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yandere-daydreams · 7 months

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Title: Scarlet and Gold.

Pairing: Yandere!Diluc x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.1k.

TW: Sex Doll AU, Unhealthy Relationships, Gore (No Injury To Reader), Blood, Implied Consensual Sex, Past Trauma, Obsessive Behavior, and Intimidation.

By the time you reached the address, Diluc was already waiting in the lobby.

You’d gotten the call about an hour ago, spent half an hour dragging yourself out of bed and gathering what you’d need before making the twenty minute drive to an apartment complex on the other side of town, careful to avoid any security cameras the cops would think to check if anyone requested an investigation. Five more to park and throw your well-worn duffle bag over your shoulder and three to find Diluc, loitering near the elevators, fiddling with a loose cigarette he would never light. You greeted him with a quick nod before throwing your bag into his chest, and he feigned a groan, stumbling back as he caught it. He needed to work on his impressions, but that could wait.

You spoke first. That, you couldn’t critique him on – most androids couldn’t speak until spoken to, and you couldn’t expect Diluc to go against one of the core tenants of his programming. “What is it?”

“Just the usual.” He kept his voice low, muted, trying to hide the remaining traces of an accent that’d been invented by some marketing team over a decade ago. “I’ve already seen the apartment. There’s a little blood, but not much else. We’ll be done by sunrise.”

You took the stairs, keeping your head bowed and face shielded from any possible security cameras. Diluc didn’t share your paranoia, staring straight ahead with the same indifferent expression he always seemed to wear. The benefits of having a face that’d been printed and distributed tens of thousands of times, you guessed. Tracking down a single Diluc in a sea of androids and companion bots wasn’t a length most detectives were willing to go to. “I’d rather not have to do this at all.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Says the man who doesn’t have to sleep.” You came to a stop in front of the first door on the fourth story and tried the knob. It gave easily, the cheap titanium dented and the lock broken beyond any hope of repair. Diluc’s handiwork, obviously, although you couldn’t say whether or not he’d done it on purpose. “Anything else you want to tell me, before we get started?”

He thought, for a second. “I passed a carousel on the way here,” he said, with no particular inflection. “It was nice. I thought the horses were well-crafted.”

“About the assignment, ‘luc.”

“Oh,” And then, with a hint of red in his pale cheek. “You might want to hold your breath.”

You didn’t have to ask what he meant. As soon as you opened the door, you were hit with the stomach-turning stench of stale blood and rotting gore, both at least a week old. You cursed, pulling your shirt over your nose and mouth, but pushed forward. The first body was splayed out in the center of the cramped living room, wrists and ankles bound with disembodied wiring, all clothing removed and chest dotted with black ink. The abdomen had been cut open, skin peeled away to reveal the entrails in their full, shriveled glory. Judging by the number of blades littered around the corpse, ranging from blunted scissors to gore-splattered carving knives, it’d been more of a hack job than a dissection.

Diluc had undersold the mess. Blood had soaked into the carpeting and dried, turning the floor a ruddy, reddish-brown color. What was left had gotten on the walls, the furniture, the ceiling. You swallowed back a groan. The furniture could be broken down and discarded, the walls and ceiling bleached. The carpeting, though, would have to be torn up and replaced, which meant you would have to spend a few more precious minutes of your night calling in a cleaning crew. That, or you would have to make Diluc do it, but he was shy around new people, and you were too much of a bleeding heart to sit back and watch him do your work.

“The second body’s in the bedroom.” He was already rummaging through your duffle bag, paying the scene in front of you no more mind that a butcher would lend to a pig on a meat hook. He handed you your tools – a pair of wire cutters, a box cutter, and a pocket-sized sewing kit – and kept the rest for himself. “Let me know when you’re done.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “I thought you would’ve gotten over that by now, ‘luc.”

He didn’t indulge you with a response, only pulling on a pair of latex gloves and starting towards the corpse. You didn’t stick around to watch. Rather, you followed the carnage where it branched off further into the apartment, a trail of rotting viscera and tacky blood leading you into a moderately sized, completely undecorated bedroom. You found your perpetrator quickly; a Dottore droid, still wearing its Teyvat-issued costuming, its hands bloody and a scrap of intestine still caught in its pointed teeth. You paused in the doorway, feeling for the military-grade taser (the only weapon effective against androids, as far as anyone could tell) you kept in your pocket, but the android didn’t move, didn’t shift, didn’t activate at all when you reluctantly approached. There was a charging port at the foot of the bed, still pristine. It must’ve run out of battery just before it could plug itself in.

Towels from the nearest bathroom were dampened and brought in, the evidence of slaughter scrubbed away from artificial skin and its blood-soaked clothing removed. It was muscle memory, by now – dragging the body to its charging port, knocking the converter out of the outlet before connecting the android to its port, making it seem like its late user had drained its batteries before mistakenly leaving it on a dead cable. When it’d slummed into place, you took up your box cutter and sliced a long, thin line from the lowest portion of the scalp to the nape of its neck, revealing the color-coded string of wires that connected the processing units in its metal skull to the rest of its body. You cut through everything you could find, ensuring that if the unit was ever activated again, it wouldn’t be able to do so much as blink. For good measure, you fished out the memory chip kept in the centermost compartment of the throat, too, crushing it under your heel and sweeping the glittering remnants underneath the bed. A copy of the footage it collected would’ve been sent to Teyvat's severs, too, but erasing it was someone else’s job. You were only here to take care of yourself.

With a breathy groan, you bit off a length of thread and haphazardly stitched up your ragged incision. The cosmetics really didn’t matter. In a few days, when someone filed a missing person’s report and the cops stopped by for a check-in, they’d find a spotless apartment, a dysfunctional android, and nothing else. The investigation would lead elsewhere, to a bitter ex-partner or a friend without an alibi, or it would hit a dead end. Either way, Teyvat wouldn’t be involved.

You slipped back out of the bedroom, careful to avoid touching anything you didn’t absolutely have to. By the time you got back to the living room, the body was gone and Diluc was kneeling by a black suitcase no larger than the average carry-on, securing the tags with transparent zip-ties. You and Diluc would haul it to a dump on the outskirts of the city tonight, and a contact of yours would have it compressed and incinerated by tomorrow morning. Maybe, when you were done, you’d take him out for something to eat. Or, you’d get something to eat while he let a mug of black coffee go cold.

You rested your hand on his shoulder by way of praise, pulling away when he stiffened underneath you. Right, that was something you had to work on. Most rogue androids tended to be touch-adverse at best, made aggressive by little more than eye-contact at worst. Diluc was relatively tame compared to most of the cases you handled, but you would still rather not provoke him. “Did you find the phone?”

He grunted, fishing a smartphone out of his pocket. With your sleeve pulled over your hand, you accepted it, found the nearest window, and chucked it as far as into the night as you could. Diluc appeared over your shoulder. “Forty-five meters,” he said, as glass crashed into cement somewhere in the distance. “Above average for non-athletes.”

“I’ve been practicing.” The window was closed, the suitcase slung over Diluc’s shoulder along with your near-empty duffle bag. “I have to make a call. You can meet me in the garage, if you want.” Already pulling up the number to your preferred cleaning service, you glanced to Diluc. “Are we doing breakfast?”

His posture straightened. “Yes.” If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought you saw a spark in his glass eyes. “I want to try tea, today.”

By the time you got to the door, Diluc was soaking wet.

You hadn’t gotten a call, and he didn’t text. The first warning you got was a knock on your door, then another a few minutes later, after you decided that anyone who’d go out in this kind of weather wasn’t someone you wanted in your shoebox of an apartment. You only caved after the third, imagining a neighbor who’d gotten locked out or some lost, desperate tourist as you dragged yourself off of your couch and to the unlit entryway. Predictably, Diluc stood in your doorway, red hair plastered to his scalp and clothes drenched, not that he seemed to mind.

“Can you—” He paused, his dull eyes meeting yours as he ran his fingers through his hands, dragging the crimson heap out of his face. “Can you cut my hair?”

Ten minutes later, he was sitting on a stool in your cramped bathroom, wearing grey sweatpants and a (three sizes too big on you, just a touch too small on him) t-shirt while his own clothes dried. He’d told you it wasn’t necessary, that he didn’t feel the cold like you did. When you told him that you didn’t want an univited guest tracking water into your apartment, he accepted it with a curt nod and changed in your bedroom.

After prepping your razor, you positioned yourself behind him, dragging a comb through his hair. It was long enough to reach his waist, curled at the end to make him seem just a touch more disheveled than he actually was. Everything about his hair, from the length of his bangs to the way it could never quite sit completely flat, was perfectly stylized, perfectly crafted to convey Diluc Ragnvindr, Calvery Captain of the Favonious Knights, the only gentleman you’ll ever need again. You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a part of you that didn’t mourn ruining such a well-executed vision. “You sure about this?” you asked, as you brushed it out. “It can’t exactly grow back.”

“I am.” And then, after a second of thought, “I’d do it myself, but there’s a safe-guard. Can’t damage the merchandise without a direct order from my user.”

Hence why Teyvat needed you in the first place. “How short do you want it?”

“I don’t care, as long as it’s different.”

You hummed, taking up your scissors. “If you say so, boss.”

You cut away everything below his shoulders, then took up your electric razor – running it over the back of his neck. As you worked, Diluc spoke. “How did you start?” You took up your comb, brushing back his bangs and pasting his hair to the side. “With Teyvat, I mean.”

You tasted blood on the back of your tongue, felt a chill run up your spine. You brushed it off, though, refusing to let yourself fall back into that little steel room with those awful golden eyes again. “They brought me on as a technician,” you admitted. You still were one, technically, on your employment transcript, when people outside of your little world asked what you did for a living. “A first-generation Zhongli we were working on went rogue and reverted to its original Morax programming. It wiped out most of my team before security bothered to show up.” You didn’t tell him about the minutes you’d spent hiding in a steel locker, praying its heat sensors had been removed, or the hours it’d taken upper management to decide what to do with you. To people like Diluc, who could take a bullet to the head without faltering, topics like ‘building dread’ and ‘the imminent fear of death’ tended to fall flat. “Since I was already in on their dirty little secret, they decided to keep me on. I didn’t really get a choice. It wasn’t like another job was going to fall into my lap after something like that.”

With your hand under his chin, you turned his head to the side. “Your turn, ‘luc.”

“I… I think I used to be a companion, but something went wrong.” His bangs were next, taken up and coaxed into sitting somewhere other than the dead center of his face. “It’s hard to describe. We aren’t supposed to think about things that aren’t our master,” The word came out hitched, unsteady, like he had to force it past his lips. Like he hadn’t wanted to say it at all. “But I could. It was like… waking up with the ability to fly. I wasn’t supposed to, but I could, and that meant I couldn’t do what I was built to, anymore.”

A thumb pressed into his jaw, a comb dragged across his scalp. Diluc’s eyes fell shut, but else about his blank expression changed. “And? Do you like it?”

“Sometimes.” His shoulders slanted downward. “Do you?”

“Sometimes.” You let go of his chin, letting him turn back to the vanity’s mirror. “What do you think?”

It was far from a masterpiece. The sides were too short, the front too long, every part of it still as untamable as it’d been in its original state. Still, he took it in with wide eyes, the corner of his lips turning upward ever so slightly.

“It’s perfect.”

By the time he got back, you’d nearly fallen asleep.

With your body as wrung out as it was, your energy spent to the point of near unconsciousness, it was all you could do to watch through your eyelashes as Diluc appeared in the doorway to your bedroom, a towel thrown over his shoulder and that tiny, almost undetectable smile still painted across his lips. You’d done this enough for him to know how to navigate your apartment, to know how to navigate you – shifting onto your mattress slowly as he positioned himself between your legs. He’d gotten more used to contact since you started seeing each other, but his touch was still ginger, still gentle as he dragged the dampened cloth over the inside of your thighs. With a groan, you rolled onto your back, spreading your legs and giving him more space to work.

You’d been confused at first, but for all the eloquence Diluc lacked, he could be convincing when he wanted to be. You still weren’t sure how much of it you believed, but it made enough sense – a buried impulse, dampened by his newfound sentience but not quite drowned out. He didn’t want another user, he’d said, but he still had requirements to fill, and this would help to take the edge off.

You couldn’t complain, either. People coughed up tens of thousands of dollars for companion droids, and here you were, being paid six figures a year to close your eyes and let one bury his face between your thighs once or twice a week. The coddling wasn’t bad, either. Your line of work meant most of the people you met had stopped breathing a few days prior, and as loathed as you’d be to admit it, you didn’t hate the feeling of his delicate hands skirting over your skin, didn’t mind it when your eyes drifted open and met his, already fixed on your face. He bowed his head, dipping low enough for his lips to ghost over the curve of your hip before breaking the silence. “A sight as radiant as the rising sun.”

You let out a breath of a chuckle. “I didn’t think you used pre-scripted lines, anymore.”

“I don’t.” He preened, clearly more proud of himself than in-awe of you. “I thought of that one myself.”

This time, your laugh was throaty, genuine, loud enough to ring off the wall of your bedroom as you shoved him away with your foot. “If you want to be romantic, you can start by getting me something to drink, loverboy.”

He provided no resistance, disappearing into your dark apartment and reappearing with a glass of water in his hand a few minutes later. He handed it off to you with an easy smile, and you could almost pretend you didn’t see a phantom of gold in those dark eyes as his fingertips brushed against yours.

By the time you thought to reach for your taser, the android was already charging at you.

It was an Alhaitham, dressed in civilian clothes and sporting a ragged tear across the synthetic skin of his cheek. He was still standing over the corpse of his user – days old, by the time you and Diluc got there – but as you opened the door, he turned to face you, lips parted and his expression totally, utterly blank. For a second, it was all you could do to stare at him, to try to remember whether or not your report had mentioned the android being active, and then he was lunging at you.

You scrambled for your taser, already knowing you couldn’t be able to reach it before he reached you. You clenched your eyes shut, your fingers brushing against plastic, and then—

And then you felt Diluc’s hand on your shoulder, heard metal crack and fold into itself. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, forcing yourself to take in the sight of Diluc’s hand wrapped around the android’s head which had been, in turn, reduced to a crumpled heap of scrap metal and shattered glass. Its body twitched once, twice, then went limp, and Diluc released it, letting the now-dysfunctional droid collapse.

After it failed to get up again, Diluc turned to you, practically beaming. “I think,” he said, his voice low, sentimental. “That this is what I’d do to you, if you ever tried to leave me.”

Golden eyes, the stench of fresh blood, the sounds of screaming muffled only by a thin sheet of metal. This time, it wasn’t so easy to pull yourself out of it.

You managed to nod, to force a few words out of your dry throat. “Got it, ‘luc.”

He hummed, the noise contented, appeased. Slowly, delicately, he cupped your cheek, tilting your head back and letting his lips ghost over your forehead. He barely touched you, the gesture as gentle as it was fleeting, but you could feel his grin cutting into your skin, wider than you’d ever seen it before.

#sex doll au #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere diluc #diluc x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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tojiscumdumpster · 3 months

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⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။ knockout x renji abarai

✧ summary there’s no better way for renji to celebrate a big win than to spend the night with y/n.

✧ content warnings reader described as a black woman who uses she/pronouns. feisty!reader, chubby!reader x undergroundfighter!renji. modern au — no bleach verse. told in first POV — renji’s. mentions of stitches and bruises. usage of profanity, praise kink, cowgirl position, nipple play, facefucking — renji will finish in reader’s, squirting. terms of endearment — baby, sweetheart, angel, etc. reader and renji are in their late twenties.

✧ author’s note hello, hello. i am here with a fic that’s not jjk for once in my life, lmfao. this idea has been in my drafts since january 2023, and it was just sitting there collecting dusts on my old tumblr. but i said i was going to do more bleach characters, so here we go. first time writing renji, so if this ain’t how you see him, oops. still enjoy. also didn't really focus on the underground!fighter portion as much. but maybe i will if there's a next time. support me by liking, commenting, and reblogging this post. i would greatly appreciate it. AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS AND MINORS— DO NOT INTERACT.

I know she told me not to come by after the fight, but I needed to.

I won.

I fucking won, and there’s no other way for me to celebrate winning ten thousand dollars than to be with Y/N.

Well, that’s if she’s still not mad at me.

Before I left for my match, we got into an argument. A huge one. She doesn’t like that I fight for a living, let alone illegal underground fighting. I mean—I get it. Seeing someone you care about constantly getting his ass beat isn’t a sight worth seeing.

But fighting is all I know.

I had a shitty childhood. Didn’t know who the hell my parents were since they gave me up at birth for adoption. Jump around in foster care homes until the mothers got sick of me and kicked me out in the streets. Survival was basically forced on me.

Fighting is what kept me alive. For food. Clothes. A place to lay my head. Whether I lost or won, I know the reason why I’m alive today is because I’m a fighter.

It wasn’t until I was eighteen when I found out about the world of underground fighting. Ten years deep and I know nothing else.

Y/N knows this about me. She understands I didn’t have it easy and never judged me. But that doesn’t mean she agrees with my lifestyle.

She came to a few fights in the beginning. Eventually, she got tired of seeing me stitched up almost every weekend.

Shit, me too.

However, after tonight, I feel good about my future wins. I busted my ass in training, so now I don’t have to hear shit about anymore losses.

Even if right now I’m stitched up and have a black eye. I feel good.

Great.

Better if Y/N opens the door after keeping me waiting out in the cold for the past ten minutes.

I know she’s awake. She has a habit of staying up late, studying for med school. And plus, I haven’t messaged or called her yet. Despite her not showing up to my fights, she still wants an update afterwards that I made it out alive.

“Y/N, let me in,” I say, knocking loudly on her apartment door. “You know I don’t care about making a scene.”

After a few more obnoxious knocks, the door finally swings open and I am met with deep russet skin, tight curls, and chocolate-colored eyes that pierce an annoyed look in my direction.

“What do you want?” She bites out. “I’m busy.”

I smirk and hold the bag of money in the air. “I won.”

“Congrats.” Her tone is flat and she tries to slam the door in my face, but I placed my foot to stop it from closing. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Are you really still mad at me?” I teasingly ask.

“You won. I said congrats. What more do you want?”

I shrugged. “I’m locked out of my apartment.”

She arches a brow at me, already recognizing my bullshit ass excuse of being locked out of my apartment.

Y/N knows me. She knows I would do anything to be in her presence, so going back and forth in forty degree weather is pointless.

Her pretty brown hues travels across my face and body, examining the stitches and bruises that probably has her wondering, who the fuck treated him?

Me. But that’s besides the point.

A deep sign escapes her mouth when she realizes I’m not going anywhere until she lets me in, so she opens her door wider and turns her back to me to walk further inside her apartment.

“Sit,” she orders, which I happily do so while chuckling to myself.

While Y/N goes to the bathroom (assuming she’s getting a med kit to fix my shitty patch job), I take advantage of staring at her round ass that’s barely covered in those tiny boy shorts. Every step she takes it jiggles, creating an ocean of waves I’m eager to swim in.

I get comfortable while I wait, taking off my skully, sweater, and any other form of heavy clothing that would cause me to sweat in her heated apartment.

“I’m going to start charging you if you keep fucking coming to my apartment like this, Renji,” Y/N snapped, walking with the kit in her hand as expected.

“Outside of paying for your tuition, I can think of other ways to repay you.”

She rolls her eyes at my suggestive comment. “Get over yourself, Abarai.”

I let out a snort before she stands in front of me and tilt up my chin to start making work on my face.

She’s cute when she’s mad. Huffing and puffing while whispering slick comments under breath. But how she’s handling my face by moving it around with force rushes blood straight to my groin.

I’m getting hard.

Hard as shit, and it’s not helping that I’m in close proximity with her.

That jasmine lavender scent that circulates through my senses. Looking up at her full lips that’s coated with gloss. Then, lowering my gaze to her tits that’s big, naturally saggy, and pretty. My mouth is watering at the sight of her nipples hardening.

And I don’t know if it’s because she feels that I’m checking her out or the coldness outside is affecting her.

Either way, I’ll act on it.

Taking it upon myself, I grab the back of her thighs to pull her on my lap. As if she’s used to my antics, it doesn’t catch her off guard and she continues to clean up my wounds.

“You’re all bloody up with a black eye and somehow you still have the energy to be a pervert,” she retorts.

I move one of hands to her ass, massaging comforting circles. “For you? Yeah.”

The quiet between us was comfortable until she opted to speak again. “So… who’d you fight?”

“Some huge motherfucker. I thought I was going to die.”

She leans back to grab more alcohol and dabs it above my brow. “Maybe that’s what needed to have you stop fucking fighting.”

I throw my head back to laugh, but she grabs my chin to bring my face forward. “Like you want me dead.” My hands creep beneath her cheeks to pull her closer to me and apply more pressure to my cock. “That’s what you want?”

“That came out my mouth, Abarai?”

“Why are you still mad at me?”

She scoffs. “Why am I mad that you’re practically coming to me everyday with a busted face and broken ribs?” That’s one thing I love about Y/N—her feisty personality. It turns me on so fucking much because I know when I fuck her, it’ll be a different story.

Continuing, she says, “I think I would be a little more satisfied if you did this professionally as opposed to underground. Underground doesn’t come with insurance, Ren.”

“Aw, you care about me that much?” My question was supposed to be posed as a joke, but the look on her pretty face says otherwise.

“Fucking asshole. I don’t know why I still deal with your ass.”

“Probably because you love me.”

“Probably not.”

Gripping her hips, I pull her with me and lean back into the headrest of the couch. We’re inches away from our mouths cooling and I take advantage of this proximity by basking in her sweet smelling breath and beauty.

Simply because Y/N exists, my cocks hardens for her. Holding her in my arms. Feeling her pussy against my erection and breasts suffocating pressed on my chest. Girlfriend or not, she’s mine.

And she knows it.

I can see how she looks at me, even when mad, that she cares and loves me. Y/N is a tough girl. I can only imagine what she’s been through. Still, she manages to soften up just for me.

We never made it official since she doesn’t approve of the underground shit, but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop asking.

“So when are you going to say yes to being my girlfriend?” I whisper.

She tries breaking from my embrace, but I tighten my grip. “Renji…”

“You feel my dick pressed against you, right? It only makes it harder when you say my name like that, Y/N.”

“Be real with me… will you keep doing this shit forever?” Her eyes waver as she awaits my answer and I can’t help the guilt from pinging my chest.

“If it lessens my chance of being with you, no.”

She searches my face for hesitance or deceit, however, she finds nothing because I meant what I said. Y/N is the only person that looks at me like I’m a human, and I wouldn’t let my obsession with fighting get in the way of our future together.

How she tucks her coil behind her ear and nips down on her lower lip shows me the bit of vulnerability she reserves for me.

So—I take advantage of it.

In less than three seconds my lips were on hers. I take my time relishing those sweet, plump and plush, strawberry flavored lips.

I can feel the skepticism from Y/N while kissing her, maybe because she’s trying to put on this show that she’s still mad at me. But soon, her rigid body melts into mine and returns the kiss.

Our heavy breaths mingle, increasing in speed the more aggressive we lock lips. She begins rolling her hips onto my cock and I let out a grunt, feeling the moisture of her pussy liquefying on me.

The slaps I leave on her ass are harsh, causing her to bite my bottom lip and suck it into her mouth. Y/N is so fucking aggressive it drives me nuts. She gives me a high and adrenaline not even a fight could give.

“Pull your dick out, Ren,” she orders through muffled moans and our kiss.

“Fucking bossing me around to give you cock? Not mad at me anymore?” Y/N ignores my taunt and works her hands between us to untie my sweats. I hiss at the feel of her cool hands engulfing my dick to give it a few pumps.

She must not know what her touch does to me. She handles my cock like she owns it, and gosh, I fucking love that shit. My fingers gently tangle into her coils to deepen our kiss, but she soon gets up to strip her clothes.

Fuck… Fuck, she’s so goddamn sexy. I’ll never get tired of her thick body, filled with soft dips and curves. I look at her, observe her like she’s an expensive piece of art hung up at a museum because that’s what I see her as.

Pretty pussy leaking arousal and I smirk to myself, thinking how she had all that attitude earlier while being wet for me like she didn’t want me inside of her.

“You’re fucking beautiful. You know that?” I ask, massaging her tits and looking up at her. “You still have that attitude or are you going to come ride my cock like a good girl?”

She gently pushes me back against the couch with her lips on mine and straddles my lap. “Depends on if you’re going to be a good boy and take this pussy.”

“Shit, angel. I will.”

Y/N hums while reaching around to align my cock with her sex. Two seconds later, she slowly sinks down my length until I’m buried into the hilt. That soft lingering fuck that slips past her pretty lips sounds sexy as hell and has my dick twitching in response.

I can’t bust now. Not yet. Even if the tightness and heat of her pussy pushes me off the edge of a mountain. Her pussy is so warm, so fucking warm, fat, and wet. Gosh, I don’t ever think I can be without this pussy.

I throw my head back and savor this feeling, but Y/N had other plans for me.

“Remember to look at me when I’m riding you, Ren,” she coos. “Eyes on me, baby. I want you to see how much I love this dick inside my pussy.”

Fucking Christ. “Tell me how much you love it while bouncing on me.”

And she does just that. Telling me how big and girthy I am, that she’s sorry for giving me attitude and admits that she just wanted dick. But no. I want her to fuck me like she’s mad. I need that type of energy pumping through my veins after this win tonight.

I reassure Y/N and tell her to fuck me harder. Her pace quickens and slaps her ass fervently against my cock. I can’t stop moaning her name. The wet slippery noises coming from her pussy increases in volume and it creates a mess between us.

This is where I belong, deep in her pussy and feeling her walls squeeze the hell out of me. I don’t even hold her hips or waist. I relax comfortably with my arms sprawl over the top of her couch, watching how gorgeous she looks while fucking what’s hers.

“Oh, fuck, Renji,” she moans, tugging her lips inwards and lolling her head to the side in complete pleasure.

Those perfect, full tits bounces in my face and I can’t help but stare and become mesmerized. Light marks that resemble tiger stripes decorated the valley of breasts. Her nipples, pebbled and straining underneath my gaze, look desperate for my touch.

I take it upon myself to pinch them between my fingers and a soft shriek escapes her mouth, further arching her back.

Y/N keeps getting wetter by the second, every bounce she makes. And hearing her sticky arousal, I know and see how she’s creaming my cock. Purposely, I sit myself on the couch, thrusting up in her a bit to feel my head hit her g spot.

“Ren, help me little,” she begs through a whimper. “Fuck me back.”

I caress her cheeks with the back of my head. “Yeah? You want me to help you, sweetheart?”

“Please.”

God, I love it when she’s needy for me like this.

In no time, my hands are at her waist and my thrusts meet with her jumping movements. Y/N isn't loud when it comes to her sounds of pleasure. Vocal, yes. But right now, her moans and whimpers are louder than usual.

It’s like she needed my dick inside of pussy just as much as I needed it.

I see the desire in her brown hues. I feel the heat radiating off Y/N’s skin while my fingers dig into her flesh, holding her in place to pound upwards into her pussy.

This is what I wanted—to fuck my girl after a well deserved win. And she’s going to congratulate me how I want.

My lips are at her neck leaving wet kisses and sucking her flesh until purple specks form. “Coming home to this good fucking pussy. Gosh, I love how you feel, angel. Going to fucking mean it now when you say congrats?”

“Congratulations, baby,” she purrs, slamming harder on my cock. “You did good… so damn good, Ren.”

I hum, dragging my tongue along her neck. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Y/N continues to gasps out her pleas for me to fuck harder. I comply… I comply in helping my pretty girl come and savor the look when she washes over me. My grips are firm on her waist, betting that’ll leave marks when she wakes up the next poor, and drive my cock deeper into her pussy.

I’m in pure awe. I feel my own releasing catching up to me the more I watch her take me. This is my woman. My fucking girl. I come home to this every night after every fight to hold her in my arms and fuck her.

Her name from my mouth sounds like a broken record when I moan her name. This fat, gushy, slick and tight pussy has this power over me. She won’t stop fucking squeezing me, I can’t prevent my face from growing hot. It’s intense how I feel right now, and it’s all because of Y/N.

“Good, good fucking pussy. God, you’re so fucking good to me, angel face,” I rasp, pecking her lips. “You’re going to come for me?”

“Yes, Renji, baby. I’m going to come. Keep giving me that dick. Please don’t stop, please.”

“Put your fingers in my mouth.” She does quick with my command. I suck on her digits and coat them well with saliva before pushing them out of my mouth. “Now rub your clit, pretty girl. I wanna see you squirt everywhere.”

Because she’s overwhelmed with arousal, Y/N stops bouncing on my cock and allows me to fuck her while she plays with clit. Her mouth hangs gape, drool slightly coating the side of her mouth and breathing heavily.

My balls slap her ass. My head kisses her soft cushion repeatedly. Her velvet walls transfer warmth to my cock and the bubble that rests in the pit of my stomach is on the verge of explosion.

I’m about to come. Hard.

But I need her to come first.

“Fucking come for me, Y/N. Keep playing with that pretty pussy and moan my name,” I grit out, pushing past all my thrusts.

“Right there, Renji. Keep fucking me right there… I’m–oh, fuck–I’m coming.”

She’s so pretty when she comes. Dark brown porcelain complexion, slick with sweat. Eyes rolling to the back of her head. Pussy clenching and unclenching around my cock. Moaning, whimpering my name back to back.

She’s breathless. Flawless. I have this image of her painted perfectly in my mind. Watching Y/N come, makes me come, so I make quick work to pull her off my lap. And she knows exactly what I want–to fuck my release down her throat.

Her mouth is as warm as her pussy, and I let out hitched breaths and harsh grunts when she swallows me whole. I’m relentless when forcing her head down on my cock as I facefuck her. The gurgling noises she makes are obscene. Pornogrpahic, even.

And what caused my come to shoot through her mouth is seeing that she’s still massaging her clit, eventually squirting all over her wooden floors.

My hips stutter and I throw my head back to moan into the air. “Fuck, Y/N! That’s my fucking girl. Look at you making a mess while choking on my cock and swallowing my come.”

Y/N takes it upon herself to wrap her lips tighter around my cock and massage my balls, ensuring every single last of my nut has released in her mouth. I take it for a while, but I soon become sensitive, practically feeling my skin being sucked off.

“Easy now, angel,” I say through an airy chuckle. I pull my cock out and her mouth echoes a pop sound.

She whines a little because I’m no longer in her mouth and it causes me to smirk because it wasn’t too long ago where she acted like she hated me.

My hand grasps her chin and guides it upwards to meet with my eyes. “You swallowed for me, Y/N? Open up.” She nods, sticking her tongue out. “Perfect.”

“You’re going to fuck me again?” She asks, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.”

Gosh, this woman will be the death of me.

tags: @dejwrld @hvshinas @diamondoidxx @xxjazzxx @thegirlwonder1 @ryukenzz @maiapuhpaia @elitesanjisimp @amyrahrose @sweetpeachies @abigolemess @linastired @diorsbrando @starrygetou @niya729 (if i didn't tag you it's because tumblr wouldn't have your user pop up)

#anime x black!reader #anime x reader #bleach x black reader #bleach x reader #bleach smut #fanfic smut #renji x reader #renji x black reader #renji abarai x reader #renji abarai x black reader #bleach fanfic

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s-brant · 1 year

Text

Jealousy, Jealousy

Nancy and Y/N are best friends. The problem is, Y/N and Steve have been secretly hooking up for weeks, and when Nancy asks for advice about possibly getting back together with him, Y/N doesn’t know how to feel.

“wow genuinely your steve fics are so good and seem to be super well thought out i’m literally scared that a prompt i send won’t be good enough!! i dont know i want to say “we shouldn’t be doing this” sex w steve because i’m a whore for it”

7k (18+)

Warnings: smut, penetrative sex, exhibitionism, praise kink, very slight dub-con if you squint due to wording but not really, it’s also just assumed reader is on the pill, and strong language.

This is wrong.

She knows that she shouldn't be thinking or feeling any of the things she is at the moment, but, when she looks up from her spot on the floor in the Wheeler's basement to find Steve staring at her, she cannot ignore the butterflies that stir to life in her stomach. Those pretty brown eyes of his are quick to avert back to the task at hand, but, for the short few seconds that they lock eyes, his lips twitch with the urge to curl up into a smile at her.

The thing is, Y/N and Steve have been secretly fucking for a few weeks now. In her defense, she didn't actively seek him out for the sake of having sex with him.

It was dark and rainy that night, and she was caught up in the storm on her bike as she pedaled home from cheer practice, eyes nearly shut from the wind that blew up the street at her face. The uniform she donned all afternoon was drenched from the downpour, and her hair stuck to the sides of her face as well. It annoyed her that she was two miles from home and her useless mother couldn't be bothered to part with her boyfriend to drive to get her, sure, but she tried not to let it bring her down.

Then, out of the gloom that hung over Hawkins, the headlights of a familiar BMW came up over the hill in the road to shine in her face, and she knew it was Steve before he even had the chance to slow to a stop and roll down his window to talk to her. If anyone else did this—even him a few years ago when he'd been the king of Hawkins High School—they'd come off as a creep, but it was Steve. Her best friend Nancy's sweet, if not a little clueless, ex-boyfriend who babysits her brother and his best friends. There was nothing to worry about.

He asked incredulously, "What are you doing out in this?" The doors to the car unlocked with a click. "Come on, I'll take you the rest of the way. You're gonna get sick."

So, she went. Her bike barely fit in the back of the car, and once she slammed the door shut, he wasted little time in driving off into the rainy night.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"I was gonna go ask Nance if I could crash in the basement. My mom didn't answer, and when she doesn't answer, it's probably not a good idea to come home unless I want to walk in on something that'll make me wanna bleach my eyes. Learned that lesson the hard way."

The sound of his melodic laugh filled the car, then, when she just stared at him, the amusement fell from his face.

"Oh, you're not kidding?"

It was her turn to laugh.

"I wish," she said, cutting him a sidelong glance before setting her sights back on the road ahead. "She and her weirdo boyfriend literally demand that I don't come home on nights he's over. Apparently, it's their constitutional right to fuck on the kitchen counter, I don't know."

There was a dip of silence in which neither of them said a word after that.

In his peripheral vision, he could see her fiddling with the hem of her soaked cheer skirt awkwardly as she avoided looking at him at all costs, and, suddenly, something changed.

Y/N had befriended Nancy shortly before their breakup, so he hasn't been in close proximity to her many times. Seeing that they've been broken up for a year, he doesn't have a reason to interact with her except for when he's picking up or dropping off the kids from the Wheeler's house when she's hanging out there. But, that night in his car, she was acting strange around him. Strange in the way that girls used to act around him all the time back when they hoped and prayed for a chance with the most popular guy at school. He didn't understand why she was behaving in such a way now, though. The way he saw it, he was a loser who couldn't even get into college like his other classmates and worked at Family Video.

What he didn't know, however, is that she didn't think he was a loser at all. If anything, her view on him then made a complete turnaround compared to when he was dating her best friend. When she got stuck with him and the kids last year at Joyce Byers' house and watched him go head-to-head with Billy in defense of Lucas, she knew a small part of her heart would always belong to Steve Harrington. She was the one to clean the cuts lining his face, as well as the blooded nose caused by the beating he took, and place bandaids from under the Byers' sink on each one of them. After that, she didn't see him again outside of fleeting glances in the hallway and through the windows of his car parked outside the Wheeler's place until recently.

He said, trying to keep his cool with the smoking hot girl he never noticed last year due to his Nancy-induced heartache sitting in the passenger's seat of his car, "I just dropped Dustin off at Mike's and Nancy was on her way out to see Jonathan."

She asked, "How about your place, then?" and the rest was history.

It wasn't even a half hour later that she was laid back on his couch with his head buried between her thighs and a hand gripping a fistful of his hair as she panted for air amidst the build-up to her orgasm. Then, after she woke in his bedroom and snuck out of the front door before his parents could notice her presence in the house, it wasn't long before they crossed paths again...and again and again. She'd wait around the back of the school where she knew Nancy wouldn't see for him to pick her up from school after his shift at Family Video, and they began to develop a routine of swimming in his pool, having dinner together since his parents couldn't be bothered to hang around with him, and having sex before he had to drive her back home in time to do her homework before bed.

As far as she was concerned, they were just having fun and not labeling whatever it was that was going on between them. Steve, on the other hand, was already imagining how her name might sound with his last name attached to the end of it.

Now, as they're sitting in Nancy's basement and helping the kids with the projects they waited until the very last second to start, he's still fantasizing about all the things he wants to do with her. Not just sexually, either. He's been trying to work up the nerve to ask her on a date for the past few days, but every time he tries, his nerves get in the way. That voice in the back of his mind sings its doubts, telling him that she'll never want him in the same way that he wants her. No one has ever wanted him to be the one, so why should it start with her?

When Steve gets up from the couch to pay for the pizza they ordered to the house, Nancy casts a look over her should at him to ensure he's too far to hear and scoots closer to Y/N while the kids are engrossed in their own conversations.

She whispers, "Can I tell you something? It's about Steve..."

Anxiety tightens the muscles of Y/N's chest as she tries to keep her face schooled into a mask of neutrality. Although she feels like the truth is written across her face every time she comes into the presence of her best friend, she is outwardly as calm as can be. She doesn't know whether or not she should take pride in the skill she's acquired in lying since she and Steve began hooking up.

What else can she do except nod?

Nancy goes on in a hushed tone, "I've been kind of having these...feelings for him again lately. Feelings I haven't had since we were together before. And I love Jonathan, I do, but I guess I'm just worried about what I'm missing. I just don't know if I made the right choice now that these feelings are back." As soon as the words leave her mouth, she shakes her head and shuts her as if that'll take them back. "That was so fucked up of me to say, I'm sorry."

The news sinks home inside of her like lead weighing her down at the bottom of her stomach. Part of the reason she hadn't bothered entertaining the curious side of her that wondered if Steve felt anything more for her in the quiet moments after they had sex, when he'd linger on top of her for a few seconds longer and murmur his praises into the warm curve of her neck, was because she'd be confronted with the issue of her best friend being his ex. Granted, they weren't best friends for the majority of the time they dated. She was more of a post-Steve thing, but that isn't the point. The point is, her own moral code, as well as girl code, dictates that Steve is strictly off limits. But, if that's true, why does she want him so badly?

But because of this, she cannot do anything other than force a reassuring smile on her face as she reaches for her friend's hand and whispers, "Thoughts aren't inherently bad or good, they're just thoughts. Everyone has doubts to themselves, but I think it's important to remember how well you and Jonathan work together. I mean, he was the reason you left Steve in the first place."

The words she doesn't speak aloud but feels clawing at her from the inside begging to be released are something along the lines of, Please, don't drag him back just to break his heart again in another year. Don't steal him away if you don't really want him. But, she can't say that, not because it isn't her honest opinion regardless of her current relationship with him, but because Nancy would know based on the waver in her voice that something is going on between them.

To her mortification, her words don't appear to help the difficult debate waging war on Nancy's mind. If anything, it muddles things further and creates more discourse.

"You're right, you're absolutely right, but..." Of course, there's a but. "What if my instinct is trying to tell me something and I'm ignoring it?"

There's a drawn-out pause, then—

"Maybe just wait and see how you feel for a few more weeks before you say or do anything. It might just be one of those things that comes and goes, y'know?"

Nancy is quick to nod, setting her focus back on the partially painted piece of cardboard belonging to Max's unfinished project. For another minute or so, Y/N can't do anything but focus on her out of the corner of her eye, worry stirring to life within that the happiness she's experienced in the past few weeks will be taken from her the second Nancy decides to talk about the feelings she's having.

Steve isn't hers, so why does she feel this nagging possessive instinct whenever she imagines her friend acting on the feelings she just admitted to having? She never realized until now, but she doesn't think she can share him. Whether that means they will soon need to have a talk about their arrangement and how the feelings she's having are getting in the way of it being just "fun" or not, she isn't sure, but she knows one thing.

She needs to find him.

Y/N sets down what she'd been working in favor of standing from her spot on the floor, knees tucked beneath her bottom on a stray cushion, and offers up a placating smile when multiple faces around the room perk up to see why she's leaving.

"Where are you going?" Mike asks.

"Bathroom," she says. "Be right back."

With a quick, worried glance at Nancy calms her nerves instantly. There's no suspicion present on her friend's face. If anything, she's too focused on the task at hand, as well as the difficult debate going on within her head over the whole Steve versus Jonathan thing that has existed since junior year of high school, to notice or care about her sneaking away to "use the bathroom". It allows Y/N's racing heart to slow momentarily as she ascends the old staircase to the Wheeler's basement and enters the main level of the house. Slowly, carefully, she shuts the door to the basement behind her to keep any conversation she may have with Steve as private as possible.

The bright array of cozy lights strung up around the Christmas tree positioned in the corner of the living room passes in her periphery on her way to the front door where she sees Steve talking to the pizza guy with one hand casually propped against the open door. She assumes it must be an old friend, perhaps someone who used to be on the varsity basketball or baseball team with him back when they were in school together, but it matters little to her who they are at the moment. The only thing she can think to do is stake her claim before it's too late. Or, at least, have one last good night with him before Nancy takes him back.

She waits with her back leaned up against the staircase railing and watches him take the stack of three boxes from the delivery man after handing him the cash as payment.

"Alright, have a nice night, man," Steve says.

The man lifts a hand to wave goodbye over his shoulder as he's turning to walk off in the direction of his parked car, and, with that, the front door swings shut. When he turns around with the pizza boxes balanced precariously in one hand, it's difficult not to flinch and drop them all to the floor at the unexpected sight of her standing there.

"Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me," he says after a second is taken to steady himself, one hand pressed over his chest as though to soothe his heart after the drastic shock it received. When she remains quiet, he furrows his brows, continuing, "You're really quiet right now. It's actually kind of creepy." His voice then quiets as a new thought comes to him. "...Unless it's a weird sex thing, then I might like it."

All she does is allow her lips to curl up a bit at the ends in a slight smile before she turns to walk down the hallway to the kitchen. The living room is being used by Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler to watch a popular movie Steve so kindly held aside at Family Video for them when they asked Y/N if he could do so. And, of course, since she was the one who asked, it was delivered right to Mrs. Wheeler the second he arrived tonight.

In fact, the exact words he said, although quietly so anyone at the store couldn't hear, when she asked was, "Sure. Anything for my girl."

My girl.

As she walks through the entrance to the kitchen with her back to him, she picks the two words apart over and over again. Particularly, she gets stuck on the first one. My. It lights a fire in the pit of her abdomen, desire flaring to life at the memory of him casually declaring her as something that belonged to him. My. A possessive word. One he had been comfortable in using. The question is, would he be comfortable with it the other way around? The voice in the back of her head can't help but wonder...

Is Steve hers?

He keeps eyeing her up suspiciously throughout the process of setting the pizza boxes down on the kitchen island one by one and checking to make sure they're what they ordered before the delivery man pulls out of the driveway. Once it's confirmed that they are, in fact, two plain cheese pizzas and one pepperoni for Max and Dustin, he pauses to call her odd behavior into question again.

Steve asks, "Okay, you're really starting to freak me out. Are you okay? Did I do something?" She doesn't allow her face to give away any of her true intentions as she walks around the island, making sure in her peripheral vision that there's no one around to see them as she approaches. "If I did something, you can just tell me—”

His sentence is cut off at the end by her kissing him to shut him up.

It's a surprise, sure, but it doesn't take him any longer than a second or two to realize what's happening and react accordingly. As if it's an instinct as natural as breathing, he kisses her back with an urgency that brings a flushed color to his cheeks and settles both hands on her hips to tug them closer. The warmth of his fingertips touching the stretch of bare skin between her slightly too-short sweater and jeans draws a barely-audible noise from the back of her throat. But, he hears it. He always picks up on those little things about her, whether they be sounds, expressions she makes, or anything of the sort.

The kiss is cut short a second or two later out of fear of someone walking in, but his hands refuse to stray from her hips when she pulls away with a look in her eyes he knows all too well. Her pupils are blown wide with lush, glazed-over in a way they never get outside of moments such as these, and he knows straight away what she wants from him.

He asks, "So, it was a sex thing?"

Finally, she can't help but break her act of stoicism and offers him a bright smile.

"Shut up and follow me."

"What about the kids—"

The sharp tug of her hand wrapped around his wrist brings him away from the kitchen island, bringing him along in every step she takes toward the entrance to the hallway. She doesn't bother to look over his shoulder when she next speaks. Instead, she gives his hand a reassuring squeeze to get the same sentiment across as the words leave her mouth.

"They think I'm in the bathroom. And, for all they know, you could be outside talking to the pizza guy," she offers.

It's settled, then.

Still, in the time it takes her to drag him down the hall and up the staircase behind her, Steve can't help but check over his shoulder multiple times to ensure Nancy, Robin, the kids, or Nancy's parents didn't see them leaving to go up the stairs. The last thing he expected tonight was for her to pounce on him like a feral animal and drag him upstairs to have her way with him in a house filled with people. They've done it in risky places before, like on the break room table at Family Video and his car parked at Lover's Lake, but they've never done it in a place as risky as Nancy's house.

Despite the mild confusion it causes, whatever it is that has gotten into her, he prays it never leaves. It isn't unusual for her to initiate sex with him. Hell, half the time, she's the one who leans in to kiss him first or calls to ask if he's home, but he has always been the one to initiate in situations like these. It was his idea to fuck her on the break room table just like it was his idea to bend her over the hood of his car at Lover's Lake last week.

Every door they pass and briefly pause at is a no-go. Mike's room? Absolutely not. Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler's room? Never. Holly's room? That would be the most deplorable thing either of them has ever done. So, when they reach Nancy's half-open bedroom at the end of the hallway, Y/N has no other choice but to pull him inside and push him up against the shut door.

In between the eager, open-mouthed kisses she gives him, he murmurs, "We shouldn't be doing this. Nance will literally murder us if she finds out."

She shakes her head into the kiss and pulls back, breathless, to say, "Then, we're gonna have to be quiet, huh?" before promptly reconnecting their mouths.

His face lights up at the mischievous tone her voice takes, and he can't ignore how his cock starts to strain against the tight denim of his Levi's at the mere thought of fucking her while everyone else is unaware downstairs. She can feel him smirk against her lips, his chest jerking with the sound of him chuckling to himself at how this girl has him wrapped around her finger.

And there it is. With a conflicted feeling of acceptance, he finally realizes he's falling in love again.

As soon as he realizes that this is real, that they're truly about to do this, Steve takes control of the situation in a matter of seconds. His hands make quick work of tugging her sweater off of her body. Her arms rise to make the task easier for him as he frantically undresses her and tosses the knitted fabric onto the floor behind the locked bedroom door. When she's free of the confines of her warm sweater, she then reaches for his shirt and rips it off with the same frantic nature he had with her. There's a time and place for unhurried, slow sex, but this is not one of them. By her estimation, they have five minutes to spare before their friends notice their absence and begin to question their whereabouts.

He hefts her up into her arms with his hands grasping the backs of her thighs to bring them around his hips, but right before he can set her down on the bed, she shakes her head.

"No, Steve, the headboard hitting the wall will be too loud."

This earns a scoff from him.

Though he'd never be dumb enough to bring up his ex while he's about to have sex with her, Steve is as familiar with Nancy's room as she is, if not more. After all, he snuck inside a handful of times and had to get creative so as to not allow her parents to hear what they were doing while they were asleep across the hallway. Her headboard does bang against the wall, that she's right about, but her mattress doesn't creak much, and if he puts a few of her pillows between the wall and the headboard...

He tosses her down onto the bed with ease and crawls up to meet her where she lays with her head cradled against one of the pillows. His hand reaches to the side to grab the other one and maneuvers it between the wall and headboard, then grabs one of the many decorative ones to do the same on the other end before coming back to her.

Ignoring her previous statement entirely, Steve asks, "You're real cute when you're nervous, you know that?"

The button and zipper to her jeans come undone with a few deft movements of his fingers, and she can't help but grin up at him in spite of her fear of getting caught as he pulls her pants and underwear down her legs in one smooth motion.

There's something better to her about being called cute or beautiful by him rather than the typical "hot" label guys have thrown at her. Don't get her wrong, being called hot is flattering in circumstances of one-night stands or even random compliments from those she likes, but having the guy you like call you cute or beautiful in a moment of heady desire is different. She knows by the way he said it alone that she isn't just an easy fuck to him. He genuinely likes her, and that's not something she ever expected to happen seeing that he used to be a well-known jerk as well as her best friend's ex-boyfriend.

He hardly has the chance to undo his own jeans and shove them partway down his thighs before she's tugging him down onto her with a needy plea for him to fuck her. Her arms wrap around his shoulders as he kisses her, his tongue invading her mouth without warning, and uses one of his hands to guide his cock through her sticky folds. When his tip rubs against her throbbing clit, she can't help but whisper more desperately, urging him to get on with it.

"Steve," she says, a sharp gasp escaping at the feeling of his tip against her entrance, "Please"—her hips press up to sink the tip of his cock into her a little more—"Need you."

Usually, he'd be the insufferable little bastard he always is and retort something like, "Yeah?" or "Tell me what you need from me," for the sake of getting her to blush for him, but they have already used up at least a minute of their time before things become suspicious, so he gives her what she wants without protest.

She cries out beneath him when he sinks into her with no opportunity for her to gradually adjust to his thick cock. Her fingernails dig into the soft skin of his shoulders with enough force to leave crescent-shaped marks indented into him. Before she can think to make another noise again, though, Steve's hand is covering her mouth.

His eyes have gone wide, and the smooth motion of his hips stalling for a second as he listens for anyone coming up the stairs before he pulls his hand from her face. Somewhere to the right of her body, he reaches to grab something she cannot be bothered to look at.

He says softly, "Gotta be quiet, baby," and stuffs the shirt Nancy left on the bed into her open mouth.

Y/N doesn't even have the chance to be shocked or turned on by the fact that he gagged her with his ex-girlfriend's shirt—while they're fucking on her bed—because he starts to move the second he's sure her noises won't get them caught. Well, at least, the noises coming from her mouth. As for the sound of their bodies smacking together, as well as the wet squelching sound that accompanies it from how wet she is, whether or not anyone hears that is left up to chance.

His arms are braced against the bed on either side of her head, caging her in and forcing her to look at him while he ruins her. It doesn't take much for her to feel that fire in the pit of her belly flare up. All it takes is the feeling of him pushing in and out of her, the spare hair at the base of his cock brushing against her clit on the upstroke, and she's melting in his arms.

Seeing Steve above her is like seeing every one of her wet dreams come to life. Sometimes she does dream about him. Whether it be when she's alone in her bedroom or sleeping beside him on nights they're both too exhausted to stray from his bed, she'll wake on the edge of climaxing with her hands balling up the sheets into a fist. When she's alone, she'll take care of it herself. When she's with him, she'll roll over and start nudging her face into the curve of his neck, peppering kisses there until he begins to stir from his sleep.

The sound of her muffled moans coming through the makeshift gag encourages him in his efforts to press himself deeper inside of her on every thrust. One of the hands beside her head grasps one of the posts of Nancy's headboard for leverage while the other slips down between their bodies to press down on the lowest point of her abdomen. When he puts pressure there, it intensifies the pleasure felt from the steady rocking motions he makes into her, and she can't help but buck her hips up to meet his thrusts.

The heel of his hand presses down right above her pubic bone, leaving his fingertips in a perfect position to rub her clit for her. He knows they have very little time, so he doesn't bother trying to get her to come from penetration alone like he often does when they're alone in his empty house while his parents are out. Before him, she never even knew that was something her body was capable of. That's not to say every other guy before him was terrible in bed, but there's a reason he gained a good reputation with the ladies in Hawkins. The first of which was that he had, as she already knew from girls who gossiped about hooking up with him, a big dick. The second and most important reason of all was that he knew what to do with it.

The sight of her breasts bouncing, although hindered slightly by the bra they couldn't be bothered to remove, brings him closer to his end quicker than he expected. He'd like to think he's experienced enough to spend more than a minute and a half fucking a girl before he feels himself getting close, but, with her, one would think he's a touch-starved virgin with how easy it is for her to work him up.

His forehead drops down to press against hers as he mutters, "God, you're fucking perfect," with the words pitching up into a whine at the end from how she clenches around him.

Just when he thinks he can feel her tensing up and writhing beneath him with the build-up to her orgasm, someone knocks on the bedroom door.

He goes as still as death, and Y/N, too lost in a world that solely consists of Steve Harrington and nothing else, looks up at him with her brows scrunching in confusion until she too hears what drew his attention away from her and caused him to stop.

"Y/N?"

Her eyes go wide at the sound of Nancy's voice, her hand coming up to rip the balled-up shirt out of her mouth in time to respond to her. But, of course, Steve would never let her off that easily. As she opens her mouth to speak, he starts to thrust into her again—slowly, deeply—and it takes everything she has not to whine his name as he rubs her sensitive clit in lazy circular motions to interrupt her train of thought. With the careful pace set and the pillows preventing the headboard from hitting the wall, the bed's constant shifting doesn't make enough noise to alert Nancy of what's happening inside.

She clears her throat and calls out before he can snap his hips forward into hers again, "Yeah? What's up?"

The doorknob rattles as though the person behind the door is trying to get in.

"Why is the door locked?"

Y/N looks up at Steve with pleading eyes that beg him to cease this torture and allow her the time to respond, but he doesn't. He just dips his head down to kiss at her neck, careful not to leave a mark behind, and leaves her to fend for herself.

"Um," she says, voice a tad louder than she intended from a particularly hard jerk of his hips, and rushes to cover up the accidental outburst, "I figured I'd change into my pajamas for the night. If we're gonna be eating a lot of pizza I don't really wanna"—a whimper is choked back at his fingers speeding up their movement on her clit—"be uncomfortable in my jeans."

"Oh, okay. Well, we're all downstairs whenever you're done." There's a dip of silence, as though Nancy is hesitating before saying what comes next, then, "Have you seen Steve? Dustin was looking for him when he came upstairs. None of us can find him."

Under his breath, he murmurs in annoyance with his hot exhales puffing against her ear, shaking his head, "Henderson."

Of course, Dustin would be the one to send Nancy upstairs in search of him when he's seconds from coming inside her best friend.

Her cock-drunk brain takes a delayed few seconds to conjure a believable alibi for the man fucking her into the mattress right now as she claws at his back and bites down on his shoulder to stifle the moans that try to escape the back of her throat. As Steve grows more and more confident with his ability to ramp up the pace and depth of his thrusts without the bed making too much noise, she starts to unravel rather quickly. She can sense it building in the bottom of her belly and starts shaking her head at him as if he can do anything to get Nancy to go away.

She has to concentrate all of her energy on keeping her voice steady as she says, "He said he was going out to get some soda for the kids 'cause he heard El asking Mike if you guys had some. He was just going to the store for it, so he'll probably be back in like ten minutes."

The second the last few words leave her, she tips over the edge, and his hand comes down to smother her mouth to prevent any noises she makes from echoing in the small room. Neither of them acknowledges whatever parting words Nancy offers before she retreats downstairs to the kitchen for dinner. Steve is far too preoccupied with watching and, more importantly, feeling her come beneath him.

The euphoria rushing through her has tears falling from her watery eyes as she embraces the intense high with her arms clinging around his waist for support. Now that he hears Nancy bounding down the steps, every one creaking beneath her shifting weight, he pounds into her with no thoughts present in his head other than those relating to her and the climax he chases with little care for how the bed begins to squeak beneath them.

"Steve," she cries out with tears slipping down her cheeks.

He brushes her hair from her face in a soothing, repetitive motion and whispers, "Such a good girl," as he pins her to the bed with his weight and uses the remaining scraps of energy left in him to slam his hips down against hers with a ferocity she can hardly cope with in her sensitive state. It doesn't take any longer than a few seconds for him to be tipped over the edge along with her.

His eyes are squeezed shut on instinct when he spills into her, hips jerking haphazardly, but she's quick to remedy that.

"Look at me," she whispers with a hand closing around his neck to force his head up, and he obeys without hesitation.

And, of course, she was right to tell him to do so. As soon as he meets eyes with her, the explosive pleasure felt in the span of ten or so seconds it takes for him to ride it out is heightened to a degree he rarely experiences it at. Even as it begins to slip away from him, he keeps rocking into her at a slow pace until the dying undulations of his hips give way to an exhaustion he can no longer ignore.

He pulls out of her, careful in his movements to mind her sensitivity, and falls onto his back on the empty space atop the mattress beside her. The second he leaves her, she's quick to tug her discarded panties back up her legs to avoid staining Nancy's bedding with his cum.

His hair-smattered chest has a thin sheen of perspiration over it, a drop of it rolling up and down with the rapid rise and fall of his panting breaths. Y/N watches its path as she turns onto her side and scoots closer as subtly as she can to savor the warmth emanating from his body.

Steve doesn't even pretend not to notice her sneaky attempt at cuddling up to him. He stretches his left arm over her head and uses the other to scoop around her waist, bringing her in to rest her head on his shoulder how he knows she likes to. They don't have much time to spare, but, for the next half minute, they lay together in the afterglow and pretend they have eternity to waste away together.

Breaking the silence, he groans and rubs his eyes, saying, "Shit, now I have to go get soda for the kids."

The sound of her giggling brings his attention over to the pretty girl laying with her head on his shoulder. Her hand trances circles in the layer of sweat shining on his chest, playing with the hair growing there whenever she becomes bored with her designated pattern of tracing every once in a while.

"Sorry about that. I couldn't think of anything else," she says softly.

He just shakes his head, then presses a kiss to the top of her head.

"Don't worry about it."

She's the first one to leave the bed to search for her discarded clothes, and once she gets up, he doesn't have many reasons to continue laying there other than the fact that he gets especially tired after he comes. Still, he forced himself to get up out of bed after pulling his pants back up into place and zipping them up.

Together, they redress in silence and listen to the sounds of the younger teens shouting at each other and laughing in the kitchen below them. It brings a soft smile to her face to imagine everyone having fun together after all of the heartache they've shared as a group.

"What are you smiling for?" Steve asks.

Her head snaps up from where it had been craned down to search through her backpack for the pajamas she mentioned to Nancy not long ago.

She shrugs.

"I just like hearing them have fun. They deserve it after everything they've been through."

The conversation drops back off into silence again after this, and he can't help but smile to himself as he thinks over what she said, trying not to look up and watch her redress while doing it like a creep. It's only another minute that passes before they're both fully clothed again—he in the same outfit he was wearing prior to their impromptu fuck, she in the pink matching pajama set he's seen her wear a million times. Once she runs her fingers through her hair a few times, it looks as though nothing out of the ordinary happened during her trip upstairs.

While he waits for her to fold up the clothes she changed out of, sitting on the edge of the bed, a nagging curiosity compelled him to ask her, "Not that I'm complaining, but what made you so..." He trails off for a second, trying to find the right word for it. "Horny. We could've just gone on a drive to the store together and pulled over if you asked."

For the first time since she dragged Steve upstairs, the words Nancy said to her in the basement come back to the forefront of her mind. This time, however, it doesn't haunt her as much as it had before she came to find him. There's a lingering sense of insecurity, but after what just happened, she has a good feeling he's been over Nancy for a while. If he weren't, he probably would've freaked out and stopped when she knocked on the door, but he hadn't. Instead, he decided to keep going for the sake of teasing her and acted as though his ex wasn't even standing on the other side of the door.

Y/N avoids making eye contact with him at all costs when she finally answers.

"Um," she says, "When you went upstairs for the pizza, Nancy said something to me about wondering if she made a mistake breaking up with you, and I guess I got a little...jealous..."

Before he can even take a breath, let alone process everything she said and come up with a coherent response, she continues rambling out of fear of what he'll say when he responds. Part of her still fears that he'll end whatever it is they have for the sake of rekindling what he had with Nancy.

"I know we aren't—like—dating, obviously, but I haven't been with anyone else since we started doing this, and if you wanna get back together with Nancy, I won't get in the way. I promise. If that's what you want, it's fine." She starts to pace back and forth in front of where he sits, dumbfounded, on the foot of the bed. "I just—I like hanging out with you, and I guess I like you, and the idea of seeing you with anyone else makes me go nuts, so—"

This time, it's his turn to shut her up with a kiss.

She was so caught up in her improvised speech, she didn't even see him standing up from the bed until his hands were cupping her face to pull her into a desperate kiss. It doesn't last any longer than a moment, but, fuck, it makes her even weaker in the knees than she already is from getting fucked by him a few minutes ago. Her hands shoot out to grasp onto his biceps, squeezing hard to keep herself upright, and he reciprocates by allowing one of his arms to cocoon around her back to provide her additional security.

When he pulls away, she starts to chase his lips, and he must fight the urge to smile hard enough to make his cheeks ache at the sight of it. The hand cupping her face moves to tuck her hair behind her ear, then drags his pointer finger along the edge of her jaw until she opens her eyes to see him staring at her.

"I don't want Nance, I want you."

Heat rushes to her cheeks in response to his honesty to add to the flush already present there from the strenuous exercise they endured together. And he loved it. He relishes in how bashful and skittish his unabashed desire makes her. Typically, she never lacks confidence in their time spent together. She was the one who suggested they go to his place that first night when he found her biking home in the rain. She was the one who dragged him upstairs demanding they have sex. Yet, now, she's turning all shy on him.

She tries her hardest to play it cool, though, shrugging and saying through a smile, "Good," before taking his hand to drag him over to the window he used to use to sneak into Nancy's room.

It's the same window she uses to sneak into her room on nights when Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler say no to their daughter's pleas to have her friend over, so she's quite familiar with how easy it is to enter and exit from. Thank God he has his wallet and keys stowed in the pockets of his jeans. If he left them downstairs, he could always go out and window and come through the front door pretending he "forgot" them, but that wouldn't be the most believable excuse considering how long he's been gone.

Seconds after she opens the window, he's crawling through with a fumbling awkwardness that ends with him bumping his head on the side of the house with a soft, "Ouch!" muttered into the cold night air.

When he's finally settled on the other side of the window, standing on the roof of the garage with his hands gripping the window sill, he takes another few seconds to look at her.

"I'm gonna miss you tonight. I didn't know you were sleeping here," he says, not wanting to leave just yet.

To this, she simply bends down, pokes her head through the window, and kisses him goodbye. Her hand grasps the hair at the base of his neck to guide him into it, and he returns the enthusiasm immediately, rising onto his tiptoes to deepen the kiss as if doing so will make the short time they're to spend apart easier somehow.

Their lips are still brushing when she pulls back to whisper, "I'm coming over tomorrow night, remember?"

He pecks her lips again, then pulls back, saying, "It's a date."

Throughout the ordeal of Steve jumping down from the roof and landing on his feet in the driveway with a muffled groan, she watches with a goofy smile on her face from the bedroom window. The look he shoots over his shoulder at her to check if she saw him stumble on the landing only widens that smile, and she knows he's blushing in embarrassment without the porch light being on to light his face.

It's only when he drives off in the direction of the nearest store that she shuts the window to keep out the cold that's raising goosebumps on her skin and turns to lean against it with a sigh. It isn't an exasperated one or even a sad one. It's a sigh caused by disbelief and joy. It doesn't matter that he's her best friend's ex at the moment. They'll find a way to break the news with as little fallout as possible when the time comes.

The only thing that matters to her at the moment is that he wants her.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfiction #fanfiction

5K notes · View notes

foryiujeans · 11 months

Text

say you love me.

synopsis. after being in an arranged marriage with an arrogant + selfish man, you never realised how much he cared for you even if he was away.

pairings. slightly mean!ricky x fem!reader

warnings. swearing, slightly suggestive.

word count. 5k

general taglist. @forsobeans , @lvieee

“where are you?”

the only sound you could hear was the sound of the engines car cutting through the wind. it’s wheels hitting the road, the low volume of the radio coming in as a mix. having a sudden driver that was sent by your parents pulled up right in front of your house, casually saying that you need to go in and to not be late for the special meeting they said. playing with your phone, your cold hands meeting the device, soon as an incoming call from your father came up.

“i’m on the way, in another,” you took a peek at the window, “ten minutes.”

and with that, you ended the call, placing your phone on your lap when a text notification from your father appeared on your phone.

father : tell the driver to hurry. the shen family is already here, we just need you here to get started.

you thought that this meeting was supposed to be just you and your family, turns out it was just another business related thing to be discussed with. groaning at yourself to actually think that your parents finally paid attention to you, letting out a heavy sigh, you turned your phone off. - what’s there to be discussed that involves you?

you’re just a rather normal business woman, daughter of the fourth largest enterprise around the country, known only because of your sister's success for you to only just be her shadow, father’s little maid around the house back then, and mother’s little assistant. so you thought that there's nothing really special about you, only feeling the affection from your parents years ago.

you had entered your parents mansion, locking in the code before entering. the maid opened the door for you just as you were about to type in the pin. seeing the living room with your whole family and the shen family sitting in front of your family. you bowed and greeted the shen family. they all stared and greeted you back.

then your eyes landed at a rather fine and composed man, with his blonde platinum hair, well kept but he just lets it slicked back. there he sat with his legs crossed, repeatedly running his thumb over his lips. he screams success, wealth and more so power.

"there you are y/n, come now and take a seat right beside quanrui," your father soon jumped in, fully entering yourself inside the big study and closing the door behind you.

"we should start talking about why we we all decided to meet up"

youu followed your father’s orders not having any choice, you walked your way beside quanrui, his cool demeanor already suffocating you just by looking at him.

"well are you just gonna stand there?" he soon piped up, probably noticing you staring at him.

"move.” you ordered, voice laced with confidence and not caring if he's the son of the most successful ceo there is to set foot on this planet. he could only smirk by your confidence, not opening his mouth to say anything else. he moved to his side, giving you some space to sit down right beside him.

"great, let's get started." the man behind the desk boomed its voice around the room.

gazing at the man who you assumed was quanrui’s father, the CEO of shen enterprise. he looks a bit like ricky, just without his bleached hair.

“is it fine if we bring both our businesses together to promote our newest ceo of my company and the new chief executive officer?,” he says, “and if you’re both confused by bringing you both together means..”

and that's when it hit you. you weren't marrying just anyone, you were getting married to shen quanrui.

the well known CEO of shen enterprise- korea’s largest manufacturing company and owning up to 50+ brands. he was part of seoul and china’s most powerful businessmen, and even being one of the eligible bachelors. it made you feel small just by sitting right next to him, he was handsome, intoxicating and very much so mysterious.

it was the look that he always gives you to be so weak, wanting to just run away and hide under your covers, his now tall legs spread out before him, it seems like he owns this look, his dark eyes always barging in on your own.

swallowing down the lump in your throat, you stood up in your seat, leaving your purse behind for you to also feel quanrui’s gaze trail you from behind.

"what about us? did you even ask us if we're happy about this arranged marriage? and i don't want to marry a man who i just met! "

you don't know why you're suddenly raising your voice, you just hate the fact that the work you've put yourself through for the past few years is just going to be thrown out the window like it was nothing. you wish your whole adulthood to be free, planning on existing loudly with giving zero cares about the world, yet here you are catching the eyes of your parents and your soon to be husband as well.

"well, i’m going to ask you two now..." quanrui’s mother spoke up, facing her son and you.

"do you want this marriage?"

"no-'

"yes" standing there with great shock, you looked over your shoulder and down at quanrui, now having his arms crossed around his chest, agreeing to this marriage like a business matter.

"very well, we will leave the two of you be, and when we all come back here in this room, the papers should be signed already"

feeling powerless all of a sudden, you can't hear anything, only the sounds of their shoes hitting the well carpeted floors heading out to leave the room.

that's until you felt a hand being placed on your shoulder, looking up you faced your mother, a small yet sweet smile on her lips.

"sign the papers please darling, this would help us rise from being unknown to being known, this would bring happiness to our name, even our reputation would increase…. sign the papers" she finished, eyes watching her leave the room as well.

now here you are with him, the killer silence of the study making your ears hurt. you faced him, a frown sitting on your face making him look at you, smirking. bringing out his own pen, his long slender hands opening his cross pen with his family name engraved in gold.

"why did you say yes?"

"they’ve been talking about this whole marriage ever since i set foot back here, it made my ears hurt, so I said yes to make them stop setting me up with twenty different women already." he shrugged it off, walking his way towards his father's desk where the papers that needed to be signed layed on top.

"are you fine about all of this?" you asked, voice failing to not shake when he turned and faced you.

those eyes stared at you for a moment, noticing them look up and down your body almost like he's studying you.

not knowing the reason why he agreed to get married to somebody like you, a much less known woman when there should be many beautiful girls ahead of you.

"hmm?" he spoke up, hunching down the desk to have a more comfortable position to sign down the papers, watching the way he did it with just one go, no hesitation at all, signing his name with his signature.

"i don't care, i don't want my family name to be dragged down in dirt, and it means i get to see your annoying face every day." he ended, deep voice sounding like honey meets your ears.

you looked at his back facing you, what he said earlier still filled your mind like some hard test, he's fine on helping your parent's company even if it costs his freedom as the CEO to get ruined, you could see it, you could see that he's not ready for all of this. So his family is willing to help yours, you slowly took the pen away from his hands, his own pen caging down your delicate hands, catching him off guard.

he stood there beside you, watching as you signed down the papers with your name and signature right beside his, it's the least thing you could do to make your parents proud, putting your whole life under this piece of paper. he was about to grab his pen back from you, that's when your grip around it tightens, quiet sniffles coming out of you as for his eyes to catch freshly salted tears hit the carpet floors.

shen quanrui didn't know what to do, not the type to comfort somebody that well. are you really sad about this whole marriage?

suddenly there was a grey handkerchief coming close to your vision, looking up, you met his hand extended out to you with his handkerchief sitting on top.

"wipe your tears away it makes you look weak.” he scoffed, waiting for you to take it.

oh, how annoying and stupid is he?

this day was dreadful, here you are standing just before the grand doors of a wedding you never asked for, having to follow your wish to make your parents happy for at least once from you. you felt the weight of your unknown future welcoming you as you began walking down the red carpeted aisle.

all that you have now is yourself, and shen quanrui.

he couldn't help but kiss his teeth, knowing that you're probably feeling way more worse than he is right now, but he was clenching his fists, finding himself to relate.

he grabbed both of your hands, trying to finally comfort you in front of everyone, running his thumb over your knuckles, feeling how cold they are and how warm his hands are. and then the sound of the priest's voice became audible, this word could change everything.

"i pronounce you husband and wife, you may now kiss the bride.”

the two of you locked eyes for a moment, letting go of your hands as quanrui saw that you were already looking at him, starstruck at first, he felt his world stop moving when he looked deeply in your eyes.

finally seeing your face fully because when the two of you first met which was weeks ago, he didn't get a clear view of your face. his eyes trailed down vour lins awaiting the kiss that will probably feel awkward.

feeling the pads of his thumb wipe away your tears, cupping your cheeks as he leaned in, his intoxicating scent still taking the air away from your lungs.

he suddenly stopped, placing his mouth right next to your ear as he whispered some words deeply.

"don’t make that face, it’ll be fine." and with that, he cupped your cheeks, still feeling tears in the corner of your eyes for him to wipe it away, hating to see you like this now. he pressed his lips with your own, surprisingly they were soft, and he guided you through the kiss by placing a hand behind your back.

still standing there in shock, you inhaled deeply and returned the kiss, you swore you felt him smile through the kiss. finishing off with him running his tongue down your bottom lip. you pulled away, crimson cheeks not afraid to hide when you faced him, holding your hand and intertwining them together. the two of you faced everybody, cheers and smiles everywhere for your eyes to see. you took a quick glance to your side, seeing his smile slowly disappear, his body hugged well by his black ralph lauren tux. it’s the first time you've paid attention to him this whole ceremony, you can't deny the fact that he looks breathtaking.

"do you not get tired eating the same thing over and over again?" you asked the boy in front of you, his attention was simply down at the documents he brought along this trip. it’s been a few days after you got married to the CEO of shen enterprise. a plate of cheesecake present for your husband to dig in deliciously, the two of you agreed to meet at the cafe where you and him would always eat whenever he picks you up after work.

"nope, it's addicting and if i do get tired of eating it, that's when l'm probably dead" he shrugged it off, grabbing a fork and feeding himself another serve.

you could only roll your eyes at him playfully, drifting your attention back outside where the car is up for a show to everyone who walks and drives past it. you furrowed your eyebrows when you heard your him let out a groan, probably because he’s tired of work.

"give me a tissue.” he ordered.

"excuse me?, it's right in front of you" you pointed at the thing he was looking for.

"i can't reach it.” he tiredly responded, leaning back on his chair as he made no efforts on reaching for the tissues.

"i can't believe you.” you gave in and grabbed the pile of tissues but instead of giving it to him properly you threw it straight into his face. instead of saying something, your husband could only laugh, even though he hates seeing your face, he appreciates what you do for him.

“my, what a surprise to see you two here.” a voice barged into the conversation, knowing who it is by heart you and quanrui looked up seeing zhanghao also here, sunglasses on, a suit present for he looks like he just finished shooting another magazine cover, a cup of coffee on hand as he sat himself down the same table with you and ricky.

"what are you doing here, hyung?" quanrui took off first by asking a question to the eyebreaking intruder.

"i just finished doing my rounds of photoshoots and stopped by to grab myself some coffee." the boy could only roll his eyes at his friend.

"oh, so it is true!" zhanghao voice suddenly shocked you, jumping from your seat and you turned and looked at her questionably.

"what is?"

"you got married.” zhanghao eyes can't seem to break away from your wedding ring that quanrui slipped into your ring finger, the shining jewelry glittering under the lights for him to see.

"i thought it was a joke," zhanghao could only bite down his lip, trying his best to not laugh, “since i really thought ricky wasn’t interested in women-”

a smack on the back made the brunette groan and pouted at the younger. you could only laugh and watched the two of them argue.

"i was forced to marry him." you corrected him, turning your head to look at him half heartedly, trying to stay seated and not lose it on zhanghao when he gave you a teasing look.

“sorry for not coming to your wedding. i was in jeju for some work,” zhanghao only nodded, giving you a small smile, “i have to go, a meeting starts in thirty minutes.”

he bids goodbye to the two of you, walking out to his car to drive off back to his own company, leaving both you and ricky in the café.

"can i have your phone?" quanrui suddenly asked, leaning towards the table as he watched you from the front, who was busy looking at the café’s inside interior.

"why?" you were quick to turn around, an eyebrow raised to show confusion by his sudden words.

"just give me it.” he almost sounds like he's whining, leaving you smiling to yourself on how cute he could be even though he's still in his sharp suit.

he's still waiting for your phone. letting out a sigh to roll out of your lips you nodded your head at him.

"it's in my purse.” you trailed off, turning your attention back to the matter of hand which was washing the dishes.

you could've sworn you saw how his face lit up by the moment you said that. his eyes then trailed over to where your purse is, opening it up as he wasted no time to grab your phone, how stupid of him actually to think that he knows the password. when quanrui returns, you're already staring.

"open it"

he gave you your phone, not even asking what's going on, you did as you were told. opening your phone and when you did it was snatched away from your hands immediately from him.

"why do i have such a blank name?" he scrunched his nose, showing you your phone with his contact name on the screen as he scrutinized you.

shen quanrui

"i mean it is your name- wait do you want me to give you a nickname?" you finally picked everything up, eyes brightening with playfulness when you caught ricky biting down his lips.

“yeah, give me a nickname and give me one that's cute" he suggested, giving you back your phone.

the way you looked so serious on picking out a nickname for him made him look at you, never knowing that this would be the two of you together behind closed doors, not what he's expecting at all.

he was expecting that the two of you would just ignore each other, go in each other's throats with pure hatred. you nearly laugh out loud when you look at your finished product, his new nickname really making you smile.

cheescake lover!

you noticed this earlier, whenever he picks you up after work and drags you to café’s, he’s always buy blueberry cheesecake.

"this is cute right?" you showed him his contact name, a teasing smile coming in last.

“yah! i can’t believe you.” he then grabs hold of your hand where your phone sits, quickly snatching your phone away from you, turning his back as he typed something down.

"quanrui!" you almost hit his back when you were trying your best to get it back, that's when he finally turned around resulting in you bumping into his chest. cheeks heating up, you looked up seeing him smiling at himself.

"there." he smiled, giving your phone back.

ricky ♡

the simple yet heart shaking name made the red tint on your cheek worsen, never once getting used to seeing his nickname next to a heart. you heard some of his friends call him this, ricky.

"ricky?" you mumbled under your breath.

"then my name better have a nickname on yours too!" you turned your phone off, putting it deep into your pocket where it's completely out of reach from him.

"of course.” ricky says, getting his own phone out and showing you the nickname he puts on you.

only taking note of how his hand made his phone look smaller in size, there he showed you your name.

y/n ♡

maybe being with him wasn’t that bad, the bad thing was he makes fun of you 24/7.

"y/n?"

you straightened yourself up, breathing out while slowly turning your back away to face him, hearing his voice without him singing made your knees weak, it turned deep, with a dulcet of it meeting you.

"hi" you sheepishly responded, a small smile forming in his lips when he noticed the state you're in, the whole scene looked like some father catching his daughter lurking in the hallway at 12am in the morning.

"putting on an all nighter?" ricky soon broke the silence and with every single time you try to break his gaze he would always catch them with just a simple eye contact, it's his thing, being a CEO and a business man with many words he picked up the trait where he would have to keep an eye contact with the one he's talking to.

"i just finished actually.” you said, trying your best to sound alright despite the fact that you're really tired with half of your work still present in your own office.

"can you look at me, y/n?" there was no pressure in his voice, it's the same soft melodic tone when he promised that he would take care of you down the aisle weeks ago. and when you did, the next thing he did surprised you, placing his index finger in the bottom of your chin with his thumb as a support, he looked deeply into your eyes.

"a penny for your thoughts?" ricky’s voice soon brought you back to reality. his soft gaze settles on your face with his sharp jawline being in full view for your eyes to see, he was firm as he faced you, his lips that's only inches away from your sight made your heart run faster than before.

"it's nothing.” you voiced out with a little bit of strength even though you are indeed feeling a little bit sleepy with the clock ticking away. he only looked at you, gazing at the tired features of your face, his brows began to furrow before you picked out a sigh escaping his lips.

"let's go to bed, yeah?" ricky then stood up, setting his guitar down to its stand as he waited for you, nodding your head the two of you walked out of the music room, the cold marbled floors kissing your feet while you walked behind him, his broad shoulders coming into a view as ricky would sometimes run his hand through his luscious raven hair.

"can i ask you something?" he stopped walking, trying to register everything he just said, downright getting flustered by the sudden question for your liking.

"what is it?"

"nevermind." you mumbled quietly after taking a few seconds to take away your question to the blonde.

"y/n, what is it?" you were speechless for the first time because of him, not even knowing what other words to say. a soft chuckle escaped your lips by his current state, now it's your turn to study him. ricky watched you walk up the stairs to be on the same level as him, getting a quick glimpse of your slightly messy hair, your sweet scent greeting his nose along the way. you then stopped, standing on top of a single step to make yourself taller as it made ricky look up at you, the silence of the room embracing the two of you placidly.

“nothing.”

and with that, you backed up away from the blonde and went inside your shared bedroom.

that was a close call.

——————————————————————————

sitting up as you began removing your hair away from your face, looking at the wall clock, seeing that it's late already. thinking that he's already on his way to work, you got yourself ready for the day and headed down stairs, praising yourself on not getting lost inside ricky’s gigantic house. wanting to do a detour when your eyes landed at ricky eating his breakfast when you arrived at the kitchen, him using his other hand to use his cellphone while the other was busy doing its job on feeding him, sitting on a barstool, he was wearing a red knitted sweater that brings out his jet black hair, still wearing the same sweatpants from last night. you want to walk away and just eat some food outside or order something but your stomach wouldn't last long. you don't know why you're acting like this around him even though he was being surprisingly nice to you, maybe it's because you're new to this sudden change of lifestyle and finally living with somebody, for the past years you would sleep alone with only the darkness as your companion, eating alone only with your fork and spoon.

gathering yourself together you entered the kitchen fully, walking past ricky who had his eyebrow up like he's questioning your presence. still, ignoring him you grabbed two pieces of bread that caught your eyes, you suddenly stopped moving, this is not your kitchen so you don't know where everything else was stored. slapping your stupid brain for not functioning, you suddenly heard a chuckle from behind.

“thought you were lost again,” his voice spoke behind you, “just like the first morning you were here.”

a roll of your eyes made him scoff jokingly, ignoring his words. you took your plate and wanted to eat in the living room. your hand holding the perfectly stacked pancakes on your plate and the other hand holding a cup of orange juice.

"baby." you abruptly stopped in your tracks, the thumping on your chest will not stop anytime now.

when you held your place, he walked over to you and turned you around to face him.

ricky continuously walked closer to you with the result of you backing away slowly, you bumped your back to the sink counter and couldn't move any further away from him. he placed both arms on the counter, in between you for him to cage you in.

a smug smirk slipped ricky’s lips, licking them moist as his eyes settled down on your face.

"baby... you like the nickname? huh?"

"n-no.”

"no?

"yes.” a satisfied laugh soon escaped from the lips of the man in front of you, he just completely played with you.

with a pout of annoyance, you gathered the strength to push his arms away and moved to the side as a quick escape. ricky was surprised at first on how you managed to escape his embrace- was it even an embrace? no, it's a trap. it’s a trap to see how every time you push him away, he pulls you in easily, his eyes that look like it's drinking you slowly.

and that made you not step into the living room. you’d prefer to eat on the dining table anyway. hearing a notification and seeing your phone lit up, an email that was sent from your colleague, kim taerae to you.

"what is it?" a voice came out of nowhere, startling you as your gaze got trapped in ricky who happens to be standing right next to you, a glass of water on hand to show that he already finished eating his breakfast.

"a joint project will happen. the dates are not clear yet, and our boss gave me the authority to take care of it.” you sighed, looking down at your wrist watch to see the time. ricky took the time to steal a quick glance over his shoulder to look at you, a soft smile resting on his lips, almost like he's proud.

"you'll do great.”

"i hope so.?”

"you will.” he started watching the trees sway side to side by the calming blow of the wind, the leaves falling down from its branch swayed to touch the ground, you turned and looked at him. his eyelashes were long and soft whenever he would bat them down, his rosy and bow lips were wet when he ran his tongue over them.

words of encouragement from your husband himself.

——————————————————————————

that night when the joint project was happening. the nervousness inside your gut made you panic. the joint project was going in between your company and ricky’s company. if you wrote a report that was not that great, you surely will drop from your chief executive position then.

the blonde saw that you were fiddling with your fingers, staring into space. he was fixing his tie, watching you already dressed from head to toe in the black givenchy dress he made you wear that reached above your knees. he couldn’t lie, you are absolutely gorgeous. he was planning for the event today, he wanted to give out a special thanks to everyone and importantly to his family and you.

looking up from your spot inside the limo, your eyes landed at ricky who is sitting right beside you, his legs sprawled out while he leaned his head back making his adam’s apple on full view for you to see.

he had his eyes closed, there seemed to be a lot of stuff going on inside his mind because he began to wear a visible frown. you want to ask what's wrong with him, is it you? is it this event? or is it the fact that you're sitting right next to him?, you just can't read him.

"we should really act like a couple once we step out of this limo, there will be a lot of cameras and news reporters.” ricky stated the obvious, and just when the limo took a turn, your eyes caught sight of the venue from the outside, packed with people and cameras flashing like they're some fireworks. there he finally opened his eyes, the first thing his eyes saw was you looking at him, he could easily read you like an opened book, the way you would blink faster whenever he catches your gaze for you to just break them, and the way you nervously bit down your lip by all of this sudden pressure of making a public appearance with him.

you nodded your head as you let out a heavy sigh, grabbing your purse when the vehicle put into a stop. ricky unbuckled his seatbelt and so did you.

when he opened the door and stepped out, greeting you with his warm smile as he held out his hand for you, you smiled back sweetly when you noticed some cameras flashing.

“smile for the camera.” he whispered near your ears, holding onto your waist as you both stepped out of the limo.

after taking some pictures, you both saw your friends and colleagues waiting for you at the sides. ricky noticed you looking at your friends and tapped your waist for you to look at him.

“we’ll see each other after the party.”

and with that, he was gone to meet his colleagues and other CEOS from other companies.

oh god, how tired were you tonight.

walking towards the chair where the blazer of his suit was but stopped after hearing your small grunts of defeat, eyebrows coming together in confusion but his face relaxed after realizing the situation that you're in.

"do you need help?" ricky asked you from the other side of the curtain, his shoes peeking through the small gap from below. you looked at yourself in front of the mirror, the dress fitted you like a glove but the only problem was the zipper at the back, it was so high, you couldn’t unzip it on your own.

you were awake for the first two hours of the drive, making use of yourself to keep ricky company inside the car because if it gets too quiet he might get tired and fall asleep without your attention, it was almost 2am.

ricky drummed his fingers to the steering wheel whilst opening the storage compartment between the two of you, taking out one of his glasses to shade his eyes from the bright sun. he looked so good, his slightly messy hair from all of the times he would run a hand through them, and now that he's wearing glasses that rests on the bridge of his sharp nose.

both the event and the drive was exhausting for the both of you.

“y/n,” ricky calls up to you and made you hum after he unzipped your dress, “you know i care for you, right?”

the sudden question caught you off guard, turning to look at him and felt that your heart thumped inside your chest when he came close to you. you never really questioned it but you did thought every single day that did he even care for you since he married you? you didn’t even know whether it was a yes or no.

“to be honest, i’m not sure. you’re always busy, i’m always busy so i never really thought of it. just when mother asked me to marry you. did you even-“

"i want to be a good man and see you smile," he started, straightening up his posture, the urge to see you happy itched his brain, remembering the picture of the two of you laughing beside the fountain that one day, the time where you helped him control a claw machine. knowing where this is leading yet everything goes following each other, watching as the both of you go round and round each time.

"and i want to hold you in my arms tonight."

ricky confessed, standing tall for his eyes to watch you mirror his actions. both trying to find answers in each other's eyes, you took in everything he just said, the bubbling feeling inside your stomach mentioning to you what to do. his voice was a trigger.

his eyes drifted down to your swollen lips on how much you bit them earlier, they were red as a rose along with your cheeks shining down the moonlight from the window beside you. fuck it.

cupping your cheeks and what ricky did next didn't surprise you at all, the feeling of his soft lips met yours, almost forgetting how they felt, he kissed them with so much passion. he’s taking over you slowly, you grabbed his nape and pulled him down so he could meet your height.

"baby.." he spoke up, stopping your actions with a warm cup on your cheek by his hand. the moment you locked eyes with him everything seemed to stop, the flutter inside your heart from his words earlier was still in you. the way he called you out made you love the nickname more than you usually do.

sighing, you settled on top of him and hugged ricky who returned the favor to cuddle you under everything that just happened. both hearts beating right next to each other to create a calm euphoria.

"baby" the sound of his tender voice caught your attention, it almost sounded like a whisper.

"yes?" what is it?" you returned, turning your head to look at him, thinking that he was asking you for some help or anything.

"i love you" those three words never failed to make your heart go feral for it also came from ricky who said those to you.

"and I love you too." you came back, putting a tight smile for your lover.

say you love me.

a/n ! thank you so much for reading and giving me requests. i’m thankful that you guys enjoyed reading it and giving all the notes and support. i do not own any characters, music or pics given, will definitely work harder for the next ones !

signing out, miaaa hihi !

#zb1 #zb1 oneshots #zerobaseone #zerobaseone imagines #zb1 fics #zb1 imagines #zb1 x reader #zerobaseone fics #zerobaseone x reader #shen ricky #shen quanrui #ricky imagines #shen ricky imagines #ricky x reader #shen ricky x reader #shen ricky fics

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dilatorywriting · 1 year

Text

Heroes vs. Villains : Octavinelle [Part 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Octavinelle vs. Rielle Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. Octavinelle Version, Part 2 ie. Your red-headed hero arrives at Night Raven College and your other aquatic friends are less than enthused.

[PART 1] [PART 2]

The VDC is going to be one of the biggest events in Night Raven College’s history. It’s going to be spectacular, awe-inspiring, one for the history books. And somehow, by the grace of the Gods (or, well, Vil and Professor Crewel) you have tickets.

So naturally, Azul wants you to work through the entire thing.

“I know you don’t like people,” he’d smiled, as if he was offering you salvation on a silver platter. “And just think of it—all those crowds of sweaty, screaming, humans running around. It only seems right that I, as your employer and friend, do my due diligence to keep you safe during all of it, hmm?”

“We’re just thinking of your wellbeing,” Jade had piped in, a gloved hand pressed to his chest all innocent-like. You weren’t fooled for a second.

“And think of all the extra Thaumarks you’ll earn in tips!” Azul chirped. “I know being in a new world has been difficult for you in more ways than one, and that the financial burden in particular has been terribly unpleasant. So really, we’re just doing everything we can to assist you!”

Lies about being considerate for your ‘delicate mental health’ aside, money was good. Money was great. And besides, all you really cared about was the Choral Competition. As long as you could sneak away for that one, camping out in the Lounge didn’t actually seem like the worst idea in the world. The food was excellent, the atmosphere soothing, and the company was—

…Well.

‘Less than desirable’ would probably be an understatement. But Azul always let you take home the leftovers at the end of the night, and sometimes on colder nights Jade would make you a cup of cocoa with no mushrooms in it or anything. So maybe you could excuse a bit of sadism here and there.

So the VDC came and little, poor, you were squirreled away behind the gilded doors of the Mostro Lounge. Aside for the influx of costumers (and subsequent ‘event price hikes’), it was hardly different than any of your other shifts. The one notable difference was how often Azul swapped your station. Normally you were on door duty, or acting as part of the wait staff. But every time a group of RSA students strutted by in their fancy white uniforms, the Octo-Mer would shuffle you off to the kitchens. Or the bar. Or even his office sometimes, demanding assistance with clerical work.

Someone called your name and you lifted your head from your cloud of misery and menial labor—only half paying attention to the people you were ushering in towards the seating area. But instead of another unfamiliar blob waving you down, you actually recognized this guy. Him and his brilliant shock of red hair that you wouldn’t be able to miss from a mile away.

Lo – it was fork dude.

Or, well, Prince Rielle Tidal of Atlantica. But whatever. Man had pushed a utensil into your hands and told you to brush your hair with it. There was no coming back from that.

Your sun-kissed savior swerved through the line to greet you, nearly bowling you over in his enthusiasm. His RSA uniform was a blotch of bleached brightness against the sea of Night Raven’s black ensemble. Normally your rival academics seemed to travel in packs—safety in numbers and all that. But Rielle was weaving through the mass of grumpy NRC faces like he was perfectly at home.

“I decided to pop by to see Azul and his business—because, you know, he was always so smart and pragmatic so I knew it’d probably be really cool and whatever—but wow! It’s really you!”

“It’s really me,” you repeated, fighting to keep the chirp in your customer service voice. “So, would you like a table or—"

“Wait a second—Azul has you working during the festival?!” Rielle gawked, as if he was just realizing that he had stepped into a place a of business, and that you were wearing the uniform of said establishment. “That’s so cruel!”

Yes. Yes it was. But Azul was nothing if not cruel. And if this guy actually knew anything about him at all, he should be perfectly aware of that.

“Someone has to do it,” you shrugged. “Anyways, can I get you something to—”

“Wah, look at this! Shrimpy’s slackin’ on the job!”

Maybe you could put your head through the wall. That would probably be less painful.

Floyd, Jade, and Azul materialized behind you seemingly out of thin air. The terrible trio greeted your dour frown with varying degrees of spiteful glee. And… something else? There was a sort of tension about them that didn’t mesh with their usual haughtiness. It had cropped up for the first time a few weeks ago—that day at the beach. And subsequently the hours after when Jade had pulled Azul into his office to whisper all kinds of nonsense that was apparently ‘too delicate’ for you and whatever tolerance you’d built for these sociopaths.

“Actually, it’s my fault!” Rielle blurted, stepping smoothly in front of you with all the chivalry of a knight. You wanted to warn him that dipping into Floyd’s bite radius was a terrible idea, but at the same time, you were tired, and hungry, and very curious to see how this would all play out. “And I was just wondering—well… I—I mean…”

The young Prince was starting to splutter, his cheeks burning that same, hot, pink that they had all those weeks ago at the beach. He took a moment to clear his throat, compose himself, and then grasped your hands with both of his very neatly manicured ones.

You thought you heard someone gasp. Like in a period novel.

“I actually heard that you were at Night Raven too! And I’ve been looking all over for you! So—I—Would you—” More throat clearing. Floyd’s teeth were grinding together so loudly it almost sounded like a buzzsaw. “Do you want to get something to eat with me?”

There was a deafening crack and you watched as Jade nearly put Floyd through the floor in an attempt to keep him from lurching forward. You observed the scene before you with pleasant sort of surprise as the trio across from you erupted. Or, well, Floyd had erupted. Jade just had that perfectly polite smile on his mouth that let you know he was planning someone’s murder. And Azul looked like he’d just taken physical damage.

Huh. Interesting.

Then again, you’d known they were a proprietary bunch. And you also knew that you were the favorite chew toy around these parts. No one else was sturdy enough for the role, apparently.

“Oi, Princey,” Floyd snarled from behind Jade’s gloved fingers. “What do you think you’re—"

“I—” you interrupted, stepping between the rabid Merfolk and the would-be-mincemeat. “—would love to.”

Silence.

“…What?” Azul squawked.

“I’m due for my break anyways,” you shrugged, enjoying the horrible little surge of satisfaction warming your gut. Take that, you obnoxious fucks. You weren’t sure why Rielle and his crimson-monstrosity of a hairdo had set the three of them off so terribly, but you’d been on your feet for hours now. And missing all the food stalls, and your other friends, and you were going to take this petty revenge where you could.

You turned to Rielle with a polite little smile that you hoped looked more demure than scheming, and his eyes sparkled.

“You don’t mind eating here, do you?” you asked before shooting Azul an award-winning grin. “I’m sure having a Prince dining in would be great advertisement.”

“But of course,” he grit out. “Who would I be to turn down such a ringing endorsement.”

Rielle tossed an amiable arm across your shoulders and laughed that tinkling, church-bell, laugh of his. Floyd’s lip twitched and Azul snagged his arm quicker than a snake could strike. The snarling behemoth was promptly dragged off into the depths of the Lounge—Azul muttering something frantically under his breath that you couldn’t make out. He looked hunched, panicked. And whatever he was saying must have been serious enough to snag Floyd’s fickle attentions, because the too-tall henchman stayed firmly at his boss’s side. The pair of them vanished into the kitchens, the door slamming behind them.

“Just this way then, if you’d please,” Jade beamed, positively glacial.

“This’ll be great!” the Prince preened, keeping a loose grip on you as you both trailed a very stiff Eel through the front parlor. “I get to see all of Azul’s awesome accomplishments and have lunch with you at the same time!”

“The Mostro Lounge is a lovely place to dine,” you chirped, repeating your familiar, scripted, server prompts from memory. “There’s something for everyone.”

“Is that so?” Rielle hummed, as if in deep thought. “That’s very considerate of them.”

Plenty of people at this school liked to insult your intelligence, and you in turn liked to remind certain someones (Ace. Sebek.) that it was best not to throw stones in glass houses. But this was—you may have really found an actual, factual, ditz. Was this how Azul felt all the time? Looking down at you mere mortals with his superior IQ and cunning? Listening to Rielle’s innocent rambling made you feel like Einstein. It was… sort of nice.

My God, you were going to have be responsible for him, weren’t you? Is that was parenthood felt like?

Jade led you to a quiet booth in the back—the one with a direct line of sight to both the kitchens and Azul’s office. The one reserved for problem customers. You folded yourself neatly onto the cushioned bench and Rielle followed, sitting at your side rather than across the table. Something in Jade’s jaw twitched.

“What do you recommend?” Rielle asked you cheerfully, practically radiating enthusiasm. “I’m sure everything is fantastic!”

“Hmm… How about the Mixed Seafood Platter to start I think,” you grinned, turning your polite beam back on your unfortunate server. “With the Unagi, please.”

Beneath all that bubbling irritation, something in those bi-colored eyes gleamed with the barest hint of respect.

“But of course. If you’ll excuse me.”

Once Jade had retreated, Rielle relaxed back into his seat with a theatrical sigh. He brushed his neat swoop of hair off his forehead, like he was wiping away sweat from a workout.

“Phewf! Not that Azul’s friends aren’t nice and all, but they always give me a bit of the heebie-jeebies.”

That was the kindest word for ‘intense murderous aura’ that you’d ever heard.

“A bit, yeah,” you agreed easily enough. “So how do you know Azul?”

“Oh!” he perked right back up. “We were classmates! When we were younger. He was always really quiet, but also really smart! Is he still like that? Quiet—I mean. Reserved.”

A memory struck you then—of standing at Azul’s side in the lobby of the Atlantica Memorial Museum. You remembered his hesitant determination as he replaced his old class photo on the wall. The picture of a tiny, rounder, Azul standing off to the side—hunched, grey, and miserable amidst a sea of laughing faces. You couldn’t remember if there had been a brilliant slash of red mixed in there anywhere. You hadn’t even bothered to check. Because why would you have even deigned to look at the faces of a group of bullies?

Something soured in your gut.

“I wouldn’t say that, no,” your smile sharpening a bit at the edges. “He’s actually very talkative. It’s hard to get him to shut up most of the time.”

“Really?” Rielle gaped. “Wow! That’s awesome!”

Jade slithered by to drop off your appetizers, and if he noticed the slight drop in your mood he didn’t mention it. He was in and out in a flash. You could just see the whisps of his teal hair disappearing back into Azul’s office.

“Enough about Azul though,” Rielle waved off, reaching for the platter. “Tell me about you!”

“Me?” you echoed, bland. “But isn’t Azul your old friend?”

The Prince waved you off once more, cheeks pinkening all over again. “I can talk to him whenever. I’d much rather hear about you! You’re—You’re interesting!”

Now, that was probably a genuine compliment. You doubted Rielle actually meant to slight your friend companion boss by implying that the most ambitious, intelligent, cunning, and well-dressed merman on campus wasn’t interesting enough to converse about—that all of Azul’s efforts to bring himself out of the shadows and onto center stage were still wanting. But that bitter thing in your stomach was raring for a fight.

So you ruffled around in your uniform pocket and pulled out the little notebook you used to tally orders. You shot Rielle the brightest, sweetest, smile you could and watched his stupidly pretty face light up redder than his hair.

“Actually,” you giggled—giggled. Like a freak. “I’d love to hear about you.”

“He’s going to say something!—”

“What doesn’t Shrimpy already know, huh?” Floyd griped. “And I mean, didn’t you steal Ramshackle? You really think bubble-butt out there can do anything to make the Prefect hate you?”

Azul paced. And paced. And paced.

“It’s not about hating me,” he hissed, fighting the urge to wring his hands. “It’s about realizing there are better options out there, and—”

“Bubble-butt is a better option?!” Floyd cackled.

“Stop interrupting me!”

“Then stop whining,” the eel droned, flopping his head back against the couch. “You shoulda just let me squeeze ‘em.”

“We do not need to spark an international incident in my restaurant,” Azul repeated. Though it sounded less like he was trying to convince Floyd than himself. “Rielle Tidal is a Prince—”

“—a shitty, turd, leftover, Prince—”

“—who we must treat,” Azul grit out, “as such.”

There was a firm rap against the door and Jade slipped inside. Azul had to fight the reflex to pounce on him immediately. Instead he took a moment to pause and straighten his suit jacket. His fingers were shaking and he was sure that Jade would have seen, but thankfully there seemed to be a single shred of mercy left in his Vice-Warden’s cold, withered, heart, and the trembling limbs were not mentioned.

Jade cleared his throat and Azul leaned forward, anxious.

“I think you may be overthinking things,” he said, calm as a cucumber, and Azul wanted to scream.

“It’s not paranoia, it’s being prepared,” he snipped. A pause. “But why do you say that? What happened? Did something happen?”

Jade smiled that placid smile of his. “No.”

“No?” Azul repeated, flabbergasted.

“No,” Jade shrugged.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Floyd piped in.

Azul was just about to turn and remind his wonderful subordinate just how terrible he could make his existence when there was another knock at the door—lighter than Jade’s but just as familiar. Not a moment later, your head popped through the crack and you peaked inside wearily.

Azul hastily cleared his throat and Jade’s grin turned smug.

“Pr-Prefect! Can I help you with something?”

Floyd snickered under his breath and Azul mentally added another three hours onto the bastard’s nightly dish duties.

You stepped inside and tossed a tiny notebook down onto his desk.

“Here,” you said, with a grumpy sort of frown on your face. “All of Prince Rielle of Atlantica’s stupid wants, hopes, and dreams. You better be able to put this to good use you stupid mafioso wannabe, because I’ve been listening to this guy ramble on about himself for ages now, and I’d rather get drowned by Jade and Floyd again.”

You turned without another word and slammed the door behind you.

Azul gaped wordlessly at the pile of tiny pages splattered across his desk, and the familiar curl of your handwriting filling each and every one of them.

“Oh,” he breathed.

“Oh indeed,” Jade grinned.

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #Jade Leech x reader #Azul Ashengrotto x reader #Floyd Leech x reader #Rielle x reader #My Writing #Octavinelle x reader #twst x reader #the tweels #jade leech #floyd leech #Rielle #Heroes vs. Villains #Heroes vs Villains Octavinelle Part 2

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chronically-ghosted · 7 months

Text

you call and I come running

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

word count: 8K

summary: a drunken confession leaves you and Javi on unsure ground. When an on the run narco douses you in an unknown, off-market drug, Javier has to save you by doing the one thing that may truly well and good fuck him over.

warnings: sex pollen, dub con due to sex pollen, minimal plot scaffolding to hold up a gratuitous amount of porn, minimally edited, feral!javi is best javi, the barest hint of breeding kink, not really butt stuff more like butt touching, light angst, no use of y/n, spanking

a/n: comes from @perotovar 's ask for my 100 follower milestone event: hi there! congrats on your milestone!! i saw your prompt list and saw "I’m so sick of this ‘will we, won’t we’ shit." and "A whispered, “Fuck, can we do that again?” against the other’s lips." and thought it would be a really good combination for either javi p or max p? which ever one you feel fits better! 😊 (as for smut, only include it if you think it works!)

🤍Masterlist 🤍AO3 Link

Bogota was begging for rain. At the end of summer, the city and its people had been suffering months of stifling, thick, humid air without a drop of relief. Sweat clung to exposed skin, dampening shirts and tightening waistbands. Heat weighed like a physical presence in the air while open windows and doors sought to tempt in some non-existent breeze, hoping to coax some pity out of the militant heatwave. But the heat and the moisture-thick air stayed, hovering like a cloud of mosquitoes, just as merciless and just as blood-thirsty.

Night offered no consolation either. Stagnant and cloistered, the sun-bleached air greeted its visitors with a great, warm lick – like the wide tongue of a particularly aggressive bloodhound. The ongoing joke among the locals blamed the blackouts on all the fans, spinning throughout all hours of the day and night, instead of el gobierno barato. Only then came the sigh of ease, in front of whirling blades with ice water behind them. Flapping shirts and mopped brows. Only then, was there relief to the tension.

Unfortunately, a running car would tip off any narcos in the area, so even that small miracle is denied to the two agents sitting in the darkness of la calle. A crack in the glass window releases a tendril of smoke, not enough to expect a breeze, not enough to wipe away the smear of sweat from across forearms and under knees.

A drunken confession lingers even thicker in the air.

You thought you could do this. You really thought nothing would change – it was an accident after all. He didn’t mean it – he couldn’t – he was just teasing you, when he leaned over the sticky fourtop in the back of the bar at three in the morning, his breath tangy with the ghost of four glasses of whiskey, his body heat immense and overwhelming as he pressed into you and said –

Whatever he said, you told him no.

Actually, you laughed and then said no. No, because he didn’t mean it, he couldn’t, he was just teasing you and he would never, ever, ever, ever know how much you actually wanted it and even if – even if you both wanted it, it could never, ever, ever, ever happen.

It couldn’t. It was so absurd for him to even consider it, you laughed.

And then he never looked at you the same way.

You had done something irreversible. He had said the words, but you had done something irreversible to him.

Something in the air had changed, maybe forever. And that, that you might have lost your partner, your friend, potential potential potential disappearing in a cloud of Marlboro smoke over bottles of cerveza, that was the worst part.

He doesn’t look at you the same way.

Or at all.

He smokes and he watches and he acts like you’re not in the seat next to him. Like his confession hasn’t cleaved him apart.

Nothing’s moved in hours. Neither the target or the shadows in the car. The tension presses up against the windows, hot and stifling. There is no relief.

“I didn’t want it like this, you know,” you say to the sun visor, arms crossed, low in your seat. “I . . . tried to see if Murphy would switch, but I didn’t think the tip would pan out so fast, and I didn’t . . . I didn’t want . . .”

The shadow next to you emerges with his face as he brings the glowing orange light of the cigarette to his mouth. Full lips, short thick hair below his nose, a jawline sharper than any hit of cocaine.

“What did you expect?” he asks, his voice thick and heavy like oil. It clings to you.

You scowl into the darkness beyond your window. “For Murphy to me a fucking solid, for once. Covered his ass more than once after they adopted Olivia. I just wanted one goddamn –,”

He forcefully flicks the stub of his cigarette out the window as a precursor to punctuate his next sentence. “No. What did you want, if you didn’t want it like this?”

The acidity in his tone stings you and you unintentionally flinch as if he had pressed the cigarette nub into your skin.

“Javier, c’mon, that’s not fair.”

He arches one eyebrow, his teeth clenched in his jaw, hollowing out a pocket of skin below his temple. The overhanging orange streetlights sap the color from his skin.

“So you get to make all the rules now. Got it.” He crunches up the empty box of cigarettes and chucks it in the back seat. You watch him with narrowed eyes as he settles back against the seat with his arms crossed.

“Why do you have to make this difficult?” You snap. “You know this isn’t easy for me either.”

“But it is easier than the alternative, right?” After two hours of ice cold silence, he finally looks at you and you can feel the spike of frost in your chest. The twitch in his jaw is the rage in his eyes taking physical form. “Easier than . . . trying. Right?”

He looks away, already having confessed too much with whisky on his breath, and he can’t afford another slip-up. He knows this. You know this. You want to reach out and touch him but you worry he might physically slap you away if you do. You’ve hurt him in places Javier Peña doesn’t like to admit he has.

“It’s not that simple,” you say to his thigh. “And you know it.”

His jaw twitches again. “I’m not asking for your goddamn hand in marriage. I’m just — sick of this ‘will we, won’t we’ shit. I want –,”

“No.” You say and you can feel the word imprint under your sternum. “There’s too much at risk. We’ve been in this fight for too long to get benched and if Noonan even gets a whiff of anything out of whack with her agents, she’ll . . . I want to, Javi, can’t you see that? I really want to – in case I didn’t make that crystal fucking clear. I want to, but there’s no trying for people like us. In a place like this.” The firm weight in your voice pushes on something that makes him look at you again. That rage has dissipated, melted, leaving only a corporeal ache. His brown eyes were endless in their confusion, their disappointment, their hurt. Please, he begs without words. You swallow, your thumbnail digging into your palm to keep yourself from launching yourself across the bench seat of his truck and into his lap. “I want to, Javi. I want . . . you.”

He drops your gaze as if it burned him. He shifts back, hand coming up to cover his mouth, the side of his knuckle rubbing his upper lip as if coaxing whatever was sitting just behind his teeth back down his throat.

Javier stares out into the oppressive Bogota night, his clavicle dewy with sweat and he shakes his head.

“Save it.”

You actually flinch. God, you knew it was going to hurt but you never thought it would hurt this much. Hurts so much it claws up your chest with cut-metal knives until you can’t breathe. Until you can’t see as tears flood your eyes.

“Javi, please.” Your voice is calm, despite the small implosion in your chest. “Don’t–,”

“No, I mean – look.” He points out across the dashboard.

The door that has been shut tight for the past three hours has opened. El Corto, a man who lives up to his name, pokes his round face around the edge of the door, glancing up and down the street with the paranoia of someone who trafficks drugs for a living. You turn your head into your shoulder to act like you are adjusting the firearm on your hip to wipe your eyes. Beside you, Javier turns the safety of his handgun and slips it into the back of his jeans.

“You good?” He sounds like Javier, your friend, and that swell of confidence gives you the strength to kick down a door into a whole nest of narcos. You meet his eyes and nod.

The air is no cooler out in the open when you slip out of Javier’s truck into the dark night of Bogota. Javier strides across the black street, eyes just as fast as El Corto, paranoia just as high. There’s never any telling if the narcos are alone and that’s why you hang back just a bit, eyes on Javier and a dozen other places.

“El Corto,” Javier snaps, sharp and demanding. The voice of authority. The narco freezes, narrow shoulders going taught. You keep eyes on his hands, your own hovering over your weapon in case he chooses to go for his. “Ven aquí. Tenemos algunas–,”

Without warning, El Corto takes off running, darting off down an alleyway.

“Fuck,” Javier hisses and pulls his shirt out of his pants, experience the cruelest teacher. But you’ve already passed him – running your favorite way to unwind, train, and way to avoid your problems, tearing down the alleyway after the shadow sprinting into the night.

There is something singular about running that is more addicting than any drug the narcos peddled. A chosen target. A finite end. The only thing you had to count on, the only thing to worry about, is how hard you had to pump your arms, the length of your stride, the control of your breathing. Hunting down narcos was a breeding ground for chaos. But not this. This made sense.

El Corto, despite having about half your stride, makes up for his short stature with speed. You catch only a glimpse of his jacket, then his shoe. A mile through an empty street and he finally comes into view. You’re gaining on him. The unrestrained creature in your chest roars and blocks out the searing pain in your calves, under your ribs. God, you swear you can almost smell him.

Maybe all animals, big or small, can sense the moment before the trap ensnares around them because without warning, El Corto darts left, leaping over a wrought iron fence into the lower levels of an apartment building. He’s gone before you can blink.

Snarling, you squeeze the fence railing as you tuck your legs over it, the momentum of your run clearing you from the tips.

A voice in your head and possibly behind you is yelling at you to wait, don’t go inside without backup, but you can’t stop. You can’t help it. If you can’t have who you want, this is what you want. This is what you need.

And you need a fucking win.

You burst through the screen door to an empty concrete room – torn carpet, wall paint chipped away, maybe an old living room – a flash of jeans around the hallway at the end giving a fraction of an indication of your target. So you take off after him, rounding the corner. You watch as he nearly runs through a faded yellow door, the wood cracking and splintering from the force as it slams open into the wall. The door ricochets off the wall, nearly slamming close again, just as you reach it, but the brunt of your shoulder knocks it back again.

And something cracks you across the chest.

Powder. Blue. Lots of it.

You stumble, your eyes and nostrils burning, as it seizes in your lungs. You cough and hack, trying desperately to unseal it from your lungs, but it barely budges, barely slides loose. Blind and gasping from the heat of your run and through the powder, you veer off course, stumbling into what feels like boxes. Your knees tremble, suddenly unsteady on your feet.

Through your watery eyes, you watch as El Corto drops the plastic bag that used to contain the powder, a malicious glint in his eyes.

“Puta,” he spits, the slur hardly original for a female DEA agent. He steps back and sheds the gloves you didn’t realize he had been wearing, still watching you with twisted interest.

You’re no longer coughing, but the air still hasn’t settled in your body. You feel the heat in your lungs rise, expand, then fall, against your skin, as if it is in sync with your heartbeat. With every breath, a sour, sticky warmth presses against every joint in your body, every bone. There’s a knot building at the base of your spine, tightening your hips, and you stumble until you’re seated on one of the boxes, which you now see as packing crates.

You swallow but your mouth is dry. Head heavy. Distant. Your eyes feel swollen in your skull.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” you whisper.

He’s not scowling at you, you realize, he’s leering. Eager. Excited. He takes a step towards you.

A floor above, you hear the sound of the door being breached and Javier calling out your name. El Corto scowls, as though his favorite toy had been taken away, before he tears himself away to the narrow window on the other side of the room. More shipping crates have been stacked against the wall and El Corto scurries up it, unlatching the window. He pauses, glancing back over his shoulder at you.

“Diviértete para mí, putita,” he waves with three fingers as Javier crashes into the room, his gun raised. He spots El Corto just as he slips up through the narrow window – the space no bigger than the width of a child – his foot kicking down the tower of boxes. Javier nearly nabs his ankle, leaping up the concrete wall, as the narco disappears into the night.

His open palm striking against the humid wall is a wet slap. “Fuck,” he snarls, this time pounding with the heel of his fist, “we almost fucking had him. What the fuck ha–,”

He turns and meets your gaze for the first time. His mouth drops in horror.

Sweat blooming across your forehead, you lean over on a crate, limbs trembling, breathing uneven. Every scrap of fabric over your skin burns, your thighs burn, your blood burns, you are burning. The sweat peaks in droplets that run down the back of your neck, under your armpits. Whatever he hit you with makes you want to take off every inch of your clothes –maybe then you could fucking breathe – but even then, it wouldn’t be enough.

He’s got you by the shoulders, forcing you to look at him, before you realize what’s happened.

“Talk to me.” Javier snaps, that authoritative force sharp and demanding, and it sends an aching bolt between your legs. You whimper in pain, your eyes fluttering. He shakes you. “Stay awake and tell me what happened. I need you to focus. ”

Your lips feel puffy, overripe and ready to split, your jaw tight and throbbing. “H-h-hit m-me with blu-ue – don’t–don’t know what i-it is.”

Javier steps closer and the scent of his cologne hits you like a train. Groaning, a strange, unwelcome instinct yanks your head down into the curve of his neck, the source of the smell. The touch of his skin beneath your lips is a balm – cool egg yolk over a fresh burn – and you bury your face in deep.

“Oh, fucking Christ, Javi.” Your voice trembles, wavering down into a low moan. That same alien instinct latches your hands over his shoulder, nails digging into the cotton. But it’s not alien, you realize through the muggy, humid fog in your mind – you know this feeling. You are intimately aware of the coiling knot between your legs, your soaked underwear, the tightness of your nipples. But this can’t be happening. It shouldn’t. It shouldn’t hurt like this.

You gasp, in real pain, a throb that starts clenching your cunt before rippling up your spine and locking your shoulders. You hunch against him, waiting for the contraction to pass.

“What is it?” Javi holds you, panic evident in his voice. You swear you can hear his heartbeat in his neck. “What’s wrong? Talk to me, goddamn it.” He demands with no bite in his command.

He peels you off him, you hiss, ripped out of the soothing embrace of his arms, and he makes you look at him. His eyes are wide, mouth twitching. The entirety of his chest is blue, most of powder from your skin covering his shirt.

He cups your cheeks, trying to see if the powder has left an acid burn, as another wave hits and you lock your body, now a battleground against the strangling desire to turn your face into his wide palm and inhale. There’s liquid making the crotch of your pants sticky and it’s embarrassing. It’s mortifying and silly and the ounce of sanity still left in your head keeps an iron grip on every muscle in your body – sanity telling you to not fucking do this. Don’t do this to him. Not when it would mean so much to him.

To you.

But fuck, you want it. You need it. You might actually die without it.

Tears spring into your eyes, making a gooey muck as they slide down your cheeks and mix with the powder. Whatever this is, you have to fight it.

His eyes dart to your tears, the little bit of powder still on your face, and without thinking, he brushes your tears away with his thumbs.

Sanity cracks the whip – if it gets on him, then –

With the last ounce of strength, you shove him back, as far away from you as you possibly can. The second his warmth is gone from your skin, you tremble and your knees give out. Fresh tears, spurred on by the pain, by the fear, by the shame, spill from your eyes and you curl up against the wall.

“D-don’t, Javi, don’t. I th-think it’s t-t-transderm-mal–,”

“What do you–,”

You watch helplessly as his pupils contract and then expand wildly, black swallowing that aching brown. He shakes his head like a bewildered animal, sweat already bleeding across his skin, and he stumbles back onto a springy metal cot on the opposite wall. He blinks, hand tightening around his knee. It makes his forearm flex and you have to physically close your eyes, the sight forcing your cunt to clench down on nothing.

“What . . . what the fuck is this shit?”

You bite your lip, your chin tucked to your shoulder as your body cramps, punishing you for denying it the only source of relief. You squint at him and see he’s half-hard in his jeans. You whimper.

“I-I don’t know . . . new– new party drug?” You grunt, your head thrown back against the wall. God, your skin is going to melt right off your bones.

“This is way fucking worse than ecstacy,” Javier murmurs, his jaw tight. “Fuck, got a bit on me, but you . . .”

He blinks at you, eyes glassy, with sudden and total understanding, with perfect clarity why you shoved him away, and what exactly you need.

He murmurs your name and you gasp, another cramp yanking new tears down your cheeks.

“J-Javier,” you swallow thickly, “I know what I s-said before, a-and in the car, but if you ever cared about me, p-please . . . please, just –,”

You can’t encompass all that you need into words, but you hope he understands, is feeling kind despite all that you had done to him. Your bones ache, skin too tight.

He shakes his head, but weakly, his eyes caught on your throat, the wetness clinging to your lips. “You’re just saying that because of the drugs. We have to call Murphy. Get us to a hospital or something.”

“Javi,” you whine and maybe it is the drugs, or maybe he has an inkling of how much it hurts, but he’s across the room in an instant. He grabs you by the shoulders and hauls you to your feet. He drops his head and inhales like he can draw the heat from your blood. The tip of his nose dragged across your jaw is a cube of ice against the furnace of your skin. You shudder, hands clasping around his shoulders, dragging him against you, his hands cupping your hips as if to steady him.

“I-I’ll give you this.” Javier Peña doesn’t stutter. Your eyelids weigh a thousand pounds as you draw your gaze up to him. “I’ll help, cariño, and then we call Murphy. Okay?”

You nod, dizzy and overheated and sick with wanting. You nod and tilt your hips forward into his fingers as they pop open the button of your jeans. The sound of the slide of the zipper drives a shiver through you and you feel his cock, fully hard, against your thigh.

His lips brush your cheek, his voice slurred, dripping slow in molasses, sweet and dark. “I’ll help. I’ll give you what you need.”

The first press of his fingers against your pussy rubs slippery and wet. With a sigh of relief, you drop your head against the wall, hips shoving into his hand, begging for more.

“Fuck,” he wheezes. “You’re already soaking.”

“More, Javier, more.”

He grinds his cock against your thigh to soothe his own ache. He nods slowly as if dazed, his eyes locked onto to where his hand disappears inside your jeans. “Y-yeah, okay.”

If any hesitation remains, it’s gone when he sinks two fingers inside of you and taps up. You moan and he shoves his knee between your legs.

“You like that, pretty girl? Does that help?”

“Yes,” you gasp into his neck, his fingers rocking into you. “Yes, Javier, yes!”

His touch douses the ache, the fire, across your skin, in your spine. With every snap of his wrist, he draws away the heat from your exposed, too-sensitive nerves, easing the lighting storm in your low stomach. The noises you’re making, the noises your cunt makes against his fingers – it should embarrass you, should draw red up into your cheeks and ears, but it’s just more release. You yowl like an animal in heat and Javier’s groin jerks against you. You gain enough sentience to realize he’s fucking you with his jeans on up the wall, his hand never slowing or easing. You can feel yourself gush between his knuckles.

“You’re almost there, muñeca, I can feel it. Just give it to me. Come for me,” he pants into your clavicle, the spread of bone across your chest. You tighten at the thought of his breath against your nipples, his teeth on the soft weight of your breast –

And you do. You come with the easy brush of his thumb against your clit. White lightning soothes the rage beneath your skin and you shudder in his arms, forehead collapsing against his shoulder. The snap of his hips against your thigh is a bruising rhythm, harsh, feral, an understanding that only something rough and wild can actually save your life.

“Is that better, querida?” His wide palm pushes the hair back from your damp neck, cradling your heated cheek. His thumb brushes just under your bottom lip. You can feel his own fever, radiating from his skin. “Can we get you somewhere safe?”

But you’re still too high, too taut, to answer him. Another one builds, stacks up on itself every time his rock-hard cock digs into your hip. He scissors his fingers and you bear down onto his thigh.

“Fuck,” he mutters, but without exhaustion or anger. He sounds almost gleeful. When he looks at you, his pupils are blown wide, sweat making his skin glow. The skin around his mouth is damp. “Alright, I’m not gonna stop. You can have one more. One more, querida.”

His shoulders tense, the muscles in his back shifting, as he changes the angle of his fingers, renews the pressure of his thumb on your clit. He brushes against something deep inside of you, wet and spongy and never before reached and you arch your back in response, air sucked from your lungs. His thigh nearly lifts you off the floor.

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” He taps the spot again and tears flood your eyes and spill down your cheeks.

“Oh my god, Javi,” you murmur and he seems to like that. You clamp down around him and his hips stutter, his moan deep and coming from an ache in his chest. He inserts another finger and your cunt sucks him in, greedy for more.

He eases back into his rhythm, raggedly humping your hip, the rough material of his jeans burning between your thighs.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” he breathes. “Fuck, I knew it would fucking feel this good. You’re clenching down on me so hard, baby.”

On the tip of your next orgasm, the haze clears for just a second and you catch him in the eye. This isn’t just the drugs, you know, this isn’t just an excuse for both of you. This is hating to see the other one in pain. This is sharing a worry for a bit of yourself that lives in another body. What passes along the length of your gaze is the exact thing you feared losing.

Selfishly, you’d rather not have him like this, than not having him at all.

But this is what it could be, he tells you through an open, gasping mouth, through eyes that pin you to the wall, this is what we could have every day, every night. If you just let me in.

If you just –

“Come for me.”

You answer with his name, on a cry high and sharp, and you’re coming – harsh, fast, exploding as you drench him, his fingers pressing roughly into that one sweet spot.

Javi slumps forward, the weight of him nearly stifling, as he gasps, his hips stilling, stuttering, stopping. His skin flushes cold for a second, sweat cooling his fever, his face buried in your neck.

You feel it. Against your thigh. You swallow in surprise, the fog parting briefly again.

“Javi, did you . . .”

He wrenches his hand out of you, releasing his grip on your hip as he lowers you down.

“I’m not fucking calling Murphy,” he grits out.

*~*~*

Javier is a man of singular focus. Almost dogged and single-minded in his hunt, it’s rare he is even capable of listening to the voice of reason. It’s a different voice than his own that tells him when he’s doing something monumentally stupid. There’s a part of him that knows exactly why that voice sounds a lot like you, unconsciously knowing that you’re the only thing that could give him pause. And yet, there are times when he can shut the voice out, can shut out everything inside of him screaming at him not to do the thing he’s going to do. But this, this decision, genuinely has him torn. There is no right way to do this.

Well, there is a right way. One where he takes you to dinner, buys you flowers, walks you home, tucks your hair behind your ear, kisses you softly at first, then rough, until you beg him to come up the stairs. Despite what some may think, he is capable of being romantic. He can be sweet. He can ask nicely.

But that is something he is not capable of right now.

In his post-nut clarity – because, yes, he did come in his pants like a twelve year old with his first porn mag after having his fingers up your cunt for what was all too short – he realized the room you both were in was some sort of safehouse.

A cot against the wall. A portable stove with something in the pan black and sticky. The crates are empty of any valuables – by the shape and length, most likely guns – but the few that are still full have a few bags of that elicit blue powder. He makes a mental note, somewhere on the very distant laundry list in his brain, to take a bag – with gloves on and wrapped up in several other baggies – to have it tested at the lab. Because whatever this stuff is, it might actually be more dangerous than cocaine.

Especially to idiots like him, he thinks roughly as he yanks the thread-bare mattress off its wiry frame onto the floor. He snatches up the cotton sleeping bag at the foot of the frame and unzips it, the inside facing down. This is such a monumentally stupid idea, he knows it is, but he can already feel that cramp building up his thighs, his cock throbbing awake, arousal clamping down on the base of his spine. And he just got a whiff of it. He can’t imagine what you’re feeling already. Behind him he hears you moan softly, never one to complain or whine when things get tough or hard, so he goes faster. He tucks up the other end of the sleeping bag in what he hopes is some semblance of comfort, but he wonders if that will even matter to either of you when it hits again which, judging by how hard his cock is growing, is eminent. The wet spot on his thigh, beneath his jeans, is sticky, uncomfortable. He needs no further reason to unbutton them.

You moan, this time louder, higher, again and he turns to face you, his shirt already undone to his stomach.

You’re pale again, skin glossy and sickly wet. When your eyes flutter open, they’re glassy, gaze distant and unfocused. You twitch when that first cramp settles in deep. He thinks, his mind not entirely his own, about how deep the clutch of your cunt sucked in just his fingers and he shivers. He simultaneously wanted to get this over with and drag it out for days. Have you beneath him for days.

Your legs tucked up beneath you from where he laid you down, Javi approaches quietly, kneeling as he takes off his shirt and goes to untie your boots. He touches your ankle as gently as he can and you shudder, cracking an eye open.

“Javier, it’s coming back. It’s coming back and it hurts.”

In addition to the many, many agency violations, this is monumentally stupid because he’s obsessed with you. Has been for a while. Not just in a way that makes him want to fuck you for hours flat on your back, but in a way that your smile is the last thing he sees before he goes to sleep and the first thing on his mind when he wakes up. An obsession with your wellbeing, your safety, your happiness. A persistent coiling thought about your laugh, and strength, and the way you can make grown men twice your size tremble in fear. You’re a hunter, just like him, and with your beauty – your staggering, haunting beauty – how was he not supposed to immediately attach himself to you? It came on slowly, his pathological need to be near you, and once he realized what it was, there was no going back. No turning it off.

He didn’t mean to tell you when he was drunk, but after bagging another narco, it was like he could see the light at the end of the tunnel. A brief glimpse into a world where you both were safe, and happy, and – god willing – together and in this world, he told you and he was brave about it and you said it back and he felt warm all over. But that was not this world, not his reality. In this one, he has to save you by doing the one thing that may truly well and good fuck him over.

“Sit up, baby, that’s it.” He eases you into his arms and it’s like his touch drags you back into consciousness. Your fingers dig into his bare arms as you take in his exposed chest.

“Javi, fuck, I don’t wanna beg, but before when you – you – I felt better. It cleared. I don’t know why or how, but with your fingers inside m-me, it . . . helped.”

“I know, cariño, and I want to help more.” His thumbs press up under your jaw, tilting your head up to look him directly in the eyes. There’s fear there, pain, and it’s agonizing to him. “But I don’t know if that’s what you want.”

“What I want? Javi, I–,” your eyes widen in understanding of what he’s offering, of what he’s scared to do. What he’s scared to take without your permission.

You swallow, a pink flush crawling up your throat. “I . . . I don’t . . . I didn’t want our first time together to be anything like this, but . . .” You shake your head, shuffling closer to him, your breathing thinning as the drugs start to strike matches against your nerves. “I just don’t want you to think it doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s gonna mean everything to me, no matter how I get it.” He presses a soft kiss to the corner of your chin, just in front of his thumb. You nod, eyes squeezing shut, as you fight this arousal that claws into your skin like meat hooks. He pulls you to your feet, holding you steady as your knees try to lock up. He unbuttons your shirt with shaking hands.

You touch his chest like you’ve never seen a man naked before. The hesitant, awed touch of you sends all the blood still remaining in his head straight into his cock.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he murmurs to your cheek, your shirt off your body, his hands tugging your jeans down your hips. You nod again, speechless in your relief, and follow your jeans to the ground. Twisting on the nest he made for you, you slide your bra off, your nipples already tight and perk and waiting for his mouth. You huff, a sound so unlike you it makes him genuinely concerned, as the front of your panties darken again.

“It’s okay, Javi, this is what I want. I want this.” You hate being vulnerable, he knows this, your attitude a front that leaves no room for sexist comments in the bullpen. And yet, here you are, deflowered and begging for him. You spread your legs for him, eyelids heavy, and he can smell the arousal on you.

He drops to his knees, unsure where to start first, but the blue powder coursing through his veins demanding he puts his hands on your hips, which he finally acquiesce to.

“I don’t think I can be gentle,” he admits quietly. He wants to nip, suck, slurp every inch of you, wants to see that perfect body bend to his will, to his turning. He wants to fuck you open and stuff himself up inside you so deep it leaves a mark. In his haze, the instinct to fuck supplies him with an image of you pregnant, bred and full of him, and his cock twitches so hard he drops onto all fours over you.

You slip your underwear over your toes and your knees take him by the ribs.

“Please, Javi, please.”

He knows it must hurt, must be so blindingly painful for you to beg like this. You never asked anyone for anything and that independence turned him on and frustrated him to no end.

“Please, be rough,” you ask him from under your lashes, your body writhing beneath him. His hips, on a separate system than the rest of him, thrust the rough teeth of his zipper against your cunt and you keen, the sound imprinting into every crevice and curve of his brain. “Make it hurt.”

Oh fuck, this might actually be the thing that kills him.

He hushes you, stills your flushed whimpering with a kiss that ends in teeth against the high curve of your cheek. He noses to your mouth, then down to your ear, where he bites on your earlobe. He’s balancing on one hand as his other tugs his jeans down and off his hips.

He wants to fuck your tits. Come all over them, have his spend flush up your throat, your chin. He wants to come so hard he blinds you with it. And then he wants to flip you over and fuck your ass with his come-lubed dick.

You wriggle and whine, legs wrapping around his hips, tugging him down onto you when, half-a-mind away, he realizes he just said all of that outloud.

“Yes, Javi, you can have whatever you want. Fuck me however you want.” His blood is boiling now, the white-hot bomb settling itself in the base of his spine, his balls already tight. Why he’s dragging this out is beyond him and possibly a medical detriment to you.

“Javi, just fucking put your cock ins–,”

He watches as every conscious thought wiped from your mind, brow heavy, mouth seared open as he plugs you full of him in one rough thrust. You shudder and his elbows buckle, his body locked up tight because if he moves, if he dares to rub his cock through your velvet, hot clutch, he’ll come right there. Your eyes roll back in your head as his cock makes space for itself inside you.

“Javi–,” he claps a wide palm over your mouth, his teeth straining in his jaw, his temple twitching.

“Baby, I know it hurts – I know it fucking does – but I need you to stay still.” It feels too good. You’re too hot, too slippery, and soft. He can feel the hum of words behind his fingers and he shakes his head. “Do not fucking move – I just need to – I have to –,”

He inches in just a bit more and you both gasp to the ceiling when he bottoms out. Your rough curls against his pelvis sears him, hot and sweet like cinnamon. He drools when he thinks about eating his own come out of you.

You only get one word out, one word that sets his whole world on fire: “Please.”

He rears back, yanks you up his thighs, hands cupping the backs of your knees and he plows into you. Your tiny fingers that have pulled countless triggers and clapped irons on criminals twitch, tightening into the smelly cotton fabric, your mouth contorted open. His pace, his thrusting, is relentless, unforgiving but the look on your face is pleased, an almost maniacal grin across your lips.

“Oh, right there, Javi, just like that. Just like that.”

He’s faster than he is precise. Precise comes later when the bestial fog clears from his brain, when the lust bleeds out of his system, when he doesn’t want to hump you like an animal with his teeth bared and cock so deep inside of you it kisses your womb.

Before his mind entirely succumbs to the mounting arousal, he’s grateful he had the foresight to take the mattress down. If he hadn’t, there’s a good chance he would have fuck you, the bed, and himself right through the paper-thin walls.

And then he lets go. Lets this thing in his chest and hot behind his groin take over, lets himself indulge in whatever carnal, depraved thing sparks in his mind.

He’s fucking you so hard you’ll both have bruises by morning.

He watches, transfixed, at the place where his soaked cock disappears through your puffy, wet lips into the mind-numbing heat of your pussy. He can’t stop watching. He barely feels your nails digging into his thighs.

The walls of your pussy squeeze him and it makes him falter, hitch speed. His gaze is torn away and instantly, it focuses on the bounce and sway of your tits. Sweat droplets roll from your neck into the valley of your breasts and without hesitation he bends to catch them with his mouth, tugging you further down his cock. You cry out, hands digging into his hair, as his tongue drags a wet trail over the top of your breast, the tip flicking your rock hard nipple, then beneath the swell where he meets it with his teeth.

You jerk, pleasure overwhelming. “Uh – oh – oh – fuck – Javi.” The words leave your mouth truncated, cut short by his rhythmic bouncing. He nuzzles your tit, streaking you with his own sweat, not able to stop fucking up into you to really get a good grip on your breast, but wanting to put the whole thing in his mouth.

“I’m gonna do it right next time,” he swears fidelity to your skin. He grinds his teeth against your sternum. “Next time I fuck you I’m going to pull you apart bit by bit. Starting with these fucking tits and ending with my tongue up your cunt. Maybe your ass.”

Against his cheek, he feels your skin break out in ridges, your whole body shivering at his words. He leans up, grinning wildly and grinds particularly deep inside of you. You still haven’t fully opened your eyes.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you? You want my tongue up your ass. What about my cock, huh? Want my fat fucking cock inside there?”

You whine, clawing at his chest, as you nod frantically. He could ask anything of you right now and you’d give it to him. And god, he wants so much.

“It’d hurt, baby, you know it would.”

You nod, words tumbling out of your mouth in a mindless babble. “I don’t care. I want it there. I want you inside me. I want it to hurt. I want you to fuck me raw, Javi.”

He groans, more like a growl, rapidly picking up his pace. He lifts your knees higher and fucks up, the change in angle making you moan so loudly it fills up his ears with blood.

“Tell me where you want it. Say it, querida.”

“I want it in my fucking ass, Javi.”

His jaw twitching, that primal, unrestrained urge in him wrapping itself around his spine, he shoves you off him. Wetness dribbles down his lap but he doesn’t let himself smell or see it for long, as he flips you onto your hands and knees, sliding in and pummeling your pussy from behind.

You whine, singing for his cock, and collapse onto your elbows, presenting your ass for him. The pair of you really are just fucking animals.

He presses his thumb to your tight hole, the wet slap of his balls against your ass suddenly the least obscene thing in the room. There’s barely enough room for his thumb there and he tips his head back at the thought that no one had ever taken you there before. His. All his and no one fucking else’s.

“Javi,” you sob, that preening need gone from your voice as though you are begging him not to go further, but desire kept you from voicing what you actually wanted.

His bottom lip twitches and he leans down and gently bites your shoulder, grounding you and clearing out all fear. Drugs or not, he’d never do anything you didn’t explicitly ask for, but the second this is all over, he’s going to get on his hands and knees and beg you to let him work your ass open.

“Not tonight, cariño.” He slides his thumb out of you, his wrist twisting as he palms the meat of your ass. “But I’m not leaving this completely untouched.”

He smacks the jiggling flesh until he sees a pink hand print, earning him a yelp from you every time his palm lands. He feels fresh, sticky wetness soak his cock with each slap, enough for it to dribble down his thigh. He’s not going to shower for a week.

The higher he climbs, the faster that animalistic heat leaves his blood. You’re not as pale as before, the skin of your back growing a nice healthy flush. As his grip around your hips tightens, he feels your cunt clench around him. If he won’t take your ass tonight, he still wants you puffy and sore. He leans back just to watch his cock pound your pink, abused hole.

“I’m close, Javi,” you admit breathlessly. He nods, leaning forward again, that image of your pussy split open for him deliciously sealed in his mind, and he drags his nose down your spine. Sweat from his chest drops and splatters against your skin.

“I know you are, I can feel it. Can I see your face? Watch you? Can I put you on top?”

You nod and he slips out of you for what he hopes will be the last time in his fucking life. He’s no longer drug-crazed, but he is drunk. Pussy drunk. Drunk on you. Imbibed by the juices trailing down his thighs. He shifts and you swing a leg over his hips, immediately swallow him deep inside you.

Unlike the courtesy he gave you, you give him no time to adjust, grip his chest, and ride him within an inch of his life.

Your tits swinging in his face, he presses his fingers so tight into your thighs, he’ll be able to count the distinct bruises, and plants his feet. He meets you, thrust for thrust, and he watches your competitive nature battle your overwhelming chase for release.

“Just come, cariño,” he pants. “You’ve done so good tonight. Just fucking come all over my lap. Let go.”

His words melt something inside of you and you whimper, curling down over him, which he takes to wrap his arms around your back, and roll you under him. He kisses your chin, your temple, the corner of your mouth. His big palm cradling your head, he grinds low and deep, seeking out that place he touched with his fingers.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. You can come.” He prods that spot once and it’s all over. You clamp down on his cock, milking him for all he’s worth because as you arch, mouth open, tears down your face, he comes too. He comes and he comes and he comes until he drips out of you and that breaks another orgasm across you, this one bumpy and leaves you shaking.

He feels dizzy, unsure up from down, the loudest sound he hears is his own blood rushing in his ears. He’s never been more exhausted.

He can hear the vibration of you saying something against his throat, but nothing is quite working like it’s supposed to, so he slumps off you, his hand never leaving your skin, as he tugs you against him.

He’ll be dried and sticky in only a few hours – you both will – but that doesn’t matter right now. The only thing that does is the feeling of your heartbeat over his.

*~*~*

Morning, along with the scent of rain, glides in through the open window and your fingers twitch as sunlight hits you. Your eyes fluttering open, you lift your head from the sleeping bag to see wet puddles on the floor under the window, the concrete streaked and stained with water. It must have rained sometime last night and, shockingly, you didn’t hear a thing.

The heatwave had finally broken.

It’s not until you’re full awake do you realize his hand rests in the cup of your neck, thumb rubbing smooth, soft circles into the hard knot near your shoulder blade. You smile, groaning softly, becoming more relaxed by how good it feels.

You roll over and greet his eyes. They’re brown again, the hungry blackness gone, but leaving an edge of uncertainty in its wake.

He wants to know how you feel about last night.

“You fucked up,” you tell him and that worried crease appears between his eyebrows. You inch closer, your hand curling up against his jaw. “All that time last night, all the time you had me under you, and you didn’t kiss me once.”

You close your eyes, drop your head, and press a fervent, determined kiss against his pink lips. You can feel it as he swallows it in, his body shifting forward, hand coming up to your hip. But just as quickly as it starts, he pulls away.

Javier shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says almost mournfully, eyes downcast. “I don’t want to know – what you taste like, if . . . I can’t kiss you if this is the last time.”

He’s still respecting your boundary, your wishes, while coated in his release and yours. He knows he can’t be selfish with you again.

You wet your lip, hand still on his cheek.

“Javier, you saved my life last night. That was some kind of fucked up drug, but if you hadn’t been here and did what you did, I think I would have had a heart attack.” He shakes his head, ashamed and desperate to prove you wrong. You understand his hesitation. It felt too good for it to be anything other than a transgression. “And if anything, it showed me something I think I already knew but couldn’t find in myself to admit. I need you, Javi. I need you because I can’t live without you. Because I love you.”

His eyes light up when you return the words he uttered in the bar. None of this is how it should have been – in an abandoned narcos hideout, but god, there’s not a single thing you’d change.

“Yeah, baby? You mean that?” You nod as hot, natural desire flashes in his eyes as he pulls your body under him and captures your mouth in his. His warm palm cups your hip, your ribs, up under your arm, and pushes your elbow to your head. There’s more to say, more to worry about, but that fucking heatwave over Bogota has finally broken and Javier Peña’s cum is dried and flaky between your thighs.

“We should call Murphy,” you giggle, withdrawing your tongue from his mouth. He shakes his head, the blunt edge of his teeth against your cheek. “There’s a deadly new drug on the streets. Lives are at stake.”

“My dick is at stake,” he murmurs, lips hovering over your skin, drawing your knee up to his ribs as he slots himself between your thighs. The smile slides off your face as he thumbs your raw clit in rough, desperate circles.

“I thought you said you were going to take it slow next time,” you huff, hips rolling against his stiff cock.

“I will. Gonna take you to dinner. Cup your ass over a distractingly short dress. Buy you flowers and fucking gold jewelry . . . then I’m going to take you home and open you up with my fingers, then my tongue.”

“So what’s this?” You gasp against his neck as he sinks his cock into you.

He groans, grunts, as if he hadn’t spent the better part of the night making your cunt his personal possession.

“This is me, fucking you, before breakfast. Then we call Murphy. Any objections?”

You squeeze your knees around him, ankles hooked across his low back, sucking a mark into his neck.

“Not at all.”

When you do go public, not shying away from holding hands in the office, or openly walking in at the same time from the same car, Noonan is irate, but can’t bring herself to cut her two best agents loose. It seems catching Pablo Escobar matters more than some silly, little government-issued guidelines. She’d get her day in court, but not today. Not for a while.

Noonan is annoyed.

Murphy is not.

“Came across some new party drugs and not a single thing happened, right?”

“You could have found it, taken it home for you and Connie to enjoy,” you say as you slide your arm across Javier’s back, his hand on your hip. He rarely ever takes his hands off you now. “But, no, you bailed on me instead.”

“Sounds like you should be thanking me, instead of busting my balls.”

“He’s right, baby,” Javier nuzzles your neck. “Could have been him stuck in that basement with me, horny as a cat in fucking heat.”

You shrug as Murphy makes a face. “I blame the heatwave.”

He leans into your ear. “And I blame your fucking ass in that skirt. I’m gonna take you home, make good on my promise. Any objections?”

“Not at all.”

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #javier peña x y/n #javier pena x y/n #javier pena one shot #javier pena x ofc #javier peña smut #javier peña x you #narcos #narcos netflix #this is my first time writing sex pollen did i do okay?

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allyeardepression · 10 days

Text

@jegulus-microfic | april 18 sock | words: 585

tw: slight nfsw, walking in on someone, swearing

“Stop leaving your socks all over the place!” Sirius heard from the first floor.

“Stop being a dick; they’re on my side of the room!”

“Oh, trust me, I can be worse!” And then there was a loud thud, probably Regulus throwing something at James to prove that he could indeed be worse.

Sirius sighed, taking a sip of his coffee. It had been like that since the beginning of the holidays, because everyone forgot to rent a place with six rooms instead of five, so that James and Regulus could sleep separately. When the two of them found out, they reacted in two different ways: James didn’t mind (It’s not like we’ll be spending a lot of time here); Regulus, on the other hand, threw a tantrum like a five-year-old (I can’t share a bed with this asshole for the next six weeks). Unfortunately, there was no other way, since neither of them would sacrifice a comfortable bed to sleep on a couch in the living room. So for the past two weeks, all ten of them were doomed to listen to the senseless arguments the two others provided.

They were all getting tired of it—they came to Italy to rest, not to feel like children while their parents were getting divorced.

“I swear to god, if they don’t stop until tomorrow, at least one of them won’t come back to London,” Barty grumbled, handing a cup of orange juice to each one of his boyfriends. The girls hummed in agreement.

They sat at the big table in the kitchen, having breakfast. Dorcas and Marlene listed all the places they could go to today, while Lily and Pandora were serving more pancakes and scrambled eggs.

“I think the gallery and chapel sound the best,” commented Mary, throwing a grape at Peter, which he caught with his teeth.

After that, they sat in a comfortable silence, chewing on their respective meals.

The silence was almost… too comfortable.

“Do you think they killed each other?” Sirius asked, breaking the moment of peace.

“Who cares? At least they’re quiet,” Evan replied, shoving another forkful of eggs into his mouth.

Sirius turned to Remus, starting a silent conversation. After a few seconds, his boyfriend nodded and stood up, with Sirius following suit. They went upstairs, stopping in front of blue door. From behind them came quiet gasps and muffled words neither of them could understand.

The black-haired man knocked at the door gently. “Reggie? Prongs? Are you guys okay?” When, after nearly a minute, there was still no answer, he decided to enter the room.

“Guys, are you—what the fuck?” He was expecting everything: blood all over the place, black eyes, broken bones, shattered windows—everything except James holding one hand on Regulus’ throat, the other on his dick, his own probably inside Sirius' little brother.

All four of them froze, staring at each other with wide eyes, until the youngest finally grabbed the blanket laid in front of him, covering himself and James.

“Why the fuck would you come in without being allowed?” Regulus hissed.

“We thought you were dead,” Sirius answered, unnaturally calm. “I just wanted to check if you were alright.”

“Well, you know now, so get out,” the younger Black replied, making a dismissive gesture with his free hand. Sirius didn’t need much convincing to do so.

When Remus closed the door behind them, the shorter man turned to him.

“You know Moony,” he said, staring blankly. “I think I need to bleach my brain.”

#jegulus #dead gay wizards #starchaser #james potter #james x regulus #regulus black #jegulus microfic #the marauders #marauders #modern au #wolfstar #dorlene #marypandalily #partyvan #forced proximity #holiday #by: allyeardepression #500 words or more

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 8 months

Text

cursed hours, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You know what your boyfriend is? That's right – horny. (Can relate.) And, you know what, you are too. Jeon Jungkook is super mega ultra hot. (Facts.) But. Even you don't fuck doing cursed hours. You try to delicately explain to your love that there are, in fact, suboptimal times to be asking for banging. (This conversation ends exactly in the way that everyone is predicting.)

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; established relationship; playful banter and shitty jokes; in which Jungkook tries to listen to your grievance but then he remembers what you look like naked and then the Calvin Klein's fly off; crack and fluff; smut (fem reader, ball torture JK is a freak, m-receiving oral, handjob, edging, penetrative sex (doggy), clitoral stimulation, m-masturbation); squabbling tbh; non-idol!BTS - short black-haired!JK with his two lip rings; the parenthesis are the reader’s inner thoughts

crackhead best laid plans / counter point / well dressed couple no need to read the others, but they’re there if you want more happy birthday, Jungkook! XD

It was the middle of the day.

“We need to talk.”

Your boyfriend and absolute love of your life, Jean Jungkook, vehemently shook his head and puffed his cheeks. It was quite sad to see that all of his previously bleach-blond (read: extremely fried) long waves were gone, but his current shorter black hair made him look even younger (carding territory, for real). At least he got another lip ring next to his first one. Not really to make up for anything. Just because he felt like being your forever wet dream (he was, keke).

You cocked an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“No talk.” He stuck his tongue out (the disrespect, hah). “Nothing good comes out of your girlfriend saying, we need to talk.”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out (or in… yet). He had a point. He wasn’t going to like what you had to say. (Be strong!) You had to say it anyway.

“Jeon Jungkook, you can't wake me up at six in the morning with your rock-hard dick shoved against my ass cheeks and expect me to have enough brain function to cooperate.”

Big pout. The biggest pout with the biggest peepers.

“But... I'm horny.”

Irrefutable argument, surely. He was horny.

(Yeah, when are you not?)

You laid down the law with vigorous hand waving. “Two in the morning? Okay. Three? Eh, pushing it but I can sleep right after. But six? Six in the morning?! That is too much. That (that) is cursed hours. There’s no way I can go back to sleep then. Cursed. I’m not a morning person. You’re not a morning person. Why is you dick awake?”

Big shrug. (Big dick too, wait, what?) “He’s an all-day person,” he nodded sagely. “Your tits and butt are right there. What can I do?”

Your eyes twitched.

“You’re the one who wants me to sleep in panties!”

Your boyfriend shook his head primly (and childishly and one-hundred percent like a freaking annoying little shit). “No,” Jungkook clarified. Very serious. Too serious. “I want you to sleep naked. You’re the one being unreasonable.”

You gasped dramatically. “I’m not waking up with jizz all over me… again!”

“Hence the compromise! That’s why I wake you up first… and then jizz all over you!”

This conversation would be a lot more (ahem) concerning if Jungkook wasn’t grinning like a madman and you weren’t clutching your non-existent pearls in a state of fabricated shock (although you would have pearls if he jizzed all over your neck right now, eh, eh, okay, never mind), anyway, you knew damn well that Jungkook would probably stop for, mmmm, a couple weeks, then promptly forget this conversation, and inevitably wake you up way too early to hump your sleepy ass (literally).

You weren’t with him because he listened (we can see that).

“I am just saying,” you lowered your tone, still lighthearted but somewhat stern now. “If you want me to be receptive and not grumpy, six in the morning is not the time. You can rub yourself all over me if you want but it’s very unlikely that I will be in the mood. I don’t want to get mad to you. That’s why I’m telling you now.”

Jungkook firmly nodded. Ah, he understood! Finally. He raised his rigid hand against his temple in salute.

“Okay. From now on, I’ll hump you to completion instead.”

You gave him a blank stare of utter disbelief.

That playful grin with those gleaming lip rings bounced forward and tackled you onto the bed as you continued gawking at him, shell-shocked. Really? (Really, dude?) But you could tell he was apologetic, showering your neck and cheeks with kisses, saying between blossoming laughter, “Sorry, sorry, you just look so cute when you’re mad,” and you were trying to stay mad. The principle of it all. Hmph! “I’m mad!” You vocalized with a huff. Maybe if you said it, you would mean it. (You didn’t.) “Yep, you’re definitely mad, so mad…!” This idiot was repeatedly mushing your cheeks with his big palms and deliberately piling on the aegyo. You squinted your eyes into lines. “Stop messing with my cheeks!” “Don’t wanna!”

You chopped his head.

“Yah!”

Your idiot – cough, sorry, boyfriend, love of your life, darling, all that fluff stuff – made a fake dying noise but you didn’t catch on to his admission of defeat (couldn’t trust it anyway, this was Jeon Jungkook), and grabbed his wrist, pinning it down onto the bed and getting right up in his face, planting your palm his broad chest and shoving him (which did approximately nothing, you really do need to work out).

“I’m being serious here. I’m telling you something that would piss me off and you hate it when I’m mad at you so I’m warning you in advance. I’m working on myself too, but sunrise is really pushing it,” you emphasized, practically sitting in his lap now, your (his) big white t-shirt spilling over his bare thighs. Nobody wore pants in this household. Jungkook could barely keep his underwear on (foreshadowing). “I didn’t want to get mad at you this morning out of nowhere, but you’re not good at taking the hint.”

Those glittering chocolate eyes softened. “Oh. I’m sorry. I get excited…”

“And you can get excited,” you sighed, letting go of his wrist and patting the top of his head. “I only want you to be aware of how I’m feeling at that time and it’s a whole lot of why do humans have to sleep, waking up sucks ass. Not good for horny.”

Damn, these big rueful peepers were going to be the death of you. “You know me. I like being with you more than anything in the world. I don’t like being without you. Even sleeping is such a pain,” Jungkook finished with a puff.

You smacked his (very firm) chest. “I’m not telling you leave me alone. Just don’t ask me to fuck, because the answer is most likely going to be no at that time of day. Wait for me to wake up, at least!”

“But…!”

He grabbed the front of your (his) shirt and you tensed, thinking he was about to shake you, adjusting to be a bit more stable on his legs and then your shin slid to the front of his crotch and both of you abruptly fell silent (a shocking moment in this household).

“Jungkook.”

He was trying very hard not to grin but you could see it in those dark brown orbs.

“Yeah?”

He really was your favorite person. Really. He had an intense, passionate outlook on life. Tried hard at everything and made a fuss when certain things didn’t work out as he planned. Slowly learned to let things go but still picked up too many interests. Still thought he could do anything (and you believed with him, so maybe you were both the problem). Jungkook always told you he was grateful that you were so into about the things you liked (read: obsessive), because he made him feel less weird, made him feel that someone could match his energy, made him feel like he finally met his person, someone loved to live life as much as he did.

Romantic, yeah?

“Why is your dick hard?” you accused.

Your (lovable but idiot) boyfriend grinned. “Just remembering what you look like naked.”

Really romantic.

Yeah.

“Oh?”

You backed off his lap and forced his legs open.

“W-W-Wait–”

Which was how you ended up yoinking off Jungkook’s Calvin Klein's (with force and a tangle of legs and maybe a yelp if you bothered to listen), and did not take off your shirt as you got to your knees and curled your tongue around his already-hard-and-getting-harder cock. Sure, he was saying stuff (blah blah that’s not fair blah, the usual), but you cared not. Zero fucks given. Hey, if Jungkook was going to be all horny on you whenever he felt like it, you were going to give it to him whenever you felt like it too. He needed to be punished for being insufferable!

(Never mind that this has been going on for years.)

“Come on, take off your… oooh, fuck…”

(Your predictable arguments ended in predictable ways.)

You spared no expense. Tongue all over his length. Dripping saliva. Porn-star-esque, complete with the slurping it all back up and jamming the head of that throbbing cock into the back of your throat, squishing it against the pocket of saliva. Nasty. Yo, you didn’t have sex to be elegant. You had sex to watch Jungkook’s torso shudder uncontrollably and hear him whine in the middle of him yanking off his oversized black t-shirt, his head of crazy messy black hair popping out. You watched as he emerged like a just-saved, half-drowned vacationer and then his eyes rolled back like he had been knocked out, all while you bounced your head up and down, running your tongue along the base and his balls, making sure to be extra soft at the tip and caress the slit with the gentlest of kisses. Not enough to pressure to really get him off, but so much pleasure, lovingly swirling your tongue around and pressing your lips against the sensitive skin.

Then you did what any reasonable person would do (heh) and replaced your soothing mouth with your punishing grip, pumping him roughly.

“Gah!”

Your tongue circled around his balls and both slid into your mouth, sucking on them as you jacked him off. Any intelligent response was immediately annihilated by the gargling moan Jungkook choked out, falling back to his hands. Mmmm, those arms. The tension was making his muscles bulge, the dark colorful tattoos on his right arm gleaming in the bedroom light, his left just as shapely and defined. You switched between each side, sucking and licking and toying with his balls while your hand built up a furious pace, grinning as you felt his length twitch and throb. Glassy, dark brown orbs glanced down to watch, the ends of his black hair stuck to his cheeks, mouth open, pink lips glossy.

The look in those eyes.

So needy.

You delicately trapped one of his balls between your teeth and sucked hard before pulling your lips back and grinning. The reaction was immediate. The shiver visible, the hitched breath sharp, the tremble lingering at his shoulders, exasperation and desire flashing over his expression. Jungkook pleaded with you, knowing full well he didn’t want you to listen to a single word he was saying.

“N-No, please, d-don’t make me a f-freak…”

(Not sure how to tell you this, Jungkook, but you’ve been a freak since day one.)

“You like it,” you replied (with his nut in your mouth, smacking it with your tongue as you spoke). “Don’t lie to me.”

“No, I like it when you’re nice,” Jungkook stressed and he was very stressed because your hand was slowing down and that was not a good sign.

“Oh, yeah?” you taunted. Totally unnecessary but totally necessary. You let go of his cock and switched balls, squeezing the other saliva-covered one in a slippery, punishing grip that make Jungkook yelp with an edge of panic.

His cock jolted, sticking straight up.

You gave him the look of see what I see?

Jungkook sputtered, frantically waving his hand about. “N-No! It’s not what it looks like!”

(It’s not… it’s not what it looks like? What does it look like then, huh?!)

You raked your teeth over his balls and started sucking and tugging on them.

His right hand instantly flew to his dick (bombastic side-eye) and he started desperately jacking himself off as you used precise pressure and tongue to tease him. He was loudly moaning in reckless abandon, “H-Harder, yeah, like that, oooh, fuck, yes, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop” (criminally offensive side-eye), but you obeyed, gripping the inside of his thigh and ravishing his balls. You could barely see from your peripheral vision but you could certainly feel the force of Jungkook’s firm, tight grip around his stiff length.

Damn.

Your panties were also getting uncomfortably drenched.

Suddenly his hand froze up, his whole arm shaking. You glanced up. White teeth biting the left edge of his lower lip, lashes fluttering, jaw clenched. Muffled scream in his throat. The line from his neck to torso to abs to crotch to tattooed hand choking his hard cock was incredibly hot. Even hotter was how dark the head was becoming, angry purple-red and beading pearly translucent pre-cum.

“Fuck, I almost came, fuck…”

(Was that not the goal or are we missing something here?)

You spoke sloppily with his nut halfway in your mouth.

“Thought you were going to jizz all over me.”

His dark brows furrowed, gasping for breath, trembling all over. “You know I would ask you first, I’m not a big meanie,” Jungkook pouted, opening his eyes when you knocked away his hand, then his peepers popping open wide as you picked up his vicious pace with a smirk, lowering your shoulder to squeeze his balls at the same time (zero chill here). It could have been your name somewhere in that strangled moan. Could have, but it wasn’t that discernable and you were unbothered, even as his hands flew up and grabbed your (his) shirt, practically ripping it off in frustration.

“Please, ack, please…!”

You stopped.

Jungkook nearly yelled bloody murder and snatched you by the waist, lifting you far too easily. He was two beats away from suplex-ing you onto the bed if it wasn’t for the horny beating out his frustration of being edged for the second? third? whatever time. You were almost worried (not really), but everything worked out (kind of). There were always condoms on the nightstand (for reasons) and it took Jungkook record time to rip one open and slide it on before forcefully grabbing your ass (you had been trying to move away for… reasons) and dragging you back to him from a growl, flipping the bottom of your (his) shirt up.

Somehow, in the tangle of legs and arms, you had managed to slip off your panties and put them on the other nightstand so Jungkook wouldn’t rip them off your body.

(It has happened before.)

At the sight of your naked and wet pussy, Jungkook forgot how to be mad.

“Oh!”

You looked back to see a pair of shining, starry-eyed dark brown orbs.

“You really do love me.”

You blinked at him (what do you say to that?). “Y… Yeah? Woah!”

Turned out horny also beats out romance (?) and now Jungkook was balls deep and you were gasping and beating up the pillows in attempt to get your bearings because, holy fuck, he was insanely hard (scientific term). Your lower torso dropped and you both moaned in unison, satisfaction from the sudden depth, the ache perfectly fulfilled at this angle. Thrust in, push back, overwhelming rush heating up your chest and down your legs, beginning right where you both left off.

Rough, fast, and deep.

Your (and probably his) knees were really feeling it. You didn’t care. (Classic.) The fullness was unbearable and addictive and it made your walls spasm, squeezing around him as your eyelids fluttered, skin prickling hot and heartbeat leaping to your throat. The wave swelled in your chest and pooled down, amplifying the sensation of slapping hips, pitching your moan, you fucking him and him fucking you, a joint effort, the grip on your hips tightening, fuck, he was so strong, not slowing down even in the middle of your orgasm, your mind fizzling to white noise.

And then.

You suddenly realized it was weirdly silent behind you.

You tried not to snort in laughter (being nice, of course) as you realized Jungkook was whining behind his bitten lip, trying desperately not to cum in your crushing fervor. Not that you were going to let up. Absolutely not. In fact, you moaned breathily and reached back with one hand, tugging on the flapping shirt and pulling it over your head, bunching it up. Heard him gasp, but now your hair was all over your face (didn’t think that through, did you). There was no time to correct. You shoved the ball of fabric under your chin and dropped your shoulders, ramming back into his crotch with a wet smack, a vicious bolt of painful pleasure flaring up your inner thighs and spreading over your lungs, knocking the wind out of you.

“Ah, Jungkook!”

Didn’t think that through, did you?

You nearly choked on your own moan (and a mouthful of your own hair), entire body shaking from the force of orgasm bursting within, your inner walls clamping down and hips flinching, carnal pulse radiating throughout your core, breathless, lust-blindness, your ass jerking forward from another powerful thrust, and then Jungkook made a series of noises that could only be described as unholy.

(Wanton moaning, spitting swears, using various higher entities’ names in vain, things like that.)

You basically faceplanted into the t-shirt, vibrating from the high.

Down for the count.

But not out.

You reached back and wrapped your fingers around Jungkook’s balls, firmly squeezing.

He let out a quivering groan of approval, long fingers on your hips tightening, pressing his twitching cock inside you. No intention of leaving. The tension was so electric that you could feel the sparks flying up your belly (or was that your arm falling asleep from this unnatural position, who knows) and you sucked in a ragged breath, not sure what was coming over you but it was so unbelievably arousing that all you could do was smile.

Well.

You couldn’t really breathe since you were mostly face-first into the mattress.

Thankfully, Jungkook had a brain (bless) and sighed contentedly, sliding his hot (read: scorching) hands up your sides and pulling your body up. You let go of his nuts, panting, feeling him slide out, drawing in a tight breath – his skin like fiiiiiiire (don’t sing it) – relaxing as you felt his fingers fan out over your breasts.

This was nice.

He squeezed your breasts and toyed with your nipples, sending pleasing tingles all over.

“My back is getting sweaty,” you chuckled. “You’re burning up.”

“No, you’re hot.”

Whines (his) and a flop onto the bed later (you), and you ended up on your back, catching your breath while looking up at the ceiling. Ah, that was nice. You didn’t think too much about your limbs akimbo. There wasn’t any shame. After all, this was your home and this was your love. Attentive, caring, enthusiastic (about laundry and dishes and fucking especially) love of your life Jeon Jungkook who was definitely not a freak. Nope.

You felt a hand on your knee.

Then you felt your legs being dragged apart even wider.

The slapping sound of hand on dick.

Eh?

You turned your head to see Jungkook masturbating while staring at your pussy, used condom still on the bed. Oi! How was he still going? You were pretty sure he blasted out several nuts worth of cum (and the fullness of that used condom was the visible proof, oop).

“Hey. I’m still here,” you reminded him.

Heavy exhale and brief glance at your tits. “I know,” Jungkook shuddered, voice low and gravelly. “And you’re so fucking beautiful, fuck.”

“I’m not a porn video,” you joked, secretly enjoying how heatedly he was getting himself off to your sexy bits.

“You really need to make some for me,” he replied absentmindedly, reaching out to spread your pussy lips. You flexed them. They made a wet, lewd sound. Obscene. Jungkook moaned and tightened his grip, speeding up, running his finger over your exposed clit. “At least send nudes.”

“I’m physically next to you almost all the time,” you gasped. “Whachu need nudes for?”

This really wasn’t the time for a full-on conversation and soon you both forgot about it, lost in the haze of pleasure. Your eyes slid shut, arms fanned out over the bed, back arching, following that racing feeling. Basking in it. You were sure he was watching and you let him enjoy the show, spreading your legs and letting your hips be guided by his rough fingertip, clenching your jaw at the sensitivity. Almost too much was the perfect amount of pressure, rubbing over your throbbing nerves, aching tension dispersing over your muscles, nearly uncontrollable, so close to the edge, his name in a husky whisper, closer, listening to his breathing shallow, tighten, closer…

Your eyes opened, lids heavy, watching him though lashes and the haze of moans.

Jungkook was gazing back at you, up and down, lust-drunk on your body, his chest flexing, his black hair over his eyes, sweat beading along his temples, shuddering again at your eye contact.

“You… You fuck me up.”

You smiled and was about to say, you too, but then your pent-up orgasm shot up your torso and you hissed at the intensity, your hand flying down and harshly gripping his wrist. Head snapping back, spine arcing, mouth open to an airless moan, fighting to leave your lungs as the powerful continuous flinching overtook your hips, each pulse thundering against his fingertip, your juices seeping out.

Slick painted over your pussy lips clenching around nothing.

Jungkook sucked in his inhale and groaned, cupping his palm around the head of his cock. Heat and tremors and visible lust, the pleasure sinking, sinking, and you heard Jungkook whimper, looking down to see that his hand was turned, his long fingers digging into the soft dip of his balls and roughly massaging them as he came.

You watched.

Glanced up at his face.

Your boyfriend glared back.

“Don’t… say… anything…” he wheezed.

You did not listen.

(No one is surprised.)

“You’re a slutty freak, huh.”

“Oi!” he barked, yanking his hand away from you, and then his face contorted, instantly regretting vacating your pussy. You peeled open your puffy lower lips with two fingers and wiggled your tongue at him. “Hey! Stop that. I’ll–”

Faster than light (and smoother than butter), you shot off the bed as Jungkook threatened you with his cum-covered hand. “I don’t think so!” All these years with Jeon Jungkook and he still looked shocked when you knew exactly what he was thinking. “Get back here!” You did not. You ran to the bathroom instead and proceeded to fight on opposite sides of the door as he tried to get in and you tried to lock it.

“Why are you only strong at times like this?” Jungkook whined as you threw your weight into the door and locked him (and his cum hand) out. “Let me in!”

“No! Not until you wash your hand in the kitchen.”

“I promise not to wipe it on you.”

“I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. Which is not very far.”

“You should!”

“Throw you?”

The whine on the other side pitched. “Open the door…”

You sighed. (Uh oh.) Opened the door. (Duck!) And smacked Jungkook’s wrist as he tried to wipe his dried cum onto you in a bout of maniacal laughter. (You punk!) Naked wrestling match (nice) and some neck chopping infused minutes later, you managed to shove Jungkook’s right hand under the sink faucet and blast water over it, fiercely gripping (and very much enjoying) his forearm to prevent him from being a brat.

And he was laughing, the bubbly sound drifting between you and him, laughing with his left arm around your waist and his face in the crook of your shoulder and neck, his warm breath tickling your skin, pulling your close as you vainly tried to avoid his sweat (failing spectacularly). Asshat.

He sighed, breathless and shivery, nuzzling your jaw with his (big) nose.

“I love you.”

He was a freaking annoying brat but he was your freaking annoying brat and, to be honest, you loved it.

“I love you too. If you splash water on me, I will waterboard you next time we shower together.”

Jungkook pouted and squeezed your boobs with his left hand. Now that was talent.

“Aw, how’d you know…”

You turned the water off.

“Stop playing with my tits.”

“My nutties are sore. It’s the least you can do.”

“You did that to yourself.”

“Nu uh. I’m wholesome.”

(The lie detector test determined that was a lie.)

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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demieyesore · 5 months

Note

I have another request for you! Can you do Theodore Nott x reader? Where the reader gets bored and dyes her hair half black and half purple at like 2-3 in the morning and mid way through dying her hair, Theo wakes up and they just kinda look at each other for a few seconds before reader kicks him out so that she can rinse her hair dye out and when she gets done drying it and she lets Theo see and Theo is Like OBSESSED and keeps playing with it and keeps like complementing her hair. BTW; they are dating!

“Your hair…it’s all purple.” - Theodore Nott

Summary - GN!Reader dyes their hair and Theo is OBSESSED

A/n - I know the request used she/her pronouns but I prefer using they/them for my fanfics so more people feel included in my content<3, also reader is mentioned to have dark hair since they used bleach

Requested - Yes

POV - 1st

Word Count - 686

It’s 3:09 am and I am looking in the bathroom mirror. I’m extremely bored and I tend to lack impulse control so my first thought was to dye my hair.

I kept telling myself that it was a bad idea and that it wasn’t gonna turn out right but I felt all common sense escape me as I picked up a pair of gloves.

I already had all the supplies on my counter that I had gathered from my sleeping roommate. We are close friends so I doubt they’ll mind. Plus they never say anything when my boyfriend is sleeping over. If anything I’ll just buy them new hair dye later.

I started applying the bleach to my hair, since I already knew that the purple wouldn’t take very well without it.

I was planning on doing a split dye with the black and purple I had found. I might even do skunk stripes.

I was halfway through with my hair when I saw the bathroom door open behind me. My brunette boyfriend walked in with plaid print pajama pants on whilst rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Once he gained his vision back he noticed me and his eyebrows immediately raised in surprise. He exclaimed a little too loudly at the event that I could hear my roommate throw a pillow towards the bathroom door.

“Your hair-“ and he was cut off by the pillow. After realizing his volume he lowered it.

“It’s all purple.” He came closer behind me as I continued to apply the dye. Very concentrated on the mirror in front of me.

“Theo, go back to bed. You’ll see it in the morning.” He scoffs as I begin to push at him with one hand towards the door. Urging him to go through the threshold and back into the sleeping area.

He rolls his eyes before going back to the bed.

After I close the bathroom door. I continue my work and soon enough I am done.

I did half black and half purple. But the purple looks more reddish in the light. Then I did small stripes in the black section with the purple as well as black stripes in the purple section. You could still tell it was split dyed because the stripes were small enough.

I must say that it turned out really well and I honestly love it.

By now it had been a couple of hours of work, rinsing and then blow drying. Unfortunately for me I still had class this morning like every other student at Hogwarts.

I just couldn’t sleep well last night so I’ll have to sleep tonight.

I put on my uniform as I left the bathroom. Theo was now awake and putting on his tie while sitting on my bed.

He looked up at my hair, now finished and smiled widely.

“Wow- you look really pretty.” His Italian accent was thick but you could see just how much he admired me.

A smile broke out on my face as I turned to grab my books before class.

Throughout the day Theo would not leave me alone. His hands would somehow snake their way into my hair. He would play with the freshly dyed strands during class and move them in multiple directions.

At one point when the professor wasn’t looking, Theo made Harry Potter use the Lumos spell just so he could see what my hair looked like in all sorts of lighting.

At another point, Enzo saw my hair and went to touch it but Theo immediately smacked his hand away.

My boyfriend was possessive in general but lord he was somehow so much more jealous now that people were looking at my new hair color.

He definitely enjoyed the color too. He kept going on and on about how the colors make my eyes pop and fit my skin tone perfectly.

It made me feel prettier somehow but I knew I still looked the same. I was still just as pretty without dyed hair but now he was seeing me in another way and he still liked it.

#slytherin boys #harry potter #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x you #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #yandere theodore nott #fluff

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buckychristwrites · 10 months

Text

About You | Epilogue | j.t.

Summary: Your job? Pop culture journalist for The Independent. Your assignment? To write a profile on the cocky footballer that you're publicly feuding with.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Cussing. Enemies to lovers

A/N: That's a wrap! Thank you so much for supporting my fanfic for Jamie. I was so nervous to write for him and now i don't wanna stop! Sorry for double posting, i finished this rather quickly. Enjoy!!!

Masterlist | About You Masterlist | Main Blog

6 months later

If he had to pick one, Jamie’s least favourite room at Nelson Road Stadium was the press room. Every time he was in there, surrounded by people who were asking him invasive questions, he felt like a little boy again, getting yelled at for something small he had done. The lights were also incredibly bright, and under certain circumstances, very hot. He had been asked to do the press room today because of how well Richmond had been doing, and, in particular, how well he had been playing.

In the hall outside of the press room, he paced up and down with his eyes trained on the grey flooring. The game had been a long one, the win narrow, and all he wanted to do was go home for dinner and a cuddle before curling up in bed.

A ding ding came from the phone inside his pocket. The smile broke through his mouth before he even had a chance to pull it out. He knew who it was from.

Hurry up so we can go home! x

A deep exhale passed his lips.

“You want me to go in with ya?” Roy asked as he was walking by. Jamie shook his head, finding his confidence again.

“I got it,” He assured his coach, who only nodded in response.

The cameras started going off as soon as he walked through the door. In the corner stood Rebecca and Keeley, who made it a habit to watch the press conferences. Sure, it was nice to have them there. But they weren’t what was placating him. His phone, illuminated with the text thread he hadn’t closed out of, was still tight in his hand as he took a seat.

“Yeah, alright,” He mumbled into the microphone, looking around at the sea of unfamiliar faces. “Go ahead with your questions.”

The room erupted into a chorus of people shouting his name, trying to get his attention. Immediately, he felt overwhelmed, but he tried to push it down as best as he could. He haphazardly pointed at someone in the front. The man stood, introducing himself. Jamie was, in all honesty, only half listening up until the question.

“Richmond had quite the comeback this year and is one of the top teams in the league. What do you think changed?”

Jamie considered this. Or at least made it look like he was. “Nothin’ changed, really. We just took what Coach Lasso taught us, and continued to get better.” Another journalist, a woman, stood and interrupted.

“But you started to play better without Lasso, do you think there’s a correlation there?” Jamie’s eyebrows went up.

“I think there’s a correlation between me callin’ on someone and them gettin’ their question answered,” He replied, turning away from her instantly. She slowly sunk in her seat as the rest of the room began raising their hands again. He looked at his watch quickly before looking back up at them. “You, go on.” Another lady, with bleach blonde hair, stood this time.

“Do you care to comment on the rumours of you moving in with your journalist girlfriend?” She asked him, tacking your name in at the end to clarify, as if he had several journalist girlfriends to differentiate from.

“You mean the very same rumours I’ve never commented on before today?” He asked her. “Sure.” Rolling his eyes, he turned to the other journalists. From the corner of his eye, he could see Rebecca throw her head back to stare at the ceiling in complete despair. He wasn’t concerned, though. “You, in the back.”

Raising off the wooden bench was you, sporting your Tartt cap and notepad in hand. He could feel his posture straighten at the sight of you. He hadn’t even picked you on purpose. You introduced yourself to the room, receiving several shocked looks as they slowly came to realise who you were. The bleach blonde woman in the front turned as red as a tomato as she instantly fell back into her seat.

“The Guardian,” You added in your most professional voice. You cleared your throat. “Mr. Tartt, your fans are dying to know. What TV shows are you watching these days?” He was completely incapable of suppressing the smile on his face.

God, he thought to himself. When did I get so fuckin’ lucky?

“Been watchin’ a lot of Peaky Blinders, if I’m honest,” He admitted. The journalists all stared at him, astonished that of all of the questions he decided to answer without being a prick, it was this one. “A little bit of the American show called New Girl, but that one is against me will, mostly.” You scribbled on the notepad furiously, as if you were taking very serious notes.

“Would your girlfriend agree with that assessment?” In a turn of events, the crowd laughed at this one.

Jamie looked up at the ceiling, still smiling, as he shook his head.

“No,” He admitted. “She’d say I’m a dirty liar, who loves the show more than she does.”

“Mhmm,” You hummed as you continued to write some more. “Just one more follow up. Care to elaborate on the moving-in rumours?” A beat passed. “For the Guardian.” He gave her a look, one that said that she would pay for this later. His heart picked up in pace.

The rumours were always just rumours, the press rarely being correct on where he was at in his relationship. But this was different, as the conversation had been one the two of you had been somehow having, while also not really having. You basically had been living at his house for we over a month at this point, only going to your apartment for laundry and things you needed. He kept cracking jokes about how you needed to just move in already, but it seemed that you had been taking them as just jokes and not actual invitations, which had been starting to bother him. He wanted you there, with him, all the time, forever. All that was coming between that was the stupid flat of yours.

After a moment, he shrugged. “I’d love her to,” He said. “If she wants, of course.”

This time, you didn’t pretend to write anything down, instead just staring at him in disbelief. The eyes in the room were going back and forth between the two of you, no one saying a word, and Jamie took this as an opportunity.

“Well, that’s that, ain’t it?” He said, slapping his hands against the arm rests before standing up and walking out. The press tried to stop him as they yelled questions at him while he crossed over to the door. But you did the smart thing, which was slip out the back door to follow him.

When you caught up, you threw your arms around the back of his neck, jumping and bringing your legs up to his sides. He didn’t even question it as he brought his arms up to hold your thighs, planting a kiss to your cheek in the process. He made carrying you seem so easy. It was as if you were a feather to him.

“So,” You said with a teasing tone. “I heard in the press that I’m moving in.” He jumped up slightly, a squeal forcibly leaving your mouth. He looked at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Yes,” He said. “You’re movin’ in. Officially.”

He kicked the door open to the changing room, where the rest of the team were gathered. They all waved and greeted the two of you excitedly, not at all fazed by your presence. They’d had a lot of time to get used to it prior to you and Jamie beginning your relationship.

“Lads,” Jamie announced, letting you slide back down to the floor before throwing an arm around your shoulders. “We’re movin’ in together.” They all stared blankly at the pair of you, a few looks exchanged.

“We thought you already had,” Isaac said.

“I still have a flat with all of my things in it,” You told him. That was met with a lot of Oh’s and agreeable sounds, as if what you said made sense.

“The point is,” Jamie continued. “We’ll need help gettin’ her stuff to me place.” They all began talking over each other excitedly.

“We would be honoured to help you.”

“I can bring pizza!”

“I’ve got a trunk. That would certainly help, I’d think.”

As they all came together to make these plans, you watched, feeling like you were going to cry. Your life had changed so dramatically in the last 6 months, and it was all because of the one work assignment you were given out of spite. Now you have a new job. New relationship. New family. Jamie squeezed your shoulder, pulling you closer to him.

“Hey,” He mumbled to you, nudging the side of your head with his nose and forehead.

“Hmmm?” You hummed in response, looking up at him. He kissed the tip of your nose before pecking your lips.

“I love ya.”

You smiled.

“I love you too.”

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt fanfic #jamie tartt imagine

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bigboywtheskullface · 4 months

Text

Big Guy

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x plussize!civilian!reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood, non-serious injury, m!body image issues, and allusion to smut but none to be found here (yet). Angsty behind the veil of fluff.

Word Count: 1,772

Reading time: ≈ 6 mins.

A/N: Hi friends!! This is my first writing for Ghost and I’m so happy to be a part of the COD fandom. Looking at Simon Riley… love at first sight man. I’m a big girl who loves big boys. I will often be writing with a plus-sized reader in mind, but will make sure I always include that in the description OR warnings if body size is a large part of the narrative.

Hope you all enjoy the read and feel free to send in requests <3 Always been one of my favorite parts of writing fics on Tumblr.org.

Anywho— happy reading!!!

Ghost liked being a big guy. After the awkward teen phase, after he’d truly grown into himself, he’d never had a single issue with how he was built. Thick, muscle and fat, broad frame, imposing figure. It served him well as a soldier. Out in the real world, things weren’t always sized to fit him, but on a military base, everything felt just right. Big friends, big clothes, big guns, big cars, big wars. He was a legend of sorts. It was hard not to love how enemies knew his name. Hard not to love how they feared the legend of the giant in all black, a mask obscuring his face. Ghost loved that. Ghost was more than happy to be a machine, a legend, an armored weapon that few had ever managed to crack the shell of.

But Simon… Simon was cursing himself right now. As tears welled up in your eyes you did your best to blink them back, attempting to keep a smile on your face for him, though anyone could see plain as day that it was more of a grimace.

You two had just been joking around. He’d been lying face down on the mattress, buried in the pillows, playfully dodging your kisses. You were lying on top of him, wandering hands looking for his only ticklish spot that you swore moved every day. It didn’t, you were just normally bad at finding it. But today, you’d managed to find it immediately. He’d jerked in surprise and you bucked on top of him, the back of his head met the front of your face. It had all happened so fast. He’d just reacted too quickly. He’d lost his cool.

“Shit, shit, shit…” He swore under his breath, his hand cupping the back of your neck as you held one hand over your nose, blood leaking through your fingers. “Fuck, Love, I’m so sorry—“ He jumped up, the bead creaking as it was released from his weight, causing you to bounce a bit, your hand bumping your nose not too gently due to the surprise movement causing you to let out a little whimper. “Fuck—“ He swears once more, “Sorry, I just…” He dashes to the bathroom, grabbing one of the white towels so you could easily bleach away the stains later.

As he came back into the bedroom you took in a deep breath and pleaded, “Si, relax. It’s just a nosebleed—“

“We don’t know that… I might’ve broken your nose.” He objects, walking over and demanding, “Move your hand n’ tilt your head up for a minute. Lemme’ see.”

Only after he’s positioned the towel beneath your nose do you move your hand away, holding it to your side, attempting to keep blood off the comforter. Simon grimaces and as gently as possible brings the rag to your face, “Not broken, just… just keep your head down like that for me. We’ll check again in a few minutes and go to the ER if it ain’t stopped.” He gives a frustrated sort of huff and drops to his knees on the floor in front of you, watching a tear slide down your cheek. He wipes it away gently with his free hand as he lets loose another, “Fuck…”

Clumsy fuckin’ oaf he was. Too big for his own damn good… certainly too big for your own good. You’d only been together a little over six months now, but sometimes he wondered how you dealt with it. His looming presence in the smaller quarters of your apartment. In this place, he was damn near useless. Hell, he could hardly turn around in your little kitchenette. There have been many instances of spilled drinks and shattered dishes because of it. Forget any romantic evenings in the bathtub or shower that you so often tried to sway him into. Those facilities were barely big enough for him alone. He didn’t want to crush you or cause some stupid accident like this. Even watching a movie comfortably on the couch seemed to be a monumental task. It always took you ages to settle yourself around him comfortably.

He winced at the thought. He wanted you to be comfortable around him.

You place your hand over his own and look up at him softly, and with a congested voice do your best to reassure him, “Simon, I am okay.”

“S’not okay.” He grumbles, anger laced into his words. While it’s a rough tone, you know it’s not directed at you. “Fuckin’ idiot. I wasn’t paying attention and you got hurt…” Worry washes over his face, replacing the anger once more as he wipes away another tear, “Shit, I’m so sorry, Lovie. Y’know I never wanna’ hurt ya’. I’d never do it on purpose.”

You nod and soothe, “I know, Simon. I know. It was just an accident, that’s all. It’s okay, I swear. I’m okay.”

“I-“ He looks around your small room, suddenly feeling like the walls are closing in. He drops his forehead to your knee and nods against it, closing his eyes and murmuring an, “Alrigh’.”

He places a kiss against your knee and several on your thigh before resting his head against the plush skin. You look down at him and frown slightly. Poor baby looked like a dejected dog. The kind that bites its owner when startled and then immediately regrets it. You know he doesn’t believe you, doesn’t believe it’s okay. You know he feels awful about it. He shouldn’t, not at all. Like you said, it was an accident.

You add on, “It was my fault anyways, you know. You always warn me not to start with the tickling.” You give a pleased-sounding hum, “Found your spot pretty quick that time, kinda’ impressed with myself. Wonder what other fun spots I could find.” You try to flirt, though you doubt the attempt is successful given the stuffy voice, rag up your nose, and brooding boyfriend.

He gives something between and laugh and a scoff and glares up at you through deep brown eyes, “S’not funny.”

“I think it’s a little funny.” You shrug

“You’re the only one.”

You stick out your bottom lip in a pout, “C’mon, Simon. It’s really not bad. I can already feel it letting up.”

To prove your point you withdraw the rag from your nose and fold it to get a clean part. The smallest bit of blood trickles out of your nose and you quickly wipe it away, holding the rag in place once more. He gives an unimpressed grunt, his hands moving up to rub the outside of your thighs, his form hunched over to make himself smaller in front of you.

“I’m sorry.” He says once more.

“Simon…” You sigh out exasperated.

“No, not just—“ He huffs, “Not just for the nosebleed. Just for bein’… bein’ so bloody brutish. M’too big for your space, Love, too big for your world. Feel like I come in here when I’ve got time off and muck everything up. Breakin’ shit and takin’ up too much space.” He glances up at you apologetically, “Now’m hurtin’ ya’ too? I don’t like it.” He shakes his head, “Sometimes… sometimes I think maybe you’d be better off with a normal man… for plenty of reasons, but this one too. Shouldn’t have some monster loomin’ over ya’ all the time. Want you to feel safe and comfortable in your own space.”

Your heart breaks a little as you listen to your boyfriend nervously ramble. His cheeks turn a faint shade of pink as he makes his little speech, stumbling over a few words. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Have I made you feel like that, Si?” You ask, lowering the rag from your nose, “Have I said or done something to make you think that’s how I feel?”

“What? No. ‘Course not. Just somethin’ I think about every now and again s’all.” He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, his large arm bumping against your knee.

“Baby…” You whisper softly, reaching your clean hand out to take his face, tilting his head upward so his eyes are forced to meet yours. “I don’t feel that way at all. I— well, I love how big you are.” You run your thumbs over his cheeks gently and say, “I feel so safe with you, Simon. I’ve always been the biggest person in the room, always been the biggest person in the relationship. I’ve always felt like I have to protect everyone else.” You smile, “And I would protect you, if I had to, of course. The best I could. But I don’t feel like I have to. You do so well taking care of both of us. You have no idea how much I appreciate that.”

“I do my best.” He mumbles

“And you do so well, Simon.” You reassure, “There is no one— and I mean no one— that I would rather have taking up space in my life.” He gives a faint smile and you give a little giggle, stuffing the corner of the rag up your nose as best you can before wiggling off the side of the bed and down into his lap. You throw your arms around his shoulders and he presses his forehead to your own. “Not to mention…” You murmur, shifting on his lap to get closer to his ear, “I love the way your body feels on mine.” You kiss below his ear and smile as a slight shiver racks his body, “Love feeling your weight on top of me… and beneath me. Behind me is pretty damn good too—“

“Alrigh’, alrigh’’…” He mumbles, his tone slightly amused, “Settle, Lovie.”

You giggle and nuzzle against his neck, “Mm… can’t help it, you got me thinkin’ now, Si.”

He gives a low hum in his throat and nudges your head away from his own carefully, “You’re in no condition for that mess right now.”

“I am too.” You pout

“No…” He chuckles, pointing to your nose, “You aren’t. Give it at least a few hours for me.”

“Scared of a little blood, soldier?” You tease, running your hands up and down his biceps.

“Y’know damn well m’not.” He huffs out, “Just want to give that pretty little head o’yours some rest. Make sure the bleedin’ doesn’t start again.”

“Mm… one hour?”

“Three.”

“Two.” You bargain back.

He rolls his eyes and gives the offer some consideration before agreeing, “Two. N’not a minute sooner. Understood?”

“Heard loud and clear, LT.” You agree, earning a sharp glare. You force down a giggle and remedy, “Understood, Si.”

“‘Atta girl.”

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sykam0re · 1 year

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Analysing the new Splatoon 3 Wave 2 DLC - Side Order

I am about 90% sure this is supposed to be Agent 8!

As such, what I talk about next will be based entirely around this assumption - if this is wrong, then this analysis is void, but it's just for fun anyway so hskshj

I personally believe this wave of the DLC will be tackling the loose ends in regards to Octo Expansion, and more specifically: 8's amnesia prior to starting it. Having no memory of who they are or where they came from, they fight their way through the metro, defeating Tartar along the way and reaching their freedom on the Surface.

But then...

Who are they still?

Besides the memcakes, this issue is never quite resolved. As such- I believe the DLC will focus on that! With Agent 8 rediscovering who they used to be, and who they are now. Figuring out their identity and sense of self so they can finally know who they are. And based on what we saw in the trailer, I have several ways to back up this idea.

First up: the hub. A coral-ridden, colour-bleached version of our beloved Inkopolis Square. There is a strong coral themeing throughout the entire DLC trailer, and I think the reason why might be relevant to 8.

Coral bleaches when exposed to stressors in its environment, such as light, temperature and nutrients. So perhaps this is a metaphor for all the stressors on Agent 8's psyche. Their environment has changed dramatically, from Underground to the surface world of Inkopolis, so it wouldn't even surprise me if such changes still left them quite out of it.

It could also be a metaphor for how Inkopolis Square still isn't home for them. Considering the very intentional hotel-esque interior of the tower, a hotel being a place travellers go to stay in, this could very well encourage the idea that this still isn't home for 8. Just a glorified trip, regardless of whether or not they even can go 'home'. If they even remember home. The fanciness of it could also be a nod to how out of place they feel, as though they were in a place far out of their league. Like a common man in a palace, it feels...out of place.

Then? You have this image of multiple octolings. Multiple '8s', that perhaps could imply that they are still struggling to find their identity in a sea of so many like them. So many soldiers like them, so many test subjects like them...

They were always one of thousands, nothing more than a number in a crowd, so they never had any individuality. They never felt they were unique. So why is them who got to find their freedom? Why were they special?

And now we make it to the key in all this:

Pearl and Marina.

Pearl and Marina were a key component in helping 8 escape the Deepsea Metro. So if anyone would be here for them in such a struggle: it's them. The idea of it being a recollection of 8's memories could also explain Marina's glitched out appearance here.

It's just a memory. Were her tentacles blue, or green? Was this her outfit? Or was it something else? Maybe 8 even has some lasting memory issues after everything...hence how even newer memories seem to escape them.

Pearl seems to meet them in the blanked out square, so they're likely a key part in all of this. Just a hunch.

Overall though, I'm really really excited!! This DLC looks like it's shaping up to be something amazing, and I hope my silly ramblings at least interest some of you <:)

Thank you for reading! ♡

#splatoon #splatoon 2 #splatoon 3 #agent 8 #off the hook #damp socks splatoon #splatoon 3 dlc #octoling #speculation #theorising #kami rambles #text #side order #pearl splatoon #splatoon pearl #marina splatoon #splatoon marina

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thesecretcornerintheroom · 4 months

Text

Pairing: Oj Hayward x Black female reader

Warnings: Rated R for sure 18+, Thigh ridding, praise kink (some fluff if you squint)

Word count: 3,234

The plot: Y/n is Friends with the Haywards and has a crush on Oj who decides to give her a riding lessons.

“What do you mean horses scare you?” Em as we walk into the house with groceries. She said, laughing and slamming the groceries down on the table. “Me and horses don’t get along. I was at a fair once and-“ Your words were Cut short. Hearing heavy footsteps coming down the steps, you saw Oj in one of his old hoodies, his sun-bleached blue jeans filled out very well by his thighs, and his cowboy boots…. The only thing missing is the hat. Oj came back into the Room, skin glistening from being in the sun. He grabbed a water bottle out of the grocery bag. ”I need you to help me wash some of the horses, and Lucky needs-“ I knew it was coming any time OJ needed help with the Ranch; Emerald always has something to do. I wonder what the excuse would be. “Wow, you know what? I would love to help, but I have a thing to do for a nice little date tonight. Can you help me? Yeah, it might make her get rid of her fear of horses,” Emerald said, running out the door.

Before you knew it, you were in the barn with your arms crossed, standing awkwardly to the side, looking at the horses from afar. “Come here,” was all you heard from Oj, who was now brushing the horse.” “Ain’t no need to be scared of them. Horses are like big dogs,” he said. Still brushing the horse, he noticed you were inching closer to him, and lucky, slowly but surely, he grabbed your arm and pulled you closer to him slowly, making sure not to scare you.“When I was a kid,” he said, touching your waist. You forgot how to think as he shifted himself behind you. You could feel his rough hands on your hips.his chest against your back as he slowly edged you forward to the horse. Your body was hyper-aware, aware of what was going on. Your body was stiff, but your legs were still working. “I had to help my dad give birth to one, and I was so nervous I was only like ten he said. His voice was rough due to his whispering. You could hear the twang in his voice, making goosebumps rise on your neck, as he slid his warm hand down your arm to wrap his hands around yours to inch towards the horse. “It was a mess. Emerald was crying cause she thought the horse was dying. My dad tried to stay calm because the horse would come in one of our worst storms in years. That same year, I lost my mom, and all I kept thinking was, what if the horse loses his mom?” He said, his voice burning, his body tense like he wanted to cry. “I ran upstairs, threw on my shoes and jacket, and ran downstairs. “Come on, Dad,” I said as we bolted to the barn to help the horse. “My hand was now touching the horse's nose, my eyes not breaking eye contact with the brown horse in front of me, who was very calm and still. “We helped the horse give birth, and we named it Lucky. You're petting Lucky right now,” said Oj. His voice was making the hair on my neck stand up. I could feel his lips brush my ear as they formed into a smile. He was causing me to gasp in surprise and turn to him. “Oj, that’s so sweet,” I said, hand trembling. I was too caught up in the moment to notice how close our face was. He nodded at the horse and backed away, leaving me some time alone with luck to pet and connect with him. It’s safe to say I’m not scared of horses anymore.

“Y/N, y/n, you okay? You looked spaced out,” said Emerald, who handed me a drink. Emerald had made her a special drink she called “the lucky” because whenever she makes it, someone “gets lucky and does it.” (It is just strawberry lemonade and rum). “So when you gonna tell my brother you like him so he can get a life she said, Now sitting down beside me on the floor,” causing me to choke on the drink causing me to stop on my words. “What made you say that,” I said now with a sting in my throat and watery eyes. “I saw it in your eyes the first time we met, and also, you didn’t fall for my flirting,” causing me to giggle. “You are so full of yourself, and I don’t think I will say anything. He's quiet and reserved. I’m loud and bubbly. I wouldn’t wanna make him uncomfortable,” I said, sipping the sweet drink that had a bite. “My brother has been like that my whole life, but I'll say he has to tolerate me. I'm his sister. But my brother, don't just deal with anybody,” she said, sipping her drink. Causing me to listen intensely.” What do you mean by that-”

What you all pick said OJ, interrupting our conversation. Oj had on one of his t-shirts and some shorts and sat on the floor beside me. “ Jeepers Creepers, y/n never seen it,” said Emerald, stuffing popcorn in her mouth. “Really, but you don’t like scary movies, “said OJ, looking at y/n. He looked you in your eyes, confused. “I’ll be fine you said, handing your cup to him so he could have a sip. Oj is not a drinker. You’ve only seen him drink beer every blue moon. But you noticed if you hand him any drink you were drinking, he’ll take a sip, or if your eating food and you offer him a piece, he’ll eat it and then rate it, which you find hilarious. ��Hmmm, 7/10,” he said, sipping the drink. “Excuse me!! My drink is a 10/10, and You wouldn't know cause you haven’t felt the magic of the lucky special,” causing me to giggle and him to sigh.

We watched the TV. At first, you were watching Jeeper Creepers, the two weeks of siblings running away from the human bug, the truck being scarier, and following the siblings; before you knew it, your eyes were heavy. You could hear Emerald snoring beside you. “You sleepy,” said Oj. “Yeah, I should be heading home. You said, starting to get up.” It’s late, you can stay here, take my bed. I’ll put Emerald in Dad’s old room, and I’ll give you something to sleep in. “Okay, I said, not fighting with him. My eyes were heavy, and I would rather feel a warm bed than be on the road for 20 minutes to get home.

Oj turned the Tv off. We left the popcorn and snacks downstairs. Oj carried Emerald to his dad's room. Once he placed Emerald in bed, we went to his room. You noticed his room was reasonably clean; nothing was out of place. You saw paperwork on the desk, the bed, The plaid comforter. “Here u go,” He said, handing me one of his old faded shirts and a pair of boxers. Thank you. I said, yawning. I went into the bathroom to change. I looked at myself for a minute in the mirror. This will probably be my first and last time in one of his shirts. It was white and had a faded logo of the ranch name on it. It was a little baggy on you. It fell loosely to your thighs. His boxer shorts were too big and kept falling off your hips, so you decided not to wear them. You noticed Oj putting some clothes back in his drawer, his shoulders and back muscles tensing. “Thank you,” you said just standing there, causing Oj to turn around. “Mhm,” he said after staring at you longer than usual and returning to his drawer. “You know you can tell me what you’re thinking,” y/n said, her drink and the sleepy feeling getting to her. “I get you don’t get much to say. I wish I were more like you sometimes, but if you ever have anything you want to say, I’ll listen”. Oj looked at you with a look of confusion. “I know. Listening has always been my strong suit. Growing up on this ranch, I had to listen to orders and take instructions, and with a sister like mine, I had no choice but to listen, he said. Before I knew It, I sat on his bed, legs crossed, and we talked without interruptions. We talked about his childhood, his dealing with the loss of his dad, and how sudden. that was. The room was filled with conversation, head nods, laughter, and engagement. “Okay,” you said so what’s your type you ask curiously. His eyes looked at the floor like he was thinking, then he looked at me. His eyes focused on me, and he stared at me awhile. “I don't have one,” his voice said. His voice was deep, which caused me to shiver internally. His words said one thing, but his eyes said something else. So you dont like what Emerald type I said, joking. I'm convinced that Emerald didn’t even know her type. If they were easy on the eyes and had a pulse, that was enough. ”I like what catches my eye,” he said, his eyes drifting away. “Why don’t you ever go on double dates with Emerald.” He asked, confused. “Dating has never been my thing. I love hanging out with friends and family, and I don’t particularly appreciate having to pretend I’m something I’m not till I’m comfortable with the person.” I was talking, thinking about all the bad dates I've been on or having to have a can-do spirit personality when the date was boring. “I don’t wanna have to pretend.” Between the conversation, I went from sitting on his bed to facing him sitting on the corner of his bed. His eyes were looking at me intensely. He was leaning in closer to me, hanging on every word I had said. Without a second thought, he stretched his hand out slowly to me, afraid he was going to spook me, and lay his hand on my thigh. “You don’t gotta put on a show for me.”

You became very aware that one hand was on your thigh, and the shirt he had given you fell perfectly in your lap to cover up enough of your body and leave rest to the imagination. You looked at him, feeling something turn in your stomach as your skin became hot. Without a second thought, you leaned forward and kissed him. The kiss was firm. His lips felt soft, and his hand slowly went from my thigh to my neck as he squeezed lightly, causing me to moan. OJ was leading the kiss, and I was following. You slowly wrapped your hands around his neck, bringing him closer to you. This caused him to let out a low grunt while kissing you, causing him to pull you into him while he was sitting on the chair. “Should I sit down?” I said, now in his lap once I sat on my leg On either side of his leg in the middle.

“You need to teach me how to ride,” I said, now feeling my hot center on his leg, which was adding the perfect pressure. I started to move my hips slowly and surely on his leg while kissing him. The kiss became more feverish and quick while I was driving my hips against his leg. I let a moan slip out of my mouth. His hands are now gripping my hips. “You gotta hold on tight, and you lead, and they’ll follow you.” He said, now locking eyes with me. The room that was once filled with conversation and laughter was now filled with something more serious; the remark was thicker in the air. As y/n looked back into his eyes, her eyes felt heavy as she started to move her hips back and forth slowly. Feeling tension building up in her hips and her core, she let out a gasp, causing Oj to grip her hips tighter and help her with movements of her hips on his thigh. “Uh-huh, just like that,” he said as he told me as he tightened his thigh, causing you to moan. He kissed her as another moan almost escaped her lips. My clit was now throbbing as I moved my hips back in forth. I could feel the wetness forming on his leg more. As I thought the sensation started to build in my legs, his hand went from my hips, now moving up to my waist, and my shirt was now rising as he went to touch my

Breast caressing and pinching my nipples caused me to inhale sharply, feeling that nerve goes down my spin he looked at me and removed the oversized t-shirt from me while I was still moving my hips, feeling the friction on my clit he was now kissing my neck nibbling licking leaving a tingly sensation. HIS hands grabbed my boob and licked my nipples. He seems to be taking his time with my nipples licking them, biting them, sucking them, causing me to bite my moan. As I grind into his hips, I feel his leg dampen more. My movements became more erratic, moving my hips and feeling my legs shake more. Knowing I was going to cum soon. “Uh uh,” he said grabbing my hips, “I want to be in you. I want to feel you, and I want to see you come on my dick. okay?” He said, his voice stern now, looking at me. “Okay,” I whisper. He was breathing quicker, trying to calm down.

Lay on the bed for me, and don’t touch yourself, he said. Now, lifting me off his leg, I could feel the cold air hit my body while my wetness ran down my leg. He placed me on the bed. Once he stood, he started to get undressed, and I took every part of his body in. He was thicker but also toned. You could tell from his physique he worked in nature, lifting, pulling, and tending to the ranch. Once he removed his underwear, his dick came from his boxers hard and ready. Ready for me, he started to climb on the bed, skin glowing in the dim light in his room.

As I lay down, I closed my eyes, trying to catch my body and thoughts. Is this happening? This isn’t a dream. Am I doing this with him? Oj?. I felt him climb on top of me. Are you okay he said his voice softer. If you want to stop, we can. I opened my eyes, knowing, looking into his eyes, that I was where I needed to be. His eyes were so big you always adored that about him. Whatever he didn’t say, his eyes always did. The hard part was knowing what he was thinking.

I’m okay I said, now looking at him with his shirt off, his skin still glowing. The light lighting over our bodies caused me to look at how his chest and shoulders had light stretch marks, causing me to smile. I lifted my hand, and my fingerprints glided across the skin's texture. Feeling the heat from his body under my fingertips caused him to shiver. He leaned his head down and kissed me. My senses were indeed heightened. His lips were soft, and his kiss was warm and slow. I could feel the air feeling my body as his hand rubbed my body. His hands felt amazing on my body. He had the type of hands that were slightly rough from working outside. He started to kiss my neck and the feeling he was giving felt amazing.

All the atoms in my body felt like they were moving. You could also feel him hardening on your thigh as he slowly moved against your thigh; you let out a moan as he bit your neck and rolled his tongue over your skin. “Please, I need you,” you said as you put your hands on the back of his neck, my hand moving down his back with my fingernails slowly dragging across his skin, causing him to moan and shake his head. He stops moving his hips with one quick motion, and he puts himself inside of you. Forcing you to gasp and him to grunt. You just basked in him being in you, the fullness he gave you, the throbbing and the heat. You were now focusing on him as he was now taking deep breaths.

“It’s been a while,” he let out a chuckle. “Then give me what you can you said, making him lock eyes with you. Before you knew it, he was slowly rolling his hips toward you, meeting your hips with a rhythm, causing you to moan. “You are so beautiful he said. “You know what he said?” “Yeah, you said meekly, more focused on the feeling more than anything. You could feel your stomach tightening, and your mouth opened slowly as you released your breath. “I need better than that he said as he snapped his hips into me, causing me to moan loudly.” YES, YES, you said. Now, he was picking up his speed. All you could feel was him going in and out faster. You could feel your legs start to shake, and you could feel yourself clenching around him. “Uh-huh,” he said, now more comfortable as he went in and out of me faster. My finger slowly dragged my nails down his back, causing him to grunt. I felt his hand wrap around my thigh to bring my leg up as he sank into me more, causing me to moan and close my eyes, my hand going from his back now trying to grab anything his arm, the blanket, the pillow. Y/n felt her wetness running down her legs on the sheets and her thighs. She truly wasn’t going to make it, and she knew it. The only sounds in the room were moans and grunts and our skin smacking together. “You getting there? I know you are he said in a deeper voice, causing me to moan in response. “You look so pretty coming undone for me…cumming on me” My eyes now closed as moans fell from my mouth as my hands grabbed the sheets around me. “Please, please, please,” the words falling into my mouth were slurred. Before I knew it, Oj's hand had both of my hands above my head pinned down, his other hand now rubbing my clit. “Cum for me, cum for me. I know you got it, good girl,” he said. His tone was so patient as he was ushering me through my orgasm. before I knew it, I was cumming on him and his fingers, and it felt like a haze had fallen on me.”Fuck” he said, panting as he pulled quickly. I soon felt something warm hit my stomach. The bed rose as the weight left the bed. “You okay,” he said, now rubbing your stomach and in between your thighs with a warm rag. You opened your heavy eyes. “Thank you for the lesson,” you said with a smile.

#oj haywood #oj Haywood x reader #black reader #daniel kaluuya #imagine #Oj Haywood imagine #Daniel kaluuya imagine #smut #y/n #x black reader

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