#; royal. eval

[winterscaptain]

focus. (18+)

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: this is texting-as-foreplay, lets be real also, derek and emily being nosy is canon behavior. follow up tomorrow!!

beta'd by @ssaic-jareau who basically should be credited as a co-writer at this point.

words: 6.9k content advisories: language, sexual content, oral (m&f receiving), sexually explicit language, if ur grossed out by bjs (like haley lmao) go ahead and skip a lil bit of this, sexting

minors dni and i'm not kidding!!!

summary: “texting is a supremely secretive medium of communication - it's like passing a note - and this means we should be very careful what we use it for.” --lynne truss. november 14th, 2011.

Your finger traces your lip as you stare through your computer monitor, completely lost in the rather distracting and intrusive memory of about 10 hours ago. You haven’t moved, scrolled, or typed anything in eight minutes. 

“That’s it, baby, let go. Let me see.” Aaron’s hand slides up your chest in the valley of your sternum and stops at the hollow of your throat. “You’re so pretty like this, so—“

Your phone buzzes. You jump and grab it. 

Messages Alpha Bravo Hotel (1)

8:04am Hey. Focus.

You swallow, taking a breath and shaking yourself out of it. You can almost feel him watching you from his office. 

8:04am I was focused.

8:04am Not on your work.

8:05am Focus is focus. 8:05am And what, did you want me to start writing a report about last night?

8:06am Depends. Are you citing sources? Quoting directly from the text? 

Your lips press together, fighting a laugh as you reply, your thumbs flying. 

8:07am You have a performance review coming up. There are team evals in there, you know. 8:07am You should be nicer to me.

8:08am Sweetheart, I know you don’t have any complaints about my performance. 

Your stomach flips. Your pulse kicks up—so violently that you have to set your phone down and turn away from his window. 

And that is exactly when Derek walks up, arms crossed, his eyes far too critical for this early in the morning. You can almost hear Aaron’s stupid little chuckle from your desk.

He’s probably so pleased with himself right now. 

“Alright,” he says, tilting his head. “What’s going on?”

You school your face into something neutral. “What?”

“That.” He gestures to you, his eyes narrowing. “That little smug thing you’re doing.”

“I am not—”

Your phone buzzes on your desk.

Derek’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, no way. You’re texting someone. Someone who’s putting that look on your face.”

You pointedly pick up your pen instead. “No. I’m working.”

Upstairs, Aaron leans back in his chair, watching this unfold with entirely too much amusement.

Your phone buzzes again. You pick it up, ignoring and combatting Derek’s attempts to read it. 

8:10am We really need to work on your poker face. 

8:11am “Working.”

Your jaw tightens. You’ll just keep it in your hand. 

Derek, watching way too closely, tips his head. “You sure about that?”

Another buzz.

8:11am You owe me an email, you know. We’re both in that thread with CARD. 

You exhale through your nose.

Derek leans in. “Who is it?”

Your phone buzzes again.

8:12am Whatever you do, don’t glare at my office.

Your eyes flicker toward the window—before you can catch yourself.

8:12am Good catch! 8:12am You’re terrible at this. 8:12am :)

Before you can shut Derek down, Emily strolls in with her coffee. “What’s going on?”

Derek betrays you instantly.

“Oh, nothing, just that someone is texting us, making us smile like an idiot during business hours.” 

The royal “we” is absurd. 

Emily’s entire body perks up. “Oh my God, who?!”

You groan, pressing your fingers to your temples. “You are both insufferable.”

Derek smirks. “And you have a man.”

Emily gasps, delighted. “Is this the same man?”

Your phone buzzes.

You do not look at it.

Emily zeroes in. “You didn’t even check that. That means something. Who is it?”

Derek leans against your desk. “Wouldn’t say.”

Emily presses her hands together. “Who do we know?”

Your grip tightens around your pen.

Another buzz. 

8:14am I’ll rescue you if you want. 8:14am But you’ll have to ask nicely. 

You let out a slow breath. Jesus, Aaron. 

Emily gasps, pointing at you. “Ohhh, it’s someone we know.”

Fuckin’ profilers. 

Derek nods, arms crossing. “See? I knew it. It’s gotta be someone in the Bureau.”

Emily tilts her head. “Or adjacent. Task force? Military? Hill staffer?”

Derek rubs his chin. “Nah. She’s the one smiling. He’s gotta have the upper hand.”

Emily squints. “It’s an instructor.”

Derek snaps his fingers. “It’s totally an instructor.” He turns to you. “You have a teacher thing, right?” 

You take a deep, steady breath. “I do not have a ‘teacher thing.’”

Bzzt

8:15am News to me. 

If he makes me laugh right now, I swear… 

Emily gasps again, her brain working overtime. “It’s an agent in another unit.”

Derek nods immediately. “That checks out. You like the brainy ones.”

Emily’s eyes widen. “Oh my God, it’s SWAT.”

Derek tilts his head. “You do have a type. Tactically competent control freaks, mostly.”

Your eye twitches. “Can you just? Go back to your office and work on something?”

Derek grins. “Are you working?”

“We’re just asking questions.” Emily sips her coffee, looking way too proud of herself. 

You take a deep breath, willing yourself to stay calm. “I hate both of you.”

Derek pats your shoulder. “That’s love, baby.”

He and Emily do, in fact, make their way out of the bullpen, looking over their shoulders every couple of steps. 

Your phone buzzes. 

8:18am Enjoying yourself?

You reply. 

8:18am Fuck. Off. 

 The reply is near instantaneous. 

8:19am Make me. 

You walked into that one. And you nearly, nearly start typing before you catch yourself. You drop your phone face down and lean back with a sigh that is, unfortunately, also a smile.

Bzzt 

You turn to your computer and take a breath, replying to that thread Aaron mentioned, just for the bit. 

Bzzt

It’s hard to keep a straight face, but you figure now is as good a time as any to practice your impression of Aaron. You make a point of responding with alarming efficiency to emails he and Derek are CC’d on, totally neutral. 

Bzzt 

...

Bzzt

Some case notes. Very clean, very crisp. 

Bzzt

You glance at your phone, face down on the desk. 

He really wants my attention…interesting. 

Your email chimes. 

FROM: Morgan, Derek F SSA <derek.f.morgan@fbi.justice.gov> SUBJECT: I stand corrected So you actually are working?? — SSA Derek Morgan, JD, MS

You roll your eyes and reply. 

Bzzt 

You ignore it, your fingers flying. 

TO: Morgan, Derek F SSA <derek.f.morgan@fbi.justice.gov> BCC: Hotchner, Aaron B SSA <aaron.b.hotchner@fbi.justice.gov> SUBJECT: I stand corrected I’m always working!! Xx :)

You answer another—this one actually from Aaron, with a deliverable, no less. You flick the finished attachment into the email and send it, sitting back in your chair, finally picking up your phone. 

Messages Alpha Bravo Hotel (7)

Seven?!

You turn in your chair to look and find him minding his own damn business (for once), his right elbow resting on the desk, his jaw resting in his hand, his left hand on his mouse. 

With a short little interested hum, you unlock your phone. 

8:20am That face you’re making isn’t very professional. Do you need a break?

8:21am I looked over your notes from the CARD briefing. You missed a line in your summary.

You absolutely did not. 

8:23am Probably distracted. Long night.

8:27am Be honest. Are you working, or are you writing a very detailed mental recap?

8:34am  If you’re sore, you can blame me. But I don’t think you’re complaining.

Alright. Amping things up. You take an even breath through your nose and resist the urge to shift in your seat. 

The effect he has on you really isn’t fair. 

It’s never been fair, but now he knows. 

The next set? Back to back. 

8:41am You looked so sweet last night, your pussy holding onto me so tight. I almost felt bad making you cry. 8:41am If I sat you on my desk right now and spread your thighs, how wet would I find you?

And then—a laugh.

Sharp. Stunned. Shocked. Uncontained.

You slap a hand over your mouth and spin slightly in your chair, eyes wide—no one in earshot. No witnesses.

Thank God.

You exhale hard through your nose, heart pounding like he touched you, like he whispered that filth against your skin instead of wrote it, in front of God and everybody, on your phone.

You dare to glance up.

Aaron’s at his desk. Stoic. Unreadable. The very picture of professionalism.

Same posture: Left hand on his mouse. Right hand curled under his chin. Not even glancing your way.

Unmoved. Untouched.

Like he didn’t just send you… that.

You recover, returning to your work, and decide to ignore him. 

+++

You answer emails. 

Update a case file with some unsurprisingly salient notes from your conversation with the case officer yesterday. 

Finish the interdepartmental CARD summary with irritating precision.

You sip your coffee. Adjust a typo.

You don’t look up.

Behind the glass, Aaron’s dying. Phone balanced on his knee. Seven messages and no reply.

Not a glance. Not a twitch. Not even a ghost of a smirk. A glassy lake, placid and serene. 

You’re pretending he doesn’t exist.

And he’s pretending not to notice.

+++

You scroll through the messages again.

Each one, slowly.

Letting them settle. Letting them simmer.

Your jaw tightens. Your mouth twitches.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

It doesn’t work.

Your thumbs move fast.

8:56am Awfully big… ego you have up there, Agent Hotchner.

Send. 

Delivered.

And then?

You set your phone down. Face-down. Spin back to your monitor. And get to work.

Like you didn’t just throw a match.

Like you’re not waiting for the smoke.

+++

His phone buzzes and he’s almost embarrassed by how quickly he picks it up and unlocks it. 

Messages Second (1)

He shakes his head. Just one? You’re joking. 

8:56am Awfully big… ego you have up there, Agent Hotchner.

He exhales hard through his nose.

A soundless laugh. A blink slower than the last.

His jaw ticks once, just enough. He checks on you. 

Unmoved. Insane. 

And it’s not even 9am. 

+++

You continue to work.

Actually work.

You finish two emails. Format your draft for that consult follow-up. Review a request for cross-divisional resource hours.

You even refill your coffee.

It’s virtuous, really. Professional.

Except your phone stays face-down.

Not even a glance.

Just enough self-control to make him suffer.

Just enough to make yourself ache.

And then—conveniently, mercifully, maybe even a little cruelly—you remember the consult analysis. The really good, publishable one you both started in the spring before Pakistan, finally rounding out with your contributions. 

You need his signature. 

You could scan it later, you could wait until lunch, you could even pretend it’s not urgent—but the printer is right there, and you’re feeling generous.

Or reckless.

Or both.

You hit print.

The pages whirr out behind you.

You take your time walking it upstairs.

+++

He doesn’t look up right away.

His pen scratches against the page—form review, by the look of it. His brow is furrowed in that way it is when he tries to pretend he’s concentrated. 

A legal pad open beside him, mug near-empty at his elbow, tie just a little crooked.

God, he’s trying to act normal. It’s absurd.

You knock your knuckle twice on the doorframe and step in, the file in your other hand.

“Need your signature on the consult analysis from the spring. Strauss is looking to publish.”

He looks up—slow, measured.

His gaze tracks from your face to the paper, then to your eyes.

And there’s a beat.

Just one.

One breath of awareness, of weight, of memory.

“Of course,” he says. Like it’s nothing. 

You step forward, set the page in front of him.

He doesn’t touch it right away.

Doesn’t pick up the pen.

Just looks down, eyes catching on the line above his—your signature already there.

He stares at it.

Just for a second too long. He lets himself imagine for a moment—

Same page. 

Same line of text. 

Same name, different hands.

That’s enough of that. 

You watch his eyes move—slow, reverent. Like the presence of your signature has undone him more than the texts ever could.

Then his pen moves.

He signs.

A flick of ink. A practiced stroke.

The crossbar of the A forming the crossbar of the H in a familiar, unbroken, almost star-like shape. 

But it’s deliberate. Personal.

“You gonna read my section?” You almost hoped he would. It is, honestly, really good. 

He shakes his head. “Don’t need to.” He pauses, his voice smooth, but tight. “Anything else?”

“Not right now,” you say, your voice just as even.

But when your fingers brush as you take the page back, his hand lingers.

And your pulse jumps.

+++

The ride home is quiet. Your car is “under recall” this week so you can drive in together in the mornings. 

Jack is in the backseat, almost snoozing in his car seat after a full day of kindergarten. 

The sky is soft with dusk. The traffic hums low and steady. Your hand finds his on the center console like it’s muscle memory. His fingers slide between yours without looking.

And that’s it. Nothing else.

Just that small point of contact—warm, grounding, maddening. His thumb strokes yours once, absentminded.

And the ache rolls through you like a swelling tide.

You know those fingers. You know that pressure.

You know how those fingers feel deep inside you.

How they move when he’s coaxing you open, when he’s making you come apart.

You know how those hands pin you to the mattress, cup your jaw, catch in your hair, press bruises into your hips and thighs.  

But here, in the car, with Jack humming to himself in the backseat?

He’s just holding your hand. Like he’s done a thousand times. Like it’s innocent.

But it’s not. It’s excruciating. Every red light is a punishment.

Every slow turn another second of not kissing him.

You glance over once.

He’s watching the road, jaw tight, the tendons in his wrist shifting as he adjusts his grip on your hand.

“You okay?” You ask, voice low. 

He nods. Swallows. “Yeah. You?”

“Fine,” you lie. Your thumb drags over the pulse point at his wrist.

It jumps.

Neither of you say anything else.

+++

You’re still shaking out of the tension when you walk through the door.

But Jack barrels ahead—backpack flying, shoes kicked off, jacket on the floor.

“Can we have quesadillas?”

Aaron looks at you. “What do you think?”

You’re a little touched he’s asking you at all. “I think that’s perfectly fine as long as they have a green friend.” 

Jack groans. “Carrots aren’t green.”

“They are not,” you concede. “But lucky for you I think we have some buttery garlic broccoli.”

He pulls a face. Aaron smiles. 

You pause, your brow crinkling as you study the little trail he’s made. “Shoes and jacket in their spots please! All items in this house have homes; let’s make sure they get there.”

+++

The kitchen is warm, lived-in, as the two of you work side by side

You dice peppers while Aaron taps butter into a pan. Jack sets the table and gets started on homework. You’ll have to re-set the table. 

Aaron brushes past you once, then again, his hand grazing your back every time—like he can’t help himself.

“You’re in my space,” you murmur, sing-song. 

He hums. “You like it.”

He’s got you there.

+++

Jack talks about a classmate’s science fair project and how his teacher said he was good at reading aloud.

Aaron listens like he doesn’t already know this—like he didn’t read the progress report that morning. 

You keep one eye on the broccoli, one ear on the rhythm of their back-and-forth, and think, maybe, that this is easy.

Too easy, almost. 

It’s not alarming. 

Jack clears his plate without being asked. You rinse, Aaron dries and loads the dishwasher (incorrectly, but it’s fine). 

When you pass him a glass, he takes it and kisses the side of your head without thinking.

You freeze, the dam broken. 

Then you keep going.

+++

Jack brushes his teeth. You read the first few pages of Charlotte's Web while Aaron finishes an email on the couch.

Already dozing a little, Jack asks, “Will you be here in the morning?”

You lean down and kiss his forehead. “Yessir. That’s the plan. Dad and I will take you to school tomorrow if you’re okay with that.”

He nods. 

You continue to read. 

+++

The moment his son’s door clicks shut, the air shifts.

You don’t even make it halfway down the hallway before his hand catches yours—spinning you into his space like a secret.

You gasp, stumbling slightly, and then he’s right there. You let him pull you into his chest, hands flat, fingers spread across low across his abdomen, under his ribs, the heat of him radiating through the soft cotton of his t-shirt. He exhales slowly, but you can feel how tightly wound he is. You can feel it in the way he leans just enough to rest his forehead against yours, like he needs the contact to settle.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he says, voice low enough that it brushes against your collarbone. “That look you gave me in the office… you knew exactly what you were doing.”

You smile, slow and shameless. “Of course I did. And you started it.”

His hands slide down your back to your hips. He doesn’t grip hard, but the pressure is steady, heavy. “You have no idea what it did to me—watching you work, ignoring me, knowing you were doing it just to get under my skin.”

You tilt your head and kiss the corner of his mouth, gentle and facetious all at once. “I think I have some idea.”

He groans softly, then leans in to kiss you fully—deep, thorough, with the kind of patience that makes your knees weak. His mouth moves like he’s trying to make up for every minute he had to keep his distance. You feel his restraint thrumming beneath the surface, taut and barely holding.

“I watched you dice peppers,” he murmurs against your lips. “I stood beside you and tried to pretend it wasn’t killing me.”

“You’re very dramatic,” you whisper.

“You’re very mean,” he returns. His nose brushes yours. “And I love it.”

You laugh, quiet in the dark, and that’s when he crowds you, walking you backward until you hit the wall with a light thump, just enough to jar you. He doesn’t press—just stands close enough that your chest brushes his with every breath. He braces one of his hands on the wall by your head. 

“We made dinner together,” you murmur, still breathless. “Cleaned up. Read bedtime stories.”

His eyes are darker now. “And I only touched you once.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

He grins, actually grins, and kisses you again, a little rougher now. His hand moves under your shirt, skimming your skin, reverent. His mouth wanders down, under your jaw, under your ear. 

“I want you,” he says against your throat, almost like it hurts. “I want all of you. And I want to take my time.”

Your hand slides between you, drawing his face back to yours with a hand on his jaw. You kiss him back, and it’s messier this time. More honest. He’s pulling at your shirt and breathing hard and you’re already thinking about how fast you can get to the bedroom.

“You better,” you say between kisses. “I’ve been thinking about your hands since noon.”

He laughs into your mouth. “You want to start a list?”

“Already done.”

He presses his mouth to your neck, to the hollow behind your ear, and you feel the heat pulse between your legs like muscle memory. You could come undone right here, just from the promise in his voice.

“Bedroom?” you ask, already breathless.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

“You’re not sleeping at your place tonight.”

“No,” you agree. “I’m really not.”

“Good.” His voice drops, lips brushing your cheek. “Because I plan on keeping you up.”

He kisses you like he’s nineteen again and never learned patience. You return the favor. 

It’s messy.

Open-mouthed.

Teeth and tongue and lips that won’t stop moving.

His hands are under your shirt, on your hips, your ribs, your bra. He can’t decide where to land, just knows he needs skin. You’re already gasping against him, fisting the hem of his t-shirt, dragging your hands up his chest, raking through his still-long hair. 

He palms your ass like he’s trying to memorize it. 

You laugh breathlessly against his mouth. “You good?”

He shakes his head and kisses you again, harder this time. “Not even close.”

You tilt your head to deepen the kiss and he groans—actually groans, still quiet enough for the hallway—into your mouth, pressing you firmer against the wall. Your knees go soft, but he’s already there, already holding you up with a thigh between yours, grinding slow and heavy, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“You’ve got me,” you whisper, just to say it.

His breath catches.

“I know.”

He kisses you again, slower this time. Still messy, still hot—but with a kind of wonder that makes your chest ache.

You stay there like that—teenagers, idiots, completely obsessed—for another full minute before you both remember you have a perfectly good bed down the hall.

And then you’re leading him, taking him by the hand to his own bedroom while he walks behind you, a stupid grin on his face. 

The door closes behind him. 

You move quickly then.

Turn. Step into his space.

You crowd him back until his shoulders hit the closed door. Not hard. Not aggressive. Just enough to remind him who has the upper hand. Who’s in control.

And the shift is immediate.

He exhales—shaky. His jaw tightens. His eyes flick down to your mouth. His turn for muscle memory.

But this time?

He’s waiting on you. 

You lean in, slow and certain, your voice soft and dangerous as it brushes against his lips.

”So,” you start. “Those sneaky little texts today.” You press your lips to his and he moves to reciprocate. You pull away. He chases. He runs out of leash. His eyes narrow. 

“You think about laying me out on your desk and having your way with me?”

You tilt your head. Sweet. Mocking. A blade wrapped in silk.

“Hmm? Is that what gets you through? Thinking about how wet I’ve been, all day, just for you? Hm?”

And Aaron—

He dies.

His head tips back against the door with a dull thud, eyes fluttering shut for half a second like you’ve knocked the wind out of him. His breath leaves him like a man in freefall.

“Ahh, fuck—” he groans, a hand coming up to your waist, not to stop you, just to hold on. “I lose. It’s over.”

You giggle, dropping all flirt. “Was that even a question?”

Even after everything you’ve said—how sharp you were, how in control—you can see the shift in his expression as he lets it hit him all at once.

The humor. The heat. The play. The way you’ve been messing with  him all damn day like it’s nothing.

You watch him grin, slow and helpless, that rare little huff of breath through his nose like he can’t believe his luck.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs, his voice still rough from everything you’ve stirred up.

You raise your eyebrows. “I’m not the one who got flustered by a desk fantasy, Agent Hotchner.”

He shakes his head, full smile now. “You are endlessly adorable.”

You blink, taken off guard by the softness. “That was not the goal.”

His hands slide up your sides like he’s claiming territory. “Too bad. You’re also infuriating and smart and—” his fingers trace your jaw, his eyes drinking you in like he might never get another chance— “so precious to me.”

And it’s not a line. It’s not a play. It’s the truth.

You feel it settle in your chest like something warm and permanent.

You kiss him again, and this time it’s different.

Less teasing. Less push and pull.

More give. More yes.

You take his hand and back toward the bed, this time without the fire of a dare.

This is just you and him.

Falling.

And when he pulls you into bed, laughing softly into your neck, he says, “You’re trouble.”

You breathe, smiling against his mouth. “You love it.”

You kiss him with that same mischievous little smile you wore by the door—but he’s not laughing now.

Not when you sigh into his mouth.

Not when your hand drags up under his shirt.

Not when you lean into him, feeling his arousal through his jeans and he groans like he’s been holding it in all day.

Because he has.

He’s been hard since that text exchange.

Since 8:30am. 11 hours ago. 

Since the second you looked at him across his desk like you knew what you were doing.

He rolls you under him with aching care, like you’re precious and breakable and his.

His lips find your neck. Your collarbone. Your jaw. 

His hand finds the buttons on your pants and gives himself a little space to slide his hand between your legs. 

He freezes for a second. “Wow.”

“I wasn’t kidding,” you tell him, your fingers tracing up his shoulders, into his hair. “All day.”

He kisses his way down your body like he’s mapping familiar territory, hands under your thighs as he lays you back and slides your pants down. The mattress dips with his weight, and he settles between your legs without a second thought—like it’s his rightful place.

His tongue parts you gently. He starts slow. Testing. Tasting. Worshiping. And then he finds your rhythm and locks in like a man with a mission.

You arch with a gasp, hips rolling against his mouth. Hands locking him in place by this hair. 

“Jesus, Aaron—”

He hums. “Jesus isn’t here. Just me.” 

You laugh and he retaliates.

His fingers curl under your knees, spreading you open just enough to angle deeper. He licks like he’s starving, tongue flicking fast, then slow, circling just right, pressure building in your spine. Your hands scramble for something—his hair, the sheets, your own chest—and then it crests, all-consuming. So fast you almost can’t enjoy it. 

You fall apart in a gasp and a moan, thighs trembling around his ears. Your stomach clenches, chest rising in sharp waves, breath stuttering out of you.

He doesn’t stop until you twitch.

Only then does he sit up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, wearing the most satisfied smirk you’ve ever seen.

“Wow,” he says, voice warm and cruel all at once. “That was fast.”

You glare at him through half-lidded eyes, flushed and breathless. “You’re such an asshole.”

He grins and kisses your knee. “You’re welcome.”

You’re still catching your breath, panting softly through your nose, thighs twitching as you come down. Aaron’s weight shifts next to you, one hand trailing up your ribs as he slides up your body, the other smoothing a hand over your face like he can’t stop touching you.

You press a slow, messy kiss to his mouth. You can taste yourself there, warm and sweet and heady, and you hum against his lips, smug.

“Your turn,” you whisper, already pushing gently at his chest.

You ease him back against the pillows, straddling his thighs as you kiss a line down his stomach, your fingers dragging light as static. He’s been hard. Already warm in your hand. You stroke him once, twice—just to see him twitch. Just to hear the sound he makes when you squeeze gently at the base. You kiss his hip. 

“Wait.” His voice is low, rough as he sits up on his elbows. “You don’t have to—”

You tilt your head and smile. “I want to.”

Maybe just for one second he’ll let himself enjoy something. Maybe. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” he says. You can see it behind his eyes, the worry, the hesitation, the discomfort (you imagine) at being the sole object of your attention. 

You look up at him with the most devastating set of doe eyes he’s ever seen , his cock resting against your cheek. “Then die grateful.” 

You kiss the tip, letting his precum string from your lip to the head. You make sure he sees it.  

“Let me show you something,” you say, lips brushing the tip.

He groans when your mouth wraps around him—hot, wet, patient—your tongue flicking the slit, collecting what’s left. You start slow, lips plush, hand curling at the base. You use your tongue like you’ve got time, hollow your cheeks until he hisses. His hand settles in your hair—not to guide, just to ground. But you want more than that.

You hum low in your throat and sink lower. The stretch burns behind your jaw. Your throat starts to resist. You fight through it.

You use that trick, where you tuck the thumb of your non-dominant hand into your palm, squeeze with your fingers. It works. 

You breathe through your nose. Let your hand work the rest of him while you adjust your angle, relax your mouth, let gravity help.

And then you take him all the way.

The stretch is obscene. You choke. Just a little. Your eyes water immediately and you swallow around him, pulse pounding in your ears. His thighs tense under your palms. He makes a noise like he’s lost the ability to form words. You pull back with a slick gasp, drool catching on your lip—and then you go back down, slower this time, your hand moving in tandem.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice cracked. “Sweetheart…”

When you look up at him through your lashes, eyes glassy, mouth full of his cock, he swears under his breath. His hand scrabbles uselessly against the covers.

And then you grab his wrist. Guide him. Place his hand at the base of your skull and nod, pulling off with a pop. “Use my mouth, baby. Show me what you want.”

His breath catches. And then he does.

It’s gentle at first. Testing. You keep your eyes on his. Let him see how much you want it. Then he gets bolder—deeper, slower thrusts, like he’s watching every reaction, every tear tracing down your cheek, every stretch of your lips around him, every gag. His hands hold tighter, giving him a view. 

When you moan around him, he actually believes you like this, thrusting into your mouth with a little less fear. 

Not brutal, not fast. Just enough to make you choke a little, enough to make you drool, enough to have you making pretty noises every time he hits the back of your throat. 

Your nose brushes the soft skin of his abdomen with every stroke. Your throat works, swallowing around him. You’re soaked to your thighs, your orgasm minutes ago complimenting the throbbing of your clit in time with your pulse. You keep one hand wrapped around him, jerking him off when you come up for air. 

Your other hand slips between your legs, addressing the ache one orgasm hardly touched. Your sounds grow more desperate, turning up the temperature until he feels like he’s going to burn alive. 

When he pulls you off, spit strings between your mouth and the head of his cock. You’re breathless, dazed, panting through parted lips.

He drags you up for a kiss—deep and messy, his fingers still tight, pulling your head where he wants it, his hand sliding between your legs. And when he finds how wet you are, he actually groans into your mouth.

“Are you seriously getting off from having my cock in your mouth?”

You nod, wordlessly, still catching your breath. He groans again, almost a disbelieving sound. 

“I have to pick between fucking your mouth and filling you up?” he murmurs, breath shaky. “That’s cruel.”

“Then make a choice.”

He turns you around, rougher than usual, but careful in all the right places. You’re already on your knees, chest pressed to the sheets, back arched, when he guides himself to your entrance, running the head of his cock through the slick. 

You gasp, pushing back. The hand on your hip leashes you, his tip dipping shallow. He can see the stretch already. You need him, right now. 

“Aaron, please, I—“

“Yeah?” He grits out, his jaw tight. He’s playing like he’s in control but he is absolutely wrecked by this phenomenal image in front of him. “You want it that bad?”

“I want to feel you. I need you to fill me up—please.” 

Since you asked so nicely…

He presses in further, still just the tip—and already you’re pulsing, clenching around him and squirming. Already, he’s in the trenches out here. 

“You’re soaked,” he breathes, breath shaky. 

You whine. “Aaron—please—I’m begging, I swear—I need—“

“I know. I know.” He smooths a hand down your spine and finally moves, dipping into you a little deeper each time. “I’ll get you so deep, you won’t be able to walk right until Monday.”

You whine again, gripping the sheets. 

He slides into you until he bottoms out, a delicious pressure you can feel in your ribs. Slow. Intentional. 

Then—he’s not slow anymore. He pulls out almost all the way and pulls you back, strong and fast, until your ass makes contact with his thighs, jolting you forward

You moan. It pulses through your body. You feel the stretch down to your toes, his hand gripping your hip as he pulls back, then thrusts again. Each push sends you forward on the mattress. Each snap of his hips sharp against your skin. The sound of it—slick and rhythmic—is filthy. His hand slides around your thigh, fingers finding your clit with practiced precision.

Your head turns. You’re shaking. You can’t stop shaking. You reach out behind you and he takes your hand, lacing your fingers with his over the small of your back. 

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he says, low and dark against your back. “Taking me that deep. Choking on it. Eyes all wet for me.”

You whimper. He growls.

“I know you wanted me to come in your mouth,” he mutters, voice fraying. “But I needed to be inside you. I needed this.”

He fucks you like he’s trying to reach your soul—deep, slow, relentless. His fingers never leave your clit. You break apart again, pulse throbbing through your cunt so hard it pulls him deeper, makes him swear again.

“Jesus—baby—keep squeezing me like that and I’m not gonna last.”

Your voice is ragged. “Then don’t.”

And when he finishes, he presses as deep as he can go, locked inside you, his hand still between your legs. Still stroking. Still touching. You relax around him, your shaking muscles spent. 

You’re still trembling when he pulls out, slow and careful, like he’s trying not to spill a drop.

It doesn’t work.

You feel the rush of it, warm and slick, already falling down your thighs. Heat snaps from your clit to your chest as you feel his cum slide out of you. It should be messy, maybe even embarrassing, but it’s not. Not with him. Not when he groans like he’s the one overwhelmed by the very sight of it. 

(He is.)

His hands stroke down your back, reverent, steadying you as you rise onto your elbows. He bends behind you, breath hot between your thighs, and then—

“Aaron—” you whisper, already overstimulated.

But his mouth is on you. His tongue lapping at the mess between your thighs, tasting you both. His hands slide up your back, gentle, worshipful, while his mouth devours you like prayer.

You gasp. “I—I don’t think—I can’t—”

“This isn’t for you,” he says, kissing the back of your thigh.

You laugh, breathless. “Oh.” Your newly freed hand drifts back, playing with his hair. “Excuse me, sir.”

“You’re excused.” 

His tongue. Long, slow strokes, chasing the mess he left behind. He groans into you, hands spreading you open like he wants to see everything. (He does.) And then you feel it—his fingers sliding back inside, two at first, maybe three, and he’s careful, gentle.

Too gentle.

You’re already soaking, already stretched, but it doesn’t stop him from using what’s left of him inside you to ease the way. He pushes deep, tongue circling your clit with maddening patience, and your whole body shudders.

When you think you don’t have anything left, he always knows better. 

“Aaron—” Your voice cracks.

He hums like he’s pleased with himself. One long, slow curl of his fingers inside you and you see stars. Pressure climbs so fast it knocks the breath from your lungs. You claw at the sheets, hips rocking back against his hand, desperate.

“I don’t think—” you try, but then his mouth closes over you again, and you surrender to the inevitability.

“Yeah, there it is. Yes, you can.” You can feel his words against your skin. It’s very distracting. “That’s it, sweetheart. You’re right there, aren’t you?”

His voice is quiet but firm, guiding you through it like he’s walking you across a threshold. You can feel it building in your belly, burning behind your ribs, your whole body tightening around the pressure.

“Don’t run from it. You’re doing so good—so good for me.”

His mouth doesn’t stop—tongue laving your clit just the way he knows you need, not fast, not frantic, but devastating in its precision as he speaks into your skin. His fingers keep stroking you inside, curling up into that spot that makes you see white.

“You’re close—I can feel you. Come on. Let go.”

You’re keening now, legs shaking, hands fisting the sheets, your body winding tighter and tighter. You fight to relax, knowing he can get you there without tension. 

“I’ve got you. You’re safe. Just give it to me.”

He sounds like he’s begging now, but not because he needs it. Because you do. Because he wants you to fall apart, to feel everything he can give you.

“That’s my girl. Let me feel it. Come for me, come on—”

And when it hits—when the heat crests and your breath escapes in a broken moan—he doesn’t stop.

“That’s it. There she is.”

He groans as you pulse around his fingers, your thighs quivering. He keeps licking, kissing, letting you ride it out. Falling at your feet.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful when you come,” he murmurs, more breath than voice, his cheek brushing your thigh, his fingers still buried deep as aftershocks roll through you.

“I could watch you fall apart forever.”

When he finally pulls back, he kisses the small of your back. Soft. Grateful.

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs. “You know that?”

You can’t answer yet. Your brain is static. All you can do is breathe, trembling and wrecked, hips twitching when he kisses the inside of your thigh. He guides your hips down, sliding one knee at a time back on the coverlet until you’re flat and relaxed.

It’s slow, and soft, and absolutely sticky with the afterglow. You’re still trembling a little—not quite shaking, but your limbs feel loose and jelly-warm, your muscles useless in that delicious, just-fucked way. You can’t stop smiling, which would be embarrassing if Aaron didn’t look so smug about it.

He kisses your forehead first, then your cheek, then your jaw��working his way back up until you turn your face into his and kiss him full. Sweet, unhurried, a little lazy. You can taste the both of you on his tongue and—

Maybe you did want him to finish in your mouth. 

“Can you walk?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

You huff a laugh and roll your eyes. “Rude.”

“Valid question.”

“Some of us are still young and spry and very capable.”

He grins, presses another kiss to your temple. “Mhm. Tough talk.” He swats your ass and your breath chuffs with a little, exhausted noise. “Alright, my little baby deer. Up you go.”

You do your best to follow instructions, but your legs are indeed so shaky you have to hold onto the bed frame for stability. 

You look over your shoulder. “I hate when you’re right.”

He looks awfully satisfied with himself as he saunters over to you, around the bed to your side. 

You swat at him, but he tucks an arm under your back, another behind your knees, and carries you to the bathroom like the smug, post-orgasmic man he is. You nuzzle into his chest and mutter something about how absurdly hot it is that he can lift you like this after a rousing round of extracurriculars.

He helps you wash up—warm cloth, gentle hands, careful kisses to your shoulder as he towels both of you off. You brush your teeth together in companionable silence, bumping hips when you lean for the sink. You spit and catch his eye in the mirror.

He’s already looking at you.

“Staring,” you tease.

“Admiring,” he corrects. “I’m allowed.”

You narrow your eyes playfully and say, “Don’t make me kiss you again.”

He shrugs. “Make me.”

”That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Why don’t you do something about it, then?”

So you kiss him again, low and slow. He holds your face in his hands like you’re made of glass, his thumbs tracing your cheekbones. 

By the time you finally crawl into bed, your body’s humming, your skin smells like his, and you’re wearing one of his old academy t-shirts. You curl into his side like it’s instinct. His arm hooks around your back. Your leg slides over his. And he exhales, like the day is finally over.

Like this is the part he was waiting for.

“You alright?” he asks quietly, mouth near your hairline.

You nod. “You?”

“Never better.”

You nuzzle into him and whisper, “I believe you.”

+++

tagging: @duchesschameleon @chronicallybubbly @derekluvbot @jhiddles03 @soupyamanda @percysley @viennasolace @youngcowisland @beyscape @reidfile @littlemisskavities @lily43sblog @sochalant @lostinthefandoms11

[nanamineedstherapy]

💀JJK MASTERLIST|CRACK, ANGST & UNHINGED CHAOS💀

📌If you like corporate angst, questionable power dynamics, toxic love triangles, and men being menaces, congrats—you’re in the right place. 🖤💀

💌ABOUT MY CATS💌

🐾 My Cats with Flowers

🔥HEADCANONS & UNSOLICITED OPINIONS🔥

📜 JJK Controversial Opinion: The Anti-Sugar Baby Manifesto 📜 [Tumblr/Ao3] 🌌 Why yo JJK Daddy won't fuck you in his domain 🌌 [Tumblr/Ao3] 👔 Nanami Kento - Swearing Headcanon 👔 [Tumblr] 🧿 Why Nanago makes more sense than Satosugu - A psych eval 👩‍💻 Angsty Nanago Glazers Community - A support group for those of us who believe Nanago makes more sense than Satosugu. Go argue with a wall.

📖LONG FICS & SERIES📖

🥂 Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage 🥂 [Tumblr/Ao3] - Ongoing Nanami Kento x F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader x Gojo Satoru Ryomen Sukuna x F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader Higuruma Hiromi x CHRO F!Reader 📖 Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage. Multiple readers + multiple endings with different men.

🦝 Crack Extended Cut: Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage 🦝 [Tumblr/Ao3] - Ongoing Nanami Kento x F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader x Gojo Satoru 📖 Summary: Collection of oneshots that didn't make it into the main plotline but are still funny. Gojo Satoru becomes a model, and Nanami Kento has beef with Vogue. Their housekeeping staff meets the office. Mostly fluff with light angst. Will add other couples too down the line. Reality + Social Media + Poly + Vogue + Unhinged murderous raccoon + Bored staff who roast Gojo.

🌘 Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage - Glass House 🌒 [Tumblr/Ao3] - Alternate Universe Oneshot Completed Nanami Kento x F!Reader x Gojo Satoru 📖 Summary: It begins with a knock at the door, and Nanami is met with an unexpected visitor: drenched & seemingly lost. As the rain pours outside, he reveals a haunting truth—he believes he has seen someone from their past, someone they both thought was gone forever. As the night unfolds, the two confront that linger in their memories, grappling with the shadows that refuse to fade. With tension building & emotions running high, Nanami must navigate the other's unraveling mind while facing the specters of their shared history.

🤖 Artificial Devotion 🤖 [Tumblr/Ao3] - Ongoing Satoru Gojo x F!Reader + Alpha!Nanami Kento 📖 Summary: In a society ruled by intimacy algorithms & scent-coded hierarchies, Alpha Nanami Kento pays to keep two rogue Omegas safe—Satoru & the girl he would die for. It’s not love. It’s a transaction. Until it isn’t. A dystopian Omegaverse with low smut, more power, longing, & the slow horror of wanting to be chosen. Omegaverse (but make it dystopian no power AU), less-smut-focus, plot-heavy, dark sci-fi, psychological, a lil bit feral.

🥩 Mouth to Meat 🥩 [Tumblr/Ao3] - Completed Cannibal Yakuza Ryomen Sukuna x [Retracted] F!Reader 📖 Summary: Dr. Y/N L/N is tasked with profiling Ryomen Sukuna, a feared yakuza boss known for his violent tendencies and taste for human flesh. Through a series of therapy sessions, she gains his trust—or so it seems. But Sukuna isn’t the only predator in the room. Behind Y/N’s professional demeanor hides a secret far darker than even Sukuna’s sins. When the masks drop, it’s clear: monsters don’t always look like him.

📚 To Love & To Ruin 📚 [Tumblr/Ao3] - Ongoing Teacher!Geto Suguru Vs Nanago (Nanami Kento x Gojo Satoru) 📖 Summary: Suguru finds himself entangled in a web of his own making, unsure whether he’s trying to fix what he broke or just ruin what Gojo has built. Meanwhile, Nanako and Mimiko’s meddling could have consequences none of them are ready for. Also, Sukuna’s getting sealed in Shibuya!

🧂CRACK COCAINE🧂

🐯 Ooga Booga Battle Royale 🐯 [Tumblr/Ao3] F!Reader x Pre-Historic Neanderthal JJK daddies + mommies (Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, Zenin Toji, Ryomen Sukuna, & more) 📖 Summary: Prehistoric, period-accurate Neanderthal JJK daddies fighting over you? With grunts, rocks, & zero verbal communication? Say less.

🤰 Help! I'm a Woman & I Got My Two Male Boyfriends Pregnant 🤰 [Tumblr/Ao3] Gojo Satoru x F!Reader x Ryomen Sukuna 📖 Summary: You got Gojo Satoru & Ryomen Sukuna pregnant. Now they’re spiraling, thinking you’re going to leave them. Send Mother Mary.

☎️ Final Fantasy Grandpa Buys a Phone ☎️ [Tumblr/Ao3] Ft. UncKuna Ryomen Sukuna, Retail Worker GN!Reader, Gen Z Android User Itadori Yuji, Millennial iPhone User Inumaki Toge (Can & will speak), Hot Crush at First Sight Fushiguro Megumi 📖 Summary: Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, discovers the horrors of modern technology while trying to buy a phone. Yuji drags his immortal uncle through the chaos of retail hell, Inumaki records everything for clout, & Megumi accidentally becomes the Internet’s newest thirst trap. Or: In which Sukuna learns about Bluetooth while he and Yuji gets a crush, & Inumaki becomes the worst kind of friend. (Feat. awkward flirting, grandpa rage, accidental simping, & enough secondhand embarrassment to power a small city.)

😏 In Ratio Veritas: Someone got Nanami Kento Pregnant & it's not Gojo Satoru 😏 [Tumblr/Ao3] F!Pregnant Reader x Gojo Satoru x Pregnant Special Grade Nanami Kento 📖 Summary: You got Nanami Kento pregnant. Now he's demanding compensation and you didn't even know you could get whole ass special grade man pregnant while also trying to hide it from both your other husband Gojo Satoru or he won't let Nanami live. God Speed.

🥤 Inumaki Toge meets Gojo's wife 🥤 [Tumblr/Ao3] 📖 Summary: What the title says and its 1200 words of misunderstandings and Gojo being Gojo while Nanami sighs and Yuta is questioning his existence.

🐈 Send Gojo? No. Send Nanami? Also No, But Less No. 🐈 [Tumblr/Ao3] Tsukumo Yuki x F!Reader x Ieiri Shoko - Pre-established but Nanami Kento & Gojo Satoru are also here. 📖 Summary: In which Nanami gets emotionally & physically taxed, Gojo should never be left unsupervised, & Shoko, Yuki, & you hold an unholy amount of power over them both. or What if you, Shoko & Yuki, are in a poly relationship & somehow all your cycles sync? How much are we torturing Nanami???

🍗 The Gojo & Geto KFC Breakup: A Sukuna & Toji Reenactment 🍗 [Tumblr/Ao3] 📖 Summary: The JJK gang reenacts the KFC breakup in their own deranged ways.

🥣 How a PowerPoint Ruined My Sex Life (And Why I’m Suing Yuki Tsukumo) 🥣 [Tumblr/Ao3] Nanami Kento x Alien Reader 📖 Summary: Nanami Kento is a man of discipline, reason, and impeccable self-control. But when his alien girlfriend learns about "consent" from Yuki Tsukumo's questionable PowerPoint, his life spirals into chaos. Now, he’s eating cereal in the corner of his apartment, questioning his choices, and plotting revenge.

🌸 Fluffy Oneshots🌸

🍒 Tsundere vs. Tsundere: A Battle of Pride (& Boob Grabs) 🍒 [Tumblr/Ao3] Tsundere!Four-Armed!Ryomen Sukuna x Even More Tsundere!Reader 📖 Summary: You want to touch his tiddies.

💋 Bubble Butt Problems 💋 [Tumblr/Ao3] Nanami Kento X GN!Reader X Gojo Satoru 📖 Summary: Nanami Kento has a problem, you & your wandering hands!

🍼 Indisputable Evidence of Baby Girl Behavior 🍼 [Tumblr/Ao3] Gojo Satoru x F!Reader 📖 Summary: Welcome to the National Baby Girl Census, where we gather empirical evidence on how quickly Gojo Satoru folds when you say one-just one-magic word. This is a scientific study (real). Read responsibly. Or don’t. I know y’all are feral.

🦇 Smudges & Giggles 🦇 [Tumblr/Ao3] Trueform!Ryomen Sukuna x GN!VampireReader 📖 Summary: Vampire you comes home drunk to Ryomen Sukuna, who's trying his best to get the makeup off your face while you try to become a menace incarnate.

💈 Underappreciated JJK Undercut Appreciation: How to flirt with Nanami Kento's Undercut 💈 [Tumblr/Ao3] Pre-Relationship Nanami Kento x Reader 📖 Summary: Nanami Kento: the man, the myth, the legend. Also, the man who’s about to learn that no amount of discipline can withstand the sheer chaos of a reader with a mission. Today’s mission? Touch. The. Undercut. Let’s see how long he lasts. <3

💇 Underappreciated JJK Undercut Appreciation: How to flirt with Gojo's Undercut 💇 [Tumblr/Ao3] Gojo Satoru x Reader 📖 Summary: Gojo Satoru’s undercut is a work of art, & you’re only human. When you finally give in to the urge to touch it, his reaction is… well, let’s just say it’s very Gojo.

🩸The Unsolicited Sister-In-Law/Aniyome/Bhabhi Promotion Arc🩸 [Tumblr/Ao3] Itadori Choso x Reader 📖 Summary: Modern Jujutsu Tech College AU – Choso is a young, grungy yet emotionally competent sorcerer-teacher, sharing faculty duties with Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Haibara, Sukuna (somehow not evil), Toji (we don't ask), and Shoko. You are a non-sorcerer administrative adjunct who somehow ends up in situations you don’t fully understand.

🍷 Sips of Solitude 🍷 [Tumblr/Ao3] Nanami Kento x Gojo Satoru or lovingly Nanago/Gonana 📖 Summary: Satoru Gojo, the invincible sorcerer, faces an unexpected challenge on his birthday: loneliness. But when he ropes Nanami Kento into a night of drinking, things take a hilarious turn. From awkward sips to questionable drinks, watch Gojo navigate the perils of birthday surprises and hangovers, all while discovering the true meaning of friendship in the unlikeliest of places.

🖤 Angsty Oneshots 🖤

🎉 Seven Minutes in Heaven 🎉 [Tumblr/Ao3] Gojo Satoru x F!Reader 📖 Summary: It was supposed to be a normal frat party. Just a stupid game of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Just him, king of never taking anything seriously, getting shoved into a closet for a dumb dare. And yet. Now, he can’t sleep. Can’t think. Can’t stop thinking about you. And one by one, his friends are starting to realize—Whatever happened in that closet? It never really ended.

🔪 We had a taste & now we can't leave you 🔪 [Tumblr/Ao3] Gojo Satoru x GN!Reader x Nanami Kento 📖 Summary: A night of reckless attraction leads to obsession as two dangerous men, Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento, refuse to let you go. What begins as a fleeting connection spirals into a dark, inescapable reality where freedom no longer exists.

🥶 Love, Death & Robots 🥶 [Tumblr/Ao3] JJK Men x Home Appliances Edition 📖 Summary: Ryomen Sukuna = Double-door Fridge, Gojo Satoru = Condensor, Nanami Kento = Microwave, Fushiguru Toji = Dishwasher, Kashimo Hajime = Stovetop Burner, Geto Suguru = Ice Cream Maker, Haibara Yu = Toaster, and Kenjaku = Blender.

⌛ Heat & Dust: Where the Wind Calls Her Name ⌛ [Tumblr/Ao3] Nanami Kento x F!Wife Reader 📖 Summary: Nanami & his wife were happy. That was before Rajasthan. Because when the wind howls through the ruins, the whispers call a name. (A slow-burn tragedy about a love lost & a man who never stopped looking.)

🦜 The Quiet After 🦜 [Tumblr/Ao3] Lima Syndrome/Yandere Gojo Satoru x F!Reader 📖 Summary: You hated him. He loved you for it. But hate stains—and gods don’t bleed.

🦂 Until the end of me 🦂 [Tumblr/Ao3] Ieiri Shoko x F!Reader x Gojo Satoru 📖 Summary: Gojo Satoru is obsessed with Ieiri Shoko's girlfriend.

🗻Winter’s Last Breath🗻[Tumblr/Ao3] Gojo Satoru x Reader, Prev. Gojo Satoru x Nanami Kento 📖 Summary: Gojo Satoru comes back to Tokyo with no memories, a new wife, & no idea what he’s lost.

☕ Residual ☕ [Tumblr/Ao3] Gojo Satoru x F!Reader in Nanami's body 📖 Summary: They told her he died. Or someone did. Now she walks in Nanami’s body, haunted by memories she never lived—and Gojo Satoru won’t stop looking at her. A story about cursed continuations, misplaced memory, and the kind of love that survives the grave. Not a fix-it. Not quite a romance. Just grief with teeth, liminality, and canon Gojo being canon Gojo: brilliant, broken, and almost remembering. Canon-compliant up to Chapter 236.

🦴 Marrow 🦴[Tumblr/Ao3] Gojo Satoru x Nanami Kento 📖 Summary: It all begins with a late-night phone call that pulls Nanami from the comfort of his drink & into a chilling encounter. When he arrives, he finds a disquieting state, leading him deeper into a world of unsettling revelations. With tension mounting & secrets unraveling, the two face the darkness that has haunted them for years, leading to a haunting conclusion that challenges their understanding of identity & loyalty.

🛐 Hollow Worship: It was never about him 🛐 [Tumblr/Ao3] Gojo Satoru x Reader, Nanami Kento 📖 Summary: Gojo Satoru was used to being admired. Worshipped, even. That was the natural order of things. But worship isn’t always devotion. Sometimes, it’s possession. Sometimes, it’s something far worse.

💉 Anesthesia 💉 [Tumblr/Ao3] Gojo Satoru x Nanami Kento 📖 Summary: In the aftermath of a devastating car accident, Satoru awakens in a hospital room, grappling with the reality alongside Nanami.

🌊 I lost you when I lost me 🌊 [Tumblr/Ao3] JJK Men x Reader 📖 Summary: You never wanted to say it. You never wanted him to know. But when the truth comes out—when the realization hits—there’s no escaping the devastation that follows.

🌼 His Chrysanthemums 🌼 [Tumblr/Ao3] Widowed!Fushiguro Toji x GN!Reader 📖 Summary: Grief lingers like a shadow, following even the strongest hearts. Toji’s world was shattered, and though time moved forward, he remained anchored to the memory of what he’d lost. A new presence offers a chance to heal, but unseen and unheard, someone fights to return to him, defying the laws of life & death.

👁️ In Shadows of His Heart 👁️ Watching Megumi fall in love with someone else 👁️ [Tumblr/Ao3] Fushiguro Megumi x Unrequited GN!Reader 📖 Summary: I watched him from the shadows, from across hallways and rooftops, through laughter and heartache. Over the years, Megumi Fushiguro became the centre of a world he’d never known he created within me. My words stayed locked away, my feelings buried, while he found comfort in another’s arms. And still, I remain—close enough to share his silence, yet forever worlds apart from the piece of him I can never reach.

🤫 Silent Whispers 🤫 [Tumblr/Ao3] Inumaki Toge x F!Reader 📖 Summary: Toge's speech may be limited, but his emotions are not. On his birthday, you both deepen a connection that is quiet yet unbreakable.

🚨 Through Tears & Determination 🚨 [Tumblr/Ao3] Lovely Runner meets Nanami Kento 📖 Summary: Imagine being an obsessed Lovely Runner fangirl, but instead of saving your bias, you’re in Shibuya trying to keep Nanami alive. Good luck.

🔥 Smutty Oneshots 🔥

🤓 The Symphony of Spite 🤓 [Tumblr/Ao3] Ryomen Sukuna x GN!Therapist Reader x Nanami Kento Crybaby!Gojo Satoru x ..... (he's after one of your manz) 📖 Summary: No summary. You can read at your own risk. Because I don't even know what a good summary for this would be. Also Crybaby!Gojo getting backshots from his Yandere. Toji, Hiromi, Shoko, Kusakabe, Ijichi, Ino, Suguru, & Haibara are also here for reasons. Comes with a chart to understand everything better.

⏰ The Cruelty of Time: We all will get old someday, so this is for the small wins. ⏰ [Tumblr/Ao3] Nanami Kento x F!Reader, Gojo Satoru x F!Reader, Ryomen Sukuna x F!Reader (Separate) 📖 Summary: Nanami/Gojo/Sukuna always know when something is wrong. He gives you space. He waits. But patience only lasts so long when the woman he adores refuses to speak. If words won’t do, he has other ways of making you talk. (All men get their separate parts & have different readers, but the plot is connected, so it's recommended to read all.)

💎 Velvet Sin & Clandestine Vows 💎 [Tumblr/Ao3]Nanami Kento x Billionaire F!Reader (Also, Gojo Satoru is there) 📖 Summary: Nanami at a bougie party? Weird. Nanami getting dragged into a bathroom with a mysterious woman? Even weirder. Let the scandal begin.

📬ASK BOX STATUS: OPEN📬

💌 Requests are open! I love writing angst, dark content, & crack humor fluff. Feel free to send ideas or prompts! 🚫 No incest or grooming requests, but murder & genocide? Fine. Hahahaha.

🔗WHERE TO FIND ME🔗

📖 AO3: [Link] 📷 Insta: [Link] 🖤 Tumblr: You’re already here, babe. All gifs have been from @xf4int. Please do check them out.

[cloakandcinder]

GENERAL  STATS  name:  ser  alaric  eissen  /  alias(es):  the  silent  lion,  the  king’s  shadow,  brother  blade  /  age:  45  /  gender:  cis  man  (he  /  him)  /  orientation:  pansexual  /  birthplace:  belveil  palace,  ardora  /  rank:  commander  of  the  kingsguard  /  house:  eissen  (youngest  sibling  to  high  king  theoden  ii) PHYSICAL  &  MENTAL  height:  6’3”  /  build:  broad,  scarred,  barrel-chested  —  built  for  war,  not  beauty  /  eye  color:  steel-grey  /  hair  color:  dark  blonde,  silvering  at  the  temples  /  tattoos:  none  (not  permitted  by  order  tradition)  /  scars:  countless.  blade  slashes.  arrow  wounds.  a  burn  from  his  first  oath.  one  across  his  chest  —  a  near  fatal  betrayal  he  never  speaks  of  /  dominant  hand:  right  /  armor:  blackened  silver  with  the  lion  of  eissen  burned  into  the  chestplate.  he  polishes  it  himself.

PERSONALITY  6  traits:  loyal, restrained, disciplined,  observant,   deeply  moral,   unreadable  /  6  flaws:  emotionally  repressed,    bitter,    controlling,  self-denying , haunted,   merciless  /  mbti:  istj  /  moral  alignment:  lawful  neutral  /  temperament:  melancholic-sanguine  /  enneagram:  1w9  /  zodiac:  capricorn  sun  •  virgo  moon  •  scorpio  rising  /  patron  deity:  cursed  by  enerin 

PSYCH  EVAL  conditions:  chronic  insomnia,  functional  depressive  tendencies,  survivor’s  guilt,  known  to  dissociate  under  extreme  emotional  pressure  /  schemas:  self-sacrifice,  unworthiness  of  joy,  guilt-linked  affection,  emotional  suppression,  fear  of  legacy

TRAINING  &  SKILLS  education:  royal  military  tutelage  +  kingsguard  elite  training  /  swordsmanship:  master-level  /  combat  specialties:  dual-wielding,  long  sword,  close  quarters,  defensive  formations  /  other  skills:  war  strategy,  equestrian  command,  code  of  silence  /  known  for:  never  retreating,   never  hesitating  +  never,  ever  crying

LIKES  silence  at  dawn  /  sword  oil  and  polished  steel  /  the  weight  of  chainmail  /  rare  books  (military  history  or  poetry  —  nothing  in  between)  /  loyalty  shown  without  words  /  sparring  before  sunrise

DISLIKES  court  flattery  /  questions  about  family  /  anyone  calling  him  “prince”  /  gold  embroidery  /  pity  /  breaking  an  oath  /  the  idea  of  legacy

they  called  him  prince  only  once  —  the  day  he  was  born.

the  youngest  son  of  house  eissen,  alaric  was  never  meant  for  crowns  or  courtship.  where  his  brother  was  groomed  for  diplomacy  and  rule,  alaric  was  shaped  in  steel  and  silence.  he  was  five  when  the  old  king  placed  a  training  sword  in  his  hand  and  told  him,  “you’ll  never  sit  the  throne,  but  you’ll  die  for  it.”  and  he  never  forgot.

by  thirteen,  he  was  already  sparring  with  grown  knights.  by  sixteen,  he’d  taken  his  oaths  and  vanished  into  the  discipline  of  the  kingsguard.  he  did  not  look  back  when  his  mother  wept.  he  did  not  flinch  when  his  eldest  brother  became  king.  he  did  not  speak  when the  high  priest  reminded  him  that  no  eissen  would  ever  be  chosen  by  the  gods  again.

he  bled  instead.  quietly.  constantly. over  the  years,  ser  alaric  eissen  became  more  myth  than  man.  the  king’s  shadow.  the  lion  no  longer  roaring  —  only  watching.  his  loyalty  is  absolute,  but  it  is  not  soft.  he  has  no  children.  no  partner.  no  heirs.  there  are  rumors  of  lovers  past  —  men  and  women  alike  —  but  none  stayed.  he  did  not  ask  them  to.

some  say  he  is  what  the  curse  of  enerin  truly  looks  like:  not  rage  or  fire,  but  the  slow,  painful  erosion  of  a  man  who  was  born  to  love  and  commanded  instead  to  kneel.  he  is  not  unfeeling.  but  his  feelings  live  in  silence  —  in  the  way  he  pulls  his  blade  before  his  words,  in  the  way  his  gaze  lingers  on  a  battlefield  too  long  after  the  last  breath  is  drawn.

he  is  not  cruel.  he  is  not  kind.  he  is  simply  alaric.

[favoritestblorbo]

🔪 - Enemy/nemesis

Well, look who is being brought up again! One Cove Slidell. ( featured @occidere-diem )

Cove doesn't talk about it, but when he was in college, he was studying psychology and astronomy. And Cove was the one who did the psych evals on Bane as well as Blair ( @whispersofmoon ) and approved them to work on the project the University of Arizona was funding that led them both, as well as Bane, away form this world in the first place.

And hey, Bane could have forgiven that. He could have! He doesn't believe Cove knew what was going on fully, none of them did, but Cove did something else.

Cove saved Blair.

And yeah, okay, Bane gets that Cove probably had to make a choice on who he could save. Cove probably couldn't save both of them. Cove probably didn't have time to do anything to get him out, too.

Doesn't mean Bane isn't royally pissed about being left behind, though.

[m0e-ru]

losers meetup

[yuzurk]

「  Be My Last 」 ⇢ Royal Eval June 2k20 | +3 CH ; +2 DB ; +1 Wk High Notes ⇢ Yuzu branching out once a mothereffin’ gain [ Q & A | Peppermint Chocolate ]

“ once again she signed up for two projects, not knowing she would be working on a third. ”

as the end of the month came around, yuzu was confident in her groups and her own skills to perform well. despite a million things swirling around in her mind; from worrying about gahyeon and her both making it into heartz, over how the other royal girls would feel once they found out they had auditioned to how this could be her last eval under royal and dowoon was the only fellow trainee she worked with for this potentially last month.

being a usually loyal and honest person, she almost felt like she was cheating when she kept her audition to herself from the boy who had gotten in trouble along with her. 

she made sure to push all these thoughts away though as she prepared for her performances. while q&a was technically her baby, she made sure to invest equally as much time into preparing for both performances, even when her own chosen song was the harder challenge for the triple threat. hitting these high notes and mirroring the vocal strength to match her own raspy voice was something she had to work with a lot of confidence to pull it off. 

the boys had been nothing but sweet during their rehearsals though and even while she performed with them, she was glad to have won them over for this eval. chris and vok were both in sphere and she couldn’t help but wonder if she were to see them more often in the future months to come.

waiting for results really wasn’t her strongest skill. 

on the other hand performing with seokwoo felt almost easy, granted the two had been friends for so long. it made dealing with her guilt towards dowoon almost easy. calming her mind with the thought she didn’t want to wake sleeping dogs, the female let herself go through that vocal performance easy as well. the added dash of rap a welcome change to mix things up. not getting to dance for this month again was a bit of a bummer for the girl who wanted to improve the steadiness of her vocal performance while dancing but at least that way she could confidently deliver without having to worry about any wavers in her voice.

at the end of the day yuzu was satisfied with both her performances. only a few days now till she’d find out if that would be her last eval under royal. 

once she was alone to herself, standing in front of the royal building the female sighed. perhaps all her worries would be for nothing and she wouldn’t get chosen but it sure did feel like a goodbye regardless.

[drop--pop--candy]

mmm some sort of vaguely fantasy but also high tech au where some people have magic. not everyone. Haruka is famous and well-respected for being able to see the future. she's some kind of royal adviser or something. Misaki is a Peacekeeper (not a cop she doesn't do enforcement stuff. what does she do? it's a secret!) and she got put into this job bc of nepotism but she is actually good at it. as far as the public knows, she's something like a therapist for criminals. (she is also a regularstyle therapist but that is not important currently). she has a remarkable success rate, and there is much speculation about what sort of power she must have to be able to do that.

chika can see the past. and she can also make OTHER people see the past. as a young kid tho it wasn't very strong. her past-seeing only went back to as old as she was (and she also couldn't make anyone else see it at this time), though she could see anywhere in the world. this is a good time to mention that at 5 years old, everyone gets talent evaluated. it's not nearly as scary as it sounds, mostly after the talent eval the testers just tell you what sort of career you'd be good in growing up. they're checking for people with great talents, something that will really help the kingdom. Haruka was one of those, so she was primed from a young age to be a royal adviser. Chika, on the other hand, was not. her power was weak as far as the evaluators were concerned, since she didn't have full visions like Haruka did where she'd fall over and stuff. the only REAL evidence she could see into the past was how she knew things she wouldn't be able to know, but she didn't receive that information in a vision. she just always knew.

so anyways one day a college-aged chika is sitting in an ancient history class about how the kingdom came to be. and she's like hmm! that sounds Wrong! and the teacher's like "?? girl sit down are you the teacher or am i" so she does. but she keeps Thinking About It. she looks it up and it says the same thing her teacher did but she just can't shake the feeling that she's right. and then. alone in her college down. she has her first ever vision. and it is of the SUPER past. but she hasn't honed her visions Literally At All so it gives her little to no information.

anyways so maho, her roommate, walks in on chika having this vision, and assumes she's having a seizure. so she takes her to the hospital. and when Chika wakes up she starts raving about what she saw which is NOOOT helping her case. the doctors think she hit her head on the way down. but no amount of healing magic is curing it so they're very confused

ok im tired that's all you get but this is how the conflict starts anyways

hold on. im fucking cooking. everyone get ready to clap and cheer

[memoriesofyccjungrk]

▫︎ ▪︎  ━ ᴍᴀʏ 2020 ᴇᴠᴀʟᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 

the month had been long and stressful, and quite honestly gahyeon’s glad that the day has finally come for their performance. being that she hadn’t properly performed in front of a camera for about two years, gahyeon hardly remembered how anxiety-inducing it had actually been for her. a lot had changed in those two years, more than maybe gahyeon realized. stepping on stage with the royal girls in front of the ceos, like she had so many times on a similar stage what felt like ages ago, gahyeon felt more sure of herself. she still had a bit of lingering anxiety, but not enough to scare her out of performing. she didn’t have to prepare herself, because gahyeon knew she was prepared. a month of preparation was more than enough time, and gahyeon was confident in their performance of their senior’s song.

not only that, but gahyeon had placed a lot of trust in her fellow royal trainees – they’d all been training together for what felt like so long, she knew she could trust them to do their part. not to mention, they all helped one another. there was a time where gahyeon worried the competitiveness of being a trainee would get to her, that it would be too much and she wouldn’t be able to handle herself. even worse was the fear of joining a company she knew so little about – not like she knew anything about them beyond what she gathered from online boards in the first place. she knew it would be hard, that she would sacrifice a lot in her journey to the stage – but she hadn’t expected to earn friends along the way. the royal girls worked together, they weren’t necessarily in competition with one another, gahyeon didn’t think.

gahyeon had worked with yena and jisoo to practice her singing lines, not feeling as though she was shunned for her lack of skill compared to the others. lee gahyeon was no vocalist, but she didn’t want to be tone-deaf – and the royal girls helped her with that. from day one, gahyeon was taken care of by the older, more senior trainees, and gahyeon passed that on to her juniors as much as possible. although this wasn’t quite the evaluation that she could help out much, mostly working with lisa and ensuring the two of them knew their parts and had the right sound while rapping, gahyeon knew that she had been shaped dramatically by the other trainees. while in her early days, gahyeon may have wondered if she was put into the right company – these days, gahyeon was sure she was where she was meant to be.

( ᴡ��ʏ sᴏ ʟᴏɴᴇʟʏ ? )

the group performed as a unit, their song flowing easily; the vocals precise and the rap perfected to the syllable due to the diligent practice of the girls. they worked hard, hoping they could show the ceos that they were deserving of a win – hoping to show so jisub that his resources weren’t going to waste. it wasn’t often that they got to perform in front of their ceo, so they had to do their best in every opportunity they got. between the vocals, the rap, yena’s canjon, and rose’s guitar, the performance turned out as strong as they could’ve hoped. the royal girls worked as a cohesive unit after at the very least the good part of a year. no matter the time they spent together, the royal girls worked well together. gahyeon is sure she wouldn’t want it any other way. 

[rkjisoo]

                                               * ·  . MAY 2019 EVALUATIONS  .  * ─    song: save me, save you by wjsn ( reference )   ✰.

it does not take much of a genius to figure out that if it were not for her singing, she would have long been shredded to pieces by this very industry she had decided to be a part of.

it was not her dramatic attributes speaking, for it was a fact written on stones and stars. it is her singing that continues to keep her afloat because heaven knows she is not exactly thriving in her dancing abilities. she is grateful that mostly every performance they are tasked with every month requires adequate singing skills of some sort, as each one gives her something to be proud to show. this month is definitely one of them.

having been a theatre aficionado since her youth means she’s a professional when it comes to performing live for an audience. at twenty-three, it already comes without pressure. the only difference this time around is that she has to sing live with difficult choreography - something she has never quite achieved yet in all her glory days of musical theatre. she supposes that this is where her one year and almost a half of being an idol trainee comes in, though, for she does not feel the nerve-wrecking performance day anxieties as she would once have.

although truth be told, her confidence in herself makes it hard for her to remember when she has ever been frozen with the jitters.

her time comes and she enters the room with an air of certainty. the hard days were over and her absolute exhaustion had come and gone. while she feels somewhat a little out of step still with her normal energy levels having not yet returned, she knew she could do well with was given to her this day. dressed in lace and girly frills, she bows at the coaches before moving to position. they wasted no time and as soon as she music starts, her body moves as if on autopilot.

save me, save you is fast paced song and one that kicks off with a dance portion at the very beginning. her arms are flying about in a graceful manner, hair moving as quickly as she shifts from one position to another. it was hard having to match her arm movements with that of her foot but by the very least she manages and with that, she starts singing. 

jisoo sings with the confidence of a vocalist - her voice melodically loud and clear. it is never quite an easy task performing something that is meant to be shared with nine other people but she knows she’s capable of doing a fantastic job handling all the singing parts. it is something that she makes sure her coaches know, her voice steady with each verse and despite following intricate choreography.

the chorus is undoubtedly her favorite part. the corners of her mouth lifts up in a small smile once it starts and it is evident that she is enjoying what she’s performing. it seems as though she can forget the tiring process it took her in exchange for nearly four minutes of performance bliss.

it comforts her greatly knowing that she seems to be doing a stellar job. while her dancing is not perfectly on point, she knew it could pass expectations for a non-dancer like herself. jisoo also stopped singing during the rapping parts because she could never quite bring herself to do them. in her defense, she’s just playing it safe. beyond those little drawbacks, her singing is what she’s most proud of; how it managed to be wonderfully stable despite all the dancing makes her heart swell. it makes her think about how far she’s come and how well she has improved. it makes her thing about the future possibilities - whether it be on this type of stage or for the one that her heart calls out for. it is safe to say that she’s looking out for both.

in a few seconds, she reaches the climax of the song. she sings the high note with ease, a sense of satisfaction weaving its way into her system and manifesting itself in the manner that she dances. a confident flair merges with her movements and she wraps up the performance with a glint behind her eyes.

this performance shows that even though she is not quite fully sold on the notion of being an idol, she was not as opposed to it as she once was. hopefully, her thoughts and feelings on the matter would not change as quickly as the realization came. there has already been an outpour of dedication on her part this far into her career only for her to go back to where she started.

[rkxdowoon-a]

MAY EVALUATION; ROYAL ENTERTAINMENT Yoon Dowoon performing Super Junior’s ‘A-Cha.’ (00:00-02:02)

He wasn’t expecting his first evaluation to go as well as he’d like. Especially seeing as he was signed after all the other trainees had begun practicing. But it couldn’t be helped. Trying to catch up on the missed week of training had only earned him a dizzy spell and a scolding from Hongjoong. So instead Dowoon had simply focused on practicing his chosen song and trying to keep a positive attitude about the evaluation. At least it was a distraction from everything outside of Royal.

Walking into the room where all the coaches were waiting, stomach churning, he bows to them before taking a few deep breaths and starting his performance, trying to push his insecurities aside.

He’s not entirely successful. 

The song is easy enough to sing along to, with simple lyrics and a steady beat. And to start with, everything goes to plan and he hopes that he can pull this off without too major an incident. He’s not expecting perfection. 

But, Dowoon’s lack of stamina along with his still fledgling dancing skills is what lets him down. Halfway through, he has to pause his dancing and continue singing on the spot due to lack of breath, his body not able for him to support all three this time around. When he restarts his dancing, he knows he’s out of step and his movements lack the energy they had before. But he finishes without further disaster and bows once again to the coaches before being dismissed.

He’s disappointed in himself, it was his abilities to rap, dance and sing along to Just Right that had him gotten Royal’s attention to start with, and he’s upset that he couldn’t replicate that in his first evaluation. But what’s done is done and him moping about will do nothing for him in the long run. At least now he knows the work evaluations entail and he’s determined to make a much better impression next month.

Word Count: 325 Gif credit (original blog deactivated)

[jamesbloodybond]

Bond's eyes twitched in response to the glaring sunlight. He finished the last few sips of the bottle and rolled it on the floor before pulling himself out of bed. Some part of Bond wanted to wrap his upper body with a towel to avoid even more disappointed looks from Mallory, but he knew that even if he did, it wouldn't be long before the psych eval team or Q found out. He just shrugged away his sentiment and limped to the mirror, back facing Mallory.

"Not sure what you think of me," Bond spoke inaudibly, but loud enough possibly for Mallory to get what he was driving at. It had become second nature for him to go on days with sleep deprivation after he stepped into the Royal Naval College at the age of 17.

Bond’s scars and physical state were visibly showing now. Numerous scars scattered around all parts of his body - imperfectly healed from the lack of proper care and wounds constantly opened up in the course of multiple missions over the decades.

"And what would I do back in MI6?" Bond asked, reaching out for his pill bottle, swallowing a few with the glass of water that was so conveniently placed on the dresser - he wasn’t even sure if he poured a glass of water earlier to set on the table.

"The mission doesn’t start till Friday, yes?" Bond turned around, saw that his superior had his back turned against him, and sighed softly.

He perched on the dresser and waited patiently to get briefed.

It doesn’t take a layman to know that Bond had been drinking. The dimly lit bedroom was gradually getting brighter and brighter from the sun rising and had been strewn with 7 empty bottles of beer with high alcohol content. It’s definitely unlike Bond to drink beer given his favourite drink – the vodka martini, shaken not stirred, but he does indulge in the other drinks should none of his preferred ones be available. And that was probably one of the reasons why he was kept awake - the thoughts that ruminated in his head, as well as a drink that was not strong enough to knock him out for a few hours. Pre-missions were always the worst with all the second-guessing and meticulous planning from multiple ends in MI6. It was not just Mallory, Q, Tanner or Moneypenny’s hassle to think about a way to achieve their objective for the mission, but rather, it also had Bond prepping himself mentally to steel himself in the face of his unresolved trauma that tracked back as early as his childhood. Bond heard footsteps and the periphery of his blue eyes noted that Mallory seemed as if he were going to talk him down about how much alcohol he was drinking and remind him that he was going to be on a mission in two days and couldn’t afford to let the blood toxicity affect him. “I don’t think I can go back to sleep.”

@dontcxckitup

[rkseonho]

broken glass.

@rkmseok march 19 eval set mar 10th 

decked in sweat pants that are loose enough to hide the knee brace, and an over sized hoodie that might actually belong to jaehyun now that he thinks about it, seonho stretches out along the couch in one of the recording studios. he was waiting on the instructor to come back to help him go over his vocals once more. it’s been almost ten minutes now and the teen was going insane waiting. bored, he ended up pushing up from his lazy position and went over to the sound board.

he’s been taught how to use it, well kind of, he’s had a few lessons and he’s helped arrange a song or two, so he knows how most of these nobs and buttons work. but he’s never done anything without supervision.

seonho doing anything without supervision is normally a bad idea but well. 

no one is here to stop him.

curious, he plots into one of the chairs before the sound board and flips one of the switches on. he knows the soundtrack for his current evaluation song choice was still set up to play. but he couldn’t remember how to play it.  couldn’t hurt to mess around. and that’s how seonho ended up getting jonas brother sos to blast near full volume through out the recording studio. he didn’t hear the door open, nor did he see his hyung standing at the door as he pushed more things and flipped others until the song has morphed into an almost demonic chant. “ahhnoooooo this isn’t it!!” he panicked, trying to shut it off. 

[rkbyunbaek]

royal evaluation, may 2019 ;

multi-tasking ; ♫ luna — free somebody

honestly? this month’s evaluation fell flat to him before it even began. felt boring already when they announced it because the task they got was just so similar to what they had to do the month prior -- heavy focus on singing and keeping a stable voice while dancing to a higher level choreography. so, yeah, pretty much the same except for the added task of having to to catch the different cameras attention during the whole performance to be missing this time.

instead of being more demanding and challenging each trainee through something new, something to build up on that they managed to make their task a lot easier.

for baekhyun, at least.

last month he’s been constantly practicing the choreography of their song with his group in an attempt to make himself fit better into the concept. wanting to memorize every move for their evaluation while, this month, he’s been mostly busy with being annoyed over their task. it feels like he’s been, focusing ( probably ) too much on it. looking through suitable choreographies for weeks only to scrap them because it looked stupid to do on his own or because the song ended up not being enough of a challenge for him -- it is his forté. it’s something he’s rather good at compared to others ; singing while dancing. even if the quality of his dance has often suffered a little for the sake of belting out notes almost perfectly. ( he wants to be a vocalist and not a dancer. )

and it would be a lie if baekhyun couldn’t admit that he does like to show off. once in a while.

it took him way too long to find something nice. something to satisfy him and, even now, when he’s about to perform his choice, baekhyun is still not completely hooked because it would look so much better if he’d have a group with him or at least some people to dance backup for him.

it’s been so long since he’s been really excited for an evaluation. for a performance. feeling drawn to the stage more than ever. is that the reason why training has become so boring and repetitive to him lately? because he wants to debut? because he thinks like he’s more than ready to debut. hoping for more. wanting more.

but as he steps into the middle of the practice room, backtrack already starting all he can do is hope that the next evaluation will be… . more. because baekhyun feels that despite being ready debut isn’t as close as he’d want it to be.

[babymousegirl]

As a Ms. Lous,

I read anything from idiots again,

from pnterwebs reaching Planet Earth,

anyway, idiot weenie Baal Saints

love, apparently and transparently,

Purple, me, and them with colors of earth

from Planet Fucking Earth of

2023 urban and rural word meanings ...

Fortunately, Ugnkle Nastygemz from

Peruvian Paradise of Secrets, {redacted]

is missing Violetxos from Idiots Stealing

Purple from love, colors of boys and colors of

girls, fem, fm, f, x, o, ar, etc,

Love,

Idiots of Me, andora Random Pronxs,

я , princessas y princessos

...

of colores de el no sé

lo siento

xoxoxoxoxoxo

LunaSolVerdeZ,

earth from Earth-Dwellong locars lovars,

inkuding sikho ammoras :)

nomenclatured

amora presents and presence

:) xo I love you; I loce tus(* uoy evol I ox (:

[rkleedongminie]

higher.

@rkbyunbaek

this eval was turning out to be fun so far. dongmin was working in two groups, which months before would have stressed him out because he doesn’t see himself someone talented enough for one group, nor does he really have the time management abilities to handle two eval groups AND his school. but things change, dongmin changed….. kind of. he feels more comfortable in his singing ability, and he has his morning period free so he can go in for morning training and leave for class. 

so handling two eval groups was okay. and he was having fun with both groups! even if he was worrying about keeping up… sure, he’s more confident, but even he knows baekhyun hyung is a much more talented singer than him. speaking of baekhyun. “hyung!” dongmin called, attaching to the older males arms when he spotted him in the cafeteria. a pout forming on his lips as he looks at the shorter other trainee. “ are we meeting with soohyunnie noona and jaehyunnie hyung later to practice together?” 

[rksona]

★ — move ;

starter for @seolhyunrk !

it was hard not to get lost in her emotions for what was to come, whirlwinds of excitement and anxiety engulfing her all at once. their debut preparations were well underway, though dawon wasn’t sure if it was passing by too fast or too slow. there was a part of her that felt nothing but joy knowing that she was so close to achieving her lifelong dream, though there was another part of her that doubted whether or not she was ready for such a thing. what if she would somehow manage to find a way to mess everything up so close to the finish line?

learning the choreography had been something to take her mind off of things, though she wasn’t making as much progress as she would have liked. dawon thought that she was doing okay, though she knew that she’d have to be better than just okay—she’d have to be perfect, lest she risks jeopardizing just about everything that she’d worked for (in other words, she was ‘overthinking it’). she caught up with seolhyun one day after practice, hoping that she wouldn’t be too busy. “hey, seolhyun? i, uh, well... i feel really nervous right now, about all of this, and... i don’t know, i guess i was wondering if you might have time to help me with the choreo a little? not if you’re busy, of course! it can wait, i was just... yeah!”