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shaguro · 1 month

Note

or!! mutual masturbation with roomie!geto 🫶

‧₊˚TEMPTED 2 TOUCH .ᐟ ⇀ SUGURU G.

⤿ synposis: geto comes home from the grocery store and is met with a pleasant surprise.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ tags: roomie!geto x roomie-fem!reader, mutual masterbation, pet names used, (girl, pretty, baby) geto has a dick piercing (prince albert), fingering, handjobs. teasing, dirty talk. ⇀ wc. 1.6k. | MDNI.

⤿ an. hope you enjoy it twin! ♡

“i got the lemonade you asked for— oh.”

when suguru stepped back in from a quick trip to the store, he wasn’t expecting to come back to this — you on the couch in all your naked glory, legs spread wide with two fingers knuckle-deep in your pussy.

the fridge had been empty for days and with your busy schedules, there was usually no time for grocery shopping. coincidentally, you both were off for the day and when suguru asked if you’d tag along to the store, you declined. he wasn’t sure why at the time but now, his answer was right in front of him.

“s-suguru!” you gasp and within a second, your sodden fingers part from your cunt with a wet schlap that you nor suguru miss. “i . . .didn’t realize you’d be back so s-soon.”

“well yeah, i can see that, girl.” he chortles, his tone oozing sarcasm as he rests the plastic bags on the kitchen counter.

you couldn’t meet his eyes, not when you’re this embarrassed. that little smirk he adorned only made it worse and truly, you wished you could melt into the floor.

“so this is what you do when i’m gone? finger yourself on our couch?” he teases and you clamp your thighs together, a hand in your face in a fruitless attempt to your shame. “never would’ve thought you were nasty like that, (y/n).”

“i’m not.” you sigh so deeply that geto almost felt bad. almost. “suguru, please don’t tease me.” suguru quirks an eyebrow at that. you were making it hard for him to not tease you. ”i’ve been real stressed lately . . just needed some relief.”

oh, suguru was well aware of what you needed. you keep him up at night — your strained moans ringing in his ears, resounding through the thin walls of your apartment until you finally give up, another failed orgasm while suguru tends to his raging hard-on. it’s starting to feel like you’re teasing him.

“seems like you’re struggling with that, hmm?” he murmurs lowly, smooth like honey. that warm timbre had you heart fluttering, all words caught in your throat as he sauntered over, his bottom lip pinned under his pretty row of top teeth. “i can help you out, y’know… since i interrupted you and all that. if you’ll let me.”

he was leaning forward now, your faces only inches apart and you push your shame to the side, finally meeting piercing onyx irises. it’s a no brainer that suguru is handsome, infuriately sexy without trying. there was always underlying sexual tension between you but he was your roommate, why not avoid any potential drama and unneeded issues? keeping geto at a distance and being cordial has worked for this long — but how could you say no to his proposition? suguru offered a solution you’d be a fool to refuse.

fuck it.

“uh-uh, let me hear that pretty voice or else i’ll stop, baby.” suguru purrs. and you’re struggling to breathe, each push of lithe digits into your gushy pussy makes you mewl, helplessly rolling your hips into your palm.

“s-suguruu, feels s-so good.” you moan out, lulling your head back against the armrest. suguru hums prior to cascading wet pecks down the side of your neck, filling you with his thick fingers up to the knuckles, strategically angling his palm onto your neglected clit. “s-so much better when you d-do it.”

“oh yeah? poor baby, can’t even make yourself cum.” he taunts, faux pity itched into his handsome features. you pout cutely and feebly grasp his wrist, the scattered veins pop in tandem with the motion of his hand. “look so pretty like this, just fallin’ apart f’me..”

his kisses trail upwards, stopping mere centimeters from your lips. your lips pucker almost immediately and suguru chuckles, you’re so damn eager for him. his dick twitches when you whine for a kiss, your viscidly grooved walls cling on his digits, coats them in a thin, milky-white veil.

“gotta tell me what you want, girl– hmph!”

tired of waiting, your other hand is on his nape — pushing him down until your lips meet. “shit.” suguru groans, your teeth graze his bottom, nibbling on the soft flesh and suguru wants more. his free arm bends against the armrest near your head, leaning his body closer to yours, prodding his tongue into your mouth.

that’s when you feel it, his clothed erection pressed against your thigh. you can tell how big he is from how it contours on the grey cotton fabric, stretching it to its limits.

you shift your leg a bit and suguru gasps, his body jolting from the sudden friction. he pulls back, a single string of saliva stretches as your lips separate. suguru quirks an eyebrow with a playful scowl on his lips. “what d’ya think you’re doing?”

you chew the inside of your cheek, you eyes flickering between his eyes and his bulge. “wanna touch y-you, sugu.” and you reach down, fingertips dance along his clothed shaft before you firmly grab him. suguru grits his teeth, an airy moan rips from his throat. “wanna m-make you feel good t-too, if you’ll let me.”

what a fucking tease.

suguru scoffs and watches you intently as you toy with the waistband of his sweats. “got some nerve, girl. teasin me like this..”

with your hands this close to his dick, suguru was feeling antsy. throbbing sporadically as your hands grip and feel on him. it’s safe to say suguru can’t handle what he disses out, at all. “if you wanna see my dick that bad, go ahead.”

to his relief, you waste no time, tugging his sweatpants and boxers down in one swift motion while he holds the hem of his shirt up. his dick springs out against his toned stomach, reddened tip just touching his belly button. it was so pretty — perfectly tanned, a shade darker than his skin with a prominent vein bulging on the left side. while lengthy, the girth is more impressive — can your hand even fit around it fully? but that wasn’t the most surprising part. your eyes stop at his tip again, this time widening at the shiny silver metal that poked from the underside of the head and his urethra.

he had a dick piercing?

your hand reaches out, fingers hesitantly brush against the solid jewelry. suguru’s breath hitches, stomach flexing at your gentle touch. “starin’ real hard.. like what you see?” he quips, arching a brow as you nod dazedly, tongue darting out to wet your lips.

“yeah.. it’s so big, sugu.” you hum and lean forward, lips hovering over his tip, coating it in a glob of spit before holding the thick shaft, pumping him languidly. “so pretty.”

suguru groans, head tipping back slightly as you work on him. his hips jerk with every swipe of your thumb on his weeping head, glossing over the steel, pearly white precum spread on his slit .his fingers are still inside you, regaining their pace as suguru watches you with heavy-lidded eyes.

he’s so sensitive it’s almost embarrassing, a light blush layers his cheeks, mouth agape as he rocks and rocks his hips into your fist, unfiltered soft pants fall from his lips. he looks so pretty like this and his eye contact is unwavering, only egging you on further.

“so sensitive, sugu.” you coo, your own hips meet his fingers halfway, creating a delicious friction, your eyes nearly cross. “feels good?”

“s-shut the fuck up.” his threat is empty, muttered so shakily, you can only giggle in response. a sweat bead trickles down his temple as he bites down on his bottom lip, unsucessful at silencing himself. “you’re such a- fuck.”

suguru lets out a strained moan when he feels a second hand at the base of cock, your movements smooth and synchronized from all the saliva lathered down his length, shiny and sticky. his body swayed as you applied more pressure to your hands, tugging him forward every pull towards his tip.

oh, he was not going to last.

“i can tell you’re gonna cum, suguru.. it’s ok, don’t hold back.” suguru hates how right you are but it’s obvious — he’s hunched over you now as that familiar coil forms in the pit of his stomach, knuckles white from his grip on the armrest and he’s basically heaving, no longer able to suppress the low whines you force out his chest as your pace increases.

no air left in his lungs to counter your taunting, let alone formulate anything coherent, he relents. he withdraws his wrinkly digits from your cunt, too far gone to maintain any rhythm. suguru was on cloud nine, everything felt so fucking good. his mind was blank, focused solely on the heat inside that grew rapidly.

it was when your hand cupped his swollen balls that the coil snapped, stars blanket his vision as his release peaks. suguru’s abs tense, whole body still as he shoots ribbons of thick, creamy cum over your hand and abdomen, shuddering as your fingers still dance along his tip, entirely too sensitive as he swats your hand away.

his eyes narrow at you while he catches his breath, he can feel himself getting hard once more as you lap up his semen off your hand, maintaining eye contact as you giggle, your eyebrow raised.

“what happened to helping me out-?”

“shut the fuck up, (y/n).” he sneers and in an instant, suguru’s on his knees, adjusting himself between your thighs before tossing one over his shoulder. you gasp when his warm breath fans your pussy, his eyes blown over with lust. you wanted help? shit, suguru was ready to make you cry.

“gonna make you regret ever pulling that shit, baby.. now, lie the fuck down.”

this took me forever to write yall omg. | @preciousamethyst

#geto smut #geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #shanti's stories⋆˙⟡♡

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sweet-as-an-angel · 10 months

Text

Dating Miguel O’Hara Would Include…

Warnings: Implied Smut, Domestic Miguel !!!, Possessive Miguel, Protective Miguel, Dominant Miguel, Slight Yandere Miguel (if you squint), Fluff, Mild Angst, Hurt/Comfort, No Pronouns used for Reader Except You’.

Miguel being stoic and militant around his associates, but melting into a massive softie when he gets to see you.

His eyes literally light up when he hears you coming. He has to resist the urge to scoop you up into his arms and cuddle you silly whenever he hears you call his name, your tones music to his ears, his heart thrumming – harpstrings.

Golden retriever boyfriend to the MAX.

He brings you breakfast in bed whenever he’s awake before you – which is often considering his vampiric nature. And he looks so proud of himself when he cooks a good meal, too. Literally just a beaming, teeth-filled, closed-eye smile when you tell him he’s “Done such a good job, Babe !”

Any kind of praise sends him absolutely wild, so use it sparingly. It can either get you out of or into a world of trouble; especially if you're trying to get Miguel hot under the collar.

Miguel’s love language is, simply put, everything.

The adoration that swells in his chest whenever he thinks of you manifests as him throwing himself into your service.

He does anything and everything you ask of him, no matter how extravagant or nominal the request is. And everything you don’t.

He isn’t stingy with his words, either; he tells you how much he loves you whenever you’re alone, often coming up behind you and sliding his arms around your front, resting his head on your shoulder and breathing deeply.

He presses soft, careful kisses into the crook of your neck, making sure to keep his fangs from pinching you, inhaling your warmth, your scent.

“I love you.” His heart drums into your back. His lips capture your skin again. “I love you,” And again. “I live for you.” And again.

He’s lived with a lifetime of regret for not being able to protect those he held dear; he won’t allow you to go without knowing the extent of his adoration for you. Not when he feels he never truly got to show his family – his ghosts – how much he loved them.

On a lighter note, Miguel LOVES having his hair played with; just card your fingers through his locks and he’s as good as incapacitated.

After a rough day, he crawls into bed and lays his head in your lap or on your chest, his body winding down in your soft embrace.

He lowkey moans when you catch his sensitive spot, his brows knotting together, his voice coming out as a rasped whisper.

He knows when you’re purposely trying to get him worked up, though. And he doesn’t stand for it.

“Careful Darling,” he glowers, the phantom sensation of you tugging his hair a half-weight on his senses. He cracks an eye open, his wine irises peaking out beneath heavy lids.

“Or I won’t be so gentle when it’s my turn to take care of you.”

Miguel prefers private displays of affection over public displays of affection; he doesn’t want his subordinates knowing he’s gone soft.

But, there are exceptions to this principle.

Like if Miguel’s feeling particularly hot and desperate, by which point he whisks you away to the bathroom and the two of you aren’t seen for a good hour or so. Usually longer.

The other exception is if he’s feeling jealous or possessive, by which point his sensibilities have vacated his mind and he’s right behind you, his hands on your waist, your shoulders – anywhere he can hold you. Or, he’s filling your mouth with his tongue and your ear with his words if the other party present doesn’t get the hint that you’re taken.

“You’re mine,” he rasps, his breath hot, prickling your skin, the tips of his fang drawing goosebumps. Miguel’s eyes shine an ocean red, dark and unknown. He has you caged, arms encompassing you entirely.

“And I’ll never let anyone take you from me.”

Speaking of; Miguel is incredibly possessive.

Years of rumination and a history of scattered failures make for a very territorial man. And it shows.

He keeps his hands on you whenever you’re together or in the presence of someone he thinks can steal you from him; someone better than him.

He stares down at them until they fumble or leave; whichever prevails first. After which point, when you’re alone, he turns you round to look at him and just stares at you like 🥺.

The epitome of ‘Babe you pushed my leg off you while you were asleep; do you still love me ???’

You have to reassure him when things like this occur. Take him by the face and hold him gently in your hands; press a soft kiss to his lips and call him your “One and only,”

Doing so is a one-way ticket to a very long night.

Possessive, heartfelt, grasping, gasping love-making.

Miguel can’t stop until your bottom half is numb and the only thing you’re capable of thinking and saying is his name.

Of course, he rewards you for your endurance after the fact.

Aftercare king right here <333

Treats you like you’re glass; he runs you a bath, brings you your favourite drink and changes the bedsheets.

And, when you’re fast asleep and curled up into his chest, his heart flutters, and, for the first time in his life, he feels that he has stability. Pure, unconditional, everlasting love.

And he’ll sooner dismantle the multiverse himself than let anyone or anything take that from him.

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

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forlix · 7 months

Text

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞・l.f.

— five times you want to tell your best friend you love him and the time you finally do.

words・7.7k

pairing・idol!felix x gn!reader

genres・fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn w/a happy ending, 5 + 1 trope, idiots in love who are also afraid of love, you do the math

warnings・alcohol consumption, discussions of anxiety, lots of emotional vulnerability, like a surprising amount of crying icl

playlist・jazz bar by dreamcatcher・spring day by bts・through the night by iu・eight by iu ft. suga・house song by searows・not mine by day6

a/n・i borrowed the title of this beautiful day6 song for this fic; give it a listen if you can (especially while reading part four). happy late birthday, lix <333 thank you for being you

One. The door to the café opens with a soft jingle, bringing a chilly draft into the room and causing you to draw your scarf tighter around your shoulders.

Theoretically, you come here to study—but people-watching has become a simultaneous pastime. There was that couple with a pair of samoyeds, so fluffy that they looked like walking clouds; a mother and son, hunched over their croissants, arguing in a classic “don’t cause a scene in public” tone; an elderly woman in bicycle shorts asking for extra shots of espresso in the menu’s most caffeinated item.

And now, there is him.

“Hello,” the ashy-haired stranger says to the barista with a quick, polite bow. “May I have a medium caramel latte? Hot, with sweetener, please. Thank you.”

His voice reminds you of the notes of a cello, of the feeling of running your fingers through tufted velvet. When he turns away from the counter, he’s slipping a card back into his wallet, and you catch a glimpse of long lashes and a scattering of freckles. You cannot see his face, as it’s covered by a black mask, but that only propels the question further: who are you?

And perhaps it is destiny herself who hooks a gentle finger beneath the stranger’s chin and tilts his head upwards, because when he inadvertently steps into a patch of sunlight, his brown irises illuminate like molten amber, and they are fixed upon you.

You feel your lips part, your stomach turn. You don’t know if your cheeks are so warm because of your piping hot tea (your third one today) or because of the newfound eye contact with someone so ethereal.

But you are sure that the corners of the stranger’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly, as if his lips have just curved into a smile beneath his mask.

“Felix,” the barista calls, and you turn the name silently on your tongue.

Maybe you are exhausted from work and not thinking straight. Maybe you are more starved for change than you’ve ever been. Or maybe you’re just prophetic. But you think you sense forever in this man, with his freckled cheeks and pretty eyes.

That is the first time you want to tell Lee Felix you love him.

Two. The second Felix comes into your line of vision, you sense that something is wrong.

You hold up a hand in greeting, and the smile he returns is sincere but muted, as if it pains him to move, to breathe. He sounded weary on the phone earlier—can I see you tonight? Just for a bit—but only now that he’s in front of you do you see the extent of his fatigue, seeping into his sunken shoulders and lightless eyes.

“Hi,” he says once he’s close enough.

“Hey, you,” you answer, rising out of your seat. Instinctively, he extends his arms toward you, and you draw him into a hug that is fleeting and familiar. He smells faintly of laundry detergent and vanilla, and it makes something within you ache, like an oyster searching for its absent pearl.

When you pull away, your hands move to your best friend’s cheeks, cocooning his face so you can get a better look at him. Even under the sparse streetlights, you see that his eyes are slightly bloodshot, the shadows beneath them deep and sullen. Has he been crying?

“Bad day?” You ask, your hands falling back to your sides.

“The worst,” he returns with a weak smile.

“Wanna take a walk?”

“Yes, please. How long do I have you for?”

This is what you do when your schedules are too packed for you to make real plans: take strolls wherever is most convenient, for however long either of you can spare. Sometimes that’s five minutes, sometimes five hours. But you know that you need to be here for him tonight.

“As long as you need me,” you say.

You turn around to pick up your drinks (a decaf caramel latte for Felix and a black milk tea for yourself), and you don't see the way his smile comes back a little bigger the second time, the way his cheeks warm slightly under the moonlight.

There’s a small park a few blocks behind your apartment. Granted, it's not a very good park, with only a tiny, sad playground and very little foliage, but it is an excellent stargazing spot, due to it being so dark and desolate. You and Felix decide to head there now, your arms touching as you walk through the quiet residential area.

Ten minutes later, blades of grass are poking the back of your head, and directly above you is a sea of scattered stars, flickering like millions of faulty flashlights. Felix’s voice is leaden when he starts to speak, breaking the park’s fragile silence. He tells you about his fears, about how earlier today they overwhelmed him so much that he wanted to lock himself away from the world and throw away the key. He tells you about his dreams, about how even in his relentless pursuit of them they sometimes still feel as amorphous and unattainable as fragments of mist.

The way he always does when he’s around you, Felix spills parts of himself that he never thought he could entrust to anyone. And you don’t say a word, your knee leaning against his, listening, understanding. (But you wish you could tell him a lot of things: that you care for him more than you ever believed yourself capable; that you hope for his happiness more than your own; that you don’t have the words to heal him, but you would give anything to find them.)

By the time the two of you leave the park, it’s almost midnight, and the streets have fallen silent save for the occasional whoosh of car wheels on cement and the distant lamentations of cricket choirs. You’re making small talk now, and Felix is smiling a little easier. It seems your conversation worked in cheering him up; a temporary fix, you’re sure, like a bandaid where stitches should be, but seeing his eyes crinkle and hearing his laugh again is enough to soothe your worry for the rest of the night, at the very least.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay going back yourself?” You ask once the two of you reach the entrance to your apartment building.

“Yeah, of course.” Felix touches the back of his neck apologetically. “I’m sorry I kept you out so late.”

“Nonsense, Lix. I’m always here for you.”

Felix averts his eyes to his shoes, and you’re caught off guard by his facial expression: exhausted but contemplative, and possessing a sense of tenderness. It is a look that you don’t think you’ve seen before, and you feel your heartstrings pull at its unfamiliarity, its strange softness.

You say your goodbyes, but your "let me know when you get home safe" is cut short when you feel a hand catch your wrist, just as you’re entering the building.

How Felix doesn’t notice your frantic pulse beneath his touch is beyond you, but instead he parts his lips, and his next words resound in your mind as you try and fail to fall asleep that night.

“I can’t explain why, or how—but I feel braver when I’m with you, Y/N. I meant to tell you that earlier.”

And those three words rush to your mind fleetingly, like saltwater crashing against the shores of your mind. Even when the tide has subsided, they remain on the sand, waiting to be read aloud.

“Thank you,” Felix mumbles, “for everything.”

You don’t read out those words, of course. Instead, you reach up to squish Felix’s face and call him a sentimental dork, to which he rolls his eyes affectionately and bats you away, and the moment is over. But when you turn to go, your heart is pounding so loudly that your reply may as well have been a confession.

Three. You sink into your mattress, careful to keep your tea within your mug’s rim, and let out a hybrid of a groan and a sigh that is strikingly reminiscent of an old man lowering himself into a worn armchair.

You can’t remember the last time you had a cold this terrible. It feels as if your lungs took a plunge in a vat of wet cement and then rolled around in gravel immediately afterward. And it’s got you in the mood to do nothing but listen to the heavy drops of rain knocking against your window, curl up with a good show and a hot drink, and bask in your own congestion.

But then your phone, which you left in the bathroom, emits four deafening notification sounds, and you haul yourself back out of bed with a groan-sigh that’s twice as anguished as the last.

When you reach the hellish device, your best friend’s name greets you, and your ire dissipates momentarily.

From: Lix 🐣 Hey hey From: Lix 🐣 We still on for dinner tonight? From: Lix 🐣 Just gonna be me, Minho, Seungmin. Jeongin has a vocal lesson From: Lix 🐣 Please don’t play the “if Jeongin doesn’t go neither do I” card again I’ve had enough of it!!! ENOUGH

You let out a throaty laugh that sounds like one of Minho’s cats battling a hairball, heading back to bed.

From: Y/N 🌙 ahhhh i meant to text you earlier, but i have the worst cold From: Y/N 🌙 no clue how or why i caught it but i feel like fucking shit. it’d be a bad idea for me to come over right now From: Y/N 🌙 sorry :( can we raincheck in a few days? From: Y/N 🌙 (that way jeongin can come too!!!)

Felix dislikes this last text, and you snort into your tea.

From: Lix 🐣 Yeah, of course. Don’t apologize From: Lix 🐣 Do you need anything? You’re eating and sleeping well, yeah? From: Y/N 🌙 sleeping, YES. From: Y/N 🌙 eating, not really 😅 but i don’t have much of an appetite anyways From: Y/N 🌙 don’t worry about me. i’ll be raring to go in a day or two

Felix starts to type a response, but the gray dots disappear after a bit, and you set your phone face-down on your nightstand. He probably has to get back to work, and you have to get back to your episode.

Slowly, the soporific fragrance of chamomile and the lull of relentless rain start to weigh on your eyelids, and you slump unconsciously into your makeshift fortress of blankets, your show playing to nobody.

Night has fallen by the time the door of your apartment clicks open, and Felix pokes a head into your dark kitchen, cautiously calling out your name. When you don’t respond, he slips inside and moves to your kitchen counter, where he unloads the bags in his arms. A spare key to your place dangles from the opening of his hoodie pocket.

There’s a quiet knock on your bedroom door, another call of your name—infinitely softer this time, like how one would speak to a dove. But Felix finds you out like a light, even when he closes your laptop and puts it on your desk, checks your temperature with a gentle hand to your forehead. It feels normal enough to let you sleep, but warm enough that he brings a glass of water and two pills of ibuprofen to your nightstand, placed within your reach, should you wake up in the middle of the night needing them.

Using only the slivers of light coming in from the hallway, Felix allows himself to look at your sleeping form. Your breathing is callous but steady; your face pallid but peaceful. And if only you'd seen see the tiny, helpless smile that pulls at his lips; if only you'd heard the pulse protesting against his skin, yelling at him “do something about this, you fucking idiot, and do it soon."

But you don’t see or hear anything; you just speak, instead.

“Stay with me,” you whisper, and Felix’s hand freezes on your doorknob, his eyes widening in the darkness. “Please?”

There is a lengthy period of nothing, during which neither of you makes another noise; there is only the sound of your clock ticking, raindrops rushing against the windows, and Felix’s heart in his ears.

And then he moves.

“C'mere,” Felix murmurs once he’s lying down next to you, and you nestle into his embrace as easily as if you've always belonged there, your face burrowing into the crook of his neck, your arms winding around his waist, searching for him, asking for him.

Felix has always expressed his affection for people through touch, and you’ve gotten used to his constant hand on your shoulder, his leg resting against yours. But he thinks this is the first time you’ve initiated physicality outright, and he feels a concerned pang in his chest at your unexpected vulnerability. He lifts a hand to cradle the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair.

“Gonna get you sick,” you say with a wet sniffle, your voice muffled against him. And Felix presses a kiss to the top of your head, perhaps without thinking as much as he should have; but who can blame him for forgetting to think when he’s holding you the way he is?

“Don’t care,” he answers readily. “I'm not going anywhere.”

At some point before you fall back asleep, you think your mouth actually forms the words I love you, subtly and silently and into the fabric of his hoodie. But you resume your slumber before you can think more of it. (Felix waits until your breathing is steady again, checks your temperature one more time; and only afterward does he allow his eyes to close.)

The next morning, you wake to an empty bed and a Post-It note explaining that Felix had to run to a recording session: Check your kitchen! See u soon x. Accompanied by a small, messy doodle of a baby chick popping out of its egg.

Your face melts into a smile when you see that the fridge is chock-full of fresh groceries and the pantry has been restocked with your favorite snacks, including a batch of Felix’s world-famous sea salt brownies—accompanied by another note with another doodle, this time a crescent moon wearing your sneakers. Sugar is prolly bad for you rn. Pls have in moderation!

When you pull out your phone to thank him for everything, you see his remaining texts from yesterday—and you feel momentarily empty, as if only then noticing that you've been missing a fraction of your soul your whole life.

From: Lix 🐣 I’ll drop by tonight to check on you From: Lix 🐣 Wait for me, okay?

And he is right in front of you, just out of reach.

Four. “This isn’t a bad idea, right?” Chan asks under his breath.

“Nah, they’ll be fine,” Minho replies, clapping a hand on the leader’s shoulder. “Y/N will take care of him.”

A loud yelp comes from up ahead, and the men whip around quickly enough to crack a joint—only to realize that the noise was the opening note of DAY6’s “Not Mine,” and you and Felix have just launched into song so terribly and so loudly that it’s probably awoken the entirety of Seoul.

“And who’s gonna take care of Y/N?”

The two men look at each other for a moment before deciding they’re not interested in talking the two of you out of a disorderly intoxication charge.

“Let me know when you get back!” Chan hollers after you, and they reenter the karaoke bar in a hurry.

The members decided to go out for karaoke after finishing promotions earlier that week, and Felix invited you to come along. And you might've gone a little overboard with the mango sake, but your level of tipsy is nothing compared to that of the blue-haired boy draped over you.

Felix is rather prone to hangovers, you’ve discovered from past experiences, so the moment he started speaking in some kind of nonsensical Korean-English mutation that not even Chan could understand, the members tasked you with taking him home early. Now, Felix has his arm around your neck, less out of affection and more out of a genuine requirement for support, doing his best to walk in a straight line. He hasn't stopped grinning for the last hour, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to run out of energy anytime soon, not as long as there’s more of DAY6’s discography to butcher.

In spite of your foggy mind, you're well aware that your best friend has never been prettier. He sets the bar high as it is, but then you throw in the flushed lips and cheeks, the lopsided, ditzy grin, the wine-kissed complexion, and life becomes terribly difficult for you. It doesn’t help that alcohol amplifies his proclivity for physical contact—he's been attached to your hip all night, holding your waist, pulling you into incidental hugs.

Needless to say, your current situation is a bit precarious; but you don't know that. Not yet.

The two of you finish your disrespectful rendition of “Not Mine” just as you pass the apartment’s front desk, and it is only when you see the deadly look that the receptionist gives you over the brim of his glasses that you finally feel sober again. You have the sense to incline your head in apology. Felix, however, launches into “You Were Beautiful” without a care in the world.

You dig a pointed elbow into his ribs as you hit the up button, and his singing abruptly falters with a pained huff. "Ow."

“Take an intermission, superstar,” you say. “The receptionist looks like he’s ready to throttle us.”

“Ah, he would never. We’re tight,” he returns, and before you can stop him he’s lifting his head, raising his voice. “Have a good night, Mr. Seo!”

Your nose scrunches into an apprehensive wince—but instead, you think you hear a hint of a smile in the man's cool reply.

“You too, Mr. Lee. Keep your voices down, please.”

“Yes, sir!” You and Felix reply in unison. Felix gives you a smile that says I told you so before he nestles his cheek against your shoulder, and you shake your head. Nobody is immune to the boy’s brightness.

Entering the building seemed to be effective in calming Felix down. The elevator ride up is silent save for a bit of quiet humming, and you finally see a bit of sleep on his face when you open the door of his dorm and turn on the living room lights. He lets you escort him to his bathroom without a word.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” you say, reaching to pat his cheeks a couple times. “Be careful in there.”

“M’kay. Thank you," he says with a drowsy smile, and closes the door.

You pull out your phone and open up your messages with Chan, remembering his parting request.

To: Chan 🐺 we got back safe!! To: Chan 🐺 lix is gonna be okay. i'll take care of him

A few minutes later, a notification appears at the top of your screen; Chan left hearts on both of your messages and sent two in response.

From: Chan 🐺 Thanks, good to hear :) you get some rest too, okay? From: Chan 🐺 Bro tore that sake UP

You begin to type back a retort—give me a break it was basically JUICE—when you hear Felix call your name, his voice muffled through the bathroom door.

“What's up?” You answer.

“I think I’m...stuck.”

Now what the hell does that mean?

“Can I come in?”

“Mhm.”

You open the door, and your attempt to suppress your laughter fails with flying colors. Felix is well and truly stuck in his crewneck, the gray material swathed around his head, his arms positioned in some kind of advanced pretzel formation.

“You are a hot mess, Lee Yongbok," you sing, moving toward him, and he whines from inside his cotton prison.

“Please don’t kick me while I’m down.”

Grinning, you bring your fingers to the hem of his top and attempt to lift it over his head. He’s managed to tangle himself quite impressively, and the next few minutes are spent with you trying to extract him, like he’s that one nose hair that your tweezers have never been able to reach, all while he's moaning and groaning about the fabric catching on his earrings, about his joints not being able to handle this kind of pressure anymore.

He emerges from the crewneck a while later looking positively disgruntled. You toss the gray mass onto the counter, proud of your handiwork.

“So maybe I‘m a hot mess,” he concedes. “A little bit.”

“That's alright. We all have our moments,” you giggle. “Come on, let me help you with your jewelry.”

For a second, he looks like he’s about to protest—but the look you give him reminds him that his motor functions are currently on strike.

“Okay,” he mumbles adorably.

You position yourself a little closer to Felix and lift your hands to the nape of his neck, where the clasp of his chain lies. It takes you a few tries to undo it, and you end up having to use the mirror above the sink for guidance. Soon, there is a soft click. You set the chain down next to the crewneck before your hands return to the sides of his face, this time to tuck long, light blue strands behind the cuffs of his ears. Your fingers run over the curves of his silver earrings.

“Are these bothering you at all?” You ask nonchalantly. “I forgot you had so many piercings.”

In your peripheral vision, you see Felix’s lips move, but no sound comes out. Puzzled, you move your eyes to meet his, and it takes you one blink’s worth of time to understand the source of his speechlessness.

Somewhere between your reaching up to touch his necklace and the present moment, you’ve come incredibly, dangerously close to him. Close enough that you can count the freckles that speckle his skin like fallen stars, that you can feel the heat of his body against your own, that Felix’s eyes are nearly crossed trying to maintain eye contact with you.

Your heartbeat lodges itself firmly in your throat, and your thoughts evaporate into complete and utter disarray. There are three differently-worded apologies on the tip of your tongue within seconds. You immediately start to pray that he won’t remember this tomorrow morning. And your strongest impulse is to move; to get as far away from him as possible, before either of you does anything you'll regret.

But there is something that overwhelms your every instinct, and stops you from budging an inch. And that is the way Felix is looking at you, unblinking brown eyes filled with something that doesn’t have a name. It is the same tender expression that’d surprised you the first time you saw it, and it is with a spiraling stomach that you finally realize what that expression is.

You reach your conclusion a second after he does.

Felix’s hand lifts to cradle your jaw, his face moving closer to yours. Your foreheads touch, wisps of his hair falling over the bridge of your nose, your senses engulfed by the vanilla of his cologne and the touch of sweet wine on his breath. The scene is as delicate as a dragonfly’s tail dipping into a pond’s surface; even a minuscule disturbance would shatter this limbo instantaneously.

A part of you wishes that it would, but nothing does. There is only his pulse, perceptible through the thin cloth of his tank top, vehement beneath your fingertips—and your heart, naked and frail, sitting upon the palm of his hand.

Felix doesn’t push you away; he doesn’t kiss you. He does something far worse.

“I love you,” he whispers.

A few seconds. That is how long you stand there for, with every word of every language you know inaccessible, every qualm and doubt and source of anxiety that plagued your mind moments before now distant memories, every ounce of your energy channeled into keeping yourself upright.

But the few seconds feel like forever. The same way he has always felt like forever to you. The same way you imagined you would spend forever loving him, close enough for him to love you back, but far enough that he’ll never know the true nature of your affection: greater and truer than anything anyone would ever call friendship.

An urgent question suddenly surfaces in your mind: is he still drunk? He was falling up, down, and sideways minutes ago. Surely this was an intoxicated slip of the tongue. But you discern the slight tremble to Felix’s breathing and the intensity in his heavy-lidded gaze, all far too intentional, far too conscious to be wine-induced—leaving behind one impossible possibility.

You should be having your happy tears kissed from your face right now. You should be over the moon, relishing in the sensation of two stars aligning at long fucking last, the way you’ve dreamed of since the very first time you laid eyes on Felix.

But instead, you just feel inexplicably and profusely afraid.

You won’t remember the specifics of the next few minutes. You think you stumble away from him and whisper I’m sorry through watering eyes, though you don’t really know what for. He sputters something in return, his tone so desperate and confused that you feel your heart break to pieces on the spot. You apologize again, leave the bathroom, and move towards the apartment door as if your life depends on it. In your peripheral vision, you notice the crease of concern on Mr. Seo’s face when you stalk past him, tears now flying freely down your cheeks. You run into Minho and Jeongin when you step out of the building, and you see the worry that creases their faces, hear their voices calling your name. Jeongin's hand closes around your wrist—are you okay?! What the fuck happened?—but you do not, can not say anything, not right now.

And then you are alone again, and you briskly walk the two miles back to your apartment. Your mind and heart are every bit as foggy as the somber night sky that hangs over your head.

Five. When the two of you step out of the restaurant and into the evening, Felix turns around to face you, launching into his best tour guide walk.

“And, with that,” he says with a glowing smile, “we are nearing the end of our tour of Sydney.”

“Noooo,” you lament, reaching your arm out. Felix falls back into step beside you and links it with his, the movement like clockwork. Your jackets scrunch up together where your elbows bend. “Already?”

“Okay, the tour’s been going on for two days and you haven’t paid a cent for my toil. Don’t push your luck.”

Your laughter spills into the otherwise quiet avenue, the setting sun throwing shadows across the cement, but it always feels like midday when you have the brightest man in the world by your side.

When the two of you discovered you had a free weekend on the same days, Felix conjured up the idea of going home—and suggested that you go with him. You’d freaked out for a bit, but then Felix reminded you that his mom texts you on your birthday and that you’re on multiple different subscription plans with his sisters, and you collected yourself quite quickly. There was a lot of cheering over the phone when Felix informed his family that they’d finally get to meet you in person.

But such a fast trip to the other side of the world proved to be no easy feat. Felix took on the task of piecing together a travel plan that would cover most of his favorite spots in forty-eight hours. The last two weeks were filled with him fretting over the details and you fretting over him, asking time and time again if you could help with anything, only for him to shoo you away with a single hand and a pointed “you are my guest. Now leave me.”

With assistance from every other resource at his disposal, though, he pulled it off, and the weekend has been wonderful thus far.

“I think that was some of the best food I’ve ever had, seriously,” you hum. “I’ll be dreaming about those appetizers for the rest of my life.”

“I'm glad. It took a Socratic seminar to choose the place, after all."

(The Socratic seminar in question: a two-hour FaceTime call and an intense match of rock-paper-scissors between him and his siblings, aimed to decide on where Felix would take you for dinner the second night. Only for his mom to ignore all of their efforts and insist upon her own choice of restaurant instead—no ifs, ands, or buts.)

“We have to try your sisters’ recommendations the next time I visit, don’t we?”

“Yes," he returns, shuddering. "I think my family is done for if we don’t."

He has one place left to take you, and the two of you head there now, shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm.

A month has passed since that night.

You’ve tried with every fiber of your being to put the whole thing from your mind, of course to no avail. You see Felix’s flushed lips and gentle gaze every time you blink; you hear his “I love you” every time you’re alone, the words whispered in the wind and dragged over the earth, in tandem with your footsteps.

You wanted to fucking die of awkwardness in the few days following, but it was never an option for you to avoid Felix for long. The two of you still went on convenience store runs together; still met up for coffee before work; still continued your business as usual, against all odds. And you owed it all to Felix and how he knows you better than you know yourself. He didn’t try to talk to you when he sensed that you had nothing to say; nor did he try to bring you back when you felt miles away. He would just silently slip a pack of your favorite cookies into your grocery basket or order your drink on your behalf.

Felix had questions and wanted answers; there was no doubt about that. But he held his tongue, granted you as much space as you needed to come back to him. And you did, in your gradual, meticulous way.

You’re finally going to bring it up tonight. You’ve planned to since the day you confirmed the trip, and you hope that the final stop of the tour will be the perfect place to bite the bullet.

“We’re here,” Felix says.

The two of you have arrived at the bank of a wide river, and you’re at a temporary loss for words. To your right is a bridge that spans the distance of the water, and to your left is a stunning, panoramic view of the city of Sydney. Twilight has turned the buildings into dark silhouettes against the autumn sunset, and the water reminds you of a palette of oil paints with how it reflects the pinks and oranges in the sky.

Felix feels you tighten your hold around his arm, and he smiles when he sees the wonder in your eyes. He wishes he could see this place for the first time again.

“Not bad, huh?”

“No,” you murmur. “Not at all.”

“C’mon.”

Felix leads you to the center of the bridge, where he props his elbows atop the metal railing and looks over the water. You join him and pull out your phone, but no settings or adjustments render your camera capable of capturing the landscape's beauty.

(Until Felix throws up a peace sign and pokes his head into the corner of your frame. Then it stands a fighting chance.)

“What is this place?” You ask, your shoulder touching his when you also lean over the railing. “Why are we the only ones here?”

“Crazy, right?” Felix says proudly. “I dunno. I think it might be private property, or something. But it’s only a few blocks away from my house and on the way I used to take to school, so I used to come here all the time, always around this time of day.”

Felix’s gaze moves over the sky, oblivious to the fact that his eyes hold whole rainbows of their own.

“There was never anyone around, but I could still hear the birds chirping and the wind in the leaves. It felt like a corner of the world had been sealed off just for me. I’m glad to see that nothing’s changed.”

Some time passes, and Felix tells you more stories about this peculiar bridge: how he asked someone to formal and got rejected and came here to reflect on his actions; how he had to take two different buses every day because his school was so far away from his house, but he always stopped here to feed the families of mallards that came out to swim in the mornings, even if it meant he’d be late; how this was the last place he went to before moving to South Korea, because he knew he’d miss this nook of Sydney most.

Of all the places you've visited, you think this one will remain with you longest. As time elapses, the colors of the sunset augment and deepen, dyeing the world in ways that remind you of the aurora. And then there is the man, wearing a gentle smile to match his softened features, his voice to your ears what honey is to a sore throat, telling you about his past, letting you into yet another chamber of his soul.

You are in no way prepared to butcher the sanctity of this moment, but you know that you can only run for so long and so far. You owe it to him. You owe it to yourself.

When the sun’s final rays are clinging the faraway mountaintops, Felix lifts himself off the railing and stands up straight. “Ready to go home?"

And your hand finds his, the pads of your fingers cold against his skin. Felix is surprised at first, but then he sees the hint of sadness in your eyes and the tension in your shoulders, and he understands what’s coming.

“I want to talk to you about that night,” you say.

Felix doesn’t respond for a few seconds. But when he does, his voice is so soft and so infuriatingly kind that hearing it makes you want to sob.

“...you don’t have to, Y/N.”

“No. I do,” you return, startling even yourself with the firmness in your voice, "I don’t want to keep dancing around the topic, not when you’ve been waiting for as long as you have.”

You feel Felix’s gaze on your face, as if he’s trying to read between your lines, and then he yields with a slight incline of his head.

“Okay.” And the stage is yours.

You don't start talking right away, your mind reeling with the effort to organize everything you feel and verbalize everything you want to tell him. It isn’t until Felix gives your hand a gentle squeeze—you’ve forgotten that you’re still holding his—that you feel rooted in the moment again.

It’s Felix you’re talking to; your soulmate, your sunlight. Nothing you are about to say will ever change that. This, you believe with every fiber of your being.

So you take a deep breath.

“When you said those words,” you begin, and the words sound alien in your voice, despite how many times you’ve rehearsed this conversation in your head, “I couldn’t process a thing. I was so happy, but I was so, so scared. I’ve spent the last month trying to figure out why I was so scared, and I can’t say that I know for sure yet, but I have a much better idea now, and—it’s a lot of things.

“For as long as I can remember, I have only ever been able to love profoundly and deeply, with everything in me. And over time, I led myself to believe that nobody would ever be able to understand or reciprocate my love, not in the manner I want most.”

You feel yourself starting to waver, but you find strength in his touch.

“But you changed that, Felix. You walked into that café that afternoon with your voice and your smile, and suddenly I’d found you—someone who experiences life the way I do, who loves the way I love. And every day since, I’ve been surrounded by you and your effortless warmth and your beautiful soul. It was only a matter of time before I started hoping, constantly and stupidly, that you would one day love me, the same way that I—”

Your voice catches in your throat like a heel slamming into car brakes, “love you” hanging so dangerously from the tip of your tongue that you’re stunned it doesn’t fall out right away.

“But that’s why I’m fucking terrified,” you go on. “When you told me you loved me, I felt like I could fly. But I also felt like I was falling—and maybe this is because I was still tipsy, I'm not really sure—but in that moment I saw a world where we weren't there to catch each other, where something had gone horribly wrong and I'd wake up one morning and you’d—you’d just be a distant memory.

“And that was the thought that shook me so badly: losing you. Leaving you.” You’re crying now, tears paving golden trails against your cheeks. “For whatever reason, that was the first thing that came to mind, and it broke me.”

You need to wrap it up, and fast, if your faltering voice and racing heart are any indication.

“I meant it when I apologized to you that night. I’m sorry, Lix. I’m sorry I made everything so fucking complicated. I’m sorry that I ran away. I’m sorry that I hurt you, or worried you. But I want you to know that I feel more for you than you will ever understand; I just need a little more time to put it into words. So, wait for me—”

Your eyes squeeze shut, and you finally cave, your last word coming out in a shattered rasp.

“—please.”

And the syllable has barely left your mouth when Felix lets go of your hand, only to bring his arms around you and pull you to his chest with such urgency that the breath momentarily leaves your lungs.

When you fall against him, you fall entirely apart. You have no idea where all the feelings are coming from, only that they’re suddenly overwhelming your every sense. And you start to cry, really cry, your fingers seeking refuge in his jacket, in his hair.

The sun departs at last, and night starts to fall. You lose track of how long you remain in this position, shaking with hushed sobs, fighting to regain control of your emotions. But Felix stays with you through it all, muted tears of his own intermingling with yours in the material of his scarf. He holds you carefully yet fiercely, like you really will crumble if he lets go.

And he waits, because of course he does. He would wait lifetimes for you.

One. The way you thaw is like melting snow.

It happens under your nose for the most part, but it is slow, sure, and irreversible, and you open your eyes one morning only to realize that the world outside has changed—and so have you.

You roll over and pick up your phone. There are unread messages from Felix sitting in your notifications, probably confirming the plans you made to get coffee before work today, but you put them on hold for now. Instead, you open up your camera roll and find an album, labeled with a sun emoji and yellow heart.

You made this a few months after you met Felix, and you’ve doted on it since, in the sense that you update it almost every day. Funnily enough, though, you’ve never looked through the album just to look through it. Maybe because you’ve never had the time or felt the impulse, but more likely because you know that the album is a visual time capsule of your relationship with the most important person in your life—which has never been purely platonic for you, despite how hard you’ve tried to change your heart.

Looking through it would mean acknowledging your true emotions, something you’ve never felt ready for.

Now, you open the album without a second thought, a preemptive smile on your lips. And you find yourself swept out of your bed and thrown back inside each of the pictures you see, reliving the moments as vividly as if you’re watching them on film.

This is one of your favorites, taken during a late-night tteokbokki run to a small restaurant behind Felix's company building. Felix was laughing so hard at one of your stories that he could only take bites of his meal every five minutes. His face had broken into a dazzling grin, his figure blurring as he lurched forward in his seat, trying to pull his hood over his face in secondhand embarrassment. Snap. He is always handsome, extraordinarily so, but you think you love the way he looks here most of all: every guard of his lowered, carefree, happy.

Another is from the first time you met Chan. Nowadays, your interactions with the boys consist mostly of running into them at Felix's dorm and making friendly small talk. But it's always been different with the oldest member. The first time Felix introduced the two of you, you clicked straightaway, and you had to have spent four hours after dinner just talking, scouring the city for something cold to eat. By the end of the sweltering summer night, the three of you were perched atop a short stone barrier in a secluded corner of Seoul, right outside the best bingsu place in all of South Korea. Felix had leaned over to steal the last cube of mango from Chan’s bowl, to Chan's dramatic protest. Snap. And Chan is like a brother to you now; you will never be able to fathom how much light Felix has brought to your life, be it through him or the people he loves.

A computer screen displaying a League of Legends scoreboard, in which Felix has died more times than there were minutes of the game. Snap. You (not sober) in the center of Felix's living room, your body poised in what is supposed to be the chorus of “Queencard," Felix and Bin completely losing their shit on the couch. Snap. His head bowed in anguish over a bowl of brownie batter after he mistakes salt for sugar. Snap. A low-quality, tiny Felix on stage, the brightest grin on his face when he finally manages to spot you in the nosebleeds. Snap. Your dining table creaking under the weight of all the gifts he got you for your last birthday. Snap. Him and one of your best friends from home, arms around each other, peace signs thrown up, beaming. Snap.

There are countless more, and they are all so incredibly near and dear to you, all thanks to the freckled boy in each.

You respond to Felix's messages (“be there soon!”), and then move to get dressed. There is a new sense of certainty in your gait when you emerge from your building and into the quiet morning.

The weather is lovely, the fresh sunlight cream-colored against a cloudless sky, the light breeze shuffling the new leaves about. A hound’s ears twitch when you hurry past its home; it is too drowsy to investigate your presence further. The only sounds in the air are the chattering of sparrows in the branches above you and the soles of your shoes, moving quickly across the sidewalk. The wonder in the world is more palpable to you today than it’s ever been.

Soon, the chalk-written menu and hand-carved wooden sign of your favorite café come into view, and you open the door. There are only a few customers inside, and you spot your person right away: his long, dark hair partially pinned back, his figure flattered by a black long sleeve and jeans. He has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, as well as two drinks on the table before him: one caramel latte and one black milk tea.

When he hears the door jingle, he looks up, and the smile that melts across his face is so fond that you can’t believe there was ever a time when you doubted his feelings for you.

The way his loving smile mirrors onto your face is as inevitable and involuntary as destiny herself.

“Hi,” Felix says, rising from his seat.

“Hey, you,” you answer. “Wanna take a walk?”

And so you do.

You link arms, as always; you try each other’s drinks, as always; you manage to talk about everything and nothing all at once, as always. But when his company building comes into view, your footsteps come to a halt, and your hand fastens around the cuff of his sleeve.

“Hey, Lix—"

When his eyes meet yours, the sun hits them just right, and you have not known anything as clearly and certainly as you do right then.

“—I love you.”

Felix can only stare, his eyes so wide that you can see the whites of them all around, his straw falling from his parted lips.

Then, a smile starts to creep across his face like spilt syrup.

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Lee Yongbok.”

He sets his bag and drink down on the pavement. “Again, please.”

“I love you,” you repeat, starting to laugh. “I love you, I love you, god, I love you, Felix, so fucking much—”

Felix brings his hands to either side of your face, leaning his forehead against your own. And this time, there is no hesitation, no fear—only starlight when he tilts your chin up and finally, finally presses his lips to yours.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, hordes of them flapping so fervently you feel as though you might take off into the air, but you seek out his elbows, then his shoulders, and then the back of his neck, anchoring yourself to the earth, to him. Felix kisses you like he will never be able to again, and it is all you can do to savor how the curve of his smile feels against your own; how he murmurs the words “I love you, too” in between breaths. He tastes like sugar and smells like shampoo. He feels like forever.

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bowieandqueen11 · 2 months

Text

We Need A New Lock / Sanji Imagine

Request: could you write a sanji x reader fic of them alone in reader's room? they always end up getting interrupted by someone just as they get close to kissing, and its torture for sanji because they just cant find a moment alone with each other, so he finally finds a way to be with her late one night where he can kiss her senseless uninterrupted. thank you!

First I just wanted to say, thank you so much everyone for your support as I recovered from my operation! I'm so happy to be here and writing again!

Okay but this is both super sweet and hilarious, I hope you don't mind I spread this out over the deck a bit, and changed it around a little bit for more fun ;)

Warning: slightly spicy, so 18+ please!

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @islandofohara.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Try One: Nami

At try one, Sanji was four seconds away from ripping his hair out.

Poor, Sanji: the sweet cook had spent all of dinner service with his hands clenched tightly in his fringe, fistfuls of hair nearly tugged out and scattered among the Matcha Tiramisu he had spent a lonely, and tired morning dragging himself away from your warm embrace to make specially for you. Toiling, rolling, dusting cream and cocoa that he had spent the last handful of his berries trading for from the speciality trader in the markets of the Canopi Islands; he had squinted underneath the honey melt of the sun as it fell from its crest over the horizon as he whisked and whizzed and splattered dessert up to his elbows in his desperation to make sure the sweet treat would be ready before Luffy caught the scent of it.

Finding it too tempting not to toy with the cook, you tried to stifle your smirk as you nonchalantly placed a fist under your chin and feigned interest in whatever Nami was animatedly trying to chew over with you. Flitting your irises over until you made direct eye contact, you dragged the flat edge of your tongue up the back of the spoon, making sure to wet the edge of your thumb along the way.

At any other time, Sanji may have been beside himself with embarrassment. It wasn't the first time a member of the crew had teased him... or snarled at him... or chided him for his obvious endearment, but the sound of Nami's voice was drowned out by the pulsing rush of blood that flooded through your boyfriend's ears. His full concentration was centred solely on the way your teeth scraped over your fork: the content hum as you licked over your fingers like a serpent and nearly sent Sanji clambering onto the floor to beg for the ecstasy of your sin.

You had tried not to chortle, you really had: hiding your face behind the ledger Nami was leaning over the table to shove into your face, her accusing pointer finger jabbing at a new entry she had triple underlined in her familiarly baleful black strokes. She hadn't even noticed that Sanji was nearly crumpled on the floor, bowl lying abandoned by the sink as his love-struck eyes struggled to stay within his skull.

'3000 berries?! Seriously?', she shot a growingly outraged frown in your direction, clattering her fork onto the table so she could use her free hand to point accusingly towards a recovering Sanji, whose fingernails were almost shedding wood shards off the cabinet drawer as he tried to pull himself back up to a presentable looking stand. 'You let curly brows over there spend three thousand of our berries on a pair of new pyjamas for you?'

You shrugged hesitantly, crossing your legs under the table. Your skirt began to rise up, bunching towards your hip as you crossed your ankles. You shot a lingering glance out of the corner of your eye towards Sanji, hoping with all your might that he'd be too bashful to meet your eye. Instead, as Nami cried out in outrage, Sanji's gleeful eyes locked onto yours, and the poor man was forced to grab the wooden edge of his spoon out of the sink and bite into it with his teeth to stop himself from squealing right there and then in the kitchen.

Nami incredulously trailed her eyes between the two of you, a long-simmering jaded scowl tempering over her face. Finally noticing how Sanji was loosening his shirt collar and using a freshly washed baking tray to fan the heat rolling in volcanic waves off his body.

The cat burglar pushed her tongue against her cheek and inhaled sharply as she turned her attention back to you. 'How is that even possible?! Luffy's meat budget for the month costs less than that!'

'They're special, my dear Nami!', Sanji finally managed to pipe in, his voice sounding strangled as he plopped the tray back down next to his damp tea towel. He turned towards the two of you with a pained smile plastered on his sickly looking face.

'They're made of Agar-Agar flakes, and of course, only the finest dehydrated avocados in all of the East Blue for the finest gem in all of the seas.' Sanji cocked his head and winked at you mischievously. 'It was worth every berry for my delectable little sweet pea.'

Nami made a gagging noise into her orange juice, but Sanji just bit his bottom lip and came sauntering over to stand by your side.

Sanji's breath drew in sharply as you absentmindedly began to brush your pointer finger up and up: first tickling over the arm that came winding around your shoulder, before leaning back to trace the edge of his jaw line, your eyes drawn away from Nami's waving hands to gawk up at the unbuttoned gap between his shirt where his Adam's apple lay tautly.

Nami was about to throw her muffin at your head when she suddenly started, bolting straight upright. Leaning forward on her elbows, she squinted her eyes suspiciously at the way you were nearly falling off the dining table's bench to lean back and caress your boyfriend's face.

'Hold on... what do you mean Agar Agar? How can they be made of food...'

'Well', you snorted, trying to hide your face by pulling one of Sanji's heavy arms up and draping his heavy bicep in front of your crinkling eyes. 'They are edible-'.

'Melt in the mouth, in fact', Sanji chimed in audaciously, bending his spine over so he could press a few butterfly kisses over the top of your scalp.

Nami nearly shoved the table straight into your stomach in her desperation to clamber up and escape the two of you. 'Nope. Nope! Absolutely not. The two of you get out of here now, before I start pitching water over your heads.'

Try Two: Usopp

At try two, Sanji was three seconds away from kicking the door of its hinges in annoyance.

It had taken nearly all night for the two of you to get even these few seconds of isolation together, and yet Sanji still felt so woefully unprepared. His fingers stumbled as he clumsily tried his best to ignore how his pounding heart was almost playing leap-frog with his ribs; the tautening of his abdomen as he tried to pull his under-shirt over his head left exultant lacerations against his muscles. He had to work up the courage to turn and kiss you now, or he was going to keel over and pass out on the floor from his heart's anguish: brought to his knees by the one thing he could never escape: his soul’s serendipity.

Thankfully, you did the hard part for him.

He flushed at the sound of your feet pattering off your bed to echo through the shimmering walls towards him; he throat bobbed at the feel of your hand delicately winding round to finger at the Windsor knot choking his neck. He nearly cried out when you pressed your body flush against his back.

'My buttercup, if you keep pulling at that tie like that you'll have conked out before I've even got you to the bed.'

You could feel the desperation radiate off Sanji as he tilted his head back to try and watch you. Despite how tired he seemed, his dipping eyelashes roved almost hungrily over every aspect of you he could see, his hand coming up to slide over yours until you were bowered and anchored together in the storm.

'Well my honeyed heart', he almost made your breath hitch as he walked the two of you backwards, stopping only once the heavy weight of your bed swung against your knee pit. 'I suppose I'll just have to bring the bed to us.'

With a grunt that sounded suspiciously close to a puppy's whine, Sanji snapped you up within his arms and lifts you up to sit on the chained platform. Once you had regained your balance, you beckoned your pointer finger towards Sanji, and he nearly tripped over his own feet as he came stumbling towards you, dragged forwards as if yanked by an invisible leash tied around his ankles.

'God, I missed you today', your boyfriend muttered, grabbing onto your shirt and nearly crawling into your skin like a man possessed. As your head hit the linen lining of the swing, the man did his best not to collapse his full weight onto you when he came crushing down on top of your abdomen: the only thing holding him up being the point of his elbows that pin your arms in place, and the jut of his knees as they 'accidentally' fall between yours and slide them further... and further open. 'If Luffy has me make cook up one more medium-rare steak for him I'm going to throw myself headfirst into the ocean.'

You snorted, burrowing your nose into the soft mound of flesh underneath his earlobe. He shivered when you teasingly pursed your lips and blew against the shell, before latching on with your teeth and nipping at the squishy skin. 'If you do, don't worry. I'll make sure to fish you out with a frog net.'

'Frog net? Frog net!' Sanji slowly lowered his body to rest his forehead against the curve of skin just above your breasts, trying to stifle his smile. 'Oh, my wounded heart! I hope you're only saying that because you're going to give me a kiss.'

'Actually, it's because you're so slimy', you teased, poking your finger into his hip. His groan echoed into your bone as he pulled your waist tighter against him.

The starved man exhaled, his arms tightening around your waist; he was hiding himself away in your safety, trying to burrow himself underneath your skin like an ensnared goldcrest flying fruitlessly, dangerously, with harrowing hope for the propitious freedom wrought only by the sun.

Sanji made an incomprehensible gargle that sounded something vaguely along the lines of: 'Eye wansh kisch ewe so mphly.'

'What was that, buttercup?'

'I want to kiss you so badly', Sanji whimpered, his warm tears soaking through to your shoulders.

He was so soft. God always so soft, and as he lay before you now, you could almost imagine how sweet he must have been before his father cruelly tried to stifle it with cruel mockery and torturous punishments. So soft, so calm, so comforting, as he peered up at you with those wonderous eyes; his attention was always drawn back to you: so trusting, no matter what you said or did. Always. Just looking at you with this almost timeless intensity. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, to want to spend his whole life caught in the light of the most translunary being he’s ever met.

You stroked your palm through the tangling strands of hair by the nape of his neck, letting your voice fall to a whisper in order not to startle Sanji any further. 'Well, you are my sweet prince after all. You can kiss me whenever you want.'

The cook's reply was muffled by a swift knock against the doorframe.

'Hey, is everything okay? I'm hearing some weird noises coming from in here... are you guys in trouble? I know those Marines on Karushi Island were pretty annoyed when Y/n tossed them backwards over their butts-'

His perturbed question was met only by a deafening groan, followed by the pillow Sanji picked up and flung hitting the porthole window with a crashing PLASH.

Usopp flinched back, instinctively reaching towards his belt to run his fingers over the solid oak of his slingshot. 'Okay, be brave. Be brave, Captain Usopp. Your friends may be in danger! They may-'. Usopp's words quickly died on his tongue when he cautiously tip-toed open the door to the boy's quarters. In fact, his tongue nearly rolled out of his jaw as his lips slackened, blubbering like a pufferfish at the sight of Sanji almost draped across you. A half-naked Sanji.

He clapped his hands over his eyes, and nearly tossed himself over the edge of the ship with how rapidly his legs were wheeling themselves backwards. 'I'm so sorry you guys! I didn't know you were- well you were, you know- boinking in ther-.'

SLAM.

The swift silence that settled over the room should have been reassuring. Should have been. If only it hadn't been followed by the confused wails from the sharpshooter as he lolled out flat against the floor: the tip of his bandana scraping underneath the toe of Sanji's shoe where it was splayed out over the edge of the bed.

Sanji just sighed like a weary father, taking one hand off your cheek to slap it over his eyes with a curt shake.

'You snuggle up here and stay warm, sweetheart. I'll go get Chopper.'

Try Three: Luffy

At try three, Sanji was busy spending his spare two seconds trying to work up the nerve to just... leap across the room to where you were standing and kiss you silly.

'Okay', Sanji folded himself against the door and started counting distractedly on his fingers. 'I've given the Captain three plates of meat, so that should distract him for a little while: I've also hidden cookies along the deck, and stuffed a few mint infused lamb shanks in the Crow's Nest. Hopefully he'll go and bother moss head for a bit instead of annoying-'

A ringing crash made the two of you wince as your poor bedroom door got another battering; this time, the handle nearly cleft a hole clean in the wall as Luffy's leg came barging sandal first into the room.

He couldn't sleep... so your Captain had the fortuitous idea of seeking out the next best thing: hugs from you.

'Y/n, there you are! I ran out of meat, I need you to rub my tummy so I can nap! I tried asking Zoro, but he kicked me off the Crow's Nest!'

Before you could even open your mouth to protest, Luffy's stretchy arms have latched onto the edges of the door and he's flung himself into the room like a Hawaiian clad cannonball. Sadly, one that had been directly configured to launch into you: headfirst, nonetheless.

'Damn it Luffy - nO!'

A look of pure terror widened your eyes as you were skidded butt-first across the floor by a mop of curly black hair and a Cheshire grinning face. A crushing weight piled onto the side of your face, and despite how much Sanji curses and tries to detach Luffy's arm from your waist, your Captain's smushed face doesn't even lift an inch off your cheek.

'Oh, Sanji! You're here too! Even better!'

Then koala mode is activated, and Luffy's legs and arms come wrapping around you... and poor Sanji's like a cocoon. The helpless cook goes flying through the air like a contorted puppet blasted out of a wonky cannon.

Oblivious as always, your Captain settled down between the two of you for his pre-sleep nap, effectively trapping pining you and a love-struck Sanji a foot away from each other. Within a blink of an eye Luffy's head lolled onto your shoulder, and you frowned as you tried to shuffle away from the thin lines of drool that dripped out of his snoring mouth. As if he could sense you moving, Luffy's arms tightened like a vice around your waist, winding another few extra times around for good measure.

After a few minutes of wriggling, some muted swearing, and a lot of shoving the toe of his boot into the side of an unaware Luffy's shin, Sanji finally managed to wrangle his hand to snake around the rubber man's bellybutton so he could link his pinkie finger with yours.

Trying your best not to to block your nostril, you shuffled your cheek to the side until you could meet your boyfriend's sorrowful eye.

Despite your circumstance, all you did was smile.

God- that smile: bright enough to alight the dusk. As piercing and ruinous as pure golden sunlight. As devastating as the fresh warmth of a salt wind borne onto the stifling heat of a forgotten crag. And it makes everything in his life up to this moment worth something. Worth it all.

All the tortures in the world would be worth it to just link pinkies with you.

Try Four: Zoro

At try four, Sanji was one second away from hoisting his crewmates over his shoulder and flinging them overboard one by one.

There was something incredibly unsexy about banging your head against a pair of Zoro's sweaty hand weights, but as Sanji pounded you to the ground, neither of you seemed to be able to muster the nerve to care.

'Sanji', you moaned almost lewdly, tugging his back and silently willing him down to cage your body against the coarse, sweaty mat. 'More. Please. More.'

His cheeks burned an almost violent carmine, but he refused to break contact; only for one sole second did his skin leave yours, when he couldn't contain the gut-wrenching want within himself anymore and dared to brush the plush top of his lip against the side of your nose.

'I- I want-'

You pressed your cheeks firmly against his, willing Sanji to believe every sweet word that you couldn't stop from gushing out of your mouth.

You stopped, panting for breath. 'Tell me sweetie - tell me what you want. Let me hear you say it.'

His body squeezed around yours, the so usually syrupy sweet cook clenching his fingers into the meat of your spine like a savage animal shaken loose from its wrought iron chains: like an unbottled tempest with nowhere left to rage except over the bearing flames.

'Please! Please - hngg, I can't, I can't. I need you. I can't hold myself back any longer.' His words sounded so painful it sent a jolt of worry through your heart.

And yet when he pressed his nose flatly against your own, so forcefully crushing his own skin against your own it nearly left you gasping for breath, there was still such a sweetness in it. Despite it all, despite how strenuously Sanji was trying to hold back that final band of constraint from snapping, his first and foremost priority would always be your wellbeing.

'I'm sorry- I'm sorry my chérie, but I need to feel you more than I need air.'

The gasping, open mouth kiss he gave you was only repeated: crashing down again and again against your own, tongue slashing with ravenous hunger over your bottom lip and clumsily leaving wet stripes of warm saliva against your cheek as Sanji devoured you. The meek, almost pitiful whimpers as he ducked his head into the curve of your shoulder blade as he grinded himself against you, effectively trapping you between the ground and the clench of his quivering thighs marked the interludes of his feast. His lips trembled as he sighed blissfully, holding the tide back as his free hand sweetly ran its knuckles up the side of your leg, stopping only when his thumb was pressed closely enough to your inseam that he could run miniature circles underneath the growing wetness of your pants.

At the sound of your shaking moan, his front teeth dug in so tightly to his bottom lip that he drew blood.

It scared you. You wanted him to do it again.

'Sanji, I said more.'

The claw of his hand as he swiped at your shirt, not caring that he almost sent a tower of Zoro's sweaty old shirts flying in his own desperation to tug yours off was his only reply. The almost achingly gentle restrain as he placed his right hand against your hip and tried to hold you in place: tried to warn you that if he started, he wasn't sure if all his pent-up yearning would allow him to stop. The sweat nearly dripped across his furrowed eyes, caking the wispy strands of his fringe against his bucking forehead as he willed himself to calm down. His eyes stung, but despite your desperate clawing up towards his shoulders, he forced his breathing to settle.

But by all the seas... as he peeked one eyelid open and saw the line of tantalising skin grow wider down your rising breast, all semblance of self-restraint fled from the near drooling cook's brain.

The feel of Sanji's lips dragging down your neck to nip at your pulse point was interrupted by the sound of a quiet c-r-a-c-k.

You peeked your head, too far gone to swim fully out of your daze. With your arms still wrapped firmly around the wide expanse of Sanji's contracting back, you jutted your chin into the constellation line of freckles by his left shoulder blade. 'Did you hear something?'

'Just the sound of this', he smiled, smoothing his hand off your hip and sliding it underneath your buttocks. He gave you a firm squeeze that left your mouth dropping open in a shocked pant as he lifted you further up against his abdomen and pressed your breasts firmly against his pecs: he was effectively cupping you up against him like a clingy, very drenched, koala bear.

This time though, the sound of something splintering was far too egregious to ignore.

The force of the door handle slamming into the wall of the Crow's Nest nearly made the whole ship shake in revulsion; the cool air against your skin was nearly too much to bear, but the raging heat that sparked out from the looming shadow enveloping the door was enough to make your whole body break out in goose bumps.

'Can you two stop making out around the ship for two seconds.'

Sanji growled, whipping his head round to sulk at the ship's swordsman.

'Can you mind your own business for even one, Marimo?'

The former bounty hunter ostentatiously held a finger up by slowly raising it into air, and it took you a second to realise he’s pointedly showing Sanji his middle finger.

'Zoro, did you- did you just break the lock?'

'What's your problem? I left my gym towel in here.'

#one piece #one piece imagine #sanji #sanji imagine #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #vinsmoke sanji imagine #vinsmoke sanji x reader #opla #opla imagine #zoro #roronoa zoro #monkey d luffy #luffy #nami #usopp

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twst-darling · 7 months

Text

˗ˏˋSomewhere in the Sands of Timeˎˊ˗

Pairing: (General) Lilia Vanrouge x Fem!Reader [or Fem!OC]

Summary: The spell to send you home backfires, and you land the past where you encounter one General Vanrouge.

CW: Smut [porn with very little plot, vaginal fingering, blow jobs/skull fucking, facials, degradation, snowballing, hate fucking?, spit, rough sex, use of words like whore, slight dub-con (but the reader is into it)], Language, Violence [threats of violence, threats of murder], 1st Person Point of View, Fem!Reader, AFAB!Reader, Tall!Lilia

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: I initially wrote this with my OC in mind. However, it is vague enough that it can be read as a reader insert. Song title is taken from Kryptonite by 3 Doors Down

Having a sword held against my throat wasn’t on my bingo card for ‘Strange Happenings in Twisted Wonderland.’ Then again, neither was a very tall, very angry Lilia Vanrouge. His hair cascaded down his back like an inky black waterfall. Rage simmered beneath his vermilion irises—a bizarre sight, given how friendly they usually were—and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would behead me, given the opportunity.

This Lilia is not my Lilia. Not yet, anyway.

This Lilia has fire in his blood and brimstone for bones. I can feel his heat radiating through the tough leather armor that covers his body. He bares his fangs, crimson eyes sharp and unyielding. Long gone is the cute upperclassman I’d come to know.

The whole thing is rather fuzzy. One second, I was walking through a portal that was supposed to take me home. The next? I’m sprawled on the ground with a gleaming blade made of gemstones and magic thrust against my jugular.

I can barely breathe with how Lilia’s knees dig into my ribs. It’s intentional. And though I know I shouldn’t waste my breath, I can’t help but whimper. My hands lay unbound by my head, but I dare not move them. Not even an inch.

“Your boldness is admirable, yet foolish, mortal scum. Sneaking into fae territory shall wreak nothing but the most exquisite suffering.”

“I-I didn't—”

Lilia presses forward, practically crushing my lungs. “I didn’t say you could speak.”

The edge of his sword—cleaver?—cuts into my neck, and I yelp. “Lilia, please don’t do this, we’re friends!”

“Lies!” he hisses. “You cannot sway my mind, mortal, with your feeble magic. I hold no familiarity for you, nor shall I ever.” His lip curls, nose wrinkling as if smelling something foul. “I will take great pleasure in crushing the bones in your body until they are dust to be scattered by the wind. It seems only fitting for a human spy who has made it so far behind our barricade.”

Oh, Sevens, he was serious.

“Wait, wait, wait, please—!”

“Begging won’t save your life, worm.”

“Let me explain—”

“You tiresome, incompetent creature, I demand you cease this incessant—”

“—I’m from the future!”

It shouldn’t have worked, but my frantic cry made him hesitate. Maybe it was my clothes—the uniform skirt I had sewn looked out of place compared to Lilia’s armor—or my hair. Or maybe, just maybe, Lilia sensed something was off about my arrival the whole time.

My knowledge of Lilia's time as General in Meleanor's army was limited, a vague impression left from a magic induced coma. But it was nearly impossible to deny the facts as they were shoved right in my face. (Err, against my neck?)

Somehow, Crowley's spell had backfired and not taken me back home to my dimension, but into the past.

Lilia braced his arm next to my head, his long hair forming a curtain around our faces. His nose is inches from mine, but I feel no comfort in the proximity. “Talk. Before I grow tired and find something else to occupy that mouth.”

Lilia’s thick cock rams down my throat mercilessly. I grip his thighs, allowing the fae to use my mouth as he pleases. From above, he grunted, baring his sharp teeth like a predator snarling. Globs of spit and drool dribbled past my lips and down my chin, splashing to the dirt below. The thick leather straps of his armor gave away to my nails as I dug them deep, allowing Lilia to use me as he pleased. My throat burned from the harsh, stuttering movements of his hips. He fucked my face so hard it was murderous as if he were trying to make up for not beheading me before.

Yet another stamp on that infernal bingo card—but I can’t say I hate this one.

I would have been incredibly embarrassed at my gagging noises if the burning between my legs had not taken precedence. My eyes roll back, briefly catching a glimpse of the General’s ecstasy-clouded expression. His pink lips parted in a silent gasp, gaze raised to the heavens.

Abruptly, Lilia pulls out and begins fisting his cock. His movements are furious as he hunches over. “I’m going to smear that filthy human expression with my seed—paint you white, since I can't paint you red. Maybe I'll leave you like that, so your brethren can see your betrayal written across that pretty little face. Mmm, just like this.”

I close my eyes just in time for thick, hot spurts of Lilia’s cum sprayed over my face. My knees trembled, and I stifled a moan between my teeth and tongue.

Lilia wasn’t done.

He pushes me, and I fall into the mossy underbrush. Lilia takes my knees and peels them apart, staring at the feeble scrap of cloth, preserving what little dignity I have left. I’m trembling again, fixated on the sheer size of Lilia’s hand as it practically swallows my thigh in his massive grip.

“How pathetic,” he coos. Lilia drags one finger down my thigh, ghosting the hemline of my panties. “You’re drenched.” He touches the mound of my pelvis before hooking his index finger around the gusset and prying it aside. “Never have I seen a human so eager. The rest of your race would be dumbfounded to know their kinsmen loved choking on faerie cock.”

I bite my lip, a blush burning my cheeks. The cold forest air kissed my exposed skin, but I felt none of it. Only the intense searing sensation of General Vanrouge’s stare, his slitted pupils sharp like knives. His digits danced across my lips, collecting slick, teasing my poor throbbing core.

“Ah, but you said we would be friends in this future. Pupils.” Lilia snickers, brushing against my clit. “Perhaps it’s not so strange after all. Perhaps you let me have my way with you as much as I’d like—like the sweet, foolish girl you are.”

Lilia crawled up my body, reminiscent of the one he’d had me at not so long ago. Only, this time, I didn’t need a sword to my neck to keep me in place. Lilia sunk two fingers knuckle-deep inside my pussy, abating that hollow feeling inside.

“General,” I moan.

He chuckles again and licks a broad stripe across my cheek. He surges forward, curling his fingers at the same instant our lips meet. My mouth opens, but Lilia swallows the cry. He snaked his tongue into my mouth, pushing a copious amount of his cum for me to taste. It passes between us until I swallow it, painfully aware of every second it seeps down my insides. He pulls away too soon, but not before spitting on me for good measure. It lands in my mouth, still agape and from panting.

“Such a cute, little faerie whore. It’s almost endearing.” Lilia spreads the fingers he’s buried inside my cunt, and it’s magnificent. He’s so deep, his slender digits pressing into spots I could never dream of touching. “I ought to fuck you open, now. That’s what you want, isn’t it, pretty one? I can only imagine how this hot little hole of yours will squeeze me.” Lilia slips his fingers from my cunt, only to deliver a sharp smack to my clit. “If there’s one thing that comes from your hellish future, I’m glad to know I shall have a tight cunt to warm me, even if it is a human’s.”

I could correct him. I probably should. But the instant his swollen cockhead breaches my pussy, all coherent thought dissipates into a lusty puff of smoke.

I'll never be able to look Lilia in the eye again if I ever get back.

#twisted wonderland #twst smut #twisted wonderland x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge smut #lilia vanrouge #darling writes #twst x reader

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alessiamalfoyzabini · 3 months

Text

𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

Pairing | Yandere Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 1,542

Warnings | +18, smut dubcon(?), somnophilia, pussy worship, pussy eating, tongue fucking, fingering, male masturbation, Jungkook is desperately horny, cumming on her, body worship, breast/nipples worship, explicit language and descriptions, kidnapping, Jungkook is absolutely obsessed, this is not for minors.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | If she had paid attention earlier to the sin that dwelt behind those obsidian irises, she would never have trusted it.

If she had noticed earlier the devouring love that dwelled in his corrupt heart, she probably would have fled.

She had done none of that, and now she had to come to terms with her new reality.

➢ Author's Note | Third chapter of Happy Ending arrived, enjoy your reading, my dears 🥰❤

Chapter List - I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII / The End

That same night, a shadow wandered around the young woman's apartment. It had not been difficult to get there, as he had already thought, those windows were too old and easy to force, he could not allow Y/N to live in such a place. If a novice like him had managed to open the window facing the kitchen so quickly, then an experienced thief would have been able to do even better. He looked around, scrutinizing every nook and cranny, being very careful not to make any noise, noticed a pizza box on the table, with Coke cans scattered around, was very careful not to step on a single one - mentally cursing at the girl's mess - and headed for what he guessed was her room.

He opened the door slightly, which squeaked faintly because of rust, but that was not enough to wake the girl who lived in the apartment. Y/N must have been a very heavy sleeper, the boy thought. Jungkook was there for one simple reason, to take Y/N away and make her live a better life with him. Normally an art professor would not have made that much money, but professor was not his only job, he thought with a grin. The school's principal, Kim Seokjin, had his hands in everything, and someone like Jungkook was right for him. He then looked around, studying the environment to get an idea about his beloved's tastes, finding a variety of references to anime and manga, as well as books and flowers. Nothing that hinted at a passion for fashion, but of that Jungkook did not worry, he would see to it that she was dressed cute and perfect, just for the pleasure of his eyes.

Reaching just to one side of the single bed, he stared at Y/N sleeping blissfully with only part of the blanket to give her warmth, the tender lower lip protruded invitingly and Jungkook felt the urge to squeeze it between his teeth, tasting its softness. He shivered slightly when he took a flap of the blanket, pulling it aside. He slowly uncovered Y/N's body, revealing something that made the man's brain go haywire. Y/N slept in only a tank top and panties even in winter. It was a comfortable habit for the girl, but for Jungkook it was like a wedding invitation, literally. His eyes did not break away from the bare skin in the slightest while enough light filtered through the window to make that vision heavenly for him.

He slowly knelt down, a hand flew within inches of her calves, he did not know whether to touch her that way or not, she was not conscious, it would not be right, would it? The boy found himself gritting his teeth, it would only be a caress, a gentle caress. He gently laid his fingers on one calf, held his breath at the smooth sensation of her skin against his fingertips and continued with the slow ascent, felt his lips dry up when, having reached her knee, Y/N decided of her own volition to spread her leg wide, leaving a wide view of her intimacy covered by the blue panties, at which point Jungkook's blood concentrated in one spot. He took that sign as a Y/N response to continue. He climbed onto the bed gently, positioning himself right on top of the young woman, his hand opening on her inner thigh, the softest and most tender part of her leg, felt that buttery texture under his fingers and did the same with the other, thus bringing both legs apart for him, he sent down watering at that scene so erotic that it nearly drove him mad.

He felt powerful as never before in his life, he could do anything he wanted to her and she would continue to sleep blissfully. The young girl's tightly closed eyelids cast lash shadows across her cheeks, she was so serene in sleep that Jungkook found her enchanting, so much so that he leaned over her, stealing a sweet kiss on her cheek, in love with that pure little fairy of his. His. He watched for a possible reaction, but she continued to sleep. Not content, he descended lower, to the tender breasts enclosed in that wide camisole, lifted the pale fabric finding himself face to face with what, he knew, would become his favorite damnation, studied with hungry eyes the perfect color of those still soft and relaxed little buttons, barely touching with a finger the velvety, graceful circle of an areola. He trapped the tender nipple with his lips, sucking it tenderly inside his warm, moist mouth, felt it plump under the strokes of his tongue and found himself nibbling on it without too much pressure, sending small, sweet twinges to the young girl's sleeping body. Y/N, for her part, turned her head slightly, opening her mouth slightly in a moan that her brain could not fully register.

Jungkook cupped the other breast, stimulating it with the tip of a finger, squeezing it lightly before devoting his mouth to it as well, and the more he engulfed that tender flesh, the more his cock throbbed uninterruptedly in search of its dose of forbidden caresses. A pop resounded from the room as he let go of his grip on the young girl's now abused nipple, went down with moist kisses all along the girl's chest, with his sweet prey's breathing rising in response, thus reaching the lower abdomen licking a small trail around her navel, moaning silently at the taste of that skin that he would also have gladly bitten into, but he could not risk waking the girl up in the midst of his fun, so he merely descended lower and lower, reaching to the fabric of her panties. With the tip of his nose he pressed against her covered pussy, ecstatically inhaling the natural scent of her essence, he felt himself salivating and his own boxers got a little wet, he pressed his erection against the mattress moving slightly to give himself some relief, not satisfied he peeled back the fabric of the panties and almost thought he would come there on the spot. The rosy flesh of the folds opened under the pressure of his index finger, revealing the swollen clitoris and the sweet slit from which sweet transparent liquid was already leaking.

Jungkook gave a long lick that from the young woman's narrow entrance reached up to her clitoris, encircling it with the tip in a tender and insistent caress; on another occasion the boy would have cried out in the most bewitching pleasure, but he forced himself to enjoy that taste in silence. Y/N unknowingly thrust his hips into the man's ravenous mouth in a soft, slow rhythm that delighted Jungkook. That to him was the ultimate proof that the girl accepted his intimate attentions without regret. He used two fingers to stimulate the young woman's lit and pulsating clitoris, continuing with the tip of his tongue to penetrate the tight and wet slit, sucking the small quivering lips together with the unconscious girl's legs, continuing to poke and pull at that pearl now stiff and ready to explode between his index finger and thumb, teasing the soft flesh ever more insistently. "Mm... Ah...!" the girl's back arched slightly, exposing more and more of her intimacy to the boy, her body tried to keep up with that forbidden pleasure, in her mind Y/N was dreaming, dreaming of Jungkook and in her dream the boy was doing to her just what the real Jungkook was joyfully enacting in reality.

He willingly swallowed the young girl's fluids with yet another tongue caress, then replaced his fingers with the latter, cradling the pulsating clitoris in velvety lashings, penetrating the now-soaked entrance with his fingertips, the girl rigidly propped her feet up on the mattress, opening her mouth wide and frowning in a shrill howl, which was prolonged when her clitoris succumbed to extreme pleasure following a light bite from the boy, his teeth weakly crushing that taut pearl, now at the 'extreme and that gesture was enough to release its violent contained pleasure. Jungkook detached himself from Y/N's quivering body, lowering his pants and boxer shorts, took his already dripping cum cock in his hand and leaned over Y/N beginning to pump himself several times, ran his thumb over the scarlet tip increasing the speed of his thrusts, before pouring out a large amount of cum with a choked cry, smearing the girl's breasts and panties with the sticky white liquid. He looked at his work of art with devotion and affection, stroking his cock in an attempt not to let up again on those gentle discharges of pleasure, until it became completely soft again. He adjusted his clothes, retrieving tissues from the girl's bedside table to wipe off his semen, silently praying that the sweet, spicy taste of Y/N would never disappear from his tongue.

God, he would have taken her again and again on that bed, but he shook his head to himself , Y/N deserved better and wanted her awake when it happened. He wanted her to see with her own eyes how much love he would be able to give her.

#bts #bts fanfiction #bts smut #bts x reader #yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere jungkook #bts yandere smut #yandere bts smut #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #yandere #yandere jeongguk #jeongguk x reader

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mitsuyeaah · 11 months

Text

misdemeanour.

— ran haitani x f! reader

cw: nsfw (mdni), thigh riding, light bdsm (handcuffs), roleplaying (police officer!ran), mentions of alcohol use, pet names (princess)

a/n: inspired by that one ran photo that’s circulating right now. he’s so hot istg (*´꒳`*)

the loud bass of the music reverberated throughout the entire house, feeling every beat of it thumping inside your chest. you navigated through the dimly lit living room packed with sweaty intoxicated bodies, some of them moving against the music dressed in varieties of different costumes.

your friend, rindou, had hosted a costume party for his birthday. of course, as innocent as it sounded, the activities within the walls of his house were a complete contrast. It was wild to say the least. beer pong outside their lawn next to a keg stand, people doing shots at the kitchen island, couples making out somewhere private, people dancing in the living room, and more.

you were amongst the people doing some shots in the kitchen. your throat burned at the sensation of the hot liquid going down—tequila—, face scrunching at the bitter taste of the liquid poison. a round the kitchen island, there stood some of your close friends, rindou included.

there was one particular man that caught your eyes. The one standing right across you, dressed in a navy blue police officer uniform, topped with a police hat. his long two-toned hair were secured in two braids that cascaded down his chest. you noticed how the two of you seemed to always accidentally make eye contact amidst the chaos inside the kitchen. hisamethyst eyes lingering on yours a little too long before he looked elsewhere—you swore you could see a slight desperation in them. like he wanted something.

rindou had introduced the man earlier as his older brother, ran. he was indeed a gentleman, going even as far as extending his hand to shake your own.

throughout the entire time you were doing shots in the kitchen, you and ran had about more than 5 wordless exchanges through eye contact. you weren’t complaining though, he was very easy on the eyes but you just wished he approached you. “i’ll be right back! i need to go to the bathroom!” you yelled over the music, leaning over the table to let everyone know. “okay, you better hurry! we’re starting another round soon.” rindou yelled back.

you exchanged one last eye contact with ran, this time mustering up a small smile before leaving for the bathroom. you messily made your way to the bathroom, your head slightly spinning from the tequila shots. you managed to make it safely to the bathroom without tripping over anything or anyone by grabbing the walls for support.

after doing your business and washing your hands, you looked at yourself in the mirror and fixed your appearance—noticing how the strap of your costume had slipped off your shoulder. if you were being honest, this devil costume you had on was half-assed. only because you didn’t bother buying a new one and instead wore the only costume you already had.

you cupped your cheeks and let out a sharp exhale, feeling the burning temperature of your skin due to the amount of alcohol in your system.

you closed the bathroom door behind you but before you could even take a step, you found yourself trapped between the door and the man you’ve been eyeing all night, ran. the back of your head rubbed against the cool surface of the door as you craned your neck to look up at the tall man.

he was indeed more beautiful up close. little specks of dark purple scattered around his lavender irises. his soft pink lips looking a little too tempting. “o-oh! sorry! did you need to use the bathroom?” your breathing became uneven as you held his gaze, waiting for his answer.

he gave you a saccharine smile as he let out a soft hum that only you could hear. ran shook his head ‘no’ and leaned in closer to your ear. his scent engulfed your nose, it was sweet yet musky, just how you liked it. “you’re under arrest for a misdemeanour for being too fucking hot..”

your breath hitched. you could feel blood rushing to your cheeks as his hot breath ghosted over the side of your neck, causing goosebumps. “wha—” “nuh uh.. place your hands in front of you like this.” ran jutted his hands out between you two, both his hands securely intertwined with one another.

doing so, ran skilfully secured your wrists together using the metal cuffs that hung from his belt loop. you slightly shivered at the cool sensation of it against your burning skin. before you could do anything, ran hooked a thumb on the chain that connected the cuffs and tugged your wrists above your head.

your hands were now bound over your head, resting against the door behind you. with one hand securely locking your hands above you, his free hand grabbed the baton, the tip of it resting below your chin to jut your face upwards.

“you think you can just walk around my house looking this delicious?”

you rubbed your thighs against one another, yearning for some kind of friction as you looked into his eyes. the desperation in his amethyst eyes mirrored your own.

ran noticed this and clicked his tongue. he swiftly pushed your feet apart to spread your legs and tucked his knee right at the apex of it, just where you wanted him. your breathing became erratic, your head spun at his strong scent, and you were wet.

how embarrassing, he hasn’t even done anything to you yet.

“sorry..” that was all you could mutter. at this point, your mind was going absolutely crazy, you partially blamed the alcohol for it. ran clicked his tongue once again, “you’re going to have to do better than that.. princess.” his lips ghosted over the side of your neck, tongue casually darting out to give a few kitten licks here and there.

you let out a shaky moan, not caring if the two of you got caught. no one probably even cared, they were all too wasted to do so.

ran chuckled against your soft skin, this time his lips fully making contact with it—brazenly sucking and licking at it, pulling more sounds from you. he absolutely loved how you responded to his mouth. a loud whine escaped your lips as he started grinding his knee against your clothed clit, skilfully moving it to increase your pleasure.

“oh fuck! aah—ran!”

you couldn’t help but move your hips against his leg. you wanted more. ran chucked his baton away and opted for using his hand to hold your chin up—his lips trailing wet, hot kisses toward your own. you almost melted right then and there at the sensation of his soft lips against yours, moaning at how desperately it moved.

ran didn’t shy from shoving his tongue in your mouth and moaning against it. fuck, it was filthy but it was so hot.

your knees buckled at this, a funny feeling running up your legs as ran keenly explored your mouth. good thing his leg was somewhat supporting you, if not, you were sure you would’ve fell to the floor.

everything was a haze. your mind spun, heart racing, ears muffling out the loud music, you were only focused on one person. ran haitani. as if reading your mind, ran finally let go of your wrists, the burning sensation in your arms dissipating as you dropped them back down. although, they were still bound together due to the handcuffs.

you grabbed onto the collar of his costume to keep yourself grounded, gripping the fabric in your hands until your knuckles turned white. ran pulled away to catch his breath, chuckling breathlessly at the way you craned your neck forward, chasing the presence of his lips.

“mmm, be a good girl and keep fucking yourself on my leg, princess.” ran groaned, cupping your warm cheeks to meet your gaze. you looked up at him as your eyes brimmed with tears, brows furrowed in pleasure as your clit rubbed against the fabric of your panties.

you desperately rut your hips, chasing the high that seemed impossible to obtain. “ngh! ran please..” you buried your face on his chest, whining. it was unsatisfying. every time you thought you were close, the pleasure suddenly disappeared and you had to start from the bottom again. it was your first time riding someone’s thigh and it frustrated you that you couldn’t reach your high.

“should i help my princess out?” he raised a brow, placing both his hands on your hips. ran bounced his leg and grounded your hips on his thigh, guiding it back and forth. you moaned against his chest at the sensation. the pleasure you felt from this was much greater, your clothed clit deliciously rubbing against his leg.

your whole body was slumped against ran. limp, helpless and at his very mercy. you weren’t even moving your hips anymore, ran took full control of it’s movement. he rested his chin at the top of your head, hands still carefully guiding your hips against his bouncing leg. “ngh—ah! shit..” tears of pleasure rolled down your cheeks as you shut your eyes closed.

you were so fucking close.

“that’s it, princess. you can do it..” you panted heavily as your sweaty forehead rested on his collarbone. you could feel the familiar bubbling at the pit of your stomach and the way ever single muscle in your body tightened.

ran noticed the change in your breathing, frequent short whines that ended in a small moan escaped your lips. “fuck, look at me when you cum.” with the energy left in your body, you lifted your head from his chest and looked up at him through your lashes—tears obstructing your view.

he cursed under his breath and brought a hand up, cupping your cheek and shoving his thumb in your mouth. you didn’t need to be instructed what to do, you swirled your tongue around his slender digit. moaning against the finger and you desperately sucked on it.

“such a naughty girl.. why don’t you cum for me? hm?”

you absentmindedly nodded at his command, your face contorting in pleasure as the knot inside your stomach finally snapped. ran removed his finger from your mouth and sealed the distance between the two of you, swallowing your moans.

your muscles stiffened and your eyes rolled back as you came, your fingers becoming sore form gripping at ran’s collar. ran didn’t stop moving your hips against his bouncing leg to ride out your orgasm.

fuck, you melted like wax against him. it was too good. ran shamelessly moaned into your mouth, mirroring the way you did to his own. several tears rolled down your cheeks as your cunt quivered in pleasure. you pulled away from the kiss, catching your breath, your panties soaked and uncomfortably stuck to you.

“fuck..” you panted

“mhm, don’t think i’m done with you yet, princess. let’s go take some shots for now.” he kissed your forehead and untucked his leg from underneath you, earning a slight whine from you.

“careful, princess, you might get charged more than a misdemeanour. the punishment is much more severe.” he leaned into your ear and kissed at the sensitive spot just below it before heading over to the kitchen.

#ran haitani #ran smut #ran drabble #ran x reader #ran x you #ran x y/n #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers drabble #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyo rev x you #tokyo rev smut #tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers

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honeybleed · 12 days

Text

content & warnings: fem!reader, modern au, rockstar!jean, established relationship (reader and jean are married), conflict (is it really a honeybleed jean kirstein fic if they don’t argue) smut (a lot of dirty talk, vaginal fingering, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, horsecock jean supremacy 🤣)

author’s note: happy birthday to my favorite character ever and husband (07/04), i’m real protective over him you know ;-; me against the entire aot fandom for him. he means the world to me and i hope this fic is great for all the jean girls (gender neutral) also, rockstar jean very much inspired by two great series on here! five husbands by @kingkonoha and reverb by @chrollohearttags make sure to check those out!

word count: 3.4k

You first spoke to Jean Kirstein as he manned the counter at a record store.

An uneventful Tuesday evening. You’d always walk around town window shopping straight after work.

You loved the record store, it was always the best place to discover upcoming bands on the board.

The only downside of going there were the chauvinistic creeps who wanted to quiz you if they saw you perusing through vinyls.

The poster behind him piqued your interest.

“Is that you? Your band?” You enquired as you pointed at the paper pinned to the board.

There was a mixture of bashfulness and pride as he answered.

"Yup... that's my band.” He said triumphantly as he turned to tear it off the push pin and hand it to you. The glimmer in amber irises dancing.

“We got a gig Saturday night.”

“Oh really? What venue?” You asked as your eyes scanned the sheet of paper with a black and white photocopied photograph of them.

He had a guitar slung around him as he was in front of the microphone, a guy with a buzzcut behind the drums and a freckled guy with a bass.

“We had a lead singer but he went solo. Dick.” He muttered under his breath.

“Anyways, why you askin’?” He teased as he wiggled his eyebrows. “It’s Mandalay downtown, you lookin’ to go?”

“Maybe if you invite me…” You giggled.

“You get an invite if I get something in return.”

The sexual tension between the two of you was thick.

Jean was tall, towering over you. With warm, sun-kissed tan skin, and veined and rugged forearms, he was your dream man.

“Maybe I’ll throw a bra on stage.”

"Damn, now you've got my attention.” He smirked, leaning his elbows against the counter as he met your eyes.

“There’s a condition. Only if you don’t totally suck. Can you agree on that?”

"That sounds reasonable enough. You got yourself a damn deal." He chuckled as he beamed confidently.

"You'll be surprised. We're gonna tear that damn stage apart."

You weren’t the kinda girl that did things for other people’s approval.

But as you stood in front of your wardrobe that Saturday evening, piles of clothes scattered across your carpet to the point the nylon pink carpet was out of sight.

Close to tearing your hair out, you never cared but for some strange reason, there was a feeling to dress to impress. Jean didn’t seem like a playboy.

But you knew the pits would be chockfull of beautiful girls, and thus the seed of insecurity was planted and sprouting.

You eventually settled on a grey denim miniskirt that was cut up by you, knee-high platform boots and an asymmetrical off-shoulder black crop top that was embellished with rhinestones in the middle with a heart shape.

Not fully satisfied, you had no time. You didn’t want to be late, and you snatched your purse as you bounded out of your place.

Jean kept his promise, and so did you. He told you he was only a rookie group, and they had been desperately looking to be signed.

But from his wide vocal range to his showmanship, you stood in the pit, absolutely enthralled and mesmerised by him.

The trio were truly in sync but it was as if they worked together to propel Jean.

His eyes lit up when he saw you in the crowds. As if the spirit that possessed him during the songs had warded off almost instantly.

You sure as hell weren’t gonna take off and throw a sweaty bra from all the heat in the tight-packed venue.

Instead, you brought one. You noticed there were already a few littered across the stage, particularly around the drum kit.

The set came to an end, and Jean thanked the audience graciously. But he made a gesture at you to head towards where he was going.

“Are you going to give me a name?” He asked as he leaned across the lockers after he tugged you down the winding hallways.

“Might as well. I did promise. Y/N.”

"What if I want to call you something else?" He grinned.

“…Like?”

"What if I wanted to call you... mine?"

“Ew…never say that again.” You burst into hysterics as you shoved your palm right onto his face.

“But I gotta give my best man some ideas when our wedding comes.”

“Wedding…?!” You exclaimed. “What makes you so sure I’m the woman you’ll marry?”

“A man can dream... and I’m dreaming right now. Besides... you did just throw me your bra. You’re definitely the one.” He cheesed as he gripped onto the lacy black bra for dear life.

He eventually ushered you out of the venue, and there was a sense of pride as you walked hand in hand to the VIP section of the afterparty.

All kinds of people called out his name, the beautiful women you worried about too. But from his actions, it seemed as if he was dead set on you.

It was jumping the gun, for a man you’d only become recently acquainted with to swear you’d be the woman he’d marry.

But in a way, it intrigued you. He had the same passion he had on stage with you.

Things started to become slightly hazy.

The lights in the club were low, you were in a secluded area so the only sounds were muffled music and murmurs of people on the dance floor.

Jean was tipsy from the strong drinks he’d downed at the bar so he kept dipping his head low now and then with a glimmer in his eye. Irises swirling with lust.

He had this effect on you, and he knows how good he does. Eyes flickering looking at your plump and glossed lips with his eyes half lidded.

Moving in closer and closer as if he would throw caution to the wind and ravish your pillowy ones.

He eventually leaned in, his scent aromatic and inviting.

"Do you want me to kiss you..?" He whispered, nudging your head to the side as he inched in closer to the bare skin of your shoulders.

You nodded almost urgently, shuddering at his breath tickling your skin.

"I can't hear you…” He sang as he ran his nose against your jawline.

"Please." You breathed out shakily.

He straightened his posture out and cupped the right side of your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in. He gave you a short and chaste kiss. It was a sweet one, so pure.

It was the beginning of your love story.

“You sure?”

Jean was in Los Angeles and you were miles apart. Or — that’s what you made him think. You were in the same town but you kept it a secret.

“I wanna surprise him.”

“Yeah, but I guarantee he’s gonna be a jackass the entire day if you make him think you’re bailing.” Connie retorted.

“Not my problem.” You said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“C’mon, Y/N! I’ve had a two-week streak here without Diva Kirstein! Do you know how rare that is? And you’re just gonna blow it out of the water and subject me to that?”

“Be a trooper!” You barked as you hung up.

A lot changed in the coming decade. He kept his promise and the two of you wed in a lavish ceremony in the private islands.

Jean was the lead singer and the trio became a quartet with the addition of Reiner Braun, a unique guitarist. So Jean could focus on singing rather than juggling the two.

Jean and Reiner butt heads at first, but bonded eventually. The two men shared a deep love of the blues as they both came from the South.

The rookie band that had to go around handing out CDs were now an established rock group that was fast on their way into going down in history.

Now it was time to break it to him, as you sat in the café of the hotel.

During rehearsals for their show tonight, he practically dived across the room when he saw your contact name flash on the screen.

“Baby, is that you?” He breathed out as he brought it to his ear, clutching onto the phone.

“Of course, it’s me you damn goof.” You snorted.

“Man, it's so good to hear your voice, you have no idea. Got on full on withdrawals without ya, y’know.” He grinned as he absentmindedly ruffled his hair.

“I know, I miss you too. Hopefully you haven’t been giving the rest of the gang a hard time, hm Diva Kirstein?”

“I may or may not be the source of our tech guy's current gray hair.” He responded with an uneasy laugh, rubbing the nape of his neck.

“Take it easy on the poor guy, alright?” You took a deep breath. “I wish I was calling under better circumstances.”

“Uh oh…what’s going on, honey?”

“I don’t think I can make it to this weekend’s show, Jean. I’m really sorry.”

There was a beat of silence on the line before he spoke with an edge to his voice.

“…What the hell is going on?”

“Just work stuff…but it’s really urgent.”

“Okay…and how long is this ‘urgent work stuff’ going to take?”

You winced. It sounded like he was mimicking your words.

Jean had been in the limelight for coming near a decade now.

And as much as you hate to point out his shortcomings, he’s the man you love after all, he’s become rather spoilt and entitled.

His label loved him. Why wouldn’t they? He was their money maker. He got whatever the hell he wanted with the click of his fingers.

“Jean, I can’t hop on a flight across the States in one night…!” You protested.

Even thought you were telling him a white lie, frustration was building in your system from how he was getting.

“We haven’t seem each other in months. And you’re ditching me for work shit? If it were me, I’d cancel these damn shows and run to you.”

“Here we go with the guilt tripping, real mature Jean.” You sighed as you pinched your nose bridge. “Cos I’m not this megaceleb that can click their fingers and change things because everybody worships the ground he walks on! I’m a regular woman with a 9-5!”

“Don’t you dare use that against me.”

“You know what, call me when you stop trying to rip my head off. Happy fuckin’ birthday, Jean.” You said harshly and cut the line.

You felt bad. Because Jean Kirstein is so in love with you. It’s the sort of love you read in epics.

You’d wave a hand dismissively, but he would walk barefoot on hot coals if it meant he could engulf you in a bear hug and shower you with kisses on the other side.

You let out a sigh and looked down at the vibrant hues of the salad in the bowl. After that screaming match, it didn’t look appetising anymore.

Arguing with Jean always made you feel like shit. Married all these years, but it never calmed down. He was lava and you were ice when it came to butting heads.

Neither one of you wanted to back down.

Crowds stretched as far as the eye could see. The opening guitar chords echoed throughout the stadium.

The audience immediately went into a frenzy as the camera focused on him, projecting the handsome face onto the big screen.

He exclaimed, garnering roars and cheers of excitement and delight.

Only the ones in Jean’s inner circle knew his true feelings. There’d been many times where he was furious or heartbroken but nobody could tell.

That’s how dedicated he was. Jean Kirstein to his core was an entertainer first and foremost.

After three hours of renditions from their hits, remixed versions, and intervals with speeches from each member, Jean was more than ready to skedaddle off stage and drink himself to sleep.

He was a wallowing loser without you.

But his ears pricked up when he heard the familiar chords of ‘Happy Birthday’ begin to play from Reiner’s guitar.

The plastered fake smile suddenly morphed into a shocked expression when he saw your familiar figure wheeling a three-tier cake with sparklers towards him.

“Drama queen.” You muttered under your breath as Jean crouched and covered his face.

“What’s the tears for, eh?” You chuckled as you looked down at him, patting his head.

He gave a soft, breathy laugh, trying not to cry. His voice cracks as he manages to speak.

“…I thought that you weren’t gonna be here.”

“Well, I’m here now. Aren’t I?” You teased but were cut off as he rose to his full six-foot stature and lifted you.

By reflex, you wrapped your legs around his waist as he pressed his face into your shoulder.

The crowd chanted his name and he struggled to wipe the huge smile off his face as he held you, unable to believe what was happening right now. Ashamed of how he yelled at you.

Marco, Connie and Reiner took it upon themselves to scoop the cake and begin to smear it on Jean and you.

You both squawked and shrieked, Jean releasing you so he could get back at the rest of them.

“Connieeeee!” You squealed as you draped your arms around him in the hallways of the venue.

“Hey, hey easy!” He whined.

Jean who was rather tipsy from the celebratory champagne leaned in and latched his lips onto Connie’s neck, sucking a purple mark onto the tan skin.

“Get offa me…!” Connie protested as he squirmed in Jean’s iron grip.

“Can’t I show my buddy some love?” Jean chuckled as he wrapped a bicep around Connie, putting him in a headlock. So much so, that Reiner had to pry Jean off.

“Go spend some time with your missus, huh? Since you were sulking all day cos you thought she wasn’t gonna come.” Reiner guffawed, pushing Jean towards you.

You felt your stomach flutter as there was a predatory glint in his eye as he zeroed in on you.

Yanking you into the dressing room, he lowered you onto the plush seating of the velvet couch.

Kissing Jean was an otherworldly experience, especially when he was away from you for months. The way he would explore the recesses of your mouth with his tongue.

Lapping it up, his fingers digging into your skin to grip your jaw. He wanted to devour you whole.

Sometimes, you’d have to grab a fistful of his hair to yank him away to catch your breath.

Lips swollen and bitten, tingling sensations roaming from your mouth to your core, light stubble grazing your soft skin deliciously that would elicit audible reactions.

You whined his name and pulled him away, chest heaving.

“What?” He sulked.

“I need to breathe, y’know!”

“Can't have you dying on me now, can we?” He chuckled darkly as his forefinger curled to run across your jawline.

His fingers slid under your panties and rubbed against your wet folds. As he leaned in closer, his lips brushed against your ear.

"Do you want me to fuck you right here, right now?"

It felt heavenly. His fingers always knew what made you tick. However, your heart pounded at the prospect of the others walking in.

“I do...so much, I missed you so fucking much.” You stuttered, pussy throbbing around nothing as his fingers continued to stroke your slit, purposely teasing and not fully plunging them in.

"Perfect." He said, locking the door behind you. "Let's make some noise.”

“You're so nasty...”

“Let me make you cum." He started rubbing circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves with the pad of his thumb. "We'll see how nasty I can really be."

He revelled in your reactions closely, the wetness of your cunt, the way your body trembled under his touch.

His cock throbbed in anticipation, wanting nothing more than to be inside you. He leant down and bit your neck lightly.

“I want more..mmph…” You said hoarsely as you leaned back to give him more access to the skin of your neck.

"More, huh?" He asks, his voice husky with desire. "I can give you more."

His other hand reached around to squeeze your breast, his thumb flicking over your nipple causing you to jolt and gasp into his mouth.

"But first, let's make sure you're nice and wet for me."

“M'gonna cum, Jean...” You whined pathetically as your walls pulsated around his digits. “Gonna cum for you..”

He licked his lips at the sight of your face contorting into expressions of pleasure and need for him.

"Fuck, yes..." He murmured as he felt your orgasm hit. "That's it, baby...cum for me."

You skipped out on the afterparty. People were disappointed since it was the last concert of the long tour but Jean couldn’t care less.

He needed to be buried inside you, as soon as possible.

He didn’t even give you a chance to fully undress and kick off your heels as the two of you walked back into his hotel suite.

“Slow down you idiot, we got all night!” You laughed breathlessly as he hurled you to the bed with Goliath-esque strength.

“Need you now.” He muttered, his face in your neck again as he hurriedly yanked off his belt.

You eventually both undressed, and you gasped out as you felt his erection press against your bare thigh, already seeping with pre-cum.

"Gonna fuck you now..." He whispered, his hands gripping your hips. "I’m gonna make you scream my name."

It’d been too long. And you forgot how you used to stretch yourself out to take his dick. You were already soaked from all the teasing and riling up in the car journey home not to mention the way he finger fucked you in the dressing room.

“Too big...” You whimpered when his fat tip grazed your drenched slit, puffy with arousal. “Not gonna fit..”

"Shhh...I'm sorry, baby. We can slow down." He reassured you as he smooched your forehead tenderly.

"Let me make sure you're okay."

He stroked your hair until your breathing calmed down. When he felt your body relax, he moved back between your legs.

"Let's try again," He whispered as he sucked your neck, teeth grazing the skin. "Spread your legs for me, you want it to fit, don't you?"

“I do...want you in me, Jean...so bad...” You panted, long nails digging into his beefy forearms.

He smirked, feeling a surge of desire coursing through him. He positioned himself at your entrance, teasingly rubbing the head of his cock against your slick folds.

"Good girl," He murmured, his voice husky with need. "I'm gonna take you nice and slow, baby. Just relax and let me in."

With a controlled thrust, he began to slide into you, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to his size. He scrutinised your face, gauging your reactions, making sure not to overwhelm you.

"You're so tight around me, baby. I can't get enough of you, y'know that right? My girl." He groaned, his hips pressing closer to yours. "Only my girl knows how to take me in this good...look how that pussy is sucking me in...shit, baby."

His pace became hasty, the sound of your bodies slapping against each other filling the room. He leant down, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as he drove deeper into you.

“Cos...it's only for you...” You mumbled, pulling him impossibly close as if your bare chests slick with sweat wasn’t already flush.

You were on cloud nine, the drought was being blessed with thunderous rainfall. And you were beyond grateful, damn near about to cry as your toes curled and your fingers dug into his sides.

The fat mounds of your breasts against his soft pecs, your soft belly against the rigid and taut muscle of his abdomen, the hair slightly tickling.

His sanity was slipping, his restraint shattered by your words. He picked up the pace even further, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he struggled to hold back his orgasm.

"Fuck...that's it...say it again. My girl...my fucking girl..." He mustered out between gritted teeth, feeling a familiar tightening in his abdomen.

His body convulsed as he released inside you, his release mixing with your juices, coating your walls milky white.

He collapsed on top of you, panting heavily, his forehead resting against yours.

"Goddamn.”

“Happy birthday baby.” You heaved out as you leaned in to kiss his temple. “Yell at me again on the phone like that and I’ll ditch you for real.”

He sharply nudged your side, causing you to erupt into laughter.

“Ow…!”

“Well, you lied to me so I’d say it’s even.” He responded as he stared up at the ceiling, chest heaving.

author’s note: omg this is so rushed please forgive me 😭😭 but i wanted to write rockstar!jean for so long anyways. if you enjoyed, please reblog n leave feedback 🥹

#jean kirstein x reader #aot x reader #aot smut #aot x female reader #aot x black!reader #jean kirschstein #aot x fem!reader #jean kirstein smut #jean kirstein #⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ nara scribbles #jean kirschtein #jean kirschstein x reader #jean kirschstein smut #aot x black reader

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ceruleancattail · 2 months

Text

Observation

Jade x reader

Tw: yandere, stalking, man’s a literal creep

Jade tends to document things he finds important.

Perhaps it’s just a habit for him, being the vice housewarden of Octavinelle. Penning everything down in a small leather journal, tightly bound by a rubber band. If you think that’s the only protection that bounded book has, you’ll pay dearly for that folly.

Certain… ‘charms’ from the deep sea are sewn into its cover, engraved into every single page. Spells, in a tongue lesser known by the folk who live on land. If anyone peeked within, the next thing they’ll be looking at would be the ceiling of the sick bay.

Jade’s charms aren’t as charming as they sound. He does value his privacy, really. Other than Ocatvinelle’s trade secrets, his own notes and schedules have a place within that book of mystery.

Of course, you have a special place in it as well.

Not that you’ll ever know.

Jade takes special care to make sure you never find out. It’ll be quite problematic if you ever saw whatever he’s… written about you. As much as he had confidence in his silver tongue, no amount of words could probably twist the inked words into something… acceptable.

On those pages lie various passages, scattered throughout the book. A detailed write up about you. Your likes, your dislikes, your unconscious habits… it’s all neatly penned down in cursive, documented in Jade’s little journal.

He spends more time than most, observing you. Sneaking glances through the window, mismatched irises silently taking note of every little thing you do. Jade knows what hand is your dominant one (or perhaps you use both! How talented), which type of pen is your favourite, the expression you have when you’re lost in thought…

Jade knows almost everything about you. Ranging from more innocent topics like your favourite colour, your go-to karaoke songs to… things that you wouldn’t tell anybody. Things that he should not have known.

Your favourite sleeping position. The way your face contorts in fear. How sensitive you were, to someone else’s gaze. Jade timed it himself, trailing behind you like a shadow.

It took quite quickly for you to spin around, clutching at the strap of your bag. Jade clicked the stopwatch himself, chuckling darkly behind a pillar. For someone as tall as he was, Jade’s rather good at hiding.

It makes it very useful, when it comes to watching over you. Oh, don’t get it twisted. He harbours no such delusions of being your “knight”. Jade’s not watching over you to protect you or anything… although he could be persuaded, if you were to come running to him, begging for his help.

Oh no. He’s just observing you, like one of his prized fungi specimens. You fascinate him, truly. Could you really blame him for wanting to find out everything about you? It’s simply a labour of love.

They say true soulmates know every last thing about each other. Well, there’s nothing hard-work and a little perseverance can’t fix, hm?

Jade writes down every last thing about you. He works hard, truly. It’s all for your sake, anyways. Jade will tug and pull on every one of your strings, gently coaxing you closer, closer to him. There’s no use trying to run. Jade knows every single one of your quirks, so much better then you yourself could ever hope to comprehend.

So won’t you accept him, darling ? After all, you’ve got nowhere to run. Not anymore.

Jade has you in the palm of his hand.

He has no plans of letting you go, not anytime soon.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst x reader #Jade #Jade leech #Jade x reader #Jade leech x reader #yandere Jade #yandere Jade x reader #yandere Jade leech x reader #yandere Jade leech #protection potion ♦️#inspired by that one voice line of Jade that goes #‘I used to think you were a rather dull human… oh don’t be mad. I don’t think that way anymore’#or something along those lines #and we all know Jade’s rather fond of… documenting things #perhaps it’s a habit beaten into him #being the vice housewarden and all #looking up names #keeping track of azul’s financial deals #updating student weaknesses #so he might just bring that documenting mentality to his.. darling #no?

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sincerelyverena · 3 months

Note

the oliver fic section of tumblr is SOOOOO dry rn so I'm wondering if you could write about how you've been friends with ollie since oxford and got invited to stay the summer with felix. then while playing spin the bottle you and him have something? IDK IM JUST RAMBLING BUT YEAH

i enjoyed writing this so so so much. i diiiid take this in a way different direction than i anticipated, but i hope you enjoy this nevertheless. thank u dearly for ur rambles! mwah! 🤍

⟡⁺ SEVEN MINUTES IN HELL

. . . OLIVER QUICK X FEM!READER ‘testosterone boys and harlequin girls.’ @ajs-222 @michael-loves-chickens @surazim @soocore @fedyascoffin

inbox is always open to requests!

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒hate has no bounds. except when you're stuck in a wardrobe with oliver quick.

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒implied sex ﹐fade to black smut ﹐enemies with benefits ﹐dom!oliver ﹐spoiled!reader ﹐reader would’ve probs bullied you in high school ﹐oliverrr you little stalkerrr ﹐felix and reader have a sister-brother connection ﹐ oliver brat tamer arc ﹐farleigh has naturally sharpened canines beware ﹐reader is a homie hopper ﹐YES OLIVERR USE YOUR HANDS ﹐DRUNK N HORNY, DRUNK N HORNYYY ﹐smack my ass like the drum slurp the dick til it cum ﹐forced proximity ﹐degradation ﹐phat exposition beware ﹐the plot is absolutely plotting ﹐implied incest between minor characters

THANK YOU TO MY WONDERFUL BETA READERS: @sparklehani ﹐@vikwrites

You pushed the frame of your sunglasses upward with the pad of your thumb. The accessory nestled into the top of your hair, positioning yourself to soak up the grandeur of old money that ascended far beyond where the naked eye could see.

Saltburn. A spectacle passed down by word of mouth.

The double ebony archways are considered to be a set of doors shifted in position. Presented to you, the skyscraper-remnant entrance is extended with a gradual creak of effort. Revealing the beauty of the estate’s foyer in the process.

“Miss Esmeray.”

You were too absorbed in the elegance etched into every breath that was drawn in the manor alone to notice the suited male positioned behind the doorways. Declan, was it? You weren’t too opposed to not giving a singular shit about the name of a mere, working butler.

To outsiders, those morals would’ve been doubted in the fashion in which you approached the estate’s employee.

You inclined forward. The painted maroon of your lips puckered as you scattered lightweight kisses upon either side of the loose, wrinkled surface of the butler’s cheeks. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Declan.”

He didn’t seem particularly phased – on the surface at least – apart from the cool hardening of his formerly strained eyes.

“It’s Duncan.”

You stifled the urge to laugh.

“That’s what I said, wasn’t it?” You leaned backward with a hushed hue of voice and a poised frown. A frown that didn’t last long as you slipped by with an isolated thrum of your heels along the blemishless, maintained floors.

The porters that had withheld your luggage followed suit, grasping the attention of Duncan. He continued to clasp his hands behind his back, surveying the situation with a stare that would put a hawk to shame.

“Leave the luggage there. The estate butlers will see to it.” The note of exasperation that tainted Duncan’s articulation caused your personal porters to arrange the stacks of luggage onto the flooring without missing a beat.

The bound of employees hit the open doorways, leaving you to bask in a well-deserved solitude. Or so you had thought.

The hue of your flickery eyes had fixated immensely upon the silhouette which overlooked the foyer. An individual that leaned along the fencing of the plank-relied stairway, slinked in the comfort of the shadows. Even in the limelight of darkness, you could scrutinize the sight of a chiseled jaw and the irises of dusked aquamarine.

Oliver Quick. Bile slicked the crevices of your throat. That slimy, freakish companion of one of your closest friends from Oxford. The sole reason you were invited to the estate in the first place.

And that sole reason broke out into the foyer before you could’ve mustered a word.

“[Y/N]!”

Felix Catton. Gorgeous, radiant Felix Catton came bounding toward you. Arms sprawled wide open, and a grin of nothing more but graciousness broke across his lips. Devoid of awaiting a response, Felix tossed the base of his arms around your shoulders. The toned muscle propped behind the sleight of your neck, burying himself into you in the process.

“Hi, Fi.” You mumbled around the top of his broadened shoulder, basking in the familiarity of his scent and aura. The tension that had made itself known in the base of your abdomen uncoiled, just the slightest.

You had inclined backward momentarily. The palms of your hands propped themselves upon the sleight of Felix’s jaw. You surveyed Felix closely and blew out a sharp breath. “Felix, you’re looking thinner. What have they been feeding you here?”

“The summer fucks up my appetite, you know that,” Felix grumbled pointedly.

“That’s not an excuse, Fi.” Your forefinger pinched the practically non-existent fat lining his cheeks, reeling a small grimace from the male.

The dense thrums of rhythmic footsteps spliced unnervingly through the moment. You tore the unyielding hue of your stare from Felix toward Oliver, who positioned himself solidly against the foot of the stairway.

“Ollie!” Felix unraveled his arms away from you, in turn, to acknowledge his self-titled best friend. The male was peacefully oblivious to the glowering irritation that etched itself into your gaze. “You remember [Y/N], yeah?”

“How could I forget?” Oliver quipped the mere intensity of his gaze maintained upon you. You felt as if he was staring right through you, aware of every crook, crevice, and secret of your being. Deep speckles of disgust were blanketed behind hues of feigned interest.

As the moment drew on, he extended a hand. You harshly glared into it. Whilst the remainder of the inner circle Felix had established in Oxford grew to warm up to Oliver’s meek, somewhat awkward presence. You loathed it.

“Mum has been dying to see you all day, [Y/N].” The strained hues of Felix’s voice tore into the steadily growing silence. His lips curved upward into a thin smile. Felix could virtually feel the tension tighten between his two companions.

“She’s in the morning room.”

You pecked him on the cheek on your way out. “Thanks, Fi.”

Felix’s words of prominence held a generous truth. Lady Elspeth Catton pushed the teacup amid her hands aside the second her eyes had met the radiance of your presence. You mustered a small smile at the sight of the woman you had known for the year prior.

“Oh, darling. It’s been too long.”

The all-too-familiar scent of high-end designer perfumes assaulted your nostrils as Elspeth brought you into a momentarily embrace. You had come to terms with the preceding summer that she had grown to be more of a maternal figure than your mother ever would be. Even if you were inclined to remove your nose ring and settled for a less dramatic false lash to soothe her fear of what she deemed to be ugly.

In those logistics, you had no idea why she hadn’t thrown Oliver out the second she met his acquaintance.

“Come, come, come. Sit down, I’ll whisk up some tea for you…”

“Hot chocolate.” You had a hard time grappling with the concept of politeness.

“Oh, of course! How would I forget?”

As Elspeth handled the hot chocolate-bearing teapot, you were prompted to discuss the prior school year. Conversations flowed from academics to the selection of boys and girls alike who had the misfortune of encountering your diva-like logistics.

Elspeth indulged in her tea. “Did Felix mention the festivities we’re having tonight?”

You propped a spoonful of whipped cream atop the chocolate goodness, a frown painting your lips. “Not at all. What festivities?”

“One of the annual dinners with the Catton’s family friends is proceeding tonight,” Elspeth explained, tone somewhat bored with the lack of any mentions of gossip present in this crevice of the conversation. The flimsy painted surface of her nail tapped away at her teacup.

“Please tell me it's the Lockwoods.”

“Who else would it be, darling?”

“Thank Christ.”

As Elspeth continued to chatter onward about the newest scandal she observed with the Lockwoods, you pertained to drifting off in thought. Concerning the night ahead. And the dread that followed with the idea of socialization with a bunch of stuck-up acquaintances alike yourself.

And Oliver Quick.

You rolled the base of your fingers around the rounded cigarette Felix had outstretched. Flimsy smoke curled outward from the plumpness of his lips, drifting upward toward the coiling stairs above your heads.

You circulated your lips around the rim of the drug stick, angling your hand backward as you took a hit – brimming with a buzz of pleasure. The cigarette slipped back into Felix’s hand, which inclined away to pass it toward Oliver. Whom you hadn’t even bothered to glance toward once during the entirety of the night.

The remains of the others flocked behind, the light hue of conversation prominent in the air. The three others you’ve befriended – Wiona, Lincoln, and Valencia – had befriended the Catton children in their younger years. At the annual dinner that commenced the year prior, you discovered that they had developed an annual tradition for Spin the Bottle.

The sole reason why the group of eight traversed up the spiraling stairway in the first place, bottles of alcohol propped in hand.

A prominent part of you wordlessly hoped that the alcohol would loosen you up a tad. Alas, with the sensation of Oliver’s eyes bored into the back of your head. You were bound to feel a tad paranoid. Especially when you weren’t oblivious to how every movement you made was tracked.

The minuscule smirk when the base of your nail had chipped. The glimmer of distaste when you looked up and down the outfits of the current houseguests. The burn of eyes when you laughed a tad too loudly. The indescribable emotion that blared throughout Oliver’s surveying gaze as you stared into him. An attempt of intimidation that was never accomplished.

The solid front of the bathroom’s tiles was undeniably cool, in contrast to the thin garment that shielded the top of your thighs.

You proceeded to tuck yourself across the minuscule opening between Farleigh and a most currently amused Felix. The glass-spun bottle of the night lay vulnerable in the grip of his broadened fingers.

“Care to make a bet on this year’s game?”

A short laugh stirred itself from the crevice of your throat. You inclined your head over the brink of your shoulder, scrutinizing gaze propped upon the curly-haired male sat inches away. Farleigh’s eyes crinkled with the intensity of his curved lips, tongue tracing the rim of his canines.

You suddenly grew aware of the sheer amount of certain plastic bags you had smuggled down your bra upon arrival. Ziplock bundles of goodness Farleigh would surely die for. A sentiment visible from the mere spark of interest blanketed behind his eyes.

“You seriously think I’ll say no to a good gamble?”

With a tinge of casualty, Farleigh swung a singular arm over the bridge of your shoulders. His voice grew hushed, but the intention of his words burnt into the crevice of your ear. “One of those pretty bags of yours if it lands on Valencia and Lincoln.”

“They’re siblings, munchkin.” The force of your articulation twisted with a prominent combination of distaste and fluid judgment.

“So what?”

For someone who always had something to say, you hadn’t been rendered this speechless in a long, long time. Alas, Farleigh wasn’t the only soul that expressed his amusement with the fact.

Oliver stared right into you. Twisted amusement circulated within his gaze.

Felix proceeded to illustrate a spectacle of himself, the glass-rimmed bottle set down on the tiled ground before him. Dramatics and flairs. Nothing out of the ordinary for your beloved Fi, who expressed the rules and regulations of the game as if his company hadn’t played for the years prior.

This excluded a scrutinizing Oliver. A prominent smirk threatened to overcome your lips at the sight of his cockiness. His prior attitude slipped away at the news of having to potentially be stuffed in one of the Catton’s family closets for several minutes – with his luck – accompanied by a total stranger.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to begin.

Felix offered a riveting motion with his hand. The echo of uproar, paired with the creak of the bottle against the tiles bounced off of the thinly-veiled walls as he gave it a fluid spin.

The uproar crescendoed into a screeching halt as the pitcher shook into a steadied pace. Its glimmering tip angled precisely toward a noriette-haired girl, who was in the midst of pertaining her slight nose toward the strip of snow-white goodness laid out on the back of her hand.

“Wiona!”

“You better hope and pray, darling.”

“Leave your drink with me, Wynn!”

Felix stuffled the broadened nature of his fingers into his mouth. He offered a low whistle toward Wiona, whose smirk was shielded by her bob-length curls.

He inclined toward the glass-rimmed bottle once more. “Right, whose the lucky boy… or girl? We don’ discriminate here…”

Murmurs of agreement followed the winding silence of the spinning contraption. Accompanied by short-circuited laughs, and gambled musterings. Overtaken by shrill yells as the crown cork inclined precisely toward Farleigh, whose curves were still draped over you.

“Leigh, that’s you.” Felix had confirmed, to the delight of those inclined around the circle. His eyes crinkled, appropriate to the intensity of the sparkling grin that graced his otherworldly face. “The blue room awaits you lovebirds…”

The jangling of cash and the slip of dope occurred.

The game continued as such. And with gradual time, all participants grew intoxicated by the minute with the presence of booze and crack. Two of your tit-coke bags have been ripped out of your disposal with the force of the circle’s gambles, gaining triple the amount in the process. Especially when Lincoln and Valencia slipped into the next room.

You found yourself with the curve of your head lolling atop the pad of Felix’s shoulder. An endearing warmth buzzed throughout you, rooted in the alcohol burning the crevice of your throat.

One of Felix’s broadened palms settled upon the hitch of your scalp. The other claws at the scarcely dented bottle once more, sending it into a tile-searing spin.

Commotion peaked within the room as the pitcher sloped toward Oliver.

Shadowiness engulfed your vision as the wardrobe doors closed in. Bathing in the darkness of mere loathing for two factors in this twisted, twisted equation. For the bottle. And for Oliver Quick, who had never been closer to you than in this moment. Bile rose in your throat for the second time that day.

It was just your luck that the bottle inclined towards you at that moment.

“That’s ironic.”

A slither of outside illumination managed to crack into the wardrobe, lining the crevice of Oliver’s azure hues. Speckled with what was perceived as faint amusement, tightening the knot of tension present in the atmosphere.

The sleight of your back strained as you stumbled toward the clanky side of the closet, desperate to discover an escape. To no avail. The faint ghost of a scoff reverberated from the hollow of your throat. “What’s ironic, huh?”

For some reason. For whatever reason at all, Oliver inclined toward you. The slightest indeed, but it managed to send your heart hammering between your ears. Nothing more but pure loathing pulsated throughout you with the sudden proximity. It was the alcohol. Booze does funny things to the mind, right?

Olivcr’s alcohol-tinged breath mists upon your lips. His words slurred somewhat. “For som’one that gets everythin’ she wants, you seem pretty… helpless right now.” “Anyone that finds themself in a closet with you would be.”

“I’m jus’ sayin', it’s pretty pathetic.”

A gradual grin seeped onto Oliver’s face at the undeniable loathing that flared within the depths of your eyes. You looked as if you were a tick away from murdering him with your bare hands, and it brought him nothing but pure amusement.

“Pathetic…” The word dripped off of your lips with slow, taunting articulation. A twisted of taunted tipsiness. With the fiery force of each syllable, you leaned forward and clasped a sloppy hand toward the center of Oliver’s chest, an attempt to shove him further away.

“Pathetic?”

You had made your intentions very clear to extend the distance between you and the male. To your luck, you had found yourself even closer.

Oliver didn’t appear phased, gaze carving holes into you. “You think the complete world of yourself, I’d say that’s pretty pathetic.”

Your stare narrowed down further. Silence draped over you momentarily with the intention of cold-shouldering Oliver until the seven minutes eventually ticked by. You adverted your eyes, purposefully scrutinizing the slight gap between the worn closet doors. The illumination blurred amid your intoxication.

“Look at me.”

A roughened palm tore you back toward reality. Accompanied by a thread of fingers that pressed into the curve of your cheeks. Your once inclined head had surrendered into Oliver’s grasp, involuntarily meeting his gaze.

“Whoa… he’s finally thinkin’ for himself for once.” You spat out around the mere brute of his hands. Even though they radiated a certain chill only Oliver could possess, a prominent warmth glowed in every patch of skin he had clutched onto.

“Instead of bein’ Fi’s little hound…”

Oliver’s grappling hand seemed to tense with every batter of your words. “Shut your bloody mouth before I do it for you.”

“Wooow… so scary–”

You barely possessed the will to blow out another sharp breath before Oliver’s lips were interlocked with your own. The breath you had been holding hitched upright into your throat. Your chest constricted. In replacement of the disgust you preempted, velvety warmth pulsated throughout your entire being with a singular brush of the male’s mouth along yours.

With the fashion in which Oliver devoured your lips, you wondered if he wished to eat you alive.

You blamed it completely on the booze and the crack.

He was the first to pull back from the embrace, hands still tucked immensely around your jaw. A glow of succession is prominent in Oliver’s aquamarine stare, a glow that brought forth a sleight of irritation to overcome you.

“I believe you liked that.”

“Your ego is as big as your head, Oliver.”

He inclined his head, a smile wandering upon his lips. “That wasn’t a denial, now.”

The palm that cradled the sleight of your jaw loosened the slightest. It moved toward the back of your neck, utilizing the position to guide you toward him further. His lips. So close. Nearing with time. The curve of your abdomen burned with a newfound desire, christening your inner walls with its molten warm goodness.

But you couldn’t care. You just couldn’t.

“You’re completely… fuckin’ mad.”

The seven minutes must be up now, wouldn’t it? Your ears strained themselves through the momentary silence as you processed tidbits of laughter from the next room over.

You reminded yourself to beat the everliving Christ out of Felix Catton the next morning.

The palm still collared around your neck dug downward into the base of your shoulders. In the same leering motion, the edge of a heel curved into the density of your legs. Before you can even process the situation, the rock-hard surface of the wardrobe is felt underneath your suddenly aching knees.

“Now, now…”

You inclined your head upward. The twisted hues of Oliver Quick bored down upon you, like wood to an already brewing fire engulfing the inner workings of your womanhood. The hollow of your throat bobbled as you gave a dense swallow.

An even denser zip of Oliver’s dress pants sounded throughout the wardrobe.

“How about I teach you a lesson on how a brat should behave?”

WORD COUNT: 3K MASTERLIST REQ ME!

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oncomingnight · 8 months

Text

Salvatore ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.! "My diehard, My weakness."

-Yandere! Male Model x Reader ｡ﾟ❃ུ۪

Hello everyone, I apologize for my absence but I'm finally able to write and put something out for all of you! I hope you enjoy and never hesitate in reaching out to me, I'm here to listen.

Yassine was signed with the most highly renowned modeling agency that was in the industry. His appearance was completely entrancing, capable of stunning any person that had the privilege of seeing him in person. Everything that had contributed to his 'mysterious' demeanor was absolutely divine and could fill any person with envy. His brown bushy brows, beauty marks scattered over his body & face, dark brown circles as his irises, soft tufts of darkly colored hair, light pink plump lips, arms & hands filled with veins and a height startling to the human eye.

Despite his capability of looking like the most unapproachable man alive, he's incredibly tender-hearted and altruistic. The feeling of his muscular arms being wrapped around your waist in a comforting manner is the best form of reassurance you could ever receive. Yassine quite obviously adores you and he could never go an hour without going on about how devoted he is to you.

Traveling is something he enjoys an incredible amount, especially with you, and only you. He'll show you his favorite areas and'll make sure you're having the best time you could ever have with him. The amount of money he spends on you will act as a concern to you but Yassine doesn't mind, the two of you have different mindsets. Why should he categorize the amount of money he spends on you as a negative? It isn't something malicious when it's in favor of you.

Yassine is incredibly protective of you and he isn't afraid to act on that aspect of him. Someone could be poking fun at you in a non-hurtful manner but he'll still be quick to tell them to cut it out .

"Aye, watch it." "Wanna say that one more time?"

He's been in his fair share of fights and they've all been over you. If he's in an argument with someone else and they bring you up, they're leaving the function with several broken bones. Yassine couldn't care less if he's in a public space, if someone wants to try him and bring up his biggest weakness, he's going to stoop low. He's immensely stubborn and will defend his actions when you question him on how quick he is to fight. "He deserved it and you know it, شہزادی", he says as you clean up the bloody cut above his tatted knuckles.

Whenever he's being interviewed for magazines or podcasts, he'll always mention you or find a way to do so. The delicate manner in which he speaks about you is so endearing, making anyone interviewing him stare in admiration.

When Yassine has to travel for a casting, you're always going with him. He finds great pride in being able to properly take care of you and show you the depths of his love. He will be the first one there when you're in need of any type of assistance, all you need his him and all he needs is you.

He is all about intimacy and showing you just how vulnerable he's willing to be when it comes to you. When the two of you are having an intimate conversation, he's all about eye contact. "Hey, look at me, baby. I'll do anything for you to realize just how much you mean to me. I worship you, you know that?"

His hands are always on you no matter the time of day. It doesn't matter if you're wearing an outfit that covers your entire body, leaving everything to the imagination, his hands are going to be squeezing and rubbing you because he's not the best at containing himself. His ringed fingers being placed onto your thigh, rubbing them back and forth as he murmurs something along the lines of, "So goddamn beautiful" ,and, "you know how much I love this dress."

Wherever the two of you go, you're always seated on his lap. In his defense, it's comfortable and do you really think they clean these publicly used chairs?

Yassine loves taking you out on little trips that include doing things you deeply enjoy. He'll take you on a road trip that's filled with country roads and farm fields, laughing when you point to an area and call out, "look, there's horses!" He enjoys taking you shopping and purchasing items that you've spoken about wanting. Do you want clothing made with fine fabric? You got it. Do you want perfectly curated cosmetics? You got it. Do you simply want cute little trinkets that'll go on your bookshelf? You got it.

Lingerie? Oh, he's buying that anyway.

There's nothing he loves more than going on a little getaway trip and seeing the beauties of a certain country with you. He cherishes being able to cuddle up all close to you in your shared Airbnb , nuzzling his head into your neck, kissing your jugular and whining when you try to get up for any reason.

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punk4ndisorderly · 10 months

Text

babyfather

Y/N wants to have more babies. Her husband's infertility will not get in the way of that.

Y/N wants something only Quinn will give her.

warning: this series will feature smut. i'm not very good at it but i think i needed to add some spice to the plot. it starts in part 2, so read at your own risk, i guess?

the social media prelude

I - you really blew this, babe II

He couldn’t believe his eyes. It couldn’t be. Y/N Y/L/N, eyes bloodshot and puffy face, sniffling, ushering their daughter inside. She wasn’t one to cry very often. Tears were only shed when she felt like her heart was being torn up from her chest. Or when she was incredibly mad. Normally at him.

Quinn considered his options, his right foot taking a step before he stopped himself from actually crossing the threshold of his ex’s new suburban home. They had talked about this. They had discussed boundaries. He was not to invite himself into the house she shared with her new husband. Not even if he was nowhere to be seen. He would’ve told that asshole Eric when he demanded such thing to fuck off, before staring into the eyes of the love of his life and see her begging him to indulge the child she was now married to.

Perhaps waiting for her to come back was the right thing. He wouldn’t want to cause her unnecessary grief, even if his heart constricted in his chest at the sight of her and he wanted nothing more but to clutch her to his chest and assure her that, whatever it was, they could get through it together. Even if they couldn’t anymore.

It wasn’t long before she was back, tugging at the sleeves of her large, well-worn wool sweater. Quinn was aware that she was avoiding looking him in the eye.

“Right. I know you have her next weekend, but I was think about going home to visit my parents and I know they really wants to see her, so I wanted to ask you if we could switch.” Y/N muttered, her gaze fixated on the small garden behind him.

“Yes, don’t worry about it. I didn’t have anything planned yet.”

That was a compassionate lie: he was going to take Willow to an animal shelter so she could pick a pet for him. Too many lonely, silent nights in his apartment downtown. His mom had been on his case about finding himself some company. Of course he probably meant human company, but beggars can’t be choosers. His last meaningful relationship had been with the mother of his child, and the other women that had entertained him along the way usually didn’t take long before realizing they wouldn’t around for long.

“Thank you, Quinn.” she smiled weakly, finally meeting his eyes.

“Is something going on?” the Canucks player intruded, staring intensely at the golden fleck in her irises.

“What?”

“You look upset.”

“This?” Y/N chuckled, pointing at her face. “Spring allergies.”

“Y/N.”

His stern tone told her more than any words could. He knew she was lying. He always did. She used to deny it broke her heart to be so much time apart because of work back when they were together. Assured him they would be fine and it was for the best when she decided their relationship couldn’t endure the strain and the stress of distance. Lies he pretended to believe because he desperately wanted to.

“Yes?”

“What’s going on?”

Y/N tried swallowing the lump on her throat away. It wouldn’t budge. She stepped aside, leaving room for him to walk past her and inside.

“Come in.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Y/N.” Quinn said lowly, scanning her face for any indication of retraction. “Your husband made it clear I wasn’t welcome inside.”

“Don’t worry about him, Quinny.” the mother of his child nearly whispered, defeat clear in her voice.

He nodded solemnly, entering her house for the first time since she moved in. She hadn’t used that nickname in a long time.

Spacious, homey, filled with light. It had Y/N written all over it. Their daughter’s drawings framed and scattered around the walls made him smile, as the woman who used to love him led him to a crème couch, gesturing for him to sit down.

“Do you want tea?”

“You don’t drink tea, honey. That’s a trick question.” he retorted, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I always have it at home, though. Old habits die hard.”

It took everything in him not to beg her to choose him, right then and there. She used to stock up on all his favorite tea, even if he was never around to drink it. Made him a cup every day, before they went to bed. Mocked him for the scandalous amount of sugar he insisted on pouring in it. After all this time, she still kept tea around for him. Even if he couldn’t come inside to drink it.

“Then it’s a yes from me, thank you.”

Left alone in the living room, he could hear Willow sing loudly upstairs, her little feet stomping around on the wooden floor. The best gift Y/N had ever given him, up there with her love. Not being there when she woke up and when she went to bed every day ate away at his heart. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

“I nearly emptied out my sugar stash on this, so it better be good.” the mother of his child teased, handing him the steaming hot mug with a look of mock disgust.

“Perfect.” he praised, taking a sip of the sweet tea. “Are you going to tell me what happened now?”

“You’re not letting it go, are you?”

“No, but I appreciate the effort at deflecting.”

She sighed deeply, sitting on the other end of the couch.

“Eric.”

Quinn tensed at the mention of her new husband’s name. They had been married for two years now, apparently happily so, but he couldn’t help but resent the man that inevitably had stepped into his shoes and shut him out of the new family home. The dark-haired man only had himself to blame for letting her go, but Eric was willingly carving a place for himself in her heart, replacing the memories of him, erasing his touch off her skin, bit by bit.

“I see. Do I need to call up on old favors?"

“If you had come by an hour ago, I probably would have told you to go for it, but I think you would only be wasting it on him.” Y/N chuckled humorlessly.

“Come on, don’t stall.”

Y/N looked him in the eye, hers brimming with tears. He wanted to reach for her, cradle her face in his hands, hold it to his own and whisper kind words into her lips, but he held back. Willow needed at least one of her parents not to be on the brink of crushing heartbreak. It was his turn to be the strong one.

“If you don’t want to talk about it it’s okay. I’m sorry I insisted. I was just worried about - ”

“I kicked him out.” she blurted, tapping at the corner of her eyes to get rid of stray droplets. “He has been lying to me for the better part of our marriage.”

Anger rose in his chest. How dare he?

“You know how I’ve always wanted to give Will a sibling.”

Yes. That had been all they talked about ever since they first found out about her pregnancy. She had to have at least one sibling. Y/N knew what it was like to be an only child and he knew what is was like to grow up with siblings so they agreed on it. But life got in the way and along came Eric, Quinn's dreams of fathering more children with Y/N crashing down in flames.

He nodded, prompting her to go on.

“Eric knew that as well, and he seemed to want a baby as well when we first talked about it, even before we got married. I told him a year ago I wanted to start trying. I’m getting older, Willow's getting bigger and now would be the perfect time to do it… He says yes. I go off the pill. We try. Over and over again. Everywhere. All the time. Even -”

“Okay, sweetheart, I get the picture.” Quinn interrupted, the details of her sex life with another man an excruciating form of torture.

“And we’ve been trying for a year. I’m not getting pregnant. With Will it took us a month. Something must be wrong with me, right?”

"No. Nothing’s ever wrong with you, Y/N.”

“Wrong. I got a doctor’s appointment. I am fine. Great cervix. Ovarian reserve? Excellent. All tests indicate I’m a very fertile woman. So I decided to book Eric an appointment at the urologist. The doctor’s assistant asked me if he had any problems after his procedure, last year. What procedure, you ask? A vasectomy, Q. A fucking vasectomy. After telling me he wanted children just as much as I did. After I married him. Before we started to fuck like rabbits so I could get pregnant.”

Quinn was speechless. How could someone willingly deceive her like that? Trick her into a legally binding relationship, only to deny her her simplest wish? How could he have let her fall in the hands of a man so careless with her heart?

“Say something. Please. I need to know if I’m crazy for hurting.”

“Hey.” the dark-haired man said, not bothering to keep himself in check and reaching out to touch her cheek. “You’re not crazy. I was just caught off guard.”

“Good. I mean, it’s not completely insane of me to kick him out for this?”

“Without wanting to sound biased, I would’ve done the same thing, Y/N.”

The mother of his child nodded severely, as if convincing herself. He let her think in silence, removing his hand from her face and drinking his tea. After a few minutes, her gaze landed on him, a hint of sadness and resignation on her face.

“How did we end up here?”

“I was a stupid son of a bitch and let you walk away. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it weren’t for that. We’d probably have three kids by now. We’d have to lock the door anytime we wanted some time alone. They’d gang up on us to get what they wanted, Willow would obviously be leading the troops. I’d probably be trying to get another baby into you at this very second.”

“Quinn…” she spoke, breathlessly.

“Don’t mind me.” he waved her off, immediately regretting voicing his wants. “Wishful thinking.”

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes prompt #quinn hughes blurb #future smut #hockey #hockey boys #team usa #jack hughes #alex turcotte #cole caufield #trevor zegras #luke hughes #hockey fanfiction #quinn hughes fanfiction

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licorice-tea · 2 months

Note

congrats on 100 followers! I just started reading your work because of ur prompt post and you do notttt disappoint!! soooo I want to request Zoro w lovers rock BUT SPECIFICALLY the end dialogue

“Now, how many men have you kissed?”

“Very few. “

“But you offered me a kiss. Why?”

“Such a foolish reason, I'm afraid. I just wanted to kiss you. “

- 🍙

Such A Foolish Reason

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x reader

Content: reader is usually kind of a flirt and Zoro is unsure of how much they actually like him!

Word Count: 0.6k

A/N: another request from my 100 follower event! ty for the submission @🍙 and i hope you like it! <3

You had already determined that Zoro wasn’t going to make the first move, no matter how glaringly obvious you made your feelings for him. The man was simply out of his breadth, and too unsure of how to navigate this sort of emotional territory. That didn’t through you off though; you still want him more and more every day. So eventually you had taken it upon yourself to initiate the first kiss, since you could barely contain the depth of your feelings for him any longer. Every moment around the swordsman is like a game of “will they? won’t they?” at this point.

But no matter how badly you desire Zoro, you can’t just dive straight into him into a kiss the way you want to. He’s not the kind of person to do things without being sure, and neither are you. Even something as simple as kissing would require a straightforward request and, hopefully, he would agree to it.

Ever so hesitantly, you turn to Zoro one starry night at sea. His sharp jawline is turned away from you, and his eyes are trained on the waves down below. You hate that he’s so concentrated on the ocean when you’re sitting right there, shoulder to shoulder with him. Because tonight, all you want is to be the focus of that intense stare.

“Zoro”, you whisper, and he responds with a grunt, “I have to ask you something.”

Finally, he turns to face you. His irises sweep across your starlit features, then come back to meet your own eyes. From the way your pupils are blown wider than usual and your soft, glossed bottom lip is being bitten under the top, he gathers that you’re nervous. It’s strange, for someone of your confidence and boldness. “Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

A furious blush ignites and burns across his cheeks in a matter of seconds. And though he’s unsure of how to respond in words, Zoro can at least nod.

Your palm finds its way over his jaw as you tilt his face so that it will align with yours. His skin is softer than expected; so soft that you give into the temptation to simply run your thumb across his cheek. It’s warm, which isn’t surprising given how pink he’s turned.

Zoro expects that you must have done this a thousand times to be able to touch him with such great care. To make him feel so strongly that his mind is scattered and he can barely get his thoughts in order. He’s engrossed in the feeling of you.

From your point of view, Zoro has simply gone quiet again. But you can feel the furious beat of his heart through his neck’s pulse-

“How many men have you kissed?” One of the thoughts manage to tactlessly slip out.

You immediately stop and hesitantly pull back “Very few.” Though your reputation as a heartbreaker precedes you, you rarely find yourself falling hard enough to do much of anything with the men you flirt with. Most of the time, it’s only to get things out of them; directions, supplies, etcetera.

This surprises Zoro. “But… You offered me a kiss. Why?”

The corners of your mouth curl upwards as you smile bashfully. “It’s a foolish reason, I’m afraid. I just…” You trail off with a shrug, and Zoro leans in- hooked on your every word. “Wanted to kiss you.”

And so, you do.

#fanfic #one piece x reader #one piece #one piece x you #x reader #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #zoro x you #zoro fanfiction #zoro fluff #roronoa zoro #zoro drabble #drabble

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pnsteblnme · 9 months

Text

tattoos together ✿ g.s.

pairing: georgia stanway x reader

summary: georgia gets her first tattoo, even if it doesn't go according to her plan.

warning: none i think? just my writing :o

word count: 2.7k

a/n: i got this request a couple days ago, i hope you enjoy it!

you can find part two here :)

“Welcome in, how can I…,” removing your gaze from the sketch you were about to put away, your eyes connected with pools of glistening honey, irises swirling like sweet nectar. Feeling yourself drowning in the warm haze of brown, your breath getting caught in your throat and your mouth opening, you shook yourself out of your daze, “…help you.”

Flinching after your last words came out embarrassingly breathless, you sent an awkward smile that turned into a real one when the blonde girl looked at you with nothing but kindness, “Hey, I had an appointment for today.”

You scanned the calendar on the desk in front of you, “Georgia, right?”

Nodding her head, said girl let her eyes travel over your form as you stood up. She couldn’t help but study the intricate tattoos that adorned your arms, wanting to trace them and longing to discover their meanings. The initial apprehension about getting her first tattoo diminished as she admired yours, thinking that if yours looked this immaculate, she wouldn’t have to worry.

Another thing that calmed her uneasiness was not only the very attractive welcoming artist but also the atmosphere of the room.

Unlike many other tattoo shops with a rather gloomy and dark-esque appearance, this one felt like reconnecting with an old friend.

The soft scratching of Cindy Lauper’s ‘Time After Time’ coming from the boxes next to a vinyl collection in the left corner filled her ears. Sunbeams bestowed the room with a glow as orange as marigolds blooming in the late spring and the candles lit on the windowsill filled the air with a vanilla scent.

White walls were decked with hundreds of sketches varying in size and drawing style, most in black and white with a few colourful specks in between.

The wooden front desk harmonised perfectly with the brown leather seat to the left of the room, as well as the stems of the numerous plants that were scattered all around.

Comfort.

That was the only word that came to Georgia’s mind when she finished looking around, feeling the knot in her gut loosen and her stiff shoulders relax.

“What can I do for you?”

Pools of honey meeting the ocean, the blonde girl smiled, “I want to get a tattoo!”

“Well, then you’re at the right place,” you chuckled teasingly, the corners of your mouth turning up.

Seeing Georgia rolling her eyes, you continued, “Do you have an idea of what you want, or would you like some inspiration?”

“I think I know what I want,” thoughts running through her mind at a hundred miles per hour making her unsure once more.

Watching the woman twiddle the rings on her fingers, you send her an encouraging smile, “Okey dokey, if you’d take a seat in that chair over there, I’ll get my stuff and we can get started.”

Georgia shuffled to the left with her hands slightly shaking, not knowing if the cause of that were the gleaming smiles sent her way or rather the fact that she was about to permanently mark her skin.

“So, what would you like me to do?” you questioned as you rolled towards her with your chair, putting on your gloves and setting up everything you needed on the tray next to the woman.

Taking out her phone, tapping a few times and turning the screen in your direction, she replied, “Could you do this one?”

On her phone screen, you could see a small, delicate ghost, your mind instantly jumping to all the customers that had gotten two of them tattooed as a tribute to their favourite song.

“Of course, where do you want it?”

“Here,” she pointed to a spot on her left forearm.

Nodding your head, you quickly but neatly drew the ghost onto a white paper, before asking her if the drawing was according to her idea. When you got a positive response, you put the carbon paper under your sketch and went over the lines again, the ink sticking to the back of your drawing.

You swiftly put antiseptic on her arm and hovered the paper over her skin, “Right here?” She wordlessly moved her head up and down once more and you gently pressed it down before removing it after a few seconds, leaving behind the temporary ink in the form of a ghost.

“Okay, are you ready?”

Georgia could hear her heartbeat in her ears, a lump forming in her throat, that she almost audibly gulped down, a breathless exhale escaped her mouth, “I think so, yeah.”

After turning on the needle and noticing her jump a little at the buzzing that sizzled through the air, you tried to comfort her the best you could, with the most reassuring look you could muster.

When you neared her arm though and she started squirming in her seat, you pulled back and reached for her hand resting on the chair, which was holding the brown leather in a tight grip, her knuckles turning white, “Is everything all right?”

Both of you ignoring the tingles that shot through your bodies when your hands touched, a shaky sigh left Georgia’s lips, “I’m just nervous, this is my first time getting a tattoo and I just don’t know how any of this works or if this hurts and I don’t want to do something I’ll regret,” she let out in one big breath.

“There’s no need to worry, you can go home and see what it’s like with the tattoo and when it comes off and you decide that you don’t want it, that’s totally fine,” you told her with warm eyes, “and if you do like it, that’s fine too, you can come back and we can do it whenever you want, whenever you’re ready.”

Feeling like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders after your words, Georgia’s mind slowed down a bit, allowing her to gather her thoughts, “But I don’t want to be a wuss now and regret it as soon as I get home.”

Not being able to stop the words tumbling out of her mouth, the blonde shared her inner conflict, “Like on the one side I really want this but on the other, I’m afraid it’s not the right thing, you know?”

Letting the statement run through the air for a moment, your eyes ran over her face, “Can I say something?”

“Sure, go on,” Georgia confirmed, her hands starting to twist her rings again.

“I think that it’s better to look back on your life and say ‘I can’t believe I did that’ than to look back and say ‘I wish I did that,” you explained before taking a deep breath, trying to find the right words to express your thoughts, “Life shouldn’t be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely, but one that should be lived to the fullest, even if it means being worn out in the end. One where you embrace every moment, take risks, I don’t know, dance in the rain with your favourite people, even if you get weird looks from everyone else.”

After not getting a response from the blonde after a few beats, you realised that maybe your words didn’t make as much sense as they did in your head and continued, “What I’m trying to say is that twenty years from now, you’ll be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the things you did do. I can’t tell you what you should or shouldn’t do, but I know that life isn’t meant to be lived perfectly, it’s merely meant to be lived. Boldly, uncertainly, imperfectly, kindly, however you want to, just don’t let fear take that choice away from you.”

Somehow, the words that had left your lips with the sunlight sparkling in your eyes and a passion coating your voice drew the blonde further into the spell you had mysteriously put on her, leaving her speechless, until you let out an awkward chuckle, hand scratching the back of your neck, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to give this big ass monologue.”

Feeling a laugh bubbling up inside of her and forgetting her rapid heartbeat for a moment, she shook her head, “No, no, don’t apologise, I mean, you did kind of sound like my Nan, but it was still great.”

When she heard the melodious sound of your laughter, she knew she was a goner, butterflies dancing around her stomach and warmth crawling its way through her whole body.

You took the missing statement about her tattoo as her still being uncertain, “We can start with something smaller if you’re not sure about the ghost.”

Still being faced with an apprehensive look, you took off your left glove, quickly spraying a bit of antiseptic onto the inside of your wrist, before turning the needle on and guiding it over your skin, “Look, it doesn’t even hurt.”

Brown eyes widened, rosy lips parted, a flabbergasted look crossed her face, “Jesus Christ, what did you do?!”

Wiping over the ink once more, you turned your wrist towards her, a cheeky smile resting on your lips that resembled the one of the smiley face you now had resting on your left arm, “Tada!”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you just did that,” the shock was still palpable in her voice, “Won’t you regret that though?”

You put away the needle and turned to face the girl on the brown chair, shaking your head, “I almost never regret anything, because I believe that every little detail of your life is what made you into who you are.”

“Deep down you’re actually a wise old man, aren’t you?” questioned Georgia with a raised eyebrow, your laughter filling the room once more.

“Maybe so,“ you shrugged your shoulders, “but back to you and don’t try to change the subject!”

“I can give you one of these little dudes if you want?” pointing to the ink that you’d just put on your arm.

“It’s not very big, so you can see what it feels like and we’d be matching, so you’ll always remember the wise old man that gave you your first tattoo.”

This time, the chuckles that rang through the room came from the blonde, “Okay, yeah, let’s do it.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do, like I said, you can always go home.”

With affirmation in her voice, Georgia declared, “I’m sure!”

“Great, let’s do this,” you put your glove back on, disinfected her left wrist and grabbed the needle from the tray, before turning it on.

When you felt her right hand gripping your left one with a tight grip, you squeezed it, hoping to at least bring her some comfort as you began the procedure.

After tracing the last line, you wiped away the residue and turned everything off before raising your head to meet the pools of honey watching your every move, “See, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

If the way the corners of Georgia’s lips turned upwards was anything to go by, you had your answer, feeling elated about her reaction, even without getting an answer from the girl.

Not noticing that you were waiting for a response, she gazed at the tiny smiley face resting on the inside of her left wrist, that would forever remind her of this day. Suddenly, she felt at ease, something that hadn’t even crossed her mind when she initially thought about getting her first tattoo. She couldn’t explain it, but something about the way you listened to her and tried to support her through this process, overall your gentle nature, made her feel like she was walking on fluffy pink clouds.

“Thank you so much,” Georgia breathed out with a heavy voice.

“No problem! If I ever see you again, I hope it's with more of those, I think it’d suit you very well.”

Lowering her head, praying to god that you couldn’t see the heat that rushed to her cheeks, she mumbled a shy ‘thanks’ before asking you how much she had to pay.

Your answer only intensified the red hue of her face, “Don’t worry about it, I like contributing to the gay panic everyone will have when they see you with tattoos.”

Stammering a final ‘thank you’ and sending you what should’ve been a thankful look but turned out to be more of a blushing grimace, she made her way to the door.

When she tried to push the door though, the flustered mess that was Georgia realised too late that she should’ve pulled on it instead, her head connecting with the glass with a dull thud.

The sound of stifled giggles filled her ears as you held your hand in front of your mouth, trying to stop them from escaping. You couldn’t help but think that this was one of the most adorable things you’ve ever witnessed. The blonde turned to you, face beet red, slender fingers raising in an awkward wave as she hastily opened the door, almost tripping on her way out before half sprinting out of your eyesight.

Two days later, your mood instantly brightened when you saw who had stepped into your store.

“Back for some more wisdom from the old man?” you jested, a playful smirk resting on your face.

Georgia playfully put a hand on her chest and let out a big sigh, “I just don’t know what to do with my life without your wise words.”

Dropping her faux sad demeanour, she walked towards the front desk, where you were drawing something she couldn’t make out, “Well lucky for you, I just discovered my new favourite quote!”

You cleared your throat as if preparing for a big speech and started as serious as you could, “‘They whispered to her ’you can’t withstand the storm’,” pausing dramatically for a few seconds, “‘She whispered back ’I am the storm’.”

“Wow, I don’t… I don’t know what to say, I’m just- I mean that’s so inspiring,” stuttered Georgia, wiping away a fake tear with her hand.

Dropping her sad demeanour, she sent you a grin, “I’m ready for the ghost now!”

“Seriously? That’s amazing!” you exclaimed, clapping your hands together and rocking on the balls of your feet.

Walking her over to the leather chair, the conversation between you flowed easily, like a message in a bottle slowly but surely reaching its designated shore, making it feel like no time had passed when you finished the tattoo.

This time, Georgia left the store with a ghost adorning her left arm and an even wider smile on her face, as she was able to avoid embarrassment during her departure.

“I mean, not that I’m complaining, but you know that you can get multiple tattoos done in one day, right?” you questioned her, raising your eyebrow teasingly.

Seeing her head dropping and the way she started rocking on her feet while twiddling the rings on her fingers, you felt your stomach drop, thinking that you had said something wrong.

Before you could open your mouth to apologise, you were interrupted by Georgia muttering something under her breath. You strained your ears to make out the words but failed miserably.

“Sorry, could you repeat that?”

The girl let out a nervous sigh and muttered again, “I know, but I still need to figure out how to get a grip and ask you out.”

Butterflies danced around in your stomach, making you grin like a fool, “Well then make as many appointments as you need,” you sent a wink her way.

That day she left with a game of noughts and crosses on her shoulder and a newfound determination to ask you out. Her walk home was filled with a million thoughts running through her head, asking the street lights if it would work out in the end.

The next day she showed up at your store with a bouquet of beautifully blooming flowers in her hand, sweating buckets, hoping you couldn’t tell just how nervous she was.

Your cheeks hurt from not being able to stop grinning like a cheshire cat, as you excitedly accepted her offer.

If anyone were to walk through the door, they would be met with two hearts rapidly beating and two smiles lighting up the entire room.

#woso #woso x reader #georgia stanway #georgia stanway x reader #woso fanfics #engwnt #fcb frauen

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