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honnelander · 7 months

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tart

HERE WE GO EVERYONE. the long awaited jealous!Sanji fic!! AKA a prequel to the main go fish! storyline!! this fic takes place before the main events in go fish! but after they met at the Baratie. and don't worry, part 3 for the main series will be on the way. enjoy!! request: i was wondering if you’d consider making a lil imagine/blurb about sanji being jealous of someone flirting with the reader? like imagine zoro and the reader just talking and then zoro suddenly leans closer and whispers to her “it seems we’ve got an audience” or smth like that

WARNINGS: none

word count: 3.7k

pairing: jealous opla!sanji x fem!reader

summary: Sanji watches Zoro and reader talk and gets jealous. Nami tries to calm him down but fails.

go fish! series: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 masterlist

taglist: @mischiefmanaged71 @smolracoon25 @smol-book-nerd @shuujin @amanda08319 @nimtano @your-platonic-gay-lover @lovelymrvl @whiskeypowder @jovialcat123 @nimtano @xtigerlily @shadowwolf1864 @quixscentsposts @guidingstarsstuff @ateliefloresdaprimavera

“Reading that garbage again?” a voice called out.

At hearing the question, you glanced up from your well-worn copy of Pride and Prejudice, your favorite book, only to see a calm Zoro casually stroll over to you with a hint of amusement on his face.

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Don’t knock it till you try it, oh great sword master,” you playfully jabbed as you shook out the book to him as he leaned his back against the ship’s front railing, resting his elbows on top of it. “The almighty Zoro isn’t allergic to reading, is he?”

Zoro snorted, glancing down at your cross-legged position on top of a crate before returning his sights to the Going Merry’s deck and the open ocean. “Yeah, I am allergic,” he agreed. “Allergic to reading that monstrosity you call a book.”

“Ooo, ‘monstrosity’. That’s a mighty big word for a non-reader like yourself, Zoro. Good job,” you teased as you marked your page before closing the book and joining your friend in looking across the deck and out towards the ocean.

The green-haired swordsman crossed his arms. “I read.”

“Mmhm,” you hummed, not convinced. “Sure you do.”

“I do,” he defended in a gruff voice.

“Oh yeah? Here, I’ll make it easy for you: tell me about one book you’ve read.”

Zoro scoffed. “I can tell you about way more than one.”

You couldn’t help the surprised noise that came out of you. “Oh, yeah? ’More than one’?” you asked with a raised brow and glanced up at your fellow straw hat, trying to wipe off the grin on your face.

You were certainly surprised that Zoro has read more than one book in his lifetime, but you weren’t surprised that he took your earlier question as a challenge. Classic Zoro, you thought in amusement. The guy could never pass up a challenge, no matter what it was about.

So, you repositioned yourself on your crate, making yourself comfortable for the discussion ahead. “Alright, come on,” you said and sat up straighter, urging Zoro on, “let’s hear it. Tell me all about them.”

From the back of the ship, on the upper deck above the kitchen, a certain chef took a long drag on his cigarette as he watched you and his least favorite swordsman be engrossed in conversation. Sanji removed the butt of his cigarette from his mouth with his thumb and index finger, keeping the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could, before slowly exhaling the smoke from his nostrils, his eyes never leaving the two of you.

“Daaamn, Sanji,” Usopp drawled as he messed with the sails on the ship’s mast nearby, glancing at the chef for a second before returning to his knots. “You look like a smoking dragon. All ferocious and mean. And....extra smokey.”

Sanji’s gaze didn’t budge, Usopp’s words not fazing the cook in the slightest. “Oh yeah? And what of it knot-boy?” he asked with a slight edge to his words, taking another drag on his cigarette and exhaling through his lips.

At Sanji’s snarky question, Usopp recoiled and looked back at Sanji more closely with a confused expression. It was rare for Sanji to lose his cool or be in a bad mood for no reason, unless he was going back and forth in an argument with Zoro but even then, the blonde chef usually took those in stride with a smile, much to Zoro’s annoyance, so this was new.

“Aren’t those things supossed to calm you down?” Usopp asked as he nodded to the cigarette in the cook’s hand.

“I am calm,” Sanji rebuked a little too quickly to be true.

Usopp then noticed how intent Sanji’s stare was towards something at the front of the ship and raised an eyebrow. Whatever he was staring at must be pissing him off because the chef’s gaze looked absolutely lethal. What the hell could be making him so mad? Usopp followed Sanji’s gaze, looked towards the front of the ship, and saw....y/n and Zoro talking?

To Usopp, it looked like they were just having a normal conversation, but when he saw y/n laugh at something Zoro said, hitting his arm with a grin and Zoro having a slight smile, he heard Sanji scoff loudly in disgust and mutter something under his breath.

And in that moment, it dawned on Usopp what was up, and it was hard for him to contain his shit eating grin: Sanji was jealous. Sanji was jealous of y/n and Zoro. To Usopp, it looked like a completely normal conversation between friends since he knew of y/n’s affections for the blonde cook. But to Sanji? It probably seemed like a complete flirt fest, and he was jealous.

Up until this point Usopp had thought y/n’s crush was only one sided. Sure, he’s had his suspicions ever since Sanji seemed to stare at y/n more often than not, but Usopp was still just a guy at the end of the day, so he never considered if Sanji might actually have feelings for y/n too.

But now? Oh boy- Usopp was all caught up to speed and he couldn’t wait to meddle in their budding relationship and tease the heck out of them both for it (when the time was right, of course).

Usopp looked back over at Sanji and wiped off his grin as best he could. “You say somethin’ Sanji?” he asked innocently, knowing damn well the chef said absolutely nothing. “I thought I heard you mutter something.”

Sanji flicked the ashes off his cigarette. “No.”

“Oh. Must just be the wind then...”

Suddenly, y/n’s laughter could be heard from the ship’s front and Sanji nearly snarled in disgust and shook his head. “What the-” Sanji started but let out an exasperated sigh. “He’s not even funny,” Sanji complained before taking another hit on his cigarette.

Usopp couldn’t help himself, he had to poke the bear. “Who, Zoro? I think he’s funny.”

The blonde chef let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, funny looking.”

He also had to twist the knife. “Well, y/n seems to think he’s funny.”

Sanji chuckled to himself and stayed quiet for a moment, contemplating Usopp’s words. “You know what? It doesn’t matter,” he muttered and took one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out and immediately lighting up a fresh one.

Unbeknown to the cook and slingshot fighter, standing underneath them and near the tangerine trees was the Going Merry’s orange-haired navigator, who had heard their whole conversation.

------------- -----

“Zoro!” You laughed loudly and hit your crewmate on his bicep. “Reading books on how to dismember your opponents doesn’t count as real reading!”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Zoro’s face as he raised an eyebrow at you. “Says you. Can you tell me fifty different ways on how to cut up a body? No? I didn’t think so.”

“Fair enough,” you relented good naturedly with a small laugh as you shook your head. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

A comfortable silence fell over you both as you let out a small sigh, watching the waves crash.

After a few quiet beats, however, you felt Zoro lean into your personal space as he lowly murmured, “Don’t look now, but it seems like we have an audience.”

You blinked in confusion as your eyebrows pulled together. “What? An audience? Where?” Completely disregarding Zoro’s instructions, you immediately started looking around the ship. “Watching what?”

“Us,” Zoro said simply and returned to his full height.

You shook your head in disbelief. “What? Us? Now who would be watching-” you started to say but the rest of your sentence died in your throat when you saw piercing blue eyes staring right you both. “...us?” you finished slowly.

Sanji? Sanji was your audience? But- why? What? You were so confused. Even from this far away, you could tell something was off with him. His posture was stiff and the usual smile that adorned his features whenever he saw you was nowhere to be seen.

“When did he get here? I didn’t know he was on deck...” you trailed off, about to move to hop off the crate and make your way over to Sanji to see what the matter with him was when something stopped you.

Before you could hop off the crate, you saw Sanji put out his cigarette and make his way off the deck and head down into the kitchen, not sparing you another glance. As you made your way across the deck, about to follow him into the kitchen, Usopp quickly called out to you from up on the ship’s mast, asking for your help with knot tying since ‘yours were so much better than his’. You agreed with a small sigh, not wanting Usopp to struggle by himself, so you made your way to the mast and started climbing, but not before sparing the entryway to the kitchen one last glance.

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Sanji flittered around, grabbing random ingredients he saw at first glance. Mushrooms? Grabbed. A block of cheese? Sure. Corn? Ok. Tomatoes? Sure, whatever.

As he looked down at the growing pile of ingredients on the counter, he stopped for a second to examine the pile, putting his hands in his pockets. What the hell was he supposed to make out of this? He didn’t know. He couldn’t think straight, and it was bothering the absolute hell out of him. The kitchen had always been his sanctuary, a place where he could always rely on to decompress and escape from his thoughts as he got swept away in the act of cooking that came so naturally to him. Usually.

But today? His natural instincts weren’t there. He felt his chef’s mind drawing up a blank on how to mix all of these items together and the longer he stood there, the more ticked off he became. On a normal day, he’d have thought up of 15 different dishes he could make and already have been busy at work making one of those ideas come to life. But now? There was nothing. No ideas swirling around in his head, nothing.

He could feel his face twist up in irritation the longer he was standing there until finally, he let out a short, brusque sigh, muttering, “Now what the fuck am I supposed to do with all this?”

“You’re the chef, aren’t you supposed to figure that out or something?”

The blonde chef glanced up from the pile and saw Nami casually strolling in from the deck and up to the counter opposite of him, hands clasped behind her back, with a curious eyebrow raised.

Instantly, to cover up his sour mood, the cook plastered on a fake smile. “Well, it seems my mind is a little blank at the moment, Darling. Why don’t you come over here and help me come up with an idea or two?” he offered with a wink, taking his hands out to lean against the counter.

But Nami saw right through him. “I’m good, thanks,” she declined bluntly. Nami wasn’t sure when she had become the Going Merry’s pseudo-therapist, especially since this crew hadn't been together for more than 3 months at this point, but someone had to be, and she figured the only way to get Sanji to talk right now would be if he was doing something he loved: cooking. “Actually,” she started offhandedly, “I have a request for you.”

Now that immediately got the cook’s attention. “Oh?” he asked with a raised brow, straightening up as he dropped the fake flirty persona.

“Yeah,” she said aloud, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself that she actually had a request for the cook. From behind her back, she pulled out a couple of tangerines. With a slight smile and raised brow, she said matter-of-factly, “If I remember correctly, I believe I was told I could ask for a tangerine tart anytime I’d like?”

A genuine smile came across Sanji’s face at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners, as he laughed with a nod. “The Madam is correct.” He took the fruits from Nami’s hands and placed them on the counter, pushing away his bizarre pile of ingredients to make room. “One tangerine tart coming right up,” he said and started bustling around the kitchen with purpose this time, pulling out the necessary ingredients, a far cry from his movements a couple of minutes ago.

Seeing Sanji occupied, Nami took a seat at the table, sitting where she had left her charting journal and reading glasses from breakfast that morning. She opened her journal back up and put her glasses on, flipping through the pages and resuming her sketch of her latest map.

Both of them worked in silence for a few minutes, both engrossed in their respective activities until Nami broke it. Before speaking, she snuck a glance at the chef, making sure he was preoccupied before she started prodding and sure enough, he was. Perfect.

“You know, I never told anyone this before,” Nami started, laying the groundwork for Sanji to open up, creating a tit for tat sort of thing, “but I actually love tangerine tarts.”

Sanji huffed slightly with a slight smile, not looking up from his work. “Oh yeah? Well, be prepared to fall in love with them all over again.” He started pouring heavy cream into a separate bowl, adding sugar before whisking it all together. “Even Zeff used to say I made a mean tangerine tart.”

Nami hummed. “Maybe you can make Zoro fall in love with them too,” she said casually, sneaking a quick look at Sanji, only to see him press his lips together in a firm line and start to whisk the cream harder at the mention of the swordsman. “Or y/n,” she added quickly. “I don’t think she’s ever had one either.”

At the mention of you, Sanji’s face and motions relaxed slightly. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I...think you’re right about that.”

The orange-haired girl rotated her journal ninety degrees. She decided to prod a little harder. “I think I saw them talking earlier.”

Sanji simply hummed in agreement, cracking eggs into a bowl, staying silent. With the third egg, however, he cracked it a little too hard on the counter, causing the raw egg contents to splatter everywhere and onto his black blazer.

“Ah- fucking hell,” he muttered in disgust, throwing the broken eggshell into the trash before cleaning his hands off in the sink.

Nami looked up from her work and quirked an eyebrow at her crewmate. “You good?”

The blonde cook shook his head once with a sardonic smile. “Never better,” he quipped.

Ok, she couldn’t do this dance anymore. Nami closed her journal and took off her glasses, looking straight at him. “Alright, you want to tell me what the hell is going on? You’re acting weird, even for you.” Sanji opened his mouth to protest but Nami spoke before he could. “And don’t lie to me.”

Mouth still open, Sanji exhaled slowly and deflated. “I- I’m fine.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sanji-”

Upon hearing his name, Sanji blinked and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Nami rarely called him by his name.

“Cut the bullshit,” she continued. “I heard your conversation with Usopp and you certainly didn’t sound ‘fine’.”

Sanji was caught red-handed. With what exactly? He didn’t really know but he did know he was caught in a lie because he definitely did not feel fine. He shrugged his shoulders, at a loss for words. “I...” he sighed and took off his ruined blazer, draping it over the back of an empty chair, rolling up his sleeves as he avoided Nami’s expectant stare. He grabbed a dirty rag and started cleaning the egg off the counter. “I don’t know...”

“Sanji, you can barely crack an egg.”

That brought out a short bark of laughter from the chef. “Yeah,” he relented. “Obviously.”

“Is this because of your jealously over y/n and Zoro?”

“My- my what? My jealously?” he sputtered and scoffed, still not looking Nami in the eye. “I, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why on earth would I be jealous over that stick in the mud?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nami played along, tapping her temple, pretending she was deep in thought. “Maybe because you saw and heard them laughing from all the way across the ship?” she pointed out. When Sanji tried to wave off her accusations with an unconvincing smile, Nami decided to just go in for the kill. If Sanji wasn’t going to admit his obvious liking towards her female crewmate and friend himself, then she’d have to do it for him. “Maybe....maybe because you might have a little crush on y/n?” she offered with a raised brow, staring right at him.

“Wh-what?? A crush?” Sanji quickly rebuked, jerking his head back. “What are we? Little kids?”

From her spot at the table, Nami could swear she saw a faint dusting of pink appear on his cheeks. She smirked to herself. She got him. “Well,” she shrugged, “it doesn’t matter how old we get, we all get crushes from time to time.”

You? A crush? Sanji shook his head as he resumed making the tangerine tart. Labeling whatever feelings he had for you as simply a ‘juvenile crush’ didn’t feel right to him. You were more than that, and you didn’t deserve to be labeled as such. “No, she’s not a crush.”

“Oh, so you like-like her?” Nami said like it was obvious. “You like her as more than just a friend.”

“I-” Sanji started but stopped himself and sighed, feeling his irritation grow the longer this conversation went on. Now even the kitchen wasn’t bringing him peace? First, smoking and now this? What was next? “Why does it matter? All of a sudden, my love life is interesting to you and up for debate? I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”

Nami watched his jaw tense and his body become stiff as he started zesting the tangerines. Clearly whatever feelings Sanji was dealing with, he wasn’t ready to openly talk about them, so she decided to back off.

She put her hands up in surrender, slumping back in her chair as she said, “Hey, I’m...I’m sorry. You’re right.” Deciding to give the chef his space, she gathered her belongings and stood up, making her way to the counter. “If you ever need to...talk or anything, I’m here,” she offered quietly. In a normal tone, she added, “Let me know when the tarts are ready. I really do want y/n and Zoro to try one.”

Speaking of the devil, you came into the kitchen from the deck, eyes lighting up at the sight of Sanji cooking. Seeing Sanji cook was one of your favorite things and you always loved to guess what he was making. “Sanji! Ooo, what are you making?”

Nami watched as Sanji’s whole demeanor change at the sight of you, like a switch being flipped on. She couldn’t help but smile knowingly between you both. “I’ll be in my room,” she announced before making her way out of the kitchen, leaving you both alone.

Sanji had a wide smile, shoulders relaxing as his eyes lit up. “Why don’t you guess? Give it your best shot.”

“Oh! I love this game. Ok, let’s see,” you said as you surveyed the ingredients laid out before you. “I see flour, sugar, butter and tangerines...are you making a tangerine cake or something?”

Whatever jealousy or anger he had been feeling all day just instantly disappeared once he was with you. He felt like himself again, all carefree and lighthearted as he chuckled at your guess. “Not quite, Missus. But nice try,” he said as he looked into your eyes with a crooked smile.

Missus. You felt your heart skip a beat at the nickname and you felt your insides became all warm. You hoped your face didn’t give away your swooning. He's never called you that before and you hoped to God that he would never stop.

“Ah, my bad,” you laughed embarrassedly. “What are you making then?”

“I, am making a tangerine tart,” he proudly stated as he grabbed another egg, perfectly cracking it this time. “At the request of the ship’s navigator.”

A wide grin broke out across your face. “No way!!” you squealed eagerly, causing Sanji to laugh. “I’ve always wanted to try one!”

The blonde chef nodded. “Yes, she did mention that actually.” After a beat, he added, “I hope you like it.”

“Of course I will,” you said without hesitation. “I know I haven’t known you for that long, but it seems like everything you make is phenomenal. You’re the best cook I know.”

Normally, nearly everyone compliments his cooking (except for Zoro) and he never really thought anything of it. He knew was the best cook in the East Blue and someday, the whole world when he found the All Blue. But hearing that compliment from you? How you said it so easily and with such certainty? He felt a funny, warm feeling deep within his chest and when he looked at you, just like how you knew for certain that he was the best chef around, he knew right then that you really were the most beautiful woman he’s ever known.

So, yeah. Nami was right. He guessed he did have a little crush on you, or ‘like-liked’ you- whatever she was saying.

“Do you mind if I watch?”

Your question broke the little staring trance he was in, blinking and tearing his gaze away from you as he tried to refocus on the task before him. He truly had to make sure this was the best tart he’s ever made.

He nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly. God, he was probably acting like an excited puppy, but he couldn’t help himself. “Of course you can,” he agreed with a small smile.

As you pulled up a stool to sit on the opposite side of the counter, Sanji realized something: him cooking in the kitchen with you sitting nearby? That’s something he could get used to and get used to very quickly.

#sanji x reader #sanji vinsmoke x reader #sanji x y/n #opla!sanji x reader #sanji #sanji fanfiction #sanji vinsmoke #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #one piece live action #opla!sanji #opla fanfiction #fluff #jealously #mutual pining #idiots in love #go fish! au #friends to lovers

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lyneira · 1 year

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♡ "carry me pls" ♡

-> how would the the genshin men prefer to carry you?

(A bit on the crack side and slightly suggestive, hehe)

Bridal style

KAVEH, Zhongli, Ayato, Xiao, Dainsleif

It's simple, yet refined and romantic. Plus, they enjoy being able to see your cute face and all of its expressions while holding you. They could easily lean their forehead against yours and kiss you like this.

On their shoulders

ITTO, Venti, Gorou, Childe

For those who like this position, they either want to prove their strength, want you to be their lookout, or they just want to have fun with you!

Okay okay, hear me out on Venti and Gorou. I know they're rather smol in comparison to the others, but I think they'd like carrying you like this primarily because it's a fun position and also because they don't want to be underestimated. Venti would totally try to persuade you to wear a sheet over you both so that you could pretend to be a ghost or monster to scare people ehe 👻

Itto and Childe would have you on their shoulders so not only would they prove how strong they are, they could have you as their lookout, watching for any dangers up ahead or cool sights that you see. (Also, their head in between your thighs would be heaven for them 😏)

Piggyback

DILUC, Alhaitham, Scaramouche, Cyno, Albedo, Tighnari

They like this because it's the most efficient way to carry you. You're not blocking their view, he's holding you tight, you're holding onto him tight, he can easily run if needed without you being in the way.

The only "downside" that they'd see to this would be how you can easily tease them in this position. You might tease them by whispering softly into their ear, or leaving a peck on their cheek while you're at it 🤭

Carries you in front of them

THOMA, Heizou, Kaeya, Kazuha

I don't know how else to explain this position but think of the opposite of a piggyback ride (so a piggy-front ride? 🥴 sounds silly), or like a parent carrying their sleeping child.

They feel like this is the ultimate hug as you're wrapping BOTH your arms and legs around them. Lowkey treats you like their baby, patting your back with one hand to soothe you. They'd enjoy the intimacy of the position and would find the way you were clinging to them absolutely adorable.

Bonus:

Over their shoulder

Alhaitham, Itto, Diluc, Cyno, Childe

Be ready to become a sack of potatoes if you're misbehaving. This category is reserved for those who are tired of your squirming or teasing so they'd simply throw you over their shoulder.

Kick and whine all you want, they're not going to carry you any other way for your actions. They might also teasingly slap your booty if you don't quit whining.

Other than that scenario, if you guys were being chased, he'd see this as the quickest way to carry you. He'll grab you and go, like a fast-food order LOL

a/n: gahh I honestly had a hard time categorizing them. I feel like many of them could be applied to multiple categories

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benkeibear · 3 months

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⋆꙳✧༄ Cupping their cheek

꒰ ͜͡➸ Soft fluff blurbs of how they react to you cupping their cheeks ♡

❖ Characters: various jjk men

❖ Reader: genderneutral

❖ A/n: don’t want to miss a post? Sign up for my Taglist in my Navi! | Just something smol for now, I'll be back to my regular fics and long hcs shortly 🫶

Toji will at first grunt when you cup his cheeks and he might even roll his eyes but upon seeing the sweet smile on your face he won't pull away, eyes closed as he relaxes into the warmth your palms provide. When you trace the scar on his lips with your thumb you can feel his breath relax, allowing you to take care of him.

Gojo will smile brightly when you cup his cheeks, his hands gently resting on top of yours before he makes you squish his cheeks together just to hear your cute laugh. He will cup your cheeks right after, just looking at you with that smug expression before leaning in to kiss you.

Geto will give you the smallest "hm?" possible before relaxing into your hands, thinking you're holding his head still to remove some food from the corner of his lips or to smudge away the lipstick stain you might have left behind on his cheek but he wouldn't mind to stay in this position for a moment longer, feeling held.

Nanami will look at you with a straight face but you can see his eyes soften and his jaw unclench for once. He finds peace within your embrace however small it might be. If you smile at him or tell him to take a deep breath before confessing your love to him he will give you the most precious smile and kissing your palm while thanking you for being his anchor.

Higuruma will smile lazily when your palms touch his cheeks, his own hands cupping your face in return. "And now?" he asks amused and relishes the way you nuzzle against his broad palms before bringing your face closer so he may kiss your forehead before gently kissing your lips.

Yuuta will look at you with the begging puppy eyes, a little "yes, love?" slipping from his lips, wondering if you tried getting his attention and he didn't notice before. When you tell him you just wanted to look at his handsome face he will blush ever so slightly and chuckle, not trying to get away from your gentle hold on his face any time soon.

Choso will give you his full attention when you cup his cheeks, no matter what he was doing previously. He's looking at you like you're the center of the universe and it feels like time is slowing down around you two. His gaze can't help but flicker to your lips, hoping you'll kiss him while holding his face like this.

Sukuna will flinch away but leans back into your palm with an exaggerated huff about how you're lucky that he tolerates you. His face feels warm against your palm and one of his eyebrows remains raised, waiting for an explanation to your antics but your thumb caressing his cheek before your lips grace his are answer enough. He won't pull away for as long as your palms caress his cheeks.

Mahito will nuzzle into your hands like an over excited puppy before gently biting the flesh of your palm just underneath your thumb. "You're a foolish one to do this. But that's why I keep you around" he chuckles, teasing you about the way you willingly put yourself in danger by touching him but he would never harm his most precious human.

Yuuji will give you the big round eyes, his entire attention on you and his body visibly relaxing before leaning into one of your palms, eager for your thumb to caress his cheekbone in the way you always do. The word to describe his gaze would be love struck, utterly in love with you and craving your gentle caress as if this would be the last time he ever gets to feel your love.

Megumi will roll his eyes when you cup his cheeks and his face remains straight, emotions unreadable to you but the way he's not pulling away and his shoulders slowly slouch tells you enough. He's enjoying the moment despite not speaking up - perhaps not wanting to spoil this moment of softness.

Networks: @enchantedforest-network @themovingcastlez

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outofconcheol · 4 months

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not yet (ksm x gn!Reader)

pairing: Seungmin x reader

genres/au/rating: angst, fluff, friends (idiots) to lovers, pg

summary: "Not yet" was a phrase that came to define Seungmin's life for the longest time. Until you came along, and changed everything.

warnings: swearing, kind of fake dating, emotionally stunted Seungmin, kissing, a smol but significant fight, Minho being a menace but also the voice of reason

word count: 2.8k

a/n: this was something cute I wrote on a whim and tell me why my whole heart is fluttering (probably bc Seungmin is bias wrecking me a lot lately). This is me being a space and time nerd on main, but I imagine Seungmin as lowkey a math nerd in this too. it'll make sense when you read! i hope you enjoy!

To Kim Seungmin time was always infinite, the universe stretching out like a vast abyss that he sought to understand. He’d grumble when his mother stretched the too-tight party hat around his ears on every birthday growing up. Because what was the point, when every day was a birthday for someone or something?

An infinite series of moments made way for an infinite number of chances, and Seungmin became fearless. Fearless because there was no way he could mess up at life, not when there would always be another chance to try again later.

And so, Seungmin’s favourite phrase, whenever his mother asked him to do anything, was “not yet.”

It was a phrase that came to define his life for the longest time. Until you came along, and changed everything.

“Seungminnie, don’t you ever get tired of showing up to dinner alone?” his mother laments over the yukgaejang, while Seungmin stares blankly at her, unable to comprehend her question. What did she mean, alone? The whole point of family dinners was so he wouldn’t have to resort to eating ramen in the dim light of his own apartment, or risk begging Minho for home-cooked food, fearing the smirk on his older roommate’s face.

As if on cue, the doorbell sounds, and Seungmin is the first one up, spoon clattering on the table and stew abandoned. Within a few strides, he’s swinging the door open, only to be met with burning in his nose and scratching in his throat, the tell-tale signs of a sneeze making themselves known.

Your face peeks out from behind the flowers, flustered and eyes growing wide with concern.

“Damn it, I thought you wouldn’t be allergic to these ones,” you whine, and Seungmin sniffles, ushering you inside. “Sometimes I think you’re faking it, Minnie.”

“___!” his mother runs to the door at the sound of your voice, nearly smushing the bouquet as she wraps you in the biggest hug. “We haven’t seen you in so long, I made extra yukgaejang, come!”

And as she leads you by the hand into the dining room, Seungmin hangs back, a smug smile on his face. The universe had his back, once again.

The dinner table conversation turns lively once again, his parents and sister pestering you with updates about your life in the city, like you and Seungmin aren’t still attached at the hip like you were when you were children.

There’s a lull in the conversation, silence falling over the table with only the clanging of utensils to fill the void, broken only by a heavy sigh. Seungmin knows what’s coming next, and so do you, judging by the way you sink into your seat.

“I always thought the two of you would end up together,” his mother blurts out, tears forming in her eyes.

You pat her on the back, dancing around her confession, telling her you’ll always be ready to show up uninvited to dinner as long as there’s an extra bowl of yukgaejang waiting, and all Seungmin can do is stare into his bowl.

No matter how many times he reminded her that you were just friends, that the realistic probability of you and Seungmin dating moved closer and closer to zero the older you grew, she stubbornly refused to give up hope.

She’d throw it back in his face, repeating his favourite phrase. “Not yet.”

And Seungmin couldn’t tell her maybe some things were just meant to never come to life.

The two of you walk back towards your apartments in silence, your shadows dancing on the sidewalk, creating a far livelier scene than the comfortable silence that exists between you.

Seungmin doesn’t notice you’ve fallen behind until he’s at least ten paces ahead of you, turning back to see your lonely figure under a streetlight, staring up at the stars. He resists the normal impulse in his brain to leave you behind, knowing you’ll catch up, and instead backtracks, stopping to stand next you.

“Do you really think it’d be so bad?” you ask the darkness, not turning to meet Seungmin’s eyes. “If we were to actually date?”

Seungmin’s mind is sent reeling at your confession, the neat box in which he’d compartmentalized your relationship suddenly bursting open, exploding with chaos.

“We’re getting older, Minnie,” you ponder. “Don’t you ever feel like you’re running out of time?”

Seungmin’s face darkens, and he knows he can’t answer the question without hurting your feelings. Because to him, time was never something he’d run out of. If he fucked something up, there’d always be something new, something better waiting for him on the horizon.

“You shouldn’t think like this, ____,” he breathes out. “You just haven’t found the right person yet.”

The two of you are sitting on the sidewalk now, long legs hanging off the curb. Seungmin instinctively pulls you into his side, making sure your body is shielded from any stray passerby that happen to be inhabiting the sidewalk or the wild people in the bike lane.

“It’s always yet, Seungmin, but what about now? What are we doing with our lives?”

Seungmin’s never thought about now. He’s thought about the past, like the time he showed up to your house on your 16th birthday, a copy of your favourite novel clutched behind his back. Only to go ungifted when you’d barreled into his arms, raving over the used car your parents had gotten. He’d thought a lot about the future, the two of you going on to end up with faceless partners, settling down in houses whose walls he couldn’t picture, kids whose names he hadn’t thought out, maybe a dog or a cat.

But he never stopped to think about the present, and looking into your eyes, he remembers exactly why. It terrified him, the faint glistening of tears, the way your breathing sped up, your fists clenching and unclenching. And he’d never had good advice to give, just always ranting on about how “tomorrow is a new day.”

Seungmin bows his head, long strands of hair falling into his face, hopes you don’t see the way his own lip quivers when he thinks about right now, the two of you sitting on a city sidewalk, together but still lonely.

“Okay,” he manages to choke out, and your head whips around in shock.

“What do you mean, okay?” you sniffle, and Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Let’s do it. Let’s try dating.”

He feels your body go still next to him, arm going limp when you suddenly decide to let go, hoisting yourself up.

“Minnie, I was just kidding when I said that. You don’t have to date me if you don’t want to.”

“Who said I didn’t want to? I mean try, at least?” Seungmin rises up to his feet, heart thundering at the blank look on your face. “If we try and it doesn’t work, there’s always another chance, right?”

Your face twists in a strange expression, so brief Seungmin could have almost imagined it, before you let out a dazzling smile, one Seungmin thinks rivals even the brightest star he sees in the sky tonight.

“Right.”

“You’re actually fucking insane,” Minho mumbles through a mouth stuffed full with dumplings, stealing the container away when Seungmin reaches over with his chopsticks. “I shouldn’t be offering you food, I should be signing you up for therapy.

“Everybody always wants ____ and I to end up together,” Seungmin grumbles, snatching a dumpling anyway, much to Minho’s dismay. “Now that we actually decide to date, it’s suddenly a problem?”

“Dating isn’t some science experiment, okay!” Minho grows flustered, the tips of his ears turning red. “It involves real people, and real feelings! Have you even asked ____ if they’re okay with this?”

You were fine, Seungmin convinced himself. In fact you’d been exceedingly chipper, brighter than usual, chatting about anything and everything under the sun. It gave Seungmin confidence that maybe this could work. That maybe things didn’t have to change between you two, because maybe you’d been right for each other all along and he’d just missed it.

His phone vibrates with a text from you, and Seungmin is shoving the last dumpling in his mouth, ignoring Minho’s disapproving look as he throws his coat over his shoulders, bounding down the stairs to meet you outside his apartment.

“Want to go to a coffee shop—” the air is knocked out of your lungs when Seungmin crushes you in a hug, your fists banging on his back to let you go ten seconds later. Your face is flushed, an eyebrow raised in confusion, and Seungmin thinks you’ve never looked prettier.

“Isn’t that what couples do when they see each other?” Seungmin asks innocently, only to be met with a sigh.

“You’re paying for my coffee today,” you grumble.

Dating you is easier than Seungmin imagined — the years of friendship provided enough experience in how to spend time together, but now he gets to tell everyone that you’re together together. He thinks his mother’s joyful scream nearly splits his eardrums the moment she finds out, rushing to the phone to dial up your own mother. The conversation between them lasts a good hour and a half, and a smile pricks at Seungmin’s lips at the pride in her voice.

He gets to catch you off guard by randomly deciding to pay for your smoothie, or to wrap an arm lazily around your waist when you’re talking to someone, the subtle squeak in your voice sending his heart aflutter.

Dating you is everything Seungmin could have imagined and more, because those infinite moments he’d always thought about, are moments spent making you laugh at his deadpan jokes, moments spent clinging to your back, begging you to make him some food since Minho stubbornly refuses to, and he thinks there’s no way he could mess this up.

Until he kisses you. The two of you are cuddled up on the couch, the soft soundtrack of the film you’d chosen together lulling Seungmin to sleep in your lap, his eyes heavy-lidded. It’s when your leg shifts that Seungmin wakes up, sleepy eyes blinking up at you, only to realize your hand is resting against his cheek, thumb softly stroking his skin. He wonders if the stars in your eyes are from the reflection of the movie on the screen, or whether they mirror the ones in his own.

Seungmin moves without thinking, his forehead collapsing against your own, and he feels your surprised gasp against his cheek before his lips are brushing against yours softly. Warmth blooms where your fingertips still rest on his cheek, lighting up his entire body with an unspoken feeling.

He breaks away from you, still holding you close, but the smile that grazes his lips is gone as soon as it appeared, your downcast face in front of him. Seungmin waits one second, then two, then a whole minute, but it feels like an infinity while he wills you to meet his eyes.

“I can’t do this Minnie,” you finally whisper, your voice bubbling and breaking, a lone tear streaming down your face.

“I don’t understand,” the words feel heavy on Seungmin’s tongue, like he’s numb and struggling to get them out. It was just one moment, there’d be another that followed, but how could everything have gone wrong?

“I can’t keep pretending like this doesn’t mean something to me,” you finally let go of his hoodie, and Seungmin felt the cold he hadn’t noticed before seep in. “To you, this is all infinite, like it’s always been. There’s always a yet, because every moment is temporary. It’s meaningless when you have tomorrow to worry about, right? Wondering where we’ll go on our next date or what random thing you’ll do next to knock the breath out of me?”

“But this,” you continue. “Right here, right now, it isn’t just something to me. It’s everything. It’s everything because I love you and because I’ve always loved you and because you’ve never been able to see that in your infinity, there has to be some kind of beginning and end. And you’re it for me. But I’ll never be enough for you.”

Seungmin wants to tell you you’re wrong, that he’s stopped thinking about infinity and mere moments, because he realized the same thing, that he never started actually paying attention to time until he met you, and you injected all the moments of his life with meaning. But the words that come out instead are wrong, so wrong.

“You’ll get another chance,” he watches you flinch at his words, rushing to slip on your shoes. You linger at the door, hand twisting around the doorknob. “You just haven’t met the right person yet.”

The knob clicks, and the door slams. And Seungmin is left alone, in the vast abyss of his infinity once more.

Minho spares him the lecture, and Seungmin is grateful. He doesn’t need to hear the “I told you so”, doesn’t need to face his mother’s concerned face when she asks why you haven’t been coming by lately. The loneliness cuts into him like a knife, and he wonders if the imaginary future he’d dreamed of all his life would be enough to take the pain of right now away.

The weather grows colder, and Seungmin’s heart freezes along with it. Time stretches out before him as he looks at his phone, waiting for a call or a text, teasing him, threatening him, as if to say - don’t you wish you had enough?

He spends his days staring out the window, watching the world pass by around him, realizing he’s tired of moving alongside it without you by his side. And then the snow begins to fall, a few flakes to start out, until it turns into a sea of white, and he can’t even see outside anymore.

The door clicks softly behind him, Minho’s voice echoing behind him while he stomps the snow from his boots.

“It’s really coming down out there,” Minho pauses, his voice clipped. “I saw ____ at the grocery store just now.”

Seungmin’s head whips around at the mention of you, but Minho, ever the menace, keeps his mouth shut, not knowing whether the next sentence that leaves his mouth will send Seungmin spiralling or not.

It’s silent between them for a few moments, Minho putting away his food in the kitchen cupboard, while Seungmin runs through endless scenarios in his head about whether you’re happy or sad, whether you’re doing fine or falling apart, whether leaving tore your heart in pieces as much as it did his.

And that’s when he spots it, tucked between the cushions of the couch. Your scarf, blue patterned and worn. You must have left it the last time you were here.

Seungmin knows that rationally, you’d probably have a backup scarf. Knows that rationally, with how much he’d chewed your head off about the future, that you’d have planned ahead.

But you’d never been the rational one.

Minho jumps in surprise when Seungmin leaps to his feet, yanking the scarf out from the couch.

“It’s cold outside,” Seungmin breathes out, and Minho raises an eyebrow. “Right now. Right now it’s cold outside, and ___ left their scarf here, and they, and I– shit!”

He’s running out the door before Minho can stop him, your scarf against his chest like it’s a lifeline.

. . .

He sees you just outside the grocery store, struggling with the heavy load of groceries you’d bought for the storm. The tiny shiver that rakes down your spine is enough to send him running your way.

“Seungmin?” you call out to him in shock, seeing his frantic figure bound towards you in the snow.

“Your scarf,” he heaves, shoving the crumpled fabric into your hands. “You left your scarf.”

“Minnie,” you can’t help the nickname that slips out. “It’s okay, I have another one for next time–”

“This isn’t about next time,” Seungmin interrupts you, wrapping his arms around you, not caring that you drop your bags into the snow. “This is about right now. And right now it’s snowing.”

“Yeah,” your breath comes out in a fog. “It is.”

“And right now,” Seungmin’s voice cracks, unshed tears filling his eyes. “Right now I love you. I think I probably always have and I probably always will, but that doesn’t matter. You’re my past, you’ll be my future, and I hope you’ll be mine, right now in this moment.”

“What about not yet? The infinite possibilities of the universe?” You whisper, clutching his coat while he wraps the scarf around you.

“The universe is infinite because you’re at the center of it - an infinite number of ways to make you smile, to be whatever you need, to tell you I love you. You’re the beginning and the end, and everything in between.”

Your lips are crashing onto his, mouths colliding messily through the veil of your tears, and Seungmin never wants to let go. When you break apart, it’s to lay your head on his chest.

“Come home with me,” he whispers into your hair. “Let me make you some tea.”

You shake your head, burrowing into Seungmin’s neck, humming your response.

“Not yet.”

a/n pt. 2: As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

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cmncisspnandmore · 4 months

Text

One Night Stand; Part 6

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley X Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Shower smut, Slight breeding kink if you squint, Simon Riley being a literal angel, basically all smut with a little bit of plot.

A/N: Hi loves, imma be real, i wrote this entire part in a day. I spent pretty much my entire afternoon writing this after i scrapped about 4 different versions. This is the best i got at the moment. Im still working on this series and requests. Just life is kinda busy. So please bear with me and enjoy the brain rot. This is also not proofread at all so RIP to any grammar police.

Word Count: 3012... This seemed longer.. sowwie, its smol.

New to the Series? Catch up here: Part 5

You sleepily make your way towards the bathroom door, hand closing over the knob as the incessant need to pee urges you forward. It was a little after 2am, you had fallen asleep rather early having spent most of the day lounging around the apartment.

Simon was on base for the day, running training exercises with Soap, Gaz and Captain Price. During the 3 months you have been living with Simon, you have come to learn his patterns. Training days meant that 9 times out of 10 he would spend the night on base. The days before a deployment he would make sure to stock the fridge and pantry with your favorites. On Sundays he did laundry, every 3rd wednesday he would get his haircut. Saturdays after returning for deployment were reserved for going out to Soap’s bar and having a well deserved drink. You also learnt his day to day routine, every morning he was home Simon rose at exactly 5:00am, went on a 12 mile run, when he returned if you weren't already awake he would prepare you a healthy breakfast and leave it out for you before heading to work.

On days when you were awake when he got back from his run he would shower, and you both would spend some time preparing breakfast together. Although those mornings instead of the nutritionally packed meals he usually prepared you often convinced him to make some sort of carb and sugar filled breakfast. Those mornings he would often leave the flat grumbling about how he should’ve run extra. Those mornings were your favorite.

Since you moved in your relationship with Simon had not progressed further than friends, sure there was still the burning desire that he ignited within you from just looking at you. And you would often linger just a little bit too long in his arms when he would give you a hug. But there hadn't been any kissing, and you haven't managed to end up naked in between his sheets. But that wasn't for lack of wanting.

As you shove open the bathroom door, you fail to realize that not only was the light on but the sound of running water was coming from the shower. As you quickly beeline for the enclosed toilet space, you don't feel a set of brown eyes watching your every move from behind the foggy glass. It isn't until you wash your hands in the sink and glance up into the large mirror on the wall that you realize you aren't alone. Through the fogged glass of the mirror you can make out Simon’s large silhouette, his tanned skin reduced to nothing more than a tan blob.

“Oh my god!” You squeak, whirling around, your chest heaving as you finally face Simon. He's mostly obscured by the fogged glass door of the walk-in shower, but his bemused smile is clear. “I didn't think you would be coming home!” You mutter out, your cheeks turning pink as he runs his hand across the glass cleaning away some of the fog. Now you can clearly see his face, although distorted by the water droplets on the glass.

“I should’ve texted you, I'm sorry.. I just didn't want to be late for the appointment in the morning..” Simon says as he reaches up, running his hand through his wet blonde hair.

“No, no! I'm sorry, I should've paid more attention. I'm such an airhead sometimes I didn't realize that there was someone in here..” you rush out as you try to desperately keep your eyes from straying from Simon's face. You aren’t sure if it's the heat from the shower or the pregnancy hormones but it takes all your willpower to keep your eyes from trailing down his toned body.

Simon pauses for a moment, his dark brown eyes trailing over you, from the adorable flush of your cheeks to the swell of your stomach under the sleep shirt you have on. “It’s alright. Love," Simon smiles. One of his panty dropping smiles that you swear he reserves for only you. It's the smile that sends shivers straight to your core. That leaves you a hot panting mess behind closed doors. Living with Simon and not jumping his bones at every opportunity was damn near torture during your second trimester. You were able to take care of things yourself, but now that your bump had grown substantially, you hadn’t been able to find relief.

Without thinking, you walk towards the shower and yank open the door, the hot steam pouring out. Little splashes of water hit your skin as you step into the small space. Your sleep shirt and shorts quickly drenched, as Simon stares at you wide eyed.

“Sweetheart…” Simon warns as your hands come to rest on his wet cheeks, your thumb catching on his bottom lip as he looks down at you, his pupils blown wide. You quickly close the space between you two, your bump pressing against the firm plains of his abs, your arms snaking around his neck as you sharply tug him down to your height. Your lips capture his in a sloppy, wet kiss. Simon groans low in his throat, his chest vibrating against your overly sensitive breasts. A new wave of need pluses through you as you try to get closer, Simon's cock jumping to life as it presses against your lower stomach. Simon's large hands land on your hips squeezing slightly as he turns you, pressing your back against the cold tile wall of the shower.

A startled gasp rushes past your lips as your back makes contact with the cold tile. A shiver running through you as your wet shirt makes it feel colder. Simon smiles against your lips, one hand coming up to graze over your pebbled nipples through the sopping wet fabric of your shirt. A breathy moan slips from you as Simon peppers kisses down the side of your jaw to your neck. The spray from the showerhead now sprays off his shoulders as he leans lower.

“Fuck.. Please,” you whine, nails scratching along the tops of his shoulders Simon wraps his lips around one of your nipples, over the fabric of your shirt. The friction from the wet fabric sends waves of pleasure through you straight to your core, your legs starting to shake with need and Simon has barely touched you.

“Such a needy girl…” Simon murmurs against your skin, as he flicks his tongue across your nipple. Your cheeks flush pink at his words but you’re hanging on to each one like they’re your life line. “Why didn't you just come to me if you needed some help baby?” Simon whispers softly, as his fingers trace the bottom of your bump, slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt as he pushes it up.

“I…I don't know,” You mumble your head tipping back against the cold shower wall.

Simon hums, his lips once again brushing across one of your nipples, pulling another moan from you. “God, your tits are amazing. It’s been hell walking around trying not to stare at them. Knowing that my child is the reason, knowing that they are growing to provide milk for our baby,” Simon whispers against your skin, and you swear you could cum just from the sounds of his voice.

“Simon… Please…” you whine, it's small and breathy, in any other circumstance you would be ashamed for sounding so weak, but right now you couldn't give two shits if the damn queen of England was standing here witnessing your plea.

“Tell me what you need baby, I don't want to hurt you..” Simon stands back to his full height, his hand coming to cup the side of your face. You force your eyes open, Simon's beautiful brown eyes staring at you. Simon is a large man, in all aspects of his life and the last thing he would ever want to do is hurt you unintentionally. Especially now, as you carry his child within you, he would rather be buried alive again than accidentally do something to hurt you or the baby.

“I need you to bend me over and fuck me senseless. I feel like I'm going to explode,” you whine, your needy hands coming to rake down his bare chest, sending a shiver through Simon's entire body.

“Whatever you need, Love,” Simon grunts before he bends down and picks you up, nudging open the shower door with his shoulder as he cradles you against his wet chest. He doesn’t stop to turn off the shower or even dry himself off as he brings you into his room. He sets you down on your feet and quickly drops to his knees in front of you. His still warm hands catching the waistband of your wet sleep shorts. He pulls them down your legs, goosebumps erupting across your skin from the sudden change in temperature.

Simon presses a series of soft kisses to the stretched skin of your stomach, his hands briefly cupping your belly/ “Hi Lovie,” he whispers softly to your bump and if you weren’t so ravishingly horny you could cry. The sight of probably one of the scariest men you know on his knees in front of you talking to his unborn child makes you want to scream in the best way. But your mind quickly goes blank as Simon's fingers trace the smooth skin of your inner thigh.

“Turn around, elbows on the bed, pet,” Simon stands again, his hands on your shoulders as he gently turns you. As if on autopilot you lean forwards, resting your elbows on the bed, giving Simon a perfect view of your ass. A deep groan hits your ears as Simon's hand comes to massage the puffy flesh of your ass. Your skin prickles with anticipation as his fingers dip lower, gathering the slick wetness from between your thighs. The breath wooshed from your lungs as he thrusts one finger into your slick cunt.

“You’re so wet for me, such a good girl aren't you?” Simon hums, lazily thrusting his finger before he adds a second. You tip your hips back, trying to make him go faster, this slow languid pace he was setting was driving you mad. You needed to be fucked, and god damn if you didn't get it right now you were going to cry.

“Si…” you whine, pushing your hips back into his hand as he curls his fingers within you.

“Hmm?”

“I’m pregnant, not made of fucking glass. I swear if you don't fu-” Your voice cuts off as Simon slams into you in one quick thrust. Your world spins for a moment and if you hadn't been holding onto the bed for support you would’ve fallen over. A startled gasp passes your lips and Simon all but freezes. “No please don't stop, it just feels different but not in a bad way…” You quickly mumble reaching back haphazardly with one hand to try and grab Simon's hip to force him to move.

“You sure?” Simon mumbles, his hands coming to rest on your hips, as he slowly pulls out before sinking back in.

“Oh god, yes, please,” you moan, your face now pressed into the mattress. That was all it took for Simon to continue, his hips thrust into you at a rapid pace, obscene moans leaving your lips as he slams home each time. Sex felt different this time, there was no slight burn from how big Simon was but you felt full, so deliciously full. You had been worried about having sex at any point during your pregnancy, having read that some women have no sex drive during pregnancy, especially the 3rd trimester. But thank the lord above it was not the case for you. Your thoughts turn to nothing as Simon lets out a harsh moan, your walls fluttering around him.

“Fuck baby, you’re squeezing me so tight,” Simon grunts as he adjusts his grip on your hip bones,his fingertips digging into your skin.

“Feels so good Simon.. I'm gonna cum..” You whimper as the familiar coil in your stomach tightens, teetering on the edge of release as he pounds into you. Your skin slapping against each other so loud you're sure the neighbors know what's going on.

“Cum for me baby,” Simon leans forward, one hand wrapping around your shoulder as he pulls you up slightly, your elbows no longer resting on the bed as he pulls you up against his chest. His hips still pistoning into you as he uses the new position to fuck into your harder. You reach up and grab the back of his neck with your hand, anchoring yourself to him, your other hand coming to find the hand still on your waistline. You guide his hand up to your throat where he gives it a gentle squeeze.

That small squeeze was all you needed to go tumbling over the edge into oblivion. Stars dance in front of your vision as the world goes quiet for a moment. Simon finds his own release moments after yours, his entire body tensing behind you. As you turn to putty in his arms, “Woah, I’ve got you,” Simon whispers into your sweaty hairline as his arms carefully wrap around you and he manages to slip out of you and hold you up.

“Sorry,” you mumble, fully sated as you lean against his chest. You can feel his heart hammering against your back, one arm firmly around you, right under your breasts the other resting lightly on your bump. His fingers softly rubbing along your soft skin.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Simon grunts, maneuvering you to the edge of the bed where he helps lower you into it.

“I just basically jumped you in the shower… “ you mutter, your eyes heavy as exhaustion hits you like a freight train hitting a brick wall.

Simon pauses as he gathers your wet pj’s from the floor and shoves them into his laundry basket. “You think I would be upset by you jumping me in the shower?” He asks, a small smile on his face.

You lift your head, watching as he shoves the clothes into the basket and grabs a black long sleeve shirt from the closet. He walks over, standing in front of you still in all his naked glory, the shirt in his hands. “Well.. I mean.. we haven’t exactly expressed wanting more than friendship..”

“Love, I’ve been taking it slow because I thought you only wanted to be friends… not because I wanted to. God, watching you walk around the apartment, your stomach growing with my child drives me insane, I’ve wanted to bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you sensless every morning since the first day you got here.” Simon pulls the shirt over your head, and you put your arms through, the shirt still fits loosely even over your baby bump.

“Oh…” you freeze for a moment, you and Simon had gotten closer over the time you’ve lived with him. You had learnt about his past, about his mother and brother. About his nephew. You held him when he cried one night, his words a broken mess of how he was afraid he would turn out to be his dad. How he wished he could talk to his brother one last time, so he could ask him how he got past the fear of turning into his dad. How he handled the fear of being a dad when he had Joseph.

But the entire time you had lived together Simon had always treated you with respect, he never touched your stomach without asking. He always made sure to keep a respectable distance from you when you were on the couch. He never entered your room without permission and never asked about your life before coming to London.

But it wasn’t to say you didn’t share things with Simon, he knew your favorite color, your worst fear (unrelated to your family’s passing) , your greatest wish, he knew what you used to dream about being as a little kid. He knew that your favorite food could make you smile on your worst days, and that you liked to watch old sitcoms when it rained. If someone was to look into your conversations they would probably think you were already together. That you probably didn’t flaunt the physical aspects of your relationship. Simon had quickly broken down the walls you had put up around yourself, and had comfortably made his own spot in your heart.

Simon sits next to you, now dressed in a pair of black sweatpants, his large hand covering yours. You slowly look up at him, his brow furrowed as he studies your face. The small scar in his eyebrow evident this close, you reach out running a finger across it. The skin is slightly raised and water drips from his hair onto your finger.

“Then you should stop fighting the urge…” you finally whisper, your hand cupping the rough skin of Simon’s face.

“Would you be okay with that? With me touching you whenever I wanted… holding you.. kissing you?” Simon whispers, his eyes closing for a moment as he leans into your hand.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, your forehead coming to rest against his, your eyes closed. For a moment you just sit there. Your foreheads pressed together, your breath mingling.

Could you be okay with that?

Could you let someone in that way?

Let someone get close enough that they could see all the broken and jagged edges of you?

Could you open yourself up to losing someone again?

The thought of Simon being gone suddenly, ripped away from you by some unknown, the same person who ripped your siblings and mother away from you makes you want to vomit.

But a small part of you chimes in, the part that knows Simon isn’t defenseless like your family was. Simon was a trained military man, a man who single handedly killed an entire crew for crossing him. He could handle himself. He had proved that time and time again in the field. He also had the rest of 141, the team who would go to the ends of the earth to find him.

You open your eyes, and look at Simon, the answer on the tip of your tongue as you stare at his beautiful face. His light blonde stubble, the small scars, the crook in his nose, the slightly uneven line of his lower lip. “Yes… I-I want that.. I want all of it.”

Next Part: 7

Taglist: @coffeeandtealol, @natashamea18

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maalibuu · 5 months

Text

late night car dates with boyfriend!minho

no warnings, tooth rotting fluff

lee minho x gn!reader

late night car dates with minho have always been your favourite. it felt like it was just you and him, while the whole world was asleep.

his car was parked in an empty parking lot, your stomachs were full with delicious food, sharing stories about your day, smiles and enjoying each others company.

„missed you.“ you whispered.

„come here.“ he cooed at you, making space for you to sit on his lap.

not even wasting anymore time, you crawled over the center console, slightly hitting your head in the process.

the pain was easily forgotten because as soon as you sat down in his lap, minho immediately started peppering your whole face with kisses, teasing you a little bit.

„my poor little baby, I think we should drive you to the emergency station right away.“ he murmured, while chuckling at your clumsiness.

„I think I’m already healed, your lips must have superpowers.“ you giggled at him.

slightly leaning back, so you could look at each other, not being able to hide the adoration both of you held in your eyes.

minho slowly tucked some strands of hair behind your ear. softly smiling at you, his eyes glancing down towards your lips, while licking his own. both of your faces leaning in, without even noticing.

„can I kiss you?“ he whispered, lips almost touching.

„please.“ was the only thing you could mutter until gravity was too much.

finally feeling complete with his lips on yours, not being able to stop kissing each other.

it felt like hours, leaving one last peck on his lips before pulling back.

breathless, slightly heaving, but so full of love. mouths bruised, plump and strawberry red.

„the glass is fogged, I feel like we’re the main actors of some teenage rom com.“ he chuckled at you, breaking the silence.

„let me make it just a bit more cliché.“ giving his lips another small kiss, you leaned over so you could touch the hazy glass of the windshield.

the car windows were cold and a little bit wet against your index finger. quite the opposite of minho‘s homey presence and the warm feeling inside your heart, you always had when you were with him.

you could feel him watching you, his dark boba eyes almost turning into the hearts you drew against the car window.

„you‘re made of stardust, baby.“ he mumbled in a low voice.

the love you shared for one another as full as the bright moon in the night sky. every star reflecting one thing you loved about each other.

a/n: soooo my little fur babies threw up all night, turns out they have fleas. I spent my whole day at the vet and cleaning my whole apartment. They‘ve been suffering all day and my smol mom heart is breaking, poor little babies.

I have the whole day off tomorrow so I’ll try to post more. My brain will burst if I have to hold back from writing any longer

but I really wanted to post something today so here u have something small, hope u enjoy <33

#stray kids x reader #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #skz x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids soft hours #stray kids soft thoughts #lee minho fluff #lee know fluff #lee minho boyfriend

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princessedesfleursss · 25 days

Note

please read this!

Hello I love your work! Can you please write a piece based on “Virgo’s groove” by Beyoncé for Carlos Sainz and female reader? I would appreciate if you do or even read this!

*hiii. tysmm, i'm glad you enjoy my work. here's the piece i wrote on what you requested, not sure if it's what you wanted but i hope you end up liking it!

CS55R1

Pairing: carlos sainz x fem!reader

Genre: blurb/ fluff

Warnings: making out, being horny, teasing and kissing, a smol bday date

It was Carlos’s birthday the day tomorrow and since he wanted to celebrate it back in Spain with his family, you decided to have a little birthday rendezvous with the birthday boy himself. Earlier this morning, you had sent Carlos a sneaky text with the address of the hotel room you were at. He had obediently followed the given place and knocked on the door right at the time you had asked him to be there.

He came in, his eyes ravishing your figure in the ‘barely-a-dress’ dress you were wearing. His hands, immediately went over to the back of your thighs, trying to sneak them up to your bum. Giggling in the middle of the kiss, you pushed yourself away from him,

“Not now, pretty boy.”

“Come on baby. It’s not fair you’re teasing me after asking me out for lunch.”

Smiling at him with a proud smirk, you sat him down at the set up on the balcony. Standing behind him, you glided yours hands over his chest and leaned closer to the shell of his ear whispering, “Consider me dessert.”

You felt Carlos let out a low a groan from within his chest at the mere thought of taking you right here before eating.

“That is if you behave well, birthday boy,” you added another condition to what you promised him earlier.

Sitting yourself down in front of him, you motioned him to start lunch. Upon opening the lid to the first dish, Carlos chuckled at your lousy but creative version of a birthday cake with a candle- stuck to a steak was a candle. You took out a lighter and lit the candle that was placed on the stake.

Singing him happy birthday, you watched as Carlos blew out the candles and then looking back up at you with a devious glance enough to make you wet.

“Stoppp looking at me like that,” you teased him.

He simply shrugged and continued lunch. You began eating too as songs from the local radio made use by serving as the back ground music to your little date. Fond stories were shared over wine and for a while you and Carlos were not on the verge of jumping onto each other because you were both borderline horny.

That was all until you decided to drag him for a dance. Moving the small table into the hotel room, you made space in the balcony.

“Baby come over,” you urged Carlos to move closer to you as you wrapped your arms around his neck and Carlos pulled you flush against his chest, an all too familiar move for him.

You mouthed the words of the song that was going on, playfully moving your body in rhythm to the song. Carlos too played along, twirling you multiple time and bringing you in even closer to his body than before.

“There's nothing that I want as much as I want you,” you sang along to the lyrics.

Carlos leaned down to kiss you, and moved his face towards your neck, nipping at the skin and surely leaving love marks all scattered. Meanwhile you danced to the song and kept up with the lyrics while a turned on Carlos attempted kissing every inch of your body.

“And I need more nudity and ecstasy, oh,” you gasped as he turned you around, your back pressing his sturdy chest now.

His hands snaked around your waist, and his lips went into a frenzy of kisses across the side of your neck. You moaned as he tried humping against you.

“Carlossss, everyone can see us,” you warned him, the song in the background long forgotten.

“I don’t care really,” he said as he lifted up his face to switch sides to kiss the other side of your neck, “All I want is you now baby.”

You let one of your hands reach backward to entangle in his dark locks and let the other rest on the arm he had around you.

“Then have me,” you moaned back at him.

Carlos lifted you off your feet and brought you into the hotel room, throwing you lightly onto the fluffy bed. Wedging a knee between your legs and caging your face in between his hands, Carlos pecked your forehead lightly.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too baby,” you reciprocated his words and caressed his cheek, “And a happy early birthday.”

He smiled down at you and went back to pepper your face with kisses.

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blindmagdalena · 6 days

Text

Guilty Pleasures ( chapter three )

18+ 7.3k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, assault (not perpetrated by HL), violence, smol murder, manipulation/gaslighting, hurt/comfort. nebulously takes place post s1. part 3/4. AO3 link. CH I CH 2

Homelander will do whatever it takes to convince you that he's the hero you need.

a.n: hello, friends! hopefully this chapter being longer than the first two combined makes up for the fact it took me three months to write it. as you can tell, it sort of spiraled out of control from being two chapters, then three, and now four. the good news is that chapter four (the last one! i promise!) is complete, and i'll be posting it next week. i hope you enjoy it! 🖤

It’s shortly after one o’clock when Homelander knocks a whimsical melody against your office door, deciding he shouldn’t be precisely on time, lest he look as eager as he feels. He can already smell your perfume wafting through the doorway–the same scent he feverishly pumped his cock to the night before–as a teaser of what’s to come.

“Come in,” you call from the other side.

Homelander takes in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. He screws his eyes shut, pinching his expression in a tight squeeze before he replaces it with a flashy grin, squaring away his anticipation in favor of his showman persona.

“Goooooood afternoon,” he drawls, strolling in with the same feigned level of confidence he’s entered every other moment of your life since stumbling across you, whether you knew it or not. He’s taken aback almost immediately, slowing in how he closes the door behind him.

You look nicer than usual. Your hair is styled with more conscious effort, and he’s been in show business long enough to recognize the makeup on your face. The shine of your blouse is a quality silk blend, and he can’t hear the scrape of cheap cotton underneath it anymore. No, you’re wearing something nice below, too. His lips slowly spread into a self-satisfied smile.

You dressed up for him.

Homelander takes the seat set across from you, sweeping his cape to the side with a flourish. He watches you tuck an empty container–your lunch, presumably–into a side drawer of your desk. His eyes closely track the way you lift your thumb to the corner of your mouth and swipe residue from it, sucking the mess from your digit. A distinct pang of arousal hits him just watching your cheeks hollow.

Imagine what she could do with that mouth.

“And good afternoon to you, Homelander,” you respond, straightening up in your seat. His gaze briefly dips to the swell of your breasts as you adjust yourself, casually dusting away any remnants of your lunch. Saliva gathers on his tongue at the instant memory of you scantily clad in your sleep wear, nothing but a thin sheet of worn fabric between you and his hunger. His eyes snap back up before you can take notice of how they wandered.

Lucky for him, you’re busy splaying out the folder he brought you the day before, scanning over the list of bullet points he’d slapped together for the sake of having enough talking points.

“I wanted to start with your concerns regarding the marketing for your upcoming miniseries,” you say, glancing up at him.

He clicks his tongue. “Wow, alright. Straight to business then,” he says, absently rolling his palms over the ends of the armrests on either side of him.

“I’m very bad at small talk,” you say. Probably to diffuse any notion that you were being rude on purpose.

“Ch’yeah, I’ll say,” he says, smiling thinly. “Lucky that you’re good at your job.”

“Shockingly, I was actually a personality hire. I don’t know what any of this means,” you say, matching his thinly veiled snark while gesturing to the spread of documents in front of you. He snorts softly. You have a knack for using that sharp wit to diffuse, but he doesn’t feel manipulated. You actually are funny. “I was hoping you’d explain your concerns.”

Smooth segue, he thinks, his eyes narrowing appraisingly. He’s worked enough interviews to know when he’s being led, but he takes the bait anyways, widening his smile.

“Sounds great.”

Homelander knows that you’re sharp, good at your job, but he needs to needle you into giving him what he wants. He wants to understand you, and the stack of his films he found hidden in your apartment. What he gets in the meantime is ample taste of your silver tongue, parrying his every jab with an equally sharp counter.

He can’t keep the smile from his face.

Gradually a level of familiarity slips into the air between you. He can see some of that tension in your shoulders easing. He’s steadily wearing down the walls you’ve managed to construct.

“I still think audiences will be confused,” he says, feigning a profound concern, stretching out the time of your little appointment.

“Well, audiences are a lot like celebrities,” you say, the hard candied shell of your professional exterior thinning with every back and forth, poised to crack at any second. “They’re smarter than we think they are.”

“Oohh, ouch,” he purrs. “Nice backhand you got there.”

A twitch at the corner of your mouth. He knows you’re fighting a smile of your own, and pride blooms warmly in his chest. He likes sparring with you, but he likes pleasing you even more.

“I disagree about market confusion. Your diehard audience will already be up to speed, your broader target audience will show up for anything with your face on it, and anyone more casual than that likely won’t have seen the miniseries anyways, so there’s nothing to confuse it with,” you say, scanning down through one of the pages of the document he gave you.

Perfect opening.

“And which audience is it you fall into, exactly?” He asks, cocking his head a degree. “I mean, given your position, I have to imagine you’ve seen my range of film and television.”

“I’ve done my due diligence,” you say vaguely. You’re good at answering without answering. Normally it would irritate him, but your forced aloofness combined with your closely guarded–and inexplicably secret–veneration of him makes it into tantalizing bait begging for the sharp sink of his teeth.

“So you’ve seen all my movies, then?” He extrapolates, setting a line of his own.

You chuckle, gaze flickering to him before back down to the pages. Too brief a glance to even come close to satisfying his hunger. “I didn’t say that.”

He scoffs lightly. “But you’re a fan of mine?”

“I definitely didn’t say that.” He can sense he’s hit a vein, and like any good predator would, he’s eager to bite into it.

“C’mon. Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he continues to prod, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

You inhale a breath that you barely prevent from sounding too obviously irritated. His grin remains untarnished by the scrutiny of your unwavering stare. There it is, that’s what he wants. The weight of your gaze upon him, evaluating, taking him in fully. He doesn’t care how he gets it, he just knows he wants it.

“You are shy,” he accuses, knowing you aren’t.

“I’m not shy, I’m a professional,” you say curtly, the scratch of your pen scathing while you write notations on the document.

Good, he thinks. More likely to slip up now.

“Jeeze,” he laughs. “You’re wound up tighter than my fictional manager in Darkest Day.”

“You didn’t have a manager in Darkest Day, that was Origins,” you correct. After a beat, your hand stills.

Homelander’s gaze slowly slides to meet yours. He watches your face fall and clicks his tongue. He positively relishes how your mask of indifference slips into subtle dismay at your misstep. Such a simple bit of trivia, and yet it spoke volumes.

Got’cha.

“You do watch my movies,” he said, tone dropping to a near whisper. He revels in the quiet way you groan, leaning back in your chair.

“Only the ones I was paid to,” you say, straightening up in your chair, but he can hear the defeat in your voice.

“Liar,” he says through his perpetual grin. “Don’t be embarrassed. How long have you been a fan?”

“Stop,” you say, burying your face in your hands. Oh, this is good. Was he your first crush? Your favorite hero? He must be still, judging by the flush of heat moving through you. All that pretense, all that haughty glowering, and beneath it all you’re a fan girl. He almost laughs at the thought of the face you’d make if he called you that.

“Which was your favorite?” He asks, burying the knife deeper, eager to cut through flesh and muscle and bone to get to the heart of truth beneath. “Bright World? Rise of a Hero? Justice Dawning?”

“I despise you,” you say melodramatically, digging your thumbs into your temples. “Also, Justice Dawning was cheesy, I’m offended you’d even offer it.” You try not to smile, but it happens anyway, and as soon as that secret little smile sneaks onto your lips it brightens Homelander’s eyes, reflecting your amusement back to you. Not just that, but amplifying it.

“You’ll learn to love me,” he tells you with confidence. You drop your hands, looking at him with subtle surprise. He holds your gaze. The earnestness of his words seems to dispel your mortification and replaces it with something more difficult to define, but he likes the shine it brings to your eyes.

The taste of your defeat is sumptuous. He’d prefer licking it straight from your tongue, but he’ll settle for this for the time being. An easiness settles into the air between you, deeper even than before your hackles rose with the lurking reality of your hidden opinion of him. It’s like a bubble has popped, dissipating uncomfortable tension, replacing it with something warmer.

He has every intention of turning up the heat even further.

The meeting moves forward. You work your way through his folder, and during a natural lull in conversation, he finally broaches the topic that’s been plaguing him since he stepped into your office.

“So,” he begins, interlacing his gloved fingers in his lap. “Gonna tell me what you’re all dressed up for?” He asks, wearing the same smile and speaking in the same tone he had when he baited you into admitting your secret love affair with his cinema.

He wants to hear you say that it’s for him, but he’ll settle for a flustered deflection. They’re as good as the same.

“Oh,” you huff with an airy little laugh, the sound like silver bells chiming. “I have a date tonight.”

You say something else, but Homelander doesn’t hear it over the tidal-like rush in his ears. He watches your pretty lips form words that he can’t understand. Everything falls out of focus as he tightly reins in the white hot rush of furious jealousy that floods his gut and erupts up the back of his throat like bile. He swallows the burn of it, jaw tight, and manages a tense smile.

“Great,” he barks, not realizing–or perhaps not caring–that he interrupted you. “First date?”

“First date,” you confirm, your tone less conversational than it had been a beat ago. The walls are going back up, but he’s too fixated on what feels like a stabbing betrayal.

“Exciting,” he says, adjusting his tone and mannerisms until they once more resemble something genuine. Something civil, despite the hostility in his gut. “Someone you know? Going anywhere special?”

“No, and not really,” you say evasively. He loathes how withdrawn you’ve become. You should be pleased he’s put off. Gloating even. It’s proof he cares, isn’t it? “It was his suggestion.” His. The leather of Homelander’s glove creaks subtly in the fist he makes. “I forget the name of the place,” you say, avoiding his gaze.

His right cheek tics. Liar, liar, pants on fire. People always underestimate his ability to read them.

You’ll learn not to lie to him.

“But you have an out if you need it, don’t you? Someone to bail you out in case he turns out to be some kind of freak,” he says, huffing the word with a lick of venom. It takes significant effort to keep the disdain from his face to imagine you as you are now sitting across from some nobody schmuck, lit by candlelight and smiling sweetly for them instead of for him.

“I always do,” you say, smiling thinly. He curates his own tone often enough to hear it in yours, and it pierces his ears like a thistle. He taps his fingers on his thigh, scrounging for something, anything else to needle you for, but your responses don’t give him much to work with.

“Well. If you did need someone–”

“I’m a big girl,” you interrupt, surprising him. He’s rarely interrupted. “I can take care of myself.”

At that, a thought strikes him. The slack line of his lips curls into a thin smile, and his hands relax on the armrests of the chair.

“I’m sure you can.”

Shaking off the aftermath of your one-on-one with Homelander proves to be more difficult than you’d anticipated. You replay it nearly moment for moment in your mind while freshening up after work.

Homelander has an uncanny knack for moving through demeanors as though he’s trying hats, determining which one best suits the situation. One moment he’s a slick carnivore licking his chops in anticipation of his meal to come, and the next he’s every ounce the hero they market him as. He’d been relentlessly charming during the meeting, his charismatic smile becoming one you’d wanted to earn again and again.

Then came the news of your date, and all at once Homelander possessed the ominous calm of a sentient statue. The moment still sends an eerie chill down your spine, even in recollection. How radically his appearance can change with mood or thought alone. You’d hate to ever see him truly angry.

“Get a hold of yourself,” you say to the bathroom mirror. You have a date tonight, and the last thing you need is to bring this kind of nervous energy to it. Powers or not, the commonality of man is easy to rely on, and you’ve developed the tactical mindset of an aloof cat. Never beg for what can be given freely. Never give more than you get. Never settle. “Be the cat,” you tell yourself affirmatively.

A directive which, unfortunately, winds up being exceedingly easy to follow through the course of your date. James, bless his heart, struggles to wring more than the occasional piteous chuckle from you. Conversation with him is akin to drinking seltzer water–he is neither offensive nor particularly exciting, being only a step above plain water.

Perhaps James’ blandness isn’t entirely his own fault, but rather the basis of comparison he is subjected to. Throughout the night, you find yourself critical of the way he looks at you–or rather, the way he fails to look at you. Your thoughts keep drifting back to your meeting with Homelander and the way he looks at you. The intense ocean-blue caress of his eyes summons a blush to your cheeks even in hindsight.

He looks at you in a way that no one else does. It's as if he's trying to memorize the smallest details in your skin, to uncover every secret trapped behind your guarded gaze. He has a stare determined to lay you entirely bare to him.

James’ wine dulled ogling could hardly hold a candle to that. Looking into his eyes, you see only the planning for whatever dullard comment he was going to make next.

Still, it’s not until the end of your date–an exceptionally long two and a half hours thanks to a mishap with your order–that James displays a behavior unsavory enough to elicit a truly unpleasant feeling in you. He’s quite clingy after a few too many glasses of wine. He walks you out of the restaurant with an arm around your waist, and more than once you have to bat his hand away from the seam where your blouse is tucked into your skirt.

“You in the parking garage or the back lot?” He asks, smiling in a way he must mean to be salacious, eyes half-lidded like he’s lost control of them.

“The back lot.” Parking was a nightmare with how late you arrived after work. “Is that where you are?” You ask, hoping it isn’t.

“No, no, I actually took an Uber in,” he says, and you know immediately by the way he starts tapping your hip with his index finger why he chose to do that.

“Want me to wait for you here until your Uber arrives, then?” You ask, turning out of his grasp to stand face to face with him outside of the restaurant. It’s late enough now that the streets have calmed some, at least by New York’s standards.

James’ expression falters, but he tries for a recovery with a hopeful smile. “Well, you know, I was sort of hoping we might continue this elsewhere,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets. Is he trying to look suave?

“Oh, no,” you say, putting forth your very best sympathetic head tilt, matched with a well placed brow furrow. “No thank you.”

This time his expression doesn’t recover. His hands lift from his pocket and he makes a helpless gesture with them, very nearly pleading. “Really? I thought we were having a nice time.”

“And I’m so glad for that,” you say, and even you can hear the corporate edge sliding into your tone, which doesn’t seem to soothe him any. “But it’s for the best that we part ways here, James. Thanks for your time.”

“But–” Your inarguable dismissal staggers him. He gropes for recourse. “I paid,” he blurts out, which proves to be his final mistake.

Your polite facade drops. “For what?“ His booze addled panic shifts into confusion. “F…For dinner, but I didn’t mean–”

“And that entitles you to fuck me?” No sense in mincing words now.

His expression morphs again, this time into mortification. “No! No, but–”

“You thought this would be a transaction? God, and here I was thinking your gravest flaw would be how mind-numbingly boring you are. But to be boring and stupid?” You scoff, waving a dismissive hand. “Goodnight, James,” you say, the kindest dismissal you can muster. You turn on your heel before he can sour the evening any further, and luckily for him, he doesn’t pursue you further.

Unbelievable. As if you hadn’t offered to split the check. As if he expected it to be a transaction that he cashed in your bed. As if the cost of dinner was worth anything more than a polite smile from you. As if.

New York doesn’t sleep, but it does grow very, very dark. You’re on a narrow street, not an alley exactly, but not a main road, either. Still riled up, you bring up the parking app on your phone as you walk, swiping through to get ready to pay for your crummy back lot space. A clatter brings your attention up, and that’s when you see them—two men. One wearing a black leather jacket, the other with a kerchief slung around his throat.

You stop walking, caught between turning around, which would mean putting your back to the men up ahead, or continuing forward, which would mean passing within arm’s reach. They haven’t noticed you yet, or at least they’re pretending not to, but now they look right at you and smile.

The men don’t look dangerous, not like they do in the movies, but you know that means nothing—plenty of the worst people in the world looked safe. Yet the longer you stay put, the more you sense the ill intent wafting off of them like cheap cologne. “Hey, baby,” says one of them, moving toward you. “You lost?”

“No,” you say curtly, taking a step back. “Not lost. Excuse me.”

“You sure? We’re real good with directions,” says the second man, leering. Your eyes snap between them, phone clutched tight in your hand. “Y’look like you could use some.”

“No,” you say again, louder. How loud would you need to be for anyone to hear you over the sounds of the streets? Panic swells in your throat.

You don’t know how they got so close so quickly, but as you turn to run, a hand catches your collar. The guy in the leather jacket wrenches you back against him, one arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your phone clatters to the ground.

“Hey now, what’s the rush?” He asks, yanking you backwards. “Get off me,” you snarl, but he’s squeezing you tightly across the chest, making it hard to think, let alone breathe. You struggle until you feel something hard dig into your hip. A knife? No. You realize coldly that it’s a gun, the handle of it jutting out from his waistband and digging into you. In a desperate bid, you twist in his grip, trying to grab it.

“Careful,” says the other one, moving in front of you, closing in. “She’s got spirit.”

You kick out at the other guy but he jumps back, laughing at you. They’re both laughing, relishing in your fear. Your fingers skim the gun, but you can’t quite get it.

The first man’s breath is hot and sour on your cheek. “Come on, now, let’s have some fun.” You slam your head back into his nose—or try to, but you only manage to clip his chin. Still, you hit bone, hear the crack of a tooth, and just like that you’re free, stumbling to your hands and knees as the man reels. You hit the ground hard, the shock of landing lancing pain through your arms and legs. The gun tumbles from his waistband. Without thinking twice you lunge for it, fingers successfully closing around the grip right before one of the men grabs your ankle and pulls.

The street bites into your elbows and scrapes your knee bloody as you twist around and raise the gun, barrel leveled at the man’s heart. “LET GO!” You scream, heart hammering against your chest. “Oh shit,” says the man in the kerchief, eyes wide at seeing you armed, but the other one sneers at you, blood spilling from his mouth. There’s fury in his eyes, and the unmistakable intent to hurt you. “You ever held a gun that big, baby?”

“Let go,” you say again, voice firmer than the tremble of your hands. Your finger flexes on the trigger.

“You even know how to use it?” He asks, using his grip on your ankle to pull himself over you, his other hand falling to your thigh. He gives a pointed squeeze as he lifts himself up to tower above you. He reaches to take hold of you again, but you won’t let him. Can’t let him.

“Yes.” You squeeze the trigger as you say it, bracing for the recoil, the bang. It’s always so loud in the movies.

Nothing happens. You panic, looking at the weapon in your hands in dull shock. The safety isn’t on. You pull the trigger again, but the chamber rings hollow. It isn’t loaded. You look up at the man as his shadow falls over you. He bares his teeth at you, painted an ugly dark red with the blood spilling from his mouth. The man laughs, a short barking sound, and knocks the gun from your hands with a harsh slap. It goes skidding away.

“Stupid bitch,” he says, raising his boot as if you were an oversized bug, something to crush. You close your eyes and scream as he brings it down hard.

Or at least, he started to, but his leg locks up halfway, and then he topples, a single horrifying sound leaking from his clenched teeth. Your eyes open just in time to see his body hit the ground, a smoldering wound smoking from his chest. An instant later, the second man falls. This time you see the flash of crimson light that drops him.

Homelander’s cape billows in the wind with all the majesty of the flag it’s designed after as he descends from the sky. He lands in front of you, backlit by the distant street lights that give him an artificial glow. He’s beautiful, a perfectly manufactured angel delivered straight from some market tested Heaven.

“Hey, you hurt?” He asks, reaching for you.

Awestruck, all you can do is stare at his outstretched hand. Tears well in your eyes. Shock is setting in the aftermath of all that adrenaline in your veins crashing your system. Through the blur of your tears, Homelander’s expression shifts from concern to that of determination.

“It’s alright, I’m here now. They can’t hurt you,” he says, bringing your arm around his neck while he slips his own around your waist, effortlessly lifting you from the ground. Before your gaze can drift to the corpses–whose burning flesh you can smell mingling with the acrid city air–Homelander rotates, taking them from your line of sight.

With a flourish, he unhitches his cape from his shoulders and swings the fabric over yours. It settles on you heavier than you expected it to be, and impossibly warm. Moving back in, Homelader readily takes you back into his arms. He cradles you in his embrace, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other drawing lines up and down your back.

You try to choke out a sound, to ask him, how? How did he find you? How did he know you needed him? But none of the noises you make form any actual words. Your throat is too tight, and your tongue feels too big for your mouth, gnarled silent by panic. Everything is just too much. Your breaths only grow sharper as tears burn hot streaks down your face.

“Sssshhhhhhh,” he shushes by your ear, lifting you just enough to keep you on your feet, but take the weight of your body from you. His hold is compressive, but not oppressive. It takes everything you have left to lift your other arm around his neck while the sobs overtake you. He continues to hush you, whispering a menagerie of honeyed assurances in your ear, the core sentiment always the same.

I’ve got you. You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.

You cry harder, coiling your arms tighter around his neck. He lets you cling to him, lets you sob away your makeup and soak the collar of his suit with the mess of it.

You don’t know how much time passes in your addled state of panic, but eventually your breaths begin to even out, though your heart continues to thunder. Your body isn’t convinced that the danger has vanished yet, eager to turn to flight now that your fight has gone.

“That’s it, just like that,” Homelander praises. “Breathe. Breathe. Good… Light as a feather now, okay? Like you can fly,” he tells you. The weightlessness you feel in his arms helps the idea, helps you to feel like you aren’t being crushed by the terrible weight of such a moment of horror. That’s all it had been, a moment–two at most–and yet the torment of it had felt hours long. Exhaustion falls over you in the wake of adrenaline, and you’re glad for Homelander’s arms around you. You doubt you’d be standing without them.

“Home,” you manage to croak. “Please.” You can still smell the man’s sour breath, the memory even more powerful than the stench of reality.

“I can take you home,” he coos, maintaining that same soothing tone of comfort. “Is that what you want?”

You nod, focusing instead on the vetiver fresh smell of him. You’ve never been near enough to him before to notice it, but now you fixate on it. Anything to drown out the stink of the alley. He smells so much cleaner, like fresh linen drying over green grass in the summer sun.

His arms flex around you before he adjusts them, lifting you smoothly into his arms. Your stomach flips the way it does when you go down a hill in the backseat of a car, gravity loosening its hold on you. You can feel the motion all around you, the wind ghosting over you, but Homelander himself feels motionless against you.

Flying. He’s flying. And so are you.

His cape shields you from the night air bite, pulled snug around you and secured where your bodies are pressed together. You haven’t felt like this since you were a child, cradled with such care and strength that feels beyond your comprehension. Homelander serves as both place and person–somewhere safe, someone kind–and you tuck yourself closer into the sanctuary of his arms, hands fisted in the protective fabric of his cape.

“I’ve got’cha,” he assures you, voice warm in your ear.

Without a shadow of a doubt, you believe him.

Homelander doesn’t need to ask where you live. It’s an easy detail to brush off if you question him. He doubts you will with the way you’re clinging to him, though. You feel good in his arms, settling so naturally against the contours of them he might convince himself you belong here. He doesn’t mind your weeping when it comes with your arms around him, fingertips brushing the nape of his neck.

A small shiver rolls down his spine.

Of all the ways Homelander expected the evening to unfold, he hadn’t properly anticipated you. While he cradles you, he replays again and again the moment you were snatched. You fought without hesitation. You wrenched the gun free. The fierceness in your eyes as you aimed it had been exquisite. The resolve in your gaze as you fired it even more so.

He’d known you were confident, but that kind of clawing survival can only be learned of a person in action. He’s known many supposedly strong people–supe and human alike–who walk as stone giants, but shatter like glass when faced with any real danger.

You couldn’t have known that you weren’t in any real danger. You couldn’t have known that he’d told those thugs to scare you, but not hurt you. You couldn’t have known he’d ensured the gun wasn’t loaded. You fought as though it was for your life, and it enthralled him.

He hadn’t planned on killing them in front of you. They would have been loose ends to tie up after his heroic rescue, but somewhere along the line that stupid bastard lost the thread. He hurt you, bloodied those pretty knees of yours, and he moved to strike you. To grind you beneath his heel as if you were the vermin instead of him. For that–and for so flagrantly going against Homelander’s own direct order–you witnessed his downfall.

As far as he’s concerned now, everything happened precisely as it needed to. You’re in his arms now, and he’s still half hard from witnessing you choose fight when your instincts kicked in. You’re too fragile to choose it so readily. Your bones feel bird-like compared to the scope of his strength. Hollow and brittle. You would make for a hell of a supe, though.

Still, he won’t break you. He’s spent his entire life learning what it takes to snap bones like party favors, and more crucially, what it takes not to. Yours are safe from him. In fact, you’re the safest person in the whole world now.

Homelander glides down to a soft landing on your driveway. Your car will be an issue for another time. For now, he walks you to your front door before gently placing you on your feet.

“Believe this is you, young lady,” he says, leaving space for plausible deniability. If it occurs to you to interrogate him about it, it doesn’t show on your face. With hands still softly trembling, you fish your keys out of your purse. He watches you fumble with them for only a moment before he steps in behind you, one hand gripping your upper arm to steady and pause you while the other covers your shaking hand, helping you to slide the key into the lock and turn it.

Your hand fits nicely in his.

“Thanks,” you whisper. It’s the first thing you’ve said since asking him to take you home. He takes the liberty of opening the door for you while he’s at it, swinging it wide to allow you in. You grab his forearm, and he thinks you’re only balancing yourself, but when you don’t let go he steps with you, letting you lean on him as you guide him into your home. He closes the door behind the two of you, smiling to himself.

He may not need an invitation to enter, but it’s charming to have one.

Your movements are stiff, a slight limp to your gait. You fell hard, and the delicate flesh of your knee had ripped apart against the concrete when you were dragged. You hesitate at the stairs, but Homelander doesn’t. You inhale sharply when he scoops you back up into his arms with ease and starts up the stairs. He keeps his gaze ahead, but he can feel yours on him.

“Thanks,” you say again, the word barely more than a hiccup, adjusting his cape over yourself like a blanket.

“It’s what heroes are for.” He smiles. It’s a party line, one he’s said a hundred thousand times before, but you make him mean it. This is what heroes are for. To be worshiped and loved, understood deeper than pop stars and false idols like them. There’s a reverence in your stare that transcends the vapid starstruck way most people look at him. You understand now. You know how much more he is.

He brings you to your bedroom and sets you on the edge of the bed, adjusting his cape back up over your shoulders. You’ve scarcely let go of it since he wrapped you in it. Will you sleep with it tonight? He bets you will. The thought sends a pleasant tingle through him.

“Alright, let’s get a look at those knees,” he says, crouching in front of you. There’s blood running down your left shin. He lifts the edge of your skirt hem just enough to catch a glimpse of shredded skin. It looks rough, dirty and embedded with bits of debris. He blows out a breath. “Got a first aid kit?”

You nod numbly. “Under the bathroom sink.”

It’s odd to see you so subdued. He forgets sometimes that you humans can be as emotionally fragile as you are physically. Surely the death of two measly thugs isn’t enough to break you.

Rising, he moves to your bathroom. He feels slightly unbalanced without the sway of his cape behind him, the garment as integral to his physicality as any limb. He rummages through until his hand lands on a bright red fabric pack with a zipper. He gives it a little toss and catches it, bringing it back to you, alongside a wetted towel. He gives the pack a victorious little shake.

“H’okay, down to business.” Homelander kneels before you, splaying open the kit and placing it on your lap. He’s never used one of these before, but he’s pretended to do it on set. How different can it be? He cups your leg, thumb absently smoothing back and forth on your skin while he uses the towel to gently wipe up the blood, dirt and debris from your shin and knee.

You flinch, tense a moment before you relax. “Homelander, you really don’t have to–”

“Am I doing a bad job?” He asks, glancing up at you through his lashes. There’s a playful lilt to his voice.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say, the smallest hint of exasperation in your voice. He’s pleased to hear it. Perhaps you’re less wilted from the encounter than he thought. “I just mean that I can–”

“I know you can,” he says, and this time he definitely sees a flare of annoyance. You don’t like being interrupted any more than he does, but you don’t protest further. He smiles, triumphant, and focuses back on the task at hand, petting you the same way one might soothe a wild animal.

There’s a novelty in doing this for real that he hadn’t anticipated. It’s entirely unlike wiping away congealed red corn syrup from an actor. Your skin is sweeter, softer. He suddenly resents his gloves for the barrier they provide, despite his usual reliance for that very thing. He’s meticulous in flicking out the little stones embedded in your skin, spotting each one with ease.

Next, he tears open the alcohol wipes with his teeth and uses them to disinfect, rubbing at the sores. You flinch, sucking in a loud breath through your teeth. “Oopsy-daisy,” he says, switching to gently patting. He has no real concept of what you’re feeling right now. He’s never had a scraped knee before. The scientists at Vought had to get much more creative in order to gauge his capacity for healing.

He imagines they were disappointed to realize that, once damaged, he healed as slowly as a human.

“How’d you find me?” You ask, snapping him out of his unpleasant reminiscence. Your shock seems to have worn off entirely. You look more present, alert to his every move.

“Heard you scream,” he answers simply, unraveling a roll of gauze. That much is true.

“But how? How did you know where I was?” You push, watching him wind the white material around your knee.

“I didn’t,” he lies smoothly. He’s followed enough scripts in his life to do so very well. “If I’d known exactly where you were, I would have been there sooner. I was minding my business on 5th Avenue when I heard you. Familiar voices can…” He makes a vague gesture. “Cut through the din. Voices I want to hear.”

He thinks he catches you flush at that. Just a touch. He bites back a smirk, pleased with himself. Does it matter if it’s true when it makes you look at him like that?

“I didn’t know your hearing worked like that,” you say, fidgeting with the hem of his cape.

His gaze flickers up every so often to watch your finger pick at the seam, inexplicably charmed by it. “Well, there’s some things not even a super fan can glean,” he teases, securing the gauze with tape. He expects to see a familiar indignation in your expression, but when he looks up, he’s caught off guard by the unmistakable fondness in your eyes.

“I was over the moon when I got my job at Vought,” you say quietly, like you’re whispering in a confessional. “I always wanted to work with heroes.”

“With me?” He pushes, lifting his brows.

Very slightly, you smile. “Yeah. With you.”

“Busted,” he says, his own voice equally soft.

You give him a little nudge with your foot. “Gauze won’t stay by itself. Need to use a roll of self-adhesive wrap,” you say, plucking the beige roll from the kit. He likes the shy warmth in your voice. He would have done much worse to see this side of you. Have the intimacy of your pain, fear and relief all to himself. This glowing affection you’re so full of. He feels drunk on the cocktail of it all.

“Right, obviously,” he says, taking the wrapping from you. “I knew that.”

“Probably should have put a gauze pad under it, too,” you continue, eyes heavily lidded, expression soft.

“Everyone’s a critic,” he laments, affixing the textured bandage around the gauze. You laugh, and the sound of it feels like a space he could belong in.

He checks your other knee, your elbows and your palms, but nowhere else on you calls for anything more than some antiseptic and a few bandaids. With the wrappings secure, he shuffles the mess of supplies haphazardly back into the kit, zipping it up much more bulging and misshapen a state than he found it in. He pushes it under the bed with the towel atop it, standing.

“Good as new. Or close to it,” he says, making a small show of dusting off his hands for a job well done.

You stand, letting his cape slide off of your shoulders for the first time since he put it on you, the fabric pooling on the bed. You step forward, and of all the things he expects in this moment, you blow them out of the water by suddenly wrapping your arms around him, the soft curves of your body slotting against his in a way that trips something primal and needy in him. He puts his arms around you the second the shock wears off, holding you with the barest fraction of his strength.

Tension drains from your body. Were you nervous he wouldn’t reciprocate? It’s an endearing thought. He gives a deeper, brief squeeze. He can’t remember the last time someone held him.

“Thank you,” you say after a long beat, drawing back. He reluctantly loosens his grip, but not by much. He’s loath to relinquish you so soon after he’s gotten hold of you. “It’s not enough, but I don’t know what could ever be.”

I could make a few suggestions, he thinks, but he doesn’t give voice to the lewd thoughts that follow.

“I’ll never forget what you did for me tonight,” you say. Your face is so near to his, it makes it difficult to focus on anything other than the curve of your lips as you speak.

Instead of responding, Homelander leans in, eyes falling shut.

“Oh,” you say sharply, your soft body suddenly going tense in his arms, stopping him in his tracks. Both of your hands are braced against his chest now, creating a distance that feels craterous.

He blinks, brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“I’m really tired,” you say, tone shifting to mild diffusion. It reminds him of the way you spoke to James, and his ego stings with both the rejection and the comparison. He’d laughed listening to you reject that pathetic, simpering man. It seems less funny now.

He scoffs an incredulous little huff. But I saved you, he thinks, indignant panic flaring in his chest. To his dismay, however, the thought doesn’t sound like his own voice. It sounds like James’.

But I paid!

Repulsed, Homelander swallows the thought like bile. If the comparison comes so readily to his own mind, there’s no way you won’t make the connection yourself. He feels his skin prickle like there are fire ants crawling beneath his suit. The memory of James’ pathetic begging is the only thing that keeps his composure together.

“Of course you are,” he says tightly. His smile is forced, slightly too wide. “You should sleep. Rest up. Take the day off tomorrow,” he says stiffly, rattling off lines like they’re pre-recorded. Only then does he surrender his hold on you, hands moving to his hips instead. You take a step back, and he stands straighter to disguise the sting of rejection.

“Thank you,” you say, tone indecipherable. It’s full to the brim with something, but nothing Homelander can parse in his current state. “I–”

“No need,” he dismisses, jumping on the opportunity to end the conversation on his terms. “Really. Just doing my job,” he says, tossing you a little two-finger salute off of his brow, already moving towards your balcony door. You don’t move, watching him from the foot of your bed, arms wrapped around yourself.

“Catch you at the office,” he says. He knows he’s speaking too quickly, but it’s all he can do to keep himself in check. Anger and misery broil in him like vinegar and baking soda, the caustic brew threatening to erupt.

“Okay,” you say, which isn’t particularly what he wants to hear. He turns his back to you, and his smile drops, his ego violently stung. With a force that billows wind through your bedroom, he takes off into the night sky.

You just weren’t ready, he tells himself, gritting his teeth. It’s easier to be angry than embarrassed. He wants to make as much distance between himself and your rejection, flying higher and higher until frost begins collecting on his lashes. He flies until there’s no sound, no oxygen, no life but his own. He flies until gravity releases him and he can finally relax, suspended by cold, vast space.

The earth glows beneath him, reflecting the light of the sun where it illuminates a distant portion of the globe.

Closing his eyes, he tips his head back.

He’ll fix this.

#heavy breathing #icb i actually did it #tysm to everyone who let me scream and cry at them about this fic as i wrestled nonstop with it #homelander x you #homelander x reader #x reader #homelander fanfiction #yandere x reader #my writing

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matrixbearer2024 · 2 months

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Tiny Vox part 2?

Idk if you'll use this but I just want to give it to you.

I kind of headcannon tiny vox the be dumber, because the unprepared small body can't load all his data very well. So I imagine Vox, being stupidly in love, trying the help them when they are doing the dishes or working on their hobby bit he is just making more of a mess and smiling dumbly in love. Like when reader likes to draw heb grabs a random coloured pencil and bring it to them. You know just adorable but unhelpful.

Pocket-sized Partner: VoxPet™️ Care Guide

Tiny!Vox x Reader

A/N: So uhhh- here's a teeny little Headcanon thing while I write the continuation for the VoxPet series because I love smol TV guy. That and I'm starting to slightly feel the burnout, well- I can't tell if that's the right term since I'm starting to look at my ideas and realize that they're starting to lack the coherence and polish they used to. ANYWAY! Here's a Headcanon list for the small guy before I post the continuation for it- so I hope you guys enjoy! Happy reading!

So given Vox's mostly bionic/mechanical biology, it makes sense that he doesn't necessarily regenerate the same as other more organic(flesh-based) sinners.

Instead, he has spare bodies to upload his consciousness and switch into if the one he's using gets damaged and needs repairs or is just not worth saving.

Hence he has a couple spares lying around.

It's just in this instance, the only spare he had left was in a less than desirable condition-

And the others were still broken or just beyond repair.

Having a his brain be it's own practical digital entity also plays into this, I'd think in his paranoia he'd have copies of his own data stored in cloud servers all over the pride ring too.

So it won't be easy should someone try to get rid of him.

Anyway, back to the body switching.

So this new body Vox took is a very underpowered and overutilized little thing.

Imagine running a Skyrim with over a thousand mods on the highest graphics using a 7 year old dell laptop.

Yeah. That's what Vox is currently doing.

The small body is already running at full capacity with his overload of data and it's not even all of it.

Just the basic necessities like his personality and habits.

Like, what make Vox- vox.

Everything else like his schedules, alarms, work, etc.

They're just uploaded to a cloud server with the rest of his complete data.

Oh I forgot to mention, in his haste to make this tiny cute form-

He totally forgot to give it the ability to form even basic speech patterns.

Hence the squeaking and beeping.

He actually can't talk, not that the small body would even have any more processing room if he did do that.

Vox merely figured that you'd probably find some enjoyment anyway in his predicament until the new spare parts arrived and he didn't want to keep moving around dripping coolant and blood accompanied by some sparking wires.

Let's not even mention the cracked screen.

His face being messed up was probably the least of his issues there too.

So you kind of had to take care of him as that small little guy in that hastily put together body.

Also, because it's so underpowered and practically at it's peak use-

Vox can't actually really use his powers much.

Which he didn't realize only until after he flipped out when Velvette and Valentino found him when the staff were panicking from him suddenly going AWOL.

In this tiny body, he only has his generally human memorization skills to recall important things.

Not his flawless computer memory, which was lumped in with the data this body couldn't hold.

He did thank his lucky stars that you weren't so upset about the state he was in though.

You'd often flip the hell out when he got hurt or just had blatant disregard for his own wellbeing.

I mean, when you can switch bodies like the socks on your feet would you be careful too?

I wouldn't, I'd try every single way to die just out of sheer curiosity and boredom-

Anyway, after you got over the initial shock of seeing your boyfriend all plushie sized and everything-

You better bet he got fucking spoiled.

Literally like a chihuahua in a purse moment.

Y'all know those build a bear clothes and accessories?

Yeah no you'd dress Vox up and down in those tiny things and he just couldn't stop you.

He could figure out how to delete all the photos you'd taken when he got back to normal.

But if being treated like a doll was all it took for you to just drown him in kisses and hugs-

You better bet this man would go ahead and pull something like this again.

Plus the compulsion to just aggressively cuddle the life out of him-

Well he's already dead but the point stands.

He can't help but soak up your affection like a thirsty sponge though.

You do eventually realize that he actually has to be plugged in to recharge though.

Plugged in by a port on the back of his teeny head.

What, where did you think he'd put it?

You're glad that Vox tends to leave all sorts of cords of different lengths around your apartment.

Something to do with his work?

You had half a brain to tie him up with those said cords sometimes-

It was irritating at first but after you organized them to keep, at least you didn't dispose of them since you needed them now-

For once the hardware spaghetti was actually useful.

And thank goodness for the long wire, because he'd become extremely clingy after all the attention and affection you'd given him.

Tiny dude was sitting on your lap being pet and coddled while charging.

All while you were reading a book.

Yep. He was a spoiled little shit.

You also realized that he didn't need to eat because of the charging thing-

But he could if he wanted to.

As proven when Vox just took a small part of your meal and slowly ate it.

It wasn't even a full bite for you but it looked comically big in his tiny hands.

He installed a proper digestive system but not a text to speech thing.

Sometimes you wondered if your boyfriend's priorities were a little more wayside that you originally took them for.

He was so cute trying to help you with the dishes though.

Couldn't really do much because of how small he was-

Not to mention the fact you didn't even want to risk any more damage to him since electronics and water are generally not a good mix-

But he tried, and you'd count him being adorable as helpful emotional support anyway.

Even if he really didn't do anything aside from play with the bubbles and smile cutely at you.

If he didn't have an empire and corporation to run you might actually just keep him like this-

Even when you were looking over at some documents his secretary sent over to sign-

You guessed it was because Vel mentioned that Vox was in your care for the time being.

He was wobbling around holding a pen that was probably half his size.

Again cute as hell, but an unhelpful distraction-

Now when you went to sleep?

You plugged Vox in again and just cuddled him against your chest.

The same thing happens when he "sleeps" whether big or in this form anyway.

Screen dims and then his company logo screensaver pops up.

Anyway, I say sleep in quotations because Vox doesn't actually sleep in the conventional sense.

It's just one of the many ways he can physically recharge.

So if he does sleep it's often by choice or because he just passes out.

If he wanted to keep going physically, Vox could just directly connect himself into a power outlet and not ever run out of juice.

Mentally though- it's why he actually needs our version of sleep.

Or periods of system shutdown where he can actually mentally recuperate.

Otherwise he'd be a cracked out delirious mf hyped up on caffeine.

Which he is sometimes regardless.

Either way, you'd pet and cuddle him until he fell asleep before you would also succumb to slumber.

When you woke up though, he somehow ended up cuddling your face.

You had no idea when that even happened.

He greeted you with a happy beep and a heart on his tiny face when you woke up though.

It was probably selfish as hell but now you really wanted to keep him like this just a little longer-

#hazbin hotel #vox x reader #vox #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel x reader #vox x you #hazbin vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader

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milksuu · 6 months

Note

RAHHH APHELIOS FANS RISE 🦅🦅🦅🦅

i need… I need him to whimper during sex… idk how… idk when… but I know he whimpers I can just feel it… do with this as u please

❥ prompt: He made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake. Aphelios thought since you were such a cute shorty, the bedroom would be his domain. How did he end up being bottom, pinned, with you on top!? ❥ content/warnings: nswf 18+, cute!softdom!reader, teasing, light-bondage ❥ characters/pairings: Heartsteel!aphelios / f!smol!reader (minor implied poly!sett/phel/reader)

He met you on the bustling train. Jammed packed after rush hour. An uncomfortable place to be. With no seats available, he took the reigns over head. Another stop. Another wave of bodily masses rushing in. It sent you colliding against him. He dropped his phone in the process. He wasn't too happy about that. It was too cramped for him to reach down and get it.

"I-I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," you apologized. With your short stature, you were able to crouch and retrieve the phone. Why was he paying so much attention to your petite hands?

Nevermind. There weren't any cracks on the phone screen. That was good. He merely nodded as thanks. With each bump and sway of the tram, there you went. Like a marble in a pinball machine. With much effort on your tiptoes, he watched as you tried to reach for a free reign, but it was a long shot. It was cute...maybe in a slightly pathetic way.

Aphelios sighed. It was only a matter of time before you were underfoot of some sweaty salaryman. Time for his good deed of the day. He slipped his phone inside his pocket and encouraged you to hold onto him. Stumbling a bit, you took the invitation. You grabbed onto his shirt with both hands. Slowly, you rolled your head up. He made the mistake of looking down.

He hated to admit it, but you were too cute beyond words. The top of your head barely made it to his collarbone. Your eyes were big, soft---absolutely soul sucking. If he was back in 5th grade, to keep himself from admitting he liked them, he'd draw an insect with huge bug-eyes and point it at you.

He forced his sight elsewhere. Your work bag. Attached to one of the zippers was a handful of plushie keychains. He recognized them to be from the same crane game arcade him and Sett went to often. He was a master at those technical grabs. You were probably some casual player. Maybe you had some other guy win them for you. Probably had to spend more than he bargained for. Unimpressive. (This boy is trying real hard not to like you.)

Well, he was wrong about that. You were a professional crane game player. And managed your own business of shipping those adorable plushies overseas to customers. You even had a pretty popular stream going on Twitch showing you doing it all. (Alright, he caved).

When you two started dating, your collection of plushies rivaled Sett's anyday. When his own bed started matching his roommate's, he wasn't sure whether he should be concerned. Again, he gave up. You enjoyed gifting him plushies specifically won for him. And he enjoyed seeing you happy on his bed.

・❥・

"You're so cute like this, Phelly~"

Ah. That was it, huh? You fooled him. Utterly and completely. It should've been the other way around. With him on top, you blushing pink, and shyly asking for him to take you.

But here he was, pinned naked underneath you, mask off, and his chin tossed away. Hating how flushed his own cheeks felt. Hating how his whole body felt like it was melting from your touch. Hating that just on the other side of the room, Sett was fast sleep, back turned. For now, at least.

"Hmm? Wonder how quiet Pelly can really be," you whispered cutely, sadistically. "You wouldn't want us to be caught. Unless...you want to?"

Aphelios swallowed for a breath. Seriously. How did it end up like this? He was the one who initiated. Trying to impress you by getting out of his comfort zone and doing it while his roommate was sleeping. But this was beyond the scope of how he thought this whole thing would play out. He made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.

It was made more apparent when you grabbed the long ears of a rabbit plushie, and tied his wrists securely above his head. Oh no. How did he not notice? His demise was planned from the very beginning. All these plushie's were here to lower his guard. Thinking he was safe. Thinking he had any control of the bedroom in the first place. No, these weren't just stuffed animals—these were your diabolical sex minions. And they served the most cute cruel mistress.

"I won't let you cover your mouth. No matter what. So you gotta be extra good tonight. Okay?" You positioned his tip already glistening with precum to your entrance. His breath hitched. Not a good start. You giggled softly, "I don't think Phelly's going to be good at all. Oh, well~"

You pushed your hips down slowly. Spreading around his shaft till you sat deliciously full. Oh, shit—Aphelios clenched his eyes tight. His hands fisting together till his knuckles turned white. He bit down hard on his bottom lip. He refused to let you milk any noises from him.

Suppressing your own moans, you leaned down, pressing your breasts against his chest. "So cute how quiet you're trying to be. But for how much longer, hm?"

You claimed his mouth, sucking and pulling on his lips. Sliding your tongue into his mouth, you worked yourself on his cock. Covering him with your warm fluids. His pelvis now slick and sticky between your thighs. He heavy panted between your kisses, his breaths shuddering.

At this point, he was getting closer to his edge. Not sure exactly how he'd been able to hold back for this long. He couldn't think of anything but how good your insides felt. So hot and tight.

You slipped off his head phones, abandoned his mouth, and sucked on his earlobe. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Your warm breaths and cute moans against his ear sent him spirling. He couldn't hold back anymore. He whimpered, he whined, whatever—he didn't care anymore. He just wanted to come inside you. No, that was wrong. It wasn't a want anymore. It was an unbearable need.

He bucked his hips, slapping against you over and over again. Now you both were whining and whimpering. You jolted, your walls clamping tighter, and tighter. Feeling you swell and come around him so hard, Apehlios thought he saw stars. His cock throbbed and pulsed. He muffled his fluttering cries between your shoulder and neck, pumping deeper, filling you completely up. Coming down from the high, relieved pants filled the finished after silence.

"Geez. Can't a guy get some quality sleep over here?" Sett groaned out loud, turning over. Aphelios almost launched you off the bed when he scrambled to untie himself and cover you both up. "Pfft. Chill out. Nothing I haven't seen or done before," Sett said, rolling back to face the wall. "You guys owe me. I'm keeping you both up tomorrow."

You giggled and rubbed your cheek against his arm. Aphelios groaned. Of course things had to turn out this way.

an: listen listen, yall aphelios degens i just wanna say.... *smooches* thanks for the req. anon.

#heartsteel #heartsteel x reader #aphelios x reader #aphelios #league of legends #league fanfic #request #reader insert #x reader #reqs open

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octanesprohoetype · 1 year

Text

no strings attached – genji shimada

NSFW!!! MINORS DNI!!!!

a/n: hello, first post on my new blog >:3 this note is gonna be long and ramble-y so feel free to skip it. to begin with, everything about this fic was unplanned. i never planned on my first post here being overwatch related, nor did i plan on it being porn, but here we are with overwatch porn. and then, i was only trying to write a short 1-2k word valentine's day smut, but it is 2 days after valentine's and this fic is 5.5k words long with layers like a cake. this is the first thing i've written for overwatch, and also the first smut i've written in 2 years, so i may be rusty. i hope you enjoy it anyway.

word count: 5.5k

tags/summary: porn with plot (kind of), mild angst?, idiots in love. you invite genji over, hoping that having sex with him would help you get over the annoying feelings you have for him. that doesn't happen for you.

warnings: no pronouns used for reader, female genitalia is vaguely described tho, unprotected sex

edited to add: this fic is now on my ao3 as well! thanks to @smol-dragon for reminding me :3

"damn it. fuck."

you lock your phone and squeeze your eyelids shut, forcing the screen out of your vision, and throw your head back against the pillow in frustration. this is so, so stupid, you tell yourself, and it is stupid, yet you can't let it go.

you were an adult– you shouldn't be having inner turmoil about how you wanted to have sex with someone. it wasn't anything you hadn't done before, but for some reason, it was suddenly impossible to navigate.

"damn you, genji," you mutter, slapping one of your hands against your forehead.

this was all his fault. you'd never felt the urge to have sex with a coworker, honestly, the thought had never even crossed your mind... or at least, that was true until you met genji. you ignored your attraction to the cyborg at first– sure, he was nice to look at and had an alluring air of danger about him, but he was no different from cassidy in that regard. you figured whatever attraction you had to him would quickly dissipate into nothing, as it did with the cowboy, but to your dismay, it only grew stronger.

at first, you found yourself admiring the intricacy of his cybernetic body parts, and then his combat style. then, you found yourself staring at him for much longer, entranced by his form and the way he spoke.

genji himself did absolutely nothing to alleviate you of your newly-contracted disease. in fact, it almost seemed that he intentionally made it worse. he'd jump to your aid in combat, ghost his fingers across you in passing, and you caught him casting you lingering glances, though you could never tell what thoughts were going on behind his actions.

you told yourself it was probably nothing, that you were being delusional and trying to convince yourself that your crush (if you could call it that) was reciprocated. you were almost successful in convincing yourself to let it go, but the interaction between the two of you today not only reignited your thoughts of him, but intensified them.

genji had been in one of the sparring ranges at headquarters, dutifully practicing his aim, though you didn't really think it was necessary. you were observing, over-exaggerating your interest in his technique as an excuse to be around him, and offhandedly made a comment about wishing you could use a sword.

"i'd be happy to teach you," genji had replied.

you jumped at the offer, but severely overestimated yourself in terms of your sword-wielding capabilities. it looked easy, but maybe that was just because you'd only ever seen genji do it, and he made it seem effortless. after failing miserably, you were ready to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment, but genji seemed determined to teach you.

he'd walked up behind you, using one hand to correct your posture, and the other to guide your hands into the correct position along the sword's hilt. you were almost literally on fire underneath his touch, and it was suddenly very difficult to focus on what you were doing.

"i think this might be a waste of time," you'd commented, staring down intently at the sword in your hands so genji couldn't see how red your face was. "i'm afraid i may be a difficult person to teach."

"i'll gladly teach you about anything you want to learn," genji said, standing entirely too close to you with his hands on your shoulder and wrist. "no matter how difficult you may be."

(y/n.exe has stopped working.)

you stared back at him, wide-eyed, with every functional part of your brain failing you. fortunately for you, your phone rang, interrupting the uncomfortable sexual tension that had suddenly filled the room. mercy was calling, requesting your help with something 'important'. after pretending you were really sorry for leaving so abruptly, you practically ran out of the room, silently thanking the doctor for calling you at the best possible time and giving you a get-out-of-jail free card.

you sat through the tactical meeting with mercy and tracer, though you had absolutely no helpful feedback to offer. your mind was fixed on genji the entire time, and your skin still felt hot from where his hands had been. i really need to get laid, you thought, this is pathetic.

now, even though it was hours later, you were still in the same predicament. try as you might, your brain absolutely refused to focus on anything or anyone besides genji. your television had long since blurred into background noise, bits and pieces of some stupid rom-com becoming the soundtrack to your turmoil.

maybe i should just text him... you think, for the millionth time. it was easy, or at least, it should have been easy. finding someone to screw wasn't usually this difficult for you, and you usually didn't care one way or another, but the thought of genji rejecting you was terrifying. even worse was the thought of having to see him again afterwards.

your mind goes back to the sparring range, and you swallow harshly. 'desperate' was never a word you'd use to describe yourself before, but now... when it came to genji, it was kind of an understatement.

"fuck it," you say aloud, swallowing your pride and unlocking your phone.

- hey. are you busy?

he starts typing immediately. how scary.

- i am not. do you need something?

- kind of. i have... a question.

"i am such a fucking loser," you mutter as you watch genji's text bubble appear on the screen.

- what is it?

suddenly, you didn't want to ask anymore. maybe you could go out for drinks with cassidy instead of doing this. you stare blankly at the screen for a while.

- ???

- actually, nevermind. it's embarrassing.

- surely no worse than your attempt at swordsmanship?

- sorry, that was a joke.

- wow, okay. definitely not asking now :'(

- come on.

- okay. do you wanna...

- have sex? with me?

you watch in horror as he starts typing, then stops, then starts again.

- are you serious?

- that is entirely dependent on your answer.

- why... are you asking me?

- i don't know how to answer that.

- i'm definitely taking that as a no.

- i didn't say that.

- well, you didn't say yes either...

- i'm not sure i understand what you're getting at here

- not sure what you mean by that. i'm just asking to have sex

- for the record, i'm not expecting you to be my boyfriend or anything

- just a one time thing. no strings attached

- no strings attached? lol

- okay

okay? okay? what the hell was 'okay' supposed to mean?

- are you there?

- yes. an answer?

- if you're gonna say no i'd like to go ahead and get it over with so that i can go get drunk enough to forget my shame lmao

- that won't be necessary.

- the answer is yes. obviously

your heart almost stops beating for a second. surely this, too, was a joke.

- seriously? like... actually?

- ...

- yes?

- wow! unexpected.

- are you free? like... tonight, maybe?

- i'll be there. 20 minutes?

twenty minutes? was that enough time to prepare? you immediately scramble out of bed to your dresser, searching for something risqué to wear. you owned an obscene amount of lingerie, but for some reason, none of it seemed good enough for the occasion.

you knew enough about genji's past to know that he'd been with more than his fair share of people, and though you weren't inexperienced by any means, it had been a while– most of your time had been dedicated to overwatch lately. you were sure that the names and faces of genji's old lovers blurred together, and although you specifically said 'no strings attached', you wanted to make the best possible impression. even if you never slept together again, you wanted to be memorable, at the very least.

eventually, you realize you're running short on time and opt to put on your personal favorite set. it had never steered you wrong before. you quickly change into it and throw on an oversized hoodie with some random game logo on it– very basic, you noted, but you didn't want to look like you were trying too hard, although you definitely were.

after checking the time, you wander aimlessly around the house waiting for genji to arrive. you definitely weren't nervously pacing from room to room, overanalyzing every aspect of this situation– no, that is not at all what you were doing. before long, you hear a knock at the door. your anxiety spikes through the roof, but you do your best to get a hold of yourself as you walk to the foyer to let genji in.

when you open the door, you see genji, as expected, and he looks the same as always. there was nothing special about his outfit (because why would there be?) and you're very glad you didn't decide to wear something over-the-top. he's also wearing a mask, as usual, but you can actually see his eyes with this one.

"i like your shirt," he says casually. "good game."

you blink at him, having been completely lost in the crimson pools of his irises.

"oh, yeah, it is," you reply, nodding in affirmation. "um, come inside."

he laughs quietly as he steps through the doorway, and you furrow your brows at him in confusion, but decide to ignore it and move on. you lead genji through the house, mentally grasping for straws as to where to go from here. to be honest, you didn't think you'd get this far, so you're at a complete loss.

"sorry, i feel like this feels really weird. i don't usually... sleep with my coworkers," you explain as you reach the bedroom.

genji's eyes are fixed on you, and despite having a clear view of them, you still can't tell what he's thinking. it proves to be very anxiety-inducing.

"i didn't think you did," he says.

"thanks? i think?" you reply, unsure of how else to react. "i'm going to warn you that this might actually go really, really badly, because i haven't slept with anyone in a while, and you kind of make me really nervous, and i also don't–"

you're cut off by genji moving closer to you and moving his hand towards your face. the action causes your words to vanish and your train of thought to come to a screeching halt. you stare at him with wide eyes as he moves a stray strand of hair from your face and brushes it behind your ear.

"i make you nervous?" he asks, an amused tone to his question. "you? nervous?"

you can feel heat rush to your cheeks, and you're hyper-aware of his hand lingering near your face, but despite this you try your best to sound cool. "yeah, i know, it's pretty hard to believe! but it's true."

genji laughs. "you're funny."

"i am?"

"yeah," he replies. his dark eyes are sparkling a bit, and although you can't see it, you can tell that he's smiling beneath the mask.

you look away from his face, your gaze falling to his hand. it's still in the air, close enough to your cheek that you can feel the warmth, but not quite touching you. he seems... strangely hesitant to touch you, so you decide to take the initiative.

genji's eyes widen a bit as you reach out and cup his face, brushing your thumb across the sleek metal of his mask.

"are you planning to keep this on?" you ask.

genji freezes in place, visibly caught off guard by your question. "i–"

you giggle at his reaction. "hey, no pressure. it doesn't matter to me. i'll still think you're hot either way."

"i fear you'll change your mind about that," he mutters.

you frown, unsure of what to say. "there really isn't anything that could make me change my mind about you, genji. but seriously, do whatever you're comfortable with."

he makes a quiet noise in response, and you can see in his eyes that he's thinking carefully about what to do. after a few seconds of silence, he holds your wrist and moves it away with one hand, then carefully removes his mask with the other. you can't help but stare, not only because you're surprised that he actually chose to remove his mask, but because he's even better looking than you had imagined– scars and all.

he looks at you, eyes filled with uncertainty, and clearly a bit uncomfortable.

"you're staring. sorry to disappoint. i can put it back on, if you'd prefer..." he says quietly, as if he's ashamed. it's sad, enough so to distract you from your mission of keeping things clean and simple.

you shake your head and wrap your arms around his neck, staring up at him with a reassuring smile. "i'd prefer if you didn't, actually. i can't believe you didn't tell me you were so good-looking underneath that mask."

"i... don't think that's a term i'd use. not anymore, at least," he says, not meeting your gaze. "but i'm glad that you think so."

genji hesitantly puts his hands on your hips, his eyes fixed on the logo on your hoodie. he doesn't seem to know how to react to your compliments, but there's a shy smile on his face nonetheless.

"i mean, i thought you were hot enough before. it never occurred to me that you could manage to be even hotter," you tell him with a smirk.

he looks up at you, blushing profusely, and you're filled with a sense of satisfaction. "i, um, didn't realize you felt so strongly about me."

you look away, deciding to ignore that comment, and begin to trail one of your hands from his neck to his collarbone, then down his abdomen, which was unfortunately covered by his clothes.

"well, the mask is off. that's one thing down," you say, toying with the hem of his hoodie. "just a few more to go."

genji doesn't hesitate to reach down and tug off the hoodie, discarding it on the floor. he wasn't wearing a shirt underneath, and he also wasn't wearing his usual metal plating. his right arm and part of his right upper torso are still made of flesh, as well as most of his midsection. the left side of his body is cybernetic, but it ends just above his hips. you find yourself staring at the intricate and seamless fusion of metal and muscle, your attention focusing in on the sharp outline of his hip bones.

a question pops into your head, but you don't have the audacity to say it out loud– is his dick cybernetic? the thought had never occurred to you before, but you also had never seen just how much of him was still made of skin and bone. honestly, it didn't matter to you either way, but it was an interesting thought. guess i'll find out soon, you think.

genji is staring at you with a strange look on his face, and you're suddenly worried you may have said something out loud.

"something wrong?" he asks. "you look... confused."

"i do?" you ask, surprised. "i was just... curious. about the cybernetic stuff. i've never really seen it up close."

"i see."

you walk over to the bed and climb on top of it, beckoning genji over to you. he follows, but stands still beside you.

"come here," you say, reaching for his hand. "i want a closer look."

he smirks and nods, quickly climbing into the bed and positioning himself on his knees between your legs. you trace the outline of his abs, running your fingers along the border of skin and metal, taking in every detail, and then you realize that he's staring at you again.

"what?" you ask.

"you're overdressed," he says. "i want to look at you, too."

"oh," you pause, realizing that you were in fact still (mostly) fully clothed. "you can take the hoodie off."

genji's hands immediately move to pull at your top. you reposition yourself to make it easier, and you watch as he tosses it into the now-growing pile on the floor alongside his own jacket.

you can hear his breathing grow shallow, and you look back up at him nervously. he's staring down at you with wide, dark eyes, with his hands clenched into fists atop his thighs.

"damn," he breathes. "you're... really the most attractive person i've met."

it's not as though you had notably low self-esteem or anything, but genji's reaction was far more than you expected, and the attention makes you feel embarrassed.

"that definitely feels like flattery, but i'll let it slide," you reply. you're mostly teasing him, but you're also kind of serious– 'most attractive person i've met' is an extremely bold statement to make, especially coming from someone with a track record like genji's.

"flattery? you really think so?" genji asks, seeming to be genuinely taken aback by the accusation.

"mm, it doesn't really matter," you reply, desperate to cut this conversation off before it derails. come on, y/n do not get your feelings involved in this, damn it.

genji leans over you, propping himself up with one arm and lifting your chin with the other. he stares at you with an intimidating intensity, but you can't bring yourself look away from him.

"i'm not that kind of man anymore," he says, his tone serious. you look down at his lips, and before you can form a response, he kisses you.

the kiss is just as intense as the stare he'd been giving you, and it takes a moment for you to register that it's even happening. once you kiss him back, it grows into something more needy. his tongue finds its way into your mouth, and you try your hardest to suppress a whine. you reach to tangle your fingers in his hair and subtly pull his body closer to yours, while genji cups your face with his free hand, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your cheeks.

the kiss seems to go on forever, progressively becoming more sensual. you're so lost in the moment that you temporarily forget that you need to breathe. eventually, both of you pull away for air, lips slightly puffed, and eyes half-open, filled with desire.

you press one of your hands against genji's chest, the other still toying with his hair. he's slumped against you, now leaning against his elbow instead of his hand. your body is flush against his, and you can feel his hard-on pressing against you. you softly grind your hips against him, creating just enough friction to cause you both to inhale sharply.

genji looks down at you, his eyes slowly grazing over your body. he sits up, leaning back on his haunches, looking as though he was deep in thought.

"genji?"

your voice doesn't draw his attention back to your face, but he responds, brows still furrowed. "yeah?"

"touch me," you tell him, almost begging. "please."

he smirks. "sure."

he leans back over you, his face so close to yours that you can see every detail of the scars that paint his skin. the two of you stare into each others eyes, and he pushes your underwear aside without even glancing down. his human hand cups your face, and the metal one assumes its position between your legs.

the sensation of cool, smooth metal against your clit elicits a gasp from you, and genji seems hesitant. he draws his hand back, staring down at it with a forlorn expression.

"sorry," he says. "i... kind of forgot."

you reach for his wrist and pull his hand back to where it had been, shaking your head.

"no, it's fine. you don't need to apologize," you tell him. he still looks unsure, but he doesn't argue.

genji toys with your clit with expert precision, and as much as you enjoy it, your patience starts to wane. as if he can tell, he directs his attention elsewhere, carefully and almost hesitantly inserting two of his fingers into you. you whimper at the feeling, clenching around the unfamiliar texture. it's an entirely new feeling– putting metal there was never something you thought to do, nor did you ever really imagine what it would feel like– but it's good. it's obvious that genji is worried he'll hurt you, or that you won't like it, and you have what you hope will be an easy solution to his concerns.

you bite your lip, looking up at him with your best 'fuck me' eyes, and let go of the restraint you were trying to show. you didn't want to look desperate, but clearly he needed more reassurance that you wanted this– that you wanted him. a string of swear words, interrupted by panting and lewd noises, leaves your mouth, and you rut your hips against his hand, urging him to go deeper.

it seems to work. the dark look that was lingering on genji's face was replaced with a spark, and his movements become more free, no longer limited by the shackles of his insecurity. his well-earned confidence starts to shine through, and you smile in satisfaction, but only for a moment. with genji now seemingly returned to his former playboy glory, you find yourself unable to think straight, too busy writhing under his touch, crying out his name and clenching at the sheets.

"i could get used to hearing you say my name like that," genji comments, a teasing grin on his face.

oh god, please shut up, you think. it was almost as if he wanted you to fall in love with him or something, which was definitely not a part of your plan– in fact, it was the exact opposite of what you wanted.

"don't... say– fuck," you want to tell him not to say things like that, but you're overwhelmed with the feeling of your fast-approaching orgasm. what unfortunate timing. "gonna cum."

genji picks up the pace, unable to decide if he wants to look at your face or at his fingers as he pumps them in and out of you. you attempt to clench your thighs together, though genji's body blocks the action, and as you come undone, he decides the best thing for him to look at is your expression.

you squirm beneath genji, eyes squeezed shuts and knuckles turning white from the force with which you're grasping at your bedsheets. he watches carefully, taking in every minute detail of the way you look when you cum, while still fucking his fingers into you as you ride out the high of your orgasm. once you still, he slides his fingers out, the matte grey now slick and shiny. you open your eyes just in time to watch him pop his fingers in his mouth. he looks back at you through half-lidded eyes, a devious smirk on his face as he watches your already blown-out pupils widen at his actions. to add icing to the cake, he licks his lips, and suddenly you think 'wow, i'd let him do anything to me'.

"god," you mutter, shifting awkwardly. you were trying to rub your thighs together at the thoughts coursing through your mind, but genji was in the way.

you trail your eyes along his body, coming to a halt at the bulge in his joggers. you reach for the waistband of his pants, tugging them down to the middle of his thigh, but the position he was sitting in prevented you from getting them any further. genji climbs off of the mattress and yanks his pants and boxers off himself, then proceeds to do the same with your underwear. the intensity of the hunger between the two of you was so thick it was almost physical, and you can't pull your eyes away from him.

to your surprise, his dick was made of flesh. not that you had any complaints either way– it was just unexpected. you take a moment to admire him, then reach out to pull him back into the bed with you. genji resumes his position between your legs, lifting them up so that your knees are at your chest. the two of you both look down, watching in anticipation as he slides inside of you. he slowly pushes himself in farther, continuing until he bottoms out.

you both moan, almost in sync, at the sensation, and make eye contact again. genji positions his arms on either side of your head and touches his forehead to yours, staring into your eyes, as you dig your nails into his shoulder. one of your hands finds its way back to his hair, gently tugging at the spiky black tufts, keeping him as close to you as you could.

it doesn't take long for genji to find a good rhythm, his thrusts deep and and on the slower side. each movement coaxes noises out of you– his name, mostly, but a few mewls and downright pornographic-sounding moans as well. he kisses you again, lustful and passionate, and slides his hand into your hair to cradle your head. he pulls away, trailing kisses from your jawline to your collarbone, a few of which will surely leave some faint marks. you're not worried about that though– the only person who'd have the gall to comment on it was cassidy, anyways.

"you sound so pretty," he mumbles into your neck.

your breath catches in your throat at his words, and your grip on his hair tightens slightly. he sounded so so hot, it sent a shiver down your spine. "mm," is the only response you can manage.

one particular thrust hits perfectly, and you short-circuit, digging your nails deep into genji's shoulder and whimpering his name. he lifts his head to look you in the eye, his eyes honing in on your lips. his movement becomes more insistent, and he kisses you again, muffling your moans.

for the next few minutes, the only sounds in the room were that of your needy whines, genji's panting and occasional grunts, and the soft skin-on-skin contact. genji was surprisingly much more gentle than you'd anticipated, affection dripping from every action. it was enough to make you start to feel a bit of regret about the whole 'one time only' spiel, but you couldn't really focus on that when he was looking at you, and touching you, and fucking you the way he was.

with the stimulation of genji inside of you, and the way he was purring praise and sweet nothings into your ear in between the barrage of kisses, it didn't take long for you feel your climax coming up. from the way genji was beginning to become more shaky and haphazard in his movements, you could tell the same was true for him.

"genji," you whisper. "i'm gonna cum."

he hums in response, furrowing his brow. "me too."

a few seconds of silence pass, and then genji looks... lost. "uh, where should i...?"

"wherever you want," you say, not really thinking. 'inside' was the first thing that came to mind, but that felt weird to say. was it weird to ask your coworker cum inside you? yeah, probably, but it couldn't be any weirder than the fact that you were having such intimate, needy sex with your coworker in the first place, right?

genji slows down and looks at you with wide eyes. "what? no preference?"

"um, i mean," you cut yourself off, biting your lip to suppress a moan. "i was gonna say inside, but like... up to you."

"are you serious? you want me to..."

so it was weird, you think, instantly regretting that you spoke. "do whatever you want."

genji stops moving, and you let out a pitiful involuntary whine.

"i'm asking, what do you want?"

does he want me to spell it out for him? you wonder. fuck it.

"i... want you to cum in me, genji," you say, looking him in the eye with a serious expression. you ignore the fact that your cheeks are almost literally burning, and also opt to ignore the little voice in your head chastising you for being so awkward.

a choked noise escapes him, and his face turns pink. he promptly hides himself in the crook of your neck again. after a few more thrusts, you can feel the burning pleasure of your orgasm reaching its peak, prompting you to cling tightly to genji. he leans back to watch, and as you clench around him, he loses his composure as well. a soft chorus of each others' names and 'fuck' fills the room as genji fucks you through your orgasm, neither of you breaking eye contact. genji leans in for another kiss as he cums. this time is somehow even more passionate than the others, and you immediately miss him when he leans back and pulls out.

you almost let an 'i love you' slip out, but immediately realize how stupid that would be, and opt to just shut your mouth entirely instead. a silence falls over the room, with the both of you breathing heavily and casting shy glances at one another as if you didn't just have passionate, unprotected sex. genji moves first, sliding into the bed beside you and propping his head up on his hand.

this is definitely going beyond what this was supposed to be, you tell yourself, but really, you're not mad about it. sure, the plan was originally for you guys to have meaningless sex and then pretend it never happened, but that plan started to crumble almost as soon as he walked through your door. you were still worried that you were reading too far into it– maybe he was like this with everyone he slept with.

"can i... be honest with you?" he asks. you nervously look over at him, an overwhelming sense of dread filling your stomach.

"yeah, of course," you reply casually. acting calm and collected when you were pretty sure you were about to hear something you really didn't want to hear was a trait you'd quickly adapted as an overwatch agent, and damn, were you thankful for it right now.

"i... haven't been with anyone in a long time," he admits. "like... since the accident."

you stay quiet. you're unsure of what to say, and you can tell he's not done talking, anyway.

"i couldn't fathom anyone wanting to be with me, considering... you know," genji sighs and averts his eyes. "i've liked you for so long, but i didn't think you'd be interested in me at all. i'm... barely even human."

you're still quiet, trying your best to process what he's saying.

"oh, yeah, sorry. i know you said this was a one time thing, and that's fine. i just thought you should know that you treating me like a person... and making me feel wanted... it means a lot," he continues. "even if it was just sex, i enjoy being around you."

"i'm... really in over my head," you mutter, mostly to yourself. "this is really unexpected, honestly. like, all of it. everything."

genji's face falls, and you realize that you misspoke. he shifts uncomfortably and starts to sit up, obviously preparing to leave. you reach for his arm, wrapping your hand carefully around the metal.

"not unwelcome, just unexpected. i... didn't want to get feelings involved because i was sure they wouldn't be returned," you explain. "you seemed kind of unapproachable. i was taking a shot in the dark."

genji laughs a little. "i seem to give that impression. it's not really the case... or at least, not with you."

you gently pull him back to your side, holding his face in your hands and giving him a quick kiss. you can't find the words to convey the emotions you feel, so you hope that touch would suffice. he presses his forehead against yours and wraps an arm around your waist, and the two of you just lay there, basking in each others' presence. this was... an unplanned turn of events, but you were much happier with this outcome.

"hmm. so much for the whole 'no strings attached' thing, huh?" you say quietly. "looks like there's definitely strings. lots of them."

genji laughs again, and you find your heart skipping a beat at the look on his face. yeah, there were so many strings tethering this man to your heart. you wanted to tell yourself that weren't sure how exactly you ended up like this, but the moment you saw him take off his mask and show you his most well-kept secret, you knew there was much more than sexual attraction there, and that there was no going back.

"thank you," genji says, pulling you out of your trance. "for... overlooking my flaws, liking me as i am. you're truly the most beautiful person i know."

you smile at him, feeling your heart quite literally melt at the way he's looking at you.

"you're beautiful, genji," you tell him. and he was. the scars and metal that made up his body weren't flaws– they were a part of him, therefore they were beautiful, too. they weren't something you had to overlook to find him captivating, but you'd tell him all about that at another time.

#genji shimada x reader #overwatch x reader #genji x reader

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