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saetoru · 8 months

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ BURNER ACCOUNTS — GOJO SATORU.

contents. fem! reader, loser ex-boyfriend! satoru, exes to lovers, college! au, satoru making burners to watch your stories, miscommunications—satoru is not perfect but he’s trying okay?, gossip icons shoko & suguru <3, i had a silly idea and it turned into 2.6k words my bad

there’s a peculiar account watching your instagram stories—@user273582838, to be exact. you don’t think it’s a very well timed coincidence seeing as you and satoru have just broken up—so you decide to do some digging.

which of course, means enlisting the help of shoko.

“i think satoru is stalking me,” you mumble, making her pause in the middle of sipping on her energy drink—for a med student, her habits don’t seem every healthy. this is her third one of the day.

“okay,” she nods, “i wouldn’t put it past him, but what makes you say that?”

“look,” you turn your phone to face her, the blank, anonymous instagram account right there on the list of users who have viewed your story. she crinkles her brows, blinking for a moment before humming.

“that definitely seems like something he’d do,” she nods—and then, “i have an idea.”

“okay,” you brighten, nodding enthusiastically, “what’s the plan?”

“try and log in with that user.”

“shoko,” you look at her like she’s grown two heads. maybe the lack of sleep is finally getting to her—no amount of energy drinks can save her at this point. “we don’t have the password—”

“—and that, dummy,” she rolls her eyes, making you scowl at the name, “is why we click forgot my password and see the last four digits of the phone number that registered the account. if it’s satoru’s number, we’ll know.”

okay—you take it back. shoko is a genius and a full-blown brilliant mastermind that you could never hope to come close to. you’re glad you chose her to help—you’re even more glad she agreed because you would not have thought of that. this is fantastic. a fool-proof plan.

you grin wide, eyes lighting up as you gasp, “shoko! you’re so smart, that’s a great idea!”

“i know,” she grumbles, “took you long enough to notice.”

ignoring her, you quickly pull out your phone and try to log onto the account, typing user273582838 into the username box and clicking forgot my password. shoko is hovering over your shoulder, and your breath is held as you wait for the page to load and the number to pop up. within just a few seconds, the first few digits are censored with asterisks, but the last four show, and—

yeah. it’s satoru’s fucking number. just as you suspected—you and shoko scoff together at the same time, rolling your eyes.

“well,” you look at her, lips pursed in irritation—of course, satoru refuses to give you space and leave you alone after your break up (which was his fault, might you add), “what now?”

“send the verification code to his number,” she presses, “it’ll definitely spook him when he sees.”

she’s so good at what she does, you think in awe, staring at her with heart-eyes. nodding quickly, you press send code.

hopefully, that’ll give satoru the heart attack you want it to.

———

satoru stares at his screen in abject horror—who could be trying to log into his burner account? the only person who should possibly stumble across it is you, but surely you’re not closely inspecting your story viewers, are you? so then, who could be trying to log onto the instagram account of @user273582838?

“suguru,” he says in a trance, “are you trying to log onto the burner?”

“are you bringing that shit up again?” suguru grumbles, controller in hand as he pays attention to the screen, “i told you that was a stupid idea. a pathetic one too—”

“well, i didn’t want to keep waiting for you to send screenshots to see the stories—”

“you’re a fucking loser, do you know that? pathetic,” suguru reiterates. “move on.”

“no,” satoru hisses in disbelief, “why would i do that? now, was that you or not? you’re the only other person who knows the user.”

“as if i care to log onto your loser burner account,” suguru snorts, shaking his head in amusement. he beats satoru’s high score, turning to give him a sly grin as he adds, “i wasn’t removed, so i can view the stories all i want.”

“you’re a jerk, you know that?” satoru grunts, crossing his arms and pouting, “i’m having the worst heartbreak of my life, and you—”

“who’s fault is it that you’re dumped?”

satoru deflates.

okay, so he supposedly hasn’t been the best boyfriend. it’s not that satoru isn’t helplessly committed to you—he’s so sickeningly obsessed with you, it’s actually a bit unhealthy. suguru says so, at least. but satoru is…well, satoru, and he doesn’t always seem to take things as seriously as most people would hope.

evidently, that includes your relationship—though, he does insist on disagreeing on that. according to you, he doesn’t take you on dates often enough, and sometimes he flirts back with random strangers. that’s not true—he’s simply a bit of a tease and enjoys it when you’re jealous, but he doesn’t flirt back. that’s outrageous. you’ve even claimed he’s mean about it and makes a joke out of it all—satoru would never be mean on purpose; he only teases because the banter is always endearing.

but, unfortunately, you don’t seem to see it the way he does, and now he’s woefully single and cold and alone in bed. no cuddles, no goodnight kisses, and no head scratches.

life is so cruel sometimes.

“suguru,” he says in distress, “i’m serious. someone’s trying to hack my burner—who could it be?”

“hmm, i don’t know…maybe the one and only person who would notice the account in the first place?”

“but why try and log in if the password is unknown?”

suguru looks at satoru like he’s stupid—apparently, he is because he’s not putting two and two together.

“maybe because sending a verification code shows the last four digits of the registered phone number? you’ve probably been caught, you idiot.”

satoru pales at that—he didn’t think about that. it slipped his mind completely. fuck, he should’ve used a burner email instead. he stares down at his phone numbly—yeah, he thinks, he’s screwed.

———

after two days of continuous log in attempts into satoru’s burner account—it’s only just to spook him extra—you finally decide to confront him.

we need to talk. is all you send him.

the three bubbles appear on his end multiple times before disappearing—you and shoko get a good cackle out of that and laugh at him for a bit before he finally answers.

miss me already? knew it ;)

wow. what a dickhead.

so, because you can be equally as much of a prick, you send him a screenshot of his phone number on the log in page followed by a message that says: no. it’s so you can explain this.

the three dots show up again for a few minutes before he finally responds with: okay. you caught me. when do you wanna meet?

well, that was easy. satoru is the type to not go down without a fight no matter how cornered he is—he’s stubborn and annoying like that. you turn to shoko for help.

“meet him now,” shoko crosses her arms, “don’t give him time to come up with some ridiculous excuse.”

“what excuse could he possibly come up with?” you snort, “that he was possessed and the evil spirit in his mind made him stalk his ex like a loser?”

“true,” she concedes, taking a sip from her energy drink—seriously, how many of these does this girl drink in a day? “i just want to know what happens,” she shrugs, “so do it now.”

of course, as on brand as ever, shoko is merely in it for the drama. you roll your eyes before sighing and nodding.

“okay,” you huff.

meet me at my place. now.

on my way, he sends back almost instantly.

“he’s probably just excited to see you,” shoko snorts, “like the loser he is.”

“you’re probably right,” you purse your lips in exasperation. in all your time knowing him, you’ve definitely realized that satoru is definitely…well, a case.

———

“hey,” shoko whispers to suguru through the phone, walking out your door so you can prepare to confront satoru. “did you know satoru’s been stalking—”

“—on a burner account? yeah, i know.”

okay, she frowns to herself, that was no fun at all. suguru is already aware of the drama. but that’s no matter—surely, he can’t possibly already know that satoru has been invited over to be scolded.

“yeah, well,” she says smugly, “did you know he’s actually on his way over to—”

“—get yelled at? yeah, i’m aware. he called me panicked. what a fucking loser.”

“okay, well since you’re up to speed,” shoko grumbles bitterly, rolling her eyes. she was supposed to be the knight in shining armor with the juicy updates—but evidently, satoru is pathetic enough to already cry to suguru about his dilemma. “wanna meet up and get sushi nearby? i bet they’ll get back together in twenty minutes.”

“i bet ten. loser pays for the food?”

“you’ve got yourself a deal.”

———

satoru sits on your couch in shame, bouncing his leg nervously as you sit on the opposite end with your arms crossed and brow raised.

it’s quiet. he doesn’t have the guts to say anything, waiting for you to break the silence. maybe you’re not that mad.

“so,” you start, “it’s nice to finally meet you, user273582838.”

he rubs his neck awkwardly, chuckling through his nerves as he mumbles, “oh, hey there! it’s a small world, huh?”

“satoru.”

yeah, never mind. you seem pretty mad.

“okay, look,” he begins, “you can’t blame me. you dumped me, your sweet, loving, and unsuspecting boyfriend out of nowhere! i was heartbroken and shattered—and then you didn’t even give me a chance to work it out! i was not in the right headspace to make wise decisions so…so this is basically not my fault.”

that doesn’t seem to help his case—in fact, it only makes it worse.

“so it’s my fault?”

“wha—no!” he says quickly, “no, definitely not.”

you sigh, rubbing your forehead in defeat as you mumble, “satoru, we are broken up for a reason. you can’t overstep and—”

“it’s a pretty stupid reason,” he grumbles under his breath, crossing his arms and frowning. you glare at him from the side as you scoff in disbelief.

“of course,” you chuckle dryly, “of course you would say that. nothing is ever serious enough to you—”

“it’s pretty fucking serious to me,” he spits, shooting you a look that tells you he’s just as shocked as you, “that’s obviously why i’m the one who’s still not moved on as easily as you. how seriously did you really take it?”

“that’s not fair,” you grit, “you made it abundantly clear you didn’t care enough, so why should i—”

“i fucking cared a shit ton,” he says incredulously, “that’s bullshit, and you know it—”

“don’t curse at me, satoru—”

“well, don’t accuse me of not caring when i clearly—”

“oh, yeah cause you cared so much when you were laughing with that waitress as she hit on you,” you seethe, throwing a pillow from your couch at him. he can catch it easily—you know this for sure, but he lets it hit him out of what you’re sure is at least a little consideration to your feelings.

“i wasn’t laughing because i enjoyed it,” he crinkles his brows as if you’ve said the most ridiculous thing ever, “it was just funny because she was trying so hard. and you looked all cute when you got mad.”

“what kind of boyfriend enjoys watching his girlfriend get mad—”

“the kind of boyfriend who thinks his girlfriend is adorable when she’s mad—”

“yeah, well your idea of a date is going to the mall with shoko and suguru. what kind of date is that—”

“okay, i was a bit clueless sometimes, but you could’ve said something instead of just dumping me like i was some random guy in your dm’s—”

“you need to grow the fuck up, satoru—”

“now look at who's cursing!”

it’s silent—both you and him have your arms crossed and lips curled into scowls as you both glare at each other. you’re stubbornly convinced satoru doesn’t care as much as you do, and he’s firmly committed to the idea that you’re twisting him into some douche who doesn’t give two shits.

it’s quiet like that for a bit before he deflates and slumps against the couch, rubbing his face as he groans.

“look,” he starts, “i’m sorry. i never meant to make it seem like i enjoy attention from other girls, and i didn’t realize you wanted more dates. i’d have done things differently if you told me how you felt.”

he sounds sincere. and he’s looking at you with those eyes of his—god, those stupid little eyes that are so wide and blue and deep and full of love. even after that whole argument, satoru is clearly as painfully in love as ever.

you sigh before playing with a loose thread on your sweatpants.

“i…guess i could’ve talked it out first. i probably shouldn’t have skipped straight to breaking up,” you mutter, not meeting his eyes.

satoru stares glumly at you from the corner of his eyes before he adds bitterly, “you don’t seem to miss me. not even a little.”

“toru,” you pinch your nose, “of course i miss you. i was not gonna be mopey on instagram, though—”

“doesn’t seem like it,” he huffs. he’s a bit hurt—you can tell because he’s not meeting your eyes, and he’s not got that playful little upward curl of his lips.

you’re a bit weak, you realize—but you suppose you always have been for satoru, because you’re shuffling to his end of the couch and poking his cheek gently.

“i miss you tons, y’know,” you murmur—you smile a little at his pout before adding, “i want more dates this time around. and stop letting girls get away with being shameless flirts.”

he finally meets your eyes—it’s like a child on christmas, the way his face lights up and his lips curl into an excited grin.

“you mean i get to be your boyfriend again?”

it’s cute—the way he asks to be your boyfriend and not if you’ll be his girlfriend. maybe you’ve been a bit unfair, maybe satoru has always cared deeply in his dumb little clueless way of his own.

“fine,” you pretend to roll your eyes. he looks hopelessly excited as he wraps an arm around you and pulls you into his side, tucking you under his chin as he rests his cheek on your head.

“you should really talk to me more,” he murmurs, “i’m…things fly over my head sometimes. i’m sorry.”

“i’m sorry too,” you admit, “i’ll talk to you—but you better listen to me if i do. don’t turn it into jokes.”

“i never turn things into jokes,” he grumbles petulantly, huffing to the side as you shoot him an unimpressed raise of your brow. “does this mean i can follow you again?”

“yes,” you snort.

“and you’ll follow back, right?”

“yes, satoru,” you sigh, shaking your head in amusement. he’s already back to being a handful—but you can admit you might have missed it just a bit. “but for the love of god, please delete that burner.”

“fine,” he pouts, tugging you closer.

you giggle, he grins, and then you’re kissing—and everything feels as it should be.

———

“they’re back together,” shoko says in disbelief, staring at your text. suguru groans, pausing mid bite as he rubs over his forehead in defeat.

of course, you and satoru just have to make up in exactly fifteen minutes. not ten. not twenty. exactly fifteen.

how considerate of you both.

“are you kidding?” suguru grumbles, “so neither of us win.”

“guess not,” she says sourly, rolling her eyes.

woefully, they both agree to split the check.

suguru and shoko are so me and my friend every time our other friend argues with her boyfriend we deadass be making bets over when they make up and loser has to pay for boba LMAO

#teepods.writings #drabbles.#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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cillivnz · 10 months

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Hi 👋 I see you write for Lord Dimitrescu (miss a spot, hit the spot was brilliant and I would devour more) and I saw that you are taking requests, what do you think about monster hunter!reader x Lord Dimitrescu? You can take this in whichever direction you like best, but I do have a prompt idea!

Lord Dimitrescu and his sons find a trespasser on their land and Dimitrescu takes her in as his guest/prisoner thinking that she is a clueless lost traveler, not knowing that she's a hunter willing to get close to him by any means necessary, even if it means seducing a monster. Gaining access to his infamous library full of books on how to kill every monster known to man is just the first step, what she really wants is to find out the family's weaknesses and get lord Dimitrescu to let his guard down enough for her to kill him and every last member of his twisted family. Or at least that was the plan...

I just love villain gets the girl/ corruption stories and the idea of someone rolling up into that castle with every intention of wiping out the evil that lives there, but getting seduced instead... 😍😍😍

Love your work!!!

façade of seduction [lord dimitrescu]

PAIRING — LORD DIMITRESCU x MONSTER HUNTER!READER

WORD COUNT — 12.6k+ (i’m so sorry, it’s for the plot!)

WARNINGS — SMUT. eighteen+. AFAB!reader, dark arts, necromancy, the supernatural, mentions of murders, beheadings, cannibalism, vampirism, extremely dubious consent, cursing, extreme gore (blood, cuts, stabbing, mass murder, executions, etc.), reader uses seduction as a tactic, death of family, size kink, age-gap, degradation, pet-names, mentions as well as performed oral sex (talk of male!receiving, performed cunnilingus), fingering, female masturbation, mentions of male masturbation, unprotected penetrative sex, weird & unspecific AU, creampie, cum-eating, breast/nipple play, clit stimulation, extreme descriptions (?), kinda sorta brat-taming.

A/N — whoa, baby! she’s done! firstly, let me just shower this anon with kisses for trusting me such an amazing prompt! thank you, you beautiful soul. i had a blast writing this, and i’m sorry i couldn’t finish it sooner :’( you’re a literal genius, i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing this, and thank you for the kind words! secondly,

i tried incorporating as much lore from the game as i could, majority of the plot is my own fictional work, and the rest [credited to the game] may have been tampered with to suit the plot of this fiction.

Lady Elvira Natalia Stoica is an original character — INCLUSIVE OF ETHNICITY, RACE, COLOUR, BODY TYPE, etc. the only definite characteristic she has is that she is reader’s doppelgänger with an identical appearance, and that her family is of the same origin as The Dimitrescus (Romanian).

Alcina Dimitrescu’s gender-bent version is named Alcides Dimitrescu in my fiction. the credit of his sons’ names goes to @angel-hawthorne ’s comment under this post.

there’s some deliberate references to my other Lord Dimitrescu fiction. read it HERE!

NOTES [excuse inaccurate translations]

"Idiotilor! Așa ne tratezi oaspetele?" : You idiots! Is this how you treat our guest?

"Oaspete? Dar ea—" : Guest? But she—

"Scuzați-vă." : Excuse yourselves.

căprița mea mică : my little doe

cameristă : maid

Pentru dumnezeu! : good god/for god’s sake!

𝓗unters.

Your father before you, and his before him. Monsters, demons, deities; anything of supernatural order, possessing paranormal traits needed to be laid down, and your family was bestowed with the responsibility to do so. They told you, you were god-gifted; possessing an astounding memory. It was as if you soaked in every word you read in journals rich in paranormal history, and carved every word into your brain with your own hand.

Those ungodly creatures fumed at the audacity of a mortal family killing the abysmal aristocracies in the name of slaughtering abominations.

How proudly you awarded yourselves the title of Vânători de urâciuni — Hunters of Abominations. Soon enough, though, the leaders of the Four Houses knew a lesson needed be taught, example be set; actions have consequences, and after all, you were mere mortals. Audacious, dangerous mortals.

The last of the Four Houses needed to be hunted down. Your father, your uncle, your brother managed to wipe out the other key members, before it was about time the reaper caught up to them. Weeks, months went by in weeping for them, never letting their caskets dry, but it was about time you stopped mourning. This isn't what you were raised to do — whom you were raised to be. There was no way in hell you'd let the last Family standing think that the danger was over, not when you found out that it was on their cue, their command, that the guillotine that slashed through your family's head held high, became the inevitable demise of the men of Vânători de urâciuni.

'Fuckers even had the audacity to send the heads back, all nice and packaged, and signed. It was then, you realised, the weight of your name's responsibility lies on your shoulders, now. Mother was too deep in the waters of depression, perhaps, vengeance would serve as her lifeguard, and you sought to get it. For her sake, and yours.

Packing the the remnant of your belongings, primarily, lore on whatever mutation resembled that of what you've heard the family to be; barbaric, and vampiric, you set voyage to Castle Dimitrescu, the Lord's stronghold within the vicinity of a titular Eastern European village; Romania, in other geographical terms.

After weeks on foot, travelling from place to place and squeezing in some good o'l slash-and-dash of monsters into your quest, you reached the abysmal castle. The oppressive aura surrounding The Dimitrescus' colossal abode could be felt miles away from its actual foundations, the monotonous venus blue atmosphere, the trees that have been decayed for decades, peering into your periphery, mortifying the sight of Castle Dimitrescu, even more. You shake off a shiver, determined strides leading you forward. An ominous forest welcomed you, seemingly, the flora responded to every step you took on the onyx soil; you were not too far from the gigantic gates of the castle, deciding to take a breather and assess just what you were dragging yourself into, the massive mountainous foliage providing a safe haven, temporarily.

Rummaging through the contents, page after page, you landed on Wendigo. You knew your ancestors categorised mutations in the same category as a Wendigo, it being the severest form of inhumanity; the mutated man would resort to cannibalism, still humanoid — tall and pale with elongated limbs and pale yellow eyes. If the Dimitrescus were anything like a typical mutated Wendigo, you hadn't thought this through. Then, you remembered your brother's journal.

He was vague with words, often scribbling up a précise at the end of a hunt. Too consumed by your tears, you initially forgot about it, until you realised halfway through your voyage that your mother packed his journal for you, and some documentations recorded by your father and your uncle in their youth, though, you highly doubted you'd be coming across an extinct creature.

There it was — the last page of his journal — the twenty-seventh page to be precise, with triple the pages still empty; clean slates like a reminder of his unlived life, the life that was taken away from him.

You smiled fondly at his handwriting, letting your fingertips trace the scribbles, how deeply the quill was engraved into the paper. You remember laughing at his handwriting, growing up, how your mother would ask him to get a doctorate to match his stereotypical physician's handwriting, but this is all he knew — all you knew. Hunting was your profession, your life and lifestyle, and now, inevitably, your demise, too. You began reading, as I said, your older brother, a master at scribbling précise.

You were unsure, however, when he'd got the time to write down about The Dimitrescus, having never come face-to-face with the tyrants. It seemed your brother's first guess, too, was 'Wendigo', which he scratched down, only to pen it down again, bigger and emphasised, once he enlisted 'Cannibalisme'.

Your heart sank at the etchings.

Even for someone like him, these were too cynical, like he were losing his mind at the mere thought of them: 'one LORD — THREE SONS', it read. 'Blood disease??', 'PARASITE??', 'VAMPIRISM'? That would mean— "Oh." You stood corrected when just below the analysis was a remark, "NO WEAKNESS TO SUN OR WEATHER". Sometimes you swore you and him had the same braincells, always jumping to the same conclusions, which only made the desire to avenge him overpowering.

Your eyes traveled to the end of the page, the last of ink spilled on the worn out pages of your brother's journal, 'NEOPAGAN CULT', 'BLACK GOD'. With widened eyes, and a sinister feeling you couldn't yet shake away, your eyes dart to the next, last page.

There was a symbol maniacally delineated, labelled as the same reports on the previous page. 'NEOPAGAN CULT SYMBOL', and at the bottom of the page, the last thing your brother ever did write was, 'THE CULT OF THE BLACK GOD'. You subconsciously traced the diagram, only to see the graphite taint your fingertips. Your mind was racing two hundred miles per hour, trying to put the pieces of a fatally intricate puzzle together. Your brother's journal, the last of the contents were mere observations, unlike the rest of the pages that are filled with methods of executing generations of monsters.

But for The Dimitrescus, the fact that 'most powerful family' was written with emphasis only made you scowl. You searched frantically in your bag for the journals of your father, your uncle; anything that spoke more about this parasite and the said Black God.

Glancing back at the foot of the palace, you had to do a double take when you saw the guards leave the premises, bread and wine in hand. Their chuckles could be sound from the heart of the forest, even though they repeatedly 'shushed' one another, saying "the Lord" would put their "heads on a stick".

You take their departure as your cue and pace quietly towards the castle. You stood face to face with the colossal gates, doing your level best to push them open, just enough to sneak in, but the big dumb fuckers wouldn't budge. Scoffing, as fate would have it in your luck, you began scanning the perimeter for any safe way in, otherwise, you sure as hell knew how to make an entry.

"Ain't no fucking way," you'd pretty much lost all hope, not realising when your brother wrote down, "tall", it included the infrastructure, too. It was then your eyes noticed one particular stone brick placed slightly outward, and the one above it, and then the one above it, outward enough for you to step on, up, and grip the grotesque grill, securing the premises from people exactly like you.

The first step up was easy, the stone steady enough to carry you, or so you thought for when the second you stepped onto the next one, the one below fell to the ground, shattering to bits. You eyed the stone your foot was on currently, leaping when realisation hit you. By the time you rock-climbed your ass up to the top, the whole way up had crumbled down. You gripped the gothic grill, not taking the maker of it to be a sadist, for it sliced the flesh of your palm even through the slightest contact. You winced, looking back at the broken rocks, perhaps, a good omen; no one would suspect you climbed up the wall, now.

Crossing the grill, you jumped down as silently as a human could, looking back at your newfound enemy, the grill, only for it to be leaking with crimson. You groaned at the sight of your blood, thinking you were better than this, letting some metal get the best of you, but the immense pain from the cut made your head a little dizzy. Shaking the odd feel off, you proceeded leftward, walking further in to be greeted by what seemed to be a courtyard.

No servants, chamberlain nor staff was seen out and about, quite contrary to what one would expect from the functioning of a castle this mighty. Though the odds were in your favour, it didn't seem so; it's quiet, too quiet. Nothing other than a raven's screech and the flap of the wings of a murder of crows was heard for miles. Your steps had quickened at the sight of a door, finally leading you inside. As you inspected it, you sensed a magical aura around it; you could use a spell to crack it open, but that would cause bring attention you did not need at the moment. So, you pull a pin from your hair and apply the cheapskate thief method, and lo and behold, you were in.

Fuck yeah.

Closing the bulky door as silently behind you as you could, you were slammed right back into it, while what felt to be a talon instead of a hand wrapped around the back of your throat. "Well, well, what do we have here?" Said an anonymous voice, cuing laughter from two more.

Fuck, no.

The last thing you remember was a pair of hands squeezing your waist, one choking you, while one hand ghosted over your face, causing a wave of unconsciousness to pass over you.

Chained; you groaned, a pounding ache ringing in your head like an alarm, your eyes blinked, close to a hundred times to get accustomed to your dark, unfamiliar surroundings, while your nose burned with the stench of— burning bodies?

You lifted your head to see three tall figures illuminated by the feeble attempts of a torch. "Alas, sleeping beauty wakes." You heard one taunt, a raspy baritone to his voice, "No fun — I prefer them unconscious," said another with a similar tone. "Well, you're no fun if you don't like to watch the fear in their eyes when they beg you for their life," said the third. The conversation flowed more amongst themselves, quite rude to not have included the meat of the matter — you, but what more could you expect from The Dimitrescu Boys? Oh, you were sure it was them. 'One lord — three sons', you remembered, and no odds suggested they were servants or guards. Not with the way expensive jewels embellished their stallion necks not-so-subtly, like an all-time reminder of their aristocratic status. 'Pathetic,' you thought, it seems no matter the day or age, the breed of "daddy's money" remains as obnoxious as ever.

While they bickered amongst themselves, you took the time to take in their appearances: Handsome, irrelevant. Tall, but no more than an average case of gigantism in most villages. Yellow eyes, but not humanoid — no, fully, thoroughly (so it seems) human. Could this be another variety? Hybrids, perhaps, since Vampirism was in the books of possibility. That could explain their immunity to weather conditions. Their facial features became vivid all of a sudden, and you noticed the blood smeared all over their faces. Paying heed to your iniquity, perhaps even irked expression, the boys smirked devilishly; not charming, dangerously, Lucifer-ishly, but satanically. You weren't into the lighter side of magic like your mother, only using it grotesquely, but you knew aura-reading, even envisioning, like the back of your hand, and theirs was sinister: an abysmal shade of black surrounding them, with occultism dancing between their physical forms in the fiery colour of hellish hues.

"Tell us, what's a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?" One questioned, "Hm, never seen one so beautiful." "Is she even real — ethereal." "Makes me almost not want to eat her." Your eyes widened at the last remark, "Eat her in a different way, I'd definitely." Their shark-like smiles grew wider, subconsciously causing you to back away from them while they inched closer, ready to pounce on you and relish your beauty. "What do you have there, boys?" Asked the deepest voice you'd ever heard, from the other side of what you now realised was the dungeon. You were taken aback at the intrusion, silently thanking your saviour, even if it were the man himself — Lord Alcides Dimitrescu, head of Familia Dimitrescu.

His sons scattered immediately, letting their father rest his eyes upon you. "Food, father," one spoke eagerly, as if trying to impress his old man. "We saw her trespassing in the courtyard, and then she came inside." Spoke the other. "You could have her," said another, "If you save us a taste." Your face lost its colour when a ice-cold hand wrapped itself around your throat, yanking you up with one lift, and throwing you towards the bars between you and the mammoth Lord. His devilish expression— softened? "Elvira!" He exclaimed softly, reaching for your face, but the second his hand tried to snake past the bar, he winced in contact, the metal bar hissing with effervescence. Weakness?

"Idiotilor! Așa ne tratezi oaspetele?" The man was fuming: a flabbergasted expression on the said idiots' faces. "Oaspete? Dar ea—" "She can do as she pleases in my home." The man spat venom like thunder, his hateful expression turned to apologetic and caring in the blink of an eye when he turned to you. "Let her out this very instant." He glared at his sons one last time before turning away and saying, "The longer you wait, the more severe will be the outcomes."

So you were rushed out the dungeon and sent to the guesthouse.

The chamberlain had been waiting for you there at the direct orders of her master. "Lady Stoica, We're truly very sorry for the inconveniences caused to you. The Lord gifts you these gowns as his sincerest apology. He'd love for you to join him for supper once you have freshened up. Step out of your chambers, when you're done, and I'll be happy to take you there." You didn't acknowledge her, only awaited her leave so you could examine the gowns she had motioned towards while babbling courtesies you didn't give a fuck about. It'll definitely take more than four gowns to earn forgiveness for the treatment meted out to you down in the dungeons, but you wanted to give the tyrant lord a little bit of credit, for the gowns were stunning.

As you took in the details of each cloth, you came upon a note, which read: Sweetest Elvira,

Forgive my imbecile progeny, if you think they are worth it, but let us celebrate your presence, still, in my abode. Would you be so kind to accept my invitation for dinner? I have long yearned your company since the last time Lord and Lady Stoica visited.

Hoping to have you with me,

Alcides Dimitrescu.

Your blood boiled at his handwriting. It was the same intricate, royally cursive writing that signed the parcel of your family's heads.

You headed into the bath with murder on your mind; no matter how many times you'd sink into the warm waters, the heat only aggravated your fuming self. It was rosewater, the scent made your mind trail back to days of yore: when your mother would set up baths like this for you, the sweet scent of herbs and nature's warmth filled your hateful mind with nostalgia, then worry. Your mother had the most fight in her, no doubt about that, but that didn't mean she resorted to it easily; always seeing the best in people, giving them countless chances to repent. A generous, godly trait, but fatal in a world dominated by people like the man you were to meet with for dinner— supper, or whatever. You were just glad you weren't being served as the main course.

For now.

As you dried yourself up, your mind replayed the conversations, the characteristics and behaviours of the family. How he called you, 'Elvira'. Yes, Lady Elvira Natalia of Familia Stoica, another noble household your family put an end to. The irony lay in her appearance: the two of you looked alike — no, identical. Perhaps minor attributes set the difference between you two, or the fact that you put a bullet between her eyes — eyes just like yours; it was the reason why the Vânători de urâciuni men hesitated to kill her — sister, daughter, and niece. Not you, never had you hesitated. It's what set you apart in a man's world. If a woman's emotions got the best of her, than lucky for you and unfortunate for the whole world, the only feelings coursing through your mind like the blood in your veins were bloodlust. Blood and Lust, as your mind trailed back to Lord Dimitrescu—

Alcides fuckin' Dimitrescu.

He was tall, so tall, he had to crouch to an uncomfortable extent just to get a proper look at your frame through the dungeon bars. His raven locs and beard: neat as a lord, rugged like a pirate; his sharp nose, his thick, furrowed brows, his luscious lips and those eyes. Those fucking amber eyes, captivating, devouring you like a fox after literal meat. Their hue was as fluorescent as a Wendigo's, then how was he not like one? How is he so devilishly handsome?

Stuck in a limbo, half- hypnotised with hazy memories of the Lord, memories you were yet to make with him, you were left enchanted; like he had cast a spell on yo— "Holy fuck." That's it. It's the only logical reason behind such profound emotions. He had cast a spell on you. It could've easily been the waters, you had bathed in them, let the rose waters soak every inch of your skin. Or worse, his eyes? You had definitely not been that out of it to imagine them glowing in the dark, but if he truly practised necromancy at such a profound level that a mere look in your direction left you enamoured, then you had to come up with a plan, and come up with a plan fucking fast.

Despite your certainty that the only way you'd feel something so unlikely for a man who was responsible for the death of family, was via nécromancies, you still had to be sure. So, you performed an indication ritual. In a vessel, you stored the possible method of enchantment — the bath water — along with the blood of the enchanted. You prick your finger deep enough to get ample beads of crimson out, letting them drop into the vessel. Now, if by dawn, the contents of the vessel turn potently black, your suspicions are true, and the tyrant Alcides, indeed, cast a spell on you, but if it were to remain colourless, than the worst of your concerns has arisen, for you'd have willingly let lust overpower the balance of bloodlust in the weigh of your emotions.

Placing the vessel underneath your bed, you begin dressing. The odds were too ironic not to choose the rose coloured gown for the evening, so you wore it, feeling condemned to. Fixing whatever you deemed necessary, you stepped out of your room to find the chamberlain stationed exactly where she said she'd be.

Her breath hitched a little, eyes widening as she saw you turn towards her, "You look beautiful, Miss Stoica," was her way of seeing 'you clean up pretty nice for a dirty mess in the dungeons', but you paid no heed, letting the woman escort you.

The walk to the Lord's dining area was awkward, and fearful for the servant. There was no denying you resembled the heiress of one of the Seven Royal Families, but you hadn't thought your own victim's identity would play as your decoy in your most fatal mission.

You didn't blame them, you were dumbfounded at the striking resemblance, yourself.

The hair, the skin, the features; it was without a doubt you killed your doppelgänger that day, and though you were never one to follow rituals of lore, it says, 'the slaughtering of one's self' — a doppelgänger — 'is the greatest sign of one's power and control', so it was no wonder since then you had long been feared in every corner of Eastern Europe, but you never earned notoriety, nor make a fuss over the death of The Stoicas, which is why everyone in Castle Dimitrescu believes you to be her, for they think she is what you are; alive.

"We've arrived, madam. If you need me, please don't hesitate to call." She gave you a knowing look, one of empathy? Weird. Interestingly weird. You only nodded, before pushing the glass doors open, and letting yourself in.

Alcides sat with the three of his sons, you'd heard him call them Boian, Cătălin, and Dorin, not knowing which one is which, but you doubt names matter when their death's are destined by your hands. As if sensing you, something you'd mentally categorise among his vampiric characteristics, his head shot up from his sons and immediately those amber eyes were on you, ripping through your dress, eating you alive. His lifeless skin flushed at the sight of you, wet hair clinging to your frame so perfectly, he could smell the shampoo from here. How tightly the dress hugged your curves, how accentuated the rose colour of the gown made your ethereal body. Your plump, pouty lips were rosy like the gown, an even prettier colour, the sudden blush that dared to creep on your face, your determined brows raised a little at the shameless attention you were receiving, your big, radiant doe eyes widening, pupils dilating, and your long lashes batting at his direction.

"Elvira." He rose from his seats, as did his sons, heads snapping right at you to shamelessly ogle at you. On seeing that the look of disgust on your face was directed towards his sons, he shot them a fuming glare, causing them to nod an apology and immediately be seated again.

"Thank you for joining me." He said, softly, awaiting you. You moved closer, deciding to be seated beside the lord, across from his sons. "How have you been, my dear?" His hand found yours, yours minuscule in his clasp. "I had been fine, until certain miscreants accused me of trespassing."

You shot the three culprits a glare, and rightly so. Alcides eyed his sons, clearing his throat obviously when his sons remained oblivious to his cryptic signs.

"We're, uh," began one, "We're sorry, Madam Stoica," continued the other, "We didn't mean for any of that to happen, we just wanted to scare what appeared to be an uninvited guest at the time." "Had we known it was you... well, let's just say your welcome would've been different. Mostly." Finished the last, and your mind immediately caught on to the insinuation:

"Eat her in a different way, I'd definitely."

You could see the man's blood boil beside you, "Scuzați-vă." He growled, and you caught a glimpse of just how much fear he's instilled into his children, for they immediately excused themselves from the table and left with hurried steps.

"Pardon them, I don't know where I went wrong in raising them." He sighed once they were out of sight, rubbing the bridge of his nose. You've never been one to sympathise with an enemy, but maybe sympathy isn't what'll lead to his slaughter; seduction is.

You wordlessly place a hand atop his, earning a soft gasp from him. His eyes searched your face, and when you couldn't help but give him a small smile, he grinned; from ear to ear, letting his pearly fangs rise from their pillowy coverings, his lips, which he soon had to bite to control his giddiness. "Oh, Elvira," his voice was soft, a mere yearn lingering in the warmth of the room. Had it been this hot since you stepped in, or had the flush of your cheeks been indicating otherwise? "You're so beautiful." His other hand tucked the stray strand of hair falling onto your face, behind your ear. You felt a tinge of bitterness brewing in you, whatever relationship was established between Alcides and Elvira, it sure was on the better side of the spectrum.

Were you really feeling jealous of your dead doppelgänger? Well, from the way he looked at you— her — right now, you'd say he wouldn't take to her murder too kindly.

"I swear, you're even more beautiful than the last time I saw you." You blushed, so he enjoyed the new-and-improved Elvira more. "Yet you stay ever handsome." NO. You didn't mean for it to slip, you didn't mean it, you didn't think it — yet, you said it, and he fucking relished in it.

To save you from your embarrassment, your newfound guardian angels, the chef and other servants, brought in food of all sorts. Albeit the sheer hatred you felt towards them, you couldn't help but ask Alcides about his sons. "Aren't you sweet?" He looked at you with fondness, before answering, "The servants will bring them food to their quarters."

Fair enough.

You proceeded eating without another word or glance in his direction. Upon finishing the scrumptious meal, you waited for Alcides to take the lead.

Men like him relished in power, authority, and since he was born into it with a silver spoon hanging from his mouth, it was the only thing he knew.

He looked at you for several moments, an unreadable expression on his face making you more conscious than repelled, as if you craved the validation of his eyes.

He rose from his seat, one hand lingering in the air, an invitation for you to clasp it, while the other grabbed a hefty cluster of grapes by the stem. "Walk with me, darling."

He had to look painfully low to even see your head, once you rose to your height, it helped, but little aid was provided to the giant standing at 9'6.

You held his hand, the sheer size difference had you squirming in your steps.

Just imagine how beautiful sex would be with him, you wouldn't even be able to fit him— "Fuck," you whined under your breath, making damn sure your voice wasn't audible to Mount Everest beside you.

This was the spell talking — thinking; it's got to be. You withdrew your hand, pretending to fix the blouse of the dress, earning a glance from the Lord in your direction, which only stayed for a moment before the calming silence between the two of you was the only thing you could see, until he halted, pulling your attention back to him. "Fruit, my dear?" He waved the cluster, so you knew which ones he was talking about. Come to think of it, you did feel thirsty, and those grapes looked lusciously juicy.

"I don't see why not," you shrugged, not anticipated him to raise the cluster to his mouth and bite a grape off. You watched, mouth slightly agape as a perfectly fine grape rested between his fangs. Even the slightest subconscious movement could rip through the fruit, yet it stayed perfectly safe in his mouth.

He then crouched, now eye-to-eye with you. His eyebrows raised in your direction, challenging you. Challenging you to pull the fruit out of his mouth, and there was only one way to do it.

You bit your lip, you could have your fun, just until you find a reversal cure to his spell.

So, you grab onto both his wide, muscular shoulders, letting your arms cross around his neck. You smirk at him, bringing one hand forward to trace his features. He was so, so strong, to the point you were more aroused than intimated. Your hand reached his torso, you could see how your teasing placed him in agony. Slowly, you let your hand ghost over his pants, and lo and behold, he was aroused; painfully so, and you felt it immoral to torment a man so much (the fucking irony), so you palmed him through his pants, causing his mouth to hang open and out fell grape— right into your palm.

You bring the fruit up to your mouth, Alcides left mesmerised with the way your plump, perfect lips wrapped around it before ripping through it. A moan escaped your lips as the juice dripped down your tongue. "So good," you left out a sigh, and something in him snapped. Alcides flipped you around, you were now pressed against some wall that practically emerged in support of his... expeditions. He plucked two grapes, placing them in his large palm, before bringing it closer to your face. When your eyes widened in confusion, his other hand wrapped itself around your jaw, squeezing your cheeks to open your mouth, before you realised what he demanded and gave it to him; you licked about the fruit, before accepting them into your mouth. Your tongue still teased his flesh, when he pulled away. Amber eyes mere slits with obvious lust, "Now," he began, "You can say you've eaten out of the Lord's palm." He winked at you before walking away.

You steadied your haggard breathing, before deciding to follow him when a certain room caught your eye. It were as if your name was being chanted like a careful whisper, that only sounded when you were left alone. Following your gut, as a hunter as skilled as you would, you push open the heavy doors and let yourself in.

The first thing catching your eye was an obnoxious leather chair that you couldn't help but run a hand over, "Gator skin," you scowled. Though a hunter, you were against hunting — animals, that is, although you'd be hypocritical to say so when the creatures you send to hell are no less barbaric than a creature tormenting in wilderness. Still, you believed in fighting an equivalent, or even better, an apparent immortal.

On the left of it was an fireplace, charcoaled in exhaustion like it recently gave up it's flame and purpose, and in front, was a library, the source of your calling; not colossal, yet extreme in number. The whispering chant grew to a shout, a yearn for each leather-clad covering of ink spilled on paper to be touched by your feather-light fingertips, and only a fool would turn down a beseech like such.

Books of alchemy, instructional journals of God summonings, documentations on every supernatural creature that roamed the planet and how to kill them; even the Satanic Bible was on display, and you explored every single one of them. Fighting the temptation to steal every book with valour, despite how useful each would've proved to be to you in the future, you declined every book until you reached what you sought, rather, what sought you tonight. "The Book of The Four Houses", the spine read. You pulled the book out, not anticipating it to be so heavy. "The Book of The Four Houses", you read again, searching for an author, but not met by any name.

You flip through the pages frantically, in hopes to find any continuance of relevance to your brother's observations, and there it was: Familia Dimitrescu, the excerpt was titled.

"Alcides Dimitrescu was born into the noble Dimitrescu family sometime before the Great War, and through this ancestry inherited a hereditary blood disease, possibly porphyria cutanea tarda. Although his family traced their origins to Cesare, one of the four founders of an isolated mountain village in Europe, Alcides himself lived elsewhere, perhaps through a cadet branch. In the aftermath of the Second World War and the abolition of the nobility, Dimitrescu returned to his family's former lands, which had fallen under the control of a neopagan cult worshipping the Black God.

Prior to 1958, at the age of 44, Dimitrescu was lured by the cult leader, Mother Miranda, to a crypt beneath the village cemetery, where he was surgically implanted with a Cadou parasite. The purpose of this experiment was to determine his viability as a candidate who could become host to a parasitic intelligence at a later date. This experiment mutated Alcides' body considerably, granting him regenerative capabilities, retractable claw-like nails, and the ability to transform into a dragon-like monster and back again. Moreover, the parasite halted his aging process, maintaining his appearance perpetually. In spite of these impressive biological changes, the resulting mutation did not nullify his blood disease. As a result, Dimitrescu needed a ready supply of fresh human blood to maintain his health, and was therefore judged by Miranda to be a failure."

"Although Dimitrescu was of no use as a host, his claim to Castle Dimitrescu was recognized by Miranda and he was allowed to take residence in the village as one of the Four Lords, who would maintain order over the native peasantry while aiding Miranda in Cadou research. Upon inhabiting the estate, Dimitrescu took over his family's vineyard and wine-distribution business as a means of supporting himself."

"Relishing in his reclaimed noble status, Dimitrescu developed extreme caste-based views of society, seeing himself as second only to Miranda herself. He openly loathed the other three house Lords, particularly Karl Heisenberg, whom he frequently argued with. He privately bemoaned that he was not Miranda's favorite, instead being treated the same as all the others. Despite this, Dimitrescu's alliance with the other houses allowed him to rule his castle with barbarous cruelty, regularly taking in new staff to replace those who had been taken to his dungeon to be killed and drained of blood for sustenance."

"Dimitrescu's own experiments with Cadou appear to have been limited, as the only confirmed instance was an experiment begun by Miranda and monitored by Dimitrescu. In this experiment, the corpses of three men were implanted with Cadou parasites. Over the course of about a week, the Cadou produced fly-like organisms which then consumed the flesh of all three bodies. Having assimilated the DNA of these men, the flies merged to mimic their human shapes and slowly adapted their likenesses. Dimitrescu immediately formed a bond with these three men, whom he named Boian, Cătălin, and Dorin, and came to regard himself as their father. They obeyed Dimitrescu without question, and were similar to him in that they were ageless and reliant on vampirism for sustenance. However, they were incapable of withstanding cold temperatures, thus remaining trapped within the confines of Castle Dimitrescu."

That explains the overwhelming warmth of the Castle that had began to annoy you.

"Over the next seventy years, Dimitrescu and his sons systematically consumed the flesh and blood of local peasants and servants alike. The blood of maids was extracted and combined with grapes to create Sanguis Virginis (Latin for "Maiden's Blood"), a traditional Dimitrescu family wine. The female victims, now infected with Mold, lived on as Moroaicǎ and Samcă, while male victims were consumed and then hollowed out to be turned into scarecrows for the castle vineyard."

"Dimitrescu's reign of terror was not without resistance, however, as one villager is known to have stolen a family heirloom — the Dagger of Death's Flowers — in an attempt to assassinate him with its poisoned blade. The attempt failed and he was buried with the dagger in the Tower of Worship to keep it hidden from any others who might seek to harm him."

You snapped the book shut, mind whirling in an epileptic shock, replaying every single word over and over in your head, then images of Alcides, his "sons", Cadou Parasites, Mother Miranda? By the time you realised it, you were hyperventilating, eyes scattering from corner-to-corner, in search of anything less cryptic, anything less 'Once-upon-a-time-there-was-a-beautiful-boy-named-Alcides', and more 'Weakness-to-duhduhduh-kill-by-gunshot-to-the-duhduhduh'.

You threw your head back in unfamiliar pain that originated from your chest, you can't believe plain ink on paper knocked the air out of you, but then again, so did the signed caskets of your family; by the same man you now found out to be ancient and seemingly indestructible, but talk of this "Dagger of Death's Flowers" gave you hope.

Your thoughts of retrieving it were cut short when the doors burst open. "What are you doing?" roared the thunderous voice of the man of the hour, "Elvira." His voice was laced with an emotion you were too out of your head to begin deciphering. His eyes dropped to the book in your hands while awaiting your answer. "Oh, why didn't you say so?" His expression softened, causing you to raise a brow in perplexity. He walked over, the fondness in his eyes returned, causing your tense posture to relax a bit. He took the book from you, and seemingly landed on a page mentioning Alcides' life before lordship. "You really love this book, don't you? I guess it is fun to read a fan's work." He chuckled, flipping through the pages as if he hadn't seen the book in a long, long time.

Huh.

If 'Elvira', too, had been scavenging through the book of Dimitrescus, possibly for the same reason as you, maybe you're more similar than you thought.

When you looked up to his height, his eyes were already on you. "You look tired, my dear. I would be happy to take you to your quarters." He smiled, and your heartbeat was quick to quicken at that. "I'd like that, my Lord."

My Lord.

The walk to your chambers was a haze, all you could feel was the growing wetness in your panties from the way his eyes bore into you; penetrating every inch of you, consuming your conscience with the darkest desires.

Taking out your brother's journal from your bag, you flipped to a fresh page and began filling in your own conclusions. As you wrote, you began to think— not just as a hunter, but as a long deprived woman who had just encountered the most handsome man ever, who just also happened to have murdered her family.

The way he walks, the way he holds your innocent gaze challengingly, the way he looks at you like you're the most exquisite meal, and he's a man starving. You had long abandoned the trepidation and abhorrence you felt towards his cannibalistic lifestyle, instead, feeling a shameful surge of lust shoot into you. You rubbed your thighs together, laying on the bed, but dutifully still, writing every bit of knowledge you gained today; from the parasite, to relations with the leaders of the other Houses and Seven Royal Families that Vânători de urâciuni had already slaughtered, to Mother Miranda, and even what little you read about the Black God.

By the time you covered every intricate detail of a disaster waiting to happen, the heat between your legs was nuclear; the throb, unbearable, leaving you no choice but to act on your animalistic urges. You straighten up, slowly discarding the beautiful cloth that once accentuated your body, now felt like constricted bondages on it.

Once bare, you sink into the pillowy cushions of your given quarters. Something about the whole room smelled like him, but the strongest scent came from your dress, when you were pressed against him. Even both your arousals could be scented from the innocent rose dress, so you tugged it closer to you, breathing in his smoky musk scent, along with your innocent floral one. "Fuck," you groaned, fingers finally ghosting over the mess dying to be made between your legs.

You decided now was not the time to tease, so you coat your fingers in your wetness and smear circles on your swollen clit. "Fuck."

Your bud throbbed in your grasp, desperate to have a little somebody's fanged mouth on it, your nipples hardened the same, aching to have that mouth graze over them, suckle on them, taint the soft, ample flesh with sinister marks. Hell, if it meant one night of succumbing to carnal pleasures, you'd even let the fucker carve that neo-pagan cult symbol on you.

"Fuck!" You weren't thinking straight — no, you weren't thinking at all. How could you? You were under a spell, 'Yes, that was it,' you thought, more so struggling in convincing yourself than anything. Just the sheer thought of a man possessing vile notoriety, relishing in every crime you've fought against; his size, the abnormality of it all. You fantasised about how inhumanely long his tongue might be, teasing around your clit before plunging into your slit.

Oh, that's it.

You shoved your fingers inside of you, whining at how unfulfilling they were, when compared to the hands of him. You were pretty sure his middle finger was bigger than your face.

The only sound to be heard was the squelching of your pussy and your whimpering. You could only pray you weren't audible, not that you minded, because it was Elvira Stoica who'd get mocked, not Y/N Y/L.

Your pace quickened at the thought of him fucking you as Y/N. Would the thought of fucking the enemy be as tantalisingly erotic to him, too? Or would he just hate fuck you, and then feast on your flesh?

"Fuck me..—" You lost your voice when your breath hitched in your throat. "Ju-just like that, mhhm." You were so close, just a bit more... "Fuck me."

That's it, honey, just let go—

"Oh," you moaned too loud to be safe, "Alcides!"

Your legs were shaking, cunt spasming around your fingers while your chest heaved up and down, in a breathless state.

As you rubbed your high out, realisation dawned in on you.

What have you done?

You woke up disgruntled.

Still unimaginably wet, yet thankful for the release, but you hadn't forgiven yourself. Last night was unacceptable, even for someone enchanted. To make matters worse, this isn't even the first time someone put an infatuation spell on you; at least three men before this, but not to pacify an enemy, but to woo a stoic woman with only murder on her mind.

The victim of such a spell for the fourth time, yet Alcides is different. This was incredible necromancy, not like any you've encountered before. It was then you remembered the vessel underneath your bed. Almost too eagerly you jumped off the bed, still somewhat entangled in the sheets, which you threw off swiftly.

You ducked under the bed, the vessel promisingly in the same spot as you had left it. Reaching for it with closed eyes and crossed fingers, you pull it from underneath and lift it to your height.

As you peeped one eye open, then the other in disbelief, you threw the vessel with one swing of your arm. It banged against the wall, before falling to the ground with a typical, screeching metal noise.

This can't be happening. There was no way you felt what you did for Alcides, willingly. The clear contents of the vessel indicated otherwise, though. There was no mistake in your ritual, either; you added what was needed and waited long enough.

"No, no, no, no, NO!"

This can't be fucking happening. You were ready to bawl your eyes out, when one sophisticated knock erupted you. "Elvira." It was him, you knew, your body and heart knew.

When no response followed, Alcides began, "My sons and I are travelling out of estate," he cleared his throat, "I'm sorry for telling you on such short notice, but we won't be back until tomorrow." His voiced trailed off, as if waiting for you to reveal yourself, your reaction, anything, but you're too shaken up to give him any satisfaction. "That's quite alright, my lord." You swallow the lump in your throat, not being able to control yourself and adding, "I'll be right here, waiting." You swore you heard a groan, but were stuck in a limbo by the time Alcides left your door.

You decided all things could be said and done after bathing, so you run a bath and let the scented waters soak into you, replacing the stench of your sins with the perfumed power of blaming Alcides; but you couldn't do that anymore, could you? Not when he was never provocative.

Once you finished freshening up, you grabbed another one of the gowns Dimitrescu gave you. It was black, and beautiful; you were left speechless when you put it on. God, did he really have to make you feel beautiful when you were sent to kill his entire bloodline? "Ah, such unfortunate circumstances." You 'tsked' before doing your hair.

By the time you were done with your makeup, you were certain of today's plan: You were going for breakfast, accessing the courtyard, navigating the Tower Of Worship, exhuming the villager with whom the "Dagger of Death's Flowers" is buried; dig it out, lace the blade with gunpowder, stab all fuckers, one by one, get the fuck out, walk miles back home, and hibernate.

Sweet.

You step out of your quarters to find the chamberlain posted there, just like the day before. "If I say so, my lady?" She looked up at you, the tiny thing was adorable for the fear she felt, yet still wanted you to know that, "You look ravishing." She briefly looked you in the eye before the rouge on her cheeks became embarrassingly obvious, to her. You, on the other hand found her just as she was, adorable.

Upon entering the dining area, she silently took her leave, when you grabbed her wrist. "First Alcides, now you, too?" You asked, flirtatiously referring to both of them excusing themselves from you. "The least you could do is give me company." And how could anyone resist the sultry tone of a stunning woman?

So the chamberlain finds herself dining with you.

You insisted she sat besides you, and despite putting the maximum distance between your chairs, she complied. "So...?" You inquired after finishing your meal, referring to her name. "Oh— uh— Pasha, mi lady." You smiled, "Beautiful name for a beautiful girl." You saw her rub her thighs together from the corner of your eye. "Well, Pasha," you decided to break the awkward silence that hadn't formed yet, "You think you can take me to the Tower Of Worship?" You sipped on your tea, eyeing her while you swallowed, only to see her with widened eyes and haphazard breathing. "Me-my l-lady—..." she stammered, hesitation painted all over her soft features as if you asked her to murder The Dimitrescus herself, or eat you out, you couldn't decide which was more mortifying for the poor girl. "What is it, Pasha?" You sighed.

"Th-the area is strictly off limits— only the... family can go there." She gulped at your growingly irritable expression. "I am part of the family — the Stoica household, in case you've forgotten, cameristă."

"I- yes, mi lady. I'm so sor—" "I don't want to hear it." You interrupted, raising a hand in the air. "Will you, or will you not take me to the Tower Of Worship?" You stared at her, the impatience visible on your face, before you decided to put on the façade you knew best; the façade of seduction. "Please, Pasha," you placed a hand on her bare thigh, her little skirt leaving little to imagination.

"For me?" Were the magical words that got the job done.

So you walk with the head of the staff of Castle Dimitrescu, into the family's place of worship, to exhume the corpse of the only man with the balls to try and assassinate him.

Pasha dropped you off at the foot of the Tower, more than happy to bolt away once you told her it was okay to leave you alone.

You walk up the stairs, and into the end of Castle Dimitrescu.

For a place of "worship", the place had the most oppressive aura, reeking of the occult and unimaginable. You fought your way inside, barely getting in while the air was knocked out of you; perhaps, a barrier of necromancy, despite it, you were able to get through.

You ran from corner to corner, searched every square centimetre of the place, but no place near-resembled the tomb of an assailant. "Fuck, where is it?" Your hands dipped inside your bag to look for something, before pulling it out and beginning your rummaging.

Indeed, you had stopped by Alcides' study before breakfast, telling the maid you 'forgot something' in there during your "time" last night, before winking at her shamelessly and forcing your entry. Sneaking out 'The Book of The Four Houses' was something you could do with your eyes closed.

Your eyes read past every word until you landed where you were made to stop, when the wave of overwhelm hit you last night. "Hall of the Four", the title read.

"The Hall of the Four, known in Japanese as Between the Four Angels (四天使の間, shi tenshi no aida?), is an area of Castle Dimitrescu." The Hall of the Four leads to the Tower of Worship, but this door cannot be opened until the four masks are placed on the Angel statues."

You groaned a string of profanities.

It's like you were set up for failure, and the worst part is, you could hear him laughing in the back of your mind— Alcides. His new abode has become the back of your mind, for he never leaves there.

Tired, disappointed and on the verge of giving up, you leave the Tower. You were a goner without the masks, and despite being in a rush to at least try and acquire them, you walked in a defeated slumber.

The chamberlain met you somewhere near the courtyard, surprised to see you walking out alive. "Lady Stoica—" "Just take me to my quarters, Pasha." You sighed, earning a swift nod from the confused chamberlain.

You walked lost, still, until you reached your room and opened that damned book again. While you scrolled through the contents, a mere note fell off, barely in your grasp.

The handwriting.

It was your brother's, but— it couldn't be. They never got close enough, which is why you're here now, right? They never got close enough. Three of the most feared, skilled men in the world of hunting never got close to one man and his three experiments for sons.

How in the hell did— Wait.

'Mask of Pleasure: Second Floor of Castle Dimitrescu',

that's where you are right now.

Everything could wait, hell, God could wait on the other line of heaven. You needed answers, yes, but something in your gut tells you it's better unknown. All that matters right now is killing him and every last member of his twisted family.

Or at least that was the plan...

You find yourself walking towards any room, with any possibility of possessing a mask. Hell, you had no idea what it looked like, but if it looks anything like the pleasure you'd be rewarding yourself with once you get the fuck out of this place, the mask won't be too difficult to find.

Soon enough you had pulled the place apart — the whole floor — except one room you hadn't set foot in. Alcides Dimitrescu's chambers.

A colossal door; you couldn't look away from the necromantic symbols etched into the woodwork. Had you not possessed the ability to see through such dark arts, you would've stepped right in and be left to deal with a fatality. You pull two vessels from your bag; the Blood of Christ and Vurxelheim, two of the purest substances on the planet, known to melt away all magic, no matter how ancient or dark, and as your expected, it did just that.

Alright, now all that was needed was to open the door, and even an amateur could do that with a pin.

Upon entering, you took in the details of his abode, almost forgetting to close the door behind you. Everything was brown; that's something you've noticed about the whole castle. Monotonously warm shades of brown, dimly lit with heat radiating over every surface. You only quirked a brow at the abnormalities. It soon came to your knowledge that the foundation of this floor is regarded as the "Hall of Pleasures". Kinky.

You looked around every corner, in every possible direction and space, but to no avail. Sighing, your head fell back, eyes closed it absolute demotivation, but when you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was porcelain intricately carved, and hanging from the ceiling; a place where no mortal, but only a 9'6 indestructible titan of a tyrant could reach. It was obnoxious, if anything; placing it in a place so obvious, yet so out of reach — a direct message to show he's better than the rest, quite literally above them.

With no possible way of reaching it, you were still accessing your options when one strong arm wrapped itself around your waist and raised you up, right to where the mask hanged. "If you wanted to swing by my chambers,"

"You could've just asked, mic vânător."

Little Hunter— "Let go of me!" You writhed in his grasp, hand slowly reaching for the mask, still. "If you say so," he shrugged before letting go of you completely, letting you hang from the ceiling like a dreamcatcher. "Son of a bitch! You put me down this instant or I swear to God I'll rip through you and your experiments with my bare hands." "Ah, there's no need to get feisty, Elvira." He said, grabbing you by the waist, and putting you down, despite your kicking and struggling. "I'm only trying to help." He grunted, one hand disappearing behind his trench coat; you were ready to pounce at him, when he pulled, seemingly, the other three masks from behind.

"There you go, sweetheart. Masks of Joy, Sorrow, and Rage." He waved the remaining three keys to The Hall of the Four. You eyed him, and he swore the frowning pout was the cutest sight he's ever seen. "C'mon, they're yours for the taking, darling." He smiled at you.

"What's the catch, Alcides?" You sighed.

It's never that fucking easy, is it?

"One night with me." He simply spoke, taking your deepening scowl as a notion to carry on, "One night to decide what is it that you want, Elvira," "Or should I call you, Y/N Y/L of the Vânători de urâciuni?" Your eyes widened with horror; you hadn't processed him calling you 'little hunter', yet, and now this? This could only mean— "How did you—" "Please. 'You think I wouldn't find out about the mass murder of my fiancé? And imagine the gossip about town that it was a doppelgänger who did it." No, you were careful, he's lying — he's got to be. "Lucky for me, I get the sexier one, now." He chuckled, impressed with his wit.

When you didn't give him the satisfaction of freaking out on him, moreover agreeing to his terms, he rolled his eyes, "Pentru dumnezeu! The first mistake was the rocks you climbed on. They've deliberately been arranged like so, for trespassers like you to easily enter, walk through the courtyard, and into the quarters of my sons for them to feast upon. Then, leaving your blood on the grill? The scent agonised me. It was so difficult to put those three dogs on a leash, having never smelled something so sweet." He 'tsked', "The second mistake was trusting Pasha. It was her hand that twirled in your bath water, mixing the infatuation spell, and it was her, too, that switched the vessel underneath your bed. Very clever, by the way, very thoroughly performed indication ritual."

"But your third— baby, this mistake might as well be a blessing because it's the only fucking thing keeping me away from ripping into you slowly, and feast on your flesh for two whole days; pleasuring yourself, in my fucking castle, fantasising about fucking me."

"Oh, and the guillotine was Heisenberg, I only added the dramatic touch of sending the heads back."

You couldn't bear it.

Bottles full of emotions you've locked away for ages finally hit the concrete of reality; shattering to a million pieces while the man you still find irresistible, had an unimpressed look on his face. "Y/N. I know you want to kill me—" "Oh, honey, you have no idea." You laughed dryly, choking on sobs, but something tells you the impact of your threat didn't go in the direction you wanted because he visibly tensed when you called him, "honey".

"But," he raised both hands in defence, "I wouldn't have gotten you these," he said, waving the masks again, "If I didn't think this deserved a chance— we — deserved a chance." "You think I'll let you anywhere near me after you toyed with me like a plaything? Sent me my father, my uncle, my brother's heads to add a 'dramatic touch'?" "I should've put a more potent spell on you," he cursed under his breath, earning a scoff from you.

You pulled out a dagger from your thigh holster, and lunged at him. Caught off guard, Dimitrescu's eyes widen while you slashed through his alabaster shirt, eager to bleed some crimson into his lifelessly pale skin. "I've had it with you, brat!" He growled, the whack of his palm on your cheek took you back, and you didn't mean to moan.

The cry, it was wanton, and it had Alcides latching on to every ounce of self control he still preserved. "Alright, here's what we're gonna do," he grabbed the dagger from your grasp within a second. "You're gonna take off your clothes, lay down, looking pretty for me like you always do," he walked closer, raising his large hands again in defence. "You following me— okay," he inched closer to you, while you backed away, further into the wall. "I'm gonna feast on this pussy, then I'm gonna finger your tight hole open, and because I'm feeling generous," he grabbed ahold of your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, "I'm not gonna force my cock into your pretty little throat, you're gonna beg for it." He caressed your face, the way your doe eyes watered while staring at him, like glass he could see his reflection in, your agape lips and soft expression made his pants constrict his cock agonisingly. "And the last thing I'll be doing, even if it's my last ever," his hand wrapped around your throat, pulling you to his king-sized bed. Laying you down, and climbing on top like a wolf on a lamb, he says, "Is fucking this pussy till you finally accept that you're made for me."

His mouth latched onto your neck, easily manhandling you at the same time while you writhed in his grasp. "I would rather be dead." You spat out venomously, which only made Alcides smile. "Well, alright. I'd still pound you till you're a mere cum-dump, but I'd surely miss those pretty sounds you made when you fingered yourself thinking about me." He panted against your pulse point, baritone voice hoarse with lust.

He spread your legs, lifting both your hands up by the wrists to his face. "Tiny little things," he kissed the knuckles of each finger, "Unsatisfying, aren't they?" He showered your hands with kisses, "Don't worry, darling, I'm here now." He raised both hands so their size was visible in your periphery, before grabbing your dress and pulling it over your head. "No!" You resisted, causing him to huff, annoyed. "Don't make me tear it off, honey, you look breathtaking in it." He cooed, and your movements haltered enough for him to successfully get it off you. "Good girl— such a good girl f'me."

Immediately his eyes were on your curves, your hips — perfect for bearing the child he was about to fuck into you, your breasts, so ample, all available for his groping and fondling, your pussy almost peering out of the silk panties. "Fuck, Y/N." He groaned, about to rip your underwear off when your pleads interrupted him. "Alci-Alcides please don't." "Hm," his sharp eyes seemed to be calculating his next move. "You say no, but your body," he groaned, pressing the knuckles of two of his fingers against your clothed cunt, "Your body sings otherwise, my love."

Every second passing by was petrifying.

The mortal battle between blood and lust, two things you were the epitome of, qualities comprising your very backbone, now, asked you to break it; bend over backwards and break your back for this man.

The string of pleads you cried fell on deaf ears, which, a part of you was glad for. Maybe if you continued to put the blame on Alcides and his necromancy, you'll actually let yourself live with the fact that your desires to have him ravage in your guts is overpowering, and the carnality lay in the fact that you didn't even care about what happened after. You were serving him your body in a platter, which you had not an ounce of doubt would eventually serve that purpose, quite literally.

"Tell me you want me." He hovered over your breasts. If he wanted to play games, then games you'll play. "I want you..." you whispered, "to go fuck yourself." He would've smacked you again, but again, you would've enjoyed it. What did stop him, however, was the shit-eating grin plastered on your face that showed him you were still on planet Earth, among the living and the abominable.

"Now, why would I do that, when I've got such a pretty girl with her pussy all wet for me?" He mimicked your expression, staring into your soul until you were forced to look away, and your eyes landed right on his clothed erection. "This?" He followed your gaze, "You're going to take care of this in just a minute, but for now," he paused, his large hands turning into talons and ultimately perilous claws. Cutting through the hems of both your garments, he retracted his claws immediately. You flinched when his hands came closer to your hips, "Don't be afraid, mic vânător." His baritone voice gave you absurd comfort, the tone, reassuring. "They can't hurt you, unless I want them to." His pearly whites were like the fangs of a serpent, peering out, bloodthirsty for you.

With that, he lowered himself and dove right in.

You slithered about while his anomaly of a tongue kitten-licked your inner thighs. "I'll tie you to the fucking bed, if you don't quit squirming." He spat.

At your pussy.

You moaned in response, hips momentarily halting from the continuous resisting. "Yeah? You like that don't you, slut?" His fingers spread your slit, before spitting right into your tight hole that fluttered about nothing. "There you go, my love." He cooed in response to your whining, smoothly inserting his index finger into the same hole. A tremor ran down your spine at the sudden intrusion; the stone-cold, thick and long thing digit was a cruel thing, reaching that sweet spot the minute it bottomed out till, knuckle-deep in your velvety walls, and even calling the others to join in on the assault on your cunt.

Accommodating, now, three of his fingers, pummelling your cunt, scissoring you open, was more overwhelming than any dick you've ever taken. Maybe the fact that no one else could amount to the size of an ancient 9'6 vampiric cannibal Lord who's put his and the life of his sons in your palm.

Either you take them away, or let him take you to carnality never fathomed before, and the way he sucked on your swollen clit while fucking you with his fingers was a clear indication of your preference.

"Alcides," you moaned, nearing your high. "Yes, my love?" He replied almost instantaneously, as if finally you complied with a poor man's request. "What is it that you need, darling? I'll give it all to you." He lifted up from your pussy, leaving your clit with a wet 'pop' sound, making his way over to your breasts, while his movements inside you never faltered once. His sharp eyes searched yours, fixated on them while his hot tongue snaked out of his mouth to twirl around your hardened bud. Flesh on fire, you leaned into the feel of his mouth on you. "Fuck me, Alcides." You cried in defeat. How the mighty have fallen prey to the vultures of lust, mere carcasses of seduction.

Alas, the façade of seduction had backfired, and you had fucked up royally.

Upon hearing the trumpets of his victory through your pretty mouth, Alcides would've been a fool to refuse you. Eagerly he undoes his pants, letting his throbbing cock spring free. Your eyes damn-near saw your brain at the sight of the thing. "Alci— I can't." Seeing you panic, he began getting off on it. "You can, and you will." He hissed when his calloused thumb rubbed against the slit of his cock.

"Oh, I wanna feel that throat squeezing around me." He pumped faster, fucking his fist to the thought of you like many a night before. "But this pussy will do," "For now." He said, rubbing his length fervently against your slit, lathering your wetness on his leaking tip, enthusing a sweet mix of your cum, much more of which was to come.

"Won't be... able... to..." You spoke in between moans gaps the tip was in. The stretch was abnormal, ungodly, unnatural — exactly what you're deemed to kill. "You'll take it, mic vânător." He began to push more in, knocking the air out of your body. "Stop clenching," he groaned deeply, the sound resonating in your core. Nothing could've prepared you for this intrusion, so agonisingly painful, yet deliciously filling.

"You've... got to s.—stop... clenching." He pushed in the whole length, deadening your movements. You'd think he'd fear breaking you, but no. Alcides fuckin' Dimitrescu was thrilled to see you finally submitting, even if your body paralysed in the fear of being ripped open, your back arched, breasts stopped wavering in the air, and your breath caught in your throat.

Only when the loudest, most pornographic moan left your lips did Alcides begin to thrust into you, already drunk off of your pussy, ecstatic in ecstasy.

Despite the slow speed, his thrusts were deep enough for legs to start shaking. To your shock, he lifted your legs and since they couldn't reach his shoulder's that stood almost as stall as the fucking ceiling, they were swinging across his forearms, and at this angle he slammed his hips into you.

You screamed, damage was made to your vocal chords as well as your walls when the penetration quickly turned into pummelling, giving you zero time to adjust to the mammoth size of it. On seeing your closed eyes, Alcides smacked your face, gentler than before, yet enough for your eyes to shoot open, face contorting in pleasure at his gesture that was now among your favourites. "Don't let those pretty eyes waver away." His grip on your hips was threateningly tight. "Look into my eyes, or there," his eyes motioned downwards, and it was then you saw the immense bump in your belly. Your eyes widened in profound horror. He had most certainly torn your insides apart, you were sure.

"See how big it is— how well you still take it?" He babbled while vigourously pushing into your poor cunt. "Pl-lease, go... easy on—me." You managed to plead out, but nothing counts stop the possessed Lord. Finally, he got the chance to feel your insides, and there was no way in hell, he thought, he'd let you off easy. Not when you're the biggest threat to his existence, let you wrap so tightly around his monster cock.

Dumbfounded, cock-drunk, utterly paralysed in place, you had no choice but try to get accustomed to the relentless attack your pussy had to endure.

Just when you thought your demise would be the sole pleasure you were forced to undergo, two of his fingers rubbed fervent figure-eights on your bundle of nerves that ached with bloodrush.

You babbled incoherences, whimpering, shaking your head repeatedly when he lifted your lifeless body, just the tip of his cock inside, and switched positions with you. Now, he laid, somewhat upright, hands crossed behind his head. Leisurely eyeing you, while you struggled to breath with his entire length upright inside your walls, his tip pressing against your cervix like an enemy threatening to break down your barriers; your walls.

"M-move... please..." you mewled, causing him to 'tsk' with disdain. "Help yourself, căprița mea mică." He raised a brow, mouth curling viciously into a smirk, "Use me as you please." Your shaky hands reached for his broad shoulders, raising then steadying your hovering self over his cock. His eyebrows wiggled in amusement, awaiting your move comically, until the feel of your walls struggling to take in his tip pulled him back into a trance of pleasure.

He let out an animalistic groan that lingered to be what you swore was a whimper, so you did your best to lift your tiring legs and plop down on his cock, upright and pulsating inside you. "I could fuck this pussy every moment for the remnant of my days." He smiled at you, large palms resting on your hot ass, slowly caressing your curves. The gesture, so contradicting to the impaling you were enduring, nearly knocked the air out of you, for when your perplexed eyes met his expectedly ravenous ones, you were shocked to see them replaced by fondness.

"If I'm lucky enough to live," he paused, hands squeezing your ass before sitting upright, pulling you with him. You moaned wantonly when you felt his cock deeper. "Let this be how we wake, how we sleep — in each other's embrace." His eyes widened, as did yours, like deer caught in front of headlights. The feigning look of innocence on his face sent your core spiralling with erotic ache, when his face, not once breaking eye contact, inched forward to stop just in front of your nipple.

You shrieked when he took complete control, earning a whine from you as you just got the hang of dominance, but when you noticed the hellbent gleam of carnality in his eyes, you knew you were in for a ride.

He suckled on your bud while fucking through you. "You're close, aren't you?" He pulled away from your nipple with a pop sound, resting his bearded face on your breast, "I know you are. 'Can feel her tightening around my cock." He chuckled, mouth back on the hardened bud in his presence. You sneaked a hand down and rubbed your bundle of nerves, fervently.

His large fingers, jealous of your own, were quick to replace them in driving you to your high. You were practically spoon-fed the orgasm, that took a toll on your fragile body.

No emotion overwhelmed every hemisphere, every neurone of your brain like ever before. Your mind went spiralling away, like an eternal shore hugging the lunar tide for the first time a night, your shore's dry spell was over, and your body did it's best to fight the feeling and drive a stake through his lustful heart, but your body was worn out; used as any lucky ragdoll would be.

The overstimulation sent you back to Earth at godspeed. His movements were sloppy, but not faltering, and soon enough, he let his seed bathe your walls a pearly shade. "Take it all— carry my seed." He moaned, absentmindedly.

When you plopped onto his shoulders, he lifted you up single-handedly and laid between your legs. You instinctively closed them; despite being too fucked out of it, you still cringed at how both your cum leaked out of you, ruining the sheets and everything between.

"Alcides, no—"

You were a second too late in pleading, for he grabbed you by the legs, placed them on his shoulders, and stood up.

You hung upside down, your pussy a stone's throw away from the man's smirked lips. By now, you knew what was about to unfold, yet the first lick to your cum-coated lips sent shockwaves down your spine (rather up?).

He moaned against your clit, the vibrations causing you to writhe in his grasp. His tongue licked your pussy clean, the circular motions on your clit, to the long licks from your clit to slit.

It's crazy how an anomaly like him became your exception — the hunter's favourite prey. With a tongue so skilled, you weren't to be blamed for succumbing to your current situation; not like you could do much in the grasp of a monster like him.

You're lucky his cock didn't fuck a new hole into you.

When his large palms let go of your hips, you wrapped your legs around his neck instinctively. You could've used his vulnerability to your advantage, had your mind not clouded in the ecstasy of overstimulation. It seemed like Alcides thought the same, for he smirked devilishly to himself, letting his talons ghost about your flesh, before slightly retracting to pinch and squeeze your nipples. He placed open mouthed kisses on your clit that not once stopped throbbing.

You shook in agony, his mouth worked tantalisingly slow on your burning hot cunt. Deciding to show mercy, an unlikely thing for the tyrant Lord, he smiled at your frame hanging tightly from his; your breasts heaving under his touch, obstructing his view of your pleasure-stricken face.

Lord Dimitrescu plunged his tongue inside you, placing one hand on your hip to push and grind you against his tongue, and you swore every atom in your body was swollen with pleasure.

"No... n-no more..." Your beseech was deemed adorable by the man tongue-fucking you. He pulled out, slithery wet tongue, coated in your juices, leaving you breathless. He lapped at your wetness, growing per minute as he so desperately coaxed more out of you.

Dumbfounded, pussy-drunk, utterly engrossed in place, you had no choice but try to get accustomed to the relentless devouring of your pussy at the hands of your sworn enemy.

One of his hands snaked to your clit, the ever fervent pace of his movements drove you to madness. Your body stilled, eyes rolled back, breath hitched, and it was when his tongue flicked inside of you that you realised that you were doomed.

After drinking your juices clean, Alcides placed you gently on his bed, and by the time he laid next to you, you had already wandered off in dreams.

Your mother awaited your letters.

Perhaps, she'll be rejoiced to hear you alive and well, or maybe she'll be mortified that you're alive and well, and The Dimitrescus live and breath, still. Either way, she and the rest of the world better get used to you signing every final letter as 'Lady Dimitrescu'.

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dreamwritesimagines · 1 month

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The Eye of the Hurricane [15] - Morning After

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, it's a calm one❤️ and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: The first day of marriage can be relaxing.

Word Count: 2800

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, stabbing, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

When you woke up next morning, it took you a while to understand where you were because this was not your bedroom or the honeymoon suite you had been staying at for a month but—

Oh.

Barnes weekend residence.

You rubbed at your eyes and turned around in the huge bed to see Bucky sleeping soundly right beside you, still in his clothes from last night. Your heart skipped a beat and you looked down at yourself to see your white afterparty dress, then yawned and pushed yourself off the bed.

Your afterparty dress was pretty, but it was way too uncomfortable to sleep in.

You grabbed your clothes from the bag Becca had prepared for you, then made your way to the bathroom to change into them and walked back into the bedroom again. When you pulled open the curtains to let the sunlight in, the sight of the huge green yard caught your attention and you smiled slightly, leaning sideways to the windowpane.

It was a good thing you were going to get this house in divorce.

“Morning,” the raspy voice reached your ears and you turned around, your heart skipping a beat as your gaze fell on Bucky. He ran a hand over his messy hair as he sat up in the bed and you stared at him for a moment, noticing for the millionth time just how handsome he looked before you frowned, throwing your shoulders back.

“Why are we in the same bed?”

“We’re not,” he said, motioning at you. “You’re standing right there.”

“No I mean last night—”

“I hardly remember anything about last night,” he murmured, rubbing his eyes before his head snapped up. “Wait.”

“What?”

“Did we…?”

You scoffed a laugh. “You wish.”

He managed to shoot you a mischievous grin despite being sleepy, then leaned his back on the bedframe to look at you better.

“Anyway isn’t it a good start?” he asked. “I mean considering we have one bedroom in the penthouse.”

“There are two guest rooms.”

He tilted his head.

“Y/N, I need an office in the apartment and so will you,” he said. “You do realize that?”

Your frown deepened as you tried to wrap your head around the idea. You hadn’t thought about the fact that he would need an office but it made sense, most of the deals were done at bosses’ homes and now that you were going to become an active player in the business, you would need one as well.

Oh, God damn it.

“Are you serious?”

“You chose the apartment,” he reminded you. “Besides I think it’s safer for us to sleep in the same place in case of an attack, especially with everything that’s been going on in town lately.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and heaved an irritated sigh.

“Great,” you muttered. “I want one of those huge beds then.”

“Done.”

“And if you dare assume—”

“I’m not assuming anything,” he said and he got off the bed, then started unbuttoning his shirt, making your eyes widen.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he said. “You didn’t eat yet, did you?”

“Um…” you trailed off, trying to focus. “No?”

“Great, I’m starving,” he said, checking his wristwatch before tossing his shirt aside. “Our chef is a genius, you’ll see.”

…Jesus, this was just simply annoying.

You tried not to stare at his muscular torso but the tattoos on his strong chest made it impossible to look elsewhere. Your eyes darted over the small numbers around the gun before slipping down to his abs, but then snapped up to his face when he cleared his throat, his cocky smile playing on his lips.

“Don’t fucking say it,” you said and he held up his hands.

“You know, if you wanted to consummate our marriage—”

“It’s not the Regency times and that will never happen.”

“Just saying, the offer is on the table whenever you want.”

“I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on earth,” you pointed out, trying to ignore the fire burning your cheeks. “I’ll—I’ll go and check if the breakfast is ready, don’t be late.”

You walked away from him before he could say anything else, but you could still hear his laughter as you left the room. You shook your head as you made your way to the top of the stairs, then gritted your teeth.

“Keep your head in the game,” you muttered to yourself and went downstairs, your heart still beating fast.

This right here was the reason why you liked the Barnes weekend home this much even when you were growing up. It was pretty far away from the city and it was such a huge estate that it made you feel as if you had escaped from all the chaos and tension that came with the city. You and Bucky had decided to go back to the city around the evening so that no one would have any doubts about you not “enjoying” each other’s presence the morning after your wedding since you weren’t going on a honeymoon.

Bucky had given everyone the business excuse, and considering the state the city was in right now with HYDRA you were sure everyone agreed, but it was still a good idea to play it safe.

You thanked the maid who brought you your mimosa before she walked back to the house, then took a sip and leaned back on the sunbed, heaving a sigh. It was such a beautiful day so you decided to enjoy the sunlight with a book you had found in the library while Bucky was swimming in the pool. You stole a look at the pool before dragging your gaze to the green yard, then put your glass back on the small table beside you but before you could go back to your book, your phone vibrated on the table, making you frown.

“Who the…” you trailed off, then raised your brows when you saw the text.

From: Ethan

Hey, just wanted to say congratulations for the wedding.

You pursed your lips, taking a deep breath and your finger hovered over the button before you typed in your reply.

Thank you.

You sent it and saw that he was typing for a couple of seconds before you received another text.

Can we meet when you’re available? I’d like to apologize in person.

You blinked a couple of times, then sat up straighter and sent your text.

Nothing to apologize for, but I’d love to meet sometime this week?

You jolted with a gasp when Bucky’s phone started vibrating and shook your head, then put your phone down to grab his.

“Bucky!” you called out, holding up his phone and he turned in the pool to look at you, then swam towards the edge of the pool to pull himself out. A warmth spread through your stomach as he came closer to you, sunlight falling on his skin as he ran a hand through his wet hair, then grabbed a towel so that he could wipe his face. You swallowed thickly, averting your gaze from his body and put the phone on the table again, pretending to be engrossed in your book.

“Hey man,” Bucky answered the phone and listened to the other line, then let out a chuckle. “Hold on I’m putting you on speaker.”

You looked up from the book at him as he flung himself on the sunbed to your left.

“Hey Y/N!” Sam’s voice reached you and you smiled.

“Hi Sam.”

“Not interrupting anything I hope?”

“Nope,” you said. “What’s up?”

“How badly did you scare Ian?”

You pulled your brows together while Bucky grinned. “What?”

“He wanted a meeting with me and Steve as soon as possible,” he said. “Today, actually. Before you got back to the city.”

“Unbelievable…” Bucky muttered, curling an arm behind his head and you bit back a smile.

“Did you say yes?”

“Are you kidding? I’m still hungover,” he said with a small laugh. “No, meetings can wait until Monday.”

“Even better,” Bucky commented. “Let him panic.”

“Did he sound panicked?”

“Oh he did,” Sam said. “And very obvious too because if it were about business, your father would be the one to call me. Arthur is the one I make deals and have meetings with, not Ian.”

You nibbled on your lip, that familiar jealousy sinking your stomach.

“Well, he’s usually in the room though,” you muttered. “Does my dad know?”

“About the meeting? I doubt it,” Sam said. “Anyways, I just wanted to let you two know. Your cousin is freaking out, Y/N.”

“Serves him right,” you said with a grin. “Thanks Sam.”

“Anytime. Buck, I’ll see you when you get back?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “Thanks again. Tell Steve I said hi?"

“Will do,” he said and hung up, and you took your glass into your hand while the maid brought Bucky a drink. Bucky thanked her, then turned to you.

“Him being scared is going to be hilarious to watch.”

You huffed out a small laugh, then sipped your drink.

“He will try to stand in my way though,” you said and Bucky shrugged his shoulders.

“He will,” he said, nodding his head. “And we will run him over.”

That managed to put a smile on your face and you nibbled on your lip, looking down at your drink.

“Having second thoughts?” Bucky asked and you frowned, then shook your head.

“No,” you said. “No, never. I want this, I just—I also know it will make my dad furious when he finds out what I’m trying to do.”

“He can be furious all he wants,” Bucky said. “You’re the right choice here. He’ll see.”

You bit inside your cheek, trying to get rid of the familiar nervousness pulsing through you. You weren’t so used to going directly against your father ever since you were a child, especially on important things, and the family business was as important as it got.

You wished he could just name you the heir. That he could just let you prove yourself instead of pretending he couldn’t see that Ian was not fit to be the next boss, but since he refused to do it, you refused to feel bad about what he forced you to do.

He had promised you the position after all, so many years ago.

You snapped out of your thoughts and turned your head when Bucky’s vibranium hand touched yours.

“Hm?”

“Swim with me,” he said, shooting you an irresistible smirk that made your heart skip a beat, but you pulled yourself together and scoffed.

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, it’d be fun.”

“I’m sure you’re very familiar with the idea of having fun by yourself,” you snarked, grabbing your book again to turn the page. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Bucky shot you a grin.

“Fine, stay here and pretend you’re not staring then.”

“I don’t even notice your presence,” you shot back as he got up from the sunbed, then walked to jump into the pool again. You stole a look at him, then clicked your tongue.

“Much,” you added quietly to yourself. “I don’t notice your presence much.”

By the time you and Bucky got to the city, it was already evening. The road hadn’t taken you long, but spending the whole day by the pool and knowing that tomorrow you had to plan just how exactly you would first get involved in the business at least officially made you feel quite tired.

And it was going to be the first night you would stay in your and Bucky’s new apartment.

In the same bed.

Lovely.

Having already ordered the biggest bed you could find, you were sure that this time tomorrow, you would be able to go to sleep and not even notice you were not alone in the bed but tonight was going to be rather challenging. You knew you had slept in the same bed last night, but both of you had been drunk so—

Getting drunk tonight as well sounded like a good idea actually.

When you reached the top floor and saw Bucky’s men patrolling the hallway, you repressed a yawn and followed Bucky to the door of the apartment. He unlocked it, then turned to you with a grin.

“What—” you started but was cut off when he hoisted you up bridal style, making you let out a surprised squeal. “Bucky!”

“It’s tradition,” Bucky said, still grinning. “We’re a traditional couple.”

“No we’re not, put me down!” you said, trying your hardest to stop the giggle threatening to spill from your lips as you held onto his shirt, painfully aware of Bucky’s men stealing glances at you two. Bucky opened the door and stepped inside with you in his arms, then kicked the door close with his foot.

“You’re unbelievable!” you said, unable to stop yourself from smiling as he put you down, and he had the audacity to give you an innocent look.

“What?” he said. “Sweetheart, we’re married now. I’m supposed to carry you over the threshold.”

You lowered your head just so that you could hide your smile and smoothed over your dress, then turned your head to see the multiple gift boxes and flowers in the living room.

“Ah,” you said. “I almost forgot about the wedding gifts.”

“Did we put weapons on the gift list?”

“No,” you said, making your way to the living room. “But we got them, probably. I call dibs on any knives we get by the way.”

“I told Steve I wanted brass knuckles,” Bucky said. “I think he got us a matching pair.”

“Oh I love brass knuckles.”

“I saw this really cool—” Bucky started but stopped talking when a small meow reached your ears. You pulled your brows together and opened your mouth to ask whether he heard it too, but a white ball of fur wheezed through the living room.

“What the…” you trailed off when a beautiful white cat with a pink ribbon on her leash reached you, and sat down to look up at you with wide blue eyes.

“Mrow?”

“Are you seeing this as well?” you asked Bucky and he nodded.

“Why do we have a cat?”

“She’s so cute—did she come with the apartment?” you asked. “No, right? She wasn’t here when we first saw here.”

“No I don’t think…” Bucky said and walked to the door to open it. “Aaron?”

“Mr. Barnes.”

“Who brought the cat?”

“Miss Becca, sir,” the man replied and you bent down to scratch at the cat’s head, making her close her eyes for a moment, purring.

“Hi there,” you whispered, smiling wide. “Aren’t you the cutest thing in the world?”

“Jesus…” Bucky muttered as he closed the door, then took out his phone and touched the screen before putting it on speaker. “I mean it's Becca, of course she-"

“Hey there!” Becca’s cheerful voice filled the room and you looked up, still scratching the cat’s head.

“Becca, why is there a cat in our apartment?” Bucky asked, making her gasp.

“That’s your baby!”

You bit back a smile, fixing the ribbon on the cat’s leash while Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Right," he said. "And why do we have a baby on the first day of our marriage?”

“Because as you said, you’re married now which means you guys can be all responsible and stuff,” she answered. “Her name is Alpine by the way. She’s my wedding gift to you, isn’t she sweet?”

You picked Alpine up, holding her in your arms. “You know, a lot of people just sent flowers as a gift.”

“A lot of people are boring,” Becca replied. “Leila’s friend found her on the street, the poor thing! I’d keep her but Leila is allergic, so there you go. Now you two have a daughter.”

“I’ve always wanted a daughter,” you nodded solemnly and Bucky blinked a couple of times as if he couldn’t believe you were playing along.

“Y/N…”

“I gotta go now, enjoy the first night of parenthood!” Becca said and hung up, making Bucky gawk at the phone before putting it back into his pocket.

“Of course she got us a cat,” he muttered. “Of course.”

Alpine purred in your arms, making you smile down at her before looking up at Bucky.

“We should probably buy stuff for her,” you said, looking around the apartment. “A bed, some food, toys…”

Bucky’s brows rose. “Hold on, we’re keeping her?”

“Of course we are, you heard Becca. She’s our daughter, apparently,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders as you walked to the door. “Her surname will be dashed as well, by the way. Mine and yours together.”

“Y/N—”

“Come on!” you called out as you stepped out of the apartment with Alpine still purring happily and Bucky heaved a sigh, then followed you to the elevator.

Chapter 16

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes #mob!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #mob! bucky #mafia!bucky barnes x reader #mafia!bucky barnes #mafia!bucky #mafia bucky barnes #mafia bucky x reader #mob bucky barnes x reader #mob bucky barnes #mob bucky x reader #mob bucky #mob boss!bucky #mob boss bucky barnes #mob au #mob!au

277 notes · View notes

ceruleanchillin · 3 months

Text

141 x Reader: Biker!AU

Note(s) -

1.) Nobody asked for this, but here I am combining two obsessions. Congrats, you’re a biker’s old lady now 🎉.

Any media with hot guys in a group should have outlaw MC AUs

2.) I love roughneck Simon. Please give me more of him. I wanna talk about the guys in this AU so badly, don’t (DO) feed my inbox. BlueCollar!Simon, Mafia!Simon, Mechanic!Simon, Idc I love it all.

3.) If you saw this before, no you didn’t (plus I added more to it). I decided to keep them all together, and it’ll just be long as hell. A long fic stored under a cut never hurt nobody.🤷🏾‍♀️

Simon

Nobody can get him as soft as you. There’s a 3-ringed barrier around his heart. Outsiders < The Club < You.

He loves doing mundane things with you, the kind of things he never saw for himself when he swore to stay single in this life. Like, after a good run fattens his wallet, letting you run wild in the shops.

“C’mon on then lovie, give us a spin.”

You squealed, spinning so the soft fabric fanned around your upper thighs. “I love it! But Si, it’s too much.”

“You let me worry about that sweetheart. Just let me see how it looks comin’ offa ya.” He gripped the very thighs you teased him with, eager for his favorite part besides your smile.

He’d pick up as many extra runs as it took to keep you in small luxuries, as long as he was the one that got to keep that look on your face.

They all have tattoos, but Simon is the king. His body art is top notch, because he’s very discerning with his artists. He’s had the best from Europe to the States. Now, he only trusts Price’s old lady, Johnny, and you.

In fact, that’s how you met. You started your apprenticeship under an asshole who bailed before it was over, and took a chance on the dangerous shop everyone warned you away from. Mrs. Price was everything you were afraid of AT FIRST. You later understood it was because the shop is 141 affiliated, and she had to be harshly discerning to protect herself and her family.

Once you got over that phase, she was unendingly sweet, and dedicated to helping you hone your craft.

Simon saw you when he came to fix the sink in the shop’s little kitchen. You were the only one there, intensely focused on a practice skin arm.

You were beautiful, hair wild from you tugging at in concentration, and your tongue poking out slightly. How long had you been working here?

“I knew you needed a hand around here, but that’s a bit far isn’t it?”

You jumped, startled out of your practice, the buzz of the tattoo gun stopping. “Oh my god! I don’t know what scared me more, you, or that joke.”

The two of you kept each other company in your respective tasks, until he was done. In admitting you were aching to do a real tattoo again, he found himself volunteering on instinct.

At first you resisted, worried about the ethics in your mentor’s shop, and he came up with the genius idea of going back to your place. Smooth Simon.

By the end of the night he was sure he’d never need another artist again.

He’s often as busy as Price, sometimes more so. It takes a lot to run a charter as is, but to establish a table so far from home calls on him more than any other era in his time with the club. On top of that, he often pulls double duty, acting as an enforcer with Konig.

That’s where he really appreciates you understanding, and accepting, his lifestyle. You’ve made a home for him, and he only hopes he conveys how much he appreciates that.

—

He comes home with a headache taking up residence in every corner of his head more and more these days. It was all he could do to kick his boots off, and not collapse on the nearest thing that could hold his weight. His room felt miles away. Downside of living in the dorms.

He drug himself to the clubhouse kitchen, prepared to dig around for some painkillers, when he saw a post-it note on the island next to a napkin with two pills.

Ignore if not Si!

Dinner in the fridge + cake in the dish on the counter. Eat and get your ass in bed with me.

He chuckled, headache long forgotten when he realized you were in his bed. However, his heart and stomach wouldn’t let him ignore the home cooked meal in the fridge, and once he’d savored every bite, he was a blur on his way to his room.

You were curled up in one of his shirts, sleeping soundly on the side of the bed he favored. He stripped, leaving his clothes on the floor, only stopping to deposit his kutte on the dresser, before scooping you into his arms.

“Si..” you murmured sleepily, burying your face in his chest, seeking something to lay on after being picked up.

“‘s alright sweet pea.”

“Glad you’re home, don’t let go.” You were slightly more awake now, but not by much.

“Was never an option.” He got into bed, relaxing in the warm spot you left behind, and situated you next to him in his arms.

Assuming big spoon position, his hands roamed your form, finding momentary purchase wherever they could. He felt a little guilty for further waking you up, but it occurred to him that you must have seen the day he’d had, and had taken the time to attempt to make it a little better. You could be home in your own bed, but you chose to be there for him. He was starving for you.

His lips created the same desperate patterns across your cheek and neck that his hands created on your body. He gripped your thigh, giving the plush skin a squeeze, before hooking your leg back over his.

There was a sharp inhale of air from you, and you pushed back against him, undoubtedly feeling him firming.

He laid his other arm under your head, letting you lay your cheek against his arm as he grasped your face. He tilted it up to grant more access to your skin for his lips.

“Taking care of me pretty bird?”

“It’s what you deserve, baby.” You slurred, squirming in sensory overload at all of his attention.

“Swear m’ going flat hunting tomorrow.” His fingers skimmed over your covered heat, grinning when your lower half bucked.

“‘s what you deserve sweetheart. Somewhere to put all your nesting to good use.”

You moaned rolling your hips back into your solid wall of a man. “Don’t tease me, I can’t help it.”

“Oh, m’not teasing pretty bird, m’ appreciating.”

He’s been called on to do many dark things for the club. Price doesn’t leave room at the table for anyone not to pull their weight, and he’s even tougher on his titled men. However, the darker jobs fall on Simon more often than anyone else, because he’s thorough, and can put the deed away somewhere, somehow, every time.

When he pulls on his mask, and just surrenders to being no one but Ghost, he’s ready to work. He never cared what anyone thought about his actions, he never had to, until you.

You’d been around rough crowds in your lifetime, but Simon was a career criminal, and so was his found family. He was sure some recollection of his deeds would reach you, and that’d be your line. In fact, he was waiting on it.

He was shocked, truly floored, to find that wasn’t what triggered you. It was how you felt he was being utilized. You didn’t like, what you felt, was the unequal distribution of the extreme jobs, and you told him as much.

When he got over his shock, his reaction was fiercely defensive of the club. It was your turn for shock, but he couldn’t help it. He felt judged about the family that owned his loyalty, by the woman that owned his heart.

You were taken aback by his ferocity, but it didn’t change your view. It created a hotbed of tension that threatened what the two of you had built, until he understood why you felt so strongly. Simon was the one taken aback when he realized your intensity came from your love for him, not a judgement of the 141. He still couldn’t wrap his head around someone loving him to that degree. In his heart of hearts, he didn’t think he was worthy of that. That’s how he was supposed to, and did, love you.

He admitted as much when the tired topic reached a fever pitch.

Simon’s close cropped blonde hair was riddled with evidence he’d been running long, frustrated fingers through it. Those same fingers pulled a cigarette from his pack,, and lit it with a calmness that didn’t reflect the current mood.

“So now you tell me what I can and can’t do? That it then?”

You snapped at the accusation, breaking the promise you’d made to yourself not to raise your voice. “I’m not telling you what you can and can’t do, stop reframing what I fucking say!”

“Grow the fuck up, you’re not a bloody baby. You knew what I did when we got together. I protect the group, I’m meant to be the first line of defense. I pull my weight, my life be damned!”

Your eyes widened in shock at the underlying implication of his words. His own expression wasn’t familiar enough to you for you to place.

“The table doesn’t make me do the ugly bits, most times I volunteer.” He flicked ash onto the pavement, his finger tapping with more force than necessary. “Whether I die, or get pinched, I can be replaced. ‘s my job to stand in front of the ones that can’t.”

His chest heaved with trapped frustration, voice guttural, raw with emotion. “That’s my use.”

You couldn’t place a time where your heart had ever hurt for anyone the way it hurt for him in that moment. It was a physical pain, pin pricking across your chest in a wave, and momentarily halting your ability to speak. You loved this man, fuck the moon, he hung galaxies in your eyes, and that’s what he thought of himself?

Simon, studying your expression and not liking the shame it made him feel, turned away. He didn’t know what to do with shame, especially in front of you. He’d said too much, and his mind was racing to find a way to undo it. Stiffening at the feeling of your arms barely meeting around his large form, he fought the urge to pull away.

Your voice was shaky, laden with the tears you didn’t bother fighting the fruitless fight to stop. “I wish I could get you to understand how untrue that is. I wish I knew where to start.”

He turned back around, but refused to meet your eyes. That startled you. Simon had never been afraid to lock eyes with you. He backed down from no one.

“Wasn’t an answer you liked then lovie? Sorry to disappoint.” He said quietly, taking a last drag before he ended the cigarette under his boot, and walked off back towards the clubhouse.

Tears streamed down your face at a faster rate now, and you tried in vain to swipe them away quickly. You weren’t sure what to say. Not then, too much was in the air as it was, and things needed to cool, but this clearly wasn’t settled

You only knew what you wanted to do. Hold him. Hold him until he saw how fucked his outlook was, and how much worth he really had.

Long out of town rides to create a bubble with just you and him. No specific destination, you just ride until you can both believe you’re the only two people you know.

He throws you a surprise party when you get certified as a tattoo artist, and Mrs. Price releases you from your apprenticeship to a chair of your own.

No one can believe Ghost is throwing someone any kind of party, but they don’t dare deny him as he enlists them in different tasks. He took the whole thing very seriously, and left no room for mistakes. No one, not even Soap, was careless enough to spoil the surprise. Simon wanted perfection.

It was obvious to anyone who watched his love struck gaze follow you when you were around, but if anyone doubted it before, they didn’t now. This man loves you.

Simon sometimes comes to you with a design he’s made for his next tattoo. It’s never elaborate, and it’s usually more utilitarian than aesthetic. He trusts you to make it pretty, he knows you will. He just wants to better convey his idea, or so you think.

In reality, he just likes when you praise him, and he can be part of your passion. He’s constantly amazed by your artistry, and humbled that you let him be a part of it. Essentially, you two collaborate on his tattoos in an undeniably intimate way.

He unceremoniously comes to you with a scrap of paper, something he’s sketched over the past few days.

“Somethin’ f’ya to look over when you get the chance.” He mutters before giving you a long kiss and leaving the shop.

You study the lines, shaky but serviceable, and the design clear. Your mind immediately began to think of ways to tie it into his existing tattoo’s style and his tastes. All the while, you kicked your feet, ecstatic that once again, the most complex person you knew was trusting you with this responsibility.

Si had some serious, high quality pieces on his body, and he thought enough of your hand to add to that.

Simon is usually more affectionate when you’re alone. In public, it’s mostly gliding fingers across your back, or a quick brush of his lips across your forehead. BUT, sometimes his intrusive thoughts win, and he has to slap your ass. This can happen anywhere, anytime.

You’re bent over the tattoo chair, disinfecting and scrubbing, and you swear you hear his hand cutting through air before you feel the smack.

“Si!”

“You put it there sweetheart.”

Shooting range dates. You’ve been judged by some of your more…conventional friends, but you’re a gun girlie (which turns Simon on like nothing he’s ever experienced), and you don’t care. They tried to make you feel like he was being inconsiderate taking you there. Meanwhile, it was damn near your demand.

Simon loves having friendly competitions, random kisses, and exchanging shitty jokes. Seeing you get excited, and engaging in a little tech/spec talk about a gun you love, gets Simon bricked up in 10 seconds flat.

You truly believe he’s taken you in hidden parts of the range more than either of your beds at this point.

Makes you keep track of football season when he’s away. Almost put you in a box and mailed you far away from him when you assumed he meant American football season.

“Don’t ever hurt me like that again lovie, I won’t be held responsible.”

Punishes you with edging and cockwarming if you miss any important details. It’s especially excruciating when he’s just returned, and all you want is him to stretch you out. Simon is a mean dom, and he won’t be moved by sympathy.

“Please Si, I only missed one game.” you whined, trying to get him to come back to where he’d just spent time building you up to fall on his tongue, only to pull away at the last second.

He smirked, rising to his feet which clued you into the fact that he really wasn’t going to finish you off then. “That’s a bad girl. Have the missing orgasm to match.”

——-

Gaz:

Lives for where you live. Your little house is his home away from home. Sometimes the gang can be on business that keeps them on the road for weeks, and the last thing he wants when he comes back, is to continue to be locked in close quarters with other guys.

That’s when you know he’s skipping clubhouse life to crash with you for a while. You love it as much as him.

Scented candles and incense, sweet laundry detergent, soft materials, home cooked meals. It’s such a soft juxtaposition to his previous journey.

Your hands are all over him, soothing bruises and kissing him over in mapped out patterns only known to you.

Kyle may not know the difference between a single thing on your beauty table, or much about the things in your bathroom cabinets, but he knows he loves how it all smells/looks on you when he’s running his nose across your skin.

“Baby, I gotta get ready for work.”

Kyle hummed in acknowledgement, but kept you pinned to the overstuffed couch, kissing your thighs in his own personal ritual. The two of you had been sequestered away for two days since he’d been back, but he still couldn’t get enough of you.

“Be good for me love, I won’t make you late.”

“Liar.” You giggled when he pinched you in retaliation. “If you do what it feels like you’re about to do, I won’t make it to the shop until noon.”

“Not a liar babe, you know that better than anyone else.” He pushed your knees up until they pressed against your chest. “I promise, you’ll be the first one there. Can’t say in what state though.”

Being the club secretary, it may seem like Kyle has the plushier job at the table. Wrong. He sees as much action as the other guys, and he likes to stay in shape. That’s fine by you, because you reap the benefits when you get to watch him working out at your place.

Kyle Garrick doing burpees and up-downs in your tiny backyard, clad in nothing but gray sweat shorts, and a thin gold chain against his chest, isn’t a sight that should be free. Yet, after Kyle has finished his mission of witnessing you walk funny at least once, it’s a sight you’re treated to when he sinks back into his home routine.

You somehow think you’re safe to creep-watch from the back doorway while you enjoy your green tea, even though Kyle catches you every time. He just always knew when your eyes were on him.

Without even turning to give you a look he called your name, laughing softly. “I should start charging admission.”

“I was thinking the same thing!” You stuck your tongue out at his back, slamming the door when he revealed he somehow saw that too.

Kyle comes to the salon and hangs with you between appointments. Sometimes he watches you work, and fake flirts with customers to get you more money. He’s great for business.

“Cost a little extra, yeah? But myself, I love a bird that sweats the details.” Kyle’s brown eyes and bright smile were a lethal combination against free will, you knew this for a fact.

The soccer mom in your chair ducks her head under his attention, cheeks filling in with red, as she tells you she changed her mind about the rhinestones.

You appreciate the efforts towards fattening your wallet, but sometimes he’s so effective, you get annoyed and drag him to the break room to remind him you own him.

When you ride with him, he loves looking down and seeing the pretty designs of your nails grasping his chest. Something about the contrast of hot pink, or pearlescent purple against the black leather of his kutte does it for him.

Kyle is definitely on the calmer side most times, especially for his lifestyle, but the fastest way to break that is someone meaning you harm.

You were out at a crowded club with the 141, their ladies, and some friends of the club. It was a celebration of good finances and a successful legal dodge.

The guys clung to a dark VIP section, there for the drinks and victory lap more than the dancing. On the other hand, you and the other girls were not there to sit idle.

After a tense few months, the cause of your respective relationship ups and downs with the guys, you guys deserved to cut loose. The table agreed, with your men shouting words of encouragement and flirtatious innuendo to hype you up.

The whole bar was enthralled by you and the other girl’s dancing, singing, and general untethered energy. It was contagious. You especially, you had a few drinks in you, and all that could currently keep your attention was the music.

There was, unfortunately, one outsider who got a little too enthralled with the performance.

When you peeled away from the group, following the uptempo rhythm, he thought that was his time to make his move.

You felt him press up against you while your eyes were closed, assuming it was Kyle, you almost ground back against him. Then you smelt the liquor. Kyle liked a drink like everyone else, and you’d even seen him drunk, but this was someone who’d been at it for a while. Disgustingly sour, too close, and ultimately not your man.

You sent a sharp hit back with your elbow, turning to confirm what you knew. It wasn’t Kyle. He grunted, but pushed forward again making you hold your hand up in a warning.

“I don’t think so.” you waved him off, laughing at the prospect of entertaining him.

Angered by your laughter, he got bolder, shouting to be heard. “Well I think so, but I’m real interested in knowing why you don’t.”

“Because I said what I said, and I have a man.” You were tipsy, but there was an underlying fire to your words lending them solidity. “Fuck off!”

He bristled at another dismissal. “Bitc-“

Kyle had appeared, most likely having started making his way to you once the man got too close, and clapped him on the shoulder. His expression said that he had heard at least some of what was said.

“Hi baby!” You shouted, a little loud even for the club, but that made it endearing. “That’s my man.” You told the asshole.

“Use your ears before I send you home carrying them.” He was gripping the man’s shoulder so tightly you should see the sharp knuckle bones flexing, his rings catching the light.

The man looked at the kutte, and the expression on Kyle’s face, and the exact moment he realized the man would act on the threat literally became apparent.

If that wasn’t enough, you had the ladies at your back, and the table alert and waiting for the call. It was over for the bastard before it even started.

He raised his hands and scurried into the crowd, aiming for the door.

“I love you baby.” You crooned, throwing your arms around him and covering his face with kisses.

He laughed. “I love you too, even when I know I’m going to be holding your pretty hair back all day.”

When the gang has to have a tense table vote in a briefing, their equivalent to some other mc’s “church”, you always wait for Kyle. As secretary, it’s his job to gather information on other gangs, as well as any important changes in the area, and his council is called on first.

You’re waiting for him right after, inviting him back to your house for the night, knowing he won’t want to stay in his dorm. He won’t show it then, but he’s disappointed, and when you get him home, you let him vent to his mind’s content.

All the while, you’re drawing him a bath, doing a light skin routine on his face, greasing his scalp, and curling up on the couch with his back against your chest.

You know his brothers have his best interest at heart, and respect his role in the club, but sometimes he can get in his head about it, and that’s when you step in.

——-

Soap:

Johnny kept his lifestyle a secret from you at first. You’d only been hooking up for a couple of weeks before you both confessed to wanting more.

The crew had mocked him relentlessly about his inability to keep a relationship casual.

“Give it up mate, you ain’t even foolin’ yourself!” Gaz had clapped him on the back, laughing right in his face. “You start up with a girl right, and it’s over. You’re looking for a house by sunup.”

“Och, piss off with ya! I can keep it casual!” Indignant, and maybe a little drunk, he elbowed the man on the other side of him. “Tell em’ Ghost.”

Simon glanced at him sideways, bourbon halfway to his lips, careful it didn’t spill due to the prodding. “Johnny, some pretty bird starts chirpin’ in your ear and it’s curtains. Now fuck off.”

He couldn’t believe his friends, no — brothers, had such little faith in him.

Cut to a few days later, with him balls deep in you, confessing he wanted more.

“I’ll be good to ya bon, I swear it. I’m all for ya, just be for me?”

The only thing that lessened the embarrassment of proving his friends right, was that you seemed relieved, and admitted it was what you wanted too.

He couldn’t help it. Ever since he’d been patched in, besides the camaraderie, he was enamored with the relationship between Price and his old lady. There were plenty of solid old lady/old man pairings around him, but something about the way the club queen cared for her man, kept the other girls in order, and still maintained a life for herself was astounding to watch.

He couldn’t help chasing that in every girl he’d gotten with since he’d joined up. So many girls wanted the mystique of a sexy biker, but that’s all he was for them. Either a living dildo, or an attraction they could make their friends jealous with. Things never got very far outside of the bedroom. Except once, but that didn’t go over so well in the end.

He wanted that ride or die bond so badly, he couldn’t wait to have the perfect old lady to wife up and fill a house with brats.

With you, he prayed he was it for you, because you had quickly become it for him.

You were a good girl. Specifically, his good girl now. He felt it was highly unlikely you would go for his lifestyle, and so he kept it under wraps at first. He knew he had to tell you at some point, but he wanted to soak up as much time as he could in case you checked out.

“Nah sweetheart, it’s nah like that. We get a little rough, but mainly, we just appreciate bikes.”

“Do ya think I have what it takes to be in a criminal organization? And with ya not knowin’ no less!?”

“Let’s talk about something else bon, did ya ken your thighs look cute warming my ears?”

Guilt eating through him like acid, especially when the club picks up on the fact that he hasn’t brought you around. Anytime Soap has a girl in his bed more than once, he’s parading around the club with her in no time. They know there’s something special about you, and that baffles them even more. Soap claims it’s because you live one town over, which you do, but Gaz calls him on his shit.

He’s hyper defensive, and fights until he’s blue in the face before he admits it’s true. He’s afraid you’ll turn out like the others, or reject him all together. He’s so far gone at this point, he’d rather you use him than leave him.

Price doesn’t like it, and councils him against lying to you any further for numerous reasons. Soap promises he’ll tell you soon, but he’s trying to convince himself as well as his president.

Eventually he couldn’t hide it anymore, but it wasn’t exactly his choice when the curtain got pulled back.

The two of you had been to a late movie, Johnny finally having had time to squeeze in a date with you after a series of back-to-back runs. You’d suggested coming to him for once to take the burden off. Before he could object, you’d admitted that you were already in town, and he’d rushed to meet you.

Though he was nervous about you hearing something, or seeing someone off-color that he knew, he couldn’t deny he loved the day he spent with you.

He never needed a reason to want to kiss you, but something about your soft smile under the parking lot lights compelled him right then. Maybe because your expression said just how content you were to be with him, and he buried that in his heart.

“Wait a minute.” He stopped you, lips on yours before you could ask why.

Parking lots didn’t exactly get safer as they got darker, and emptier, but he couldn’t stop once his lips touched yours. Then you started tugging on the curly hair of his Mohawk like you did when you’d really gotten into things.

He was just about to suggest he stay over at your place, when you were interrupted by a cop. You assumed he was going to warn you about loitering and apologized, but he and Johnny knew that wasn’t what it was about. He called Johnny “Soap”, and you were confused as to how they knew each other.

“Oh, Scotboy here goes back with the law a long ways back home.” The cop tried to clap Johnny on the shoulder only for him to violently dodge it. “Easy. I’m not booking you on anything…tonight.”

You were at a loss for what the cop thought he could book Johnny on, and called it out as harassment. Johnny knew, by the sick expression on his face, that the cop was eager to spill it all once he realized how little you knew about the man you were clutching. He tried to prevent that from happening.

“Yeah well, you’re just wastin’ time then, and we have a drive.” Johnny’s arm tightened around your shoulder as he started to lead you away.

“Sweetheart, I don’t know what he’s told you, but if you were my daughter I’d want you to know. That’s a dangerous man you’re on the arm of.”

“Shut up.” Johnny growled, and he knew you had to be thinking about how you’d never seen him like this, but he’d also never been this angry around you.

“Johnny…” you pushed at him to try and get him to move, but he was rooted in rage.

He knew where the cop was taking it.

“This was when you were a prospect back in England right? The number you did on the guys from that other charter…interpol still talks about it. Oh wait…they never proved it was you did they?”

Johnny thumbed his nose and sniffed, jutting out his chin in utter opposition of the man in front of him. “Nah, wasnae even in the country at the time.”

“That’s right. You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve only read the reports our precinct got when you boys moved to town.” The obnoxious officer bounced his palm off his forehead in a mock gesture.

Johnny felt you squeeze his arm, grounding him for the moment, and he thought you might be saying something. His ears sounded like the Grand Rapids ran through them. A hot rage was settling into his chest, and spilling into other parts of his being.

The smug expression of the cop, one of the ones on the force who’d made things personal with the club was

“Johnny!” You shook him, finally getting through to him. “I want to leave.”

He exhaled, softening at your expression. Little tremors of adrenaline wracked through him, but he still led you towards his bike by a firm grip.

“You know, they included pictures in those files they sent over. What you did to those guys..” The cop whistled from behind you.

Johnny helped you into your helmet, watching as your eyes raced with questions, but you were so good for him. You would wait to ask him.

He brushed his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks. “Ignore him bon. Whatever he says, please.”

“But, the real shame is what happened to Anna.” The cop continued.

In a straight shot, Johnny launched himself at him. “Shut your fuckin’ mouth!”

“They cut her up pretty bad. Was her nose always on the side of her-”

—

He knew it was bait, and he admitted as much later, but he’d taken the active grenade in his hand all the same. The wounds that piece of shit poked were too raw not to, on top of probably killing everything between you and him.

Everything was designed to hit a critical point in him. His past deeds, Anna, and most importantly, you.

All he could think about was if he was going to lose you after tonight, there was no way he wasn’t going to make it count all over the bastard’s face.

The local police had been looking for something, anything, to get the club on, but they’d been too careful. That’s what Price had told you on the way to the precinct. Johnny had dialed for you while the cop was getting back to his feet.

“Was any of what he said true?” You were clutching your purse the way you had since you’d gotten into the car with Price and the club’s lawyer.

“I don’t know what you mean love?” Price looked at you cooly, not giving anything away, though you were sure he knew what you meant.

“Never mind.” You shook your head. “I know it’s true. Did Johnny really hurt those guys? Who’s Anna?”

Price kept his eyes on the road, while the lawyer kept his attention on his phone. The air couldn’t have been more tense,

“You should talk to your boy sweetheart. Don’t let some future desk-riding prick make you doubt the man who’d rip out his own heart just to show you it’s yours.”

You swallowed, hard, and didn’t say anything else until you got to the station.

“Um…I think I’m just going to Uber home. Tell Johnny I’ll call him.”

Price nodded, but his look was disapproving. “‘m sorry to hear that,” he adjusted his dark beanie. “But if that’s what you think is best.”

You did not call him. Not later when you were sure he had been released, and not the next day. You wouldn’t even open the never-ending text thread between you two.

He texted you early enough to be apologetic about it, and you had to push your phone to the far side of your bed to stop yourself from responding.

You went about your daily routine, getting ready for your shift at the diner. Your one room apartment didn’t allow you the luxury of pretending your phone wasn’t blowing up with text messages, but you were too afraid you’d cave if you saw the screen while attempting to silence it.

He showed up at the diner, and you pretended to be too busy in the back until he left.

He waited outside of your place, but you wouldn’t come down, going so far as to turn off the lights when you realized he was there.

No call was answered, no text replied to.

Johnny was a wreck. So much so, that as furious as Price and Ghost had been, as much as they’d come down on him, they weren’t sure he’d even heard it. They saw his regret, he did have his brothers and their families in mind, along with the fact that he was a higher ranked member who set a piss poor example for prospects and basic members.

The fact that his stunt could’ve cost them their freedom. He saw all of that.

But he was HURTING. Physically, mentally, emotionally. It was all Johnny could do to roll out of bed and do the basics before he crawled back again.

All the club girls dropped by his dorm. Some to be flirtatious, which he lashed out at, some to show sympathy.

Mrs. Price and Ghost’s girl were especially gentle. It’s the darkest period in Johnny’s life, even when factoring in the Anna situation. It’s clear to all around him, you’re it for him. His soul is yours, and he’s dying without you.

It was Simon who came to you and changed your mind. He couldn't take seeing Johnny that way. The whole table was worried, but Johnny was a little brother to the taciturn specter. He’d only see him like this once before, and this was ten times worse.

In the early afternoon, the diner’s customers were nothing but truckers and elderly folks. So when the 6’4 blond with trunk-thick arms, and a permanent scowl walked in, there was no ignoring him. You noticed the kutte, and thought about making a break for the back, but his look said ‘try it’, and you thought better of it.

Instead, you wound up in a back booth with him, taking your 15 minute break.

“‘m not the preachin’ sort, so I’ll get on with it.” He stared right through you, lighting a cigarette. “‘s no business of mine what you and Johnny decide to do, but you need to talk to him.”

You started to tell him no smoking, but didn’t feel like exerting the effort. Let your boss deal with it if it mattered.

Your hands trembled, so you put them beneath the table in your lap. “If it’s none of your business, then why are you here?”

”Because, it’s destroying him. You’re destroying him.” He turned for a moment to exhale away from your face, and then his gaze was cutting right back to you. “Lad’s a mess and a half without you. We’ve tried to sort him out, but it’s gonna take you.”

”He lied to me!“ the exclamation left your mouth without a thought to volume control, and you pointedly ignored the stares you knew were at your back.

”You knew.” he said simply. “You may not have known the specifics, and we told him not to do it that way, but you knew.”

Your mouth opened and closed repeatedly, trying to express the million thoughts in your head.

”You may be a town over, but our name gets around. I know you’ve heard somethin’.” He tipped the ash in the glass of water you’d gotten him. “You’re a smart bird by Johnny’s account.”

“If you told him not to lie, then why are you telling me not to be upset?”

“‘m not, ‘m tellin’ you to hear him out. Put him out of his misery, whatever you decide.”

The man left the booth, standing back to his full height and casting a shadow over the booth.

“He’s a right fuckin’ mess. Loves you more than life.”

“More than Anna?” The name that had been swirling around in your mind came out in a semi-bitter question.

There was something that could have possibly been a flinch, but you weren’t sure. It made you regret mentioning it either way.

He stubbed out the cigarette. “He’ll be round yours by the time you get off.”

He was. Looking completely unconfident and nervous about being there. His eyes were bloodshot, and his beloved mohawk showed signs of too many anxious tugs.

This wasn’t what you were used to with the confident man, and you didn’t like it. You understood, you looked the same way, but you didn’t like it.

He was apologizing constantly, between spilling streams of exposition that only served to confuse you, instead of clearing things up. You finally had to tell him it would just be easier if you could ask questions instead, and he sat back and became an open book.

It went all evening, and then well into the morning. Every question led into lengthy conversation.

—

“Who’s Anna?”

“...A good lass who didn’t deserve what she got.”

—

“So it’s definitely more than just appreciating bikes. Why?”

“They’re my family, and they’ve always had my back while lettin’ me be myself. If I have to do somethin’ a lil dodgy now and then, that’s a small price to pay.”

—

“I don’t doubt you love me Johnny, you make it impossible to, but how can I trust you after this?”

“By takin’ the chance to believe me when I say I’d rather die than go through this again. If honesty brings you back to me, I’ll never leave it out again.”

The sun is rising by the time the two of you are talked out. You make him stay, seeing that his sleep deprivation was starting to collect its due. It was you who didn’t sleep while you pet his hair from where he laid on your lap, and thought over your feelings.

He wakes when you inform him he has a phone call. He tells you to answer it, and you realize it’s a gesture towards the honest leaf turn.

He took the time to honesty dump with you, so you admit to him that while you’re still hurt, your mind's made up about taking him back.

It should have frightened you how quickly you sank back into things with Johnny, but what actually frightened you was the reason why. You realized you were just as addicted to him as he was to you. How had you lasted the past couple of weeks?

It’s a mutual obsession, only strengthened by a period of absence. Something he vowed would never happen again.

You let him give you your first tattoo, and you even let him pick the design. He couldn’t believe you trusted him with the honor, and he wound up asking if you were sure five times.

“Baby, yes!” you laughed, squeezing his cheeks as a form of cute aggression over his heart eyes.

This was such an intimate act for him, that he made sure you were completely alone in his dorm room when the day came. The room is spotless for once, sanitized to government standards. You can’t help but notice that he’s lit candles in your favorite scent, and his playlist is all soft music for once.

He spent weeks sketching the perfect concept, and even created variations for your choosing. He went through soooo many pages, unwilling to settle when it came to his girl.

In the end, it was decided, and he got to work on the inner wrist tattoo. All the while, he was checking in with you to make sure you were good.

“It’s just a small piece baby, I’m ok.” You always pressed a kiss to his nose to reassure him and get him back to work.

He looked so handsome, locked in concentration, that it almost completely distracted from the pain. You’d seen him work before, and you loved it, but this wasn’t just work right now. He was giving you something important, and you sensed that.

When he finally finished, he sheepishly, almost fearfully, asked you what you thought.

“It’s everything Johnny. When everyone asks who’s the talent behind it, I can’t wait to say he’s my man.”

Soap has no regard for anyone or any place when he wants you, which is all the time. You’re all over the clubhouse together. The couches, the hallways, the armory. Officially, clubhouse outer-walls are your spots during cookouts.

Gaz walked into the storage room, focused on finding a part for a customer. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed you through the empty space on a tall shelf.

“Hi, eh, Kyle!” All that was visible was your face, and he wondered for a second why you were out of breath.

“Hey (Y/N), what’re you doing back here?” He gave you a side glance and smile, his attention mainly on the organized shelves.

“I’m..” you bit your lip, unable to form another word as your eyes rolled back.

Kyle froze, realizing what was happening. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me mate?!”

“You walked in on us!” Johnny’s indignant cry came from below his line of vision.

Sooo many lunch break dates. Technically, Johnny is on shift at the garage, and should be preparing for the next day’s run, but his best girl needs him :( . You work so hard at that cafe, and they never appreciate you. Not like he does.

So when he takes the work pickup truck to get you, knowing Price has told him a million times it’s not for that, he can’t be bothered to care.

“Johnny, tell me you did not go across town to buy me this sandwich.” You already knew the answer, and you wanted to scold him for neglecting himself again. “You’re gonna be late getting back to the shop!”

“You love it though. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take care of ya.”

“That’s not the point, you-“

“You’re so pretty baby.”

And you melt and forget to be upset.

You can’t stay mad at Johnny with heart eyes and loving, grabby hands. Especially when those grabby hands start to get a little more focused…

What happens in the work truck, stays in the work truck. Until he gets drunk and brags at a club party….

The fun times were well and good, but Soap knew that the day would come when you got a glimpse at the uglier parts of the life. He barely got you back, and you throwing up your hands and declaring it was all too much was all he could think about.

They’d been having issues with the Shadows MC, and it was starting to boil over. They didn’t like the 141 moving in on their territory, but his table had made it clear that wasn’t up to them. This resulted in many skirmishes he could keep under wraps, but then it came to a head.

They’d hit the Shadows hard at one of their core locations, and in preparation for retaliation, Price and Ghost had called a lockdown. This meant all old ladies, kids, and friends of the club were to hunker down at the club compound until they gave the ok.

The day was here, and he’d been dreading it. He couldn’t very well leave you out there, he hadn’t exactly been subtle that you were his girl, but surely you wouldn’t go for it.

Nothing had been asked of you so far, and he was trying his best to keep from burdening you like the typical old lady. He felt you’d be less likely to leave if he kept the weightier things from you.

He must have paced up and down your street in the dark for over an hour. His phone was blowing up with demands he ‘get his ass back to the compound’ with you, ‘NOW’, but he had to do it right. It wasn’t easy to say “We mowed down some of our enemies, and destroyed their operation, and some guys could make you pay for that.”

He could lose you tonight. He could relive his past.

When he finally did get up the nerve to tell you, he was shocked at how well you took it. He knew you were scared, and you couldn’t have been too happy either, but he loved you for your strength in that moment.

All you did was quietly pack, while his mouth ran a mile-a- minute. Swinging wildly between telling jokes, assuring you you’d fit in just fine with the other old ladies, and apologizing. You kept telling him you were fine, but your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

It took a week to beat the Shadows back. In that time Johnny had been in and out of safe houses, with barely a spare minute to check in with you. If he was being honest, he was terrified.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that when he got back to the compound, you wouldn’t be there. You’d be long gone, and when he went to your place, the things he’d left (so sneakily) would be in a box waiting on the doorstep.

He was so sure of this, that he wanted to go by your place first, but his bone-weary brothers were barely sitting upright on their bikes. Battered and bruised to hell, he couldn’t ask them to indulge his paranoia. The table didn’t like to be too far from each other until they were fully assured they were whole back home.

He was the last to walk through the door, to the shock of his brothers, but he didn’t want to tell them he was probably about to scream his throat raw when he saw you weren’t there.

He clenched and unclenched his aching fists in anxiety. ‘Just look around the room you daft fucker!’ He mentally scolded himself.

He didn’t get a chance to. You barreled into him, arms locking around his neck. He stumbled back, weariness and shock combining to make his footing unstable, but his back hit the solid metal door behind him.

“I was so fucking worried.” You whispered into his neck, and he felt his neck dampen with what he presumed were tears.

“I was too…” he admitted, finding it in him to grip you to his person with a desperate strength.

Relief flooded his body when you started pressing kisses all over his face, and all he could do was stand there. Receiving your love.

“Oh!” You tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let you. “Johnny put me down, the girls told me about how tired you guys are when something like this happens. You should be resting.”

“I’ll get to that bonnie, just keep kissing me like that.” He whispered, hands slipping into the back pocket of your jeans to keep you close.

You took over as soon as you got him back to his dorm room. You helped him undress, made sure he didn’t collapse in the shower, and even straightened his precious Mohawk while he struggled to pull on the sweats you’d grabbed him. All the while, awkward apologies from him. From you, excited recollections of all the things you’d learned from the strong women around you over the week.

Johnny supposed he had them to thank. In the back of his mind he’d been wondering what flipped the switch, and gifted him the kind of welcome home he used to envy the taken members of the club for getting. You were the best girlfriend he ever had, but an old lady was something else, yet here you were, excelling at that too.

And later, in his room after the hot shower, he collapsed face first on the bed. It took one, deep inhale of the fresh linen to know someone had done laundry. He exhaled with a hum, openly appreciating the clean scent.

“Yeah, you can thank me later.” You laughed, entering the room from his bathroom.

Johnny heard the sound of a lid pop, but was too far gone to look back and see what it was. Then you straddled his back, your soft hands kneading out a week’s worth of tension, self-inflicted and otherwise. He groaned, feeling the soothing lotion follow your hands over the peaks and valleys of his muscular frame.

“Addin’ this to my tab then?” He slurred, half in the dream realm, half with the love of his life.

“Yep, but I know you’re good for it.” You leaned down, nipping his ear, and making him mewl in frustration as he hardened against the mattress, knowing there’d be nothing he could do about it at the moment.

He used the last of what he had to flip you over, mentally cataloging the adorable squeak you let out. Cupping your cheeks, he shared a soft look with you for just a moment, before he sealed his lips over yours. All he could do was hope you could feel everything he wanted to say behind the movement of his lips.

Judging by your soft sighs, he guessed you could.

He pulled away, settling half on you, half off. “I’m settlin’ my debts soon as I’m up hen. Bet on it.”

He makes Ghost promise to take care of you if something ever happens to him.

“Johnny, shut fuck up,” Ghost glared at him, faint facial scars following his frown. “You’ll outlive us all.”

Johnny stared at him from across the meeting table, more serious than a personification of the sun had any right to be. They were the only two in the briefing room, for some reason the place felt sacred enough to Soap for such a request.

“‘m serious VP, that’s ma heart, I love her.” His accent thickened with emotion, and he sipped his bar as if to wash it back.

His fingers flexed around the sweating glass. “‘m gonna marry her.”

“Lads and I knew that the first time you talked about her.”

Soap smiled at that, but his expression quickly returned to its serious state. “Sweet girl and me have been talkin’ about kids, preferably after.”

A fond quiet bloomed between them at that admission. The two of you had told no one else, and Johnny felt guilty violating your pillow talk confessionals, but he hoped it would get Ghost to agree.

“Want that more than anythin’ VP, but I can’t pull the trigger until I know they’ll be looked after.”

“The club-“

“Not just the club!” He ran a hand through his mohawk in frustration.

Why couldn’t the stubborn fucking giant just agree?

“I know the club will look after them in general. I know I can trust our table, hope I can trust the other charters.” He sighed, refocusing. “You’re my best friend Simon. I just have to know my girl, and my bairn, would always have you at their back. If I died.”

“Wouldn’t happen. I’d lay my life down so you could make it back-“

Johnny shook his head, choosing not to repeat himself. Instead, he gave his friend a pleading look.

He could see a storm of thoughts and emotions competing for dominance in his friend’s mind. His expression didn’t change much, but it was in his eyes if you knew him.

He saw why Simon was resisting, he didn’t feel worthy of being looked to in that way.

Finally, Ghost responded after grinding his cigarette out in the dish on the table. “Promise the same f’me then. I’ve fucked her life up enough, shouldn’t still be doin’ it when I’m gone.”

“On my honor.” Soap didn’t even have to think, it was an instinct.

“Then tell your missus you’re ready. I’ll cover my end.”

———

Price:

Head honcho. Chief. The Boss. Captain of the ship. It’s all the same no matter who calls him what, President Price is in charge.

He founded the club after leaving his original due to lack of loyalty, and thoughtless endeavors. He works overtime to make sure his club doesn’t fall in the same way. His code of ethics may not make a lick of sense to anyone outside of the outlaw life, but they’ve garnered the respect and admiration of some of the toughest men around the globe.

They’d follow him through hell because they know he’d be the first one in.

When they’re on a run, selling guns or attending a meeting in neutral territory, John’s mind is all business until business is done. Then it’s all you. He loves hearing his guys talk about how they’re going to spend their new check, or swapping stories about their old ladies. Sometimes, he even joins in.

But what he really wants to do is celebrate with you. Most times you’re already up at the compound. Seeing to the legitimate businesses, taking care of the girls, helping the member’s families, etc.

He respects what you do, what you’re capable of, beyond borders. However, he can’t help but be jealous. You always come to him first, tight hug and a long soft kiss, but then you’re quickly looking over his guys. The men revel in it, almost becoming kittens under your motherly ministrations. Especially Soap and Gaz, who you’re in the same age group as, but you scold all the same.

When the last man has been sent on his way, he’s dragging you away to the little bedroom off his office. He knows you find it amusing, to see his selfishness win out over any tiredness he’s feeling.

Before the door can even close, he’s pulling you close and kissing you his favorite way. A kiss he didn’t know he was capable of until you became his wife. Anytime he was gone too long, you did something that knocked him off his feet, or your affection wasn’t directed solely at him, he kissed you that way.

He cradled your head, holding you steady when he pressed his lips to yours. He left no room for there to be room between the two of you. Rough thumbs slid under your chin, tilting your head up slightly before he slid his tongue between your lips. He knew he had to release you soon, let you remember how to breathe, but it was hard to fight the hunger.

“Nothing flatters me like my big biker husband being unable to share me for two seconds.” you teased, but your teasing came out in short puffs, as your lungs weren’t cooperating with you at the moment.

He could feel you swaying, going dizzy, and he brushed his beard over your ear to make you squirm before he said. “Jump love.”

You did, feeling his heavy hands grasp your thighs seconds later. He slid your legs over his hips, encouraging you to lock down around his waist.

“I’m just making sure you take care of what’s yours.” he thrust upward, hardness touching. “I promised it to you that first time.”

He laid you across the bed, staring down at you with a darkened smirk. “Take some responsibility for the state of your possessions.”

He’s the head of an organization that now exists in several countries. All that responsibility is tiring, even for a man so skilled at navigating it, and there’s been many a day when all he can do is lay his head down for the pain of the headaches.

You can’t count how many times you’ve come up to the club when he didn’t come home, only to find him furiously puffing a cigar and downing shots to dull the pain.

The guys had families to feed, there were good men behind bars for them that needed to be taken care of, he had tables back home that needed guidance, there were property expenses, legal retainer fees, and more. Much more.

That meant more risky non-legit work, which meant stretching the legitimate business to cover what that brought in. He had to know when it was time to expand, when it was time to halt, and when it was time to move to something else.

But he’s just a man, one man, and you’re there to remind him of that.

“John?” You had been expecting to find him in his office, but the moment you stepped into the club house, you saw him at the bar.

He wasn’t alone.

Phillip Graves, president of the Shadows MC finished off his drink and clapped John on the back.

“We’ll talk again.” He nodded his head towards you with a wink and a smile. “Ma’am.”

Your narrowed eyes followed him out of the door, remaining there until his motorcycle’s engine was a distant roar. At that point, you turned back to your husband.

He was gripping his forehead, lit cigar balanced on the heavy crystal ashtray next to him. The last remnants of whisky mingled with the melting ice in his glass, which he threw back before attempting a fake smile.

”Hello darling, you just close up shop?”

”Yeah, and I got home to find my husband wasn’t there. What the fuck John? You said you were going to work on this.”

You tossed your purse on the counter. “And Graves?! I can’t even-“

”(Y/N), don’t start.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do not have that in me right now.”

Sighing, you placed one hand on his back, using the other to put out his cigar. He protested with a disapproving grunt, but was too tired to do more than that. Your face softened at that realization.

He pushed back from the bar a little, allowing you to slide onto his lap, legs splitting over his thighs. “I’m just worried. You can lead a table, you can lead the whole organization, but you can’t carry the whole thing on your back.”

You cupped his head like he often did to yours, and massaged the base of his skull. His eyes slid shut, body going lax, and he practically purred.

Leaning down, you scattered gentle kisses on his face, careful to leave no spot untouched, before going in for a whiskery kiss. It was here John took over, thanking you for the attention.

“You know that it’s not you I don’t trust right?” you asked between kisses. “It’s him.”

“I know, and you know I value your judgment.” He got underneath your shirt, hands rubbing your sides slowly.

There was a moment of domestic peace and quiet. You massaging his temple, and he massaging your sides. Though you trusted the capable man going soft under your hands, you hoped he wouldn’t regret whatever Graves was bringing to your door.

John doesn’t come to your shop often, but it’s not because he doesn’t support your career. It’s because he can’t watch you work for very long without wanting you biblically on every surface.

You love his open attraction to you, so it’s not exactly the easiest thing to ignore. No matter how much you try to stay focused on the job, the man is the love of your life, and he looks handcrafted by god.

Hunched over a client’s thigh, your brows were drawn in concentration on the elaborate Victorian cameo piece.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see John lounging in the plush desk chair he’d dragged over. A good distance to respect your client, but close enough, he could keep eyes on his favorite person.

Your client was amused, laughing through a wince, she nodded in John’s direction. “You’ve got a not-so-secret admirer.”

“I’ve been caught lovely, what to do now?”

”Ignore you.” You quipped before glancing up at your client. “He’s my husband.”

”Oh,” she hummed. “That explains the heart eyes.”

At that, you did have to look up, instantly wishing you hadn’t. It was a visual trap.

John, sitting there like the king he was, manspreading with no shame. Black beanie, tight jeans, dark sweater with his royal kutte draped over the sweater, and leather boots. You told him more than once he could model, to which he feigned offense.

“Focus on your work.” John admonished, but the smirk he said it though was pure sin.

Your eyes had strayed below the belt, and John was fully aware of this. Reveling in it really.

”Don’t you have a bike to fix? A prospect to bottle feed?”

”Nope,” his arms crossed behind his head, an action you saw out of the corner of your eye. “I belong to my missus this evening.”

Your client cooed, undoubtedly enjoying the banter between you and John. You did too, too much, and his bit about belonging to you made you have to pause and readjust yourself.

”Every evening really.”

”That’s nice John.” You hissed, lifting the gun from her skin to wave him off.

Your client laughed, trying hard to hold herself steady for you.

“Don’t encourage him.” you turned yourself at an angle slightly, trying and failing to ignore him.

“Well, it’s really far more than just evenings isn’t i-“

You lifted your foot from the pedal, and placed the tattoo gun on the tray next to you.

“Kitchen, now.” You gave your client a sheepish smile. “We were due for a break anyway hun. Can I get you anything?”

She was visibly entertained by you and John, after all, the two of you had become a legendary couple in these parts for a reason.

“I’m good, take your time.”

John winked at your client, strolling behind you into the back. You waited until he was in the kitchenette before sliding the door closed.

”You’re such an ass.” But your hands were already under his sweater, running up and down his chest.

You appreciated that he took up so much space in the little room, forcing the two of you together. You could blame the room’s dimensions for being all over him, and not your unwavering attraction to the man.

“I haven’t seen you in 15 hours, yes, I counted. I’m always counting when it comes to you. You can’t ask me to behave.”

Large hands slid into your hair, fingers interlocking to cradle your head. He didn’t even have to pull you in to kiss you, and he grinned, clearly also appreciating the size of the space.

“You think she’s a big enough fan to give us thirty?”

You actually have three rings. Your engagement ring, your wedding ring, and one of John’s rings that he gave you the first night you fucked.

In the quiet of the briefing room, somewhere you were surprised to be, you sat on his lap. The two of you soaked up the afterglow, the party raging outside fading to a dull noise outside of your own world. Coming down from your high, you let out a soft noise of surprise when John gripped your hair to kiss you with one hand. The other hand grasped your own, the one that had come to rest on his chest when you’d ridden him into his throne.

He slid the silver, braided band onto your ring finger, promising. “The first to come”

He loves to get in the ring and show off for you. Sometimes, there’s a loud mouth from a visiting club, or another table visiting, and John takes them to the ring they have in the back of the club’s compound.

Usually, it’s Konig’s or Simon’s domain, but it’s not because John doesn’t love dishing it out as much as them. That becomes apparent when he delivers careful, strategically brutal, blows to his opponent. Enough to win, and then a few more to humble.

You had long ago stopped lying to yourself about how much it turned you on. So when John emerged from the ring, panting, abs catching the compound’s lights on a sheen of sweat, you always dragged him off. Under the guise of cleaning him up of course ;).

John’s breeding kink goes wild when he sees you with a baby, or any kid really. He’s been around the club life long enough to see many couples welcome kids. One of the first outings the two of you made as an official thing was to the hospital to see the birth of a member’s baby.

His old lady bonded with you, and you were quickly given child holding privileges. It came so naturally to you, and John felt what he figured the two of you would get to eventually quickly build itself a home in his chest. New Kink unlocked: breed you on any surface he could find.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away, it was hypnotizing. His family around him saw it for what it was. Their president had this future scene, starring you and him, written all over him.

He thought the intensity of it was something he had to keep under wraps until he noticed you had the same feelings.

Baby showers, shopping for 141 babies, school drives and charities the club did for the local youth, seeing cute kids on social media. It didn’t matter, John caught on to the fact that you fucked him like a feral rabbit whenever you got that maternal glint in your eye. He didn’t call you on it until after you were married. The day when your shop receptionist went on maternity leave.

You’d been going on all through dinner, and then while doing the dishes, about how cute the kid would be, and you loved helping her with her nursery, and how she was already glowing. The more you ranted, the harder he got, until finally, he trapped you against the counter.

“I reckon it’d be easier to just say you want to be a mum.” he lifted one leg to his waist, and bucked against your clothed heat. “Say it.”

You stammered, eyes wide, pupils blown. “J-John..”

“Say it.” his voice somehow found a lower octave to sink to, choked with desire.

“What are you talking about?” you whined, embarrassed at being found out.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I’m hard as steel love, you feel that?” he grabbed your wrist, kissing the knuckles before quickly brushing them over his length.

“That’s how bad I want to make you a mum, can’t you just admit it too?”

Tilting your chin up, he placed tiny kisses under your chin, purposely dragging his beard across the soft skin after each kiss.

“C’mon then, tell your husband the truth so I can give us what we both want”

You whimpered, clutching the fabric of his t-shirt. “John..”

“Go on, invite me in.” he slipped his index finger in the top of your panties just enough to play with the elastic. Stretching it until it threatened to fly back against your skin before he eased it back in place.

You moved forward in an attempt to make his finger slip lower, and he laughed darkly, holding you in place. Shaking his head, he repeated his precious statement.

“Give me a baby John.” you huffed, frustration rising until all that you could do was spill the truth.

Gasping, you felt the cold tile of the counter beneath your thighs. You tried to process how he’d gotten you up there so fast, but your mind didn’t want to focus on anything other than your husband kneeling before you with the most determined look you’d ever seen.

As he slipped your panties and pajama shorts down your legs, he whispered how it’d be best if you prepared an excuse for work while you could still think straight.

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cinnamostar · 4 days

Text

three dates to fall in love

part one. part two. part three. part four. part five (here). part six (coming soon).

pairing : hyunjin x gn!reader

summary : after a two year long unspoken hatred, hyunjin and you are forced to be costars in a romantic series, but when it comes to filming any of the romance scenes, you both utterly fail and are unable to get through your lines. the director threatens to take your roles away if you two aren't able to get past this within the next week, which spawns the genius idea from both your managers: can you learn to (fake) fall in love in seven dates and save your careers?

wc : 2.5k

cw : actor!au, enemies to lovers ?!, slowburn , not proofread, nothing crazy :)

a/n : im back from my hiatus and omggg i graduated from my masters program wahoooo! here's part five. let me know what you think! theres not much going on here to be honest........ its pretty chill

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“Yo,” Changbin answers from the other end of the line, his heavy breaths echoing through the call.

“Are you still working out?” Hyunjin asks incredulously, pulling the phone back to check the time, “You said you were going to the gym two hours ago and you’re still there?”

“Gotta keep these bad boys in shape, ya know?” Changbin teases, a giggle ringing through as he is most, (and he is), checking himself out in the mirror, “What’s up though? Did you just get home?”

“At this point, you look more like a bodyguard than my manager.”

“I take that as a compliment! Thank you very much, but I believe you have something to discuss with me, hm?”

“I mean, it went well?” Hyunjin responds with uncertainty in his voice, causing Changbin to sigh from the other end of the line.

“Is that all..? Are you just going to call me every time to tell me only that?” Changbin asks with annoyance, unable to understand the actor’s unwillingness to share anything more about the arrangement he found himself in. “You know, I’ll just end up calling Chan and hearing it from him instead…”

“Huh?”

Changbin smirks to himself, knowing that would capture the younger’s attention, “Yeah, you know, Y/N has a lot to say. I know all about it. It’s the only way I know how things are going.”

“What do they say?”

“Why do you care?”

“I just do.”

“And I should tell you because…?”

Hyunjin frowns at the back-and-forth, feeling peeved Changbin, his manager, wasn’t divulging any information upfront, “Because I’m the one going on dates with them and I should probably know…?”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me how today went.”

“It went well, I already told you that.”

“Tough luck, buddy, that won’t do. How unfair, especially when Y/N has sooo much to say,” Changbin dramatically mocks a sob, “Yet you, oh, you have so little to offer. It’s like you’re not enjoying any of it.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes at his antics, frustration bubbling within him, “I am enjoying it and it is going well. Is that good enough for you?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

“Okay… So, can I hang up now?”

“No.”

“So you want me to stay on the phone in silence with you?” Changbin asks, a smirk still plastered on his face because he knew, eventually, Hyunjin would relent to Changbin’s teasing. It was always like this, Hyunjin was hard to read and never shared much with Changbin, which honestly makes his job as his manager a lot more difficult than he’d like. The only times Hyunjin would be transparent with him about his emotions was when he was complaining about something, or the time he panickedly called him after his very unfortunate date with you, and how he realized what a big mistake he had made. Other than that, Hyunjin lips were always sealed tight. Either because he was a private person or was bad at vocalizing his feelings, Channgbin didn’t know, but he was getting annoyed at Hyunjin calling him after every day with the same three words every time. ‘It went well.’ God, those words were pissing him off and he felt like his time was being wasted because now, he had to call Chan and find out from him what was going on. After another few moments of silence, Changbin sighs once more, “Okay, I’m hanging up now —”

“N-no, wait!” Hyunjin interrupts him, a slight tremor in his voice.

“Okay, now I’m waiting.”

“Today went well, and I know I already said that, let me finish,” rambles Hyunjin, the words slowly clawing their wait up his throat, “It’s just… it’s a lot nicer than I thought it would have been. They’re super kind and welcoming to me even though I was a complete asshole to them.”

Changbin smiles victoriously to himself, ecstatic to finally hear this simple, yet salient confession out of the younger boy, “Oh, that’s good then. Sounds like they’re doing their best to make it work.”

“Yes, but I also… feel really bad about it too,” Hyunjin grimaces at the guilt he had been trying to ignore, it sneaking up to the forefront of his mouth as he speaks, “I really don’t think I deserve any of this from them, but they’re treating me sorta like nothing ever happened before and it’s a little weird to get use to this side of them. The more I realize how wrong I was about them, the shittier I feel.”

“Man, I don’t blame you, but I think you gotta give yourself some credit. It sounds like you both are handling this weird situation the best you can. Have you told them this?”

“Yeah, and that’s what makes this feel worse. They were so sweet about it, they comforted me when I was the one who hurt them,” groans Hyunjin, pinching the bridge of his nose as he squeezes his eyes shut, “And they… they said they need time to forgive me, which is fine! I get that entirely, but… I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive myself until they do?”

“Mhm, I understand what you’re feeling isn’t easy, but don’t you think you should at least try to be nicer to yourself? I mean… It sounds like Y/N cares about you enough, and if they want you to feel better about the situation, shouldn’t you try for their sake?”

“I guess, but it’s not that easy, Changbin –”

“I never said it was easy,” Changbin responds pointedly, “But wallowing up in guilt is no way to be living either, I’m sure Y/N knows that too and doesn’t want you beating yourself up this much about it when you’re both trying to move forward.”

“I don’t know…”

“Just give it a try, it won’t hurt. You can hold yourself accountable and still be nice to yourself. Alright, but I have to go now, so byeee!”

Hyunjin frowns, “Wait, no, you’re supposed to tell me–” only for him to be cut off by the sound of the call ending, “... what Y/N said…”

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Hyunjin decided to take both yours and Changbin’s advice to heart and do his very best to practice compassion, yet he forgot how terribly difficult that was until the next day arrived. In theory, it should be simple to just be nicer to himself, but his heart kept contorting and aching with guilt throughout the day, it becoming too much to bear as he tried to figure out how to control that emotion. He had to eventually learn to be in your presence without that harrowing, bottomless pit that would form in his stomach, especially if you two were going to be costars for the rest of filming.

So here he was, his face and ears tinged with red as he sat across you on a picnic blanket, an assortment of foods between you two, and a gentle breeze causing locks of your hair to dance. Despite the chilly weather, Hyunjin could feel himself being covered in what he can only describe as a cold sweat while his stomach flipped onto himself. He was nervous, anxious even, and he had zero clue on how to deal with what he called guilt, shame, humiliation. He wasn’t sure which word was the best descriptor for this very moment, but he could barely sit still, constantly fidgeting as he tried to turn his gaze away from you, hoping the blues of the lake would ease his nerves that had not stopped rapid firing since noon.

“You okay?” You ask, lifting a sushi piece to your mouth as you eyed Hyunjin with a cocked up eyebrow.

He freezes up for a moment, before forcing a nervous smile with a nod, “Oh, yeah, I’m fine!” He tries to force his voice into a more cheery tone, but he can tell you could see right through him. Somehow, you could read the faintest microexpressions from him, but he’s thankful to see you shrug your shoulders and not press on any further. It was almost as if you had the ability to read his mind, knowing when it was right to question his behavior or just let him revel in his own thoughts.

“Well, you should eat some more! I need some help finishing all this food Changbin ordered for us,” you laugh, picking up a piece of sushi between your chopsticks and lifting it towards him, “Here, open up!” you say in a teasing tone.

He rolls his eyes, “You know, I can feed myself,” but he felt his stomach bubble up with inexorable nerves, his words almost getting caught in his throat. You playfully pout at his words, “Oh, c’mon, just eat it! I know you want to.” You wiggle the sushi in front of his face in some poor attempt to entice him, but it was only causing him to become uncomfortably warm as he did his best to look anywhere that wasn’t your face. “Fine, fine,” he responds, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible as he opens his mouth as you plop the sushi into it, the beating of his heart thumping loudly in his ears.

“Good, right?” You smile.

He nods his head, his eyes crinkling at the overwhelming flavor as hums in agreement, “Wow, yeah, which one was that?”

“Mmm, I think that one is toro salmon? I’m not sure,” you giggle at his reaction, feeling pleased with yourself that you managed to whittle away at the awkwardness he wore around you. Hyunjin was constantly on edge around you, the nerves obvious in the frown lines of his forehead, and while you could understand why, you were hoping he would start to loosen up around you as time went on. Despite everything that has occurred over the past two years, you were starting to yearn for the friendship you and Hyunjin once had and wished to be able to return to that comforting time.

However, it was never that simple, as your desire for his friendship was often overshadowed with memories of his cruel words, how easily he spat them out to you without a moment of hesitation. A moment of innocent banter could just take you back to that time because somehow, his banter and cruelty shared a similar inflection, just enough to cause your eyes to prick with tears if you noticed it. The lasting impact his words had on you was a stark reminder for you to not so easily forgive him, to not forget what he was once capable of. But no matter how hard you tried to look past it and solely focus on your friendship with him, there was this inexplicable rift between you two, a hurdle neither you could just quite jump over, though perhaps it was this mutual understanding that allowed you both to understand each others’ quietness. It was strange, you two had become strangers that understood the language your souls’ whispered, but neither retained that fluency and were struggling to recall the words you once spoke.

The silence returns, enveloping you both as the wind hushedly howls, the sounds of birds chirping filling in the empty pages of dialogue as you each continue to eat. Every now and then someone would comment on the food, how good it tasted and thanking God for letting Changbin set up such a delicious day, finishing the last bits of sashimi that was left on the plate.

“Oh jeez, I’m so full,” you mutter, sleepiness slowly creeping its way into your body, “Ah, but we gotta take pictures, I don’t wanna deal with a whiny Changbin.”

Hyunjin snorts, knowing all too well the fit his manager would throw if his date plans were not followed through, especially when he made it clear to the both of you that he wanted proof that you two actually did take those pictures. All he wanted was for each of you to take photos of the other, a mini photoshoot by the lake, while also insisting it would be a great post for either of your instagrams. “Yeah, let's not do that to ourselves.” He lifts himself up from the floor, anxiously offering a hand to help you up, quickly retracting after you stood while ignoring the electric nerves bouncing at the palm of his hands.

“I’ll take your pictures first, okay?” You say, your phone already in hand as you gesture to him to stand in front of the lake, “Luckily, the sun is out, so maybe we will get some nice photos to post,” you add on. Meanwhile, Hyunjin, very stiffly, stood ahead of you, unsure what to do with his body and how to pose. Normally, he is good at this kind of stuff, he has done plenty of photoshoots in the past, but he was terrified at the thought of embarrassing himself in front of you. Before, he had never once had this concern, this worry, he didn’t know why these thoughts kept forming each time he thought of you. It clouded his mind, preventing him from seeing any logic or reason. “Alright, model boy, do your thing, I know you know how to work the camera,” you call out, snapping Hyunjin out of his trance.

If he wasn’t sweating before, he most definitely was now as he body overheated under the sudden pressure he put onto himself as he robotically posed, and you, as always, couldn’t help but notice the lack of elegance he usually carried himself with. “Oh, c’mon, what’s up with you today?”

“I… I don’t know, I’m just nervous… I think?”

“Well, I can see that,” you sigh, placing a hand on your hip, “But, you got no reason to be! It’s just me!”

“I think it being you is the issue,” he murmurs out, not really meaning for the words to slip out his mouth.

You press your lips into a straight line, “Right, I get that. Sooo, how about you pretend it’s not me taking the pictures, but Changbin?”

Hyunjin breathes out a sarcastic laugh, “Oh, yea, that will totally work, you make a very convincing Changbin.”

“Oh, right, let me just-” you roll up the sleeves of your shirt, exposing your biceps as you make a poor attempt to flex them, “How about now, is this working?”

Hyunjin found himself laughing loudly at your very sudden and unexpected antics, his stomach flipping onto itself as a flurry of affection rushed over him. You looked absolutely ridiculous, yet something about it was incredibly endearing despite the goofiness that radiated off of you. However, the sound of the camera shuttering from your phone quickly made him pause his laughter. “Hm, I think you look pretty cute in this,” you smile, turning the screen towards him to see you had captured a photo of him in the midst of his giddiness. He felt his cheek flush at your words, the shyness that had temporarily disappeared made its presence known. “I guess it’s not bad, just… a little different from what I usually post online.”

“Good different, right?” You ask, a smile still gracing features as the sun kisses your features, the wind gently brushing through your hair.

“Definitely a good different.”

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taglist (closed): @kopikokrunch @icouldntcareless22 @kidrauhlschik @hhwangsmoon @lestayzone @cupidcures @sleepyxxhead @pinkpunkdynamite @kaiyaba @palindrome969 @aokiss @annybah @tigerroarsinthelight @bubbly-moon @nattisbored @jin-from-the-block @hyuneyeon

#cinnamostar writes #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fanfic #skz imagines #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin #stray kids hyunjin #hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin fanfic #hwang hyunjin x reader #skz scenarios #skz hyunjin #stray kids scenarios

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biographydivider · 1 year

Text

Urgent Brother Business

A little gift for @somerandomdudelmao in return for their delightful Future AU, and for blessing us with Tiny Tello. I couldn’t get the image of him bossing gigantic, adult Leo around out of my head!

“So the Krang dogs were last spotted here,” April was saying, tapping at a map she’d laid out across the War Room table. “If we come around the perimeter this way, we should be able to use these ruins as cover to...”

She looked up from the carefully plotted attack plans at the ten recruits she’d assembled to go over strategy; none of which were even looking at the map. “Seriously, guys?” April huffed. “I don’t even have to turn around to see what y’all are gawking at...”

Behind her in the hallway, the Leader of the Resistance, The Greatest Ninja of All Time and the turtle who was meant to be leading this damn meeting was crawling across the floor, barely holding in a laugh as a tiny, furious green pancake led him about by the tails of his mask.

“Well,” April deadpanned, arms folded, “I’ve turned around, and I see. Master Leonardo, you wanna get involved, here?”

“Can’t, April,” Leo said, pointing down at the turtle tot, who was scowling through his custom, handmade glasses at the world around him. “I’m double-booked. Take it up with Donnie.”

Donnie - the recent victim of a severe bout of anti-aging that seemed to be going around the base of late - growled reedily and tugged on Leo’s mask tails.

“Oop, we’re off again. See you next time, Commander. Recruits.”

“The sooner Mikey works out how to change him back,” April sighed, turning back to her map, “the better. Okay, can we at least try to focus, please?”

Leo had been basically useless to the resistance since Donnie got babified; following him around and basically doing whatever his little brother (emphasis on little) wanted him to do. That or picking Donnie up and gently squeezing him around the middle, just to hear him squeak. It was so darn cute!

“Where are we going, bud?” Leo asked, as Donnie led him through the base, his face a mask of adorable determination. “You wanna go bath? S’at it? You wanna swim? Oh, we’re going to the kitchen? I can getcha a cookie, just don’t tell Raph...oh.”

They’d stopped just in front of the counter that held the battered, dinged but somehow miraculously still functional coffee machine. It was Donnie’s pride and joy - he’d rescued it from a decimated Starbucks a month or two back, painted a Genius Brand logo on it and had made it work on salvaged coffee beans, evaporated milk and a dream.

Tiny Donnie looked up at it expectantly.

“Uh, bud?” Leo said, getting to his feet and rubbing the back of his neck guiltily. “I don’t think I can get you a coffee right now. You’re just a little guy, and I don’t know what all that caffeine will do to your sensitive lil’ tum-tum.”

Donnie looked from the machine to Leo and, assuming he simply hadn’t made himself understood, jabbed a tiny finger in the direction of the machine.

“D. Coffee’s not a good idea right now.”

Donnie grumbled and pointed all the harder.

“Nuh-uh. No way.”

The turtle tot’s eyes widened in scandalised betrayal - then narrowed as he hissed out something that was obviously a very bad word in Baby-ese.

“Woah, woah, you watch your mouth, mister.” Leo bent down to scoop up his brother. “You need a time out, buddy. Away from all this --”

An entire arsenal of purple nimpo weaponry materialised around Donnie.

“...temptation,” Leo finished weakly. “Eeuough boy.”

“Okay,” April was saying back in the War Room, having finally - finally! - wrangled back the recruits’ attention. “So this next part’s important. Escape plan; this back alley is vital, everyone memorise the co-ordinates --”

BOOM BOOM BANG POW SCREECH POP BOOM BANG BANG BANG BANG

As one, the recruits snapped their attention to the doorway, just as Leo sprinted past, shrieking in terrified laughter as Donnie - somewhere in the haze of purple light and firepower that surrounded him - followed in hot pursuit.

“Donnie no, Donnie stop it I’m sorry, Donatello stand down I’m still your commanding officer--AAAAAGH!!!”

A soft, resonant boom, followed by a cloud of purple smoke. April deflated, finally admitting defeat and rolling up her map.

“Doesn’t matter. Just...don’t worry about it, guys.”

#cass apocalyptic series #rottmnt #rise leo #rise april #rise donnie #tiny tello

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koinotame · 1 month

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boob windows. that's it that's the fic

word count: 1.1K content warnings: this is meant to be yandere au and sagau/self aware au so uh. hint of that, but mostly just crack. nothing Super Nsfw but the whole thing is raunchy and suggestive humour

characters included: mostly ei, but childe, kaeya and briefly zhongli also make an appearance with some others mentioned

a/n: this is a repost (slightly edited)! this was on my to-edit-&-repost list for a while now and this seemed like a good day to do so lol. alas this was originally written before the sumeru release so while editing there wasn't really an opportunity for me to add in wriothesley apparently out-butting zhongli or lyney's tigh high garters and i only just realised kaveh could technically also count here so uh. forgive me. i'll write something for them some day

"is… is everything alright, your grace?"

you loudly suck up another boba pearl, not moving your gaze from where it’s been lodged the past several minutes. "mm, everything’s fine."

ei fidgets in front of you, the cup held tightly in her hands still almost full. she looks unsure, but decides that she knows better than to question you. "if you say so."

it’s clear this isn’t what she had in mind when she personally came to see you instead of sending the raiden shōgun to greet and attend to you. the one time she comes out of her plane, all you’re seemingly doing is ignoring all table manners and gawking at her chest.

yes, that’s right, you’re ogling her chest. or, more accurately, you’re ogling her tiddy window.

between her and kaeya, she’s showing off much more chest. but then kaeya knows what he’s doing, while ei just seems to have it there for convenience over aesthetic…

you squint at her while you get lost in thoughts, and ei’s fidgeting intensifies.

ah shit. you forgot about itto. he wins in terms of who shows off their chest the most, you guess. he’s even wearing that… you’re not sure what to call it but tit belt fits well enough. anyway, the tit belt accentuates his pecs very, very nicely, although they do hide his nips from sight. alas.

you suppose gorou and cyno also exist, but they don’t have the same appeal. oh, and navia and la signora, but both of them are just wearing a sleeveless, collarless dress, so you’re not sure that counts either.

but then by that argument, does itto count? he’s not even wearing a shirt. cyno isn’t wearing a shirt either. and what gorou has is more of a tummy window than anything… but he does have that little window?

between gorou and childe, gorou is definitely winning though. you’d apologise for slandering your poor ajax but between the little triangle he shows off and gorou’s entire tummy out… you’re not sorry. though… there’s something to be said about a small slither of skin inviting you to stick your hands into that gorou having his whole tummy out doesn’t have.

wait, wait. you just had a genius idea. actually, two.

first of all, zhongli with a tiddy window… you are considering. then again, you guess his biggest asset is his bubble butt.

second, and way bigger: an idol group with some of your characters… but they all have tiddy windows.

"…your grace?"

you’re brought out of your stupor by ei, who is gazing in concern at you. you blink at her.

she struggles to find words. "are… are you sure everything is alright? is something not to your liking?"

it’s then that you realise you’ve started drooling at some point. shit.

you hurriedly wipe at it and clear your throat. "yeah, I’m sure. sorry, were you saying anything?"

she looks taken aback. "no, please don’t apologise. I should be the one to… I shouldn’t have interrupted your thinking."

it’s then that childe happens to walk by, and, like the attention hog he is, tries to get a foot into the conversation. you stay mostly unresponsive while the two chat (which seems to be mostly childe trying to hold a conversation with you while ei admonishes him), your eyes drifting back to ei’s tiddy window.

you really could stare at that for the rest of your life.

childe then follows your line of sight and chokes.

…though more because of him trying to laugh while choking on the dango he was eating than embarrassment at having caught onto your very appropriate thoughts.

ei looks confused but makes no move to help him other than pushing his head away from the table so he doesn’t make a mess. you honestly can’t bring yourself to be embarrassed.

he finally manages to swallow properly (you almost want to pat him on the back and praise him for swallowing like a good boy) before turning to you.

"do you want me to strip? my chest looks much nicer, I assure you."

you and ei stare at him.

he raises his eyebrows, pointing at her. "her skin looks way too soft and pampered." she looks almost offended. "mine’s covered in scars and I have actual muscles, doesn’t that feel much better for fondling?"

"what if…" you lean closer to him mischievously, like you’re about to tell him some big secret. "I prefer soft chests?"

he deflates. ei flushes, ducking her head into her still-near-full cup of bubble tea. "well, if that’s what you prefer… I can’t get rid of the scars, but I can stop working out. hmm…" he looks like he’s starting to make serious plans.

"no, I honestly don’t really care. all tiddy is good tiddy." you clap your hands. "anyway! it’s more about the boob window. you already have a (sad) tummy window, so it wouldn’t work."

"why not? wouldn’t that be double the sexy?"

"no, it cancels out."

you’re going to ignore whatever gorou has going on, because that works pretty well.

ei looks unfathomably lost.

"and anyway, if we’re talking about tummy windows, gorou wins."

he deflates further.

then he perks up.

"what about…" he brings his fingers to his face. you think it’s an attempt at looking cool. "butt window?"

you deadpan. "have fun getting arrested for public indecency."

he winks at you. "I wouldn’t mind getting arrested if you’re the one punishing me."

you have to physically hold the electro archon back.

"why, I wasn’t expecting to run into any of you here. what are you three up to?" kaeya’s voice cuts through ei’s snarls all of a sudden. he seems amused, but there’s an edge in the way he eyes childe.

"I am definitely sexier than any archon or soldier," childe says at the exact same time that you say "we’re discussing tiddy windows."

kaeya lets out something between a snort and a chuckle. it’s a pretty sound, but you can’t let yourself be distracted by him. he knows what he’s doing.

"oh? in that department, don’t I win?"

you stare intently at his.

"do you want to touch?"

you move your stare to his face. "am I allowed to?"

he smiles, mirth in his eye. "you needn’t ask. all of me belongs to you, and that includes my chest."

you seriously consider it and childe takes the opportunity to shove himself between the two of you.

"wait, wait! I offered first! ignore him, I’m right here!" "your grace," ei cuts in, "if you’d like to, I don’t mind you touching any part of me."

"ugh, fine, fine! I’ll just sample all of you then. if you’re sure you’re okay with it."

zhongli, somehow, picks the absolute worst moment to walk in.

the look on his face is priceless (you can’t tell if he looks offended or jealous), but even that doesn’t compare to the feeling of soft tiddy in your hands.

you were right, tiddy windows really are the best.

#yandere #yandere x reader #x reader #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #self aware au #self aware genshin #not sfw #lime #realistically ei probably WOULD have muscles (if not more than him) but. 1. none of the nonhuman characters in this game look like #they have an appropriate amount of muscle #and 2. the shogun is a puppet that presumably doesn't have actual muscles in the same sense as humans do in the first place. so.#i THINK this was supposed to take place in your teapot (hence why everyone is there despite logistics) but imagine whatever you want

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meidui · 15 days

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pre-serum steve fic recs

this rec list is a fill for the "pre-serum steve" square on my @steverogersbingo - it got long so the fics are below the cut ♡

the categories: *drumroll please...*

what steve's packing

modern non-powered AUs

historical AUs

steve isn't cap but tony is iron man

tony time-traveling to the forties and sexing up steve

medkink

omegaverse

❤️ what steve's packing:

Good Things, Small Packages by @ashes0909

Steve had a small cock and Tony was absolutely mad for it.

Packing Heat by @kandisheek

Tony always notices Steve Rogers, even when he's all but disappearing into the wallpaper at a party. It's time he does something about that.

Such a Softer Sin by @gotthesilver

Tony gets to his feet and steps between Steve’s legs. Running a hand up Steve’s neck, along his sharp jawline, Tony leans down and kisses him deeply, pouring all his feelings into the kiss until he can feel Steve relaxing. “I am so gone on you,” Tony says when he breaks away. “Whatever people have said to you before, whatever idiots made you feel this way, they’re not me. And I’m a goddamn genius, Steve, so trust me when I say, you’re gorgeous.”

❤️ modern non-powered AUs:

Your Reputation Precedes You by @vanilla-shoes

Tony agrees to watch the desk for the salon next door to his garage as a favor -- but when he meets the salon owner's fiery best friend Steve, maybe the favor is for Tony after all...

and you look so divine by @elcorhamletlive

Tony blinks a few times, seeming startled. “That’s – I mean, don’t me wrong, that’s great to hear. But, uh – Steve? That.... Kind of sounds like you think I’m dating you despite your looks.”

Steve just stares.

Tony’s eyes are wider than ever when he opens his mouth to talk: “Holy shit."

In Hindsight by @elcorhamletlive

Tony Stark knows very well how he screwed things up with Steve Rogers. He remembers it. Perfectly.

...Doesn't he?

sweet like honey by @elcorhamletlive

Steve wakes up in his boyfriend's Malibu mansion. However, Tony is nowhere to be found.

A fair match by @elcorhamletlive

Of course, Steve thinks. Of all the people in the world to get in trouble with, Steve had to do it with Tony Stark’s friend.

Steve gets himself in trouble - nothing new. He ends up arm wrestling with the most famous guy on campus, Tony Stark. That's definitely new, and it doesn't go exactly as he expects it.

i'll take care of you by @elcorhamletlive

“Hi.”

Steve blinks. The sound of loud thunder roars outside, but he doesn’t jolt, too focused on the image in front of him to be startled by the noise.

He has no idea what to say, and he isn’t sure if the shock is because of Tony’s absolutely sodden state – his hair glued to his forehead, his clothes dripping with water, forming a small puddle in front of Steve’s door – or because he wasn’t expecting to see Tony for at least three more days.

“Hi?” he says, a little tentative, before his brain catches up to reality. In his defense, he was getting ready to sleep when Tony knocked. He looks at what Tony is holding – a wet mess that seems to have been a flower bouquet at some point. “What are you doing here?”

❤️ historical AUs:

A Pirate's Life For Me by @bladeofthenebula27

When Steve joined the Avenger as the Cabin Boy, he knew being a pirate would be tough. He just never expected his duties would include warming the Captain's bed.

might be something by @stardating

Mingling with the upper class was not something one just did. Good thing Steve had no intention of just ‘mingling’. Not if he had anything to say about it.

a smudge of charcoal by @stardating

It was alright. It wasn’t like he didn’t need the stability. It wasn’t like he didn’t pour his heart and soul and last pennies into those paintings. Then Steve ran into someone and it was like the day wanted to get worse.

❤️ steve isn't cap but tony is iron man (from the series Art is Long and Life is Short):

Throw a Little Hot Rod Red in There by @festiveferret @sirsapling

Tony Stark was pretty sure that the absolute worst time to get asked out by an incredibly talented, good-looking artist, who likes to paint - and defend - Iron Man, is when he's dying of palladium poisoning.

Patience by @festiveferret @sirsapling

Try as he might, Steve just couldn't seem to paint the arc reactor quite right. And it was driving him crazy.

Some Form of Electricity by @festiveferret @sirsapling

Steve doesn’t know what he’d do without Tony, and thank god he has him, because after getting the phone call that Bucky’s alive, everything is a blur. But Tony gets him there, all the way to Germany. It isn’t until he’s watching his friend lie motionless in a hospital bed that it really hits him.

Bucky is coming home, and he’s coming home broken.

❤️ tony time-traveling to the forties and sexing up steve:

some days, you're the only thing i know by starkaspbrak

“He was right.” Tony whispers as he stares at Steve with what he could describe as affectionate.

“Who was?”

“My fiancé.”

“About what?”

There's a sparkle in his eyes as he responds, a soft smile on his lips, “That you’d still love me no matter what.”

Transient by @royal-chandler

There’s a 1A classification sitting on Steve’s bureau in his bedroom and he’s been so sick in his life, sick of many things; he’d like to no longer be sick of not having sex.

Like Whiskey on Cold Mornings by greyduckgreygoose

Tony/skinny!Steve porn

❤️ medkink:

ART for - Fever, Breathe Your Love on Me commissioned by Right_in_the_feels

I commissioned the wonderful Buukkin to create art for blue_jack's wonderful medical kink story Fever, Breathe Your Love on Me

A Cure for Every Ailment by @kandisheek

Doctor Stark is testing his new experimental treatment for erectile dysfunction on a group of volunteers. It works very well on Steve Rogers. Just not for the reason Tony thinks.

Or: Tony doesn't realize that sounding is a kink, and Steve never knew he had it.

Throckmorton Sign by MusicalKestrel

Steve has been having some very worrisome symptoms, even for someone with as many medical problems as he has. When he visits the ED, he finally gets some answers and the help he didn't even know he was looking for.

Delusion by LenkaVittoriaElisse16

Steve is scheduled for his annual PE, and the physician in charge is his boyfriend: the handsome Dr. Anthony Stark.

❤️ omegaverse:

Once or Twice by @festiveferret

It'd been flattering, at first, when Tony Stark - Iron Man, of all people - had shown Steve some attention, but it had become obvious pretty quickly that Tony was teasing him like all the other alphas at SHIELD did. Tony always pestered him every time he came to the SHIELD offices, harassing him for not having work done for ops that hadn't even been fully debriefed yet. He hung around Steve's desk and wanted to go over every tiny detail on every report which just meant that Steve's next reports were even later.

It was hard enough working his way up to Senior Strategy Analysis as an omega, and it was hard enough being around the unbonded alphas in the office who liked towering over his tiny frame, sneaking sniffs and smacking his ass as he walked through the breakroom. But Tony's relentless campaign of driving him crazy had made things even harder. Steve had even considered being transferred off the Avengers Initiative team, but he'd worked so hard to get there and he wouldn't let some knot-head bug him into quitting.

Two-Point Perspective by @festiveferret

Dear omega,

Congratulations! You've been selected. Alpha #95847872 has been assigned as your pre-bondee. A group bonding ceremony will take place on the 14th, unless other arrangements have been made by your alpha or their family. A valid bonding license must be submitted to Omega Services within 45 days of this letter or all services will be cancelled and any transferable benefits will not be applied to your alpha's package.

If there is some reason why you cannot be bonded on this date, please apply for an extension by calling 1-800-555-6827 within 7 days of receiving this letter.

Sincerely, National Omega Services

Stealing Your Heart by @bladeofthenebula27

Steve's had his eye on the Alpha he wants for a long time and tonight's the night he finally gets to go out and take him for his own.

Slut Era by @bladeofthenebula27

Tony never meant to become the campus bicycle but since that was apparently what was expected of him he figured it was easier just to lean into it.

He just never expected Steve Rogers would ever want to take a ride.

Peep Show by @bladeofthenebula27

“Alright there, Sugar?” A voice came from behind him and he whipped around to see an omega with a little box of tokens. “You know you got to put one in to start right?”

Steve felt his face heat. “Yes ma’am. I was just uhh—“

“First timer?” He nodded and she gave him an encouraging smile. “Well, don’t worry, there’s glass behind the curtain, so the omegas can’t bite.” Then she winked. “That costs extra.”

Steve’s face got even hotter. He certainly wasn’t doing that.

Steve knew he wasn't any omega's first choice, or hell, even third. But what starts as a visit to a seedy Peep Show in Manhattan ends up changing his life for good.

Marked You Mine by @avengersnewb

Omega!Steve and Alpha!Tony go undercover as a bonded couple for a mission. As it turns out faking a bond has some unexpected (mostly pleasant) side effects.

Clothes Make the Man by @fiftyshadesofstony

When Tony's status as the alpha in Steve's life is challenged, Steve sets out to show him how much he likes the idea of being Tony's omega. (PWP featuring Brock Rumlow being an asshole and some sexy shirts!)

In Tribute by @ms-meredith-milton

Tony Stark is an Alpha and Crown Prince of Manottan.

Steven--son of Roger, son of Grant--is a sickly omega and a nobody, even in his home of Brooklyne castle. He just wants to serve his country.

Things kind of go from there.

Small by My_Soul_and_Perfume

It had only taken him until the age of five to begin believing his father’s words, and he has repeated this mantra to himself for years in this very same spot. Yet, he had never grown desensitized to them. Words weren’t like the colors of sweaters. They wouldn’t fade away.

#there is so little else i love more than the fact that 'tony time traveling to the forties to sex up pre-serum steve' is a category #god bless us everyone #stony #stevetony #fic rec #*#steve rogers bingo #no serum steve

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dreamandback · 1 month

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ALWAYS FOREVER (na jaemin)

OH, DARLING, IT'S ALARMING TO THINK OF US APART

synopsis: going to an amusement park for a first date was so like jaemin. fun and lively, and full of memories.

genre: fluff, newly established relationship, non idol!au, college!au

warnings: jaemin x male!reader, featuring/mentions the other dreamies, swearing, mentions alcohol and being drunk, vague mention of heights, food mention, a little sappy towards the end, kissing, overuse of the word fond lmao

word count: 2,025

author's note: sigh, i fell even more in love with jaemin while writing this. dividers by cafekitsune. comments and reblogs are heavily appreciated!

when jaemin asked you out, you had never felt more elated. you spent most of the night picking out your outfit and on the phone with jeno as haechan rummaged through your clothes. he claimed, “you need to look good but not like you’re not trying to look good.” whatever that meant. jeno just sighed over facetime and told you to wear something comfortable and to remember to bring a jacket. haechan, the self-proclaimed genius, suggested you don’t bring one so jaemin could offer you his.

in the end, you threw on a pair of jeans and an oversized hoodie. “it’s an amusement park, hyuck. it’s not like he’s taking him to some fancy fucking dinner.” jeno stressed from where he sat in his bed in his dorm, video game lights flashing on his face. haechan just shook his head, claiming jeno had zero fashion sense. he perked up when your phone went off, the brunette jumping in place and ushering you out of your dorm when he read jaemin’s text aloud. “he’s downstairs in the lobby, you idiot, go!” haechan shrieked, pushing you towards the door after throwing you your phone that you miraculously caught.

“i’m going, bye jeno, hyuck! love you guys!” you called out as you closed the door behind you, hearing your best friends bickering as soon as you left. you almost wished the elevator ride down was longer because you weren’t prepared for how good jaemin looked. his hair was still green, dyed on a dare from a drunk chenle and jisung, but he pulled it off. he wore a leather jacket over a hoodie with a pair of jeans. it looked like he had the same idea in mind. he beamed brightly when he noticed you walking towards him, eyes crinkled in that overly endearing way. “hey!” he grinned, taking in your outfit.

“looks like we decided to match.” he teased, his hand immediately finding your own and linking your fingers. his thumb found a soft rhythm against the back of your hand, calming your nerves ever so slightly. it was like a dream, being with him like this. yes, you’ve held hands before. yes, he’s rubbed circles into your skin. but that was all before you knew he reciprocated your feelings. you could only grin bashfully back at him, entranced by his smile that sparkled like the stars at night.

the walk to the amusement park wasn’t far, the time flew as jaemin cracked jokes with his odd humor that made you laugh until your stomach hurt. by the time you reached the ticket booth, your face hurt from smiling so hard. when you went to reach for your wallet, jaemin gave you a look. “nuh uh, i asked you out, so i’ll be paying. thank you very much.” he scrunched his nose up at you before a smile broke out on his face again. you held your hands up in defense, letting him do as he pleased.

he kissed your head before getting the tickets, leaving you with your fluttering heart. you watched him fondly as he chatted animatedly with the vendor, grabbing the slips of paper before beckoning you over. you couldn’t help the skip in your step as you walked next to him, passing through the amusement park gates. an involuntary gasp left you at all the pretty lights, every ride and booth giving off neon hues. jaemin watched you fondly as you took in the sights, the smells, and the people.

“jaem, i’ve never-” you tried, but he beat you to it. “been here at night time, right?” he finished, a cheeky smile pulling at his pretty lips. you stared at him in awe for a moment, hardly believing he remembered that. you had told him that you’d never gone at night when you, him, and mark were drunk off your asses after exams had ended last year. his soft eyes only stared back at you fondly, layers of affection running deep within the warm pools hidden behind long lashes.

he let out a soft chuckle, pulling you along with him and past the entrance to the park. he scanned the various attractions, one catching his eye and lighting a fire within him. he turned to you abruptly, face serious. you wondered what was wrong at first. “i’m gonna win you the cutest fucking stuffed animal ever.” he said firmly, tugging you behind him as he beelined over to the colorful booth. you let him, staring after him dumbly before breaking into a large grin.

he grinned at your happy chuckling, feeling accomplished. because it was getting late, the booth didn’t have a line. it still had some cute prizes, too. jaemin zeroed in on the bunny nestled in the corner of the prizes, it was a warm brown with a red bow around its neck. he immediately decided that one was going to be yours. the vendor greeted the both of you with a smile, one far too tight-lipped to be genuine, as he set up the cups. if there was anything jaemin was weirdly good at, it was carnival games.

he slapped some money in the man’s open hand and picked up one of the balls on the counter. the man’s grimace of a smile turned more smug, sure of himself that jaemin wouldn’t knock down each small pyramid of cups. you smiled back at the man, deviously so, and it made him gulp. you watched with satisfaction when jaemin knocked each stack down effortlessly, the man’s mouth opening and closing like a fish. jaemin grinned, asking for the bunny he wanted, presenting it to you proudly once it was within his grasp.

you giggled at his sunny demeanor, finding him so painfully endearing as he pulled you along again. you spent around an hour visiting different booths and games, stopping to grab popcorn or cotton candy. you hummed happily as the wispy candy dissolved on your tongue, scrunching your nose at jaemin when he pressed a sticky kiss to your cheek. he laughed joyfully at you as you wiped the residue off your skin, grinning impishly when you playfully punched his arm.

when your eyes met, it felt like the whole world slowed to a stop, yet sped up all at the same time. the lights from the merry-go-round you stood in front of bounced off jaemin’s hair and skin, lighting him up. the sweet song from the ride vanished as you zoned in on the sugar still clinging to the corner of jaemin’s mouth. you found yourself leaning in, slowly, eyes flickering to the warmth of his. when his eyes lidded, honey brown dazedly looking into yours, you found the confidence to close the gap.

pressing your lips against his skin was all too sweet, electric surges shooting down your arms and into your fingertips. gently, you licked the sugar from his lip before pulling away. when he chased after you, hazy eyes darting between yours, you felt like you could do anything. you gave him a lazy smile, taking in his awe as he continued to gaze at you. this time, you pulled him along, sending him a smile that could rival the sun itself.

the walk to the ferris wheel was quick, with jaemin’s surroundings blurred as his focus remained solely on you. he stumbled over his feet, suddenly having two left ones as he tripped over himself just trying to keep up with his emotions. he tingled where your lips met his skin, he was still trying to catch up to what happened only moments ago as his mind replayed the feeling of your tongue against his lip.

he was brought back to the present when his back hit the seat of the cabin you chose, suddenly aware you were now off the ground. your hand was still holding his, warm against his cold one. everything about you was so very warm. you made him feel warm, his heart would race just at the thought of you. he didn’t realize he was staring at you, watching your every movement and committing the curve of your face to memory. he felt himself flush when you turned to him, smiling that obscenely soft smile you seemed to reserve for him.

“what is it, jaem?” you cooed, bringing his hand enclosed by yours to your lips. those pretty lips that felt like flower petals against his skin. he felt himself stutter. the lights from below that poured through the windows of the cabin made you glow, and jaemin felt his breath catch in his throat. you were stunning. “i really like you… like a lot, " he mumbled, holding your hand tighter. his doe eyes were swimming with genuine emotion, and if you looked hard enough, you were sure you’d see hearts floating within them. you grinned fondly at him, squeezing his hand back. “i really like you too, nana.”

he breathed out slowly in relief, no longer holding it in as he smiled cutely at you. you brought your free hand up to his face, delicately cupping his cheek. your thumb caressed his heated skin slowly as you just looked at him. really looked at him, for all he was. he was the boy who had always been there for you, the one who always helped you study even if he had an exam coming up. he was the boy who helped you mend your broken heart after a breakup in freshmen year, unaware that you fixed the fracture in your chest by falling in love with him.

he was the boy who knew your food and drink orders, the one who’d help soothe your social anxiety when it became too much. he was the boy who sent you songs that reminded him of you. he was the boy of your dreams, and you could hardly believe that he thought the same of you. he was the boy you fell in love with. you both leaned in a little closer, close enough where you could count his eyelashes if you wanted to. his gaze flitted between your eyes and mouth, silently begging you to let him kiss you. you huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes fondly. without warning, you closed the small gap just as your cabin stopped at the top of the ferris wheel.

jaemin felt like his chest was exploding, his heart fighting desperately to escape his ribcage and seek refuge next to yours. you weren’t faring much better, a soft noise spilling from you when jaemin held the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deeper, into the kiss. he gently prodded at your bottom lip with his tongue, asking for permission. you denied him, instead pulling away and enjoying when he chased after you again. the fireworks in your chest never fizzled out, bursting within you as you pressed your forehead against his, catching your breath. his eyes fell shut, fighting the urge to kiss you senseless.

“i know this is kinda sudden, but will you be my boyfriend?” jaemin panted softly against your lips, pretty eyes searching yours. you beamed at him, radiant and luminous as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “there’s nothing i’d want more than that.” you whispered ecstatically, brushing his hair away from his eyes. he laughed in disbelief, that charming smile back on his face as he stared at you, knowing that this moment was to be over as soon as your cabin met the ground. that didn’t matter though, because he knew that he’d have many more moments with you like this. “i love you.” he finally said, the night sky his witness to his confession.

“i love you, too.” you said back, still admiring his eyes as they sparkled just for you. “i always will, jaem.” you sealed your promise with another kiss, a chaste one, but it meant just as much. jaemin grinned at you once more, and you were sure it was the prettiest one you’d ever seen. “always and forever.” he promised back. and with that, you knew your heart would be safe with him, for as long as he wanted to hold it.

dreamandback 2024. do not rewrite, repost, modify, or translate.

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thedvilsinthedetails · 3 months

Text

rosekiller band au microfic pt4

heyyy guys pt4 is hereeeee

ok so this one is a bit shorter bc I’m a bit tired today but I rlly wanted to write it anyway so I did lol but it’s not been edited like at all so there may be typos pls point them out if u spot them so I can fix them tyyyy

yayyyyy I love this one

Ok ppl who wanted to be tagged/wanted the next part: @good-oldfashioned-lover-girl @picklerab23 @nikholascrow @always-reading @weirdtinkerbellversion @lady-stardust-incarnate @depressedtheatrekiddo @y0url0verb0y @idk-what-to-put-here-123 @lulublack90 (as always pls lmk if u want to be added to the taglist/don’t want to be tagged x)

link to part one

link to prev part

(EDIT: link to next part)

***

Barty’s stomach flipped as Evan looked at him, stunned and stunning. Then the moment was broken and Evan turned his head to look at Dorcas who seemed to be fighting back a laugh. This was stupid fuck this was stupid.

“Did you know about this?”

Evan asked Dorcas who shook her head.

“First time I’ve heard about it.”

Stupid, STUPID. You’re so stupid Barty why would you go and say that. You should have said no when Marls suggested it, should have said no straight away.

“It’s um- to make a statement. Kiss on the stage to piss of Riddle but it’s fine you don’t have to-“

“It’s a good idea.”

Evan said quickly.

“Oh, yeah it was Marls’. Wouldn’t want to um…steal the credit.”

Wouldn’t want you to think that the idea of kissing you plays on repeat in my mind every second I’m awake.

“Yeah. I um- I want to. I think it would be good-“

Brilliant actually it would be fucking brilliant Rosier.

Barty amended Evan’s statement.

“To make a big statement.”

“Yeah.”

Yeah. Yeah what other reason would there be Barty? What were you hoping for? Pathetic isn’t it. The way you would gladly lick the crumbs left on his plate if he asked you to. He doesn’t want to kiss you, he wants to piss of homophobes. Don’t forget that.

It was in fact too late for Barty to not forget that because all that was ringing in his ears was ‘I want to. I want to.’ Because honestly Barty was going to kiss Evan. Maybe for the only time ever in his life. But he was going to. He’d never even thought it a possibility before.

•••

I figured out that this modern world is turning the wrong way round

There’s something about the way our bedsheets turn religion upside down

So we just have sex to solve all our problems

Let’s do it again

It had been Pandora’s idea for the kiss to happen during ‘cotton candy’ and everyone had immediately agreed. It was a stroke of genius really. Barty had originally thought it should take place in a love song, but that wasn’t what this kiss was about. This kiss was about the freedom, the liberation everyone deserved to be who they were, to test their limits and experiment and not be judged for being queer or straight or promiscuous or prudish. Cotton candy was just that. A call for sexual liberation, a call to stop demonising young people for living their lives.

And I wanna get stuck between your teeth like cotton candy

So you remember me darlin’

Barty turned his head to look at Evan. Their microphones were too far apart on separate sides of the stage, everyone hated it. He felt uncomfortable so far from Evan, they just performed better when they were up close together. The crowd had actually been pretty annoyed when they saw it at first. Still when he looked he saw Evan staring back at him. He cocked his head sideways, a silent, last minute ‘are you ready?’ Evan nodded.

Im losing myself in you

In you

I know

Evan stopped playing the guitar and let it just hang around his neck as he took the microphone out of the stand. Barty watched him before taking his own mic out the stand too.

I’m losing myself in you

In you

I know

They turned to face each other and Barty began to walk.

Leave me in the morning, although

I don’t wanna be on my own

They met somewhere in the middle of the stage and suddenly the scream of the crowd dulled and the music stopped and for a moment there was nothing except Evan. Evan Evan Evan. His eyes staring straight into Barty’s. The hushed sound of their soft harmonies. The warmth of his breath dusting Barty’s face as they pressed their foreheads together.

I’m losing myself in you

In you

I know.

And they kissed. The crowd screamed. And suddenly the world was filled with colour even though Barty had his eyes screwed shut. Kissing Evan was like…fuck Barty was no wordsmith, Regulus and Pandora wrote their songs. But kissing Evan was everything. He tasted sweet and minty like the gum he’d chewed right before the show. His hand was warm and calloused and currently threaded through the hair at the base of Barty’s neck, tilting his head up just so.

The instrumental was over, they’d missed their cue. Barty didn’t care. They kept on kissing till the song faded to a close and even then kept going till the clap of the crowd died down. They softly broke away but Barty couldn’t hide the grin that broke onto his face. Evan just grinned right back.

***

AHHH YAY OK I LOVE THIS SONG CAN I JUST START BY SAYING THAT

Watch the music video for this song (cotton candy by YUNGBLUD)

LOOK AT THE SKIRT HE WEARS AND TELL ME BARTY WOULDNT WEAR THAT

Also what do we thinkkkkk they finally kissed!!!!!!

Ayyyyyy

ok stay tuned for the FIFTH and FINAL part (probs gonna be released tmrw hehe)

Also I’m probably gonna put this on ao3 btw, not gonna change it bc I don’t have the patience to properly lengthen it (at least rn, ig u never rlly know) but it’s just like if ppl want to bookmark it or reread or whatever it’ll probs be easier

ANYWAY LMK WHAT U THOUGHT

😘BYEEEEE

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sunny-speaks · 10 months

Text

Smartass

Characters: Academic Rival! Ren @14dayswithyou x reader

Okay, but I have been an academic rivals to lovers stan for far too long, y’all don’t understand…

So like, this au would totally have redacted still the same as Canon! Redacted, he’d just be like… more open to the MC? And it’d be in an academic setting??? Like he developed some self-esteem solutions and got more confident in being himself, still having subtle mannerisms of character traits you enjoyed… but more him

Like… he went to therapy so he could be better for you before you even knew him, cause you said some bullshit like they were no good looking guys in the world who didn’t have therapy, cause there’s nothing hotter than a mentally stable guy. (i mean, you’re all here because you love a stable guy, right… ;] )

But yeah, now you just know him as that snarky ass, dark-haired with pink tips ‘genius’ in your university ‘psychology in modern media’ class.

Warnings and whatnot: lolol NSFW implications so minors DNI, a decent amount of swearing on my part, I'd say?

Another flawless assignment completed for you. Whoo! It was a nice day to be smart!

To be fair, you had pored over that goddamn presentation for hours before going to sleep, so if you hadn’t done well, you probably would’ve bust a pipe over some unlucky guy’s head.

You grinned seeing the big 95 on your paper. You spent so long detailing the moral complications between the character relationships as you gutted the root problems for each of the character flaws and how that showed in their bonds with others.

Unfortunately, you had the (dis)pleasure of being seated to [REDACTED], the class self-proclaimed genius.

God, you hated him.

You were pretty sure you hated him more because he was so stupidly hot. You could clearly see his chiseled stone abs when he wore those clingy, black compression shirts! And paired with gray fucking sweatpants?

He knew what he was doing… And it was to mess up your game!

I mean, seriously, what was the lecturer doing, seating you next to this second coming of Michelangelo?! It’s almost like she had something personal against you!

(the lecturer was in fact, very for the both of you getting together. You both were smart, maybe you’d find a way to increase [REDACTED]’s grades…)

You never noticed him all that much in the beginning of the year. He brooded in his own corner, never noticed by anyone in those dumb black baggy hoodies.

But the minute he sat next to you, all of a sudden he realized he was hot stuff???

Okay, sure there, bro. He needed to chill out.

All of a sudden, he went from a lonely loser, to some hot genius within like the span of a day.

You didn’t get it.

But to be fair, you didn’t remember telling your good friend Moth how you started having things for hot but smart guys and guys who could actually stand a battle of wits… But that was for [REDACTED] to remember, and you to forget.

He leaned over your shoulder, a lazy smirk gracing his features. “95, not bad, angel.”

Agh! That stupid nickname! It was supposed to be something intimate, something reserved for lovers and such, but he insisted on using it to berate your grades!

He slid his paper over with a big 96 on it. “But not good enough.”

Of course. He had to have known that he was doing an in depth character analysis on the teachers favorite character and played to all the teachers preferences in the character and was spouting self-servient bullshit!

…But his presentation was well done, you had to admit. Normal people wouldn’t notice because you pay an unhealthy amount to any flaws in his looks, but he must’ve studied hard, he had huge eyebags during his presentation…

How would you know it’s because he thought your frustrated face was so cute when you kept thinking of ideas for your presentation that he completely forgot he had to impress the teacher to impress you?

Honestly, [REDACTED] cared more that he was on your mind in any way, even if that was because he acted like a ‘suck-up’ because he was too busy watching you.

“Hope you haven’t forgotten the many times I’ve beaten you academically, [REDACTED]. Or are you losing your memory because you’ve been sitting with a godsend this whole time? Sorry, didn’t mean for my heavenly powers to warp with your memory.” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms.

“Then, you’re sure living up to your title, angel.” He snorted and went back to looking towards the front before muttering something under his breath. “...But your presentation was good, dork.”

In shock at the compliment, you stood there with your mouth open.

He glanced back over at you, “What? Is it so hard to believe that you did well on our midterm presentation?” he huffed to himself in disbelief before a grin made its way to his face. “Sitting there with your mouth open? It’s like you want someone to kiss that dumb look off your face.”

He thought the comment would shake you out of your stupor, make you come back with a feisty comment.

But no, you sat there, thinking about all the implications of that statement. …What if he kissed you? But he has so many piercings… He has a tongue piercing, snakebites, honestly, your mouth would feel like a jewelry store with the amount of silver in it…

But he looked like a fuckboy, would he be good at kissing?

Wait, hold up, no, no, no. Dude, you gotta remember…

He was a loser up until now.

If that’s the way he’d been his whole life, he’s probably never even kis—

And if that realization wasn’t enough for you to drop your jaw, nothing ever would.

[REDACTED] could only stare at you in mild surprise as your mouth opened… even more. He slowly blinked at you, a mock-scandalized look on his face, “What, you really want someone to kiss you that bad? You volunteering to be kissed, angel?”

You immediately let go all thoughts of kissing that gorgeous jerk in favor of heat rising to your face, “Nope. I’m good.”

He pushed and prodded a little more, “What, you never kissed anyone before?” He actually wasn’t quite sure. The early years when he didn’t know how to hack anything and couldn’t follow you were blank spaces in your life to him.

You muttered a curse under your breath and turned away from him without denying his question.

Although you couldn’t see it, his whole face lit up with hope. Oh, he was going to be your first kiss! He couldn’t wait! He internallly coughed at his eagerness.

He had to court you first before the two of you could become anything.

He looked back at your lecturer who had been picking on students who had to read out full paragraphs of their analysis on a TV Show that followed the messy plot of a coming of age, romance drama.

And also, clearly, leaving the two of you alone. He hushedly whispered to you, “Wait, are you serious, angel?”

You grumbled into the palm of your hand before slowly turning to him, “unfortunately… yes. I haven’t kissed anyone yet. But turns out this university is full of jerks and dumbasses…”

You paused. Well, maybe not all jerks and dumbasses. “Guess there’s a couple guys in the music department that are cool.”

Murder flashed through [REDACTED]’s mind thinking of you asking them out before putting on a strained smile, “So where do I fit in, hm?”

“I dunno…” You hadn’t put too much thought towards [REDACTED]. Sure, he was hot. But he was kind of a prick.

But he did respect your gender identity…

And he never went too far, making sure he didn’t cross any lines or boundaries…

And he gave you that academic rival that you’d been search―

…Oh my god.

He was your academic rival.

You loved rivals to lovers… Was this a sign? You got a hot rival, who respects you, your boundaries, your intellect and he was hot?!

Okay, maybe you had dreamed about him on a couple of weird occasions, but dreams don’t mean anything!

Is what you would say if you were in denial.

Oh dear, did you like him?!

You gave him a quick once over, looking at all the piercings on his ears and face as your eyes trailed to his shirt which clung tightly to his skin, all defined abs and muscles on display.

Hold up! Were those body cutouts on his top around his hips that you saw?! Fuck, those were hot…

Your eyes trailed a little bit lower to his pants… and shit, he was packing… There was no way in hell he was allowed to be that big, in height and in… length.

Ugh, your thoughts made you shudder a little. No way you were thirsting over a guy you were just fighting.

…But it wouldn’t be the first time, that’s for sure…

Okay, so maybe you had not-so-subtly eyed your seatmate like he was a piece of meat.

But he enjoyed the attention! He loved you drinking him up like he was just a pretty thing. But he was your pretty thing… Some random girls keep trying to ask him out, but he doesn’t want them. He wants you. But most importantly, he wants you to want him too.

“What, cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” He teased, using something other than angel as a nickname.

“Wh-Whatever, [REDACTED]. Shut up.” You rolled your eyes and took your attention off of him before whispering something under your breath.

“Angel, you gotta speak up.”

You grimaced, “I guess you go into the alright department. Luckily for you, you’re the only one there. You seem to be the only one I know who’s cool enough to handle me around here.”

He blinked, looking at you in subtle reverence, “A whole department for me, angel? Thank you.” He laced it with an edge of sarcasm but internally, he couldn’t have been more happy.

He was the only one there that you tolerated! The only one you liked.

You. Chose. Him.

#yandere x reader #✨ full fic #14 days with you #14dwy ren #ren x reader #ren 14 days with you

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yoon-kooks · 2 years

Text

better than sex | myg | 1

🍑Pairing: Yoongi x Producer!Reader

🍑Genre: fluff, smut, studio!au

🍑Summary: As Min Yoongi’s studio neighbor and self-proclaimed nemesis, you’ve always seen him as someone who knew how to maintain a clean, well-put-together image without any careless slip-ups. But after nearly walking in on him with a hand around his cock, you gain a new perspective that leads to steamy fantasies in your bedroom and much-needed inspiration in the studio for Bangtan’s next album. A week before track submissions are due, you give Yoongi a taste of the dirty demo, and now the selfish bastard wants to claim it for his own solo album. In exchange, he offers to help you produce another Bangtan track by the end of the week. Your only condition is for this track to be better than the sexual fantasies that inspired its predecessor.

🍑Word Count: 4.7k

🍊Parts: 1 ◆ 2

🍑Warnings: yoongi touches boobs, masturbation (m/f), a lot more smut to come in future chapters

🍑A/N: this fic started as a shower thought🚿

As a songwriter and producer, you’re expected to create something out of nothing. You’re expected to turn a blank canvas into the next big hit—something unique, something that would never exist without you. But the thing is, nothing is truly ever spawned out of thin air. Like superheroes who save the world, every song has its own origin story.

This, of course, includes the final track you’ve been working on for Bangtan’s next album. As with many of your best tracks, inspiration hit you while you were showering at one in the morning. Sometimes the inspiration is a reflection of how good or bad your day went. Sometimes it’s sparked by the fruity dessert you just devoured, or the heated breakup you witnessed on your walk home. But not this one.

This one was lust. More specifically, it was the lust you felt after entering Genius Lab with pure intentions and leaving with the vivid mental image of Min Yoongi jerking off in his studio. You hadn’t caught him outright with his hand around his cock, but you certainly walked in before he had time to hide the evidence. You’d always thought him to be a man who never slips up, never shows any sign of weakness.

But boy did he slip up.

One week ago

“Hey Piano Guy, can I borrow you for a sec?” You knock on the studio door next to yours. “I have a melody in my head right now, and I think it’d sound kinda sick on the piano.”

After 30 seconds, there’s still no response. You could always work it out on the piano by yourself, but it’s a lot easier with an extra set of hands. And besides, you don’t hate the idea of spending time with the handsome boy.

“Yoongi, please. Before I forget how it goes. My memory is fading, please.” Just as you raise your fist to pound on his door some more, it swings open. Yoongi leans against the doorframe with a hand in his pocket. The first thing he does is pinch down on the hem of your sleeve, coaxing you to lower your fist out of his face. You don’t think too much about how his forehead and cheeks are looking extra dewy today. He smells like his usual cedarwood cologne, so you don’t suppose he just finished working out, either.

“Isn’t it too early for you to be picking fights with me?” His voice is low and calm, almost like he’d just woken up. On most days, you probably would fight him—he’s the enemy, after all. Not like an actual enemy, though. Just someone who goes along with your banter and gives you something to look forward to at work. Unfortunately, there’s no time for his teasing when there’s a billion-dollar melody on the line.

“I’m not picking a fight with you.” As you correct him, you do a mental calculation of the space between Yoongi’s body and the opposite side of the doorframe. A tight fit, but it might be just enough room to weasel your way in. “I’m enlisting your help for a potential song idea.”

He must’ve caught a glimpse of that mischievous sparkle in your eye because he’s quick to put his arm up across the entrance. “Don’t even think about it.”

You frown, but it doesn’t last long. With a playful grin and fluttery eyelashes, you say, “C’mon, this could be the hook that wins Bangtan a Grammy.”

You notice his fingers slowly slipping against the doorframe. The ends of his lips curve upward ever so slightly. This barricade is coming down whether he likes it or not.

Yoongi looks behind him, combs his fingers through his hair, and lets out a sigh. “You need me? Like right now?”

It’s hard to tell if he’s genuinely trying to shoo you away or if he just wants you to admit that you enjoy being around him. Usually, it’s the latter. But he does seem a bit off today.

“I mean, I could ask Namjoon—”

“Five minutes,” Yoongi cuts you off, dragging you with him into his lair and mumbling to himself about “the things he does for you” and how “you act like you can’t figure it out yourself on the guitar.” You take a seat at the piano bench and pull the boy down right beside you. He supposedly only has a handful of minutes to spare in his busy schedule, and yet here he is, taking his sweet time warming up with some scales.

Either he doesn’t trust Namjoon’s piano skills, or someone’s a little jealous.

For as many times as you’ve watched Yoongi at the piano, it never gets old. His long fingers stroke each key so gracefully, yet with purpose. It takes way more than a few years of dedication and a genuine love of the instrument to be at his level. It’s mesmerizing.

“So what’s this Grammy award-winning banger you speak of?” he asks, creating his own piano version of Yet To Come. Oh right, the banger. How did it go again?

You search every inch of your brain, but instead of recalling the melody you felt so confident in, all you find are Yoongi’s piano covers of Bangtan songs. Well this is awkward.

“It… kind of disappeared from my memory,” you say in a hushed voice, still staring down at the keys. In your defense, Yoongi was a huge distraction with those dexterous piano fingers.

He stops mid-measure and shakes his head at you. “Tsk, tsk, Y/N.” Rather than annoyed, he’s amused. “So were you just using that as an excuse to infiltrate Genius Lab or what?”

You roll your eyes. Yoongi always acts like his studio is some sort of sacred chamber only accessible to those he deems worthy. Maybe you should set up your own high-tech security system for your studio so that you don’t get 20 weekly visits from him like an alley cat coming back for more table scraps.

“Bold assumption, but I only came here with the purest of intentions.” With a hmph, you slide your ass off the bench. Instead of heading for the door, you wander over to the side of his studio with all of the fancy producer equipment. You make yourself comfortable and spin around in his big cushy chair. It’s still radiating leftover heat from Yoongi’s own ass cheeks. “Were you in the middle of something just before I got here?”

The boy strides over, waiting for you to have your back to his desk. He steadies the chair with a strong hand so that you’re facing him and can’t spin around anymore. “That’s confidential information.”

“This chair is still warm, so you were obviously sitting here working on something. You might as well fess up.” You hug your knees to your chest and peer up at him with wonder. “Is it your solo album?”

He doesn’t answer you right away. It’s a yes-or-no question. There shouldn’t be anything to think about. Eventually, though, he shakes his head.

You try not to frown so he doesn’t see your disappointment. Ever since D-2, you’ve been patiently waiting for a solo album from him. Because you’d love to snag a spot on it as one of the producers he collaborates with. But Yoongi doesn’t need to know that right now.

“Can you at least give me a hint, then?” You hop out of the chair, scurry around the boy, and examine his desk. Not much is on it aside from his computer, a few MIDI controllers, and a black bottle of cologne. You wiggle the mouse around to wake the computer up, but the screen remains dark. “Seriously? You turned your computer off so I wouldn’t be able to snoop? Is that why it took you a decade to answer the door?”

“We all know how nosy you are. Like a curious kitten.” His voice comes from right behind you. With the clicks of several buttons, the computer screen flashes on, and he types his password in faster than you can decode it. He takes control of the mouse, but you don’t move out of the way. You can feel just how close his body is to yours, and the cedarwood is starting to drown your mind in mildly dangerous thoughts.

As Yoongi looks through his files for a track that’s “safe enough to show you,” your eyes lock onto the fancy black bottle of that intoxicating cologne. It looks expensive, sleek, and something you’d want to get your paws on.

You scan the bottle for a brand, a name for the scent—anything that will help you get ahold of what’s on Yoongi’s body. But all you find on the front side of the bottle is a simple product description: Personal Moisturizer.

That’s definitely not cologne.

You quickly turn back to the computer screen. An unfinished hip-hop track you’ve never heard before is playing in the background. You don’t even know when Yoongi pressed play. All you know is that you can’t exactly focus on music right now.

You’ve been in Yoongi’s studio plenty of times, and you’ve never seen this bottle sitting so casually on his desk like that. Probably because it’s normally stored away where curious kittens would never check. If it’s still lying around out in the open, then…

Oh god. You’re so fucking oblivious.

No wonder he was trying to shoo you away. No wonder he looked like he’d just gone through an intense workout. No wonder his chair was still warm but his computer wasn’t on. He wasn’t in the middle of work when you knocked on the door. Min Yoongi was in the middle of jerking off, and you just entered his studio without a single clue.

Oh no. You can’t unsee it. It’s too vivid—the image of him panting, slumped in the same chair you were spinning around in like an idiot, hand around his hard wet cock. The long fingers that danced across the piano keys so elegantly were the same violent set of fingers that stroked him into a fervorous state where every ounce of his stoic demeanor had come undone. If his computer wasn’t on with porn plastered across the screen, you wonder who or what he was getting off to.

A tiny, tiny part of you hopes it was you on his mind.

The funny thing is, you’ve never once even thought about him like that. Sure, the two of you have some flirty banter going on, but to you, he’s always been the kind of guy who’s more focused on his music than his sex life. And to be honest, it never actually occurred to you that Yoongi did in fact have a sex life. With that small bit of information, you feel like you’ve gained a whole new perspective. This is why they say curiosity killed the cat. It completely shattered the perfect, well-put-together image you had had of him all this time.

You’ll never see Min Yoongi the same way ever again.

When you return home that night, you aren’t thinking about the company meeting you have tomorrow morning, or what you should pack for lunch, or the award-winning melody that vanished into the abyss along with the rest of your rational thoughts.

You plop your body onto your bed and let yourself think of Yoongi. It’s probably a big mistake, but you can’t help it.

He’s incredibly handsome, you’ve always thought so. And you admire the work he puts into each and every one of his tracks. Likewise, you know he respects you the same. After all, he lets you into his sacred studio more than anyone else. He couldn’t say no to you, even with a whole ass bottle of lube still out in the open.

The image of him with his fingers gripping tightly around his swollen cock haunts your mind once more. His head is thrown back, sweat running down his neck, and he’s out of breath. You want to know how he sounds when he’s overwhelmed with pleasure, when he’s lost all control. His voice is already so raspy, so low, and so goddamn hot. You want him to call you kitten again, but maybe without the “curious” part attached to it. Anything to hear his bedroom voice. A single moan from him might be enough to set you off.

You unbutton your shorts and slip your fingers beneath the lace of your underwear. To your surprise, you’re already soaked in these erotic fantasies you never thought you’d be having about your studio neighbor. You’ve known the guy for two years, and it’s only now that you’re lusting after him? How did you have that much self-control for so long?

A gasp escapes your throat as you rub around your center. You squirm to your own touch as you apply more pressure and speed. Harder, faster. You love it, but it’s familiar and predictable, and it’s been a while since you’ve been pleasured by someone else’s hands. Your body aches for those long veiny fingers to play with you like a piano.

As the pleasure builds, you wonder how far Yoongi had gotten before you rudely interrupted him. It’d feel pretty shitty to be so close yet denied of it all because you decided to knock on his door right at that moment. If you had known what was truly going on behind that door, would you have still chosen music over lust? Or would you have thrown that Grammy away to learn what Min Yoongi tastes like when he’s overtaken by his deepest desires?

In the end, it doesn’t really matter because you came out of his studio with neither.

After a rather underwhelming orgasm, you roll off your bed and drag your feet into the bathroom for a hot shower.

You know you should stop while you’re still ahead. Fantasies need to remain fantasies and nothing more. Sex between you and Yoongi isn’t going to happen. It’s not worth sacrificing the music you need to be making with him instead of love. You hate that you were considering it for even a second.

But your irrational desires need an outlet.

As hot water trickles down your body, the steam clouds your thoughts. And in the haze, you long for something new and different. Now that you know what you know, you wish Yoongi would show you that other side of himself, the side he keeps hidden behind those studio doors.

You want it so bad.

And that’s when it hits you.

It’s been a week since you visited Yoongi in his studio on that fateful morning. You’ve been hard at work, piecing together the final track for Bangtan’s album. The demo is nearly complete, and you’re actually super satisfied with how it’s turning out. The vibe is sensual, full of temptation, and far dirtier than any other track with your name on it.

It only makes sense that the file name for this track is “sex.wav,” which will of course be changed before anyone else sees it. You’ve always had a bad habit of naming your track files based on the first thing that comes to mind, and it really shows where your head has been at this week.

Even Jimin, who helped you record the demo, asked if there was some sort of recent breakthrough in your sex life. When you told him no, he winked and said, “Yoongi is single, you know.” Sometimes you regret confiding in Jimin about your desire to make it onto Yoongi’s solo album because now he’s under the impression that you have some sort of crush on the rapper.

For the record, you don’t have feelings for Yoongi. It’d just be nice to fuck him once, get it out of your system, and the two of you will probably be back to the usual harmless banter that keeps you going every day.

You have to admit, though, your sexual urges came through when you needed them most. After losing the precious (and very wholesome) brain cells containing that award-winning melody, you were in desperate need of a new idea to go off of for that final track. Thanks to the hot and bothered part of your brain, you became super inspired and productive.

For once in your music career, you’re actually a whole week ahead of schedule instead of just barely meeting deadlines at midnight. With the sex.wav demo near completion, you’ll have this week to relax and take time for yourself.

Thank you, Min Yoongi.

“Y/N, can I come in?” Speaking of the devil, Yoongi pops his head in the doorway. It’s his third visit to your studio this week, and it’s only Monday.

“Come, come,” you say, gesturing for him to hurry on in. You’re confident he’ll vibe with the track, and you’re excited to hear what he has to say about it.

“Jimin told me you guys finished recording the demo,” he says over your shoulder. He places a hand on top of your chair and leans his weight against it like he owns the place.

“We did.” You sit up tall in your chair with a healthy glow and hand the boy some headphones. “I might still go back and tweak a few things, but it’s pretty much done.”

You stare up at him shamelessly as he focuses all of his attention on your demo. Yoongi is the type of guy who doesn’t react or say much on his first listen. He’ll always listen with an open mind and give you his honest opinion once he’s had time to take it all in. That’s why he’s always one of the first people you show your work to.

When the demo ends, he doesn’t hit replay. Instead, he hangs the headphones around his neck and stares at your computer screen, deep in thought. You start to think he hated it so much that he can’t even give it a second listen and he’s trying to find the right words to tell you.

“Why did you name the file sex.wav?” Ah shit, he wasn’t supposed to see that. No one was.

“It’s sexy, isn’t it?” you say softly, starting to shrink in your chair. He still hasn’t said whether he likes it or not.

“Yeah,” he agrees. He drums his fingertips against your desk. You wonder if those fingers have touched any cock lately. “It’s different from your usual stuff.”

You just blink at him, unsure of how to react. Good different or bad different?

“Good different,” he clarifies, as if he’s read your mind. He’s still not giving you much to go off of, though. And you’re starting to get impatient.

Yoongi looks at you, opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it. You’ve never seen the boy so speechless.

“What?” you ask. If he doesn’t spit it out right now, you’re going to lose it.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Please.” It’s hard to read his straight face, but something’s definitely on his mind. You need to know what’s bothering him.

“Who inspired it?” he asks. Not what. Who. This must be his not-so-subtle way of asking who you’ve been sleeping with. It’s none of his business, really. And he knows it. That’s why he was so hesitant to ask in the first place.

“Are you sure you want to hear about all the guys I’ve had sex with?” You casually raise an eyebrow at him and watch closely for a reaction. Maybe it’ll make him jealous.

“It’s about all the sex you’ve ever had?” He looks like he’s not fully convinced. No, it’s actually about the sex you haven’t had. The good kind. The wild kind. The kind that ends with you all tangled in the sheets with Min Yoongi. But you can’t tell him that.

“I’m just fucking with you. I wish I could say I’ve had good enough sex to inspire this track.” You take a jab at yourself, but you really hope you aren’t coming across as lonely or needy for a man.

Yoongi’s face relaxes a little more, still drumming those fingers against your desk. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

He doesn’t elaborate on that, nor do you ask him to.

“Can I have it?” he asks out of nowhere. Have what? Sex with you? “On my solo album?”

Oh.

“You want this track on your album?” Is the boy really tempting you with something you’ve waited so long for? Of course you want to scream yes, but… “You’d really steal from Bangtan to claim it as your own?”

“Well, when you put it that way, I sound like a selfish asshole,” he pouts. Since when did Min Yoongi ever pout? You’ve never seen this side of him either. It’s fascinating.

You bite your lip. “Yoongi, I’d be down, but the deadline is approaching and I’m going to be one track short if I give you this one.”

“When’s the deadline?”

“Next Monday.”

The boy pulls out his phone and flicks his thumb across the screen. If you had to guess, he’s checking his schedule.

“I’ll help you produce another one for Bangtan,” he says so casually and confidently.

“Are you sure you’ll have time for that?” You don’t know Yoongi’s full schedule off the top of your head, but you do recall Jimin mentioning this week would be hectic for the group.

“I’ll make time.” All he does is shrug. “I should be free after 10 on most nights. Sunday, I can be in the studio by 6AM—”

“Yoongi.” You stop him before he can say anything else outrageous. Not that you’re being any more rational. You’re about to kiss your much-deserved week of freedom goodbye all for this boy with a pouty lip. “I’ll see what I can do, and you can pitch in. But please don’t overwork yourself for this.” You point at the screen, at the track he wants so badly.

He nods. “Thanks, Y/N.”

You want to ask Yoongi what he’ll give you in return for doing him this favor, but you aren’t really interested in anything from him aside from his company. And maybe sex.

Instead, you ask, “May I ask why you want this track so badly?”

“Because I like it.” He pulls the headphones off his neck and hangs them around yours. There’s no way he fell in love with the track after listening to it only once. That’s unheard of for him. There must be another reason. “Oh, and I also heard you wanted a spot on my solo album.”

You’re going to kill Park Jimin.

“Right,” you say, spinning your chair around so that Yoongi can’t see the nasty texts you’re sending to his friend.

Y/N💅 [8:23PM] “fuck you park jimin”

Y/N💅 [8:23PM] “i thought we agreed not to tell my nemesis that id like to be on his solo album”

Jimin🍡 [8:24PM] “Yoongi’s your nemesis?”

Jimin🍡 [8:24PM] “I thought you had a raging boner for him🍆”

Y/N💅 [8:24PM] “i hate you btw”

“You have a raging boner for me?” You hear a mix of shock, amusement, and arrogance over your shoulder. But mostly arrogance. You lock your phone screen even though it’s already too late. You’ve been caught. Evidently, you aren’t the only nosy one here.

You swing your head around, practically nose to nose with your nemesis. He can probably feel the heat radiating from your cheeks. But you don’t back off. Instead, you glare. “Neither you nor Jimin know what you’re talking about.”

“I guess only you know then, Y/N.” Yoongi doesn’t back away either. He eyes your lips the way you eye a strawberry popsicle on the hottest day of the year. You make a conscious effort to not let your eyes do the same. You don’t need to be reminded of how perfectly plush his lips must feel against everything they touch.

But if he wants to play this game with you, you’ll play along. And you won’t lose.

You lean in closer and graze your cheek against his. In a hushed voice, you say, “Do you want to know who really inspired that track?”

He nods against your skin. Your lips tickle his ear.

“I was visiting a friend last week, and I left his place with a new perspective. I thought, maybe this guy wasn’t just the grumpy asshole workaholic I knew him to be. Maybe he’d been hiding this dirty, sexed-up side of himself the whole time.” You pause for dramatic effect. “Do you want to know why I thought this?”

He nods again.

“You forgot to hide your personal moisturizer before I walked into your studio.” You finally lean back to see the look on his face. His pupils are huge, his lips are parted, but he doesn’t necessarily look embarrassed for someone who was practically caught with his hands in his pants.

In fact, the more time he spends thinking about it, the more he realizes what your story says about you. “So what you’re saying is that you do in fact have a raging boner for me and I was your inspiration for that sex track? I’m honored.”

You hate that he’s such a good listener who knows how to dissect every word you say.

“Would y’all quit saying I have a raging boner?” You roll your eyes, but it does feel oddly satisfying when Yoongi and Jimin treat you like one of the guys.

“What should I call it then?” Yoongi chuckles. He doesn’t do it often, but you like it when he laughs. “Horny eyes? Unfulfilled sexual desires? A wet p—”

You get up and give him a light shove against the desk. He’s still got a smirk on his face as you pin him there. “Call it a severe distaste for your bullshit,” you say sweetly with a handful of his shirt in your fist.

A strong hand cups your chin. He leans in close enough for you to smell the minty lip balm you always see him applying. You want to taste it. “Admit it,” he says, “You like my bullshit.”

You feel each of his words against your lips. By the time he reached “bullshit,” you’d already pressed your lips into his. He doesn’t fight it. You taste the mint, then his tongue.

His hands start to wander along your curves. He finds the bare skin between your crop top and high-waisted shorts and works his way up your ribs. You hope he can’t feel the goosebumps when his thumbs sneak into your bra and flirt with the sides of your breasts. You just want him to keep exploring and familiarizing himself with your body.

In the next moment, he has you pinned in with your ass on top of the desk. In front of you is not the grumpy idol boy you’ve maintained a clean, professional relationship with for the past two years. The Yoongi standing here between your thighs is an irresistible temptation. He’s your fantasy turned reality. And maybe he wants you as much as you want him.

But before you can loop your limbs around him and lasso him in for more, he steps back and points his thumb at the door. “I have to get back to my studio.”

No, he doesn’t. He’s just playing hard to get. And you hate him for it.

“To work or to jerk off?” you call out as he walks further and further away from you.

“Work, of course,” he sings. You don’t believe him. He’s a liar and a tease. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, Y/N. To work on the new track.”

You almost forgot about that replacement track. After all, Yoongi’s hands and lips were pretty big distractions that you once again fell victim to. But regardless of the hold he thinks he has on you now, you still want to establish strict criteria for the song you’ll be working on with him. Only one thing comes to your flustered mind.

“Wait, Yoongi.” You wait for him to turn back around in the doorway. There’s still a hint of a smile lingering on his face. He probably thinks you’re calling him back for some more studio mischief. Too bad he’s wrong. “I have one condition for that new track.”

“Go on.”

“It has to be better than the sex track I’m giving you for your solo album.” You kick your legs back and forth—the same legs that could’ve been squeezing Yoongi’s waist in a heated makeout session right about now. “Way better.”

You won’t accept anything less from the man.

“So it has to be better than your cute little erotic fantasies of me?” Yoongi puts a hand up. Then he’s gone. “Shouldn’t be an issue.”

#bts smut #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfic #yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #suga smut #suga fanfic #suga x reader #bts fluff #yoongi #suga #bts

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cinnamostar · 5 months

Text

six dates to fall in love

part one. part two (here). part three. part four. part five. part six coming soon.

pairing : hyunjin x gn!reader

wc : 2.3k

cw : actor!au, enemies to lovers ?!, slowburn (?!), cursing, one gorey joke thing, arguing, angsty, they're each other's biggest haters, let me know if i missed anything !!

a/n : this parts shorter unfortunately but i hope u like it! likes, reblogs, and feedback appreciated. pls read part one first if you havent! well. now theres a whole new hurdle for these two to conquer heh... this part is a lot shorter, so sorry for that but i felt like it was best to keep it at this length :o

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“He said what?” Chan asked, shock coloring his voice as you updated him on the night’s events, and how absolutely insufferable Hyunjin was.

“I’m telling you, that guy’s a dickhead,” you mumbled angrily on the phone, shuffling through your apartment as you discarded your outfit and headed into the shower.

Chan took in a deep breath from the other side of the line, “Well, I knew that already, but that was just a new low.” You hummed in agreement, rolling your eyes, “Yeah, whatever. I just have a bad feeling this isn’t going to work out in our favor.”

“You never know, maybe tomorrow will go a lot better, Y/N!”

You smiled at Chan’s attempts to lighten the mood, “I seriously doubt it, but I will try to put my faith in you and this plan of yours,” you sighed, “Well, I’m going to shower and go to bed, thanks for listening.”

“Always, Y/N. Tomorrow will be better, okay?”

“Right, good night, Chan.”

“Good night!”

God, you could only hope that Chan was right.

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You were definitely having a severe case of deja vu as you sat at your local coffee shop, a pistachio latte in hand as you waited for Hyunjin to arrive for your second date of the week. You both had agreed over text this morning that you’d meet at 12:30pm, but it was nearly 1pm and there was no sign of Hyunjin. Great, you thought to yourself, as it seems like his inconsideration was not limited to just your feelings, but also your time.

He most definitely was doing this on purpose, there was no way this wasn’t just one of his other tactics to get under your skin before even arriving. Was this how every date was going to be like this entire week? You wasting fifteen to thirty minutes of your life waiting for some conceited asshole to make it, even though he was the one to pick and agree on a time. This was ridiculous, and you couldn’t help but feel peeved as you watched the cafe’s clock tick by, mentally noting how much time had passed at every minute. Maybe it was best to go home, maybe this whole dating thing wasn’t going to work out and it was best to just cut your losses.

Right, going home sounded nice and at least you wouldn’t be losing time on some bumbling idiot. You let out a sharp exhale as you stood up, grabbing your bag and drink to make your way out, but as you turned around, you were met with Hyunjin, who was standing a few feet away from your table with his own drink in hand.

With an eyebrow cocked up, he mockingly cooed, “Aw, you were going to ditch me on our date?”

You rolled your eyes in frustration, an exasperated sigh escaping you as you sluimped back in your seat, motioning Hyunjin to take his seat with a hint of sass in your gestures, “Oh, right, I was the one ditching you, not the other way around.”

“I did not ditch you, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You’re thirty minutes late, Hwang,” you deadpanned.

“Better late than never, no?” he smirked, taking delight in how easy it was to rile you up with such little effort on his end.

You pursed your lips as you glared at the man who sat across from you, a small ‘hmph’ leaving you, “Whatever.”

Much like the day before, the familiar tense atmosphere took its place once more as you both sat quietly in your own seats, occasionally taking a sip of coffee every now and then. Having Hyunjin in your company was torturous, it was almost as if he held you captive in the most miserable week of your life and he made no attempt to make it the least bit enjoyable.

You, once more, decided to remain quiet, allowing Hyunjin to be the one to make any conversation since he seemed to be the one struggling the most with this arrangement. It was best to let him go at his own speed, right? Although that did not stop the displeased look from leaving your features, your eyebrows remained furrowed since the moment you were made aware of his presence.

Hyunjin let out a gentle huff, placing his drink down as he analyzed yor features, “Do you always have this much attitude?”

Rolling your eyes, you responded sternly, “When it comes to you, yes.”

“Right, because I’m the problem,” murmured Hyunjin sarcastically.

“Glad you know.”

Hyunjin bit the inside of his cheek, lost in thought as he tried to figure out the right string of words to say, ones that wouldn’t kindle the already burning heat of hatred you had for him. The silence was unbearably uncomfortable, restricting him of any chance to catch his breath as anxiety and trepidation took over him. He despised this, he hated having to always be on guard around you and it was getting overwhelming, despite it only being the second day of this so-called plan. Hyunjin wasn’t dumb though, while he may be upset with these current circumstances, he would be an idiot to not take advantage of it. His plan was simple, all he had to do was get under your skin as much as he can throughout this week in hopes you’d decide to drop out of the project altogether, which would mean he would no longer have to worry about getting kicked off the shoot if they only had to replace you, he thought.

Unfortunately, you were as hard-headed as a bull, bulldozing over any hope Hyunjin had as your stubbornness made itself apparent through your countless attempts to speak to him last night. Though, something had to be working, he thought, as you reached a standstill of quietness in the middle of this bustling coffee shop.

The coffee shop was brimming with life, fellow patrons laughing with their company and baristas shouting out names to orders as the espresso machines and blenders whirred in the background. It was a relaxing, welcoming, and cozy environment which sharply juxtaposed the energy emanating off you and Hyunjin. If anything, you and Hyunjin would be more fitting standing outside in the cold, icy, and piercing winter winds as you exchanged hardened gazes, neither wavering from their stance. Anyone who stepped within a three foot radius of you both would feel instant chills due to the intensity of the situation, yet, everyone was too absorbed in their own world to pay attention to the mental battle you and Hyunjin were engaged in.

“What did I ever do to you?”

The sudden question surprised Hyunjin, effectively drawing him out of his stupor as his gaze softened at the vulnerability in your tone and the slight quiver to your voice, though your features remained in the permanent scowl that seemed to falter ever-so slightly. This was new, this was something Hyunjin had never seen from you before and it made his heart ache to hear the confusion and uncertainty reverberate from your words. This show of weakness from you should be something he celebrates though, this means his attempts to push you away from this project had to be working, yet why did he feel so guilty? Why did he feel his stomach drop slightly when he heard you tremble over your words? Moreso, why were you asking him that?

Hyunjin’s face contorted with perplexity, “You’re seriously asking that?”

Your frown changed into one of curiosity, not entirely understanding what Hyunjin meant by his question, “... What?”

Hyunjin could only return your confused gaze, your cluelessness only seemed to light a fire under him as fury began to settle in his eyes, “You’re joking, right?”

Taken aback, your mouth struggled to form any words as your brain tried to rack through your memories, searching for a moment in time that you could’ve upset or hurt Hyunjin back then, but there was nothing. You were drawing a blank and could only wonder what you could’ve possibly done to cause this kind of rage in Hyunjin. You spoke cautiously, afraid the wrong words could escalate the situation as you desperately did not want to call attention to you two, “I’m sorry… I don’t… know what you’re talking about.”

Hyunjin could only wear a baffled look in his face, scanning your eyes to only find you were being truthful, no sign of deceit and you were not feigning ignorance, you were genuinely lost at his sudden outburst. He couldn’t believe it, had his version of reality been entirely false this whole time? Up to this point, he had scrutinized you as a villain, one of the worst in the industry, yet the thread that held this belief was quickly unraveling as he took in the innocence your eyes conveyed, a silent plea for him to not doubt your honesty.

“Weren’t you the one…” Hyunjin questioned, uncertainty in his voice, “Didn’t you sabotage me from getting that role on Director Han’s project?”

“Huh?”

That was all you could muster out, your jaw dropping at the sudden accusation, “What the fuck are you talking about, Hwang?”

“I saw you talking to him on the set of your first film project together! Just a few days after my audition,” he spoke firmly, doing his best to remain steadfast in his perception of events.

“Yes, I did speak to him. In fact, Hyunjin,” you spat his name out, anger burning in your eyes as you tried to keep your voice down, “I was telling him how much of a joy you were to work with and was recommending him to cast you.”

“You’re lying.”

You stood up suddenly from your seat, hands flat against the table, refusing to listen to Hyunjin’s fictitious words and accusations as you felt yourself ready to explode, struggling to keep the heated discontentment you felt contained. Has this really been the reason why Hyunjin had been so cruel to you all these years? Over some dumb hunch that had no weight to it, no proof other than it being a convenient explanation? Was it simply easier for him to frame you rather than accept someone with more talent landed the role? It took everything within you not to slap Hyunjin across the face as you seethed in your rage, trying to make sense of everything that had occurred since that time.

Of course, missing out on the role was absolutely heartbreaking for Hyunjin, as that film ended up being a blockbuster success and would’ve launched his acting career in a way so many could only dream of. Though, it absolutely wasn’t your fault that the director decided to cast a more experienced and already established actor, one whose name alone would’ve bought the film instant success.

“Right, I am so lying. Because there’s absolutely no way in hell they decided to cast someone who was just a better actor, right? It’s all my fault because of course, the great Hwang Hyunjin could never be a failure.”

Your eyes narrowed at him, studying his reaction as he remained frozen in his seat, a conflicted expression on his face as he tried to process your words. However, Hyunjin was a deeply insecure individual, one who needed constant praise to feel any bit of confidence in his ability to perform and he was quick to become defensive when it came to facing failure. Perhaps that is why he was so sure to blame you without second thought, someone who was such a stark polar opposite from him, someone who had all the confidence of the world in themselves, someone he absolutely envied and grew to hate over some theory he piped up to cope with his own shortcomings.

You scoffed at his lack of response, muttering, “Unbelievable.”

Yet, you cannot expect someone to just back down from their version of events that they upheld as truth for so long. He had spent two years believing this, and how could he ever be so sure that you weren’t just lying to him in his face? What if you were just trying to maintain your image through lies? Though, something about the expression you wore told him that was not possible, but his own selfishness refused to let him fully accept that.

“I don’t believe you,” was all Hyunjin could say, stubbornly holding onto the reality he had unknowingly fabricated as he did his best to ignore the hurt in your eyes.

“Why would I lie to you about that? Why would I have ever done that to you?” you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes as your frustration was finally getting the best of you.

Finally uncovering the truth behind Hyunjin’s hatred towards you was not as satisfying or relieving as you had always imagined it to be. The growing indignation you felt was overwhelming, you were losing control of your own body and emotions, control slipping between your fingers like grains of sand as another wave of emotions began to make itself known. It pained you to know Hyunjin had thought so poorly of you for so long, your heart aching at the thought of him thinking you’d do something so terrible to him.

The molten lava of anger that flowed through your veins finally met the cool, tumultuous sadness your heart took on, turning into stone as the emotions fought with one another for dominance, but the heavy weight of cobble filled in the cracks of your resolve and urged you to maintain your composure.

You shook your head at Hyunjin, who still remained still in his seat, and without a word, you turned to leave the coffee shop, abandoning this stupid date idea your manager had conjured up from whatever demented reasonings he had. Maybe you should have left earlier, maybe it was best to cut your losses and accept defeat. All you had now was an unquenchable amount of anger that no amount of water would ever be able to fully put out, and this only intensified your dislike for Hyunjin.

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taglist: @kopikokrunch @icouldntcareless22 @kidrauhlschik @hhwangsmoon

**taglist will be closed at twenty users

#cinnamostar writes #skz #skz angst #skz fanfic #skz x reader #stray kids #fanfic #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin #skz hyunjin #skz imagines #stray kids x reader #skz x you #stray kids x you

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thoughtsat3amconstantly · 9 months

Text

Young Gojo kidnapping baby Yuji

Once again another idea popped into my head. So what if I said an AU where 16 year old platonic yandere Gojo saw cute lil 3 year old yuji and thought to himself, “he’s so cute! I’m gonna take him with me! I can raise him!”

Cue Satoru luring Yuji to him.

Gojo: Hey kid! Do you want to come with me for some kakigori?

Yuji: *gasps* Yes!

Gojo: Great! I know a place that makes the most delicious kakigori ever! By the way, what’s your name?

Yuji: I’m Itadori Yuji! I’m *sticks up 3 fingers* this many years old!

Gojo: That’s awesome Yuji! I’m Gojo Satoru, 15 years old!

Yuji: Wow! That’s more than I can count on my fingers!

Gojo: Yeah! I’m a lot older than you. Which means I also know a lot more too!

Yuji: That’s so cool!

Gojo: Come on! Let’s get that kakigori and we could talk some more!

Yuji: Yay! 😄

*Cut to them siting at a booth*

Gojo: So, how is it?

Yuji: It’s yummy! Thank you for the kakigori!

Gojo: Your welcome Yuji. Say, do you want to come over to my place? We can play games, build forts, you name it!

Yuji: Really?! Yeah!

Gojo: Great! After we finish our kakigori, we can head straight to my home.

Yuji: Yay!

*At Gojos house*

Yuji: The house is big! You stuff a million dogs here!

Gojo: *laughs* I wouldn’t say a million, but yeah my house is pretty big. So, what do you want to do?

Yuji: Pillow fort!!

Gojo: Alright then, I know just what to do. I’ll gather all the pillows and we can make the most awesome fort ever!

Yuji: Giant pillow fort! Yay!

After Gojo gathered up all the pillows, they began to work on their pillow fort. Gojo even got some indoor garland lights to hang in their fort and flashlights to play with.

Yuji and Gojo made a really cool fort, and they’re both proud of it.

*Inside the fort*

Yuji: THIS IS THE BEST FORT EVER!

Gojo: It sure is! When you have me building you fort, it’ll always be amazing. No one else can compete against me! I’m basically the best!

Yuji: You really are cool!

Gojo: You know, you can live with me. I can make that happen. I can raise you.

Yuji: Really?! Ok! 😃

*Cutting to Gojo at school telling Geto about what he did over the weekend*

Gojo: Yeah, that’s what I did over the weekend. We had fun. 😄

Geto: 😨

Gojo: What?

Geto: You…You, SATORU! Wha- you can’t just… DO THAT! Have you lost your mind?! 😰

Gojo: No. Besides, he only has his gramps. He’s old, meanwhile I’m younger. I can take care of him better.

Geto: SATORU, RETURN HIM! His grandfather must be worried sick! And you’re 16, what do even know about taking care of children?! You’re the most immature person I know!

Gojo: Well ouch Suguru, that hurts. But if you must know, I plan to wing it and read up about it as I go. Solid plan right?

Geto: *too shocked for words* Wha- that’s

Gojo: Genius, I know.

Geto: *Inhales* Satoru, give him back to his grandfather. You are the most unfit person to be a parent to a 3 year old you basically kidnapped.

Gojo: But he’s so adorable, how could I not keep him? Besides there’s not much you can do to stop me. Even if you managed to give him back, I’ll just take him again.

Geto: Well then, guess I’ll just have to keep pestering you until you bring him back to his grandfather.

Gojo: *chuckles* Good luck with that, Suguru.

Then the events of the hidden inventory arc happened, and Geto left Gojo.

Gojo: Wait! Suguru is no longer around to tell me to return Yuji! I can keep him! Yay! 😄

Gojo: Yuji! Let’s go out for ice cream!

Yuji: Yay!

A/N: This took me a while to make this, but I like what I wrote. I figured that 3 year old Yuji is definitely easy to kidnap. I really went out of my way to find that gif. My asks are open is anyone wants to ask me something!

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #geto suguru #itadori yuji #platonic yandere gojo #yandere gojo #jjk yuji

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gerrystamour · 9 months

Text

that's the kind of love i've been dreaming of [chapter one]

Written for: Lex's Summer Spicy Six Fanworks Challenge Prompt: Skinny Dipping

Explicit★Steddissy★In Progress

They were absolutely insane; Eddie was certain of it as he parked the van and cut the engine. Steve was sitting on the passenger seat, tapping his cell phone against his inner thigh, while Chrissy was practically vibrating on the bench between them, her grin huge. This is part of my second fill for @thefreakandthehair Summer Spicy Six Fanworks Challenge! CW: Steddissy, Dom/sub dynamics, Good Boy Eddie, Soft Dom Steve, Soft Dom Chrissy, Transmasculine Steve, light CBT, Skinny Dipping, Public Sex, Modern AU, Drug Use (Edibles)

[ READ ON AO3 ]

“We should leave any of our, like, identifiable shit in here,” Eddie suggested as Steve opened the passenger door.

Chrissy, in her barely contained excitement, was already scrambling over Steve’s lap to get out. She had said something about racing them when they parked the van, and Eddie guessed that meant now. They had partaken in some high-quality edibles, and Chrissy was always a bit hyper when the special gummies came out.

Steve caught her wrist and she immediately giggled and swooped in to kiss him. Anyone else watching would think it was sweet, basically chaste, but Eddie knew better. Sure the kiss was slow, almost shy, but the way Chrissy arched her back, pressing her chest into Steve’s said otherwise. Add onto the fact that Chrissy wasn’t wearing a bra…

“Hey! C’mon now, this was y’all’s idea! We’re not driving all the way out here just to fuck in the van,” Eddie said, snapping his fingers at both of them.

Steve and Chrissy pulled away from each other reluctantly, and Eddie couldn’t tear his eyes away from their shiny, wet lips.

“What were you saying, Eds? About leaving stuff here?” Steve asked, tilting his head as Chrissy leaned in to kiss his neck.

“Like phones, wallets, y’know. Just in case we get caught and we drop shit,” Eddie replied, lifting his ass to get his wallet out of his back pocket. He also took off his rings before leaning over to open the glove box.

“You’re a genius, Eds,” Steve sighed, catching Eddie’s chin as he moved to sit back up and guided him into a hungry kiss that immediately overwrote any thoughts of protesting.

It wasn’t until Chrissy slid off of Steve’s lap and out of the van that they pulled away for air.

“Luckily for me, I’m in my pajamas, which means I still get my head start!” Chrissy said brightly, her grin huge before she took off. She was fast, even high and wearing flip-flops, her legs long and powerful—well, long for her height, at least.

Snapping out of their thoughts as they watched Chrissy run off in her tiny shorts and tank top, Steve pulled his own wallet out of his jeans pocket and tossed it along with his own cell phone into the glove box.

“I’m not a genius, Steve, I’m a criminal,” Eddie said quickly, squawking a bit when Steve grabbed his face and pulled him into another kiss.

“Uh-huh,” Steve said as he pulled back and smooched Eddie’s nose before sliding out of the van. “C’mon, she’s gonna get cold if she stands out there too long and makes us go home.”

Sure enough, as they reached their destination—several blocks away from where they parked, of course—Chrissy was already rubbing her arms and pouting a bit at them.

“What took you so long?” she groused, sighing when Eddie wrapped her up in his arms and held her tight while Steve led them around to the back gate. It was a little difficult to walk holding her, but they always seemed to manage somehow—it really did help that Chrissy was so much shorter than him.

“You know how to pick locks, Harrington?” Eddie asked as Steve eyed the lock and reached into his pocket.

“I mean, yeah, but I might not have to,” Steve replied with a broad smirk as he pulled his keychain out and singled out a big key. Eddie had always wondered what that one was for. Apparently, it was for Hawkins Public Pool?

Steve slid the key in and tried it, and the lock turned. Letting out a triumphant little hiss of a cheer, Steve opened the gate and motioned them through.

“How do you have a key to the pool?” Chrissy asked with a little giggle, delighted as they hurried around the building to the pool deck.

“I thought we were doing this because, and I quote, it’s only fun if we’re not allowed to be there?” Eddie added with a raised eyebrow, doing exaggerated air quotes in the way he knew would get a laugh out of both of his partners.

“I used to be a lifeguard here, and I just… never gave my key back,” Steve said with a shrug, slipping his keys back into his pocket before pulling his shirt over his head. Once he was shirtless, hair a wild mess around his head, he turned one of his classic, heart-breaker smirks on Eddie and said, “And just because I have a key doesn’t mean we’re doing anything less illegal, yeah?”

Eddie blinked at Steve before looking at Chrissy in bewilderment. “Hopper was right, I am a terrible influence,” he said in a daze and Chrissy just laughed, covering her mouth and snorting as she tried to keep her laughter quiet.

“C’mon, let’s get swimming,” Steve said, rolling his eyes as he kicked off his sandals and undid his fly.

In a flurry of motion, Eddie and Chrissy started to strip, though Eddie stopped while he was still in his boxers. When he looked at Chrissy, she was still wearing her tank top and panties. Glancing at Steve, Eddie had to do a double-take because—yeah, yep, Steve Harrington was buck-ass naked in the moonlight at Hawkins Public Pool.

When Steve looked at them as he stepped up to the edge of the pool, he scoffed. “I thought we were skinny dipping, cowards,” he teased lightheartedly before jumping in.

Eddie and Chrissy looked at each other a bit nervously, but then Chrissy just shrugged and pulled her tank top off. Struck by the sight of her naked tits, Eddie stood there in stunned silence as she finished slipping out of her underwear and jumped in after Steve. Shaking himself out of his stupor and willing his body to calm down, Eddie shoved his boxers down and jumped in.

The temperature of the water was definitely enough to take care of whatever downstairs situation was starting, that was for sure.

“Oh, fuck, it’s cold,” Eddie gasped as his head broke the surface, pouting when Chrissy and Steve just laughed at him. Crossing his arms and shivering, Eddie whined, “I’m freezing my dick off and you’re laughing at me?”

“Get moving and you’ll warm up, Munson,” Steve said flatly, completely unsympathetic as he started doing fucking laps like the goddamn jock that he was. If Eddie wasn’t so into him doing jock things, he would be so annoyed at that moment. However, as it was, the cold water wasn’t going to keep Eddie Junior in check for very long.

“C’mon, Eddie, let’s swim a bit,” Chrissy cooed in his ear, jolting Eddie out of his increasingly horny thoughts, but when he turned his gaze toward her, he just started thinking about her instead.

She was so beautiful, grinning up at him with her hair wet and slicked back, the swells of her tits just barely breaking the surface of the water. They only had the light from the moon and one of the lights in the parking lot to see by, but it was more than enough. Especially with his memories of her body in broad daylight, laid out on the sheets of her bed, flushed and gorgeous. What he couldn’t see right now, he still remembered. When he didn’t respond, Chrissy stood up properly and swam close to Eddie, her softness pressed flush against his front as she slid her hands up to rest on his chest.

Eddie held his breath, one hand cupping her cheek as Chrissy tilted her head back, glancing at his lips before a mischievous smirk passed over her features.

Before he could even react to the change in her expression, Eddie found himself underwater, the lingering feeling of Chrissy’s shove still lighting up his chest. He could hear her peals of laughter through the water, and even through his indignation he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Without surfacing, Eddie squinted through the water and found Chrissy’s retreating silhouette through the darkness and immediately swam after her. Even though he liked to make fun of sports and most athletic activities, Eddie prided himself in being an excellent swimmer. Steve regularly lamented the fact that Eddie never actually joined the swim team back when they were still in high school.

His arms closed around Chrissy’s waist and he dragged her under, rolling as she thrashed. When they finally surfaced, giggling and breathless, Chrissy was coughing around the mouthful of water she inhaled at the end. Eddie pulled her in tight to his front and kissed her forehead as she caught her breath, and she clung to him, giggles overtaking her as she tipped her head back.

Without hesitation, Eddie grinned and stooped to kiss her, immediately opening for her questing tongue with a low groan. With a little sound against his mouth, Chrissy wrapped her legs around his waist and Eddie’s hands immediately slid down her back to grab two ample handfuls of her ass. Holding her tight as he stood up so they didn’t sink, Eddie deepened the kiss, moaning thickly as he groped her asscheeks roughly, chasing her lips when she pulled away.

Opening his eyes slowly, unsure of when they even closed, Eddie furrowed his brow as Chrissy clasped her hands behind his head and took a dramatic breath, puffing her cheeks out with it. Then she tightened her legs around Eddie’s middle and launched herself backward, her grip on Eddie’s head dragging him forward and into the water once again.

Their second tussle was much more short-lived as that much naked skin against each other had them both distracted, and soon Eddie found himself pinned against the wall of the pool, Chrissy’s demanding mouth on his as he kneaded his handfuls of her ass once again. That’s just where his hands belonged, on her ass, or her hips, feeling the perfect softness there and getting hungrier. He was greedy and possessive in his touches, pulling her against his hardening cock with a desperate whimper.

When she pulled away to catch her breath, Eddie said sternly, “Don’t try to drown me again, Cunningham, I swear to god—”

“I would never try to drown you while you’re grinding a boner against me, baby,” Chrissy cooed comfortingly, nudging Eddie’s chin with her nose until he tipped his head back and allowed her access to his throat. With a low whine, Eddie groped her ass and rocked his hips against her, his entire body shivering with pleasure as she met his movements, her teeth worrying a bruise into his skin.

Then Eddie shuddered as two hands slid between their bodies to squeeze and massage Chrissy’s tits. Her mouth pulled away from Eddie’s throat as she threw her head back, biting her lips to muffle a cry.

When Eddie opened his eyes—again, when did they close?—he watched hungrily as Chrissy rested her head back on Steve’s shoulder, panting softly against his ear as he pinched and plucked at her nipples. Steve met Eddie’s gaze with a little smirk, turning his face to kiss her sloppily, coaxing her tongue into his mouth. For a moment, it wasn’t even a proper kiss, just their tongues meeting each other in quick touches before they both moaned and sealed their mouths together. It was one of Eddie’s favourite sights in the world, his two favourite people kissing each other and making each other feel good. It was intoxicating.

He was so distracted by the picture they made together that Eddie didn’t even notice that one of Steve’s hands had disappeared from Chrissy’s chest. Steve’s firm grip suddenly settling on his hip made him jump slightly before he leaned into it. It was the only warning he got before Steve’s hand went on to sweep across the front of his thigh until it was cupping Eddie’s balls, pulling a sharp whimper from him. Steve’s eyes met his with a smirk against Chrissy’s mouth as he massaged his handful, making Eddie buck and whine.

The movement had his cock slipping from between his and Chrissy’s bodies and right to where her strong legs met, the length of it rubbing teasingly against the seam of her cunt. Shuddering between Steve’s fondling and the teasing friction, Eddie let out a long, high keen.

Pulling away from the kiss, Steve rested his chin on Chrissy’s shoulder and grinned at Eddie, toothy and predatory as his grip on his balls tightened and pulled until he was sobbing at the pleasure-pain.

“Want him inside me,” Chrissy sighed, her own hands resting on Eddie’s chest before plucking at his nipples, playing roughly with the barbells there with her manicured nails. Eddie sobbed and screwed his eyes shut, head tipping back as she pinched his sensitive nipples.

“You think he deserves it, baby?” Steve asked in a low voice and Eddie felt his head go fuzzy with hot static, the blush on his cheeks so warm he felt like he was about to start sweating.

“Not about him. I want a cock in me, and you didn’t bring any of yours,” Chrissy replied, and God being talked about like an object, like he was just a sex toy for them to use, really did something for Eddie.

Steve hummed at that, thoughtful and mocking. “Could give you my fingers?” he offered and Eddie bit his lip against the whimper that was about to tumble from his throat.

He wanted to beg and convince Chrissy that his cock was better than Steve’s fingers, but he knew firsthand that Steve’s fingers were wicked in their accuracy and talents. He was so fucking good with his fingers; it took a month for Eddie to upgrade to one of Steve’s straps when they first started dating. Apparently, Chrissy went three months with only Steve’s fingers at the start of their relationship as well.

Opening his eyes again, he froze at the change in the lighting, at the flashing red and blue of it. Gravel crunched under a tire, and Eddie could hear the squeak of a brake being applied.

“Cops!” Eddie hissed and that immediately snapped them out of it. The three of them swam across the pool and dragged themselves out, scooping up their clothes. Chrissy managed to get her tank top on before they heard a car door shutting.

“Shit,” Steve hissed, still struggling with figuring out his clothes in the dark.

“Just put your damn shoes back on, Harrington. We have to run now,” Eddie hissed, grinning maniacally at Steve’s alarmed expression. He wanted risk, right? With that, Eddie grabbed Chrissy’s hand and ran around the building to the back gate.

As the three of them fled the pool, Steve and Eddie were still completely naked except for their sandals and Crocs respectively, and they heard a shout from inside the fence. Squealing and giggling wildly, they booked it as fast as they could to the van. Eddie didn’t even bother getting into the driver’s seat, just tossed Steve his keys and scrambled up into the van after Chrissy. Steve was a much better getaway driver, thanks to his ability to balance speed with recklessness perfectly.

Steve started the van and immediately pulled away from the curb, speeding down the quiet, dark road with a broad grin on his face, checking the mirrors for lights.

“This was so stupid,” he said with a huff, laughing brightly as he took a corner just a touch too fast and made Chrissy and Eddie slide across the bench and against the passenger door.

Eddie let out an indignant sound as he threw his hands up. “It was your idea!”

Chrissy giggled and Steve just grinned sidelong over at Eddie, making his heart do a series of somersaults. “Yeah, it was,” he said with a smirk before returning his attention to the road.

[ TBC ]

[ READ ON AO3 ]

Taglist! @mylilplanet @scarcrossdlvrs @patchworkgargoyle @stobinesque @spectrum-spectre @judasofsuburbia @connected-dots-st-reblogger @jaxildan @hellion-child @spicysix @starryeyedjanai @sidekick-hero @steddieas-shegoes @yournowheregirl

#lexssummerfanworkschallenge #steddissy #chrissy x steve x eddie #chrissy/steve/eddie #stranger things fic #gerry writes #GoodBoyEddie.#TransmascSteve.

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