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tommarvoloriddlesdiary · 1 year

Note

Darling can you please do

[ same age AU, Budding Dark Lord, Oblivious Harry,]

no:10 [ stop staring at him ]

With Tom Riddle looking at Harry with burning hate and loathing but to everyone else it seems he's in completely love with harry and adores him

(Basically a simp) when tom does get to know this he's affronted and in shock then the slow realization sets in that he truly does feel something for Harry , after all.

LOVE AND HATE DOES HAVE A THIN LINE .

i would love to! this was a blast, though i got a bit carried away. even more so than the last prompt 😅 and this cuts off a bit abruptly because if i had kept it going it would have been triple the length 😬 i really hope you enjoy this! and if anyone else wants to send a prompt, please feel free. you can make your own or pick from here.

“Oh no.”

Tom looked up from Draco’s copy of the Daily Prophet. Pansy had drawled the words with a derision she only saved for two things in this world; One: A new Witch Weekly fashion trend that simply wouldn’t do. And Two: Harry Potter.

Breakfast was well underway. The clattering and chattering of students digging in and delighting in the first Hogsmeade weekend of the school year had the hall alight with feverous energy. The excitement to spend the day ransacking the little wizarding village and breaking away from the now monotonous daily life that Hogwarts provided always seemed to spur on the mischievous and untoward.

Tom glanced at Pansy’s hands (holding nothing save for a fork she clutched tightly) and at the table before her (displaying simply her morning meal) and concluded that there were no Witch Weekly fashion trends to bemoan. Which meant somewhere (and more than likely too close), Harry Potter was within sight.

“Just one morning,” Pansy muttered. “Just one Merlin damned morning. That’s all I want. Some Morgana blessed peace and quiet.”

If what he thought was happening was happening, then Tom would have to agree. And if he were a lesser man, he would nod slowly in commiseration.

“Prefects Riddle and Parkinson,” Hermione Granger called from just behind Tom, her voice polite and inquiring. Her timing impeccable. “Good morning.”

Pansy’s grip on her fork somehow grew tighter, leaving her hands impressively pale. Tom carefully shifted around to look up and over his shoulder; his eyes barely met Granger’s before landing on Potter’s.

Tom did not like Harry Potter. He constantly felt like he was on eggshells around him, especially after that incident two years ago. Potter hadn’t said anything at the time, but Tom was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. He hadn’t taken Potter as someone who would hold his cards close until the right possible moment, but he always seemed to surprise Tom in unexpected ways. Potter was a living, breathing menace.

“Prefects Potter and Granger,” Tom’s voice was smooth and quiet under the noise of the hall. “To what do we owe the visit?”

Tom could make a few educated guesses. Although, it was rare for any Gryffindor Prefects to make their way over to Slytherin territory. They tended to avoid crossing the hall like the plague, feeling much safer and stronger when approached versus approaching. Very un-lion like, if one were to ask Tom. So, with such a rare occurrence, it was more than likely that a professor had requested something of them.

Granger cleared her throat, and Tom stopped glaring at Potter long enough to acknowledge her properly. “Professor McGonagall requested that we pair off for Hogsmeade duties. Given Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw’s poor handling of last year’s final weekend, she suggests we divide our pairs with one prefect from each house.”

Suggests, in McGonagall’s speech, typically meant insists. Pansy clearly caught on to this as well because she protested vehemently, swinging her fork like a weapon, “There is no way I’m going to waste my Hogsmeade weekend patrolling it with one of you two Gryffindorks! I’d rather take a bombarda to the face!”

And though Pansy was often times overdramatic to a fault, Tom could see the appeal of that. With her by-the-book attitude, Granger would ideally be a good fit for Tom’s Prefect Persona, but they often butted heads over the most minor things. Tom’s goals were always self-oriented, and when presented with a good enough bribe resulting in excellent blackmail or a chance to have someone ingratiated with him, he would almost always rather that than hand out proper punishment. He couldn’t do that with Granger hovering around. And Potter was Potter.

Potter’s brows rose at Pansy’s little teardown, “Parkinson, you would have had to patrol no matter what. If that means by yourself or with one of us, what’s the big difference?”

“The big difference?! Obviously, just being near you two breaks me out into hives—“

Granger interrupted with a put-out sigh, “It’s just for the morning! Until we are relieved by Macmillan, Abbott, Goldstein, and Patil during lunch, it’s not like we’re spending all day together.”

“Yeah, Parkinson,” Potter smiled teasingly, “It’s not like you’re going on a date with us.”

Tom glanced back at Pansy when she didn’t respond with scathing and cruel words as he had expected. Instead, she was bright red and nearly vibrating with anger. Tom nodded once, “If Professor McGonagall expects this of us, we’ll do it.”

And when Pansy opened her mouth, no doubt to protest further, Tom frowned slightly and watched as she immediately snapped her mouth shut, going pale again. “Right. Yes, of course. Tom is right, obviously.”

“There,” Tom dawned his most charming and careless grin, “it’s settled, then.” He paused, considering. Granger would be a hassle to patrol with, and Potter is someone Tom wants to choke to death, but maybe there was a way to turn this inconvenience into an opportunity.

If he could get something on Potter, something of equal value to what Potter had on Tom, then perhaps he could gain an edge, and they would, at the very least, be at a stalemate. So, Tom continued, “Granger, why don’t you and Pansy patrol the north end of Hogsmeade while Potter and I take the south? We’ll meet in the middle by lunch and wait for our replacements.”

Tom watched Granger and Potter share a glance that spoke of too many things and nothing all at once. He could make out a healthy dose of confusion and surprise, but there was a long history of shared glances and a secret language that Tom wasn’t privy to that kept him out of the loop.

“Sure,” Potter nodded and replied for her. He looked back at Tom and smiled softly, “Let us know when you’re done with breakfast.” And Tom couldn’t help but think that Potter should wear a bag over his head. To hide his ugly scheming face from the world, of course.

Tom’s answering smile was strained but enough for Granger and Potter to take their leave. He turned back in his seat to find Pansy’s head buried in her arms and her plate pushed away but not far enough for a few strands of her dark hair to be spared of egg yolk.

“How could you do this to us, Tom?” Pansy muffled into her sleeves, sounding stricken and betrayed.

“Pull yourself together, Parkinson. You can make nice with Granger for one morning.”

She peered over her arms and glared. Tom watched her hesitate, debating her next words before she threw caution to the wind and mumbled, “I’m sure you’ll just love making nice with Potter.”

Tom was ready to dismiss the comment, but there was something about the implications and her undertone that made him pause. Before he could ask, Draco fell into the seat beside him, “Was that Potter and Granger I saw walking away from the table? What did they want?”

Pansy shot up, overjoyed to have someone to rant further with. “They wanted to ruin the peace and sanctity of MY precious Hogsmeade weekend, of course! Tom and I have to patrol in pairs with them because McGonagall clearly has a death wish for her little Gryffindors.”

“What,” Draco scoffed. “Absolutely not. Tell me you said no.”

“I didn’t have a choice. Tom agreed for us.”

Tom sighed, “Say it with any more resentment, Pansy dear, and I’ll think you’re truly upset with me. You act like this is how I wished to spend the day.” And that was another worry; Tom pondered while Draco tried to steal his Prophet back from Tom’s grip. He did have errands to run in Hogsmeade today, and he doubted Potter would be willing to tag along. Even if Tom went about his business casually, Potter might still catch on to what he was planning with the items he needed, which was far too great a risk.

Pansy whined, “How can I believe you when you threw me to Granger faster than Potter can catch a snitch?”

Draco dropped his hand and whipped his head from Pansy to Tom twice over. “Oh, Merlin. Is it happening? Is it finally happening?”

“Don’t act so excited, Draco,” Pansy sniffed, “It’s happening at my expense. I am a casualty in this.”

Tom’s brows furrowed for a moment. Was he missing something? “Is what happening?”

“You’re finally confessing your love for Potter,” Draco and Pansy announced in jarring unison. They said it like it was a fact, like it was obvious.

Tom, blindsided, could only say, “What?”

“You’ve been obsessed with him for years,” Draco carried on, as-you-please. “You stare at him all the time, sit near him during classes, and partner with him during Defence practicals,” He listed off all of Tom’s alleged habits one by one on his fingers, “You mutter about him constantly—I sometimes catch you doing it when you sleep—and whenever he finds a good enough reason to ask you something, you bend over backwards to comply.”

Tom did no such thing. That is ridiculous. So, he said as much, “That is ridiculous. I do no such thing.”

Pansy rolled her eyes, “You’re ridiculous.”

Tom’s answering glare was enough to turn a man to stone and Pansy to a quick escape. “Anyway!” She shouted, “Let’s just get going! We’ll grab Potter and Granger and make our way to the village.” She muttered at the end, “I’m sure this won’t be awkward at all.”

She jumped out of her seat and walked to the end of the table to wait for Tom with a surprising amount of patience. Draco just shook his head and sighed, “And here I thought you were making some progress.”

Tom turned slowly to look at Draco head-on. He smiled a perfectly pleasant and sinister thing, “Draco. It would be wise not to let your mouth undo the years of work you’ve done to prove your usefulness.” He stood up and carefully folded the Prophet, finally passing it back.

Draco accepted it green-faced and wide-eyed, “I’ll be mindful of that.”

“Excellent.” Tom excused himself and followed Pansy to the Gryffindor table. He couldn’t believe she and Draco thought Potter was someone Tom was…infatuated with. How could they not see Tom’s apparent disdain and loathing for him? How could they mistake Tom’s clearly coerced actions in an attempt to keep Potter from revealing Tom’s secret for some misguided want to please him?

What was there to like about Potter anyway? Tom wondered as Pansy said, “Chop chop! Let’s go, losers. Breakfast is over, and I don’t want to get trampled by the morning rush down to the village.”

The Gryffindors around Granger and Potter all looked at their housemates with various forms of pity. Then, Weasley laughed, “Yeah, Parkinson. No one would want that.” And his sarcasm was met with poorly muffled giggles.

“Ron,” Granger chastised and stood along with Potter. “Yes, yes. Let’s go. We have to make sure the third-years don’t wander.”

Granger naturally kept a quick pace, leaving Tom, Potter, and Pansy trailing after her. Pansy dragged her feet so she lingered even further behind, and Tom carefully kept stride with Potter while they all walked out of the Great Hall.

Tom took in Potter’s face with a close inspection. He supposed his earlier remarks of Potter’s ugliness weren’t exactly founded. Objectively, Potter had a sort of boyish handsomeness. Not at all like Tom’s more classic handsome with features sharp and forever in vogue. No, Potter was a little softer. A strong jaw without it being cutting, pronounced but not overly so cheekbones, a long mouth and full lips that were in a perpetual state of dryness…

Tom felt an odd stirring in his chest and disregarded it.

So. Potter wasn’t ugly. His dark hair and green eyes indeed lent a hand as well. Tom supposed that was something to like about Potter. Objectively. Subjectively for some, but not for Tom.

When Tom tore his eyes away from Potter to glance at their other two companions, Pansy’s look of utter despair and Granger’s quiet amusement felt like an omen. And when they reached the main doors, the brisk autumn air greeted them with an overbearing familiarity.

Potter hunched his shoulders at the cold, smiling. “Chilly today,” he said.

Granger sighed like an overworked mother of two and started rifling through her beaded bag. She frowned when it became apparent that whatever she sought wasn’t there, “Oh. Sorry, Harry. I thought I brought a scarf, but I must have left it in the dormitory.”

“It’s alright, Hermio-“ Potter cut himself off and glanced down at his hands in surprise.

Tom tucked away his wand and carelessly continued walking. “We’re wizards; I do hope you remember.”

Pansy snorted inelegantly and jogged lightly to catch up to Tom. She gave him an impressed look and two thumbs up before damning herself to hell for all eternity, “Nice one, Tom. Potter’s bound to fancy you back with all the suave chivalry.”

Behind them, Tom could hear Potter and Granger exchanging soft words. “Pansy. Stop talking,” he hissed. This was getting absurd.

Pansy shrugged but walked silently down to Hogsmeade for the rest of their journey. And when it was time to split apart, Granger and Pansy waving—or, rather, flipping them off from Pansy—as they set off to the northern parts of the village, the leftover silence between Tom and Potter turned…awkward.

That was the only word Tom could describe it with. Awkward. He immediately cursed Pansy for jinxing it earlier. Tom was decidedly never awkward about anything, having drilled out any sort of gracelessness or inconvenient feelings long ago. But after briefly exploring Potter’s objective handsomeness, suddenly being alone with him felt awkward.

“So, Riddle,” Potter began, saving them from the disquiet, “how’s your start of term been going?”

Tom had no idea where Potter was going with this and felt on edge. But he responded, “Well. And yours?”

“Yeah, no, it’s been good,” Potter nodded a little too quickly. His lashes fluttered with his roaming eyes. Eyes that were looking anywhere and everywhere except at Tom.

Potter had a small beauty mark at the curl of his jaw just beside his—

Stop staring at him. Tom reprimanded his own eyes. Once again catching himself paying too close attention to Potter’s face. He focused on surveying the village.

Their patrolling took them through the sparse beginnings of the morning Hogsmeade rush; the laughter of students and carefree happiness of the townsfolk provided a charming scene to the golden autumn backdrop. Tom was struck with the realisation that his goal of finding Potter’s secrets wouldn’t be met if they continued on silent—but…there was something rather companionable about all of this.

And now that Tom was spiralling down that thought path, he was caught off guard by how simply…nice…this was. He had thought Potter would be annoying, rambunctious, and generally disagreeable, but the reality turned out to be quite the opposite. Potter’s quiet enjoyment of their surroundings was like a magnet, and Tom felt himself slowly gravitating towards it.

“Riddle, do you mind if we stop by Honeydukes?” Potter asked, perking up at the sight of the sweet shop just ahead.

Tom was ready to disagree, not because he didn’t want Potter to shop—actually, it would be a great benefit if Potter did shop, just so Tom could suggest they go to some of the places he wanted to visit as well—but because he didn’t want to deal with the large crowds of students intending to stockpile their sweets to last until the next Hogsmeade weekend. Tom supposed this is what he got for finding pleasure in another’s company.

But while Tom was still weighing the pros and cons of saying yes, they had already arrived, and Potter had taken his silence as consent, entering the shop with practised ease. Evading crowding bodies left and right. Tom sighed and followed carefully, having decided he’d rather have Potter nearby and within sight than the opposite.

Potter selected a few candies, prattling on about who preferred what from his little group of friends. It only occurred to Tom that Potter hadn’t seemed to be getting anything for himself when Potter had asked, “Would you like anything?”

Tom blinked twice in quick succession, “Pardon?”

“Do you have a favourite sweet? Anything you’d like?”

Did…did Tom have a favourite sweet? Was Potter being serious? “Why?”

“Just offering,” Potter shrugged but waited. He stared at Tom with a ready patience. It seemed as though Tom would be answering, or they would be trapped here forever.

This is another thing, Tom thought, that one could possibly like about Potter. He was alarmingly kind towards others. Offering, gifting, teaching, helping—Tom had seen Potter do all these things and more. Yet, Tom had dismissed it as a weakness, a foolish pandering that made Potter less than.

But held in the steady gaze Potter had laid upon him, Tom felt that, if it truly were a weakness, Potter wouldn’t look so strong and self-assured at this moment. An answer slipped out of Tom unbidden, “White Chocolate Skulls.”

Potter’s face turned fascinated, his eyes widened behind his wireframes, and his mouth fell open ever so slightly. “White Chocolate Skulls? Riddle, do you have a sweet tooth?”

Tom nearly bristled, “I do not have a sweet tooth.”

“I beg to differ,” Potter smiled like he was holding back a laugh. “White chocolate is the sweetest chocolate they make,” he shook his head and continued, walking further into the shop and towards the Skulls, “I really would’ve pegged you as a Licorice Snap kinda guy.”

Tom made a face, and Potter caught the look and couldn’t hold himself back any longer. His pearling laughter caused a few heads to turn, and Tom strung tight like a bow at the sudden urge to smuggle Potter away, to keep his laughter only for Tom’s ears—

Tom paused. That was a strong reaction. He breathed through it while he picked apart what exactly was going on.

Did he like Potter? Did Tom like him enough to want to keep Potter all to himself? And had he been so obvious that Pansy and Draco had known for years and he hadn’t?

Tom had an unsettling feeling that this could all be traced back to the incident from two years ago and refused to look any further into it.

#tomarry #tomarrymort #harrymort #pov: tom #my fic #3k words #prompt ask #this went everywhere and nowhere #i really might come back to it #finish it up and post it on ao3 maybe?#maybe i should make a series on ao3 for the prompt asks #i am once again unsure if this will meet expectations 😭#but there are a lot of silly lines that make me laugh in this one

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magnus-rhymes-with-swagness · 6 months

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Fandom: Simon Snow

Day 1: Creature

Rating: General

Summary: Agatha decides to host a Goat Extravaganza as a way to heal from the war. Her friends are happy to help.

@carryon-countdown has started can i get a hell yeah

#carry on countdown #coc 2023 #agatha wellbelove #simon snow trilogy #simon snow series #carry on #co/ws/awtwb #my words #my writing #i have a bunch of coc fics from last year that didn't get posted that i'm reworking slightly to fit this year's prompts #and this is one of them!#this is scheduled btw i am So Busy 😭

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urwendii · 6 months

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I had hurt and angry feelings to process so here's a snippet of Morgoth not being nice with Mairon. Timeline: After Arien's capture by Gothmog, around YT 1496 (before the coming of Fëanor and co in Beleriand) tw: mention of past assault / abusive relationship / emotional manipulation / Melkor being Morgoth

"You get to choose Mairon, stay by my side and have all the freedom you once craved, show me your renewed diligence and loyalty. Or further pay the consequences of your disappointing betrayal."

Melkor dragged an ashy finger against his dirtied cheek, "Make your choice, my Precious." But even as he said it, his hand came to grasp Mairon's face, sharp nails burying in the skin and reopening earlier wounds then forced him to look up at the Dark Vala. Where was once ambition and majesty in those mesmerising eyes had now faded away to make room for a perpetual gleam of madness.

Melkor's immense power seemed to be consuming his mind now, dragging the Vala deeper into a state of wasting nihilism.

It broke Mairon's heart.

"I.." Mairon considered his next words with caution, his initial instincts, the ones made of an Age spent in fear, anxiety and horrendous guilt kept his mind reeling at the prospect of remaining in Angband. The images of Arien's assault by his lover threatened the fragile grasp on his own sanity and he shoved them away, deep in the darkest corner of his mind.

But his Oath, carved through his spirit tugged and pushed back against the mere idea of abandoning Melkor.

Melkor's fingers tightened against his bruised cheeks, eliciting a half gasp of pain, and Mairon knew there was no real way for him to walk back to Aman. Not alive. Not wounded beyond even the skills of Estë.

There was no way back for him, only that which kept him by Melkor's side. As a Lieutenant, the mockery of a half-willing lover or merely a prisoner, he knew not. Something seemed to flicker in Melkor's eyes, a gleeful realisation that Mairon would not refuse him again. And as he felt his own heart dissolved into ashes and burnt remnants, Mairon let out a quiet reaffirmation of his Oath.

"Good." Melkor smiled then, sharp teeth glittering in the dingy darkness of the cell. "We have much to do. Go clean up and meet me in the war room." Without awaiting for any answer, the Dark Vala walked out of the cell, leaving Mairon to crumple on the bloodied floor.

#serie: airă'nár #dark angbang #not tagging people in this one since its a bit darker #i wrote 3.4k words today between all the prompts and working on atfb non chronologically #theres an actual dead dove scene but im not posting that part (well i ll post it for DDD in 2 weeks)#anyway >>>> goes back crying

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greenvillainredemption · 1 year

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Wdtajn has been great for getting out of my current long-ass-multichapter-writing monotony woooo

#encanto #I guess when I’m stuck in the angst it’s good to get into a comedic one shot #I’m doing a 4 chapter thing where each chapter is a one shot #I kinda feel like I should’ve done that for encantober instead of making them completely separate stories under the series or collection #category or whatever #maybe I’ll reformat those. I did only do three iirc #I would like to do more one shots but I never have any ideas that won’t turn into multichapters #I think I did like...one random one shot that wasn’t part of any prompt or challenge thing #my words

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finalfronticr · 5 months

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TAG DUMP !

#ic 𓆩⟡𓆪 original series #ic 𓆩⟡𓆪 post five year #ic 𓆩⟡𓆪 admiralty #ic 𓆩⟡𓆪 academy years #ic 𓆩⟡𓆪 crossover verse #hang on tight and survive 𓆩⟡𓆪 prompts #there's no such thing as the unknown 𓆩⟡𓆪 starter calls #a little suffering is good for the soul 𓆩⟡𓆪 banter #i don't believe in the no win scenario 𓆩⟡𓆪 starters #we're human ; and maybe that's the word that best explains us 𓆩⟡𓆪 musings #captain's log 𓆩⟡𓆪 answered asks #no ; this is not off the record ! 𓆩⟡𓆪 crack #where no one has gone before 𓆩⟡𓆪 threads #without freedom of choice there is no creativity 𓆩⟡𓆪 promos #we prefer to help ourselves 𓆩⟡𓆪 self promos #you either believe in yourself or you don't 𓆩⟡𓆪 visage #beauty . . survives 𓆩⟡𓆪 visuals #most legends have their basis in fact 𓆩⟡𓆪 dash commentary #all i ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by 𓆩⟡𓆪 relationship ; the enterprise #heal thyself ; physician 𓆩⟡𓆪 relationship ; bones #the needs of the one outweighed the needs of the many 𓆩⟡𓆪 relationship ; spock

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wavesmp3 · 5 months

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no one told me abt roar

#haven’t liked a tbz comeback in a while but woof that song I like #wish I was there for the promotion of it mmmm #the ra ta ta part is just sooooo pleasing to me #plus the studio choom styling has me thinking about pirate juyeon or something along those lines #and that one move right at thr end of trh chorus #esppp the way changmin does it !!!!! so good #I don’t really care for the dance break but do what you must for that check #anyways now that I’m here I’ve been toying around with the idea of doing like a writing challenge of some sort #I feel like I need more writing practice because I’m really not where I used to be with it #like a series of prompts to write something short off of #but I don’t want the prompts to be too vague to the point where I don’t push myself at all #hmmm maybe I’ll make my own list of prompts #like make reader feel x emotion and then use that to build of off if that makes sense #like that one spy vernon drabble sha did ages ago #that was like make me feel this way in 500 words #hmmmmmm #just some thoughts I was having #me.txt

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written-by-ariddletobesolved · 2 years

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One word prompt: coldness ❄

hi, sorry it took a long time for me to get back at your prompt, but here it is finally. I hope this one suits your liking. this one sets in the "What if?" Universe 👀

to everyone who has sent me some asks, please be patient as I am certainly taking time in writing them as well as balancing my rl schedule. okie, without further ado, let's get to the story!

—

One Word Prompt 16 — Coldness

Hans feels numb, frozen perhaps, more mentally than physically. Never did he think that he would eventually fall for the future queen. Truly, madly, deeply. He feels like a fool, losing on his own game that only he knows the rules of. He has one job: to gain the trust of the reigning monarchs of Arendelle, God rests their souls, so that he can secure his place in the family and be a worthy match for the Crown Princess. Falling in love with her is never on the list, but there he is.

Sitting in silence and wrapped in his winter coat, Hans leans back against the cold wall. Across from him is the queen regent, still having her face buried into her arms, which are resting on her propped knees. Her shoulders are raising and falling more steadily now, although he can still hear her sobs once in a while. His green eyes burn holes on her platinum blonde hair, making most of this chance to project his anger for making him feel that way.

Sympathy, is that what it’s called? He isn’t sure anymore.

He is not one to feel emotions, especially since he has been trained to not feel any when he grew up. At least, that was before he met Elsa.

Gosh, he resents her for it, for the feeling that’s plaguing his heart and his head. He will never forget what she has done to him. She has turned his world upside down, introducing him to the world full of hope and selflessness. Pretty ironic, since her parents seem to teach her to conceal her feelings and not feel; to focus on herself first and control her emotions. Hans fully supports that method, but for some reason it doesn’t apply to Elsa. Perhaps it’s because, unlike him, Elsa has never been expected to repress her feelings since the day she was born.

Hans frowns, darting his attention about the room. Snowflakes hang in the air, as if suspended by time, cold and unmoving. The floor and the wallpaper are coated with frosts and spikes to ice, with the spot she is currently occupying turns into an icy throne. His green gaze softens at the mess she has made earlier after Kai came interrupting their library date with the devastating news. She exploded, the temperature dropped so fast that Hans had no choice but to exit the room to fetch his winter coat. Why he decided to come back and stay with her, in a good distance, he doesn’t know. It seems like it’s just another side effect from having known her for months: to make him do something he doesn’t even know the reason for.

So, is this love?

The prince has to hold an urge to scoff when that thought crosses his mind. He hates realising how vulnerable he can be. Closing his eyes, briefly, he lets out a sigh. He wants to run away if he can, and maybe that way he can be himself again, selfish and unfeeling. He almost forgets how freeing it was when he wasn’t feeling so attached to something or someone. He eventually scoffs, it sounds so sharp it breaks the silence, and Hans has become more self aware. He slowly looks across the room, expecting her to glance at him with her big blue eyes that are full of wonder, but instead, he is greeted by her soft snoring. Elsa has fallen asleep.

Letting out a sigh, Hans gets up. He approaches her sleeping form, which looks like the most uncomfortable position to sleep in, his footsteps very light as if he has been trained to do it for years. The closer he gets to her body, the colder it feels, and even when he is dressed in his winter coat, Hans can still feel her coldness. His breathing hitches.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders and placing the other underneath her calves, he then gently carries her. Her head weakly tilts upwards and he can finally see her face up close. He notices her furrowed eyebrows, down to the very faint freckles dusting her face that can only be seen from a very close distance, and eventually he notices the dried tears on her cheeks. His gaze falls to her mauve lips, pressed firmly into a thin line, and he can feel himself gulp.

This is a very, very dangerous game that I’m playing.

Hans makes his way towards her bed and puts her down so delicately. He takes off her shoes and tucks her in under the blanket. Even though he knows that she is immune to the cold, he still does it out of decency. Once he is sure that Elsa is comfortable, he takes a step back, but before he can turn to leave, she grabs his hand.

“Hans?”

It almost sounds like a whimper coming out of her mouth, and he can almost feel his heart clench at that sound. Her eyes remain closed and Hans wonders if she is having a dream, and that it will be fine if he just pretends he didn’t hear her the first time and leaves. But against his better judgement, he decides to stay.

“Yes?” He croaks, feeling his throat suddenly dry. He grabs her hand and takes a seat on the bed.

“Can you stay?” She murmurs.

Hans feels overwhelmed all of the sudden. His lower lip quivers, and he tries to gather himself together. That feeling hits him with a force, slapping him in the face and flooding his heart with that familiar warmth he desperately tries to get rid of to no avail. He gives her gloved hand a little squeeze, and mutters a quick,

“Yes.”

Hans doesn’t trust himself with words. He fears he won’t be able to stop himself from being irrational. Gone is the anger and resentment he has towards her, his defence mechanism crumbling down. Nobody else has ever made him feel that way, aside from Elsa.

Elsa makes him feel like he is needed, like he is someone very important. She makes him feel seen, offering him a listening ear to his stories. She gives him a purpose, making him feel useful in the process. He doesn’t know how or when it started, but one thing he is certain of: somewhere along the line, between him plotting to get the crown and her trying to comfort him whenever he tells her about his life back in the Southern Isles he has fallen in love with her—her warm smile, her big cerulean eyes, her coldness.

Oh, her coldness—he yearns for it, he craves it so painfully. He wonders if he will feel it in her kisses or the touch of her bare hands against his skin. His grip on her hand tightens, before he lifts it so that he can press a kiss over her knuckles slowly, as if he wants her to feel his touch, his attempt at reassurance.

Looking back, he notices that Elsa gazes at him so intently. She flashes him a small smile that’s enough to make his heart beat faster. Hans returns her smile, this time genuinely. Now, it’s probably best to allow himself to fall, and he does.

#helsa #helsa fanfiction #elsa x hans #iceburns #prince hans #queen elsa #frozen #one word prompt series #mary's writing #ariddletobesolved

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chuluoyi · 6 months

Text

✎ wife

- gojo satoru x reader

in which the new batch of first years are unaware that their eccentric teacher's wife is the pretty woman roaming the school grounds

genre: fluff, crack, gojo being a silly little menace as always, yuji and nobara are confused, an attempt at humor, lovesick gojo, mention of breastfeeding

note: it’s so silly but i had fun writing this! based on a request by anon (thank you!) but i tweaked it a bit and partly inspired by this fanart. reader is also a teacher at jujutsu high and has a baby with gojo—loosely a continuation of protect

a part of gojo's love entries

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

"Take that off immediately!"

"Kyaaah~! Yuji is here, you pervert!"

Yuji was a laughing mess. Megumi and Nobara collectively sighed. Nanami attempted to retrieve his once-immaculate suit, now a crumpled mess, from the one and only Gojo Satoru, who found humor in stealing his signature attire and impersonating the stern-faced Nanami in front of his fresh batch of first years.

"He is incorrigible," Nobara grumbled, her eyes slitting. They said that he was a strong sorcerer, possibly the strongest there was, but she found it really hard to believe.

Megumi threw her a deadpan stare. With many years of putting up with this kind of antics under his belt, he pitied her for not knowing that this was far from the worst. "Yeah, he is."

"How does anyone ever put up with him?"

That was actually a good question. "We don't..." Megumi paused, recalling each and every occasion where he tried to do so. "His wife is probably the only one who can."

Nobara sputtered, spinning towards him. "What the—wife? That annoying man has an actual, living, breathing wife?"

"Who? Gojo-sensei?" Yuji chimed in, jumping into the conversation, leaving the supposedly two adults in their catfight. Nanami was still clawing to get his suit back, and Gojo continued to giggle and evade him, playfully running away.

Nobara scoffed. "I bet the woman just married him for the money. He comes from prestigious clan, yes? That must be it."

Yuji felt his eyes would pop out of its sockets. "What are you talking about, Kugisaki!? What woman—"

"Shut up, Itadori! Don't be too loud!"

Nobara and Yuji's unharmonious ruckus irritated Megumi to the bone, and he decided that the best course of action now was to leave them all in the dust. With a glare and a shake of his head, he stalked away.

And thus the two new first years were left with half-truths that would lead them into a major misadventure later that day—

—which happened when they spotted Nanami with you, whom they were still unfamiliar with.

They were convinced that Gojo’s wife must be some sort of boring tramp eyeing his wealth and not this positively radiant, mature woman, and so ruling that possibility out, they positively swooned at the sight before them.

"He's irresponsible, egotistical—" snippets of Nanami's frustrated words conveyed enough to paint a picture of Gojo's character. He was definitely ranting about Gojo to you.

"Is that Nanamin's wife?" Yuji mused, a hint of pink tinting his cheeks. "She is so pretty..."

"They... look cute together," Nobara hummed with dreamy eyes, and then looked at Yuji sharply. "And yes, she's indeed pretty, but know your place, Itadori!"

"I know!"

Based on how the two of you interacted, they concluded that you must have been close, with the way Nanami visibly relaxed around you, and not as formal as he was with anyone else. They highly suspected that the two of you were married, as you wore a ring, which was the ultimate sign.

"And how's the baby?" Nanami asked then, directing the question to you with a smile on his face, prompting surprised gasps from both Yuji and Nobara.

You were glowing, to say the least, and when you let out a small giggle at his question, even both students couldn't miss the way your expression exuded pure happiness. "He is well. Ah, I really wanted to bring him along too, but he was a little messy after eating so I left him at home. You can see him later…"

Yuji gaped. "So it's true..."

"Oh my gosh... and they have a baby." Nobara almost squealed.

And that sealed it. The headline of the day: Nanami is married to this stunning woman wandering the school grounds.

So imagine their utter shock when the second time they found you, you were with Gojo, and he was shamelessly snogging you in the hallway.

“Why are you here?” Gojo was breathless after the soul-sucking kiss he smothered you. His tone remained playful yet carried a clear undertone of concern. "You're still on maternity leave. I'll make sure Yaga knows that."

“Satoru,” you whined, and the use of his given name made Yuji and Nobara gasp in disbelief. “I’m perfectly okay and I don’t need to breastfeed anymore. I should start getting back to work.”

Nobara seemed to finally understand the implication. But Yuji didn’t. His mind flitting from one scandalous idea to another—

Gojo-sensei seducing Nanamin’s wife? Nanamin’s wife cheating on him with Gojo-sensei?

In the brief period he spent with Gojo, Yuji realized that he didn't exactly have a reputation for decency. So despite himself, he could only muster up this one word: “Homewrecker. Homewrecker!”

Yuji’s shriek took all three of you by surprise, and now both you and Gojo were aware of his presence.

“You absolute idiot,” Nobara hissed, face-palming.

“Oh, Yuji? Nobara?” Gojo genially asked, his concern towards you quickly dissolved into a meaningful smirk on his face. “And what do you mean by—?”

Yuji yelped. “You! You are! You’re trying to seduce Nanamin’s wife!”

Silence. Gojo’s eyes twitched beyond his blindfold. You blinked. Nobara wanted to save herself from the second-hand embarrassment. And his loud voice caught the attention of Megumi too, who was close by.

“You seem to be mistaken. First of all, Nanami isn’t married,” Gojo said with a strained voice, maintaining his smile. He then gestured at you, showing you off with pride. “And this here, is my wife.”

“Y-your wife?!” Yuji exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger. “H-how?! I saw her with Nanamin! Talking about a baby—”

“That would be my baby.”

“But how?!”

“Yuji, do you want me to give you a crash course in baby-making—”

“Satoru!”

You sent him a glare and turned to the young first years with a smile. "You must be the new first years? I’m Y/N, and I’m in charge of the second years.” You gestured towards your husband. “And please, ignore most things he says. He’s a bit crass, and if you ever feel he's harassed you, don't hesitate to report it to me."

“Wifey! How could you!”

“Shut up, Satoru! You’re embarrassing yourself!”

“What are you doing here?” Megumi inquired with a deep frown, getting between Yuji and Nobara as they stared at Gojo in total bewilderment.

Yuji exclaimed in disbelief, pointing at you. “Fushiguro! Gojo-sensei’s wife is a beauty!”

“…I know that already.”

Nobara whipped her head towards him. "You knew?! Since when?!"

“They… took me in.”

“THEY WHAT?!”

Gojo grinned at their chorus of surprise. “And what a fine boy he turns out to be, eh?”

Megumi scowled, but Gojo wasn’t bothered at all. If anything, what offended him was—

"What makes you think my dear wife here belongs to Nanami instead of me?" he joked with a mock scoff, earning an eye roll from you.

Nobara and Yuji blurted out their thoughts simultaneously.

“They look good together?”

“Nanamin is dependable?”

Gojo gasped dramatically, one hand flying to his mouth. "So, not only do I not look good with her, but I also don't seem dependable enough?" He turned to you with the most aghast expression. “Tell me that isn’t true—”

You shot him a withering look, deadpanning, “Actually, you might be.”

And Gojo clutched his chest, letting out an anguished cry.

Epilogue

“Satoru… come on, you know I was joking.”

Your dramatic ass of a husband had his head on your lap, hugging your torso tight. The pout on his face hadn’t faded a bit ever since he was done with his class, and now on your marital bed, he was clinging to you with all of his might.

He shook his head petulantly, clicking his tongue. “You’ve embarrassed me in front of my students. You’re so mean!”

You sighed. “I’m sure you have made a fool out of yourself far often. This is insignificant.”

“Hmph! How could you say that?! I don't care if it's me, but I can't believe that it's coming from you! I shower you with my undivided love each and every day!”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Somehow seeing him like this made your heart lurch. He reminded you so much of your baby boy who was sleeping right in the next room that you couldn't resist smiling and pinching his cheeks.

“Okay, okay. My husband is handsome, looks good with me and definitely someone I can rely on,” you relented, and like a lightbulb going off, Satoru suddenly beamed so wide that you were certain his cheeks hurt.

“That’s more like it! Now, now, there’s only one way that can prove how responsible I am! Let me just fill you up with another baby—”

You smacked him on the head.

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skzdarlings · 2 months

Text

the ride ; skz ; chan x reader

original ask: requested by @rosequartsz : chan with the prompt ❛ i want to fuck you so badly. ❜ like the reader is the same age as jeongin so chan kinda feels bad but at the same time he wants to corrupt the reader so bad cushsisjsis

original ask: requested by anonymous : Chan and ❛ please. make me feel good. no one else can like you. ❜ ❛ have a little trust in yourself, i know you can take it. ❜

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: friends to lovers, chan is a little older than reader, reader is not actually that innocent but pretends to be and they both get off on it lol. some not very safe driving lol keep ur eyes on the road. car sex, dirty talk, teasing, corruption play, puuuuure smut. word count: 2400 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy!

“That’s not fair,” Jeongin says. “I called dibs.”

“Too bad.” You stick your tongue out at him. “Learn to run faster, loser.”

Jeongin scowls, once more relegated to the backseat of Chan’s car. You are sitting pretty in the passenger seat for the fourth day in a row and Jeongin is playfully annoyed about it.

You and your twin brother have been racing into Chan’s car since high school. You are both at university now, but Chan still offers the occasional lift. With storm season making public transit a bigger hassle than it’s worth, Chan has been offering more rides.

Just because of the weather. Not any other reason. Of course.

You smirk, casting a side-glance into the driver’s seat. Chan is smiling at Jeongin through the rearview mirror, looking less like Channie, the boy of your teenage fantasies, and more like Bang Chan, the man of your adult dreams. He is wearing a baseball cap and leather jacket, his whole demeanour oozing an effortless masculinity, the bearing of a competent man who knows he can do anything.

And still, despite his well-earned cockiness, he has an undoubtedly shy side. When he looks at you, the tips of his ears flame an embarrassed, fiery red, and his dimpled smile is almost boyish in its sweetness.

“Right then,” he says. Then, like the endearingly cheesy goofball he is, he adds, “All aboard, ready for takeoff!”

“Jeongin,” you say, blinking innocently at your twin through the mirror. “You have your presentation notes, right? You don’t want to forget them.”

Jeongin double-checks his bag but you already know he won’t find them. You deliberately took them out and placed them on the kitchen counter.

“Damn,” he says, quickly unbuckling his seatbelt. “I thought I put them in here. Sorry, I’ll be right back.”

Jeongin practically flies out of the car and up the driveway, leaving you and Chan. It happens quickly, before Chan can even compute it. You can see the gears turning in his head, but you are faster, sighing melodramatically while gathering the hem of your skirt.

“Silly boy,” you say. “What should we do while he’s gone?” You draw your skirt up your thighs just enough to tease the skin of your upper thighs.

Chan is staring there with his mouth open, his words evaporating on his tongue. He clears his throat after a second, ripping his gaze away. He looks across the dashboard and laughs, a shy, awkward laugh.

“Your brother will be back in a second,” Chan says. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, yeah?”

He is white-knuckling the steering wheel, like all his restraint is being poured into that physical grip. Even so, it is not hard to pry his hand off the wheel. You know a stronger, more belligerent shove could not bend a determined Bang Chan, but the softest touch from your gentle hands will have him breaking in seconds.

You are slow, casual despite your racing heart, guiding his hand onto your knee. He makes a little noise that turns your whole body to pure, liquid heat. You make a similar sound, a faint whimper in the back of your throat, as you slide his hand up your thigh.

“Channie,” you say, your too-sweet, too-innocent voice part of your acting, but your breathlessness undoubtedly real.

“Don’t—” His voice breaks and he clears his throat. “Don’t say my name like that. You know—”

“What do I know, Channie?” you ask, blinking at him with wide eyes while you curl his fingers around your thigh. You bring your legs together, holding his hand between them.

He visibly swallows, throat bobbing. The redness has spread from his ears down his neck.

“We’ve talked about this, baby girl,” he says, his tone stricter, taking on that darker edge that makes your heart – and everything else – gush. “We’ve been good so far, okay?” If stolen kisses, open zippers, and groping touches count as good. “You’re my – you’re my friend. You should be like a little sister or something to me… yeah? Yeah… Yeah!” He shakes his head, pulling himself out of the distraction caused by you unzipping your jacket. He squeezes your thigh, a firm, warning grip. “Don’t make this so hard,” he says.

“What’s hard for you, Channie?” you ask, reaching into his lap and touching his thigh, then higher, finding the evidence of his words. A shiver moves across his shoulders, his breath catching as you cup your palm around the bulge in his jeans. “Is it something I can help you with?” You lick your bottom lip then smile.

“Oh,” he says. His eyes crinkle with amusement but there is a score of different emotions on his face, all of them smoldering. “You really wanna play that game, huh?”

There is no chance for an answer because Jeongin returns, hopping into the car with his notes. You and Chan separate, looking out the dashboard window. You pat your hot skin and try to slow your racing heart.

Sensing the oddly silent tension, Jeongin narrows his eyes and looks between you. Eventually, his expression sours like he smells something bad.

“Oh my god,” he says, then punches Chan in the shoulder. “Are you fucking my sister!”

“What!” Chan says, getting redder by the second. “Jeongin, how could— I wouldn’t— I don’t—”

“What, you don’t fuck?” Jeongin asks, then laughs until he is wheezing. “You can do better, man.”

“Jeongin, shut up!” You reach back to smack at him, rubbing your hand all over his stupid face and messing up his hair while he wails in protest.

“All right, all right!” Chan says, breaking you up. “Let’s just… let’s just go, okay? Okay.”

“Yes, daddy,” you say, mostly out of spite.

Chan squeaks.

Jeongin pretends to gag then slumps against his window.

“I’m gonna need to start taking the bus,” he says, morose.

Fortunately, thanks to the impromptu revelation of your shenanigans, it does not take much convincing for Jeongin to find another ride home. When Chan pulls into the campus parking lot to pick you up, you approach his vehicle with a grin and a wink.

You slide into the passenger seat, smoothing down your skirt while he sighs. It sounds more amused than frustrated.

“Where’s your brother?” he asks.

You shrug with theatrical exaggeration.

“Right,” Chan says, starting the car. “Got it.”

He puts a hand on your headrest to leverage himself, looking out the rear window as he reverses the car. That proximity alone gets you hot, the temptation to grab him already strong. You play a patient game, as always, stealing glances and suggestive smiles while he drives.

Halfway home, you put a hand on his knee. At first your touch is innocent, tracing slow circles on the denim, then you get a little more brazen, fingertips brushing up his thigh.

“Baby,” he says in that warning voice, eyes on the road. Holding the wheel with one hand, he uses the other to stop your wandering ascent.

“Yes?” you ask with all that faux-innocence. Rather than fight his touch, you guide his hand to your lap, placing it on your knee.

Unlike this morning, he does not play nice. You make a startled, high-pitched sound when he immediately dives under your skirt, his rough palm pressing down where you are already aching. Your thighs slam shut out of instinct but his hand is where it wants to be, his fingers curled around your pussy in a proprietary touch.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice playfully mean. He grinds the heel of his palm against your throbbing clit. He never takes his eyes off the road. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, though you cannot help but rock yourself against his hand.

“Mmm,” he says, patting your pussy then stroking your thigh, guiding your legs open again. “We’ll see about that.”

You keep your eyes ahead too, pretending not to notice when he glances at you. Then you gasp because he reaches out and tugs the zipper on your hoodie. You instinctively clutch it, wearing nothing but a bra underneath, having taken off your other layers to surprise him. He is the one surprising you, a secret sexy menace under all that shy sweetness. He unzips the hoodie halfway then reaches past the material to squeeze a handful. Your body practically sings under his touch.

“Channie,” you say, breathless again.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says. “Channie’s gonna take care of you, yeah? Always.”

“Take care of me how?” Your question toys with that false innocence, the little game that gets you both hot, but there is genuine curiosity there too. This game has been escalating slowly over time. You want more and you are starting to get desperate.

Chan looks at you. His gaze moves over your mouth then your body, your skirt rucked up and breasts practically spilling out of your hoodie. He swears, looking back at the road with that red blush on his ears again.

“Fuck,” he says. “I want to fuck you so badly. You have no idea.”

His words have a raw, honest edge. He swallows, hard. You feel like one tightly coiled ball of tension, ready to snap apart.

“Please,” you say in that breathy voice. “Make me feel good. No one else can like you.”

You do not make it all the way home. There is a nearby lookout point at the park, a shrouded parking area that has undoubtedly seen its fair share of hook-ups. Chan parks there and you dive at each other like randy teenagers. You climb into his lap, bumping everything on the console on your way, the honking the horn with your backside for good measure. It makes you both giggle.

Then your laughter is swallowed by hot, desperate, open-mouthed kisses.

“Mmm,” you hum against his lips. You push his hat off his head and sink your fingers in his curly hair. “Channie, please,” you say.

He cups the back of your neck, holding your head where he wants it so he can kiss you thoroughly. His ravishing touch leaves you shaking with need, rocking against him to no relief.

“Poor baby,” he says with a little laugh, squeezing your neck then drawing his hand down the curve of your chest. He unzips the rest of your hoodie. His mouth follows the same path as his hands, down your chest and back up again.

He is working you up, deftly and swiftly, using just a few well-placed throat kisses, a few flicks of his fingertips across the sensitive peaks of your breasts. He seems so composed under you, other than the flush to his complexion, the heat to his skin that has him shedding his leather jacket. You feel completely undone, half-naked and writhing in his lap. Your hands tangle together, fumbling around his belt.

“Let me,” he says. He gets his belt open and his fly undone, then his hands are on you. He doesn’t just tug your panties to the side but rips them apart, snapping the seams like they’re nothing. Then those strong fingers are inside you, finding just how wet and ready you are for him. He makes a low, guttural sound, thumping his head against the headrest. “Fuck, baby girl,” he says. “You know what you do to me?” he asks.

“I dunno, Channie.” You pout and bat your eyelashes. “You better show me.”

He laughs. He holds your hips and moves you, positions you where he wants you. You are pressed so close together, chest-to-chest, so you cannot see when he finally enters you. But you feel it, hot and hard and filling you, stretching you, almost painful but burning so good. You slap a hand to the roof of the car, eyes closing as you moan.

“S-so much,” you say, because it feels like you have been sinking forever and he is still not all the way inside.

“Yeah, I know, baby,” he says. His thumb is expertly circling your clit while your whole body seems to soften, changing to fit him, like you were made for this moment. “That’s it,” he says. “Have a little trust in yourself. I know you can take it.”

His thrusts are small, his hands guiding your hips over him, grinding him deep inside you. Then you are clutching his shoulders, moaning into his neck as he fucks you slowly and steadily. It is everything you needed and not enough, only spurring more desire. You know you will need him again, the way he needs you. Just the way he says your name as he holds you, as he fucks you, as he takes you apart and puts you together again. It feels like that when you come, when he fucks you through it, saying your name and praising you.

“Good girl,” he says, barely above a breath. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”

When he gets close, he pushes the seat back. You get on your knees between his legs and take him in your mouth. He comes with a low groan and another breathless slur of your name. Then you are back in his lap and his hands are everywhere, clutching you possessively to his chest. You are both breathing hard, riding the slow come-down of your frantic desperation.

“Fuck,” he eventually says. He seems shy again, giggling as he looks at you with a blush on his face. “We, uh, we just did that, in the car, uh wow, yeah, I, uh—”

“Channie,” you say with a laugh of your own, grabbing his face and kissing him. He smiles into the kiss, returning it with the same tender softness.

You kiss for a long time, ignoring the world around you. Eventually you have to crawl back into your seat and mostly redress yourselves, still smiling and giggling at each other the whole time. Your phone was buzzing in your bag so you finally check it, rolling your eyes at the message there.

You show it to Chan who laughs, blushing again, but nods.

“Right,” he says, “We should probably go get him.”

You laugh too, sending an emoji with its tongue sticking out in response to Jeongin’s message that reads: My ride fell through. When you are done not-fucking each other, can you come back and get me? Thanks. Sluts.

#bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #chan x reader #chan x you #bang chan smut #chan smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz x you #valentinesdaystories

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forbidden-sunlight · 5 months

Text

yandere!emperor with empress!reader scenario

warnings: infidelity, obsessive behavior, blackmail, non-con, regicide.

There may be possible triggers in this story.

If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the back button on your mobile device or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.

You are responsible for your own Internet consumption!

Hey guys, welcome to my first yandere fic! Before we dive in, I want to let you know a couple of things; firstly, this is not the prologue of a series and never will be one because I simply do not have the time right now. It is a scenario, a prompt, that was inspired by the Fallen Kingdom series created by @cassanderasblog. I will leave a link to their work here. I credit them for giving me inspiration and being honest in their feedback when I showed them the initial draft. Credit also goes to @faux-ecrivain for helping finish a difficult scene.

Finally, please do not comment on here if you wish to harass me in some shape or form. I do and will not tolerate bullying. As the saying goes, "If you have nothing nice to say, don't say it at all." If it does happen, however, I will have no choice but to remove this scenario as soon as possible.

So, with that being said, sit back, relax, and enjoy :)

Yandere!Emperor had despised you with his heart and soul. The only reason he had allowed the marriage to even happen was to solidify the alliance between his nation and yours. He did not love you. The woman who held his heart, the one whom he trusted above everyone else in the world is Tatiana Adreeva. His mistress. A beautiful flower that should never be polluted by the nobles who dare to not allow her to become the Empress simply because she lacked the status equal to his own prior to ascension. You did.

Yandere!Emperor did not lay a hand on you after the vows had been exchanged in the temple. He did not seek out your company, preferring to seek comfort in Tati’s bed and her arms. He had his crown, his woman, and allocated more power through his marriage with you. It was nothing personal. He simply did what he had to do so that his Empire would continue to prosper.

Yandere!Emperor would not tolerate any rudeness targeted toward his lover, even if you had not uttered a single word to her at all or raised your hand against her.

To him, ignoring her when she greeted you was enough to earn a lengthy lecture from him.

But you did not cling to him or beg for mercy, as he thought you would do, or any other self-respecting maiden who did not want to anger her husband. You coldly stared at him with that, silent as the grave until he dismissed you from his office. Out of spite, he had his aide add more documents to your desk for the next month even when the work was not part of the Empress’ official duties.

To his joy, Tatiana became pregnant with his child, his heir. Being by her side was suddenly all that mattered to Yandere!Emperor. His overprotective streak and ill temperament increased over time. He would lash out at you for the smallest of incidents, even if it was not your fault. And like before, you did not react to his words and continued with your life.

Like what happens to him or with his mistress is none of your concern unless it is associated with the Empire and the citizens. As it should be. He did not marry you out of love.

When the child was born, a healthy baby boy christened Nikolov, Yandere!Emperor held a banquet and invited ambassadors from neighboring kingdoms to celebrate. But it was on this day….that he knew the truth.

Once he had made the necessary greetings and made sure the captain of the guards would immediately report anything suspicious or if Tati and Nikolov were in any danger, Yandere!Emperor retreated to his office. He looked over the stack of documents on his desk, trying to lessen his workload in the morning so that he could spend time with his Tati and his son.

Upon hearing a knock at the door, he did not look up from the outline of a treaty as he allowed the third person to enter his office without cutting off their fingers. His mistress, the head butler, and his advisor. Tati’s older brother, Marquis Aizel Adreeva. Yandere!Emperor had bought the highest status that he could give to his mistress’ family after receiving positive confirmation that Tati was truly pregnant and not a misdiagnosis.

Aizel smiled, closing the door behind him with his foot as he set down a tray, placing two silver goblets and a bottle of wine on the corner of his desk. He spoke softly, congratulating Yandere!Emperor on finally having an heir and making his sister the happiest woman in the world. He poured the wine into the goblets. He held one in his hand, and extended his other hand to the Glorious Son, Blessed by the Five Gods.

Yandere!Emperor smiled, taking the offered drink. They raised their goblets high in the air, and drank. Yet when Yandere!Emperor looked at Aizel…his merry smile was not right. Not the kind of joy that a new uncle would express at a nationwide celebration. It was tighter, almost anticipating something…to happen.

That was when he realized the wine tasted bitter. That was when the room began to spin, and it felt like his skull being split in half. Poison. He had been betrayed. Yandere!Emperor grunted, trying to steady himself against the desk when Aizel walked around the wooden structure and had the audacity to push him back into the leather chair.

“Ah, ah, ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Emperor.” Aizel chastised, his amber orbs glowing with delight. “Not going to lie, I did not think the wine would accelerate the poison as quickly I had thought, but that works for me!”

Yandere!Emperor felt a rock plummet into the pit of his stomach at Aizel’s words. “You…did this?” He gurgled. “I thought…the Empress -”

“And deny me the opportunity to see the look on your face, choking on your blood? Absolutely not. Dear, sweet [First Name] would never have done this to you. You might not have loved her, but she did respect you.” Aizel shrugged. "If Tati were in her shoes, I reckon things would not have gone as smoothly as they have." He said casually, as if he were talking about the weather and not informally speaking to the most powerful man in the Empire.

“I only have ten minutes before I must return to the party, so I will do the honor of answering your unspoken questions. Now, where should I start? Oh, right. Why? Why did I do this when I love you like a brother? When have you treated my sister and I with nothing but kindness and respect, providing support whenever we are troubled, mentally, physically, and finanically? Well, the answer is really, really simple: I don’t. I tolerated you. I respected you. But never once did I feel any affection towards you.” His smile widened. “The one who deserves to stand by Tati's side is the Rapid Dog of The Northern Border, my brother-in-arms. Remember him? He was engaged to Tati. The man she should have married, should have been the father of my nephew. But you had the engagement annulled because she had said a few nice words to you. You threatened to seize my family’s home unless she came to the palace as your mistress? Do you remember? Why do I even bother asking? You’re going to die anyway, and we will finally be free from this gilded cage. Seven years. Seven long, agonizing years of watching my sister playing the gentle, loving role of a besotted mistress when all she really wanted to do was slit your throat. I thought about that every day too, you know? Well, almost. I actually felt sorry for the Empress, you know. She didn’t deserve to have a husband who neglected his duties and blamed everything on the one person who kept the gears in this Empire going, until now.”

“E-Empress -”

“Had an assassin give her a clean, painless death. Made it look like an accident, and he delivered! That’s very impressive for an underground guild, you know. Investment was worth it.” Aizel giggled.

“Now, it’s time to let everyone know their beloved Emperor has retired for the evening and call it a night. Big changes are coming. Pity you won’t see it. Don’t worry though, I won’t kill Nikki. I do love him…and he will never know that his true father is a tyrannical piece of shit who died in his own pool of blood because he allowed love to muddle his mind when he should have put the country’s well being above all else. Farewell, Emperor Aleksander of the Moldova Empire. From the ashes of corruption, a new country shall be born. And my nephew will rule over it in his father’s stead once he is ready. The father he should have had and not the one who brought him into this world, Duke Matthias Starkov.”

When he awakened, Yandere!Emperor realized he was no longer on the floor. He could breathe and he could see in the mirror that hung across the room that he looked younger again. He asked, no, demanded, a quivering servant to tell him what the year and date were, now. It was The Year of the Moon, ----. As the crown prince of the Moldova Empire, it is his duty to select a candidate to become his crown princess, his future Empress who would rule beside him when he ascended as the Emperor. His father, the current Emperor, is growing impatient with his sixteen-year-old son and annoyed that he is still fawning over the marquis’ daughter, Tatiana Adreeva, a woman who was already engaged to a duke.

“Bring me the list, no, tell Josef to bring it to my office immediately. I will be there shortly.” Yandere!Emperor had never pushed the servants to dress him quickly as he did at this moment. He did not know how or why, but he had returned to the past, right when he had seen Tatiana for the first time. Seven years into the past, before Aizel had poisoned him and killed his Empress.

Sure enough, he saw his Empress’ name on the list, five down from the most qualified and right in the middle of the lengthy parchment. [First Name] [Last Name], born to the Republic of Greiran, the Prime Minister’s only daughter.

They are Moldova’s closest neighbor and primary source of spices and various crops that are able to thrive in the harshest of weather conditions. Rumor had it that the Prime Minister himself was the one who had collaborated with the magician’s tower on this project, saving thousands of lives from suffering another winter and no harvest after the king had collapsed from a broken heart, having lost his queen after she had given birth to the crown prince.

That connection to the magician’s tower was the only reason Yandere!Emperor had married his Empress. Access to more magical resources than the ones in the Moldova Empire, enabling the creation of magical weapons and protecting the borders around enemy nations. And yet he still died like a damned dog, blind to the respect and admiration his Empress held for him in favor of receiving love from his murderer. But not this time. This time….he will set things right.

He will not get involved with Tatiana Adreeva.

He will ascend to the throne as he is supposed to.

He will be devoted only to [First Name], never taking a mistress even if the aristocracy begged him. Even if their marriage is only on paper, and she never looks at him as a man and only as an Emperor.

He will learn everything there is to know about his future Empress, and he will never let her go.

Taglist

@impeakcharacterdesign

@ceeesxy-blog

@mitra555

@mooly-artistic

@lxdymoon0357

@xiaopleasecomehome

@lovely-nightmares

@aurora-rose-miller

@swallowtailcherry

@justcressida

@faux-ecrivain

@yandere-dark-cupid

@likesugarandcyanide

@angelltheninth

@kanroji-san

@suiana

@swallowtailcherry

©️do not repost or use any of the characters depicted here without the author’s permission. forbidden-sunlight, 2023

#forbidden-sunlight #yandere x reader #x reader #yandere male #yandere #yandere fanfiction #yandere manhwa x reader #yandere!emperor #do not repost #yandere oc #ns.fw #cw obsession #tw obsession #tw yandere #tw dubious consent #cw dubious consent #tw murder #cw murder

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minisugakoobies · 22 days

Text

Cross My Heart | KMG

Pairing: Mingyu x GNReader (afab)

Genre: smut, porn with the barest of plot, friends to lovers (?), non-idol!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: pussy drunk mingyu, late night texting, biting/marking, fingering, lots of flirting, lots of teasing, grinding/dry humping, dirty talk, cunnilingus, face sitting, come eating, hand job, mingyu's a messy boy, OC is needy and mingyu loves it, mingyu has maybe the tiniest bit of a praise kink, use of pet names - pretty, mingyu requests death by pussy

Word Count: 5.2k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: Your crush Mingyu wants (to eat) you.

Text Prompt: You: I can’t stand you Mingyu: Then sit on my face

A/N: Hiiiii I'm writing for svt now and I'm starting with Mingyu because he's driving me insane. This is actually the first in a planned series of 13 svt fics based on text prompts. I'm fully in my self-indulgent era, so this is for everyone who, like me, needs some munch 'Gyu right about now 👅

Unbeta'd as usual. If you like this and want more svt fics from me, please let me know! I'd love to hear what you think (but please be kind I'm fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

It’s finally here. After months of planning, you and your friends have flown halfway around the world for a week of vacation. The six of you arrived just a few hours ago, and after the long flight, the long wait at the airport for your luggage, and the long drive to the hotel, you’re exhausted.

Well, mentally you’re worn out, at least. Your body? Is still on your old timezone, where it’s currently tomorrow morning. So it thinks that you need to be awake, even though it’s night where you are. You had stayed awake the entire flight here in order to avoid this very problem.

Fucking jet lag got you anyway.

Unlike you, Seungcheol and Vernon are having no issue sleeping. The three of you are sharing one room, while Minghao, Wonwoo, and Mingyu are sharing another. You glance over at the two lumps tucked in their beds, snoring away like you would be if your body wasn’t so confused.

Because you’re trying to be a good friend and let them sleep, you’re lying on your bed, scrolling lazily through your various social media apps. You could watch something, but you don’t really have the focus right now. Yet you want something pleasing to look at. Something to mindlessly enjoy while you wait for exhaustion to overwhelm you.

So, naturally, you turn to your favorite nightly pastime - scrolling through your social media apps, looking for any new posts from Mingyu.

It’s an addiction, borne out of your raging crush on your friend. Well, really, he’s Minghao’s friend, you don’t know him as well as you do the others, but still. You’re friendly enough around each other. Which is because Mingyu is so nice, such a sweet and funny guy who always makes you feel more than welcome whenever he’s around.

He’s also a blatant flirt. At first, his cocky smiles and playful words made you think he might be interested in more than just being your friend, but it wasn’t long before you realized he’s like that with everyone. So you tamped down the hope that burned in your chest, leaving only a simmering crush to smolder forever.

It’s morning back home, where most of your friends have barely started their days, so your feed is fairly dead. There are a few photos from Wonwoo from the flight, including one of Minghao sleeping with his mouth open that you immediately save to your favorites, a couple from Vernon, and, of course, several from Mingyu. You tap into his page.

Mingyu’s an avid photographer, particularly of beautiful things - breathtaking landscapes, delicious meals, himself. Mostly himself, to be honest. Not that you’re complaining. It’s maybe the most mutually beneficial relationship you’ve ever been in. Mingyu loves to provide pictures of himself. You love to admire them. A win-win all around.

You tap back to home and refresh your feed. A new post appears, from Mingyu. The jet lag must be getting to him, too, if he’s awake and posting right now. The photo is another selfie, this time of him lying in bed, one arm resting behind his head, showing off a perfectly sculpted bicep. God. Could he be more gorgeous?

Clicking into his page again, you rub your thumb over the screen to make his photos flip by in an endless parade of hot Mingyus. It’s ridiculous, you muse, watching picture after picture roll by, to think about how much time Mingyu must spend on these photos. Making sure he’s got the perfect lighting to bounce off his muscles just right in those gym selfies. Or figuring out the best angle to show off that sharp jawline of his. Just ridiculous. And yet, every second isn’t spent in vain, considering how the photos drew you in like shiny trinkets to your magpie eye.

It would be so easy to think of Mingyu as a modern day Narcissus, endlessly snapping selfies, drowning in his own reflection on his phone. But he’s never struck you as conceited. It’s something else - a desire for connection, perhaps. A need for-

A tiny heart floats up your screen and you gasp. Shit. You just liked the post the scroll stopped on - one of his many gym selfies, frame zoomed in on his torso, his hand clutching the bottom of his shirt to show off his rippling abs.

Your eye drifts to the date of the photo. Posted eight months ago.

Quick as lightning, you hit the screen again, shattering the little heart icon. Your pulse is beating too fast. There’s no need to panic. He couldn’t have seen that. Maybe you’re overreacting, but no one needs to know you’re lurking in his profile in the middle of the night, especially not him.

A notification drops down over Mingyu’s face. A message.

Mingyu: Someone’s up late.

Ah, damn. You were too slow. And now he’s in your DMs.

After taking a moment to shriek quietly into your pillow, you write back.

You: Can’t sleep

Mingyu: Same. Jet lag’s got me fucked up

Mingyu: You know what always helps when I can’t sleep?

You: What?

Mingyu: Creeping through someone’s old photos

Even though he’s not here looking at you, your neck flames with embarrassment anyway. You could play it cool. If only you knew how to do that.

You: Shut up

Mingyu: It’s ok, I’m flattered

You: Oh fuck off

Mingyu: No really, I am

Mingyu: I like that you want me so bad

Pressing your mouth firmly into your pillow, you swallow another screech. Here we go. Right into the flirting. You can’t handle this right now.

You: Idk what you’re talking about

You: It was an accident

Mingyu: Oh you were accidentally admiring me?

You: How did you even notice? Are you just staring at your phone, waiting for attention?

Mingyu: I mean yeah

You snort.

You: You’re ridiculous

Mingyu: Maybe. But I’m honest about it

You: I’ll give you that

A few seconds go by, then a minute, then two. Maybe you’re boring him. Maybe he’s found something else to entertain him. Or someone else.

When the next notification comes in, you jolt a little.

Mingyu: What else will you give me?

And now your heart does a funny jump as you stare at his words. God, what a question. How you wish he were asking for real, and not just being playful, like he always is.

Would it be too real to reply with the truth? “Whatever you want?”

You: I don’t know

You: What do you want?

Mingyu: What if I say you?

Suddenly you don’t understand words.

You: Why would you say that?

Mingyu: Because it’s my answer

Mingyu: I’m being honest again

You: That’s the jet lag talking

Mingyu: Oh come on

Mingyu: You really don’t know?

You: Know what??

Mingyu: How I feel about you

Is he being serious right now??

You: If this is a joke I don’t get it

Mingyu: Not a joke

Mingyu: Hold on

The notification icon on your app suddenly lights up. One heart. Two. Three four five. You open your notifications and immediately start laughing. Mingyu’s going through your oldest photos and liking them, one by one.

Mingyu: See? I’m obsessed with you

Seungcheol grunts in his sleep, and you press your arm harder over your mouth, trying to muffle yourself better.

You: You’re so annoying, oh my god

Mingyu: So annoying that you can’t stop looking at my photos at 1 am?

Mingyu: Or flirting with me?

You: Is that what’s happening? Are we flirting?

Mingyu: Ok don’t act like you don’t know

Mingyu: I flirt with you all the time

You: You flirt with EVERYONE all the time

Mingyu: Yeah but I only mean it with you

Like any other time this happens, any time his words make your head spin, you put on the brakes, stopping before you start to believe you might have a chance.

You: You’re so dumb

Mingyu: Are you really going to pretend you’re not enjoying this?

You: Who said I’m pretending?

Mingyu: Me. I know you’re loving this

Mingyu: Because you want me soooooo bad

You: Shut uppppp

Mingyu: Go on, yell at me

Mingyu: You’re cute when you’re mad

You: No really

You: I can’t stand you

Mingyu: Then sit on my face

Your mouth falls open, an amused huff of air escaping in a befuddled laugh at his unexpected response.

You: What?

Mingyu: Come shut me up. Sit on my face.

You’re blinking so hard, you can hear your eyelids clapping together.

You: Fuck off. Stop playing.

Mingyu: Who’s playing? I’m serious

Mingyu: Smother me with those gorgeous thighs of yours. I’ll go out a happy man.

Your gorgeous thighs? He’s never said anything like that before. What the fuck is happening.

You can’t help but picture it - him lying on his bed, you kneeling over him, fingers tangled in his dark hair as you ride that pouty little mouth of his. It’s not the first time you’ve fantasized about it, but it’s the first time the vision has felt… possible.

Mingyu: No response? You’re just gonna leave me hanging like this?

You: Don’t tease me

Mingyu: Trust me, there are a million ways I’d love to tease you, but this isn’t one

You lay down again, rolling onto your side, curling in on yourself, like you’re trying to contain all the excitement rushing through your veins, keep it from spilling out and over into the room where your friends are still sleeping.

You: You’re really serious?

Mingyu: Cross my heart and hope to die

Mingyu: Between your legs

Again you laugh.

You: You’re such an idiot

Mingyu: Does that mean you’re not coming over?

You: Like right now??

Mingyu: Why not?

Mingyu: Wonwoo and Minghao both slept on the plane. They went out exploring

Mingyu: I’ve got the room to myself

You bite your lip, a little harder than you normally would, the sharp sting confirming that you are not dreaming and this is, in actual fact, happening right now.

You: I guess if I’m not sleeping anytime soon

In the dim light from your phone, you eye the path to the door. You can easily make it out of the room without waking anyone. Should you so decide.

You: I could come over

Mingyu: I promise I’ll make it so good for you

Mingyu: Eat that pussy like you deserve. Make you cum on my tongue over and over

You inhale sharply. He’s definitely never talked about your pussy like that before. Reading his words has you positively throbbing.

Mingyu: Please, just let me taste you

What else is there to say to that but -

You: I’m coming over

It’s a short walk to Mingyu’s room. A rush of anticipation hits you as you raise your hand to knock. It doesn’t take long for the door to open, bringing you face to face with the man whose social media you can’t stop stalking. Mingyu’s shirtless, grey sweatpants hanging alarmingly low on his hips, and if you weren’t already planning on crushing him with your thighs, this insta thirst trap of an outfit would push you right over the edge.

“That was fast,” he laughs, stepping aside to let you in. “Did you run down the hall?”

“I thought I told you to shut up,” you shoot back.

“And I thought I told you to make me,” he smirks, reaching for you at the same time you reach for him, practically mashing his teeth against your lips as he pulls you in for a kiss. Despite what he just said, he’s kissing you, too eager to wait for you to do what he demands.

It’s rough and messy, all teeth and tongue, both of you doing your fair share to keep the other silent. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say speechless, because Mingyu’s definitely not being quiet, moaning into your mouth, and you’re certainly whining loud enough for the other rooms to hear you.

He presses you back into the door, chest to chest, hip to hip. You tilt your head and he follows, chasing your mouth, as if he’s needing another taste. Your hands roam over his biceps, his shoulders, his neck, covering every inch of warm skin that’s exposed, and he slips his arms around your waist, holding you impossibly tight. Not for one second do your lips part. This is the type of kiss you’ve always read about in your favorite stories - the one that makes your knees weak, makes your head float, makes you forget everything but Mingyu.

It’s delicious. It’s amazing. It’s every superlative you can think of. But it’s not enough. You want more. Part of you wants to tell him to get on with it, take you to bed, because you’re here to make him eat his words by eating you, but the other part isn’t about to quit kissing him any time soon.

Thankfully, Mingyu takes care of your dilemma by eliminating the choice. Without warning, he bends his knees and lifts you, big hands secure on your thighs to hold you close to him. Okay, now it’s like one of your stories, the way he lifts you like you’re lighter than air. You’d swoon if you weren’t so busy licking into his lips. All that time in the gym is really paying off

He carries you to his bed, displaying his impressive thigh strength by slowly lowering himself into a sitting position, bringing you into his lap. You loop your arms around his shoulders, desperately seeking his mouth, as if the 0.2 seconds between kisses might kill you, which, honestly, it feels like it might, and you’ve never been in this situation before, making out with the man of your dreams, so for all you know, it will, so why risk it?

“Stop me if I’m going too fast,” he says between kisses.

“You can go as fast as you want,” you reply, without even a second’s pause. “Just don’t stop.”

“Damn, and here I was worried I was coming off too excited,” he grins, face lighting up in delight. Then he kisses your cheek, whispering against your skin at your offended huff. “It’s okay, I like how needy you are for me.”

“Shut up,” you groan, but you know he felt the way you shuddered, so you give up the weak protests and start kissing him again, twisting your fingers in his hair to keep him close.

Mingyu finally stops laughing when you take his bottom lip between your own, sucking and licking at the plump skin. With a groan, he digs his fingers into your sides, and he starts to guide you back and forth, rolling you over the eye-catching bulge in his sweatpants. It’s a sight that makes you clench, thinking about how much you want to sit on it now, just pull him out and ride, too needy to feel him inside you to even take your clothes off.

But again, you want more. You want what he’d promised earlier.

He nips his way down your throat until his mouth latches at the base of your neck, sucking and biting, and you whimper, squirming in his hold. “

‘Gyu, please!”

“Please what?”

He doesn’t lift his head, too absorbed in sinking his vampire-like canines into your soft skin, not sharp enough to pierce, just hard enough that you know you’ll have bruises blooming there tomorrow, little souvenirs of this moment.

Please everything, you think. You want it all, whatever he’s willing to give, you’ll take. You’re feeling greedy as fuck right now.

“I want what you promised me.”

“Hold on,” he intones seriously, right before laving his tongue over a fresh mark. “Let a man at death’s door enjoy his last moments.”

“Oh my god, you’re so stupid,” you groan, grabbing his face and smashing your lips together. He’s just - just such an idiot, such a stupid sexy idiot and you want him more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life.

“Fine,” he says after a few minutes of frantic making out, a cheeky grin spreading across his face, hands circling around your ass, squeezing as he pulls you closer. “Time for my last meal.”

He kisses away your embarrassingly pleased moan, and then he maneuvers the two of you around so he’s lying on the bed on his back and you’re straddling him. As he watches with rapt attention, you peel off your shirt. Since you’d been dressed for bed, you hadn’t bothered to throw on a bra. Judging from Mingyu’s expression, you made the right call.

“Pretty,” he breathes out, wide eyes finding yours, and you have to take a beat, have to take a moment to sit and let the reality of the situation wash over you. The two of you are here, together, in this hotel room half a world away from home. Both wanting this. It’s clear to you now just how eager Mingyu’s been since you walked in. He wasn’t lying - he wants you just as much as you want him.

With this new understanding, you stand up to slide your shorts and panties off in one go, before straddling him again, and lowering yourself for another kiss. Immediately, his arms are around you, gliding down your back, all the way to your bare ass, taking the biggest handfuls he can.

“You drive me insane. So pretty, so hot.”

Mingyu’s words kick the simmering heat in your gut into a full blown fire. You moan into his kiss, grinding yourself against him. One of his hands grips your side, helping you chase the friction, while the other slips between your bodies. When his fingers brush your inner thigh, he lets out a strangled groan. “Oh fuck, you’re so wet.”

“Your fault,” you gasp, lips fervently pressing against his, licking at the seam of his mouth until he allows you in, so you can roll your tongue over his like you roll your hips.

“Then allow me to make it up to you,” he grins, long fingers cupping your mound, trapping the heat there in his palm as he rubs it against you. You keen, thighs already twitching. You’re going to lose your mind before you even get to his face.

You’re not alone in that feeling, as he suddenly reaches for your thighs, urging you to crawl up his body. “Get up here, please,” he begs, flat out begs you, and you slide forward as fast as you can. You need his mouth, right now.

Hovering over him is a little surreal - MIngyu’s big brown eyes are gazing up at you in a perfect replication of your favorite daydream, only it’s so much better than you’d ever imagined, because the expression he wears is one of complete awe, like he’s the one living out his fantasy. Again you feel bold, so you run your fingers through his hair, nails lightly scraping over his scalp. He moans quietly, low in his throat, like he’s trying to hold it in, and your mouth quirks in a half smile as you kneel.

“Nice knowing you, ‘Gyu.”

He hums a happy note, lips vibrating lightly just as your cunt reaches them, and you moan quietly. You don’t settle all the way down, because as much as you were playing along with this whole death-by-pussy dream of his, you are slightly worried that you might actually suffocate him, if not because of your weight than because of your dire need, that you might get too lost in the aching desire that’s building inside you, spurred on by the way he’s brushing the lower half of his face and down your folds, just breathing you in, teasing you with his touches but not giving you what you so desperately want.

“‘Gyu,” you whine, tilting your pelvis forward, to catch his tongue as he traces your inner thigh, leaving a trail of saliva behind. He blows a puff of air across the wetness, sending goosebumps running at the cooling sensation.

When you try to shift again, he’s quick to wrap his hands up around your hips, holding you still. Not hard enough to hurt, but strong enough to let you know - he’s in charge now.

“Stay still, pretty,” he murmurs, tenderly pressing a kiss into your skin. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my promise. Cross my heart, remember?”

With that reminder, he pulls you down further onto his face. His tongue slides into you, nose bumping your clit, and you whimper, hands flailing at your sides, seeking something to cling to, finding nothing but the warm air around you. The pressure on the sensitive bud combining with the wet hot muscle plunging between your slick folds is overwhelming in the best way.

“‘Gyu, oh, that’s so good!”

Mingyu nods his head vigorously, nudging his nose around, letting his tongue drag up and down your slit. It almost feels like he’s agreeing with you, backed up by the way he grunts brokenly, this deep rumble in his chest that gets strangled halfway through his throat.

You’re not sure at what point you start thrust your hips. Mingyu helps you find the right pace, big hands guiding you forward and back, forward and back, until you feel the rhythm all the way from your ears to your toes.

As his mouth slides up to suckle on your clit, his left hand also snakes upwards, cupping your right breast, thumb rolling over your puckered nipple. You shudder, nerves sizzling like power lines, lit up by his every touch.

“‘Gyu…” Mingyu’s mouth pulls another whine from you. You glance down, catching the furrow in his brow, the sweat dripping down his temples. “Oh my god.”

“Mmmmphf,” Mingyu agrees, or so you assume, unable to understand anything he might be mumbling into you. A particularly sharp suck on your pulsating clit makes your back arch, and Mingyu’s hand falls from your chest, disappearing behind you.

The sudden rustling of fabric draws your attention. You glance over your shoulder, only to whimper when you catch sight of Mingyu’s hand stroking his erection, band of his sweatpants hastily shoved down, stiff cock so flushed it brings a matching heat to your neck.

If you were more limber, you’d reach for him, give him a helping hand, but you can’t stay twisted around for long, not when Mingyu’s tongue makes you refocus on his mouth. It’s too difficult to think about anything else right now but the way he keeps plunging inside you, using the thick muscle to fuck you shallowly.

You can’t stop mewling like a cat in heat, rutting back and forth over Mingyu’s tongue. Even in your daze, it doesn’t escape your attention that Mingyu’s absolutely pussy drunk at this point, depraved moans buzzing endlessly against your most sensitive spots because he refuses to detach his mouth from you long enough to let them escape. Every muffled note reverberates deep in your core, joins the tense chord that’s building inside you to a crescendo.

“‘Gyu, please.”

At the sound of your plea, Mingyu stops stroking himself, bringing his hand around to find your clit, middle finger drawing circles around and around and around.

When you double over, hands sinking into the plush bedding on either side of Mingyu’s head, he grunts, tipping his head to the side so he can speak. “You okay?”

“Fuck, Mingyu, ‘m good,” you giggle, suddenly hit by a burst of glee, perhaps due to the lack of oxygen in your head, since all the blood in your body is concentrated in your clit right now. “I’m having an amazing night.”

Mingyu hums again, sounding very pleased, and you meet his gaze, and suddenly you wish his phone was nearby, so you could snap a photo, because this look - hair mussed and clinging to his forehead, pupils blown, nose to chin coated in your glistening wetness - this is a look worth capturing.

“Yeah, me too,” he says, chest heaving as he catches his breath, and the sincerity in his voice steals your own away. If you had any nerve, you’d confess something right now, something you weren’t planning on telling him tonight or tomorrow or maybe ever. But you keep silent, only breathing a tiny exhale of surprise as he slides out from under you, and nudges you onto your back.

Mingyu folds you in half easily, because you’re giving no resistance, letting him shape you the way he desires, and then his mouth is on you again. Now that he's lying facedown between your legs, he’s able to get some much-desired friction without using his hands, grinding his neglected cock into the bed as he concentrates on you.

His tongue glides over your throbbing nub again, and then his right hand ghosts over your slit. You whimper a soft “Please,” and that’s all he needs to slide his finger inside. The intrusion has you squirming, urging him silently to go deeper, and to your relief, he obliges. But he also locks his other arm over your legs, holding them so you can’t keep bucking your hips up.

“I said, stay still,” he mumbles, with no anger or heat behind it, just amusement, laced with a slight tinge of cockiness. He knows he’s frustrating you, judging by the curl of his lips as he plunges his finger in and out slowly, way too slowly, teasing you with what you need most. You try to press your hips down onto his hand, to make him glide faster, but he just leans into you slightly, big arm stopping your movements.

Your whine is beyond petulant. “Don’t tease me!”

“Pretty, I promise you, when I tease you, you’ll know.”

And then he adds his middle finger, curling both, pressing on the most sensitive spot on your inner wall. Over and over, his fingers flutter, massaging until starlight bursts behind your eyelids.

“It’ll be something like this.”

He withdraws his hand.

“Gyuuuuuu.”

If he was slightly cocky earlier, he’s fully arrogant now, face breaking into a wide grin while he laughs. “Wow, so whiny. You do want me bad.”

“I swear to god if you dohhhhHHH-”

You break off in a moan when he lowers his face again, loudly lapping at your wetness. Clever fingers alternate between scissoring and stroking, following the changes in your breathing, and you hope that he’s close to being satiated, because you’re teetering on the edge of your climax, only the slightest bit more stimulation necessary to push you over.

“Mingyu. Mingyu, I’m gonna cum.” You open your eyes, raising your head enough to look at him, to watch with a dropped jaw as he buries his face in your cunt, his own eyes closed in ecstasy, and oh, that’s it - “Oh god, I’m gonna cum!”

Your warning cry - though clearly appreciated by Mingyu, who groans in answering refrain, hips humping the bed furiously - is ultimately unnecessary, given how hard your walls suddenly clench around his fingers. He doesn’t stop his ministrations, fingerfucking you through your orgasm as your lower half trembles beneath his heavy arm. He holds you in place as best he can, sweetly kissing your clit, while you wail and writhe, pressing your palm into your mouth to keep your cries from waking the rooms around you.

Eventually your tremors slow, turning into occasional twitches, before your body finally relaxes. Mingyu continues to lap at you, every pass of his tongue getting lighter and lighter, until he lifts his head. He’s the perfect image of lust, eyes dark and desirous, and you claw at his shoulders, needing him close again.

“Kiss me.”

He wipes his face with the back of his hand, smearing you over himself more as he rises up to meet you. His cock is hard between you, and you moan, knowing that you did that, that he got this turned on just from eating you out, and extend your fingers to wrap around him.

The unbidden sound he utters when you take his cock and slide it through your soaking folds, coating it in your wetness, is the filthiest sound you’ve ever heard.

“Careful, pretty,” he pants, looking down at your hand. Under his close gaze, you circle the head of his cock before rubbing your thumb over and around the slit there. “‘M close.”

“Wanna make you come, ‘Gyu,” you tell him, and he hisses, hips bucking into your grip.

“Fuck.” His long fingers cover yours, guiding you into a faster pace. “But I’m gonna make a mess.”

“Do it. Make a mess.” The need to make him completely fall apart takes possession of you, makes you say things you’ve never said to anyone else. “Come all over me.”

Mingyu whines, chin dropping to his chest. He’s barely blinking as he stares at your entwined hands.

“Pretty… don’t say that….”

“Please, ‘Gyu.” All shame has fled your body. “I want it.”

No further encouragement is needed. Mingyu grunts a few times before he’s painting your stomach in so much white, in little drops and big splashes, doing exactly what you told him, eyes rolling back in his head as he does.

When his high abates, he sits back on his heels, gazing at the mess he created, all the sticky sweat and semen that covers your body. A delirious thought comes to you. Is the sight beautiful enough for him to want to take a picture?

“Wow,” he murmurs after a moment, shaking his head. “You’re even prettier when you’re covered in me.”

His dead serious expression is enough to break the haze of lust hanging over you. You throw your arm over your face, too flustered to look at him. “‘Gyuuuuu!”

“Changed my mind, I’m calling you ‘whiny' from now on.” The bed shifts as Mingyu rises. He laughs all the way to and from the bathroom, laughs even harder when you glare at him, reaching for the towel he holds. He surprises you by nudging your hand away. “Let me.”

His touch is so gentle as he wipes away his mess, then your own. When you’re both clean enough, he lays on his side, draping his arm over you. “Think you can sleep now?”

Oh, you can sleep. You’re feeling satiated in a way you haven’t for a long time, and now that the rush has worn off, you could knock right out. You should probably go back to your room, ride this calm wave right into sleep, not let yourself get too excited at the thought that this vacation might be the best one ever.

Instead, you grin, sliding your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck. “Yeah. But I don’t want to.”

“Oh?” Mingyu’s smile mirrors yours. “What do you wanna do instead?”

“I might have some ideas.”

He lets you pull him down for a kiss, humming eagerly.

“Tell me what you want, pre-”

A sharp rap on the door startles you both.

“Dude, don’t you dare!” Minghao hisses through the wood. “We’ve been out here forever!”

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

#seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #mingyu #mingyu smut #svt smut #mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt scenarios #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #kim mingyu #fic: cross my heart

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ozzgin · 6 months

Note

I love your reader insert stuff!! The yandere yazuka series was vvvv entertaining, I wish I had a big scary gangster to scare away my stalker lol

If you are open to requests, how about Idol!Reader x Yandere!Bodyguard. I love the trope so much, and I'm interested and what you'd do with the idea. No worries if you're not interested tho!

Best wishes

-🌟

I just finished writing it and you've got me punching the air with your prompt. It wasn't really my thing but I'm now sold. Thank you for the trope idea. :’)

Yandere!Bodyguard x Idol!Reader (I)

Short scenario featuring your bodyguard that takes his duty a little too seriously. Not that you’d mind…

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

TW: violence

(Cover from the manga “A girl and her guard dog��)

"Fantastic show tonight!"

The older man guides you in and closes the door behind him. You smile warmly and seat yourself on the sofa. He quickly follows, although at a terribly uncomfortable proximity. His legs are pressed against yours and he extends an arm behind you, pretending to stretch. You shuffle awkwardly and lock your hands in your lap. You can already tell where this is going.

"With your talent, I'm confident we could triple the number of attendants. We just need a bigger venue." He nods at you and taps your thigh with his other free hand as encouragement. You notice the wedding band digging into his skin.

"Alas, let us not waste the evening with business talk. I'm sure a stunning lady like you has better things to do." He laughs at his own compliment and ponders for a minute. "In fact, why don't we have dinner together? I know a great restaurant in the area."

You open your mouth to speak, but are distracted by the sudden, mild pressure on your leg. Somehow, his greasy fingers have wandered further up in the time you listened to his shameless offer. You've been in this career for long enough to guess what such proposals entail. If you say no, best case scenario he presses further, calling you a stuck up bitch and reminding you who has the power in this partnership. Worst case scenario, he leaves the room and the calls and invitations to perform will gradually drop.

Yet your situation is special, benefitting from an additional possibility. A loophole, if you may.

Should you scream? Oh, he always gets so angry when you act scared. It's an immediate trigger. He really has a soft spot for your glistening, frightened eyes. You glance up one final time at the perverted smirk silently disregarding you. If you are to be honest with yourself, you'd very much enjoy seeing it wiped off forever. Why not? You're feeling particularly mean today.

So without hesitation, you release a high pitched yell of help. The door bursts open and the hinges creak. A tall, toned man walks in, and without a word he lunges at the manager, pulling him by the collar of his cheap dress jacket. You hold your cheeks dramatically, and bat your eyelashes at your bodyguard.

"H-he tried to molest me..." you mumble between sobs.

That's all he needs to proceed. Now the real fun begins. You can hear the muffled screams of protest. The bones crack and the flesh bends under his iron fists. Standing before your bodyguard, they all end up looking like ragdolls. Comically limp and weak, folding and breaking with no resistance. It amuses you greatly.

When did it all begin? You can't remember anymore. You were in your early years and this scary looking stranger entered your little backstage room. His explanation was brief and to the point: as your fame increases, so will the threats to your safety. He was appointed as your bodyguard. You couldn't care less, so you just shrugged.

You've always been on the playful side. Not necessarily rude, just some innocent tease and banter wherever it's well received. Seeing him so quiet and stoic, you couldn't help but try to push his buttons: changing in front of him and requiring his assistance, occasionally asking him to pick you up and carry you because you could no longer walk. Naturally you would've stopped at the first complaint, but that's the strange part: no reaction ever came. He went along with everything. You assumed it's part of the job. Celebrities aren't known for their good manners, so hiring someone that loses their temper easily would be a fast ticket to termination.

Then you had your first encounter with one of the unpleasant fans you've been warned about. You could only stare in terror at your bodyguard's feral, unhinged reaction. The unfortunate fan's face was so disfigured, you wondered if anyone could ever manage to fix it back into shape. The bodyguard was panting and you could see the sweat coating his face and chest. You were rather confident there were many other ways to deal with it and this wasn't on the recommended list. Thus you felt compelled to ask the million dollar question:

"You act like a jealous spouse. Do you have a crush on me or something?"

You kind of regretted your audacity towards a man that had just nearly killed someone. But his features softened instantly and he turned to you, wiping his forehead and straightening his collar.

"I suppose so. Is that an issue?"

As you stared ahead, processing his unbothered act, you sensed your cheeks feverishly burning. Uh oh. You hadn't anticipated such a nonchalant confession. You thought back to all the times you stood before him, bare and flirty. Was he merely holding back his urges the entire time? Or was he finally paying you back for all the teasing? Then again, his face didn't betray any hint of humor.

"I've never heard you joke before", you decided to test the waters.

"I'm not. Why would I joke about something like this?" He gazed at you incredulously.

As somber and honest as ever. Well, that would indeed explain why he'd let you get away with the cheeky behavior. The more you considered it, the more entranced you became with the idea of indulging in such a relationship. As a famous idol, you couldn't be seen dating anyone. One rumor of you having a boyfriend and the agency would've had your ass suspended. But no one said anything about messing around with your bodyguard. He has to be with you all the time, so no one would suspect a thing. And you could definitely expand his list of responsibilities. You'd been terribly stressed lately, after all, and an outlet to release your frustrations would be most welcomed. Your bodyguard would never refuse pleasing his beloved.

You chuckled and pulled him towards your dressing room, giddy with excitement. Something about his imposing presence, like a wild animal that had just escaped from the leash, aroused you to no end. You've had your share of crazy fans, but this was the cherry on top.

"Should we leave?"

You're jolted out of your daydreams by his low, rough voice. Ah, you missed the grand finale. Too bad. The bodyguard approaches you, with the shirt wrinkled and the top buttons popped open under the shuffle of his vicious attack. You can feel the knot forming in your stomach.

"Not yet. You know how I get when you act like this..." You pout and look away. "You need to take care of me first."

He grins at your last statement.

"Of course. Is the sofa okay?"

You nod.

"Then let's get you undressed, miss."

Is this what they call a scary dog privilege?

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #female reader #yandere bodyguard #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #male yandere x reader #yandere original character

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