowed himself to glance back just once, the doors slammed shut and trapped the two bother’s within.

viserys pulled himself off the throne, hardly feeling as a blade sliced through his decaying palm. while the king grew closer, daemon grew bolder, traveling up the steps and meeting his brother midway.

perhaps an act of kindness, to spare him the trouble of exhausting himself.

more likely a show of disregard, to remind him that he wasn’t one of the puny the lords who sat within the small council, ready to be pushed and pulled in whatever direction the king sent them.

“pray tell, brother.” the younger doned a smile and clasped his hands behind his back. “what is it we need to discuss?”

“my daughter.”

“i’m fairly certain it’s rude to discuss a lady when she is not pres-”

daemon was cut short, words dying as a sense of shock took over him upon viserys’ hands clasping the collar of his doublet.

“if i so much as hear of you putting your hands on my daughter without her permission, i’ll-”

“kill me? have me sent to the wall? turn me into a eunuch?” all sounded like awful outcomes, yet the prince wondered if getting his hands on you, even if it was just once, would make it all worth it. he decided not, for he was certain he would find no antidote to the poison of tasting you other than to taste you again and again and again, till his blood ran dry and his skin melted off his bones. “and if she permits me to? what if she is the one to put her hands on me?”

“then i will see to it that you both perform your duties as servants to the crown and have your affairs in order under the eyes of the seven.” he spoke like a king, distant and unfeeling, a man who’s only job was to lead the realm.

and so daemon graced him with an answer fit for a king.

“are you saying what i believe you to be, your grace?”

“yes. i’m saying i would wed you to her.”

the fifth rumour is when you decide enough was enough, the time had come to use their own love of gossip against them.

“the king’s expected to announce her search for a suitor soon.”

“i do pray for her future husband, whoever he may be. it’s doubtful he’ll find any joy married to such an ungrateful, infertile harlequin.”

every step you took that evening was calculated.

from the seat you sat at the royal table, trading your usual post beside rhaenyra for one next to daemon, to the number of lords you entertained with a dance and a laugh, three to be exact: one of them your soon-to-be brother by law laenor velaryon, another the son of the hand, ser harwin strong, a fierce knight and the object of your sister’s desires, and, lastly, cregan stark.

the stark was by far your father’s most favoured suitor when it came to your hand, anyone with a pair of working eyes could see. where his first born’s marriage had secured the relationship between the crown and the sea, his second daughter's would secure that of the capital and the cold, unfeeling north.

only, your father had made one fatal flaw in his game of chess: he’d mistaken you for a pawn, when in truth you were a rook, unwilling to be moved so easily.

betrayal was your initial reaction to the news of your father’s meeting with the starks, an encounter he had not even the good graces to include you in.

your second reaction was defiance.

and, so, you laughed with the stark lord, you let him refill your goblet as he spoke tales of his travels south to the capital, you danced with him before the entire court and stepped on his toes enough times till he politely dismissed himself, claiming he was in need of relieving his bladder before he left you in the centre of the dancing pairs.

just in time for him to swoop in.

“ao jāhor mazverdagon nykeā sȳz ābrazȳrys, byka dove.” daemon wrapped you in both the safety of his arms and the use of your ancestral language, guiding you into the next dance. you will make a fine wife, little dove

“nyke pendagon lo issa valzȳrys jāhor agree rūsīr ao.” i wonder if my husband will agree with you.

matching the other couples, daemon commanded you to spin in his grasp, hands firm as one held onto yours and the other made repeated contact with your waist, spinning you faster and faster, till you tumbled over your own feet and had nowhere to turn to but his strong, dependable hold, hands splaying out on his chest as his own found rest upon your lower back.

even that was not enough for the man, who squeezed you closer to his own bod.

“you’re tired, niece.” the swirling pairs around you turned their heads at his voice, exaggerated in it’s volume as he at last addressed you in a way they understand.

“so very tired, uncle.”

“then i shall escort you to your chambers. the dark hallways of the keep are no place for such a defenceless lady.”

the weight of your father’s stare followed you out of the banquet halls, lungs only refilling with air when you round the corner that leads upwards, the steps to your own chambers lit with torches and manned by several guards who stood guard at your door.

the same guards who payed no mind to how you welcomed your uncle into your chambers.

the same guards who likely felt against their back the vibration of your own body slamming against the shut door.

daemon was a force to be reckoned with, hands coming down to cage you against the wooden surface and render you defenceless to the incoming attack against your mouth.

there was no patience in the way he kissed you, mimicking a man starved for weeks who’s at last been handed a morsel of bread. neither was there gentleness, lips moving with yours in a frenzy of clashing teeth and knocking noses. it was nothing like the books you’ve read, where a pretty princess at last convinces the honourable knight to kiss her, pulling back immediately to stare in bewilderment.

nor was it how rhaenyra had explained kisses to be: boring, unexciting, a waste of time.

daemon licked his tongue into your sweet mouth, chest shaking under your palms at the satisfied groan he released. you caught up with his pace, lips finally moving to the rhythm he’d set, no longer being lead but rather fighting to lead him in the dance of your mouths.

when he pulled away, the hunger in his eyes could only be levelled by that of his dragon’s as it flew into battle, thirsty to burn everything beneath it.

“ao issi tolmiot tolī gevie naejot sagon jurnegēre rȳ issa raqagon bona.” his voice lulled you out of your trance, confused, even if just for a moment, as he spoke to you in your blood’s tongue, instead of one the guards outside your door would understand. it dawned on you slowly that he spoke only for you in that instant. you are far too beautiful to be looking at me like that.

“raqagon skoros?” like what?

“raqagon nyke mazverdagon ao biare.” like i make you happy.

the prince wasted no time in stripping you bare, knowing he’d lose the ounce of little control he had left if he were to gaze upon your heaving breasts and your glistening cunt.

he settled for sneaking his hand under the layers of your skirt till he found his holy grail.

“you’re soaked, little dove.” he spoke in pure awe, as though he hadn’t lay with a thousand whores and tasted every kind of woman the realm had to offer.

daemon was no stranger to maidens nor the feeling of touching them, yet none had ever welcomed him in as much as you, no fear in your darkened gaze as you spread your legs further apart while the middle finger stroked over your velvet lips which dripped with honey and ached to suck his digit in between them.

it was as though you were made for him alone, body trained to take anything he’d offer, and he tells you so as he made contact with your aching bud, calming the buzzing nerves with slow strokes.

“is that nice, niece?” you nodded your head and were met with a disapproving look, quickly correcting yourself with a loud moan. “is kepus making your little cunt wet?”

“yes!”

he rewarded your precious reply with the breeching of your hole, his finger forcing it’s ways into your tight walls as he released his own noises of satisfaction.

the descent into madness was swift from then onwards, with daemon knowing only the feeling of your sticky walls clamping down on him as your eyes rolled back and your mouth fell slack would be enough to sedate him. one finger became two and he watched you mold yourself into the perfect little whore for him, unabashed to call out his name and beg for more.

“have you touched yourself before?” his breath was haggard, as if he was the one having his insides toyed with by you, chasing his inevitable peak with wanton groans and sporadic kisses to your throat, collarbones, chest. “or are mine the first hands to touch this precious cunt?”

when you hit your crescendo, it was with shaking limbs and desperate cries, hands having found home in the tresses of his hair, pulling on their roots as he kissed over your chest, fingers continuing their repeated assault on your entrance till your essence dripped down to his elbows and you shook your head in protest to his touch, his pretty baby too sensitive from her first peak.

he let his resolve slip moments after bringing his soaked fingers up to his mouth, the taste of you sending him to all seven hells and back for all the things he longed to do to you. arms caging around your frame, he lay his forehead to rest against yours as his hardness began to grind against your waist.

“just wait, my little dove.” even as he put on a show, he was mindful to sweet talk you with the names he called you, aware you were not ready yet for all the things he longed to call you, preferably as you lay face down in his sheets, your sweet flower on full display and ripe with honey for his taking. “wait till i paint your insides with my seed, filling your little womb up till it swells with my babe.”

much to his own preference, daemon shortly spilled within his breeches, soiling his clothing in an uncomfortable manner he'd need to clean up later.

in all his years he’s never fought as hard a battle as the one to lead you to bed, all the while you begged in your mother tongue for him to take you, for real this time, to fill you with his cock even after the sun had risen and the royal guards stormed your room demanding answers for the king.

as he finally parted ways with you, this time for sure pressing his lips to your cheek, daemon nodded curtly at your guards who refused to meet his eyes and he swallowed down his amusement, the walk back to his own chambers filled with only one topic: how long till the news reached the king's ears.

after all, the ladies of the court never were good at whispering.

#daemon targaryen smut #house of the dragon smut #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen fluff #daemon targaryen fic #daemon targaryen oneshot #daemon targaryen imagine

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༺ ♱✮♱ ¨:·Something Stupid-Chapter 4·:¨ ♱✮♱ ༻

A/N: Hey guys! I managed to get this chapter out early coz I am so hot and amazing at everything my social life is at an all time low and we have Easter break. Some foreshadowing if you guys can guess, but keep it to yourselves for now. Mommy issues y/n? That’s a first 😨😨😨😨. This chapter is also Lucifer basically being: “No, you’re so sexy haha don’t cry”

Also, the slow burn is burning now! YAYYA 🎉

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Enjoy! <3

꧁🥀☽💫✶♛🦢♕✶💫☾🥀꧂

You sit on the patio of your home, feeling as though you’re rotting away.

It’s been 5 days since Adam’s full blown out tantrum, but it feels like it’s been 5 lifetimes.

A cockatiel lands on your table, its bulging inky eyes staring at you, vying for your attention.

You laugh, and give it some crumbs of your leftover toast from breakfast that you couldn’t bear to finish.

The bird eats them graciously, and flies away, you watching enviously.

Oh, how you wished you were that bird. Carefree, and not trapped in the gilded cage that you are in.

If only…

Bzz bzz

Your phone rings. The contact Mom glows on your screen.

Unwillingly, you swipe right.

“Hey mom, what's up?” This woman never calls you, unless there are three instances; she needs you to get her something of monetary worth, wishing you a happy birthday/any other significant holiday, or-

“Darling, there's something I need to talk to you about. A little birdie told me that you've been stepping out of line recently~”

Ah yes. The third instance. The times when your actual fucking personality shows, even for a sliver of a moment, and how it could potentially hurt your ‘relationship’ with Adam.

“Mom, it's not that big of a deal. I just was feeling rough recently, and-”

“Well it doesn't matter what you feel does it? What matters is that you honour our family. Being married to Adam is what's best for you. You acting outwardly is seriously jeaprodising your relationship, and I am just trying to help you stop before it's too late,” Your maternal figure’s sing-song-like voice turns sharp in an instant, like it could cut through butter.

“You were always a wild child, a disappointment, I am trying to help you-”

You interrupt.

“How are you helping?! Belittling me, treating me as some sort of– some do Ill?! I have tried, given my whole entire fucking life, trying to please you in every way, but somehow, it's never enough! And when I do fuck up, suddenly I'm a failure in your eyes?!”

Silence.

“You better mind your language young lady,”

“NO! I will NOT mind my FUCKING LANGUAGE. I will swear when I want to, and I will do whatever I FUCKING WANT! I AM DONE WITH YOU AND YOU- YOUR WAY OF THINGS!”

You press the end button, calmly.

You storm up to your bedroom and closed the door. Calmly.

You look at the bookshelf, always so perfectly clean, scarce of dust.

Perfectly clean, no imperfections.

You let out a cry of irritation and just start throwing out books, ripping the pages of each, crumpling sheets of paper, sobbing hot angry tears while doing so.

When that was done, you just bring the entire bookshelf down with a bang, and you stomp on it until you feel a sharp pain in your foot, surely that's a splinter right there.

You stumble over into your bed and scream and cry in your pillow, amongst the mess.

You submerge yourself in your pillow even more, until your anger numbs away, leaving you with a throbbing pain in your head.

Absolutely drained from your outburst, you drift off.

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

Everywhere is foggy.

You look around, looking for anything of use, when your attention is turned to a glowing light, placed on a rusted pedestal.

Since it's the only thing that piques interest, you touch the fluorescent ball and yelp when it scorches your hand.

“Ow,” you pull your hand away and decide to look for anything else.

As you trek through the nothingness, you feel like you're being tugged down by an anchor, or treading through quicksand.

Suddenly, the ground gives way under your feet.

You’re falling.

The cold air whistles through your ears.

You try to fly with your wings, but nothing; it feels like they have been ruthlessly ripped from your body.

You feel as though you're being stretched, squished and deformed like play dough, until you hear and feel something cracking. As you fall, you look towards the light.

At the entrance of the hole, there are many, unidentifiable figures, just, staring at your downfall.

You want to scream and cry for help, but it feels like your mouth has been cemented shut.

A faint noise calls your name, which sounds closer and closer each time as you fall helplessly.

You make a successful-ish attempt to turn on your stomach.

In your horror, you see a halo, cracked and muted of its previous glow. Your halo.

Not that far below you, there are hot red coals.

Oh God.

The voice becomes louder and closer and you hit the ground with a scream.

You jump up, to find yourself back in the dump that is your bedroom, slicked with sweat.

“Oh my God, Y/N! Are you alright?” Emily, who was tentatively paving the way to get to your pathetic self.

“Emi, hi… Yeah, just eh, rough day,” you smile weakly at the Seraphim, who’s concerned expression shows that she doesn't believe you, but she doesn’t want to put you under pressure.

“What’s all of this?” Emily motions to the wrecked room.

“Adam pulled a tantrum again?”

“Huh? Oh that, nono, sorry uhm,” you pause to clean the room as it was with the snap of your fingers.

“Why are you here Emi? Do you need something?” You wipe your eyes, but your bloodshot eyes are still apparent.

“No, I just wanted to hang out with you, but I can come back if it's a bad time,” The Seraphim stumbles over her words as she looks up at you, slightly flushing.

“No, no you can stay. I’m just a little bit shaken up, but yep you can stay. Uhm….” you trail off.

This place is feels really constraining

You need an escape.

“Hey Emily, wanna go on an adventure?” You put on a face of newfound enthusiasm. The Seraphim just had that effect on people.

“Of course! But er, where?”

“Shh, it's a surprise, now let's go!” You push Emily into the portal you made and go in yourself.

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

“Woah, this is what it's like?” Emily says as she looks around the hellish landscape like a lost puppy.

She snaps out of it when you drag her out of the way of a thrown carcass headed towards the both of you.

“Yeah, let's head inside,” You manoeuvre her into the hotel.

The lobby is more populated than your last visits to the establishment, though all faces are familiar.

“Emily, meet Angel, Husk Alastor, Charlie, who you know already, and-” Your voice dies down in your throat at the sight of the Demon King, with his strapping jacket and top hat.

What is going on with you today?

“And Lucifer,” You motion to the King, who gives you both an acknowledging nod.

Your heart misses a beat.

“Well uh, there's one more but I don't know where she is… WOAH NIFFTY!”

The little scamp runs towards the Seraphim with a knife about to stab her with malicious intent.

“Niffty, no. No stabbing any more angels we talked about this,” Angel grabs the knife from the housemaid and throws it in the trash can.

“Ugh, not a bad boy,” Nifty grumbles and begrudgingly rushes off to god knows where.

“Well everyone, this is Emily, not sure if Charlie has told you about her but-”

“Is she your kid?” Angel asks.

“I’m sorry, what? Oh no, no she is not my kid pff,” you say.

“Huh,”

“Well as I was trying to say, Emily here is another person on our side,” You give Emi an encouraging squeeze of the shoulders.

“Well this is quite the improvement. Salutations! Pleasure to meet you,” The radio demon greets himself, extending his hand to shake Emily's.

She takes it, though cautious.

She turns to Charlie and warms up to the amicable face.

“Hi, Emily, er obviously you know who I am,” The princess of Hell welcomes her, as some of the other Hotel residents go off doing their own thing.

“Oh yes. Y/N told me about you, obviously we've met before, but under less casual circumstances,” Emily scrambles for conversation.

Obviously, they need a little push to loosen up with each other.

“Charlie, maybe show Emily the garden? Or maybe the entire hotel for that matter. Emi here has been dying to have a look around,”

“Oh yes! Let me show you some of the suites, I decorated them myself,” Filled with giddiness, Charlie beckons the Seraphim upstairs.

Emily turns to you, unsure.

“Go on, don't worry, I'll be waiting here!” You give her a persuasive smile and shoo the pair upstairs.

Now you had some time to kill…

“Hey!”

“Agh!” You jump at the voice of Lucifer.

“Geez, am I that scary?” He laughs and puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Pff as if-” You snicker and give him a playful shove back.

“Anyway, how've you been? How's the old rusted machine been?”

“Are you always going to make digs and remarks at my husband in an attempt to get all three of his wives in your pants?” You raise an eyebrow sarcastically.

He sighs, feigning sorrow. “You know me too well. I thought it was the perfect plan, but clearly I'll have to tune it a bit,” The demon rattles on, but your brain fixates on the one word he said.

Perfect.

Something you try so, so hard to be, but apparently isn't enough for your mom.

If your mom doesn't love you as you are.

Well, what's to say anyone can?

“Well, what do you say, Butter-Duck? You have to find a nickname for me, but I'll call you that regardless, hmm?”

His question brings you back to the conversation.

Which, leads you to ugly, fat tears.

Lucifer’s face contorts into panic.

“Wait, I'm sorry, it's was a rubbish nickname, sorry I thought it was funny-” He puts a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“No, no it's not that,” You rub your eyes, your voice croaky.

“The reason is quite silly, really, it's fine, I'm just being stupid hahha,”

Lucifer is not convinced.

“Listen, you helped me out the other day, and even though I'm not good at this comforting stuff, please, at least let me listen,” He gives you a weak, gorgeous smile, one that is enough to make you stop crying about.

Okay, it's really becoming an issue of you being distracted by…

Him.

“Well, just an argument with my mom; basically just her saying how much of a disappointment I am and-” your voice creaks.

“And?”

“And I suddenly just don’t feel like her daughter,just a burden she has to put up with, and then what’s the point of all of this if you're not perfect,”

And breathe.

You put your face in your hands.

“I’ll never find love,”

“Hang on, but isn't Adam your husband? Don't you love him?”

“No, I don't. It was a marriage purely organised by my parents. Completely transactional,” you mutter dejectedly.

“Shit, that really sucks. Listen, I know it's hard to hear, but you need to hear it. Nobody is perfect. No one. That's what makes people interesting. And your mom wanting you to be that is far from perfect of her. Not sure if you're aware, but we're in Hell, right now, amongst many people who are basically morality rejects. But you, you're a Winner. Not in the physical sense, but also metaphorically. And for what it's worth…” Lucifer takes a moment to mull over his next words.

“Many people love you, like Charlie and, that Seraphim, Emilia?”

“Emily” You amend.

“Anyway, that's besides the point. The point is that you have many people that adore you, and that's what matters most,” Lucifer comes closer and stiffly puts his arms around you, which you return.

“Thank you, Lucifer,” You sniffle into his shoulder.

“No problem, anytime. You are my friend after all,” He gently smiles.

Your heart flutters. Friend? As in, person he considers more than an acquaintance?

“So, what's this about a Butter-Duck?” You tease.

“What? I thought it'd be a cool nickname for you,” He huffs.

“Alright, alright… Let me think of a nickname for you then… Lulu!”

He grimaces. “Ugh, that sounds like a name for a baby products brand!”

“Oddly specific, but if it annoys you more, all the better!”

“Ugh, you're like worst than some sinners here I swear,”

“Who said Angel’s can't be jokesters too?” You give him a wink.

He coughs, a rosy red complexion appearing on his face.

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

Emily and Charlie come back into the lobby, to you and Lucifer making small talk on the couch.

“Ready to go?”

Emily nods. She goes to hugs Charlie, which is reciprocated.

“Well, I’ll see you around?” You squeeze the demon’s king hand.

He looks at you, and nods, hesitant to return the gesture, as if you were glass.

“Yes, I will,”

As you and Emily leave to make your way back to Heaven, you could've sworn you heard Lucifer whisper three words.

“I love you,”

You turn back with a questioning expression, but all that was on his face was nonchalance.

꧁🥀☽💫✶♛🐣♕✶💫☾🥀꧂

Word count- 2,194~

Taglist:

@dionysusismypatrongod

@glowymxxn

@froggybich

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courtingchaos · 1 year

Text

Blackberry + Smash

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

Summary: Oh my god, it's your little day date! I wonder if he'll like your choice of nails?

Word Count:6.3k

A/N: Part 2 to Blackberry, still for @newlips milestone of love! I broke these up because I was having a hard time reading it all together and this part got, well, too long honestly. However it's fun and dirty just how we all like it. (18+ NSFW you know the drill)

The mirror in his bathroom isn’t lying to him, he sure is 32 and still has no idea how to dress himself. He’s gone through at least 6 versions of the same black outfit, only now realizing he owns nothing for a date. He scrubs a hand over his face and sighs.

Casual. It’s lunch, this ain’t rocket science and you’ve seen him covered in a multitude of stains and you still kissed him 9 days ago.

Yes he’s counting, has counted every day. Every boba tea he’s left since, every carton of cookies has a little heart drawn on it with an ‘E’ in the middle.

He wasn’t even this lovesick as a kid.

Eddie gives himself a disgusted scoff before ripping off his faded Megadeath tee. He lets himself have a little tantrum, stomping his feet around and whining. Rolling his head back and forth. Couldn’t you two just slide under his sheets and roll around for the rest of eternity? Then he wouldn’t have to worry about fuckin’ clothes! There’s a yell building in his chest but Jeff is sleeping and he won’t wake him, not with a full Friday night ahead of him. Instead he stalks off to his room to root around some more, looking for something less faded when his phone pings. A message from you: ‘holy shit, am I actually ready on time? 🖤’, and a picture that he immediately taps on.

It’s a mirror picture of your outfit. Black sweater, black pants, black shoes.

Oh what a fucking pair you’ll make. Dour food service workers in their mourning best.

He’s never been happier.

This also sets his nerves at ease. He can look normal. On top of his pile of clean laundry he finds his Hideout shirt and his good Metallica hoodie. Has one last moment of asking himself if he’s still actually 16 before going back to the bathroom.

Rings on, his pick and his Cuban link chain lay against his collar bones. Finds the matching bracelet and decides to wear the silver nose hoop and in the final glance he rolls his eyes.

It’ll do.

He shoves the shirt and hoodie on, glances at the clock and sees 9:30 glowing up at him. He finds his jacket, grabs his keys and wallet and has enough time to pick up coffee for the two of you.

You got nervous and decided to wait outside for him, the sun helping to edge off the chill of the morning. You’re scrolling through Instagram when the familiar sound of his truck pulls through the gate of your complex. Immediately it feels like your stomach is up in your ribs. You’d spent four fucking hours this morning getting ready, redoing your makeup three times before just settling on big wings and red lips. Classic, easy, and you were running low on makeup wipes really. You’d switched out jewelry enough you’d irritated the piercings, yet again settling on leaving in your medusa and just going with silver everything. In an attempt to calm yourself you’d sent the picture to Eddie, not really expecting him to reply. He did heart react to it though and that had sent you horizontal on the couch for a few minutes, kicking your socked feet around.

He pulls up in front of you and before you can get a hand on the door he’s leaned over to push it open. You’re staring very obviously for a moment, eyes fixed on the ripped knees of his jeans where you can see a smattering of tattoos. You hadn’t given much thought to that. You knew about his arms obviously, had seen pictures of his chest and back pieces but no one had mentioned his legs. Eddie clears his throat and you immediately flush. He gives you a look and you prop a foot in to help push you up. Then you notice the two Dunkin coffees.

“Did you get me iced coffee?” Surprise pitches your voice high, a little ‘oh!’ following when he holds up a small paper bag.

“And a donut.”

“Eddie!” You reach over to grab the bag and also slap at his elbow. He just chuckles and watches you tear it in two, holding one side out to him. He can see the pink still tinging your cheeks.

“I already had two.”

“Oh I see how it is.” A raise of your eyebrows and he tells you to put your seatbelt on. Asks for the address of your nail salon.

“It’s gonna take a little while, I’m getting acrylics so. I don’t know if you want to hang around or not.” You say around a mouthful of donut.

“Am I gonna be in the way?”

“I don’t think so, just depends on how busy they are.”

It’s busy as shit. Thankfully you have your appointment, so it’s just a waiting game for a station to open up.

“There’s like, so many people in here.” He looks like a big worried puppy. “Do you mind if I wander over to the bookstore on the other side?” Eddie flicks his head at the front door. Across the parking lot is a Barnes and Nobel that you saw him eye when you parked.

“Not at all.” A hand on his forearm with a gentle squeeze and he smiles down at you. What had Cate said?

“You’re a simple for dimples.” Christ.

“Text me when you’re almost done, okay?”

You nod, shooing him off towards the door. He’s slow going, waiting for you to turn around the corner to go look at polish colors. When he sees you disappear he rushes the front desk, the receptionist startling at his figure popping up.

“Hey, your 11 o’clock with-“ he gestures over to you, mouthing your name to try to keep it quiet. “How much is her bill?”

“Well, she’s set up for a regular acrylic set and-“

He’s keeping an eye on you but wants to get out of here before you turn around again to find a seat.

“Look, whatever the like, top tier thing is, I don’t know nails. Can I just pay ahead of time for that for her?”

“For the nails and the pedicure?”

“Yeah yeah, whatever it is. I’ve got the tip too.”

She hands him a small receipt and he only balks at the price because why is this shit so expensive? He made it a point to not have a band of cash on him today, trying to be a modicum of classy, so he pulls out three hundreds from his wallet and tells the receptionist to figure out the tip. Smiles and tells her to have a nice day. He darts out before you get a chance to sit.

“Eddie.” The sound of your voice makes him pick his head up from his phone. You’re standing in front of the door to the salon, arms crossed and a pinched expression on your face.

“Yeah?” He’s playing stupid. Only for you.

“You really didn’t need to do that.”

A small smile pulls at his lips and he halfheartedly shrugs.

“I’m serious! That was expensive.” Your laugh is exasperated but your not really mad. Just taken aback. First dates don’t pay for nails.

“I know, that’s why I did it. You’ve been talking about these fuckin’ things for a week now. Figured I’d surprise you.” He puts his phone away to stare up at you from his seat on the bench.

“Let’s see ‘em.” Eddie leans forward and holds out his hand expectantly. You twist away and playfully squint down at him, holding your hands clenched under your chin.

“I don’t know if you deserve it.”

“Oh come on, let’s see what my hard earned American dollars got you.” Laughing and reaching again but this time his hand drifts south, fingertips grazing the back of your thigh, gently pulling you back towards him.

The little hitch in your breathing goes unnoticed but the blush flooding your cheeks doesn’t. His smile widens and he pulls you again, knocking your knee gently into the bench between his own.

“Please?” Holds his other hand out, big palm facing up and you lower your own down to wiggle your fingers at him. Eddie let’s out a low whistle while he turns your hand around to look at the little gold stars dotting the matte black claws; turns it over to see the glittery red underneath.

“Oh I’d say that’s worth it.”

“You like?”

“Mhm. You get you’re toes done too?”

That makes you blush harder for some reason but you nod. He’s still holding your hand gently, like he’d lean in for a kiss to the back of it.

“Yeah, same red color.” His other hand is resting fully against your leg now, thumb moving slowly back and forth over your knee. He glances down at your feet briefly, toes hidden in your shiny black loafers.

“I bet that’s real pretty.” When he looks back up at your face, dark eyes framed by dark lashes and that damn smile pulling those dimples out, you look away quick. If anymore blood rushes to your face you’re bound to pass out.

“Did uh, did you wanna like, grab lunch or something?” He’s got you stuttering while you look around the parking lot for a distraction. Anything to get your mind off of his hand still gripping the side of your thigh.

Jesus suffering fuck.

“Sure. There’s a ramen place up the road that’s pretty good.”

It’s a small restaurant, ten tables and a bar. It’s just the two of you for a while in the booth that Eddie asked for. He’s been tapping his foot against yours since you sat.

“Are you playing footsie with me?”

“Maybe.” His grin is infectious. You jostle him back and it devolves for a few minutes until the waitress shows back up with your drinks and a knowing look on her face.

Eddie notes how easy you blush. It’s been at least four times today and he’s only been around you for maybe three hours. He’s trying to recall any other time he might have seen it, but he doesn’t think you’d let that kind of thing slide at work. It’d be seen as a weakness or some shit you and Cate make up.

He briefly wonders how far down your neck it goes.

“So do you actually like cooking?” You ask as your food arrives, unwrapping your chopsticks and dumping and ungodly amount of togarashi into your ramen.

“Yeah actually. My uncle taught me how to cook, he made it fun. It just kind of stuck around I guess.” He looks bashful, swirling his chopsticks around the bowl. You realize this is a whole side of Eddie you don’t know about.

“What’s your favorite thing to cook?”

“Honestly? I really like smoking ribs. Wayne had this contraption he built himself out back of his trailer, and he’d make some real creations out there.” He sounds wistful when he talks about his uncle. He’s brought him up a few times but never really explained why he spent so much time with him. You don’t want to pry, but your interested in this home brew smoker now.

“Please tell me it was like some 50 gallon drum deal.”

“Oh of course! He used to be a welder in the Army so he had all kinds of shit he made. Still has that grill too.”

Eddie rambles for most of lunch, constantly trying to deflect back to you but you’re invested in this uncle of his. Wayne sounds like quite the guy.

“So you lived with him till what, you were 23?”

“Yeah. I just wanted my own space and he also needed his own space. I have dinner with him once a week though. At least.” Eddie’s been rubbing his hand on the back of his neck for a few minutes and you’re starting to get the signal to stop mining for now.

“I’d love to meet him.”

“Oh he’d love you.” That rolls off his tongue fast and you both laugh. “Maybe I’ll drag you to dinner next week. You can tell him all about your drive thru crazies.”

“Oh I’m sure we’d both love that.”

The check has been sitting on the table for 20 or so minutes and when he tucks his card in, after swatting your hand away, the waitress descends and disappears with the check. He’s nervous again, twirling his rings around his fingers, leg bouncing. You’ve taken a minute to check your messages but under the table you slide a hand onto his bouncing knee. It stills immediately, the flash of a smile you shoot at him quelling any knots under his ribs. It’s such a small gesture, your hand warm on his knee. He’s already decided he’s kissing you again outside.

“This was fun, thank you again for my nails. Seriously.”

He reaches out for your hand, tucks his fingers up under your knuckles to stare at the gold stars. He doesn’t let go, instead pulling you along behind him towards his truck.

“Unless you’ve got other plans, we can find something else to do. I’ve got all day.”

“Okay.” You say it so quick, looking for any excuse to stay around him. It’s only taken you this long for a single date, you might as well make it last. “Wanna see a movie?”

When he stops at his truck he doesn’t unlock it, just leans back against the door and pulls your hand in against his chest.

“Anything good playing?” He asks quietly, laying his hand over yours to lay flat against him. You fit right between his feet, boots bracketing your loafers.

“I don’t uh…” Your stuttering, caught watching his eyes flit between yours. “I’m not sure.” You finish lamely.

“Well, I’ve got all means of streaming at my place. If you want.”

A year ago with anyone else this would have made you scoff and push back, spell being firmly broken by even the implication of some form of Netflix and chill.

Eddie though? Eddie makes it sound like the sweetest thing in the world. And who are you, presuming he’s even gonna try and put a move on you?

(You’ll be absolutely devastated if he doesn’t.)

The warmth of him is enveloping you, the spice of his cologne and the last cigarette he had drawing you further in just before his hands do the same. Big palms cradle the sides of your neck, thumbs resting on your cheeks and he leans in.

His lips are plush and warm and you tuck up close to him, arms squished between the two of you. His fingers inch up into your hair, holding your head, keeping your lips to his and honestly? Honestly.

How dare he be so good at this and keep it from you for so long. You thought he liked you and he’s been depriving you of his lips parting and running his tongue over your own and-

“Ed.” You break the kiss, breathless and face hot but you’ve only got eyes for him. His pupils blown wide in the bright daylight, you can see a frown starting between his brows. “No, hey I’m not-this is great. Can we get in the truck?” It’s almost one long word of a sentence but he understands. You’re around to the passenger side before he’s even closing his door, your hand over the center console to grab his bicep and pull him over to you.

In the confines of the cab, kneeling on the seat so you can grab his hoodie and it’s your turn to pull him in. The little sound he lets out almost sounds like a whimper and it just makes you all the more confident. It’s your tongue running along the seam of his lips, the curve of a smile before he opens and lets you in. He taste like the mango mochi you two shared and your hands run up into his hair to keep him close.

This is all you’ve been thinking about since he kissed you last week, waiting for another moment to lay your lips on him. It’s a few minutes of heavy kissing and his hands just under the edge of your sweater; you still haven’t let his hair go yet. Eddie is the first to pull away though, eyes squeezed shut when he rests his forehead against yours.

“We can go back to mine, uh if you want? We don’t have to I know I said that earlier but we can go out and see a movie-“ You press two fingers against his lips to silence him.

“I want to.”

The ride to his apartment is quiet. He drops his hand on its new home in the middle of your thigh, fingers digging in a little bit every time he turns a corner.

That blackberry has been picked and washed and fully eaten in earnest.

His apartment isn’t what you expected honestly. It’s two men living together, so the neatness throws you off. Everything has a home it seems, unlike your own place that’s like a cozy disaster zone.

“I like your place.” You say over your shoulder standing in the open living room. He’d busied himself with putting your jackets away and dropping his stuff into a tray on the counter. Now he’s just standing in the kitchen watching you inspect the bookcase by the TV.

“Do you like bourbon?”

You glance at your phone to see 4:30pm.

“A little early for dark liquor.”

Eddie shrugs and pulls out two rocks glasses and a round bottle, little jockey stopper on top.

“We hit some kind of goal or something and Stacy and her husband bought everyone in the kitchen really nice bourbon.” He pulls the seal. “Thought I’d hang on to it for a special occasion.”

“Is this a special occasion then?”

“Yes.” His smile is warm. Looks at the little topper for a moment before sniffing the bottle.

“That kind of smells like Christmas.”

He pours less than a finger in each glass and slides one over to you. He’s not wrong, and after he fishes out an ice cube for you, it goes down smooth.

Hip cocked into the counter top and nursing your tiny glass of stupid expensive bourbon, you listen to Eddie go in on all the deserts he could use this in. You had no idea he could bake too and you feel a little cheated after all those bakery bought cookies he’s brought you.

“Oh you know what else,” he ducks into his fridge and pulls out a mason jar of dark syrup, “this might be blasphemy but I don’t care. Let me see your glass.” You hold it out and he uses a spoon to drizzle some of it in the dregs of your drink. “Thats a blackberry and rosemary syrup I made and- what?” Your laugh cuts through his words and the way his face lights up makes laugh more. A clearer sign from the universe, you’ve never had.

“I just really like blackberries.”

He does put something on tv eventually but neither of you pay attention. It murmurs in the background while you two talk and when the sun starts to stretch across the wall of his living room you climb over the cushion separating you and try valiantly to invade his chest. He’s cozy and warm and he tastes like that syrup he made. He says something about whiskey tasting good on you too and any inkling you may have had about leaving his place tonight goes firmly out the window.

The couch is comfortable and him nosing at your neck, dropping lazy kisses up and down the length of it makes you melt. His hands are heavy in your hair and where they slide down to meet his lips along your neck. You’d finally gotten a hand under his shirt, skin hot and soft. You can feel the muscles flex under your touch and you find out on accident he’s ticklish when you’re skating your new nails back and forth over his happy trail and the weirdest giggle escapes him.

“Sorry.” He smiles shyly.

You want to hear that sound again but he has other plans. Untangles your legs and stands up, holds out his hand to you again.

Just over the threshold of his room he looks at you, fully sincere.

“Is this okay?”

Yes yes yes yes yes yes

You nod and gently kick the door closed behind yourself.

With that barrier to the outside closed Eddie descends on you. Backs you right up against the door and kisses the breath right out of your lungs. You hang onto his shoulders while he pulls your sweater off. It hits the floor and his hands are right back on you sliding up your sides to cup your tits through your lace bra. You’d worn the set in the hopes that this exact thing would happen.

“How’d you know blue’s my favorite color?” He whispers against your mouth before diving right down to the swell of your breast and nips lightly. You suck in a gasp and he does it again to the other one, runs his thumbs over your nipples. Your trying your hardest to get your fingers to cooperate and pull at the hem of his shirt.

“Worry about me later.”

“Eddie, please.”

“Wanna see you first, gorgeous.”

When his hands fall to your jeans you let out a whine that makes him look up at you.

“You okay?”

“Yes just. Please don’t stop.”

He hurries then, pushes your jeans down and turns you both to walk to bed. When the edge hits your legs you lift one to crawl backwards, a finger hooked in his belt loop in an attempt to pull him with you. He rips his shirt off instead and it’s truly it’s insane how he just keeps getting hotter. The dark lines of his tattoos against his pale skin makes you pant.

“Oh what the fuck.”

“I was just about to say the same thing.” He sounds breathless. Eyes roaming to take in the matching underwear that clings to your body. The tattoo on your sternum that he had no idea about and the other two just under your collar. There’s dark lines wrapping around your hip that he’s going to dig his teeth into soon. He reaches and lightly runs a finger over your sternum before trailing it down your stomach and stopping at the elastic of your underwear.

“You wear this for me?”

You nod.

“Oh good.”

You don’t think you’ve heard him this quiet ever. He’s all whispers and heavy stares, that finger tip that’s inching into your underwear making your heart rocket into your throat. You wrap your hand around his and pull him so he has to kneel on the bed too, inch his finger down further.

“Eddie?”

“Hm?” It rumbles in his chest. You snake both arms up to wrap around his neck and bring him in to ghost your lips over his.

“Touch me. Please.”

Of course he has silk pillowcases, you think to yourself when the side of your face is pressed into them. The cool material is slick against your hot cheek, Eddie’s big hand laying between your shoulder blades. He isn’t pushing you down into the mattress but the suggestion is there.

Stay.

You’ve ended up in the middle of his bed bent in half with him kneeling behind you, gentle hand pulling your knees apart. You’re blushing for a thousand and one reasons, mainly because you’ve never played this little game before. At first you’d tried to hide your face and he’d tutted at you, gently prying your forearm away. Now you’re just trying not to grip the pillow too hard, only partially conscious of your new nails.

“Eddie.” Your muffled whine gets his attention and he leans forward, puts a little pressure on your back. Your eyes roll.

“You okay?” His voice is dark next you, quiet and gravely and you clench around nothing, he hasn’t even touched your pussy yet. A garbled ‘uh huh’ gets past your lips and you can hear him grin, the bastard.

He slides your underwear over your ass and down, tossing them into some corner of the room, swings his knee over your calf and knocks your leg out to side some more. Your hips drop and he sighs, his right hand coming to slide up the back of your thigh, gripping at the soft skin and over the swell of your ass.

“I’ve been waiting months for this.” A low laugh, how can he laugh at a time like this. You try to sit up a bit, to give him an incredulous look but he holds you down. You don’t mean to let out the moan you’ve been holding in, but he knocks it out of you. Laughs. Again.

“You didn’t have to wait months.” Muffled again by the pillow.

“We were having fun. You’re a good chase.” He gives your ass a light tap and then grabs the flesh hard. You arch your back into his touch and he immediately lets go to graze his fingertips over your slit, dipping in between your folds.

“Jesus your so wet,” he huffs through his nose, “this for me too?”

Of course it is. You’ve been wet for him since he picked you up in his stupid truck, looking too good in his stupid jeans and big hoodie. Since he grabbed your thigh and asked about your god damn toes.Since the couch and his weird giggle.

You’d like to be a smart ass and list off all the ways he’s driven you crazy just that day, but instead you just whimper.

“Hmm?” He dips a finger down to circle your clit agonizingly slow. It sends a burning jolt through you and you cant your hips back to chase his touch.

“Yes, oh my god!” It comes from deep in your chest, voice low and full of want. Every time he’s come in to visit you, hanging over the partition to joke and flirt at you. His little touches at the bar, a hand always lingering on your lower back or fingertips dragging over a knee. That drunk kiss in the parking lot of the bar a week ago.

All you’ve done is want for months now. You’re about to bully your way into sitting up when he leans down and places a wet kiss on your shoulder. Drags the hand there down to your lower back, still splayed wide and warm. It makes you pause and he uses that minor distraction to easily slide two fingers deep in your cunt.

It punches the air out of any argument you were trying to start, hands searching for something to grip. One finds his thigh and he still has his god damn jeans on?

The slow drag of his fingertips inside you makes your mouth hang open. They’re big and you’ve been worked up since you woke up this morning so it just feels too good.

Actually that’s a lie, you’ve been worked up since that first day he walked into the cafe with Jeff, all jokes and pretty eyes and no idea if he even liked coffee. Some dumb espresso joke later and you’d been stupid for him.

Kind of like now, with one of his hands holding your back in an arch while his other moves at a torturous pace in and out, the wet sound of you sinful in the space of his room.

“Do you know many times I thought about inviting you back here after the bar?” You roll your head back and forth, hiding your face under your hair.

“Every time I gave you a ride I thought about it.” He enunciates his line with a particularly deep prod of his fingers, bringing his thumb to circle your clit again. “Coulda just bent you over my lap and shoved my fingers in, huh?” You clench down, files that little thought away for later. He gets his free arm up under your chest so he can hold you to him. Lays his weight against your back when he picks up the pace of his fingers and the strangled cry coming from you makes him even harder in his jeans. He peppers kisses along your shoulders, noses your hair out of the way so he can nip at the back of your neck. When he licks a stripe up to your ear he feels your strings cut, the chanting of his name sounding like music.

“I gotcha baby. You gonna come for me?”

You’re nodding, whining his name, breath hitching in your chest. Between his thumb tracing hard and his fingers dragging against that sweet spot inside your eyes water and you grab at the back of his head, nails digging into his curls. The feeling building low is white hot where it creeps down and makes your legs shake. Pinned down under him you try to chase his hand with your hips, looking for that edge of relief and it’s just out of reach until it’s not.

His chin is hooked over your shoulder so he can mouth at the side of your face while you go rigid under him. He’s still moving his fingers while you spasm around him and jesus christ he can’t wait to fuck you, plain and simple.

“Breath baby, come on.” He whispers into your ear when he realizes you’ve been holding your breath. You let out a low groan that turns stuttering when he doesn’t relent with his thumb on your clit.

“Eddie I can’t- too much!”

He ‘aww’s’ at you playfully but slows down his hand, only pulling out when you’ve regained some kind of normal breathing. Cuddled up behind you, face still close to yours where your breath fans over his cheek he leaves a wet kiss on yours and the toothy smile he sees in the waning light makes him feel warm.

“Knew you’d be worth the wait.”

You slap his arm as he rolls off the bed to stand. The clink of his belt buckle makes you turn your head against the pillow to stare at him. His eyes don’t leave yours while he undoes the button and fly to push them down off his hips. He leaves his boxers on and before he can climb back on the bed you sit up in front of him, hug his thighs with your knees. From here you can look up at him and map the tattoos across his chest and over his shoulders down to his fingers. It’s past sunset now and the purple fading light does nothing but make his pale skin glow under all that dark ink. You pull his own move on him from earlier, tracing the tip of your nail up the back of his thigh. He shivers, leg jumping and when you firmly run both of your palms under the edge of his boxers he smiles down at you.

“Tryin’ t’get fresh?”

“Maybe.” Sucking in your bottom lip to bite at it, you bring one hand around and run it down the flat plane of his stomach to the band of his underwear.

“Can I?” A whisper and his eyes go half lidded, pupils dark and wide under his lashes. An almost too quiet ‘yeah’ and you tug the fabric down to free him.

You must be making a face because he chuckles and runs a finger down your jaw. When you look back up at his face you grip the base of his dick and he hisses low, run your hand up the length of him to watch his head loll back. He’s big, thick and flushed red, the fat head of his cock hot against your palm. Damn near salivating you run the flat of your tongue up the underside of him, to the tip before fully wrapping your lips around him and hollowing your cheeks. Eddie is making a lot of noises you’ve never heard before, one’s that you want him to keep making but only after a few bobs of your head and hand he’s gently pulling your head back where’s he’s laced his fingers in your hair.

“If you don’t want this to be over in five seconds, I’d suggest we stop that.”

“You get too excited?” Frowning at him you make a move to grab him again he crowds you instead, makes you crawl back towards the middle of the bed. He shuffles across to settle between your propped up knees and tosses a wrapper on your stomach.

“How romantic Munson.”

“You wanna touch my cock so bad, you put it on.” His forwardness shuts you up. You tear the wrapper open in a rush, grab him again and give his dick a few tugs before rolling the condom down. His thumbs rub little soothing circles on your knees until you pull your hand away and he’s hauling your legs up to wrap around his waist. Pulls you to him with hands in the crook of your knees and he’s cradled in your hips, rocking his own forward to rub the tip of his cock along your folds. Catches it on your sensitive clit and you yelp. His frown is mocking yours from a moment ago, tilts his hips and does it again.

“Aw, honey is that too much?”

“Eddie I swear to god I’ll-“

“You’ll what?” He pulls back enough to line up, gives you one last chance to say something before he eases in. Slow drag until he’s fully seated against you and you both moan in unison. “That’s what I thought.” Your warm around him everywhere; thighs hugging his hips, hands running up his chest.

“Jesus Christ you feel amazing.”

The fluttering of your walls around his cock is doing nothing for his stamina, coming to terms with himself that this might not last long.

That’s fine, you weren’t leaving tonight.

The look on your face, eyes rolled back and mouth hanging open, makes him roll his hips to watch you squirm. He starts a slow rhythm, grabbing the cups of your bra and pulling down to let your tits free. When he pinches one between his knuckles you keen and arch your back. He does it again to hear that high sound and he picks up his pace, drilling deeper and making you chant his name again.

“I can’t believe I waited this long for you baby, you feel so fucking good for me.” He pulls your legs from around him to push them up towards your chest, canting your hips with them to get at you deeper.

“Eddie Eddie Eddie.” It’s high pitched and whiney and music to his ears. He can feel you pulsing around him like you were earlier. Props one of your legs on his shoulder to get his hand between the two of you to rub fast circles over your swollen clit.

“You gonna come again?”

“Yes fuck, please don’t stop Eddie!”

His hips snap against your ass and with every push your letting out a stuttering moan. Watching your lips form around his name, panting and pawing at your own chest, your hand around the back of his neck and long nails scratching against the sensitive skin brings everything to a pinpoint. His hips begin to stutter when you clench around him, your no slick coating your thighs and his fingers and his cock and it’s all it takes for him to bury himself deep.

“Fuck fuck fuck.” He’s muttering, slowing his movement and rocking the two of you through the aftershocks, running a soothing hand up your leg still on his shoulder.

“Come here.” Hands splayed to beckon him, cheeks pink and flushed, hair stuck to your sweaty forehead he thinks he might be falling in love after all these months. He’ll keep that to himself for now. Instead he pulls out and discards the condom over the side of the bed. Drops his weight on you, a huff from you and a smile pushed against your chest from him. The light touches from the tips of your nails make goosebumps pop up along his back where you gently rake your nails.

It’s a while before either of you move and it’s only to get under the covers when the cooling sweat makes you cold. Eddie holds the corner up to help you get situated but holds out a hand when you try to tuck your feet in.

“Hold on, hold on.” He snatches one of your feet to bring up closer to his face, making you bend weird and squeal. It tickles but he won’t let go, looking at your toes the way he did your nails earlier.

“Eddie, seriously!”

“I knew they were pretty.” He places a light kiss on the outside arch of your foot and you wrinkle your nose. It tickles and it’s cute and his hand is warm on your cold foot. He only lets go to run a hand up the back of your calf to pull you under the covers where he drapes himself over you, hair curtaining and smothering you in him.

In the middle of the night, after Jeff comes home and deftly ignores the scene left in the living room and you’ve gotten up to use the bathroom and rinse your mouth out you cuddle back up to Eddie’s side and wait for him to turn his head and look at you.

“Hey, you wanna call in sick Sunday?”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you can be my plus one for the wedding.”

“Cutting it a little close, no?”

“It’s my aunt, she won’t care.”

“I don’t have a suit.”

“Then we can get you one tomorrow.”

“It’s a date.”

#newlipsmilestoneoflove #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson fluff #Eddie Munson smut #Eddie Munson fic #My work #My Fic

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drabbles-mc · 4 months

Text

For the Record

Javier Peña x GN!Reader

For @pickled-pena's writing challenge!: resolutions, pickle/jar of pickles, "You stand there and accuse me, but where were you at the time?"

Warnings: 18+, language, mentions of injuries, angst/arguments

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: This was such a fun challenge! Thank you to the mods for putting it together! It's also been a while since I've written for Javi so that was a treat too haha. Happy New Year, y'all! xo

Narcos Taglist: @garbinge @winchestershiresauce @sizzlingcloudmentality @panagiasikelia @616wilsons @hauntedforsst @mirabee @boomclapxox @nessamc @supersanelyromantic @padbrookcottage @mysun-n-stars @raincoffeeandfandoms @justreblogginfics @ashlingnarcos @proceduralpassion @artemiseamoon @narcolini @hausofmamadas @cositapreciosa @il0vebeingdelulu (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

You were standing in the kitchen, holding the refrigerator door open as you looked inside it for the fifth time since you’d gotten home less than an hour before. No new food had appeared there in that span of time but you still kept coming back to check anyway just in case. You weren’t even actually hungry, although you should’ve been with how hectic the day had been and the fact that it led you to not being able to eat anything since your coffee and half of a pastry on the way to base that morning.

If you had still been back home, you would just be enjoying No Man’s Week—that week between Christmas and New Year’s when not much of anything gets done by anyone even if they have the best intentions. But you weren’t home. So instead of staying home and ditching work completely, or sitting in an office pretending to work but really getting nothing of the sort done, you had been running around the streets of Medellín trying to catch Escobar’s men and trying not to get shot in the process. Much less relaxing.

Along with your day being the opposite of relaxing, you also weren’t successful in either of the things that you had set out to do. The information that you’d been gathering had gotten you pretty far, but not quite far enough. The member of Pablo’s team that you’d been tracking for weeks slipped through your grasp, although it wasn’t without a fight. That much was evident because of the bullet that had gone clean through your bicep, and the other that had buried itself in your tac-vest. It was not a successful day.

Now, on top of your day being unsuccessful, everything else was infinitely more difficult to do when you only had full use of one arm and hand, and of course it wasn’t your dominant one. You should’ve taught yourself to be ambidextrous.

Then, as if all of that wasn’t enough salt rubbed into your very fresh wounds, you were about to make a final decision on what was going to pass for a very sad dinner when the lock flipped on the apartment door. You heard the click and you let out a sigh purely out of reflex as you let go of the fridge door to let it fall shut. Your jaw was clenched tight as you heard the apartment door swing open and quickly slam shut. Dramatic. He was always so dramatic.

“What the fuck was that?” he said as he started to storm into the kitchen.

You turned around to face him, your face as neutral as you could manage it. “Lock the door, Javi,” you instructed, purposely ignoring the question he’d just thrown at you.

He froze for a moment, hesitating. It took a second for him to process what you’d said, realizing that you weren’t giving him the argument that he’d been gearing up for the entire drive back to your place. He obliged, albeit begrudgingly. He was shaking his head the whole time, about two seconds away from stomping his foot like a toddler in the midst of his tantrum.

“Well?” he dove right back into it once the lock was in place.

“Well, what?” you asked, tone even as you turned back around to the fridge to open the door again, this time just to have an excuse not to look at him.

“You know what.” He wasn’t yelling, too exhausted for that, but even with how low his voice was it still held plenty of anger, still sharp enough to feel like it was cutting you. You heard his footsteps behind you even as you kept your eyes glued to the inside of the refrigerator. When he spoke up again you could practically feel his breath against the back of your neck. “You never should’ve been out there alone.”

You refused to turn around and look at him. “Some things can’t wait. You of all fucking people should know that. Plus it’s not like I didn’t try to get you to go with me, but no,” you dragged out that last word to twist the knife a little more. “Only you’re allowed to do that apparently.”

He scoffed. “What’s that supposed—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, your laugh cruel enough to put you on even footing in the argument. “Don’t insult either of us by finishing that question.”

There was nothing in your fridge that would even come close to constituting a meal. You’d been living on takeout for the last few weeks because of how hectic everything had been. No time to grocery shop and definitely no energy left to cook. But you didn’t want to leave your apartment now that you were home, so you were just going to suffer through by grazing on the scraps that you had. You reached for the nearest jar on the refrigerator door, grabbing it with the one hand you still had full use of.

Javi watched as you side-stepped your way out of being boxed in by him. You moved to the side and set the jar on the counter, and Javi waited a second before he moved right along with you, trapping you between him and the counter now instead of the fridge.

As much as Javi wanted to plead ignorance, he knew exactly what you were talking about. It wasn’t something you brought up often, saving it for times when you needed a good card to play. This was one of those times. He was angry about it but he’d done it to himself in a way—he knew that. He tried to come to his own defense. “That’s not the same. You know that. What I did—”

“Was fucking reckless,” you snapped, slamming the jar down on the counter, not hard enough to break it, but hard enough to make both you and Javi flinch. You tightened your grip on the lid, not even trying to open the damn thing, just trying to channel all of your anger and exhaustion into something that would cause minimal damage. “You can’t stand there and be pissy at me for what I did today when your track record is what it is. It’s not,” you scoffed, “it’s not even fucking close.”

“You got fuckin’ shot!”

You turned around to face him, stanced up like you were ready to fight despite the fact that you were bandaged up and strapped down in a sling, a last-ditch effort from the doctors to try and remind you not to move your arm if you could help it. “And you got Steve fuckin’ kidnapped!”

Javi flinched at the accusation, the truth of it stinging just as much as the rest of it. “It’s not—”

“And, for the record,” you turned back around and set back to work on opening the jar on the counter, “I tried to fucking tell you. You didn’t wanna hear it. You didn’t think that I had anything. So don’t stand there and act like I just up and out of the blue decided to go rogue. I tried to make sure someone had my back and you bailed on me.”

You didn’t touch him. You weren’t even looking at him and yet he found himself taking a step backwards like you’d shoved him with both hands. “Hey.”

“No,” you refused to turn around and look at him, dedicated to the tear that you were about to go on, “no don’t give me that. You feel shitty about it? Good. You should feel shitty. Because it didn’t have to go down like that today. You wanna come in here and yell at me and say that I was acting stupid and reckless and I just—you didn’t leave me any other choice!” You tried and failed to twist the lid on the jar, only adding to the frustration that was stacking endlessly on your shoulders. “You stand there and accuse me of all this shit, but where were you at the time? What else was so promising that you just fucking hung me out to dry?”

“If you knew I couldn’t be there then you should never have gone out on your own.”

“But you could’ve been there! You were supposed to be there!” You wanted to throw your hands up in exasperation and you couldn’t. You turned around to look at him, hating that you could feel the tears in your eyes. “You promised. You can’t just treat your promises to me like, like the bullshit excuses you give our boss. They’re not just some red tape you have to find a way around. You owe me more than that.”

He frowned, the response that he’d been building up in his head evaporating completely the more he listened to you, not just to your words but to the sadness in your voice, the dejection. He never wanted to make you feel like that. Until recently he hadn’t ever been in the position to make someone feel that way—his relationships never unfolded the way that yours had.

He still wasn’t ready to spit out an apology, though.

“I don’t think they’re red tape,” he finally said. He took a deep breath as he reached around you and took the jar off the counter.

“Javi—”

“Let me finish,” he stopped you before you got on another tirade. He easily twisted and popped the lid off the jar you’d been struggling with before setting it back down on the counter. Neither of you commented on it. “I should’ve listened back then. But you didn’t say a damn word to me today once we left here. I had no idea where you were until I heard a call on the radio saying you got fuckin’ shot.”

“Would you have even shown up?”

“How can you ask me that?”

“Because you blew me off once.”

“In a fuckin’ meeting! In a conference room! I would never—” he stopped short, getting himself together. “No one goes out alone like that.” He paused, hurt crossing over his expression for a moment. “I don’t let you go out alone like that.”

If you hadn’t been so exhausted, you would’ve had more angry things to say. More cutting comments to make. But as it stood, you just wanted the day to be over with, wanted the argument to be over with or at least paused. There would be plenty of time tomorrow to keep hashing it out after a decent night’s sleep. You were trying to figure out a way to say all of that when the sound of your stomach growling cut through the tense silence of the apartment.

You sighed, about to cobble together a sentence of some kind when Javi spoke up for you. “Eat. Get some energy to yell at me more later.”

Despite the exhaustion and the stress, you managed a smile. “Tha—”

“That all you’ve had today?” he asked.

“Not really,” you said, your tone markedly different than it had been a few moments before, “but sort of, yeah.”

“I don’t think pickles count as dinner after the day you had.”

“Well,” you reached into the jar with your good hand and carefully pulled one out, “I don’t think that you brought home dinner.” You took a bite of it. “So this is gonna have to do.”

“I can run out and grab something,” he offered, not quite an olive branch but something close.

You appreciated the offer but you still shook your head no. “It’s fine. We’re both home. Let’s just…yeah.”

He knew that he should’ve fought you on it, gone out and gotten something more passable for dinner anyway despite your protest, but he didn’t. Of all the arguments the two of you were bound to get into, he didn’t think it was worth it to make this one of them.

“We gotta get better about cooking,” he said as he stepped over, reaching in and taking a pickle out of the jar.

You let out a tired laugh. “Next year, maybe.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Thought you didn’t do resolutions?”

“I don’t. But, you know, still sounds good.” You paused for a brief moment. “Yours should be to listen to me more.” There was no real malice behind it, almost like it was a real piece of advice.

He took it as such as he leaned back against the counter beside you, studying your sling, your face, your everything. “You alright?”

It wasn’t funny, per se, but you still had to laugh at the fact that it took you both this long to get to the point in the conversation where he was asking you that. Typically that’s the first thing someone asks when they hear you got shot.

“I will be,” you told him truthfully.

You leaned, letting your head drop against his shoulder. You let out a deep sigh, one that he mirrored soon after. Part of you felt like maybe there was something else that you should be saying, but when you felt the kiss that he pressed to the side of your head, you figured that whatever was left to say could wait until later.

#pickledpena #pickledpeña writing challenge #pickledpeña #javier peña #javier pena #narcos #narcos fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #x reader #x reader fic #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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feelbokkie · 7 months

Text

One Last Dance | Chapter 8

pairing: Minho x fem reader

genre: smau, crack, angst, fluff, non!idol au, major character death (I am apologizing now), friends to lovers, soul mates, first love, roommates

pov: 1st/2nd person (depending on how you view it)

warnings: swearing

summary: Childhood best friends Lee Minho and L/n Y/n are in their final year of university. While both of them are in love with each other, the only thing keeping them apart is Minho’s fear of change. As both dancers prepare for their lives after college, will Minho finally let fear rule him and his emotions or will he finally gain courage before he loses Y/n forever?

word count: 1,856

screenshot count: 11

taglist: closed!

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"Are you concussed or do you actually not know the difference between your right and your left?" Minho yells after pausing the music.

The two of you have a few midterms together and you've spent nearly every day in the studio together working on your midterm performances. Except, Minho has been nitpicking every little you do. He's always been good at picking up mistakes while dancing, the mirror being his biggest aid. You're used to it. Both of you keep each other in check when you're dancing, catching each other's mistakes, and helping when a move is proving to be difficult. This time, Minho's pettiness is getting the better of him.

"What the fuck did I do now?" You yell back, frustrated with him.

"You're supposed to jump with your right leg and land strong on your left! You're doing the opposite!"

"That's because jumping on my left makes the most sense based on my footing partition from the compass spin! And I get to jump higher, making me stay in the air longer. You should try it instead of throwing a fucking tantrum!"

"I'm not throwing a tantrum. I just don't want to get a failing grade because you're too busy fuking the neighbor to practice." He says under his breath. He walks back to his starting position and barely waits for you to get into your before pressing play. Annoyed, you walk over to the counter and unplug Minho's phone from the sound speaker.

You're tired, not just physically, but mentally. Midterm season has always been the busiest season next to finals. The first four days of the week are often full of exams, which can either be one or two performances that you have to prepare for. On the last day, there is always a showcase. Unlike the monthly evaluation showcases, the midterm showcase is exclusive to upperclassmen and mandatory. The school thinks it gives the underclassmen motivation and relaxation after a week of torture. On top of your rehearsals for the showcase and midterms, you also have to work. Minho knows that. Despite being a complete asshat for the past week, Min still picks you up from work every night. And in the little free time you have left, you're choreographing the dance for your first round of company auditions. You wish you had the free time to get laid, at least you'd be relieving stress instead of dealing with Minho.

"Y/n!" Minho yells in annoyance.

"I'll plug your phone back in when you tell me what crawled up your ass and died. Because my dancing isn't the issue here and you know it." You cross your arms and keep Minho's phone close to your chest.

"Just plug it back in so we can finish practice and we can go see your boyfriend." He spits.

"This is about Chan?" You raise your eyebrow at him.

"I don't care what his name is," He grumbles as he walks over you to you. He tries to grab his phone back but you tighten your grip.

You watch as Minho's eyes turn cold and his jaw clenches. It's not a look you're unfamiliar with. You've seen it over the years and more frequently over the past week. But now you know why he's been stomping around the apartment like a broody teenager for a week.

"You do not get to do that," You say cooly. Minho looks up to actually look up at you, his eyes dripping with spite.

"Do what?" His hand rests gently on your arm.

"Be jealous," You say simply.

“I am not jealous of you and what’s his face.” He scoffs, backing up from you.

“Really? Because I don’t think you’ve spoken a full sentence to me that didn’t have to do with dance or school or the cats after I came home from hanging out with him last week.”

“Look, just do whatever you want with whoever you want. I don’t care, Y/n. You’re not my girlfriend.” He says as he walks back to the middle of the studio.

"I am painfully aware that I'm not your girlfriend. Believe me." You drop your arms and clench your fists. Your heart is pounding and you can feel the heat rushing to your face.

"Don't get mad then since you moved on onto, or should I say under, our neighbor." His back is turned to you as he says it, he doesn't have the balls to say it to your face.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm not dating Chan. Or anyone else for that matter."

"Oh, so you're just fucking and making out with random men in front of our apartment. Great. That's really great, Y/n. You're such a--"

"Such a what?" You push yourself off the counter and walk up to Minho, getting into his face. "I'm such a what, Minho? I fucking dare you to finish that sentence. Say it to my face."

Minho's face softens a bit, reading the anger and pain on your face. He hesitates, licking his lips as he thinks about something. You watch his hand twitch, clenching, and unclenching. You know he wants to reach out and touch you. To hold your hand or something but he hesitates.

"That's what I thought."

"You know," Minho takes a deep breath, "If I didn't know any better I'd think you were trying to make me jealous."

"After all these years, do you honestly think that's who I am? Okay, if that's what you want to believe, I'm making you jealous on purpose. Because my whole world revolves around you even though you don't care." You throw Minho's phone at him, his quick reflexes allowing him to catch it.

"I don't care?"

"No,"

"I don't care?" He asks again, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

"No, you don't" You spit back.

"Okay, fine, I don't care." He sighs, pulling his hat off and pushing his hair back before pulling the hat back on.

"You really don't." You cross your arms again.

"No, you're right. I don't care." He walks past you and heads back to the sound system.

You can't help but get annoyed at his reaction. You're not sure what you want from him, but this isn't it. You can't help but let out a frustrated scream, making Minho jump.

"Why the fuck are you screaming?" He yells, holding his ears.

"Because you're driving me insane!" You scream back.

"How am I making you insane?"

"Are you serious?" You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath to calm yourself down. The range of emotions he's making you feel in a short amount of time is starting to give you a headache. "Look, I get that you're scared of what happens to us if we start dating and it doesn't work out. I get that. I respect that even. But that doesn't mean you can act like a toddler who doesn't get his way when I move on or I'm with someone else. That's not fucking fair."

"It's not fucking fair for you to parade your newest fuck toy around. You know how I feel about you."

"Then fucking date me or shut the fuck up! You either are my boyfriend or my best friend! If you're my best friend you'd want me to be happy no matter what. But because you want to be miserable I have to suffer for it too! That's not how any of this shit is supposed to work!" You feel your face getting wet, angry tears breaking the barrier and flowing down your face.

"I don't want to be miserable and I'm not doing shit to you. I love you, and you can't fucking see that. That's why I'm like this because I don't want to hurt you when I fuck everything up." He finishes hooking up his phone and walks back to the center of the room.

"You're fucking everything up right now! You're hurting me right now! Because I love you too and I really, really don't want to anymore!"

"Then let's just never bring this up again! Let's go back to being just friends before either of us confessed our feelings to each other and--"

"Fuck this," You scoff, brushing past Minho to the counter.

You start throwing all of your things in your bag. You quickly swap your dance shoes for your everyday shoes and throw on your jacket. You make sure to shove your phone and keys in your pocket before zipping up your practice bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

"Where the hell are you going?" Minho groans.

"Home," You say as you walk to the door. Your hand is on the doorknob and you pull open the door.

"We haven't even run through the entirety of any of our exam performances."

"So I can listen to you criticize my dancing for another hour? Fuck that."

"So you're going to sink both of our grades because you're mad at me."

"I'm leaving because I feel sick to my stomach and have a migraine. I don't want to be in the same room as you right now. But you're free to stay here and pretend everything is fine while you dance. I'm going home."

"Great, I'll carry you through our performances like I always do." He grumbles under his breath getting into position again.

That's one of the things you hate about Minho. Both of you are competitive, but he always has to have the last word, even if he doesn't mean it. Especially if he doesn't. You know this, and yet you still drop your bag to the floor and walk over to him. Before he even realizes what is happening, you grab his right arm and sling it over your shoulder while you also take your right leg and position it between his legs. You swiftly knock him off balance with your hip and use your full body weight to toss him over your shoulder.

Thud!

Minho lands flat on his back, gasping for air. You know he didn't get hurt, just had the wind knocked out of him. You know how to safely flip him. You didn't want to hurt him, just shut him up.

"W-what...the...fuck...Y/n?" He pants, trying to catch his breath.

"Go to hell, Minho." You spit before going back to the door, grabbing your bag, and leaving.

You know the smart thing to do would be to cut ties with Minho. Move out, and avoid him at all costs. But part of you can't. You two are forever tethered together, whether you like it or not. A part of you knows you're never going to love anyone the way you love Minho. A larger part of you doesn't want anyone other than him. As much as it hurts, you're holding out for hope that Minho's feelings for you will overpower his fear and one day you'll be together. But just like you, he's stubborn as hell. He may never give in to his feelings for you, and deep down inside, you don't want to accept that.

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

Taglist

Red means that it wouldn't let me tag you (either at all or properly)

@amyyscorner @aaasia111 @weird-bookworm @allaboutyej8 @kangaracharacha @lilcutieana @jungkookies1002 @lanatheawesome @hanniemylovelyquokka @jiisungllvr @marked-unknown @kitheat @spearb-99 @chlodavids @veedoesntknaur @yongbbokkie @warlockwithoutcharisma @fennecnco @aslou @babygirlsuna @jihanlovic @kalopsian-thoughts @reianagarcia @sunshinessky @brain-empty-only-draken @f9clementine @jaydebow @phtogravi @mal-lunar-28 @jhstayy

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steddieasitgoes · 7 months

Text

written for @eddiemonth Day 8 Prompt: Rockstar a/n: loosely inspired by this AU idea I had a few weeks ago. there's some mild sexual content at the end so 18+ only, please!

read on ao3 | link to my ao3 Eddie Month series

Eddie has never been so happy to be wrong in his entire life.

When their record label originally pitched charting a sailing yacht for their “You Survived Your First World Tour” party, Eddie threw a bit of a fit.

Okay, it was a pretty big fucking tantrum, but, like, they had just spent nine months crammed into bunks on their bus and sharing shitty hotel rooms. Sue him for wanting a bit of space to stretch his legs and let the energy of their world tour timer out of him.

No sane person would want to celebrate the end of a grueling but rewarding nine months by being shoved onto a stupid boat that swayed and rocked and could very much end up with the entire band drowned in the middle of the fucking ocean. (He’s not sure if there’s such a thing as an end of your first world tour curse, but if there is, it would definitely wreak havoc on Eddie and the Corroded Coffin boys.)

Not to mention being trapped in the middle of the fucking ocean with no escape route in sight made Eddie’s claustrophobia skyrocket.

No thanks. Not a fucking chance in hell.

But then Jeff happened. Sweet, sensible, always there to talk Eddie down from the hill he’s willing to die on. Before Eddie knew it, the yacht was booked, and a private car was waiting for them to whisk them off to the dock to start their seven-day celebratory vacation.

Eddie had stomped his way up the ramp and onto the stupid yacht with his arms crossed and his rolling eyes hidden behind his dark sunglasses. The scowl on his face was supposed to be permanent, but then—

“Welcome aboard.”

There have been moments in Eddie’s life where the entire world freezes, and he gets tunnel vision. The first time Wayne sat him down and placed the old acoustic over his lap. Corroded Coffin’s first real gig at the dive bar in their hometown. And their official first gig at the same bar where people actually came to see them instead of to drink the cheap beer. That call from their now agent. The time they stepped foot in a fancy recording booth for the first time.

Hell, he gets that tunnel vision, world-freezing moment every time he steps on stage to play for a packed crowd.

It’s a welcome feeling, one Eddie’s become accustomed to. But, never, in his wildest dreams, did he think he’d be experiencing it now, standing on some stupid yacht. But then again, he wasn't prepared to be staring down the prettiest man he’s ever seen.

The Adonis-like man smiles at him, hand outstretched in some kind of welcome handshake. Eddie’s own hand moves on its own accord, slipping into the man’s grasp. How he manages to not slip his fingers between the man's and never let go is beyond him. But he’s glad his conscious has the ability to show some restraint.

Because his mind certainly isn’t. Too busy running through scenario after scenario, all ending with the man’s pristine white polo discarded, preferably into the choppy waves below, his slacks yanked down to his knees, and his sun-kissed back bent over the railing.

Jesus H. Christ.

Somehow, Eddie manages to float down the line of other deckhands, shaking their eager hands and smiling fondly as some of them sing their praises about him and his band. The curly-haired boy at the end seems to be the biggest fan, practically bouncing on his feet before the Captain, a stern-looking man, shoots him a look.

The Captain, Hopper, Eddie thinks the man’s name is, starts talking about the plan for the next seven days, but it goes in one ear and out the other as Eddie shuffles over to where Jeff is listening intently. A swift elbow to the rib is all it takes, though, to get Jeff to focus on him instead.

“What?” Jeff whispers, glancing at Eddie.

“You didn’t tell me this stupid boat included a literal Greek God!” Eddie hisses, leaning into Jeff’s side. “I wouldn’t have put up such a fight had I known. I mean, look at him! He’s—“

Jeff snorts, elbowing Eddie back. “Behave,” he warns before turning his attention back to Captain Hopper.

Behave? Ha! I’ll behave all right. Just as soon as I get my hands on him.

⛵️ ⛵️ ⛵️

“Robin!” Steve hisses, sneaking up behind her as she carries a stack of empty plates from dinner service down the stairs.

“What the hell, Dingus,” she snaps, dishes clattering in her hands as she shoots her free hand out to steady herself. “You know better than to scare me on the stairs when I’m carrying things!”

Steve shrugs his shoulders, wincing in a weird apology of sorts before taking some of the plates from her hands. “I need a favor,” he says as they continue on.

Robin shakes her head, a silent “we’ll talk about this in a minute” look exchanged as they hand off the empty plates to Argyle. A moment later, Steve finds himself being tugged into their small, shared bedroom for some privacy.

“What do you want?”

“Pretend to be sick tomorrow? I’ll tell Hop you’re not feeling good and let one of the deckhands do my job for the day, and I’ll take over as charter host.”

Steve tries not to squirm under Robin’s scrutiny. All narrow eyes and arms crossed. Like she’s staring directly into his soul. He both loves and hates that she knows him so well.

“This is about him, isn’t it?”

“Can you blame me?” he whisper shouts, throwing his hands on his hips. “It’s been months since I’ve gotten laid, Robin. Months! And now, Eddie fucking Munson is on our ship looking like that, and I’m what? Not supposed to feel anything?”

“You know Hop would fire you if he caught you hooking up with a guest, right? Especially one of Munson’s status.”

“He won’t find out.”

“Steve,” Robin sighs. “You’re not that stealthy.”

“Excuse you, I am very stealthy. Like a ninja, actually,” Steve pouts. “But I won't have to be stealthy. I won't be hooking up with him here.”

For the first time in a long time, Robin is generally shocked by the words leaving Steve’s mouth. He can’t help the surge of pride that courses through him. See, he thinks, you don’t know everything about me.

“So, what’s the plan then?”

“Tomorrow, there’s a water day planned and then a beachside dinner. You call in sick. I became the charter host and spend the whole day flirting with him. And then at dinner, I somehow get him to follow me to that tourist trap of a bar a mile up the road with the big, single bathroom and—“

“I’ve heard enough!” she shouts, slamming her hands over her ears.

A silence falls between them as Robin makes a show of considering the plan, and Steve contemplates getting on his knees to beg for her help. Thankfully, she saves him the embarrassment (and his knees from any soreness that would prevent tomorrow’s activities from happening) and agrees to the plan.

“I swear to God, Steve, if you get caught and fired, I will kill you. You can’t leave me here alone.”

He laughs, pulling her into a hug before Robin heads back out to finish up her chores. Steve stays behind, calling it a night early. He’s going to need all the sleep he can get if his plan is going to work tomorrow.

⛵️ ⛵️ ⛵️

Thanks to Jeff’s constant presence and Gareth's watchful eye from across the room, Eddie reluctantly behaved the first night. Said please and thank you when he was asked for his drink and food order. Made small talk with the other deckhands and even stealthy signed a CD for the curly-haired kid who introduced himself as his biggest fan and then by his actual name, Dustin.

Eddie wasn't exactly pleased with his proper behavior, but it was a bit easy to play the part of the good rockstar when Mr. Greek God, aka Steve, as he came to find out, kept his distance from him. From what he gathered in the few short hours on the sailing yacht, Steve is the second in command around here, meaning he’s constantly being pulled in different directions, much to Eddie’s chagrin.

However, that seems to have changed this morning when Steve’s the one bringing up a delicious spread of breakfast foods. Buttery warm croissants, pancakes the size of his head. Even some bastard breakfast pizza that Steve says is the chef’s specialty. It all looks great but not nearly as delicious as Steve looks in his red, slightly too-tight polo.

And then, as if a gift from the universe for his behavior the day before, Steve tells them Robin is feeling under the weather, and he'll be their charter host for the day. Thankfully, Steve runs off to start setting things up in the water and misses Eddie's pathetic reaction to the news.

Now, Steve’s currently shouting orders at a pair of deckhands as they lower a jet ski into the waters below. His voice is commanding, and Eddie knows in an instant that he’d do anything Steve tells him to do if he speaks to him like that. And Eddie doesn’t ever give up being in control, so, like, the thought really fucks him up in the best way possible.

As if that’s not bad enough, the minute the stupid jet ski hits the water, Steve tears off his too-tight red polo and throws it down on the deck beside him before kicking off his shoes. His sun-kissed skin is on full display, and it’s even prettier than Eddie imagined. (And boy, did he spend the entire night imagining it while alone in the main suite.) Eddie only has time to ogle for a moment before Steve races down the steps to the lower dock and dives into the open ocean like a fucking Olympian.

Jesus H. Christ, who is this man?

“You’re drooling,” Jeff teases, swatting Eddie with the linen napkin.

“Can you blame me?” Eddie asks, dragging the back of his hand across his lips. “Look at him. He’s a work of art, and I want to destroy him.”

“Seriously, Eddie?” Jeff laughs, shaking his head. “He’s just some guy.”

“No, you are just some guy. Gareth is just some guy. That guy I hooked up with in London with the piercing blue eyes? That was just some guy. Steve over there…” Eddie trails off, literally swooning. He pillows his chin in his hands, elbows digging into the warm railing of the boat as he looks out into the ocean. Steve’s straddling a jetski now, life vest thrown haphazardly over his body, unsecured.

“You’re down so bad,” Jeff laughs.

“I’m not even joking, Jeffy. You might have to find a new lead guitarist. I think I’m going to be staying here forever.”

“Slow it down, Romeo. What if he’s not even into guys?”

“Oh, trust me,” Eddie says, turning to look at Jeff with a wicked grin and mischief in his eyes. “He doesn’t have to be into guys; he just has to be into me. And I can do that with one very skilled blow—“

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the Blowjob King or whatever,” Jeff says, rolling his eyes. He takes a sip from his beer and lets his eyes drift out to the ocean, following Eddie’s gaze to where Steve is. “Just be careful, okay? We’re stuck here for six more days. Don’t make things awkward.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Eddie says, licking his lips as Steve pulls himself up onto the boat’s platform. He eyes Steve like an animal stalking his prey. Tunnel vision hits him as Steve shakes the water from his hair and rubs a towel over his gorgeous, hairy chest. “It’s him you should be worried about.”

⛵️ ⛵️ ⛵️

Steve has enough time to turn the lock of the single-stall bathroom at the Tropical Getaway Bar before Eddie is on him. Crowding into his space and pushing him back, back, back until his shoulders collide with the door.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since the minute I saw you,” Eddie groans before smashing their lips together.

It’s quick and dirty, and Steve tries to chase Eddie’s lips when he pulls away, but then Eddie’s lips are on his neck. If it weren’t for Eddie’s firm grip on his hips, Steve would be a puddle on the floor.

Eddie works fast, yanking the polo from where it’s been tucked into his stupid khaki shorts before fiddling with the belt. In one fluid motion, Eddie pulls the belt free and throws it across the room without a care in the world. He’s pretty sure he hears it splash into the toilet, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s got other belts on the ship.

And then Eddie lowers himself to the ground, chasing the tug of Steve’s shorts until they’re both on the grimy bathroom floor. Steve’s not sure how long he’s going to last — god damn months-long dry spell — but he hopes it's long enough to permanently burn the image of Eddie on his knees into his head forever.

“I have one request,” Eddie says, gazing up at Steve with blown brown eyes. Index finger dragging up and down the inside of Steve’s thighs, coaxing goosebumps to rise on his skin despite the humid temperature in the bathroom.

“Anything,” Steve gasps when Eddie abandons his light teasing and grabs Steve with one hand, squeezing just enough to burn in the best way. The moan that falls from his lips is embarrassing, but Steve doesn’t care. “Anything for you, rockstar.”

Eddie chuckles at the nickname and leans forward until Steve can feel his warm breath against him. “Use that pretty mouth of yours and tell me what you want,” Eddie says, pressing a kiss to the tip of Steve’s dick. “Can you do that for me, baby?”

“Yeah!” Steve nods, hips bucking up into Eddie’s face on their own accord. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good,” Eddie hums. “Then start giving orders, Captain.”

#eddiemonth #eddiemonthafterdark #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson ficlet #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington ficlet #rockstar eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #dani writes

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anne-chloe · 4 months

Text

Underground | V |

Jareth/Goblin King x F! Reader

Summary : Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, you fought your way to the castle beyond the Goblin City to make a new deal with the King himself.

What were you to do now?

The door had opened up into a large plain area, and just in front of you stood the entrance to the Goblin City. The door had vanished behind you the moment you entered through, meaning that there was no turning back and no backtracking.

You had approached the guard and found him fast asleep, snoring loudly at the gate he was supposed to be watching. The gate was simply too heavy for you to move by yourself. You tried pushing; you tried pulling. To no avail it wouldn't budge.

You resisted the urge to scream in frustration. You resisted the urge to stomp your foot like a child having a tantrum. You'd come so far, only to be defeated by a gate. It was incredibly pathetic; you didn't know whether you should laugh or cry at the very idea.

How would that conversation even go between the Goblin King and Harry? "Sorry, your ex couldn't figure out how to open a simple gate. I'm going to turn you into a goblin now, forever." You imagined that the Goblin King was watching you somewhere, cackling in joy that you had failed in such a pathetic way.

"Stupid gate," you huffed loudly, not caring if your ranting would wake the guard up. If anything, you wanted him to be awake so he could let you in. But, actually, would he let you in? Seeing as he was one of the guards, shouldn't that mean he was supposed to deliberately keep you out? You sighed, tipping your head forwards. What use would that even be? You couldn't open the damn thing!

Then, the guard began to stir from his sleep. You glanced nervously at him, wondering what the reaction would be. Would it go in your favour, or would be chase you away with that incredibly pointy stick of his? You'd rather not be poked and prodded with it; it looked like it would hurt quite a bit.

"Ah! Human!" The goblin shouted, snatching his stick that rested next to him. He then held it up, pointing the sharp end directly at you. You flinched back and held your hands up nervously, as if to surrender yourself, or to show that you weren't a threat to his position. "'Ts me job to keep ya out! Get back! Our King won't be 'appy if i's fail!"

You gasped as the goblin took a swing at you. The tip of his spear glided across your jumper, fearing a hole down the front. Luckily, you were wearing another shirt underneath, or else this would have been insanely embarrassing on your behalf. You dropped your hands to your sides, your hand brushing against your pocket.

Your pocket.

Something was in your pocket!

The crystal ball from earlier. You eagerly reached in and pulled it out, not being able to resist smirking at the unsuspecting goblin that was still yelling at you to leave. Then, you pulled your arm back and aimed the crystal ball at the goblin, planning on hitting him in the face with it, or maybe the chest, just to get him to let go of the spear so you could snatch it and threaten him with it. Reverse the tables, turn your favours back to you.

The crystal ball flew through the air. The goblins eyes flashed in recognition. He opened his mouth to shriek in surprise, or maybe for help, but he suddenly went very quiet as the ball collided with his body. You watched, startled, as a bright light consumed his body, and he vanished in an instant. You bolted over, picking up the abandoned spear and the crystal ball that dropped on the floor after hitting its target.

Inside, squirming around and continuing to yell, was the goblin.

Well, that worked out better than you had intended. You smiled apologetically at the goblin, "when I find the Goblin King, I'll ask him to let you out." You then placed the crystal ball into your pocket, muffling the goblins angry shouts.

If you could get to the Goblin King. You still had to figure out how to open the gate. You'd planned on threatening the goblin with his own spear to have him open the gate for you, but now he was trapped inside the crystal ball and you didn't have a clue how to get him out again. You thought that maybe you could throw it, like you had done originally, but what would happen if it then shattered?

You didn't want to kill a goblin, even if it was by accident.

You looked at the spear and picked it up from the ground. For such a small goblin, he was definitely given a huge weapon to wield. You twisted it around thoughtfully. If you couldn't open the gate, and you were taller and therefore stronger than the goblin, how would the goblin have done it?

You approached the gate slowly, glancing back at it between the spear.

You lifted the spear and gently tapped the end of it against the gate. You waited to baited breath to see if anything happened. Then, to your relief, the gate began to creak open. You bit back a laugh, shoulders shaking in glee that you had managed to solve this puzzle. You stepped through the gates, grinning to yourself and taking in the beginnings of the Goblin City.

"It's a human!"

Oh.

Right.

You broke out into a sprint as the gates started to close again, now trapping you inside its walls. Not wanting to get caught by any of the goblins, who seemed rather hostile towards your appearance, you ducked between houses to avoid their wrath. You listened as they rushed around frantically, gathering weapons of their own to defend the city and the castle from your intrusion.

You squealed as a pot rushed by your head, followed by spoons and plates. They smashed into the side of the house, and you realised that you couldn't hide for very long. Waiting for things to settle would be utterly useless. You darted from between the houses and scurried past a fountain, with little goblin faces as faucets as water trickled from their mouths.

You gasped in relief, legs searing in pain as you began thundering up the steps that directed you towards the castle. Household items continued to be launched after you as you advanced further. The doors to the castle were wide open, almost like they were inviting you inside. You practically jumped through the doors and wasted no time in pushing them shut, effectively blocking off the goblins that had begun to attack you on sight. They pounded and yelled from the outside, and you pressed your back against the door to keep it shut tight.

Then, you stabbed the spear through the loops of the handles. You stepped back, watching tentatively as the doors shuddered and shook from the onslaught of goblins. But it didn't open. You felt relieved as you allowed a breathy, shaky laugh tumble from your lips at that wild, intense experience.

You were almost beaten to death with spoons.

How embarrassing.

You turned to face the entrance room, which was huge and rather intimidating. The entire castle was made of stone, and its decor was somewhat minimal. You'd have thought a glittery King like this one would have a taste for more popping decoration. While there were tapestries and paintings depicting a story untold, all of them with goblins and other mythical creatures, there were a few plants that hung like vines from the ceiling.

There were three different routes you could take. One to the left, one to the right, and one straight ahead. While your original goal was to find Harry and then the Goblin King, you had considered what the mimic in the mirror had suggested—to have your ex run through the labyrinth and face trials and tricks. For this to happen, you knew you needed to seek out the Goblin King.

You felt something compel you to take the left hallway. You had no reasoning other than a hunch that the Goblin King would be down the left hallway. So you followed your heart and listened to your shoes click in the echo that followed; you wandered purposefully through the castle, occasionally glancing at the paintings hung on the walls.

Then, another opening at the end. You approached the room with caution.

Inside was rather... messy. The room itself was grand, with a throne sat at the far end, and steps leading up to it. In the centre was a pit, two layers deep. Surrounding the edges of the room were various bits of furniture, all rather random and out of place. For a King, you were surprised that it wasn't more refined and put together—that it wasn't more clean. You eyed the hay and straw on the floor, and then the chicken that squawked from the corner of the room, its wings flapping as you entered further.

You turned around, glancing at every surface and every corner. There was another doorway, with a staircase that led upwards. Other than that, there wasn't much to see. The labyrinth was much more put together and delightful than this; you were rather disappointed.

"Lost?"

You felt the hairs on your arms prickle at the Goblin Kings voice. You turned around again, now facing the throne where he was perched. He hadn't been there moments ago...

You shook your head. "No. I'm right where I wanted to be."

The Goblin King rested his head in his hand, seeming very calm and collected considering that you were trespassing. "But your resolve has changed," he mused, his eyes twinkling in delight.

You were correct in thinking that the Goblin King had some interference with your reflection. It seemed as though he had been fully expecting your change of heart; he seemed pleased with this, like it was the outcome he desired. But why would he want you here instead of Harry?

"It has," you answered carefully.

There was a pause. You stared at the Goblin King, and he stared at you. Neither side dared to break the silence. You could hear the ticking of the clock as your timer drew to its end. The thirteen hours were nearly over. Yet, you weren't concerned about that at all.

You were concerned with how you were going to word out your desire to change the deal. To change your wish. To make it sound enticing for the King to accept.

The Goblin King let out an exasperated sigh as he stood to his feet. His boots clicked loudly against the stone as he descended down the steps, now sauntering towards you with impressive confidence. Though, you supposed he'd need to possess such confidence if he were to rule his very own domain. He reached his hand forward, his gloved fingers caressing your cheek with a particular restraint. You only stared at his face as he did this, observing him for any reaction. But he only seemed fascinated.

"I know the wish you desire to make," he then said, a knowing smirk tugging upwards at his face. He made it sound like he could delve into the deepest corners of your mind and scour your thoughts with ease. The thought didn't make you shudder in horror. "All you need to do is say it. Say it, and it shall be done."

You lifted your own hand and embraced his, which was still touching your face. He breathed in sharply at the action, and you felt your own lips twitch in amusement at it.

"I don't want Harry to become a goblin, and I don't want him to forget the pain he has caused me," you explained slowly, mulling over every single word with great care and thought. You didn't want to mess up. Words were power, and right now you were the most powerful in the world. "But I do want him to suffer. I want him to experience the labyrinth the same way any person would have. I want him to have that 13 hour time limit to find me."

The Goblin King snickered at the boldness of your desire. The way revenged seeped into every word spoken; the way malice was present in every syllable. It was this that made humans so interesting to him, the way they could embrace their darkness and demand unthinkable things.

You took in a deep breath. "I wish Harry and I could swap places."

The Goblin King pulled your hand to his face, his lips pressing firmly to your knuckles. You flustered at the action, having not expected something so intimate to happen. He looked up through his eyelashes, his smile pressing against your skin.

"For you, my dear, I'll do anything."

#fan fiction #fantasy #female reader #jareth #the goblin king #goblins #labyrinth #labyrinth 1986 #romance #angst #Jareth x reader #castles #ballrooms #kings

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