#Geometric Precision | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tonycries · 4 months ago

Text

ATTACK ON P*SSY!

Synopsis. He’s a 10 but when you ask him to be rough…he goes rough.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rough s, headlocks, hard and fast, manhandIing, dóggy, GOJO’S POWERS, tummy buIges, spítting, dúmbifícation, MARATHONS, jealous s (Nanami’s side), chokíng, leaving marks, cúmplay, p talking, breéding, cervíx kíssing, true form Sukuna, dp, Ino cries, pússydrunk men, they go FÉRAL, p sIapping, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. Lmk if you get the Love and Deepspace reference in Nanami’s heh.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Twisterrr!

“So…my girl wants it rough, huh?” Toji’s scarred lips tickle precisely the most sensitive spots on your neck, making him depart a husky snicker. “Heh- stop talkin’ outta ya pussy, mama.”

Your spit-glittered mouth formulates into a pout, hazy peripherals darting over your shoulder and towards your leering boyfriend. Hot. Each syllable hitched with whines, “I-I’m not. I reeeally want it r-”

“When ya can’t even handle this?”

He’s cutting your babbling off with an utterly mean drive of his hips, thoroughly opening up your clingy walls with the curvaceous tip crowning his shaft. Probing n’ probing until he’s pressing a sweet, sweet smooch lovingly on your g-spot.

Holding it there, unmoving.

Rendering you so stupid with only a single thrust that you feel yourself tremble like a leaf once he’s gritting out a low, “Oh? She got even ngh- wetter.” And before you know it, a lengthy foot is being pressed right along the middle of your spine. Strong, rugged palms pulling and pulling on your upper-arms to bend you into such a lecherous arch-

“Fine. Brace yourself, doll.”

And Toji barely even gives your popped ears the time to hear his rasped-out promise let alone register it- fuck, you should consider yourself lucky that he gave you a warning in the first place.

Because Toji Fushiguro was fucking you like he hated you.

His blushing mushroom head was as red as a strawberry, and just as thick - whacking against the poor bullseye of your tenderest nooks n’ crannies repeatedly until your tastebuds simply drowned in saliva.

Until you were throwing your head back with a thick gasp, “T-Tooooji- like that. J-just like that.”

“Just like hah! that?” He’s crooning from behind, planting a peck near your jaw. You feel so dirty when his foot strikes down to bow you even deeper into the perfect geometrical curvature, “Bend. Bend f’me a little more- yeahhh, just like that. M’only getting started, mama.”

Fuck, what?

Toji finds himself smiling all dopily at the tiny sob that slips through your cracked lips. Your glassy eyes wide, thighs shivering against his meaty ones, stringy wads of drool slipping and sliding in thin trails down either cute side of your maw.

So pretty.

“Whaaaat? D-don’t tell me this ngh- needy pussy-” And just as rude Toji talked, he pounded into you even ruder. Swollen, heavy cock now smearing streaks of sappy pre that stick on top of your g-spot like glue. “-can’t-” Hard. Merciless. So full and dumbstruck, you can only mewl when his big, beefy biceps ‘round you grow tighter. Bulging out large bruises on your heated skin, “-handle it?”

“I can I can—” You’re shaking your head like a rattle, vision fuzzy with tears and the arousal of his drenched black pubes scratching your violently papping mounds raw.

He coos, “Mhm, and this pretty pussy hck! won’t cum immediately?”

“Won’t-” You’re choking out, words getting stuck in the leaden ball in your throat when he angles his bloated cock to stroke the roof of your gummy walls. Puffed-up veins massaging every treasure trove of orifices in that delicious zigzag pattern of his.

“Hmm— dunno if I ngh- believe you.”

“P-promise.” Hips swiveling back into his in a lazy back and forth that slaps your ass into his toned abs, every murked pant you’re letting off matches the creaking bedsprings of Toji’s mattress. Sniffling, “Give it t’me. Fuh-fuck me rougher pleeease-”

You bite down on your slackened lower lip as soon as he graces your throbbing cunt with a claggy spank. Still being plastered against Toji’s slick, glissading front with one hand of his hands manhandling both of yours to pin behind your back.

You can feel the sloshing whoosh of his buttery precum dripping out of you, coating your inner thighs with such carnal need.

He chortles something dangerous, and you don’t have to ogle behind at Toji to know that he had his eyes dead set on the prize. Right on your sobbing pussy. “Well…since ya said h-heh ‘please.’”

Within two bats of your tear-lathered lashes, Toji’s unclasping his vice-like restraint on your arms to let you fall onto the cacophonous bed like a delicate piece of domino. Tittering.

Waiting the few sultry nanoseconds it takes for your brows to knit into an adorable furrow, waiting until that disappointed groan is just building up in your throat- before he’s shoving your sweat-shimmered face into the pillows and rutting.

“Jeez, mama-” You hear Toji drawl out through the muffling cotton in your ears, low baritone barely audible over the furious thwack! of his full, rounded breeder balls spanking your thighs. “Told you you’d cum ngh- immediately.”

Fuck.

And it’s only then that you realize that you are cumming - white-hot bliss flashing behind your flapping lids, your hips struggling to push and push off of the soaked sheets while he draaaaags out your high.

You’re grappling onto the headboard for dear life. For anything grounding, because right now you’re so weak you think you might just break. “Toji- Tooooji…c-cumming. M’cumming-”

“Shut up.” Toji hisses through gleaming, clenched teeth. Gone. Bosomy tip French kissing pinpricks of pre into your g-spot with every quiver of your high, and no matter how much you’re clenching your glutinous walls around him, he’s still driving out and in through the resistance so solidly deep. “Told you- told you.”

Before you can snipe back, his palm roughly plummets down on the sweaty crown of your head. Forcing you to bite on a mouthful of satiny pillowcase, forcing you to shut up.

To shut up so that he can slouch back and loll his greedy gaze to your gulping cunt, aftershocks of your orgasm so strong that he could count every time your saturated folds twitched. And he did count.

Five times in all before grumbling, “Told ‘er- didn’t I, p-pretty girl?” Not at you - but at your sloppy pussy. Who seemed more than happy to talk back in wet squelches upon squelches every time he was poking his veins into your gushing entrance. “Yeah- yeahhh I did, you’re so right.”

“Toji mmpf-”

“Wanted it rough, s-so now you’re gonna get it.” Toji’s every word rips out in a primal growl, and you feel your creaking bed snap! somewhere in the distance. Broken. A foot making its lecherous home on your head, hard. “Brace yourself, doll.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Jealousy, jealousy

“P-please.” You’re whispering with your jaw hanging foolishly open, warbly tone right on the verge of breaking because your husband’s in so deep. So…insatiable. “You can be ngh- rougher today, Ken—”

“R-rougher?” Nanami’s echo comes out ragged, carnal. As strained as his sanity was beginning to feel right now when you were underneath him and begging so prettily like this. He dips a sensual peck near one of your ankles dangling off of his sculptured shoulders, “I don’t want to hurt you, my love. Or leave any marks that…” Pearly whites clenching, seethingly. “-others can see.”

And oh, Nanami Kento was a gentleman. Nanami Kento was patient with you.

Always.

But not with any touchy new co-worker of yours that just-so-happened to hang around you way too fucking often for his taste.

No, one singular mention of him and he’d dragged you to your shared bedroom to bend you into a filthy, filthy mating press until your melty, cotton-filled brain had completely n’ utterly forgotten just how your day had gone.

Until you were fidgeting the doughy heels of your feet against his curvaceous back muscles, “B-but I want it, baby.” Spit-shimmering lips automatically pulling into one of his weaknesses: your pout. “I want you t-to make me yours.”

At this, Nanami flinches.

He blushes - a cute blossomy red that scorches across his cheeks and all the way to the tips of his ears, already drenched with thin ribbons of sweat.

With a deeeep gulp, he croaks out. “...M-mine.” Swallowing a webbed mass of saliva that waters his tastebuds once. Twice. Before tenderly cupping your boneless legs and smearing them so wiiidely agape that they start to burn. Just the mere sinful action makes your pussylips let off a soppy squelch! “Arch f’me then, darling.”

You’re blinking, buzzing eardrums unsure of what you’d oh-so-clearly just heard departing Nanami’s parted lips. “What?”

“Didn’t tell you to question me. Did I, my love?” He hisses, the very fringe of his mouth curling into a sleazy grin at your adorably shocked expression. Rovering down to palm your lower tummy, opened flat and pressed against that thick, cylindrical outline he was fucking into you hard. “Better.”

Oh…he was feeling himself inside you. Caressing your tummy bulge with sheer loving, making your gluey walls stick to his solidly ridged shaft like you were keeping him hostage.

“Who s’fucking you deep inside?” He flicks the curved mushroom tip bumping through you, dabbing every inch inside you. Sleazy. Sloppy. Molten eyes half-shuttering until he looks so ruined. Fuck. “Who? Me or him?”

Your eyes blearily cross and uncross, the pressure of it so much. “Wh-who- who’s him-”

“Talking about another man when you’re with me,?”

Before you can gather your bearings, before you can even gasp in a lungful of shocked air at the gesture - Nanami shocks your throb-throb-throbbing clit with a sloooow drag of his metallic wedding ring. Smudging a cute, wettened heart right where you were the utmost sensitive.

“Pleeease-”

“Speak up.”

“I want-”

“Hmmm…what was that?” He’s striking the bulging patch of your g-spot with an achy glide of his bawling wet divot as soon as you open your mouth. Nanami was shutting you up with his fat, vein-covered cock not just once, not just twice- but three whole times before humming. “My apologies. Can’t hear you over ngh- her, darling.”

How could you ever underestimate just how strong your husband was? How rough he could really be.

Thickened, meaty thighs flex in tightened knots once his hips drive into yours viciously. Every harrowed pap! of his tawny happy trail scratching your slobbery folds open and leaving your mouth parched.

Whack after whack of his plump, split-ended tip scraping your magical spots expertly. And you couldn’t even predict when the next recurring strike would commence because your dazed eyes were sprinting all the way to the back of your head.

You could count eight of his Herculean abs in total, all of them cutting into your front and working to pin down your squirming hips. To stop you from getting more more more- “Fuuuck me. J-just want more-”

“Hmmm?”

“Ngh- I said m-more!” You yelp, breaths turning desperate and wheezing once he scrambles - scrambles - over the dewy, rumpled-up bedsheets to recover his favorite yellowy tie.

Immediately looping it around your delicate neck. Your fluttery lungs fight for gaspfuls of air once he’s leveraging it to drag you alllll the way up off of the claggy pillows- he was bringing you to him.

“Now, whisper it nicely in my hah- ear, my wife. Tell me exactly what you want.” Nanami’s panted puffs cloud your brain with heat and need and him. Before you know it, you’re already nudging your lolled head up to his ear. “There we go, upsy daisy. That’s a good girl.”

And all you can manage out is a slow, simpering gasp of syllables that sounded something like more!

But that’s all it takes.

All it takes for him to reel his greedy hips back, back, back until the very crown of his bloated cock was smooching your ringed hole. Spraying out sheen after sheen of sweltering hot pre that coats your cunt n’ slides right inside.

Timed exactly with the pace that Nanami himself picks up, barrelling out battering rams that indent his rotund circumference into your spongy cervix.

“Mhmmm, knew I’d h-have ya begging f’me–” Nanami coos something gravelly, holding your weakened head up to nuzzle sweet peck after peck on your lips. Shit, he’s even taking dirty lappings of the puddles of drool geysering from past your slack mouth. “Me. Me- right?”

“Y-yes.” You’re yelping once his relentless digits tighten on his tie, cutting off your winded breaths. Choking you. “You- you, Kento.”

Soft, padded fingers just finish drawing an obvious NK on your hooded nub- was he writing his name on your clit? “That’s riiiight, s’Kento. Kento’s here for you, my love.” Punctured with sappy snogs - on your lips, inside your leaking pussy. “Kento, no one else.”

“Ngh- n-no one else.” Tiny whimpers crack within your throat when you feel the swampy splat! of slick pouring more n’ more out of you and drenching him from abdomen to his twitching ballsack. Babbling, “You- Kennn—”

“Cute- mine. You’re my wife.”

“All yours.”

“H-heh, bet ya can’t even remember now- What was damn fucker- coworker’s name again?”

“Oh.” Nanami almost asks you to marry him all over again at the way your brows have to furrow, head shaking from side to cockdrunken side to clear your poor lil’ head. It takes a copious vicious pounds into the mattress to even recall the answer to his question. “Right! He said his name was Zayne…from Linkon City.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - “Ya like that?”

Fuck- if the way whines pour from your overflooded lips wasn’t enough of an answer, then the syrupy slick constantly leaking out of you sure was.

Your bawling cunt was all but having a conversation with Geto, all stuttered slurps n’ squelches that rung like music within his red-tipped ears. And he’s lurching his head in a sudden nod, pearly white teeth all on gleaming display when he ogles a fat dollop of sap and spit slithering down your thighs slooowly.

“Y-yes!” You’re crawling towards the shuddering mahogany headboard, ringing with violent creaks after every pound. “Yes yes yes- I like it, Suguru–”

“Heh, fuuuuck yeah you do.” He doesn’t even bat an eye before hooking a hand on your waist and dragging you all the way back down. “S’supposed to be a punishment but yer such a slut when you’re hck! thrown around.” Smooching a frosty thumb all down your silvery slit, he snickers once he feels your cute insides clench on instinct around him. “Then again…”

Without a singular warning, without even a shred of hesitation, a firm arm roams over to your throat. Tight.

But Geto doesn’t just hold you- no, that would’ve been much too nice for him. Instead, he’s pushing the curvy mounds of his biceps ‘round your pretty neck like some sort of necklace - trapping you in a fucking headlock.

You’re plastered like glue against his glissading front, and you think you’ve never been wetter as you’re massaged by his ridged abs. Thin trailways of boiling hot sweat streaming between his cushy pecs and hitting at your backside with a plap! plap! plap!

Voice hoarse in your ear. Low. “There we go. Theeeeere we go. How about this? Ngh- ya like-” Squeezing his arm even tighter until bursts of remaining air leave your lungs. You could feel every twitch, every flex of toned flesh hot against your own. “-that?”

A sob lets off from your stupidly unhinged lips, “Y-yes– I like it-”

“Greedy fuckin’ girls shouldn’t answer.” He’s promptly cutting you off, both with his deep bass and his deeper strokes. Immediately oozing a tiny heart of sticky pre inside, “I was hah- talking to my lady down here.”

You practically shiver at the feeling of his burnished lilac eyes coursing down to your prettily dripping cunt, and just at that moment he hits your cervix with a sloshing spank.

Filthy.

A thumb dips down to pry your treacly folds apart, Geto’s pinkish tongue slobbering down his grinning lips at the sight of you swallowing him like mad. The sight of your arched back dappling with perspiration after every vulgar swerve of your hips trying to keep up with his. Needy.

“Mmmm yeah. She’s ngh- likin’ it alright. Look at her-” Sickly sweet strands of juices dangle off of his padded fingers like gum, so wet that his wrist gleams glossily. He just can’t help but lurch his head over to streamline a viscid web of saliva right on your sloppy hole, “-she’s a damn waterpark f’me.”

You keen at the back of your throat, spittle spraying a sheen all over Geto’s veiny forearm with a splash! “S-so mean, Sugu–”

“Mean? Mean?”

Something resounds like a growl at the back of your boyfriend’s throat, and only numerous sticky swats of his rounded balls later do you realize - that was a giggle. A giggle.

“H-hear that? My girl’s sayin’ I’m mean.” Another thwack of weepy spit hits your cunt, and the saccharine sweet gasp you take is delicious. Headlocking you tighter- “Oh, gorgeous. You asked to be punished with it r-rough. And you’re ah- getting it- fucking- rough-”

Rasping and ragged and gone. Utterly gone.

If this was supposed to be a punishment then you’d gladly take more.

Geto was pounding into you viciously now, rattling your cottony brain with every sharp slap of his fattened crownhead. Probing deeply into your warm innards to spread apart tender nooks and crannies you didn’t even know existed.

You were nodding like a stupid bobblehead, letting his veiny cock bloat n’ balloon up inside you- shit, the banging flesh where your ass met his silky pubes was rubbed raw by now.

A hoarse bark of laughter flees Geto’s lips once he realizes, immediately angling his rude pelvis just so he can grind purposefully against your agitated skin. It’s so cute the way your moans pitch even deafeningly higher at the texture.

Sliding his strawberry pink divot juuuust off your magical spot, he rolls his eyes. “Seeeee? N’ you s-say I’m mean.”

At that very moment, you think you’re seeing stars. The only sensations ripping through your mind being the Earth-shattering cadence that Geto was fucking into you, and the soft tickle of his long, beautiful locks curtaining your spine.

You’re tugging mindlessly on one of his inky tendrils, dazed peripherals sliding to a flushed Geto. That split-second of direct eye contact enough to make his base swell- “P-pretty.”

Oh, fuck.

Fuck.

With a wicked slam! Geto’s both burying himself inside till the very hilt - straining your rubbery walls until you were whining at the hefty weight of him - and burying your face into the cushy pillow. His savage palm clawing and clawing at your head while he fucking cums, in the filthiest and most surprising way that fills your gooey cunt until you were overspilling.

Just from that.

“P-pull my hair-” He gasps - just barely audible enough that once you do, it makes a creamy coating of even more ribbony seed slip into your entrance. More and more and more. A steaming hot mess that makes you squirm-

“No. No.” Geto gasps - he begs.

And you don’t think he even registers that he’s promptly slamming a firm foot down on your head to pin you pliably down and make you take it.

This newer angle floods your orifice with such generous helpings that Geto feels his taste buds drench in water, sighing lovingly at the sight of your inner thighs being glued together by his sap.

He’s stepping your head even deeper into the sullied pillowcase once he hears you snicker. Shutting you up. Meaty thighs shivering, emptied balls twitching sensitively at the slap of saliva he spits once more on your entrance.

Gritting through furiously clenched teeth, “Oh, you are s-so getting hngh! pregnant tonight, gorgeous.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - OLFACTORY ETHICS?!

“B-baby…” Choso’s sharp canines snaggle on the drenched fabric of your panties, broad chest heaving in ragged huffs! as your roommate gulps in a deeeep inhale- and his mouth just drops. “Oh, baby.”

You smelled so sweet.

His favorite perfume - so good that it makes his pearly whites clench down and bite.

He’s smearing his favorite pair of your pretty pink silk all down the lower half of his handsome face, where it’d mostly glued to ever since you’d caught him stealing your underwear not too long ago.

Where it’d been since he’d blushed n’ begged for you to punish him.

And you’d known exactly how.

“Just fuck me, Cho–” You’re crooning, the pretty sound of your voice itching something deeply primal in his mind and making him twitch. Full-bodied. Making his achingly hard cock bulge a few millimeters even wider n’ girthier, carnally desperate. “Fuuuuck— C’mon now- you can do it.”

“L-like this?” He’s whispering, all muffled and breathy. Darkened mahogany eyes lock in direct contact with yours as he’s rubbing the ridges of his veined shaft along the sticky slope of your pussy. “Tell me- use me.”

“Mhmm— you’ve got it, baby. Rough now, m’kay?”

“R-rough…”

Slipping and sliding, his hips feel frenzied already. Tapping out a few fat globs of pre from that slobbering orifice nestled on top of his crownhead, Choso can’t help but thumb each bead past your sloppy hole.

“G-gonna fuck you now.” He’s hiccuping out cloudy syllables, piping hot bursts of air that fan your face and make you shiver. And he notices, oh, he notices and flushes. “Gonna fuck- fuck you, baby…”

Choso’s jaw remains almost permanently unhinged as he watches his globular tip push past your teensy resistance, the clingy surface of your cunt molding and melting around him. Hot. Puffed-up pussy lips stretched wiiidely agape, your hole quivers with every one of his prominent veins scraping their way inside.

A whine cracks at the back of his throat-

Shit, was this heaven?

Through half-lidded peripherals he’s stealing looks your way to confirm that you weren’t actually an angel.

Wet tongue lolling out to give your leaky mouth a big kiss, “S’this- this-” And just then Choso’s rumbling baritone is so hot that it makes you clench - and him to jerk into a rut-

He really was out of control now.

“Oh.” He’s trailing off, hitting the damp ends of your pussy and he fucking sees white. Every inch that you’re flawlessly gulping down making him swoon into you, “Ohhhh fuck wait- fuck fuck fuck—”

Hard.

Fast.

Choso was sloppy, letting his sensory tips dangle near your hips while he bludgeoned you with every sultry second. Using his lean muscular strength to pull your ass down to slap n’ slap against his pelvis.

Pumping his probing mushroom tip deeper until you swear you could taste every sappy ribbon of milky precum he was pounding into you. Until his sculpted abs were being struck ruby red at the stinging drives.

“This good? M’I good for you?” He makes such a messy puddle of slick pour from between your bloated folds, hitting a fat thumb over the gloopy mess. Your buzzing ears ring with the wet pap! “S’this r-rough, baby?”

“Fuck- ngh- f-fuuuuck, Choso—” Truthfully, you could barely even speak. The only thing able to escape your mouth being jumbles of fucked-out syllables and gluey drool. You whimper with each whack of his fat cock, “Faster-”

Combing through Choso’s silky bangs, you tug away the stray strands plastered to his sweat-slicked forehead. An action enough to make him burn as bright red as his sobbing tip, leaning further into yours with his utterly ripped front.

“M-more, baby.”

It’s the only thing that’s falling from your lips before nothing else can anymore.

Because your dear roommate is taking the kindly time to slap over his palm on top of your mouth - sodden panties and all.

Damn, was it a sight that made his dewy cockhead twitch dangerously in warning.

Muffling your lecherous words with the stringy scrap of fabric, he grumbles. “Sh-shut up, baby- another word out of you n’ I ngh! w-won’t last much longer.”

Though- fuck, if he wasn’t weak whenever it came to you.

Because as he feels your steamy maw loosen - droplets of spit dripping down to lather his doughy palm - Choso finds himself inching in closer. Bubblegum pink nipples rubbing sensitively against your front when he leans in and listens-

You’re batting your lashes up at him, “Want- want it all inside, Cho.”

Oh.

Oh, and when Choso cums it’s with his pussydrunken head buried into the delicate crook of your neck, sharp fringes of his teeth sinking so roughly into the side of your urgent pulse that you think it might draw iron-tasted blood.

“T-take it.” His voice lilts unstably a few octaves higher, massive hands manhandling the legs looping his feet - pushing and pushing and pushing until your capped knees hit your tits. Veins popping out of his own neck, hard. “Every last fucking drop.”

It’s burst after burst.

The curving globe of his plump head batters out stripes of hot cum with every single thrust, drilling right past the gluey maze of your walls to leave syrupy white splotches on your cervix that you feel coat your cunt in a sloppy second skin. Messy.

You claw your hands down Choso’s flexing back and it makes his eyes burst with white-hot stars of pleasure. “Yeah- yeah. I-inside, baby- don’t miss.”

Hypnotically, he drags the simmering pads of his tongue right along your all-new bite mark. Possessive. The entrails of your panties still dangling haphazardly from one side of your mouth-

Choso feels his heart race when he bites down on the silken edges; letting it stretch stretch stretch before he spits your slutty underwear aside.

“Oh, baby.” Snogging away the wires of spit that sliver from between your lips, “Was- was that rough ‘nough.” He murmurs in concern against your lips, eyes daring to dart all over his animalistic marking. And then he slouches backwards to tilt further down. “Didn’t wanna-”

He takes one heartbeat - two - simply staring at the frosty ivory rings of cum that spilled out of your pussy. A mess that he had to blame for.

And when Choso looks back up at you, it’s through pure heart eyes. “A-actually, I don’t think that was ngh- rough enough, baby…”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Pony.

“Mmmm- my human’s always so sweet.” Sukuna’s sheeny glossed lips pry apart the heated folds between your legs, his long sultry tongue lapping up every bead n’ ribbon of cum pouring out of your cunt. “Sooo fuckin’ sweet.”

And just as monstrously big as his height was, his tongue was certainly not to disappoint.

You yelp once the split-ended pads of his tastebuds swirl allll the way inside your dripping pussy, round and round. Poking and prodding into sweet geysering spots that he knew would make your pretty lil’ mind useless.

One big, beefy hand of his roams up to curl around your throat and keep your dazed eyes dead locked on the slicked mess the king was making out of your sugary sweet pussy. Unmoving.

“Y-you’re so…” You’re drawling, words so drunken that it’s like they were clinging to your hoarse throat. Your mouth simply hangs at the sight of Sukuna constricting his tongue to let creamy oodles of his seed from hours before sliiiiide all down to his parched throat like a runway. “-filthy, Kuna.”

“H-heh.”

He doesn’t get up until you’re all thoroughly cleaned up, every dollop of thick cum lapped away from your overstimulated entrance.

Hell, you don’t even think Sukuna can think until he pulls away with a drenched plop! Stringy cobwebs of fluids sticking to his face as if some sort of lipgloss.

A bulky second hand of his leaves a spank right on your throbbing clit, and within the blink of an eye you’re being scooped up into Sukuna’s arms. Nestled right against his cushy pecs - his two achingly hard cocks-

And when he kisses you it’s a reminder - letting your maw slide over the caramel salted splotches homed inside his mouth. Savoring it just as much as he was savoring you.

Just as much as he wanted to ruin you.

Your spine arches with a scorched breeze as he inches in to grunt against your ear. Low. Prowling. “Callin’ me filthy when you’re the one leaking with my cum, brat.”

“W-well, not anymore because- fuck!”

“Quarrelsome.” He remarks over your shrill wails, toned muscles on his thighs flexing when he grabs the sweaty crown of your head and pushes you down, down, down onto his rock-hard dicks. Every gust of your heady breaths fucked out of you with just a few swallowed inches of his looong vein-decorated shafts. “I should fuck that outta ya.”

He’s bouncing his tattooed legs in a quick, harsh one-two one-two one-two. Panting, leering at the primal squeeeealch–! that rings in his ears.

Capped fringes of his knees smack against the sexy curve of your ass, the relentless little motions push past that tiny resistance and swivel Sukuna’s proudly swollen crowns all ‘round your bruised insides.

Bulging you open, prying your sticky insides apart until he had you seated all prettily on his lap and whimpering.

“Ride it then, pretty mama. Show me what that ngh- needy human pussy can do.” Sukuna grumbles through a teeth-clenched lil’ grin, halfway through breaking into a soppy smile when your cute noises only get louder. He slouches backwards into the centuries-old headrest so that he won’t miss a single second of your sensual show, “N’ remember- I like fucking rough. I like fucking hard.”

“R-rough?” You rest your hands on his broad shoulders, gulping needily at the way his corded muscles flex underneath your touch. Legs already twitching as you swerve needily, aching once more for that splitting sensation of him plunging oh-so-deep inside. “Fuck- fuuuuuck, Kuna-”

You could already feel the fat bulbs of his tips grow even fuller, snagging right onto the crevices of your g-spot and tugging. He barely even has to try to make your head fill with stupid fuzz.

“Ya call this rough, lil’ human?” He’s spitting into your open mouth, grabbing a handful of your ass and making your clit smear down his tufts of curly pink. Gyrating n’ gyrating. “Seriously- s’embarrassing the king.”

“Th-then you-”

Just at that moment, he’s digging two hands on either side of your hips to slam! them down onto his. Hard. Stinging. Rubbing over the tenderized globeful of your ass before doing it again. Again. And again and again and-

“This is h-how ya fuck rough, pretty mama.” You swear Sukuna’s smirked grin was glistening with a thin trail of dumbstruck drool. “Feel good? Feel the sting? The way m’all deep inside-” Staring down at your cute, cross-eyed expression, he taps a plumply padded finger halfway down your tummy. “-here?”

You’re overstimulated, sensitive. The only thing you can do is nod. Nodding and nodding while a flash of smugness flickers in his crimson eyes. “Count.”

Oh? Oh.

And it’s only when his two matching cocks plant vicious pounds right where he’d marked - only when he slurs out a wet stripe of pre that drenches your pussy from the inside out - that you realize what he meant.

“O-one-”

“Too late. Two.”

Sukuna grits out, practically mocking you. Numbering away every time his bawling divots were whacking your spongy cervix. The lightning-bolted veins on his lengths scrape every carnal spot he could reach - which was all of them.

“Three- ah! Four.” You mewl out, legs scrambling to latch around his tensing core when you’re struck with another one, two, three bludgeons of his girthy circumferences. It’s enough to make you dizzy, and it’s purely on autopilot that you let off soft gasps of, “Si- s-seven?”

Snickering, “Yer finally haaaah- gettin’ it.” The cushioned mattress rings with creak after creak as he repeatedly bucks. “Put yer back into it, brat.”

“Ngh! Eight-”

“Mhm.”

“N-nine…”

“Mhm.”

Your papping flesh stings at the ferocious contact, already rubbed raw that when Sukuna swats a rude palm against your pussymound - you find yourself sobbing. Big, fat tears of salt, “Ten!”

“Nuh uh- that counts as hah- eleven.”

Fuck- he has to stop himself from snickering. He has to stop himself from drooling through both cracked mouths, already missing the taste of you. If you looked closely, you could see the cursed mouth across his abs licking its lips greedily. Grinning. “Now cum f’me before I put my tongue in, too.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - Blush blush blush!

“Here?”

“Taku.”

“Or here?”

“Takuuu–!”

“Orrrrr–” Ino’s tossing his chestnut bangs out of his face to see your cute face better, snickering to himself as he lets his ramming cockhead draw a looong wet trailway to your cervix. Sweltering hot and heavy, slithering right past your precious g-spot. “-here?”

Your gooey walls twitch instinctively around him. “N-noooo-”

Pressing down. Hard. “What’s that? Oh yeah, here. Right?”

You’re huffing and puffing something that sounds like a quivering ‘please’, wobbly lips bitten between the ends of your teeth until Ino pries them free n’ sucks.

“Hmmm. What was that?” His drenched, bawling divot rubs out a fat thud! mere millimeters above where you were aching for him the most. Again. Purposefully.

“S-so mean.” You whimper for just about the nth time tonight as his deeply probing dick pushes against your gummy walls, stretching out the hidden crevices. Prominent veins almost massaging your magical spots but not quite. Tease. “All I did was c-call you ngh- pretty.”

Fuck, there it is again.

And it doesn’t matter how many times the very syllables have departed from your unsteady lips - Ino Takuma still blushed a cute, maidenly pink from apples of his handsome cheeks right down to his collarbones.

Breath hitching, nose bridge crinkling. If he was any weaker man he might just have cum—

He whacks the spherical bulge of his plumpened cockhead into you until your peripherals are teary. Hefty balls so fat that you feel the side of them flinch tenderly against your dripping cunt.

“Sh-shut up.” He’s shivering, teeth grit to stop himself from slipping out a strained keen. Those pretty fawn eyes of Ino’s slide all the way to the back of his throat when you slink a hand underneath the dark ski mask capped on his crown n’ caress. “Gonna- gonna fuck you until you haaah- forget that, sweetness. Gonna fuck you dumb.”

Your awestruck tastebuds fizzle with the taste of his splattered precum sloshing! inside you, watery trickles of saliva travelling all the way down to where your chin was smushed against your chest.

Where Ino was folding you into a mating press so tight that you could feel your ears pop after every pressurized thrust.

He was being so…frenzied.

Manhandling you to every whim and want, you were fallen onto the bedsheets delicately whilst he handled you like some ragdoll. And you’d never seen him act this vehement, this filthy, clapping his toned thighs noisily against yours.

“N’ for that…” His sing-song bass tickles the precious soft spots near your neck, rearing to give your molten tongue tiny suckles. “M’not hittin’ that c-cute g-spot any time tonight.”

It wasn’t simply a threat - he meant it.

He was stroking the slick-glittered mushroom head of his shaft over n’ over into every nook and cranny inside of you except your g-spot. Every rut so greedy that his buttery streaks of pre were piling on near that particular orifice.

Drowning you.

Ino feels his heart race at the sultry little jitters you give him; your poor body torn between digging your heels into his tense shoulders and pushing him away or pap-pap-papping your ass down for more.

“Now now, where are you goinggg—” He doesn’t waste any fucking time rounding a hand behind his head and lassoing you ankles within a few slender digits. Trapping you. Dragging you until the backs of your thighs were clapping in a standing ovation against his. “Fuck that pussy back. C’mon. C’mon, pretty.”

“P-pleeeease, Taku-” You can’t even bring yourself to be an ounce ashamed at the whiny pleas that invade your voice. “S-so close, baby- want it. Want it so bad.”

“Fuh-fuck…” He’s breathing out, mouth drier than a desert at the way you had him so weak. His prominent hip bones pat down your pelvis and leave your mouth gasping into perfect ohs! “Fuckin’ evil ya are. How bad do you want it?”

“S-soooo badly.”

“Hmmm, I dunno- where are those manners?”

“Please!”

“Hmmm?”

Oh, how he could feel his abs tense dangerously at the mixture of annoyance and depravity twisting your beautiful face.

“...w-with a cherry on ngh- top.”

“Mhm, n’ you’re gonna take it nicely?” Ino spreads your legs open a little wider, rocking and rocking. And you’re so wet - even wetter than the splattering pools of slick spittle that splosh out of your other set of lips. So sensitive. “Take it like my pretty c-cockslut?”

You can’t mumble out anything through the thickly rounded fingertips that smush your cheeks together into a pout he almost finds adorable. “Y-yesh— give it t’me, pleeease?”

Fine. And then he does it - finally gives you exactly what you’ve been craving carnally all this time. Striking it right on the bullseye, like you knew he could.

Just a bump up of his plump, curvaceous tip into your splotchy g-spot and you’re halfway through screaming. Struggling and struggling your legs jerkily at the bolting shocks of your orgasm and Ino just doesn’t let up.

He keeps your ankles locked no matter how much you fidget, he keeps the vicious push of his leaking cock into your most favorite spots like it was a button.

Fuck, it was almost too much.

Gritting his teeth through the sloshing figure-eights your hips swerve through every peak of your high, you’re milking yourself on his throbbing shaft so good that Ino forces himself to tip a hand towards his cottony mask and pull down-

“Taku–?” You’re questioning out in warbly tones once your vision was being blinked back, high tapering out into flimsy tingles that still manage to make your toes curl.

Before you can stop yourself, your sensory pads flit over to his ski mask to tug away. And boy, were you fucking glad for that.

Because you’d never seen Ino so flushed. So ruined.

He was like a picture. A red, red gale overtaking his twitching features ‘nough that you could connect the constellations of his freckles.

Caramel brows furrowed tightly knit, tawny lashes flapping his eyelids almost shut. His cherry pink lips looked so kissable; swollen and glossed in slimy spit and- and overstimulated tears.

All ready and awaiting the way you drag him back by the hair and gift his pinkish tongue with a wad of spit. Groaning.

“My pretty boy.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Starboy

You’re stuffed.

So stuffed with heaps upon heaps of Gojo’s slick cum and yet he was still possessing a massive hand clawing at your hips. The only thing holding you fucking upright while he drills his overworked cock into you, furiously.

“T-Tooru—” Your sentence punctures with every hitch of your wheezing lungs, and you can barely see two inches in front of you let alone swivel your head back to stare at the strongest. Keening groggily, “How are you s-still even hck! going?”

He doesn’t answer. Fuck, you don’t even think he can even hear you right now.

But the way your voice pitches into a pretty whine makes him flinch. Buckling on your knobbly knees, you can feel the steamed handprints imprinted on either side of your papping mounds of flesh.

Dizzy peripherals flickering to the side you gasp- he was leaving scorching hot marks on you. All nice, shapely lengths of his five digits.

Gojo’s snickering- snickering through one of his ragged scoffs, and he rests his towering bodyweight until it was lounging on the base of your cutely arched spine. He’s shivering. Strained. “S’not enough.”

Not enough?

And at this point, your muddled mind is overtaken with the dawning realization that nothing might be enough for a freshly-unsealed Gojo Satoru.

Even though his raw cock was so red n’ swollen already, pulsing out inside you to the same ba-dump–! of your pulse rate. The fat lightning bolts of his veins angle oh-so-deeply against your g-spot. Everywhere and anywhere.

And Gojo only has to trace a few greedy fingers down to feel the dewy trickles of seed that dribble out from your puffed lips like a waterfall. Ogling his lustrously glazed limbs and gasping-

Your mouth drowns in a fresh lamination of syrupy saliva at the way it makes your thighs slap together as if they were held by glue. Gojo’s bulky base endlessly decorating with more and more creamy strings of sappy cum - and then some.

“I-I’m serious…” You’re blurting out, both hands fisting the drenched silken sheets in front of you. You keep your gaze locked on the way he’s pummeling behind you and find yourself rendered almost spellbound. “-m-might not even fit-”

“Limitless void, sweetheart.” He’s cutting you off smoothly, blushing red crownhead twitching up eagerly with just the lecherous thought. Breathless, fuck- he was so far gone he could barely even choke out an answer. “Be my c-cum…dump.”

It takes you one violent thwack - two - of his sloppy, succulent shaft poking messily into your deepest innards for you to realize what he meant. He wanted to use limitless void on your needy cunt. And then an exact three-second spank to your clit for you to wonder whether he was already doing that.

Because Gojo’s doughy soft fingertips leave your body jolted, miniscule tendrils of blue lightning slithering all across your spilling pussy.

“Toru- are you already…”

“O-oh.” He didn’t even realize.

Your eyes roll back at the buzzing sensation of his cursed technique sprinting down your perfectly curved spine, repeatedly pounding hips twitching involuntarily. Vicious.

“I w-wan’’ that.” You admit, the rooound plumpness of his tip swabbing at your g-spot precisely and making you more honest than ever. Bulbous tears formulate near your fluttering waterline, “Want it. Want it so bad- pleeease, Sato- mmpf-”

And you’re not sure if it’s the sorcerer’s superhuman reflexes or your cockdrunken mind - but it’s almost as if you’ve instantaneously teleported into Gojo’s broad, beefy arms.

“F-fuuuuck–! Toru, it’s so much- ngh- it’s soooo much.”

You try to jostle yourself, to perhaps run from the overwhelming cadence. But he doesn’t let you even budge. Of course, he doesn’t.

He was so rough. Using you.

One of his hands shackled to your hips like superglue, kneading filthy handfuls of your ass while he guides you to meet every pound. The other snugly curled around your throat, the only thing holding you upright - the only thing pinning you to him.

This all-new angle helping him maze deeper, deeper, deeper inside of you until it felt like he was permanently prying your jelly-soft walls open. The slosh! of his drizzled cum pouring lazily out of you, it was almost as heavenly as the feeling of Gojo’s chiseled abs sloping down your back.

He’s whispering in your ear, pitchy and rasping. “Yeah? Yeah?” His pearly white teeth nibble softly on your tender lobe, every sharp exhale of breath striking you swelteringly hot. “T-take- cumdump- take-”

The warm clinginess of your pussy has reduced the great Gojo Satoru to stuttering.

“A-all inside” Your head lolls foolishly backwards into the cushioned comfort of his pecs, just slightly slipping on the sweaty sheen covering his muscles. You bat your tear-dipped lashes up at him, “Wan’ it all inside- o-okay, Toru?”

His response departs in a breathless gasp, “Okay.”

And when Gojo cums he makes sure that his girl is not even a second far behind.

Throwing his head back with the most pornographic, draaaagged out call of your name- he wastes no time drenching his long, long fingers in a splat! of webbed saliva and pinching your clit.

It’s like an explosion, it’s like you burst with the nth high of tonight - your rubbery walls milking Gojo’s length completely dry with the intensity, your body shuddering, heart thumping so hard you think you bet Gojo could hear it.

And he was even worse.

“S-sweetheart-” Gojo grits his teeth so hard that you hear them clink! Murked heaves are so solidly condensed that you think you can almost see them. Weighted hips clapping against your ass in a sloppy recurring plap-plap-plap. “My girl, m-my…cumdump.”

Your toes curl the moment you feel his thick, ribbony knots of seed overflood your insides. Waves upon waves upon waves of it caking in with the rest of his excess remnants, so heavy that you can feel it tenderly stroke your most sweetest spots.

Almost too much.

The lights had shattered ages ago, and right now the both of you are so far gone that you don’t even hear the bits of loose furniture in Gojo’s bedroom fall to the floor with dull thuds!

A milky white ring sugarcoats Gojo’s ivory pubic hair, making his silky texture leave wet streaks across your stinging ass. Ones that make him leap from hoarse and dumbstruck straight into babbling helplessly.

Completely drunk on you.

“My girl- my cumdump.” Broad arms wrap around your fatigued body. “My girl my girl my giiirl– oh, my girl.” Before Gojo gifts your bruised mouth with a tiny peck, loving. “D’you know what a-a mating press is?”

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - OH BABY, BABY…

The broiling bathtub water sloshes over each ceramic side, almost as wet as the silvery oodles of sap that just kept on pouring out from your pussy. Churning n’ smearing so vehemently that Higuruma can’t help but lift your legs up higher to take a longer look.

Admiring, honestly.

“Isn’t this niiiiice?” He’s grunting out low into the cute lobe of your ear, your hips wriggling needily with every vibration rumbling from his broad best. So close that you could smell the flowery spuds of soap and his masculine natural musk. It was addictive.

“A hot bath, n’ my hot wife-” Oh, you can already hear the smirk in his tonality. “-in a hot f-full nelson to boot.”

“Ngh! Hirooo–!” Your weeping whimpers babble out without you even knowing, the masses of your ass grinding vulgarly back into his prominent hipbones. “F-fuck me already.”

“Impatient impatient.” He tuts, “And why should I?”

“B-because I wan’ you—”

You’re garbling out the prettiest noises, but that wouldn’t be enough to stop his vengeful teasing. Quirking a sleek, black brow. “Aaaand?” He loved this look on you, of course. All greedy n’ desperate.

Though…little did your dear husband know that you had a secret weapon tonight.

“And I want a baby.” You’re finishing off. Smug.

Higuruma freezes. Higuruma gulps, “A-a what?”

“A baby, Higu.”

“A…baby.”

“Mhmm– ah!”

The yelp that departs your mouth in a sudden rush is solely because of the way that he latches his calloused fingertips onto the small of your back like a steering wheel and pulls you down down down.

Greeting your sloppy entrance with pearly ribbons of pre and a sharp slap of his fat head.

“C-can’t just say shit like that out of your pussy, sugar, n’ ngh!” His gravelly tone punctures every pumped inch pinpricking inside of you. You feel so pliant letting him pry apart your deepest mushiest walls, “-not expect ta end up pregnant.”

Your hands scramble towards the smooth ends of the bathtub to keep yourself grounded onto something - anything.

But, ah- Higuruma was selfish for your attention. And he ends up guiding your roaming palms up to his damp cocoa hair, letting you pullll through your bouts of adrenaline however you pleased. “Fuck- fuuuck jus’ like that, Hiromi.”

“I know, I know how to fuck my ngh- wife proper, angel.” He slicks his tongue out to lap at a beaded droplet of water running down your neck. Staring through half-lidded eyes, “You just sit- back- n’ take- it-”

Your eyes comically cross and uncross repeatedly with every whacked slam Higuruma plunges into your gooey depths. A sharp, stubborn one-two that leaves your ass rubbed raw from his happy trail so dark that it was almost black.

And he wasn’t easing you in- oh, not even in the least.

He was hard. Rough.

Rugged pounds so much more vicious than usual, you swear he was battering a bruise the same thick circumference as his plummy crownhead. And his tempo was juuuust enough to force the cracks of your mouth to fill up with treacly drool - not urgent, not slow. Simply precise, loooong fucks of his mean length.

You swear your very cunt was being molded to every puffy vein and ridge decorating his shaft, and the mercilessly massaging texture was enough to drive you wild.

You’re clinging onto his velveteen locks with one hand, and his big, bulging biceps with the other. “Ngh- Hiromi- i-it feels so good-” Clawing and rutting your way through every creamy mess of pre he was slipping past your ballooned-up folds. “You’re in so deep.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.”

And, fuck, your husband didn’t like to see you wasting even those gummy slatherings of precum he was rewarding you.

You’re feeling the round-tipped ends of his fingers caress the saturated seam of your pussylips and pinch. Holding your dewy cunt tightly closed while he was bound to fill you up - so much so that he promised you were going to overspill.

“Gonna be s-soooo much fucking rounder n’ bigger when I fucking breed ya. Riiiight-” Higuruma hiccups, long lashes tickling across his clammy cheeks at the ever-tightening hug of your pussy. Free hand skimming down to measure out a loooong distance between your gulping hole and where he was hitting his pre-capped head into your cervix. “-there. M’gonna breed ya right there, my wife.”

He was measuring you.

Dark eyes a mere millimeter-wide crack away from falling shut, imagining just how glowing and pretty you’d be all full of his kid.

More thorough, even more thorough.

Your entrance was so cozy when he pinched your pussy that he had to arch off the polished bathtub with slippery schwfs! Pushing n’ pushing past the slight resistance of you sucking his heated, heavy cock after every thrust.

Desperate.

You were biting down on your lips to hold back primal screams, because Higuruma was making sure you felt every dragging scrape of his full veins. Making sure your fuzzy eardrums rang with every wiiiinded squelch and splosh resonating from down under - and that was not just the water.

“Gonna fuck ya u-until ngh- until they all know what we’ve done. T-till they all know how I made a ngh- fuckin’ mess of ya.” He snickers after your heels slip along the bathtub trying to rut wildly into him.

“H-Hiro-”

“You wanted a baby. N’ now you’re fuck- getting one.”

“P-please–” You’re letting your head tumble backwards, bleary eyes rolling way deeper and deeper to the backs of your lids as Higuruma keeps rocking constantly into you. Impatiently, “Harder, baby. Harder. Faster.”

“Haaah? Harder? M’supposed ta take care of the future mother of my kids, sugar- not break her pretty ngh- pussy.”

Though he’s grumbling this into your unfastened mouth, his pace only picks up into something filthy. You almost feel dirty letting the plumpened curve of his mushroom tip swat the door to your womb.

And then you feel his reddened, swollen divot dangerously twitch-

“W-wait-” It takes a few seconds for you to manage to get your eyes fluttering open, and even then you’re fighting against the temptation of his long, veined cock fucking you dumb. “Did you j-just say hck! ‘kids’?”

“Sure did, angel—” Higuruma titters by the side of your pulsating throat, gifting you with one, two, three pecks. Right before sinking his teeth into your fragrant skin and groaning, “We’re having five kids. At least.”

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

15K notes · View notes

daluma-design · 7 months ago

Photo

(via "Yellow Vibrant Harmony, Geometric Elegance" A-Line Dress for Sale by DaLumaDesigns)

#findyourthing #redbubble #yellow #symmetrical design #dress #pattern #modern design #abstract precision #geometric #elegance #angular harmony

0 notes

miamaimania · 1 month ago

Photo

Crassula umbella "Wine Cup" ⚘ Green geometric precision with delicate flower stalks reaching skyward

#natural texture #green #crassula umbella #earthy aesthetic #succulent #brown #botanical #photography

1K notes · View notes

max1461 · 22 days ago

Text

Some mathematicians claim they can visualize R^4, or even higher-dimensional spaces. I think this is probably possible for the human mind to do, in principle; the human mind often proves surprisingly flexible. But I think it probably takes a lot of concerted practice, and because you are stretching your mind beyond its intended limits in a purely-internal, imaginative way with no external reference points to check against, I think it probably has some things in common with certain types of meditative practice.

It's also common to hear mathematicians say that if humans had visual intuition for dimensions higher than 3, higher-dimensional geometry may have advanced much farther, since visual intuition is so often crucial in thinking of proofs.

So, ok, I suspect that AI will obviate the utility of this before it could ever have the chance to get off the ground, but this all makes me imagine a world where techniques for learning to visualize higher dimensions are well-known and practiced, and have become a functional necessity for being a working geometer in higher-than-3-dimensions. And these techniques require a lot of persistent practice and training, which (by the nature of the thing) is hard to precisely communicate to students. So part of becoming a geometer involves training in what is basically a meditative practice, where, à la Zen, much of the process involves not directly teaching the student but giving them prompts and mental exercises that are meant to trigger internal, incommunicable revelation. But instead of enlightenment it's geometric intuition. And so if we're getting a math PhD in, say, differential equations or something, it's mostly like it is today. But if your PhD is in low-dimensional topology there's like a whole monastic apprenticeship style thing that just comes along with it. People sometimes drive themselves insane. People sometimes drive themselves insane.

#math

750 notes · View notes

cursedyuri · 7 months ago

Note

thinking about vi + praise kink, but its you praising her for how good she’s fucking you ahhhhhh and the way she’d get breathier with each pretty word you say, her thrusts getting sloppier and less coordinated <3

vi’s love language is words of affirmation, and it’s not up for debate. when she’s pumping into you, reveling in the slick, lewd noises of her strap splitting you open, it just takes one soft spoken praise to get her breathless.

“you’re doing so well for me, vi,” you coo, gasping when she pushes her hips forward to fill you up again. “f-fuck—you fuck me so good.”

you comb your fingers through her scarlet locks, damp from sweat, and scratch her scalp in the way you know she likes. you swear you see her eyes roll back for a second as she chews the inside of her cheek, arm muscles straining as they cage your frame between them. your eyes move down her body - strong, tense shoulders inked in geometrical black shapes. ample tits, nipples hard and almost red from your teeth earlier, when you’d bitten and sucked at them until she’d lost patience for foreplay. her lean abdomen, angular hips that rock back and forth with practiced precision to fuck her girl just right. you curl your thighs around her waist, encouraging her further, deeper.

when she obliges, red-faced and panting, you grin.

“nobody’s ever made me feel so good,” you admit, voice low. “you—mm, vi—you feel so good.”

vi answers with a breathy grunt, moving one hand to squeeze at your hip. her blunt nails dig into your supple skin, leaving crescent moons in their wake.

“shit, princess,” she rasps. her thrusts have quickened, and you notice a kind of inconsistency in her movements that makes you warm with self-satisfaction—you’ve got her wrapped around your finger.

“hmm? you like being praised, babe?” you curl your legs tighter around her, gasping when she hits a spot inside you that feels blindingly good.

“just like making you feel good,” vi responds, breathless. you’d notice the shaky, almost whiny way she says it if you weren’t so distracted by how well she’s fucking you.

eyes fluttering shut, you let out a sinful moan as vi keeps rutting into that spot - pushing you closer to your orgasm with every thrust of her hips.

“gods, yes—don’t stop, vi, you’re doing so well.” every word that leaves your lips is slurred, syrupy sweet to vi’s ears. you peer up into her eyes and find her slack-jawed and blushing, blue eyes half-lidded with pleasure. she’s looking at you like you’re a revelation.

“wanna be good for you,” she pants, “wanna make you come.”

her thrusts have lost all coordination, but she still manages to prod at your sweet spot with her strap—it doesn’t take long for you to see stars, vision growing blurry as you stutter praise after praise for your red-headed, bruise-knuckled lover. you come for what feels like an eternity, but when you finally re-center yourself, there’s vi.

she kisses your nose, brushing your hair out of your face. there’s a nervous look in her eyes. something hesitant there.

“i liked that,” she says, finally.

thank the fucking gods.

#switch!vi save me #vi x reader #vi smut #vi arcane #vi arcane x reader #vi arcane headcanon #vi headcanon #stella’s asks

1K notes · View notes

ari-ana-bel-la · 4 months ago

Note

Hi love! Could you do Lewis with a teen daughter that always does his braids or his hair and is also kind of known around the paddock for her style/her own hair?

Braids

The sun glinted off the sleek, shining cars in the paddock as cameras flashed and fans cheered. It was a busy Friday at the track, the buzz of another race weekend filling the air. The usual suspects had already arrived—drivers, engineers, media—each adding to the electric energy. But nothing could prepare anyone for the wave of excitement that swept through the paddock when Lewis strolled in, exuding confidence and charm.

His hair, freshly braided, was styled with a precision and flair that had everyone doing a double-take. The intricate patterns woven across his scalp, sleek and symmetrical, highlighted his already striking features. His usual cool demeanor was accented by a sharp designer outfit—an oversized cream jacket paired with tailored trousers, accessorized with diamond studs that caught the sunlight.

"Whoa," Oscar said, nudging Lando in the ribs as they stood by the McLaren garage. "Look at Lewis. Fresh braids. Man's killing it."

Lando squinted, pushing his curly hair back under his cap. "Yeah, that's clean. Wonder who did them?"

The mystery didn't linger for long. As Lewis made his way through the paddock, reporters swarmed, eager to capture the new look. One particularly bold journalist caught his attention. "Lewis! Those braids are incredible. Where'd you get them done?"

A wide smile spread across his face, pride gleaming in his eyes. "My daughter did them," he said, his voice warm. "Yn's been braiding my hair since she was fifteen. She's eighteen now—practically a pro."

The crowd hummed with admiration. Of course, it had to be Yn. She was already a sensation in her own right. Known for her cutting-edge fashion and signature hairstyles, Yn had a unique flair that blended timeless elegance with modern boldness. More than once, she had turned the paddock into her personal runway, never afraid to experiment or push boundaries. It was no wonder her father's braids were flawless.

By the time Lewis reached the Ferrari garage, the internet was ablaze. Social media flooded with close-ups of his new hairstyle, captions unanimously praising Yn's talent.

Braids by Yn. The Hamilton genes are undefeated.

Forget the cars, can we talk about Lewis' hair? His daughter has hands blessed by the gods.

Lewis scrolled through the comments during a quiet moment, chuckling softly to himself. Pride swelled in his chest. He knew how talented his daughter was, but seeing the world recognize it too? That was something else.

The next day, just when the paddock thought it had seen everything, Yn arrived.

She walked in with her grandparents on either side, exuding effortless confidence. Her outfit hugged her figure perfectly, balanced by chunky gold jewellery and boots that clacked softly against the concrete. But it was her hair that stole the show.

Yn's braids, an intricate cascade of rich brown strands, shimmered in the sunlight. Small and delicate curles were woven throughout, catching the light with every movement. The patterns were even more complex than the ones she'd done for her father, a true testament to her skill.

As soon as Lewis spotted her, a grin broke across his face. He crossed the garage in a few strides, wrapping his daughter in a warm embrace. "You did these yourself?" he asked, pulling back slightly to examine the braids.

"Of course," Yn beamed, tilting her head to give him a better view. "You know I had to come correct."

He chuckled, reaching out to carefully take a braid between his fingers. "These are beautiful, baby. You outdid yourself."

"Wait until you see what I want to try next," Yn said, pulling out her phone. She swiped through her photo gallery, showing him a series of inspiration images. "This one's a geometric pattern—super sharp lines—and this..." She paused on a picture of short, shoulder-length twists. "I think you'd look sick with these."

Lewis listened attentively, nodding along as she spoke. He always loved how passionate she was about her craft. "I trust you," he said. "Whatever you want to try next, I'm game."

Just then, Charles wandered over, his eyes widening when he saw Yn. "Whoa, okay," he said, giving an approving nod. "The braids are next-level. You're making the rest of us look bad."

Yn laughed, bumping her shoulder playfully against her father's. "Can't help it if we're the most stylish ones here."

"Facts," Lewis added, his arm draping comfortably around her shoulders. "It's in the blood."

Their easy banter and undeniable charisma made them the most photogenic duo in the paddock. Cameras followed their every move, capturing moments of laughter, admiration, and love. By the time the day was over, the hashtag #HamiltonRoyalty was trending worldwide.

Later that afternoon, while Lewis prepared for qualifying, Yn sat in the Ferrari hospitality suite with her grandparents, chatting softly. Every so often, she'd glance at the TV screens broadcasting her father's on-track performance, a quiet pride blooming in her chest.

When he emerged after a blistering lap that put him on the front row, Yn was the first person he sought out. "Told you I'd deliver," he teased, pulling her into another hug.

"Of course you did," Yn replied, her voice soft with affection. "You're the GOAT."

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the paddock settled into a golden glow, the image of the stylish Hamiltons—father and daughter, side by side—lingered in everyone's minds. The world could talk about race strategies and lap times all day long, but nothing was as iconic as the bond they shared. And if there was one thing everyone agreed on, it was that Yn was just getting started.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves! I hope you enjoyed this story. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

#f1 drivers as fathers #formula 1 #formula one #lewis hamilton x daughter!reader #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton #dad!lewis hamilton #hamilton!reader #f1 x daughter!reader #f1 x female reader #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #💙🦋

938 notes · View notes

iamactivedoggy · 2 years ago

Text

Cute Poodle Wearing Sunglasses Pawsome: Vibrant Geometric Design | Poodle Mouse Pad

If you're a poodle lover or simply someone who adores all things cute, then we've got something truly pawsome to share with you! Prepare to fall head over heels for the vibrant geometric design and irresistible charm of the "Cute Poodle Pawsome" mouse pad. Featuring a cuddly poodle donning sunglasses, this mouse pad is not only functional but also a delightful addition to any workspace or home setup. Let's dive into the details of this adorably stylish accessory.

A Splash of Vibrant Geometric Design:

The first thing that catches your eye when you see the Cute Poodle Pawsome mouse pad is its captivating geometric design. With an explosion of vibrant colors and intricate patterns, this mouse pad effortlessly adds a pop of personality to any environment. Whether you're working, gaming, or browsing the web, the lively and visually appealing design is sure to bring a smile to your face every time you use it.

Cuddly Poodle in Sunglasses:

At the heart of this delightful mouse pad lies the star of the show: a cuddly poodle wearing sunglasses. This charming little pup steals the limelight with its adorable expression and fashionable eyewear. The poodle's irresistible cuteness brings a touch of whimsy and playfulness to your workspace, making it impossible not to feel a surge of joy every time you glance down at your mouse pad.

Functionality Meets Style:

While the Cute Poodle Pawsome mouse pad is undeniably cute, it doesn't compromise on functionality. Crafted from high-quality materials, this mouse pad offers a smooth surface that ensures precise cursor movement and effortless mouse control. Its anti-slip rubber base keeps it firmly in place, even during intense gaming sessions or busy workdays. With a generous size, it provides ample space for both work and play, allowing you to navigate your computer with ease while enjoying the company of the lovable poodle.

The Perfect Gift for Poodle Lovers:

If you're searching for a unique gift for a poodle enthusiast, the Cute Poodle Pawsome mouse pad is an excellent choice. Its distinctive design and irresistible charm make it a thoughtful present for birthdays, holidays, or just because. Whether it's for a friend, family member, or even yourself, this mouse pad is guaranteed to bring smiles and brighten up any computer setup.

The Cute Poodle Pawsome mouse pad is the perfect blend of style and functionality, featuring a vibrant geometric design and an adorable poodle wearing sunglasses. This accessory not only adds a touch of cuteness to your workspace but also provides a smooth and comfortable surface for your mouse. Whether you're a poodle lover, a fan of geometric patterns, or simply someone who appreciates adorable accessories, this mouse pad is sure to win your heart. So, go ahead and treat yourself or surprise a loved one with this pawsitively delightful addition to any computer setup!

0 notes

tronform · 6 months ago

Text

Do not miss this Unique design where we will build up from here: At TRONFORM, we create apparel that defines elegance and boldness. Introducing the Men’s Fading Wave Unique First Edition Sweatshirt – First Edition, a true icon in modern menswear.

Step into luxury with a hoodie that merges geometric precision with artistic finesse. The striking diamond-striped design is more than a pattern—it’s a statement of individuality and refined taste. Made from premium materials, this hoodie offers unmatched comfort and a stylish edge for any occasion.

Carefully crafted for trendsetters, this piece reflects TRONFORM’s dedication to exceptional quality and innovative design. Whether you're heading out for casual outings or making a statement at exclusive events, the Men’s Diamond Striped Hoodie is your ultimate companion.

Celebrate bold fashion and elevate your wardrobe with TRONFORM today!

Shop now: https://www.tronform.co/products/men-s-fading-wave-unique-first-edition-sweatshirt

#Do not miss this Unique design where we will build up from here:#At TRONFORM #we create apparel that defines elegance and boldness. Introducing the Men’s Fading Wave Unique First Edition Sweatshirt – First Edition #a true icon in modern menswear.#Step into luxury with a hoodie that merges geometric precision with artistic finesse. The striking diamond-striped design is more than a pa #this hoodie offers unmatched comfort and a stylish edge for any occasion.#Carefully crafted for trendsetters #this piece reflects TRONFORM’s dedication to exceptional quality and innovative design. Whether you're heading out for casual outings or ma #the Men’s Diamond Striped Hoodie is your ultimate companion.#Celebrate bold fashion and elevate your wardrobe with TRONFORM today!#Shop now: https://www.tronform.co/products/men-s-fading-wave-unique-first-edition-sweatshirt #TRONFORM #LuxuryRedefined #DiamondStripes #MenswearEssentials #BoldFashion #StatementStyle #TimelessElegance #PremiumQuality #StreetwearGoals #ModernMenswear #ExclusiveEdition #ChicComfort #UrbanStyle #ElegantCasuals #WeekendReady #HighFashion #FallEssentials #WinterStyle #SophisticatedLooks

3 notes · View notes

manicpixiedreamkira · 2 months ago

Text

halfway home

megumi x reader, college!au, no curses!au, roommates to friends to lovers, aged up, drinking, reader is described as small/smaller than megumi (i also imagine him taller here, since he’s older—like 6’1/6’2), mentions of family trauma, smut, size kink if you squint, hair pulling kink (megumi), unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), use of pet names, tattooed!megumi, pierced!megumi—he has a dick piercing (amongst others), dirty talking, aftercare, not beta'd

w.c: 11,973

The apartment wasn’t perfect. It was a third-floor walk-up in an aging building that creaked in winter and trapped heat in summer, the kind of place where the shower knobs had to be turned just right or they screamed like a dying kettle. But the rent was doable, the location close to campus, and it had a living room with enough space for a couch and a secondhand TV. In Tokyo? That was gold.

You didn’t meet Megumi Fushiguro until move-in day.

He was leaning in the doorway of his bedroom—tall, lean, arms crossed over a plain black hoodie, quiet and unreadable as he watched you struggle with your suitcase. His hair was spiked in a wild way, eyes dark and watchful.

Piercings caught the soft hallway light: one on his lip, another through his nostril, and a small silver barbell through the arch of his brow. The glint was striking against his otherwise quiet demeanor. He didn’t say much, but his presence was loud. Subtle tattoos peeked out from the cuffs of his sleeves: dark ink winding down his forearms, curling all the way up to his wrists, geometric and elegant and sharp like him.

You thought, he looks like he broods for fun.

"You're Y/N?" he asked. His voice was low, calm. Like someone used to listening more than speaking.

You adjusted your backpack and offered a small smile trying not to sound winded from dragging your suitcase up three flights. “That’s me. You must be Megumi.”

His nod was a half-inhale of air, barely perceptible.

“Or can I call you Megs?”

That got a reaction—barely. The tiniest twitch of one brow, a flicker of something behind his eyes. Not annoyed, exactly. Just surprised. He looked at you a moment longer, then said, “You can try.”

Then—barely, but there—it was: the corner of his lip twitched, a breath of a smirk.

That was how it began.

—

Megumi wasn’t what you expected in a roommate.

You figured you’d be living with someone a little messy, maybe overly talkative, maybe glued to their desk and headphones. Instead, you got him—quiet, precise, hard to read but oddly present. He moved through the space like he didn’t want to disturb it, always barefoot, always hoodie-clad, always with a subtle awareness of his surroundings.

He didn’t offer much at first—just glances, half-smiles, low murmurs when you crossed paths. But the silences weren’t uncomfortable. He was the kind of quiet that filled a room without trying. The kind that noticed. If you left dishes in the sink, they were washed and drying the next day. He also never said anything when you forgot to take your laundry out—but you always found your things quietly moved, never scolded, just handled.

When you fell asleep on the couch during finals week, you woke up with a blanket over your legs. He kept to himself, but you never felt like he was avoiding you. If anything, it felt like he was learning you—quietly, carefully.

You didn’t see much of his body—he lived in layers, in oversized hoodies and dark clothes—but sometimes you’d catch flashes. Ink just barely peeking from the cuff of his sleeve when he reached up to grab something from a cabinet. A whisper of a tattoo above his collarbone when he leaned forward over the sink, hair damp from a late shower.

He never mentioned them. You never asked.

The only reason you knew the extent of them was because you saw it one day by accident, when he walked out of the bathroom with a towel slung low on his hips after a past midnight shower at the same time you were on your way back to your room from the kitchen, glass of water in hand. His chest and back were covered in ink, intricate and striking, with one long line of script that curved over his ribs. It was all you were able to glimpse in the dark.

There was an unspoken rhythm to your cohabitation. You weren’t friends, not yet, but something about him made it feel like you could be. He listened. He looked at you like he was actually seeing you—not scanning or assessing, but seeing. The kind of quiet that doesn’t demand attention, but makes you want to give it anyway.

Shared coffee in the morning. Brief conversations in the hallway. Laughs here and there when you teased him about how his hair looked post-shower. You started calling him Megs more often, just to see that subtle eye roll he gave you.

Over time, it became normal.

One night, you got home late, exhausted, and found him sitting on the couch, long legs stretched out, scrolling on his phone. You plopped down next to him with a groan, your arm brushing his.

"You good?" he asked without looking up.

"Dead. But alive."

"That makes no sense."

You cracked a smile. “Neither does living with a guy who only wears black and never makes noise. You're like a ghost.”

That got him. He let out a quiet laugh—just a breath, but it made your heart stutter.

Then there was the night you couldn’t sleep.

It was past one in the morning when it happened.

You’d been tossing in bed for nearly an hour, mind buzzing with thoughts you couldn’t pin down. Too much homework, too little rest, the vague sense of loneliness that clung to the early hours of the morning. So you gave in, padded into the kitchen in your oversized sleep shirt and socks, and went for a glass of water.

The light was already on.

Megumi sat at the kitchen table, a mug in one hand, the other resting against his temple as he stared down at a notebook filled with scribbled notes and highlighted lines. His black hair was tousled, softer without product, and his hoodie was nowhere in sight—just a dark tank top that revealed the sweep of tattoos down both arms, inked patterns wrapping like smoke and feathers from shoulder to wrist.

You froze for half a second.

Not because of the tattoos—though they were undeniably beautiful—but because this was the most open he’d looked since you moved in. Bare. Human.

He glanced up when he heard you.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, voice quieter than usual.

You shook your head and crossed the kitchen to grab a glass. “Brain’s too loud.”

He hummed in agreement, a small sound deep in his throat. “Yeah. I get that.” That was the most personal thing he’d ever said to you.

You hesitated, then slid into the seat across from him, curling your fingers around your glass. He didn’t seem surprised. If anything, he looked like he expected it.

“What’re you studying?” you asked, tilting your head toward his notes.

He hesitated, then pushed them a little closer so you could read. “Social psychology. It’s a gen ed, but… not terrible.”

You smiled faintly. “It suits you.”

He quirked a brow.

“You’re always observing. Like some quiet, mysterious people-watcher.”

One corner of his lips twitched—the one with the silver ring. “You think I’m mysterious?”

“I think you like people more than you admit,” you said, surprising even yourself. “You just don’t trust them easily.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, and for a moment, something passed between you—soft, fleeting. A current you didn’t know how to name yet.

He leaned back in his chair, letting the silence stretch.

“You’re… different,” he said finally. “Not in a bad way.”

“Thanks?” you laughed, a little unsure.

“You don’t hide. Most people do.”

The honesty in his voice made you look away, a strange warmth blooming in your chest. You took a slow sip of water, then whispered, “I try not to. Hiding never really helped me.”

His gaze lingered on you—curious, almost gentle.

“I notice that about you,” he murmured. “It’s rare.”

You didn’t say anything after that. You didn’t need to. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. It was something else—something easy.

You sat there for a while, just drinking water and listening to the hum of the fridge, Megumi’s notes open between you, the scent of his tea filling the kitchen. You were tired, but you didn’t want to go back to bed just yet.

It felt like a beginning.

Not of something explosive or sudden.

But of something quiet and steady, like a new current under the surface.

Something you both felt, even if you didn’t have the words for it yet.

After that night in the kitchen, things shifted—just a little. Nothing obvious, nothing anyone else would have picked up on. But you felt it.

He started leaving the kitchen light on when he stayed up late, like he expected you to wander in again.

And you did.

Some nights, you found him reading or scribbling in a worn journal with ink stains on his fingers. Other nights, he was doing absolutely nothing—just sitting in the dark, hoodie draped over the back of the chair, tattoos visible in the low light, the ring on his lip catching the glow from the streetlamp outside.

He didn’t say much. Neither did you. But he made space for you in the quiet.

You learned things about him in fragments.

That he liked his coffee bitter, almost punishingly so.

That he hated loud music but loved the sound of thunderstorms.

That he had an older sister he didn’t talk about much—but when he did, his voice changed. Softer. Guarded.

That the tattoo over his ribs was a quote from a book he read at sixteen, one that stuck with him even when everything else didn’t.

He wasn’t easy to get close to, but he wasn’t cold either. Just careful. Like someone who’d had to build his own walls brick by brick, and wasn’t sure what would happen if they came down.

But with you, cracks started to show.

It began in the small, almost invisible ways.

Like when he made too much miso soup and slid a bowl toward you without a word.

Or when you were late for class and likely to leave without eating breakfast, only to find a neatly wrapped sandwich waiting for you next to your bag. No notes, just the sandwich.

Or when you were curled up on the couch after a long day, and he sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders touched. He didn’t pull away. Neither did you.

One evening, you passed by his door and heard music—something low and melancholy, plucked guitar strings and a haunting voice.

You stood there for a second, listening.

He opened the door before you could knock.

“Didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” you said softly, already backing up.

He didn’t look annoyed. Just blinked slowly. “You can come in.”

His room was… him. Sparse but warm. Textbooks stacked on the desk, a small record player in the corner, a half-finished charcoal sketch on the wall above his bed—black lines trailing the shape of a figure, mid-movement. You recognized the patterns in the drawing: the same ones inked into his arms and back.

“You drew that?”

He nodded. “It’s… old. I haven’t had time to finish it.”

“It’s beautiful,” you said, without thinking.

He didn’t respond right away. Just looked at you. Really looked at you. Like he was searching for something under your skin.

“You ever let anyone in like this?” you asked, gently.

His voice was quiet. “Not really.”

And that was it. Not a confession, not a declaration. Just a truth, placed in your hands like something breakable.

—

You started studying together sometimes, though neither of you ever officially suggested it.

Megumi would pull up a chair beside you at the dining table, flipping through his textbooks, his hoodie sleeves pushed up past his elbows. You sat cross-legged beside him, highlighting too much and chewing pens, your laptop blinking lazily between tabs.

Once, during midterms, you passed out right there at the table.

You woke up under a blanket, your notes stacked neatly beside you, and an unopened bottle of water set where your head had been. His handwriting was on a sticky note.

You drooled on your chem notes. I didn’t judge. – M

You kept the note.

—

Sometimes, you wondered how he saw you.

You were short next to him, almost comically so, your frame curvy yet small, half-drowning in the hoodies you stole from where he forgot them in the kitchen. You were louder, more expressive, and—let’s be honest—more chaotic. Your side of the living room was a mess of throw blankets and mismatched socks, while his was neatly kept, symmetrical.

But he didn’t seem to mind your presence. If anything, he gravitated toward it.

He started lingering in the living room longer when you were there.

Started offering to pick up food when you were too tired to cook.

Started asking quiet things like, “Did you eat today?” or “You okay?” with a kind of earnestness that made your heart ache.

One rainy Saturday, you both ended up on the couch watching a movie neither of you cared about. The storm rolled outside, wind howling against the glass. You were wrapped in a thick blanket, tucked into the corner of the couch, and Megumi was stretched out beside you, socked feet barely touching yours under the covers.

You didn’t talk much. Just sat in the hush between thunderclaps, the kind of silence that felt like trust.

At one point, you felt him shift.

Then—hesitantly—he let his head rest against the back of the couch, tilted slightly in your direction.

Not on your shoulder. Not quite.

But close.

Close enough that you felt his warmth, his calm, his quiet hum of presence.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe too loud.

And in that moment, something inside you softened.

Not because it was romantic. Not yet.

But because it was safe.

Because it was him.

—

You started noticing it in the quiet.

How his presence changed the shape of your space. How the silence that used to make your apartment feel cold now felt alive when he was there—like the two of you were filling it together, without ever needing to speak.

He’d begun doing this thing.

When he walked past the couch and you were there, curled up reading or scrolling on your phone, he’d rest his hand lightly on the back of it. Not for long. Just a second, fingers ghosting over the fabric. It was casual—almost thoughtless—but you felt it every time. The warmth of him. The comfort.

And when he sat down next to you now, he sat close. Shoulder to shoulder. Knee to thigh. He never said anything about it, and neither did you. It was just… natural.

But you both knew it hadn’t always been like that.

One afternoon, you came home to find him asleep on the couch, textbooks open on his chest, one arm draped across his face. You hesitated for a second—then walked over quietly, knelt beside him, and gently closed his book.

He didn’t wake. Just murmured something half-dreamed and rolled onto his side.

You noticed it again then, half-exposed under the hem of his shirt.

The ink that covered his ribs.

You didn’t stare, but you couldn’t look away either. You wanted to know what it said. Why he chose it. What it meant to him.

You wanted to ask. Not because you were curious.

Because you were starting to care.

—

You cooked together more often now.

At first it was practical—splitting groceries, saving time—but it became something else. A soft ritual. A kind of choreography you both eased into without thinking. You’d play music low from your phone, swaying around each other in the kitchen like two orbiting stars, never colliding, always just close enough. He always took over the knife work—his movements clean and practiced—while you handled seasoning and taste testing. You started wearing one of his hoodies half the time—because you were always cold, and he never seemed to mind.

One night, you were baking—well, trying to—and you accidentally knocked over the bag of flour. A whole puff of white exploded into the air and rained down across the counter like a soft, slow-motion snowstorm.

“Shit,” you gasped, hands halfway out like that could somehow stop it.

Megumi blinked at the mess, then at you, brushing his fingers across his now powdery hoodie. “Seriously?”

“I’ll clean it up, I swear—”

Before you could move, he reached down, scooped a small handful of flour, and gently patted it to the side of your cheek.

You froze. “Megs.”

He tilted his head. “You’re in the splash zone.”

“That’s not a thing—!”

But you were already laughing, lobbing a pinch of flour toward him. It hit his hoodie and left a ghost-white smudge. His mouth curled into a smirk—crooked and rare.

“You’re gonna regret that.”

“I regret nothing.”

Soon, flour was everywhere. On the counter. On your–his–sweatshirt. In your hair, even smeared across your cheekbones. He had it streaked across one of his eyebrows and down the side of his neck. You both leaned over the counter, breathless and trying to catch your breath, cheeks flushed from laughter.

“Kitchen’s a crime scene,” he muttered, surveying the mess.

“All your fault,” you shot back, grinning. “You look like a failed pastry,” you wheezed, looking him up and down.

He gave you one of those rare, unguarded smiles—the kind that curved more on one side than the other and softened the hard edges of his face. “And you look like you lost a fight with a Pillsbury can,” he shot back, brushing a bit of powder from your temple.

His fingers lingered for a second. Not long.

But long enough.

You looked at him. And in that beat, something softened. The kitchen was dim. The apartment quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the wind tapping at the window. His face was so close.

Still amused, still light-hearted—but there was a shift underneath.

He broke the quiet first.

“I used to hate shared spaces,” he said, voice low.

“Why?”

He hesitated. “Everything felt temporary. Like I was just… passing through.”

You leaned a little on the counter, matching his softness but your chest tightened. “I get that.”

He glanced at you. “Not just physical spaces. People too.”

That hit somewhere deep. You knew the feeling.

“Like you never really belonged to any of it,” you murmured. “Not fully.”

He gave the smallest nod.

And then, after a long pause his gaze flicked to yours. “But this—” he gestured vaguely to the kitchen, the chaos, you “—doesn’t feel like I’m passing through.”

You watched him, heart suddenly loud in your chest.

There was a pause.

Then—his voice, softer than ever—“I’m not sure if this is home,” he said. “But it’s… closer than I’ve ever been. Maybe… halfway there.”

Your breath caught. Your voice was barely a whisper when you said, “Halfway home.”

He looked at you then—really looked. Not surprised. Just steady.

Like he’d been thinking it too.

And he nodded.

Like that meant something.

Like you meant something.

—

Later that week, it happened.

The kind of night where it all cracked open.

You’d gotten into it with your mom again. One of those calls where every word felt like a scratch. The kind where the conversation starts with “How are you?” and ends with you curled up at the kitchen table, staring at your untouched tea.

You weren’t crying.

But your eyes were glassy and your hands were trembling, and that was worse somehow.

You didn’t hear him come in. Just felt his presence. He said your name softly.

You looked up, trying to laugh it off. “It’s stupid.”

He crouched beside you. “It’s not.”

And just like that, something inside you cracked.

He didn’t ask for details. Didn’t push. He just opened his arms, and you leaned into him like it was instinct.

He held you for a long time. One hand on your back, the other cupping the back of your head, slow and grounding. You could feel the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest. The low hum in his throat when he murmured, “I’ve got you.”

And you believed it.

Not because he said it like a promise.

But because he said it like a fact.

And that was what scared you most.

Because maybe you’d never had that before.

Maybe this wasn’t home yet.

But god, it felt like the map.

—

The shift came quietly.

Like a door slowly swinging open, not creaking. Like the breath before a kiss—not the kiss itself. You couldn’t name the moment it happened, but suddenly, everything meant more.

Every glance. Every brush of fingers. Every silence.

He started standing closer. His hand would rest on your lower back as he passed behind you. When you handed him something, your fingers would touch, and neither of you would pull away right away.

Not anymore.

One night, he walked in while you were on the couch reading, legs tucked under you in a pair of old gym shorts and one of his hoodies. You didn’t realize you’d stolen that one, too. It still smelled faintly like him—like cedar and fresh laundry and something you couldn’t name but always noticed.

His eyes landed on you, lingering just a beat too long.

“You’re always stealing my clothes,” he said.

You shrugged, not looking up from your book. “You’re always leaving them on the kitchen chair. Finders keepers.”

A pause. Then: “That one’s my favorite.”

You looked up. “Yeah?”

He scratched at his eyebrow ring, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “It’s the softest.”

You held his gaze a moment longer than you should have. “I’ll give it back.”

His voice was low. “I didn’t say I wanted it back.”

Something buzzed under your skin.

You looked down at the page and didn’t read a single word.

But you didn’t give back the hoodie either.

—

The next time you were both home on a rainy Saturday, you found yourselves in the same place again—doing nothing. Not even pretending to be productive. Just existing, in parallel, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You were sitting on the floor against the couch with your laptop, browsing through Pinterest, earbuds in. He was stretched out on the cushions behind you, hood up, sketchbook balanced on his stomach.

He did that sometimes—drew when he thought you weren’t looking. He never let you see the pages, but you’d catch glimpses of bold ink lines and intricate forms. Once, when he fell asleep with the book open, you saw the edge of a figure. Shoulders. The curve of a hip. The shape of someone sleeping, maybe.

You’d wanted to ask if it was you.

You didn’t.

But the idea stayed in your chest like a warm stone.

You’d both been quieter that day. Not uncomfortable—just still. The kind of still that sinks into your bones. You didn’t realize how much time had passed until your stomach growled, embarrassingly loud.

Megumi looked up from his sketchbook. “Was that you?”

You groaned, stretching your arms. “I think I’m dying. Feed me or I’ll haunt this apartment forever.”

He closed the book and stood. “Cursed with your ghost sounds about right.”

You stuck your tongue out at him. “You’d miss me.”

He looked at you like he wanted to say something—but didn’t. Instead, he held out a hand.

You blinked at it.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll cook.”

He made ramen.

Not the instant kind. Actual noodles in a pot, soft-boiled egg, scallions, seasoned broth. The whole thing. He didn’t talk much while he cooked—he rarely did—but you liked watching him. His hands were precise. His movements efficient. He tasted the broth with a spoon, made a face, added more chili oil.

You leaned back against the counter, arms folded, watching steam rise from the pot.

“You’ve done this before,” you said.

He nodded. “My sister taught me.” He stirred the broth slowly. “She liked her ramen so spicy it’d make your eyes water.”

You smiled a little at that. “Is that what you’re going for?”

“Kind of a tribute.” He glanced over at you. “Haven’t made it like this in a while.”

He said it like he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad one.

He stirred a bit more, then lowered the heat. “I used to make it like this for her when she had rough days. Just… figured I’d try it again.”

There was something careful in the way he said it. Like the memory was fragile, even now.

You hesitated. “Are you two close?”

A pause.

“We were,” he said. “She’s… not around much anymore.”

You nodded, not pushing. The air between you had settled, softened.

When you sat down at the table and he handed you the bowl, it was with quieter hands.

“You’re a domestic goddess, Megs,” you said, voice lighter.

He smirked. “Eat before I take it back.”

Halfway through the bowl, you found yourself glancing at him again. The curve of his brow, the line of his jaw. Something soft had gathered behind his eyes since that moment by the stove.

And maybe it was the warmth of the soup, or the weight of the story he hadn’t told—but you braved the question.

“Do you…” You paused, lowering your spoon.

His chopsticks stilled in the bowl.

You hesitated. “Do you miss it? Home?”

He didn’t answer right away.

You added quickly, “Sorry, that was—kind of personal. You don’t have to—”

“It’s okay,” he said. Then: “Not really.”

You nodded, gently. Let him go on.

“Never felt like a real place to miss,” he said, quietly. “Just somewhere I waited to grow out of.”

Your chest ached at that. You both chewed in silence for a few moments.

“I think that’s why I like it here,” he added, softer now. “Not just this place.” he clarified.

He looked at you.

“The way you let me take up space. Without asking.”

Your breath caught.

You wanted to say something. Me too. Or You do the same for me. Or I notice every time you leave a hoodie on the chair just so I’ll steal it.

But you didn’t say anything.

Instead, you reached for your drink. Your hand brushed his on the table.

And this time, neither of you moved.

—

It was later that night—closer to midnight—when you caught each other in the hallway. Both of you on the way to the kitchen. You paused at the same time, facing each other across the short stretch of hardwood.

He looked… soft. Sleepy. His hoodie had slipped halfway off one shoulder, revealing the edge of a tattoo, curling down from his collarbone. You couldn’t see the whole thing, but it was intricate. Sharp lines and dark shading, disappearing beneath the fabric.

You tilted your head. “What’s that one?”

He glanced down at where your eyes had landed, then shrugged the hoodie back into place. “Just something I drew once. Got it done last year.”

“You draw your own ink?”

He nodded.

You stepped closer. “Can I see?”

He hesitated, eyes catching yours.

Then, slowly, he pulled the hoodie down again, off his shoulder this time.

The tattoo started on his chest and curled up across his collarbone, snaking toward his shoulder. Sharp black lines softened with curves—some kind of wolf motif, maybe—but abstract, not literal.

You lifted a hand before you even thought about it. “Can I…?”

He nodded.

You ran your fingers lightly along the ink, careful not to press too hard. His skin was warm. The tattoo was beautiful. Intimate in a way that made your breath go shallow.

You didn’t say anything.

Neither did he.

But something changed in that silence.

You felt it in the air. Thick. Tense. Waiting.

He caught your wrist gently, not to stop you—just to hold it. His thumb brushed your pulse point.

You looked up.

And he looked down.

And for the first time, neither of you looked away.

—

It was Friday night. Cold, damp, and strangely quiet. The kind of night where campus emptied out and everyone either went home or drank their way through the ache of the week.

You didn’t feel like going anywhere. Megumi hadn’t planned to either.

So you both stayed in.

It started, like most of your nights lately, in the kitchen.

He was standing at the stove, stirring something with minimal enthusiasm—a boxed mac and cheese situation that smelled better than it probably should’ve. He had the hood of his dark sweatshirt pulled down, sleeves shoved halfway to his elbows, exposing the black ink winding up one arm. You still hadn’t seen all of it, just pieces. An arrow across his bicep, a wolf’s skull peeking out above his elbow. Sharp lines and precise shading. It suited him.

He caught you looking. Didn’t say anything—just arched one brow.

You rolled your eyes and reached for the fridge. “Don’t flatter yourself, Megs.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face said it.”

“I was born with this face,” he said, deadpan.

“Tragic.”

He snorted.

It started with the wine.

You found it in the back of the fridge on a night that didn’t seem to want anything except quiet—behind some sad lettuce and an expired packet of tofu. Plum wine, half-forgotten since the start of the semester and slightly sticky at the neck.

You held up the bottle like it was a prize. “Look what I found.”

The cork crumbled a little when you opened it, which made Megumi raise an eyebrow. His piercing catching the light.

He squinted at it. “That’s definitely off.”

“It’s wine, Megs. It doesn’t go off.”

“That’s not how chemistry works.”

“I don’t see mold.” You shrugged, pouring it into two mismatched mugs. “Then we’re good.”

He accepted his cup with only a small shake of his head that said if we die, it’s your fault and leaned against the opposite counter. Hoodie sleeves still shoved to his elbows, collar stretched a little too wide. You could see the black edge of a tattoo on his chest where the fabric fell just off-center. Just a glimpse—no more than that—but you couldn’t help looking.

It wouldn't be the first time.

The ink curled like smoke over his collarbone, disappearing down where you didn’t dare let your thoughts follow.

He caught your eyes and didn’t look away.

You took a too-fast sip of wine.

Dinner was low-effort comfort. The kind of meal you made when the day had taken too much out of you to pretend to care. You ate side by side at the little kitchen table, laughing over half-drunken stories you probably wouldn’t have shared otherwise, bare feet brushing accidentally (and then not-so-accidentally) under the bench. The hum of the overhead light filled the silence between conversation. Soft things. Easy. Familiar. It had started to feel like that a lot lately.

After the food was gone and the bottle was mostly empty, you lingered with your chins propped on your hands across the table from each other, your legs stretched lazily under his.

“So,” he said, voice low, “what’s your terrible movie pick tonight?”

“Bold of you to assume I’m the one with bad taste.”

“You think The Mummy is high art.”

“It is.”

“I rest my case.”

By the time the bottle was gone, you were both buzzed.

Lightheaded. Warm.

But not enough.

“Hey,” you said, nudging him with your socked foot under the table. “Let’s go to Lawson.”

He didn’t look up from his phone. “No.”

“Come on. We need beer. Or chu-hi. Or… whatever looks the worst.”

“We have classes Monday.”

“It’s Friday.”

“And it’s raining.”

You tilted your head at him with exaggerated innocence. “Are you scared of getting wet?”

He gave you a flat look.

You kept going. “You, a grown man, covered in tattoos, pierced like a delinquent, scared of a drizzle?”

He sighed. “You’re annoying.”

“You love it.”

Another long pause.

Then, deadpan: “Get your shoes.”

—

You came back with two bags.

You bought cans based solely on the labels—one with a polar bear in a Hawaiian shirt, one bright pink with hearts, and one that claimed to taste like salted plum and regret.

Megumi made fun of your choices the entire walk home.

He carried both bags anyway.

You were already laughing as you pushed yourself up the stairs and into to your shared apartment, padding barefoot toward the living room. The rain had turned your hair damp, your sleeves cold at the cuffs. You both peeled off the soggy layers and he followed you suit behind, hoodie left behind on the chair. His t-shirt clung to his chest in a way that made it difficult not to stare. The fabric stretched slightly around his arms, where more tattoos snaked up from the elbow, curling in black ink over pale skin.

After dumping everything onto the coffee table, you put on a hoodie that was draped over the armrest—his favorite one—and collapsed onto the couch with a blanket, letting it drape over both of you. He sat close—closer than necessary, and yet you didn’t move away.

He smelled like clean cotton and soap and something warmer beneath. Maybe the wine. Maybe just him.

The first can was awful.

So was the second.

By the third, you were both half-laying down, legs tangled, and laughing at a stupid movie you didn’t even recognize. Some terrible action comedy with bad dialogue and worse CGI. You didn’t remember the name. You didn’t care. You were warm from the booze and warmer from his knee resting next to yours.

By the time you opened the fourth can, your head was buzzing. Somewhere in the middle, he shifted slightly and slouched deeper into the couch, resting one arm behind you. Not around you. Not touching. Just there.

The distance between you disappeared in degrees.

First, when your shoulders bumped and didn’t pull away.

Then, when your leg rested fully against his beneath the blanket.

Now your legs were draped over his now, his hand resting absently on your shin.

The warmth between you wasn’t new.

But tonight it felt… uncontained.

You watched him as he tilted his can back, the curve of his throat, the glint of his lip ring under the flicker of the TV.

You’d always known he was attractive. But being this close—this comfortable—was starting to feel dangerous.

“You always watch movies like this?” you asked, voice small, eyes back on the screen.

“Like what?”

“Quiet. Tense. Judgy.”

“I’m not judging.”

“No?” you chuckled, then, when you looked up at him—and found he was already watching you.

You held the gaze longer than you meant to.

His mouth parted just slightly. His lip piercing glinted.

You dropped your eyes.

“I’m watching.” he said.

He wasn’t talking about the movie. You knew that. He knew you knew.

The air between you felt different now—thicker. Not uncomfortable. Not bad. Just tight. Like something was waiting to break open.

“You know you’re hard to read, right?” you said softly, gaze determined to focus on the movie once more.

His head turned slightly. “You’ve told me.”

“I mean it.”

“I’m not trying to be.”

“I know.” You paused. “You just… you never say what you’re thinking.”

There was a long moment before he replied. “Neither do you.”

You glanced at him. Your skin felt too tight.

Your voice dropped. “If I did… would you listen?”

He looked at you then. Really looked.

“I always listen to you,” he said.

You shifted a little to face him better. He didn’t move.

Your voices stayed low. Muted. Like you were both afraid to disturb something too fragile to name.

“Why do you look at me like that?” you asked.

He studied you for a beat too long.

Then: “I think you know.”

The moment swelled, heat under your ribs. Your chest tightened. You licked your lips. His eyes followed the motion.

He was looking at your mouth now.

You didn’t look away. It wasn’t intentional at first.

Until it was.

Until you shifted a little and his fingers slid higher up your shin. Not high enough to be obvious, but enough that you felt it. Enough that your breath caught.

“You’re drunk,” you whispered.

He gave the smallest shake of his head. “No.”

“Tipsy, then.”

He didn’t answer. Just leaned in, slow and careful.

And then, softly—too softly to brace yourself for it—his lips touched yours.

It was barely a kiss.

Barely pressure.

Just warmth.

Just a breath.

But then it deepened—his hand on the side of your neck, the plush drag of his lower lip catching yours. You felt the cool flick of his lip ring before his tongue brushed yours, and that made your breath catch.

There was metal there, too—a piercing. You could feel it. Smooth, hard, unexpected. The weight of it against your tongue sent a flicker of heat down your spine. You let out a sound you didn’t mean to, soft and startled against his mouth.

The kiss became deeper. Your hands found his shirt, fisting the fabric. You whimpered softly against his mouth. He groaned—quiet, rough.

And then—

He froze.

Pulled back.

You blinked up at him, dazed.

His breath was heavy, lips kiss-bitten, pupils wide.

His hand was still on your neck, thumb ghosting over your jaw like he hadn’t meant to stop.

You were stunned. Dazed. Wanting.

But then—

He pulled his hand back, dragging it down over his face.

“No,” he said, voice rough now. “Shit. We shouldn’t.”

You blinked at him, breath shaking. “Why?”

“You had wine.”

“So did you.”

“That’s the point,” he said, shaking his head.

He closed his eyes for a second, like he was trying to center himself.

“I don’t want it to be… I don’t want this to happen because we’re tipsy and bored.”

You swallowed.

You were still staring at him. Still thinking about the way he’d kissed you. About the weight of his mouth and the heat of his body.

But then—he exhaled, slower this time.

“I want you,” he said. “But I want it to be real. Not like this.”

The room was spinning slowly.

You didn’t argue.

Because even in your tipsy haze, you knew he was right.

Your chest was a tangle of nerves and something softer—something that twisted beneath your ribs in a way that was almost painful.

You nodded.

Quietly. Gently.

And he nodded, too.

He exhaled and leaned his forehead against yours for a moment before he pulled back completely, gently tugging the blanket higher between you.

Still close.

Still touching.

But not crossing that line again.

Not yet.

The air was suddenly tighter. Not hostile. Not uncertain. Just pressurized. Like one wrong breath would push you into the next thing—and maybe that scared you more than you expected.

You looked down at your lap. “This is stupid, right?”

“What is?”

“This…” You gestured vaguely between you. “Us.”

A pause.

“No,” he said. “It’s not.”

You glanced back at him.

And this time, you saw it clearly. The want.

Not loud. Not burning. Just real.

Settled there in the blue of his eyes like it had always been.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “Then what is it?”

His hand moved—slowly—toward your knee. A light touch. Just his fingers resting there, warm and steady.

“I don’t know yet,” he said. “But I’m not in a rush to name it.”

Your throat went tight.

You could’ve kissed him.

Right there, in the flickering glow of the shitty movie and the soft scratch of his calloused fingers brushing circles on your skin.

But you didn’t.

Not yet.

Because for the first time, you understood what this was.

It wasn’t a moment waiting to break open.

It was one waiting to settle.

You turned back to the screen. The movie was still playing, somewhere behind all of it. Some explosion. A line of terrible dialogue.

Neither of you were watching.

And still—

He stayed beside you.

Still close.

Still warm.

Still waiting.

Eventually, you fell asleep there—legs tangled, cheeks flushed, his hand still resting lightly on your knee like a promise he wasn’t ready to break.

Not until it mattered.

Not until it was real.

And somewhere deep down, you knew—

Whatever this was…

It had already changed.

You weren’t just roommates.

You weren’t just friends.

You were something else now.

Maybe you’d always been on the way here.

Maybe you’d always been halfway home.

—

The next morning wasn’t awkward.

It should’ve been, probably. You’d fallen asleep on the couch tangled around each other after making out like two teenagers with bad impulse control, and yet—

When you woke up, his arm was still around your waist, your cheek pressed to his chest, and neither of you moved right away.

His heart beat under your ear, steady and slow.

You didn’t speak. Just breathed in the quiet.

Eventually, he shifted a little and looked down at you, hair a soft mess, voice rasped from sleep.

“You drooled on me.”

You rolled your eyes, but smiled.

“You kissed me,” you whispered, as if to counter.

He blinked at that, unreadable for a beat, then:

“Yeah. I did.”

And for the first with this new glint in your eyes, you let yourself fully smile at him.

—

Nothing broke after that.

That was the strange part.

You thought the tension might shatter into something awkward or forced. You thought he might avoid you, or pretend it didn’t happen.

But Megumi didn’t run.

He made pancakes instead.

Real ones, too—from scratch. With eggs and milk and a drizzle of vanilla that you knew he didn’t own until that very morning.

You didn’t ask where he went to get it. Just sat on the counter watching him whisk, the sleeves of his hoodie pushed back, tattoos ink-dark across his arms. There was one on his inner wrist you hadn’t seen before—clean lines, a small lotus. You stared longer than you meant to.

He caught your gaze, but didn’t comment.

Instead, he asked, “You want coffee?”

You nodded. “With milk and sugar.”

“Figures.”

“Judgy.”

“Just accurate.”

You didn’t talk about the kiss.

But it hovered.

In the way he moved around you in the kitchen. In the way his eyes lingered on your mouth longer than before. In the way his hand brushed your lower back when he passed behind you.

It didn’t feel like it wasn’t being talked about.

It felt like it was still happening.

Slowly.

Carefully.

You had to go to work that afternoon, and so did he, but you lingered too long before leaving. Your backpack half-zipped. Your shoes still untied.

“I’ll see you later,” you said, standing near the door.

“Yeah,” he said, and his voice was quiet again. Thoughtful.

Then, softer: “Be safe, princess.”

You didn’t answer.

Just looked back at him once before closing the door behind you, heart skittering like a secret you weren’t ready to say out loud.

—

You didn’t kiss again for three days.

But the days felt different.

He texted more.

Sent you dumb memes during lectures and followed up with “you better be paying attention” when you took too long to reply.

He cooked twice. Once with too much salt, and once with enough effort that it felt like more than just a favor.

On the fourth night, it rained again.

This time you didn’t even ask—you both just ended up on the couch, the blanket between you again, knees pressed close, a movie you weren’t watching on in the background.

This time, it was you who turned to him first.

“Do you ever think about it?” you asked.

He glanced down at you. “About what?”

“This. Us.”

He didn’t look away.

“Yeah,” he said.

You nodded.

Your throat was tight.

“I’ve never had this before,” you admitted, voice small. “Whatever this is. With someone.”

His brows pulled together a little. “Something safe?”

You hesitated.

“Something that feels like… home,” you said. “But not the kind you leave.”

His mouth parted slightly, surprised. And maybe—

Maybe a little bit moved.

“That’s what I was trying to say,” he murmured. “When I said that before. Halfway home.”

You looked up at him.

“You’re the first place that felt like one.”

Silence stretched.

Warm. Solid. Real.

And then, slowly, he leaned down, and this time—this time when his mouth met yours, you weren’t drunk. You weren’t trying to avoid the edge.

You stepped into it.

The kiss was different.

Not rushed. Not frantic.

Just full of everything you hadn’t said yet.

He kissed you like he meant to stay. Like he’d wanted to for longer than he’d admit. Like it was the start of something new, not the ruin of something comfortable.

You broke it first, breath shaky, and looked up at him.

“You still sure?”

His thumb traced your cheek. “Yeah.”

You nodded once, then leaned back in—and this time, the kiss didn’t stop.

Not when your hands found the back of his neck.

Not when his settled at your hips.

And not when the blanket slipped off your shoulders and the rest of the world went quiet except for the sound of two people finally letting go of the tension they’d carried for months.

His mouth was warm. Open. Slow.

You weren’t drunk this time. Not even tipsy. You could feel everything—his breath, the pressure of his hands, the flicker of his tongue ring sliding against yours, cool at first, then hot, wet, dizzying.

You moaned into him without meaning to.

The kiss became deeper, languid and unhurried, like neither of you wanted it to end. His hand slid up your side, not groping, not urgent—just there, deliberate, like he was mapping the shape of you, reminding himself it was real.

You tugged at his hoodie, fists curled in the fabric, and when your fingers slipped up into his hair, he groaned. Low, throaty, unexpectedly desperate.

You froze.

Pulled back just enough to look at him, breath shallow.

“What—”

His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark and shining, his lip ring catching the light as he swallowed.

“Do that again,” he murmured.

You blinked. “Your hair?”

He nodded once. Barely.

So you did.

Fingers buried deep, nails scraping lightly at his scalp.

He moaned, jaw going slack, and something in your chest fluttered.

You grinned. “Holy shit. That’s your thing, huh?”

“Don’t start,” he muttered, flushing slightly, though his hips had pressed forward like a tell. “You’ll abuse it.”

You tugged again, a little firmer.

He cursed softly. “Fuck. Princess.”

It hit low. Tight. A pulse between your legs you hadn’t fully acknowledged until then.

“You like that?” you whispered, mouth brushing his.

His lips curved—barely.

“You have no idea.”

You kissed him again.

Hungrier this time. Messier. The kind of kiss you felt all the way to your spine.

Somewhere in the middle of it, he pulled you onto his lap. His hands found your thighs and dragged you closer, legs parting over his hips like it was the most natural thing in the world. You were in loose shorts and an old cotton sleep top, and he was still in that damn hoodie—black, oversized, hiding everything but the heat of his body under your hands.

You broke the kiss just long enough to gasp, head tilting back, the fabric of his hoodie catching on your fingertips as you gripped the hem.

“Take it off,” you whispered.

He didn’t answer. Just stared at you as he pulled it over his head.

And then—

Fuck.

You’d seen bits and glimpses of his tattoos before. Knew they were there. A flicker when sleeves rolled up, the shadow along his back when he walked past shirtless after a shower.

But this close? With your hands on him?

They were everywhere.

Ink swept over his chest, his shoulders, down his arms—clean black linework, fine and sharp, a contrast to the way his skin felt. Warm. Soft, where it wasn’t hard muscle.

And on his ribs—just under the curve of his left pectoral—a line in black script:

you don’t have to be whole to be loved.

You reached for it before you could stop yourself, fingers brushing the edge of the lettering.

He flinched—barely, but enough.

“I like this one,” you said softly. “It’s true.”

He didn’t speak. Just looked at you like you’d stripped him naked with that single sentence.

Maybe you had.

Your hands slid down, brushing the line of his waist, and you felt the way his breath hitched.

“Take me to bed, Megs.”

He exhaled slowly. “You sure?”

You nodded.

He stood without hesitation.

You were light in his arms, legs locked around his waist. Not princess-style—cradled, close and tight, your center pressed to the thick, hard line of him beneath his sweats.

Your heartbeat was a storm in your throat.

His mouth found your neck as he pushed the door to his room open with his shoulder, and you gasped when his teeth grazed your skin.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“I want you,” you said. “That’s all.”

His voice dropped lower. “You’ll have me, pretty girl.”

And then he laid you down—slowly, like you were something to be unwrapped.

The room was quiet except for breathing. Your shirt was the first to go—peeled up and over, leaving you bare. No bra. No modesty. Just flushed skin and peaked nipples, chest rising and falling fast under his gaze.

He froze.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathed. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

You couldn’t help it—you arched into him.

He kissed down your throat. Over your collarbone. Took his time getting to your chest, his mouth hot and wet when it wrapped around a nipple. Tongue ring dragging just enough to make you gasp.

“Megs—”

His hand slid down your stomach, rougher now, and then under your waistband.

“You’re soaked,” he growled. “All this from just kissing?”

“Hair pulling,” you teased, gasping when he pressed two fingers against you, slow circles. “You’ve got a thing for it.”

“Princess,” he warned, then—smirked.

He tugged your shorts and panties down with too much ease. And for a moment, he just looked at you.

Eyes dark. Face flushed. Breathing shallow.

“You sure?” he asked again, quieter now. “Because once I go down on you, I’m not stopping.”

Your heart stuttered.

“I’m sure.”

His mouth curved. Wicked.

“Good girl.”

Megumi slid to his knees at the edge of the bed, dragging your legs over his shoulders like he had every intention of devouring you.

He looked up from between them—eyes dark, mouth already wet from kissing you stupid.

“You gonna keep looking at me like that?” he murmured, voice thick.

Your throat was dry. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to memorize me.” his thumbs pressed into your inner thighs, spreading you wider. “You don’t need to. I’m not going anywhere.”

And then—

He kissed you.

There.

Warm, slow, filthy.

Tongue soft at first, just a wet glide over your clit, before he added pressure. His barbell on his tongue rolled against you—a new texture, a new spark—and your hips bucked in surprise.

“Oh my God—”

He laughed into you. That tongue piercing? It wasn’t just a decoration. It was a fucking weapon.

He took his time. All of it. Flattening his tongue, then curling it up, then circling—soft, then firm, then teasing. Every motion was practiced, patient, like he liked this, like he was learning you by feel and sound alone—to the way you whined and breathed and fisted the sheets.

And when you buried your fingers in his hair, tugging instinctively—

He groaned.

Low and rough, deep in his chest.

So you did it again. A little harder.

He moaned.

Then he pulled back just enough to speak, mouth glistening, voice wrecked.

“You trying to kill me, pretty girl?”

“I didn’t think you’d like it that much,” you breathed.

“Now you know.”

His mouth slammed back down.

Sloppier now, his mouth messier, wetter. Your thighs started to tremble. Your breath hitched with every suck, every pass the pink muscle. It was too much and still not enough, and when you clenched on his tongue, he growled—a real sound, needy, low in his throat.

His hands gripped your thighs tighter, fingertips pressing into the soft part of you. He sucked your clit into his mouth and rolled the barbell across it—and your hips snapped, needy, desperate.

He gave you one last, deliberate lick, then kissed your thigh—open-mouthed, tongue dragging.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Look at you.”

You were dripping. Ruined.

But he wasn't done.

“You taste fucking amazing, pretty girl.”

His name slipped out of your mouth like a prayer. “Megs—”

“Could stay down here all night,” he rasped. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

You were panting. “Megumi—please—”

He didn’t answer. He was already moving again.

Faster. Deeper. Rougher.

The wet glide of his tongue, the flick of the piercing. The suction. The rhythm. You were unraveling, fast and helpless, no thoughts except more, more, more.

And then he slid two fingers inside—crooked just right—and sucked hard at the same time, tongue flicking and curling and sucking until your back arched off the bed, until you gasped his name and shattered into his mouth, thighs clamped around his head, shaking, soaked, ruined.

He loved it.

You came with a sharp cry, back arching off the bed, thighs trembling. His name on your lips, broken. Your fingers tightened in his hair, hips grinding against his mouth.

He didn’t stop. Just slowed, licking you through it, moaning quietly like he couldn’t get enough.

You felt him groan into your cunt, like he was trying to memorize your taste, like he couldn’t help it.

Your hand stayed tangled in his hair, but weaker now, your muscles gone soft and boneless and slick with sweat. When he finally pulled back, his chin was wet, his pupils blown wide. He kissed your thigh, then your hip, then up your belly, slow and reverent, until he hovered over you again.

“You okay?” he asked, quieter now.

You nodded, dazed. “Yeah.”

He kissed your cheek, then your jaw. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you repeated, breathless. “That was—holy shit.”

He smirked.

“Come here,” you murmured, tugging him down, your legs around his waist again.

He leaned down slowly, settling over you, weight braced on one forearm as the other slid behind your head. His hoodie was already off, forgotten somewhere between the couch cushions. The ink across his chest and arms glowed dark in the low light—sweeping blackwork, linework down his ribs.

And below, he was already naked.

He must’ve kicked off his sweats when you weren’t looking—silent and practiced. His cock hung heavy between you, thick and flushed and so pretty it knocked the breath out of your chest.

You reached between you, slow, curious—fingers wrapping around him.

And you felt it.

Not just the heat, the weight—but something… hard. Not just him—though he was hard, thick and heavy and pressed against your thigh—but something else. Something smooth and firm under the ridge, something…metal.

Your brows twitched, just slightly.

His breath hitched. You looked up at him, question rising.

“You—?” you started.

His jaw tightened. He looked almost…shy.

“…Megs?”

He hesitated.

You palmed him curiously and he twitched.

“There’s—” You looked up at him. “Are you pierced?”

His breath caught.

You stared at him, lips parted. “You have a dick piercing?”

“…Yeah.”

You blinked.

You glanced down again to get a better look, thumb brushing over the spot carefully. Holy fuck.

Thick. Long. Pierced.

The barbell of the piercing gleamed, curved through the head, metal catching the light.

You swallowed. “What kind?”

He looked like he was seriously debating lying, but finally said, low:

“Apadravya.”

Your mouth dropped open.

“Jesus Christ.”

He groaned. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to make a life-altering decision.”

You bit your lip. “How long have you had it?”

“Since I was eighteen.”

Your brows shot up. “That’s early. Why?”

His cheeks actually turned a little pink.

“You ever do something stupid just to feel like your body was yours?”

You paused.

Then nodded. “Yeah. I have.”

His hand found your face, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

“I didn’t do it for anyone else. Didn’t think anyone would ever see it.” He laughed quietly. “Definitely didn’t think it’d make someone look at me the way you’re looking at me right now.”

You stared up at him.

“You mean like I want to push onto the mattress and ride you until I forget my name?”

“Exactly like that,” he rasped.

He kissed you again—deep, tongue curling past your lips—you felt the tongue piercing once more—familiar now—as your mouths moved in tandem.

“You okay?” he asked, quiet now. “You don’t have to—”

“I’m okay,” you whispered. “More than okay.”

You reached down, wrapping your hand around him and giving it a soft squeeze.

He hissed through his teeth.

“Princess—”

You leaned in and kissed his neck, just below his ear. “Let me look at you.”

He let you.

And you did. You traced every tattoo, every line of his body—ink across his shoulders, ribs, chest, a stretch of fine black lines and text that ended in the soft skin above his hips.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said. “Anytime.”

You looked up at him, cheeks flushed, heart pounding.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

You wrapped your legs around him again, slower this time.

And he rocked into you, still outside, just the pressure of him against your slickness making your whole body pulse.

He groaned.

“You’re gonna take all of me, baby.”

You gasped. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, bending to kiss you again. “I’ll make it fit.”

Your brain melted.

But he didn’t rush it. He never rushed.

He ran his hands over your body like he was savoring it—inch by inch, breath by breath. Worshipping it. And when you were whiny and squirming beneath him, he took a step back, eyes full of dark heat.

“You’re perfect.”

You grinned, breathless. “Then come here and fuck me already.”

He groaned.

And then slapped your ass—just once.

You gasped.

He smirked.

“Get ready, pretty girl.”

You could feel the weight of him above you—his forearms braced on either side of your head, body flushed against yours, skin warm and buzzing. His cock pressed heavy against your stomach, thick and hard and aching.

You reached down again, wrapping your hand around him, and this time he groaned against your mouth, voice low and helpless.

“Fuck, baby…”

You rolled your thumb under the head, slow. Felt the bar again—the piercing. It shifted slightly under your grip, smooth and hard. You were soaked already, throbbing. The idea of how it would feel inside you—

“Need you to lie back for me,” he said roughly, nuzzling into your neck, kissing your jaw. “Just like that. Legs up—good girl.”

You didn’t correct the pet name. Couldn’t.

He moved back slightly, sitting on his heels between your thighs. His hands slid over your hips and up—slow and reverent—just warm skin and heavy breath and the sharp, hot sweep of his eyes as they roamed.

“Fucking hell,” he whispered.

You flushed, hands fidgeting at your sides. But then he leaned down—kissed your sternum, your breast, circled your nipple with his tongue, then sucked, sharp and wet—and you forgot how to think.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful, princess,” he murmured, voice gravel. “You drive me fucking crazy.”

He kissed down your ribs, slow and wandering. You felt his lips pause, then press again—right under your breast, where he sucked the skin a bit harder.

You ran your fingers through his hair, dragging them gently at the roots.

He groaned again. “You have to stop doing that.”

“Why?” you asked innocently.

“You’re gonna find out,” he said, and grinned. “Keep doing it and you’ll see.”

You did.

When he lowered himself again, kissed between your thighs, and licked—deep this time, slower, intentional—you curled your fingers in his hair, tugging, and he moaned so loud it vibrated through you.

He looked wrecked when he pulled up. Flushed, pupils blown, lips wet.

“You like that?” you asked, giggling breathlessly.

“I fucking love that,” he growled.

He kissed you again, slow and hungry.

Then he lifted your hips—just like that—hands under your thighs, hauling you into him, legs wrapping naturally around his waist. You gasped, fingers clinging to his shoulders.

“Megs—”

“You okay?”

You nodded, flushed and dizzy.

You reached down, guiding him, and paused.

“Wait,” you whispered, breath catching. “You—do you have—”

He reached toward the drawer, then hesitated. “You on the pill?”

“Yeah.”

His jaw ticked. “Clean?”

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

Still, he waited. “You sure?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him.

“Yes.”

He pushed in slowly—so slowly it made your breath hitch, your spine arch, your hands grasp for something to hold onto.

The stretch made you gasp—hot, overwhelming. You could feel the piercing slide in, the way it dragged against your walls, made your whole body twitch.

“Holy shit,” you whimpered.

Megumi groaned, deep in his chest. “Yeah, that’s it. Fuck—feels so good, baby.”

You tightened around him and he shuddered.

“You feel so tight, so warm—shit—this pussy’s perfect—”

His words sent a jolt through you, heat pooling low in your belly.

He rocked into you, slow and deep, and you felt everything.

Every vein, every inch, every press of steel and flesh and heat.

His hips ground into yours, angling just right. The piercing nudged something devastating inside you, and your whole body jerked.

“Megs—”

He kissed you hard, messy. His hands were everywhere—your thighs, your waist, your tits. And when you clawed at his back, he grinned.

“Go ahead,” he breathed, “mark me up. I don’t care.”

You dragged your nails down his spine, and he growled.

And then—crack—

His hand landed a slap to your ass.

Not rough. But firm. Possessive.

You gasped.

He kissed your cheek. “Too much?”

“No,” you whispered, dazed. “Not enough.”

He laughed—low and dangerous.

And he fucked you harder. He fucked you like he meant it—like he was unraveling, like the sound of your voice did something to him he couldn’t take back. His rhythm stayed steady, devastating, but there was an edge now. A roughness. Desperation behind every thrust, like he was chasing something just out of reach.

Every thrust felt deliberate—slow but powerful, like he needed you to feel all of him. Like he wanted to carve himself into your memory with each push of his hips. His forehead pressed against yours, breath ragged, eyes half-lidded as he watched every expression flicker across your face.

You felt everything. Every inch of him. The head of his cock, that piercing, kept catching right there—just inside—sending shocks through your whole body. You moaned, loud, unrestrained, and he groaned in response, burying his face in your neck like he needed to ground himself.

“God, baby, you feel—fuck, I can’t—” he gasped. “You’re gonna make me lose it.”

The room spun, heat thick around you, sweat-slicked skin sliding against his as he drove into you, harder, deeper. Your legs were locked around him, thighs trembling, and you couldn’t stop moaning—couldn’t stop saying his name like a prayer.

“Megumi—God—please—”

His breath hitched. “I know, baby, I know. You feel so good—fuck—you’re taking me so well.”

You whimpered—your whole body on fire, nerves lit up. You could feel the piercing with every roll of his hips, dragging along your walls, stroking something almost too much. Too sharp. Too good.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he murmured, voice thick. “Taking me so fucking well.”

“F-Fuck, Megs—” your voice caught, high and trembling.

He kissed the corner of your mouth, sweet and messy, then pulled back just enough to look at you—really look at you.

“You okay, baby?”

You nodded, eyes wide, lips parted. “Yeah—God, yeah—just…”

He smiled, soft and wrecked. “I know. I know, baby. You’re doing so good.”

His thumb slipped between your bodies, found your clit with practiced ease—two fingers rubbing slow, deliberate circles as his cock dragged deep. Slow. Cruel. Perfect.

You cried out, hips jerking.

“Shh,” he whispered. “It’s okay. Just let it happen, princess. Let me take care of you.”

You clenched around him, helpless, and he groaned—deep in his chest, like he could feel it everywhere.

“You feel that?” he breathed, leaning in to kiss your throat. “That little flutter—fuck—you’re close, huh?”

And then, as his cock pushed in again, deeper than before, he shifted his weight and brought one hand down to your lower stomach.

He pressed gently—right there, just above your pelvis—and you gasped.

“Right here,” he said, voice dark with wonder. “You feel me, princess? That’s me. All the way inside.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, heat rushing through your veins like fire. The pressure of his hand paired with the drag of the piercing made your whole body twitch.

“Megs—”

He smirked against your neck, breath hot. “I know, baby. I know it’s a lot. You’re taking it so well.”

He kissed your jaw, slow and sweet. “I want you to cum for me,” he whispered. “Right here. While I’m inside you. Wanna feel this perfect pussy squeeze around me.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your body coiling tighter with every stroke.

“You can do it, baby,” he coaxed, voice low and soothing. “You’re already so close. Just let go.”

And you did.

The orgasm hit hard—white-hot, overwhelming. Your body locked up, then shattered all at once. You cried out, back arching, nails digging into his shoulders. The wave of it crashed over you again and again, endless, dizzying.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groaned, thrusting deeper. “You’re so fucking tight when you cum—gonna make me—shit—”

His rhythm faltered, turned rougher, messier, as he lost control.

“Pretty girl—shit—gonna cum, baby, gonna—”

“Cum inside me,” you whispered, lips brushing his ear. “Please, Megs.”

He moaned—loud and wrecked—and buried himself to the hilt.

You felt everything. The heat, the pulse, the way his whole body locked down as he came. His mouth pressed to your throat, hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d slip away.

He stayed there, buried inside you, panting against your skin. You could feel his heart hammering in his chest, the sweat on his back, the way his fingers stayed tangled in your hair.

Then he lifted his head, kissed you—slow and raw, lips dragging over yours like he didn’t want the moment to end.

“You’re unreal,” he whispered. “You’re so fucking beautiful, baby. You don’t even know.”

You touched his face, thumb stroking under his eye, and he leaned into it—like it hurt not to. Like he needed it more than air.

The moment stretched—bodies tangled, breath shared, your walls still fluttering around his softening cock.

And he was still inside you.

Still holding you like a lifeline.

Like he didn’t know where he ended and you began.

None of you moved at all, really—just stayed there, his weight heavy but comforting, his breath fanning against your cheek. One arm curled around your waist, holding you close, like the aftershocks were still rolling through him too.

You exhaled slowly, boneless, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

“Megs…”

He hummed, low in his throat. Kissed your temple, your cheekbone, then your mouth—soft and slow, like he had all the time in the world.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded, flushed and hazy. “Yeah. Just… can’t feel my legs.”

He gave a breathless little laugh, nuzzling into your neck. “That might be the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You smiled—tired and full.

After a moment, he eased back, still buried inside you, his hand brushing your cheek. His expression was unreadable—something caught between awe and disbelief and maybe something a little softer.

“You’re really something, you know that?” he said quietly.

You blinked up at him. “You make it sound like I just saved your life or something.”

His smile crooked. “Feels kind of like you did.”

That silenced you—for a beat too long.

He caught it, of course. Looked a little sheepish. “Sorry. That was probably too much.”

“No…” You reached up, fingers brushing his jaw. “I just didn’t expect you to say something like that.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Neither did I.”

He kissed you again before you could say anything else—gentle this time, like he needed the feel of you more than the words.

Then he pulled out carefully, slow and warm and messy, and you both winced a little.

“Shit—sorry,” he whispered, kissing your shoulder. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, returning with a warm, damp towel and one of his shirts. You stayed sprawled on the sheets, utterly wrecked, and let him tend to you.

His touch was careful. Reverent.

He cleaned you up with soft little apologies under his breath, then helped you into his shirt—big and worn and smelling like him—and tucked you back into bed before crawling in beside you.

You turned toward him automatically, curling into the warmth of his body. His arm wrapped around you like muscle memory, hand stroking slowly up and down your back.

Neither of you said anything for a while.

The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of sheets and your breathing syncing up again.

Eventually, you mumbled, “We’re definitely gonna have to talk about this tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, brushing his lips over your forehead. “But not now.”

“No?”

“Mm-mm.” His fingers traced lazy patterns against your spine. “Right now, I just wanna hold my girl.”

You froze—just for a second.

Then smiled, into his chest.

He felt it, and pulled you closer.

—

When you woke up, the light was soft—barely morning.

You were warm.

Your limbs tangled with his under the sheets, skin to skin. Megumi was still asleep, mouth slack, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, hair sticking up in every direction.

His arm was heavy across your waist, hand curled against your stomach like it belonged there.

You could feel him breathing—slow and steady. Completely relaxed in a way you’d never seen before.

You blinked at him. Wondered, for a moment, if last night had actually happened.

But then you shifted, and your body answered for you—sore in places you hadn’t used in a while, hips aching, thighs a little raw.

And you could still feel the ghost of him inside you.

Heat crept across your cheeks.

You tried to move without waking him, carefully peeling the blanket back.

No such luck.

His eyes cracked open—barely.

“Where you goin’?” voice rough and sleep-heavy.

“Bathroom,” you whispered.

He hummed, eyes falling shut again. But his hand slid lower—resting just above your thigh, possessive even half-asleep.

You disappeared for a minute, returned to find him still sprawled across the bed, one arm flung over your side like a claim.

When you climbed back in, he rolled toward you, dragging you against him without hesitation.

You yelped—softly. “Jesus, Megs.”

“Mmm.” He buried his face in your neck. “You smell like me.”

You froze.

Then laughed—quiet, breathless. “You’re such a menace.”

He grinned against your skin. “You like it.”

You did.

You didn’t say it.

His hand skimmed under your borrowed shirt, fingers tracing lazy lines along your hip.

“Still good?” he asked softly.

“Yeah,” you said. “Sore, but good.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you.

His expression was unreadable again—sleepy, but serious beneath it. That focus of his, like he was seeing straight through you.

“You sure?”

You nodded, heart thudding. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

Then: “We should talk about it.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I know.”

Another pause. His thumb brushed the side of your thigh.

“But not yet?”

You smiled. “Not yet.”

He kissed you then—soft, like a promise.

And you let yourself melt into it, let the morning wrap around you like warmth, like quiet, like something new.

Something that didn’t feel temporary.

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk megumi #jjk men #jjk fanfic #fushiguro megumi #megumi x reader #megumi smut #megumi x you #megumi x y/n #fics.manicpixiedreamkira

733 notes · View notes

claramelooo · 6 months ago

Text

Hey, my lovers! How are you guys? I hope you're good! As for me... I'm in my fertile period and that's why the chapters are so naughty and I won't say sorry for that!

Enjoy and hold your little hands for yourselves Lmao <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warning: +18, NSFW, ANGST, DEEP JEALOUSY

Paring: Mommy Wanda x Brat Fem Reader x Tough Natasha (don't get too excited about it)

Summary: You decide to take revenge on Wanda out of jealousy, you just didn't expect her to have the same plan as you.

VELVET CHAINS

Revenge

Wanda’s Sunday started early. The clock barely struck six in the morning, yet she was already up, moving through the house with the precision of a well-rehearsed orchestra. The aroma of fresh coffee filled the kitchen as she prepared toast for the twins, mentally checking off the day’s obligations. Sunday service was the week’s main event, and Wanda took her image—and that of the Maximoff family—very seriously.

Getting the boys ready was the first step. Tommy and Billy, still groggy, took turns complaining while Wanda, with unyielding patience, adjusted their shirts and straightened their ties. She made sure they looked impeccable: starched shirts, shining shoes. After all, they were the sons of the woman who led the choir. They had a reputation to uphold.

“Billy, stop messing with your collar. It’ll end up crooked,” she warned, raising a pointed finger at her son, who rolled his eyes but complied.

Vision was next. He entered the room with a restrained yawn, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. Wanda was already prepared, holding two tie options. One was dark gray, sober and classic; the other, navy blue with small geometric details that conveyed seriousness without being overly rigid.

“This one.” She handed him the navy tie with firm decisiveness, her gaze assessing every detail as though deciding the fate of a delicate negotiation. “Serious but approachable. You know how people notice everything.”

Vision accepted without question, smiling at her with a hint of admiration. He knew Wanda had a special talent for these things, for controlling the atmosphere and ensuring everything was perfect.

But Wanda had her own preparations. Choosing her outfit was a different ritual, something more intimate, imbued with a kind of excitement she wouldn’t dare admit, even to herself. The Sunday dress had to convey purity, elegance, and a touch of authority. She settled on a navy-blue dress with lace accents, paired with discreet heels and pearl bracelets.

However, when she entered the bedroom to retrieve her outfit, she couldn’t help but smile at what she had laid out for you.

On the bed, your clothes were folded to perfection: a simple yet elegant dress fitting the occasion’s style. Beside them, meticulously arranged, were your undergarments. And placed dead center, almost like a calculated provocation, was a discreet, silent vibrator, still encased in its translucent silicone packaging.

Wanda stood still for a moment, her eyes fixed on the object. It was intentional, of course. Everything she did always was. The vibrator wasn’t just a provocation; it was a message.

“Remember who you belong to,” it screamed without words.

You entered the room seconds later, the sound of the door announcing your arrival. Your eyes fell on the bed and then on the vibrator. Your face flushed instantly, which only made Wanda’s smile widen, subtle but laden with intent.

“I thought you might need a little... encouragement,” Wanda remarked casually, adjusting the pearl necklace around her neck as though she were commenting on the weather.

“Wanda... this is...” you began, but the words failed you.

“It’s appropriate, darling,” she interrupted, stepping closer to you. “Because even when we’re in the sanctuary, even when we’re surrounded by hymns and prayers... you shouldn’t forget who you belong to.”

Wanda reached out, holding your chin gently but firmly enough for you to feel her control.

“Now, go get dressed. I want you ready in fifteen minutes,” she instructed, her voice a low, authoritative whisper.

As you left the room, your face burning, Wanda turned back to the mirror, adjusting her necklace once more. Her expression was serene, but a shadow of dark satisfaction danced within her. There was something deeply gratifying in knowing that, even among prayers and sermons, your mind would never stray far from her.

The living room was impeccably tidy, a direct reflection of Wanda’s meticulous nature. Vision stood near the door, making final adjustments to the tie she had chosen. Tommy and Billy, seated on the couch, chattered about something only they found hilariously funny, filling the space with a lightheartedness that seemed to contrast with the growing tension Wanda felt.

She had her back to the stairs when she heard the soft sound of your footsteps descending, and immediately, something inside her stirred. Turning, she raised her eyes toward you — and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

You looked stunning, as always, but there was something more in that moment. Wanda knew exactly what was hidden between your legs, knew the sensation you carried with every hesitant step, and, more than anything, she knew it was because of her. Her gaze slid almost imperceptibly over your body, lingering for just a fraction of a second longer than it should have on your legs before meeting your flushed face.

There was hunger in her eyes. A hunger she suppressed instantly, lifting her chin with the elegance that was almost her trademark. But the flame in Wanda’s eyes didn’t lie — and you felt it hit you like a blow.

“Wow, you look amazing!” Tommy exclaimed, jumping up from the couch to get a better look at you. “If you don’t get a boyfriend at church today, I’m giving up on humanity.”

“Tommy!” Billy rolled his eyes but couldn’t hold back his laughter. “She doesn’t need a boyfriend. Women can be happy without men these days.”

You smiled, the blush on your cheeks deepening. “Thank you, boys. But I think I already have enough to worry about without having to think about... boyfriends.”

Vision’s soft laugh filled the room. “It’s good to stay focused, Y/n. Yale isn’t going to accept anything less than your best self.”

But Wanda didn’t laugh. She kept watching you, her dark, unwavering gaze fixed as she crossed her arms and tilted her head slightly, as if assessing every word you said and every movement the boys made.

“She’s right,” Wanda finally said, her voice calm but carrying a sharp note that drew everyone’s attention to her. “Boyfriends are distractions. Especially for someone with goals as important as Y/n’s.”

Her comment seemed to end the conversation, with Tommy and Billy suddenly shifting their focus to their shoes or their phones. But you felt the weight of Wanda’s stare, locked on you, as if daring you to entertain even the thought of shifting your focus away from her.

The tension was palpable. You knew the boys’ comments had irritated her. It wasn’t just jealousy—it was something deeper, something more possessive. Wanda hated the thought of you imagining yourself belonging to anyone else.

When Vision finally declared it was time to leave, Wanda moved with her usual elegance, but as she passed you, her hand subtly grazed your arm, her delicate nail lightly scratching your skin.

“You look beautiful, bunny,” she murmured so quietly that only you could hear.

Your heart raced as you followed the group out of the house, hyper-aware of every step, every sensation, and especially Wanda’s gaze burning into your back.

The church was steeped in reverent silence, the kind of heavy stillness that amplified every little sound. The pastor spoke with a firm yet calm voice, his words captivating the congregation. Occasional murmurs of agreement and the rustling of Bible pages were the only sounds accompanying his sermon on righteousness and devotion.

You sat next to Wanda, trying to maintain the impeccable posture she always demanded in moments like these. Your hands rested in your lap, fingers tightly interlaced in a futile attempt to mask the nervous energy bubbling beneath the surface. You were already uncomfortable—not just from the rising heat within you but from the constant awareness of what you carried between your legs.

And then, it happened.

The almost imperceptible hum of the vibrator roared in your ears, deafening despite your certainty that no one else in the church could hear it. The sensation was immediate, a wave of heat radiating from your core, spreading through your body and raising goosebumps on every inch of your skin.

You swallowed hard, eyes wide, but kept your gaze fixed on the pulpit, as though the sheer effort of appearing unaffected might save you. But your body was betraying you. A faint tremor ran through your legs, so subtle that only Wanda, sitting beside you, could notice.

She noticed.

Her fingers slid slowly across the wooden pew until they barely brushed against your hand. The touch was gentle, almost casual, but the deliberate pressure made your heart pound even harder. She knew.

You shifted slightly on the bench, searching for a position that might ease the intensity of the stimulation, but it only made things worse. The vibrator pressed against your most sensitive spot, and every movement amplified the pulsing vibrations. Your entire body felt ablaze.

“Shh…” Wanda whispered, so low that only you could hear. The tip of her fingers traced a slow, calming circle over the back of your hand—a gesture that, to others, appeared comforting, but to you, was an inescapable reminder of her control.

You were sweating now. Fine beads formed along your hairline, trailing down the back of your neck as you struggled to breathe deeply and steadily, but every vibration seemed to steal the air from your lungs.

Your knee trembled, and you pressed it against the pew to disguise it, but Wanda noticed. Always perceptive, she leaned in slightly, just enough to whisper once more: “Be a good girl for me, bunny.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine. You wanted to beg her to stop, to give you a moment of relief, but her calm gaze, fixed on the pastor, said it all. She had no intention of stopping. Not now.

Every second seemed to drag. The sermon, which you usually barely paid attention to, now felt interminable. Your body was so tense that your thighs ached from trying to contain the spasms. Shame burned on your face, but you couldn’t—dared not—make a single move that might give away what was happening.

When the pastor asked everyone to stand for prayer, your heart stopped for a moment. You could barely manage to get to your feet, your legs trembling as Wanda, with an almost imperceptible smile, took your hand and helped you up.

“Good girl,” she murmured again, and the vibrator finally stopped.

The relief was as intense as the torment, but you knew Wanda had won once more.

Wanda watched everything with a calm that was unsettling, almost impenetrable to anyone observing from the outside. While the pastor spoke about redemption and morality, her attention wasn’t on the sermon but on you—every small tremor, every ragged breath, every bead of sweat trailing down the side of your face. It was a sight that fascinated her in a dark, almost intoxicating way.

She was in control, and the control filled her with a shadowy pleasure that rivaled anything else she could feel. It wasn’t just the power to activate the vibrator pulsing between your legs or to dictate your submission in such a sacred and public space. It was the cruel satisfaction of watching you wrestle with yourself, seeing your body surrender while your mind begged for relief, for an end to the torment.

When your knee trembled, Wanda noticed before you even tried to hide it. A cold smile threatened to touch her lips, but she restrained it, maintaining the flawless mask of a devout wife and respectable mother. Even so, her eyes betrayed something deeper—a latent hunger, a predatory gleam that intensified with every sign of your suffering.

She adored the contrast.

You, so young, so vibrant, trying to be strong while slowly unraveling beside her. With every nervous adjustment you made on the pew, every breath you held in a futile attempt to conceal your vulnerability, Wanda felt a dark warmth grow in her chest. It was a dangerous mix of possession and cruelty, something she would never admit to anyone—not even herself.

But she knew.

The control she wielded over you was a secret shared only between the two of you, a bond she had forged and now held tightly. The mere fact that you couldn’t react, couldn’t scream or beg in that environment, made the experience all the more delightful for her. It was as if every one of your sighs, every drop of sweat, was a silent offering to the power she held over you.

When she whispered “Good girl” while helping you stand, Wanda couldn’t hide the malicious satisfaction that coursed through her. Seeing you on your feet, trembling, struggling against the weight of your own desire while everyone around remained blissfully unaware, was the confirmation of her victory.

She turned her gaze back to the pulpit, maintaining the serene façade, but inside, a dark and hungry part of her roared with pleasure. Knowing you had endured all of it for her, that your body responded so perfectly to her provocations, filled Wanda with an almost cruel satisfaction.

“You look beautiful like this,” she thought, catching a glimpse of the sheen of sweat on your forehead and the subtle tremor in your legs. “Beautiful in your fragility. Beautiful when you know you belong to me.”

When the sermon ended, Wanda held your hand firmly as they walked out of the church. To anyone watching, she was the picture of kindness and compassion—but inside, the dark pleasure still burned like an inextinguishable flame.

[...]

The midday heat made the glare from the pool water almost blinding, but nothing was more intense than the uncomfortable burning sensation in your chest. You were sitting in the shade with a glass of lemonade in your hands, but your attention was entirely on Wanda.

She was on the other side of the yard, next to Vision. Her laugh was light, almost musical, as she made a comment that drew laughter from Agnes and the other neighbors around her. Wanda seemed perfectly comfortable in her role as a devoted wife, the ideal woman: attentive, affectionate and… affectionate.

So affectionate that her fingers ran down Vision's arm in a way that made you squeeze the glass in your hands hard enough that the plastic rim threatened to crack.

You tried to look away, tried to focus on the blue sky or the unimportant conversations around you, but your eyes always returned to Wanda. She had a magnetic presence, as if the whole universe was conspiring so that you couldn't ignore her.

And then came the worst.

Vision leaned over Wanda, and she returned the gesture, smiling as she caressed his face with a delicacy you knew all too well. He said something low, inaudible, and Wanda let out a soft laugh before leaning over and pressing a kiss to his lips.

You clutched the glass in your hands. The anger and jealousy bubbling up in your stomach. Thoughts so bad and irrational running like a loop in your mind, you just wished you could disappear.

Agnes was a woman of Wanda's age, she seemed just as admirable. Both important women in the neighborhood and married to their respective husbands.

Agnes was the kind of woman who exuded charisma effortlessly. Her words were always carefully chosen, her laughter always at the right moment. She had an almost hypnotic charm, like Wanda, but in a different way - less subtle, more direct. You couldn't tell for sure what it was, but there was something about her that didn't seem to fit perfectly with the image of exemplary wife and neighbor that she projected.

She was standing by the pool, holding a glass of white wine, her lips painted an impeccable red that contrasted with the pearly shade of her teeth. Her dark eyes were expressive and shone with an energy that seemed to hide a secret or two. From time to time, she cast curious glances at you, but not in an uncomfortable way - at least, not at first.

As you watched Wanda and Vision once again exchanging falsely affectionate endearments, you noticed Agnes tilting her head, as if studying your reaction. When your eyes met, she smiled. It was a small, almost enigmatic smile, as if she could see something you didn't want to show.

“You look… thoughtful,” she commented, approaching with elegant steps. Her voice was soft, but there was a hint of something else - an insinuating tone that made your skin shiver slightly.

“Oh, I'm just tired,” you replied, forcing a smile as you tried to control the emotions boiling up inside you.

Agnes didn't look convinced. She sipped her wine, keeping her eyes fixed on you. “Tired of what? The party or… something else?”

The question made your throat tighten. You looked at her, trying to decipher the expression on her face. There was something about her that seemed to understand more than she should. Before you could answer, Wanda's voice cut through the air, clear and controlled as ever.

“Agnes, why don't you come and help Vision put more ice in his drinks? He insists on doing it anyway,” she said, laughing softly.

Agnes's smile widened, but she didn't seem in the slightest hurry to obey the invitation. “Of course, Wanda,” she replied, but not before casting one last glance at you, full of something that seemed both curious and… amused?

When she finally pulled away, you let out the breath you hadn't even realized you were holding.

But the discomfort only grew.

Wanda's jealousy was suffocating, but now it was mixed with a growing irritation towards Agnes. There was something about the way she spoke, as if she was always analyzing everything, dissecting the dynamics around her. And you hated to think that maybe she could see what you were trying to hide.

As Wanda continued to play her role as the perfect wife, a laugh echoing here and there, Agnes rejoined the group, now at Wanda's side. They seemed to be chatting animatedly, and suddenly, you noticed something that made you uneasy: the way Agnes' eyes slipped to Wanda when she thought no one was looking.

It was subtle, but you saw it.

Your heart squeezed, jealousy intensifying in waves. Vision wasn't enough. Now Agnes? What was so irresistible about Wanda that everyone around her seemed to want something more? And then, as if sensing your gaze, Wanda turned her head towards you again. This time, there was no disguise.

She held your gaze for a moment too long, her lips curving into a smile that seemed to be just for you. A smile that reminded you exactly who was in control.

You wanted to run. Run and cry like a baby. For a moment you even thought it would be better if you'd never left that stupid fucking convent. You looked up at the sky to try and stop the tears from falling.

No. You wouldn't cry.

You clenched your fists, feeling your nails dig into the palms of your hands. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that Wanda had the power to dismantle you with a single glance, while she stood there, laughing and exchanging fake caresses with Vision, allowing Agnes or anyone else to approach her as if they were worthy of it.

What hurt most was not just the jealousy, but the frustration of knowing that, however much you wanted her, she would never be completely yours.

She had a life, an image to preserve. Vision was the exemplary husband. Agnes was the nosy but harmless friend. You? You were just a secret. A sin that she whispered to herself at night and pretended not to carry with her in the morning.

You took a deep breath, but the knot in your throat only seemed to tighten. Everything around you seemed to mock you. The sound of laughter, the clinking of wine glasses, the lively conversation that didn't include you. You needed to get out of there. Now.

Without saying a word, without looking at anyone, you placed the empty glass on the nearest table and walked quickly out of the yard. Every step felt heavy, as if the weight of your heart was anchored to your feet.

You stepped out onto the sidewalk, breathed in the fresh night air, but it didn't bring you the relief you were hoping for. Why did you subject yourself to this? Why did you still insist on getting hurt by someone who could never be yours?

Your cell phone vibrated in your pocket, and when you pulled it out, Yelena's name flashed on the screen. She had sent you a message earlier, asking if you were available to talk.

Yelena. Of course, she'd be there. She always was.

You started walking, without looking back, without even considering going back. Your mind was already made up. It didn't matter what Wanda thought or said afterwards. She was good at making you feel special, but she was also good at forgetting you when she didn't need you.

The walk to Yelena's house was quick, but it seemed to last forever. You thought of everything you wanted to say to her, but the words seemed blurred, lost amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

When you finally arrived and knocked on the door, it opened almost immediately. Yelena was barefoot, with messy hair and a surprised expression that was soon replaced by concern.

“Are you all right?” she asked, without even waiting for you to explain. You tried to answer, but your voice failed you.

The lump in your throat that you'd been holding in since the party finally loosened, and the tears began to flow. Without hesitation, Yelena pulled you in and wrapped you in a strong hug, which you hadn't even known you needed until that moment.

“Shh, it's okay. Tell me what happened,” she said, her voice low and reassuring.

But how could you explain? How could you tell her about the insane jealousy, the obsession, the forbidden love for Wanda? Yelena was your refuge, but would she be able to understand? Or worse, would she try to convince you to give up, to move on, when all you wanted was to sink even deeper into that destructive feeling?

She carried you by the hand to her room. Looking around, the room was so… Yelena-dark walls, 90s rock band posters pasted up, a desk with books lazily thrown on it. The place smelled of cigarettes, “nothing more Russian than that”, you thought with a chuckle.

“Okay, now talk. What happened?” She stared at you, sitting facing you on the sofa, her legs crossed and her eyes full of expectation and concern.

“I… I don't even know where to start.” Your voice came out shaky, almost a whisper. You pressed your hands against your knees, trying to calm the trembling that seemed to take over your body.

“Try, at least. You came here as if the world was falling down.” She leaned over, touching your hand gently. “And the way you are now, it feels like it's still falling.”

You took a deep breath, but the air didn't seem to fill your lungs. The words were stuck, as if admitting them out loud was a greater crime than carrying them inside you.

“It's her. It's always her. I can't…” Your voice failed, and you bit your lip hard, trying to hold back the tears that insisted on coming back.

“Wanda.” She said the name as a statement, unsurprisingly, but with a weight that made your heart sink even deeper.

“I know what you're going to say. That I should stay away. That it's wrong. That she'll never…” You stopped, the words breaking like glass in your throat.

With a laugh, the blonde continued: “I'm not going to say anything like that.” Her answer took you by surprise, and you finally raised your eyes to meet hers. There was something there-a mixture of understanding and pain that you couldn't interpret.

“You're not going?” Your voice was weak, hesitant.

“No. Because I know you already know all this, I'm sure.” She sighed, running a hand through her messy blonde hair. “But I also know that telling you to give up on her is like asking you to stop breathing. And I'm not going to be cruel like that.”

Her words were a relief, but at the same time, an even greater weight. Because it was true. You knew you were trapped, that this love was a trap you yourself had chosen to walk into.

“I wish… I wish I could hate her. I wanted to be able to look at her and feel anger, contempt, anything other than that.” You made a vague gesture, as if you could explain with your hands what words could not.

“But you can't. Because, somehow, she's managed to make you believe that her love is worth anything. Even if you never really have that love.”

You swallowed, feeling your throat burn.

“She doesn't love me. Not the way I love her.” The words were like knives coming out of your mouth, each one cutting deeper.

“And yet you're still here. Running after crumbs.” The silence that followed was deafening. You had no answer, because you knew she was right.

“What do I do, then?” Your voice was desperate, almost pleading.

“Do you want an answer from the young and irreverent Yelena or the centered and mature Yelena?” She asked, causing you to frown in confusion. And then she continued: “The irreverent Yelena says that we should introduce you to the night, take you to a loud party with drinks and good music. The centered Yelena says that I should welcome your tears with ice cream, hugs and silly movies.”

You looked at Yelena, still frowning, trying to process the options she had just given you. Party? You'd never been to a party before. You were the kind of person who preferred to spend a quiet evening reading a book or listening to music in your room. But now… the idea seemed to carry something extra.

“What if I choose the irreverent Yelena option?” Her voice came out hesitant, but there was a new sparkle in her eyes, a spark of curiosity and… something more.

Yelena flashed a wide grin, the kind of smile that made it seem like she was plotting something that probably wasn’t the best idea.

“Ah, Malysh… then let’s toss the tears aside and dress up to break hearts.”

You laughed, despite everything, and shook your head. But as you laughed, the idea began to take shape more clearly in your mind. Wanda. How would she react if she saw you at a party, surrounded by people, maybe dancing with someone? Would she be able to keep that cold control, the façade of the perfect wife? Or would it crack, even just a little?

Your smile slowly faded as you mulled over the thought. What if this was your chance? Not to hurt her—you would never do that intentionally. But to make her feel a fragment of what you felt every time you saw those touches and smiles meant for Vision.

“And... if I do this, do you think she’d notice?” You bit the corner of your lower lip, asking softly.

Yelena tilted her head to the side, her grin morphing into something more subtle, more analytical. “If ‘she’ is who I think it is... she wouldn’t just notice. She’d be livid. But the question isn’t whether she’ll notice. It’s whether you’re doing this for you or for her.”

You bit your lip again, looking away. It was a fair question but a hard one. The truth was, you didn’t know. Maybe it was for both reasons.

“Maybe I just need to remind myself that there’s a world outside... of her.”

Yelena nodded, her gaze fixed on yours, studying your expression like she was trying to decipher the layers of what you were feeling.

“If that’s what you want, I can help. But be warned: getting into this kind of game can spiral out of your control quickly.”

You pondered for a moment, but the decision was already made deep in your heart. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it wouldn’t change anything. But the idea of seeing Wanda react, of seeing that perfect facade crack, was irresistible.

“Take me to the party, Yelena.” Her mischievous grin returned in full force, and you felt a rush of adrenaline building within you.

For the first time, it felt like you were about to reclaim a fragment of power in a game that always seemed out of your hands.

[...]

The pounding music made the floor vibrate, and the air was thick with a suffocating mix of sweat, cheap perfume, and alcohol. You were already regretting agreeing to Yelena’s idea. The overstimulation was pushing you to the edge—every sound, every smell, every flashing light felt like a shove closer to your breaking point.

Leaning against a wall near the bar, you crossed your arms and stared at the drink in your hand, now warm and unappealing. Yelena, naturally, was in her element. She danced and laughed loudly, completely unbothered by the chaos around her.

Then, as if sensing your growing impatience, she appeared at your side, a sly grin tugging at her lips.

“Okay, clearly you’re not having fun. But don’t worry—I brought backup.”

You raised an eyebrow, ready to complain, but froze the moment you noticed the woman standing beside her. It was impossible not to notice. Natasha Romanoff had a presence that seemed to cut through the noise and chaos. Her gaze was sharp, cold, and piercing, like she was dissecting every detail about you in mere seconds.

“This is my sister, Natasha.”

Natasha inclined her head slightly in a wordless greeting—no handshake, no smile. Just a curt, weighty “Hi.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Natasha was intimidating, not just because of her stiff posture and unreadable expression, but because of the quiet authority she seemed to radiate.

“Nat,” Yelena continued with a grin, “this is my friend—the one I told you about.”

The redhead’s gaze didn’t waver as she spoke. “The shy one who ended up here out of pure stubbornness?”

The jab sent a flare of irritation through you. Your mood was already sour, and now she was treating you like some lost child?

“I might be a lot of things, but stubborn isn’t one of them.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips before her neutral expression returned.

“Hmm. Debatable.”

Yelena laughed, clearly enjoying the tension crackling between the two of you. “Alright, I’m getting another drink. You two play nice, okay?”

Before you could protest, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving you alone with Natasha.

The silence between you was taut but not entirely uncomfortable. Natasha thrived in it, exuding a quiet control without needing to say a word. You, on the other hand, felt like a cornered animal, searching for a way out without showing weakness.

“So,” she said finally, her voice low and even, “what are you really doing here?”

You exhaled sharply, letting your shoulders relax as if surrendering to her scrutiny.

“Trying to forget someone.”

Natasha didn’t respond right away. She studied you with that sharp, unreadable gaze, like she was trying to unearth the truth buried in your words.

“Bad idea. If they’re important, it won’t work.”

“And who says I want it to?” you shot back.

Natasha tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as if reconsidering something. “Interesting. Usually, people come to parties like this to pretend they have control over their own lives. But you don’t seem like the type.”

Her statement was blunt, almost brutal, but there was something intriguing in the way she spoke. No fluff, no unnecessary niceties.

“And what does that say about me, then

“I’m still deciding.”

Despite the irritation still bubbling inside you, there was something about Natasha that held you captive. Maybe it was the fact that she seemed impervious to any kind of charm or pretense. There were no games here—at least not the obvious ones.

“And you? Did you come here to forget someone too?”

Natasha let out a low sound, maybe a laugh or just a long exhale. “No. I just came to make sure my sister doesn’t cause a catastrophe.”

Her answer pulled an unexpected laugh from you, and Natasha finally allowed a small, discreet smile to play at the corners of her mouth.

“Maybe you’re not as unbearable as I thought.”

Was it a compliment? A jab? You weren’t sure, but for the first time that night, you felt like maybe the party wasn’t so bad after all.

Later, you were tipsy from the alcohol. Your body felt light, and your laughter came easily... especially around Natasha. The redhead wasn’t so bad after all, always complimenting your eyes and how soft and shiny your hair looked.

You found out she was an important agent in a national security agency, though she wouldn’t reveal the name, saying it was “against the terms of her contract.”

You didn’t know what time it was, but you knew it was past 10 p.m. What about Wanda? Had she already put the twins to bed? Had she already made love to Vision in the same bed she’d fucked you in? The thought made you grip your glass tightly and tense your jaw.

You downed the shot and made a cute grimace.

“Hey, little girl... slow down.” Natasha gave you a calming look, making you snort and roll your eyes. “Sweetheart, watch your manners...” she warned.

“Fuck it, I wanna dance!” You jumped off the stool, which was a bit too high for your height, your feet dangling just above the floor as you swung them when you got anxious with your thoughts. Adorable—though Natasha would deny it until the end, obviously.

The redhead followed you onto the dance floor, momentarily forgetting about Yelena. The sway of your hips, brushing against hers, dared her to move in rhythm with you. The way you tossed your head made your hair bounce, sending its scent directly to her.

"Your hair smells like grapes," she murmured in your ear—her voice tinged with something almost distracted, like she was lost in the scent and the way your body moved. It made you turn to face her.

Her gaze was intense, but there was something else beneath it. Fear? Why?

Natasha seemed to snap back to reality, her posture stiffening as she masked her expression, retreating into her usual taciturn demeanor. “I… I’ll go find Yelena,” she said before walking away.

You nodded, watching her until she disappeared completely from sight. A few minutes later, you found Yelena sitting at the bar, chatting casually with the bartender.

“Hey, Yelly!” you called out, your voice bright and cheerful from the alcohol buzzing in your veins.

The blonde turned to look at you, her eyes scanning you up and down, clearly gauging just how drunk you were. “Y/n, please tell me you don’t get hangovers,” she said, closing her eyes in mock prayer.

“Yelly, your sister…” You started to speak, but before you could finish, a voice cut through the noise, freezing you in place.

“Y/n.”

That firm, authoritative tone made your heart stop for a moment.

You turned slowly, and there she was—Wanda. Impeccably dressed as always, but with an expression sharp enough to split the air. Her eyes were dark with fury, and her chin was slightly raised, a telltale sign of someone who either had control of the situation or was desperately trying to regain it.

“What are you doing here?”

You tried to respond, but the words were tangled in your mind. The alcohol wasn’t helping at all. Before you could form a coherent reply, Yelena stepped in.

“She’s having fun. You should try it sometime, Maximoff.”

The provocation was deliberate, and Wanda shot a venomous glare at the blonde.

“And you thought bringing her to a place like this, filling her up with alcohol, and letting her dance with strangers was a good idea?”

Yelena crossed her arms, puffing out her chest as if to intimidate Wanda—not that it worked.

“She’s an adult. She can make her own decisions.”

Wanda laughed—a sharp, incredulous sound laced with scorn. “Terrible decisions, clearly.”

You could feel the tension rising like a tide around you. You wanted to step in, but the words still wouldn’t come. Wanda took a step closer, now fully focused on Yelena, ignoring you for the moment.

“If you think you can toy with her like one of your one-night flings, you’re sorely mistaken.” Her eyes glinted dangerously.

Yelena didn’t back down, stepping forward to meet Wanda’s challenge. It was like a dance, both of them fighting for control, neither willing to give an inch.

“Do you even hear yourself? Who’s really toying with her here, Wanda?”

The answer made Wanda blink, just for a second, before her expression hardened again.

“I don't need to justify anything to you.” She said between breaths.

“You don't. But maybe you should to her.” Yelena shot back, pointing the glass of vodka in your direction.

Wanda's gaze returned to you, and your heart raced. She was furious, but there was something else in her eyes - a mixture of concern and possessiveness that seemed to struggle to hide behind the mask of anger.

“Let's go, Y/n.”

It was an order, not a request.

You hesitated, looking at Yelena, who just shrugged as if to say: It's up to you. But the weight of Wanda's gaze was overwhelming. You lowered your head, biting your lip and holding back the tears that threatened to fall.

“Okay...” You whispered softly, giving one last look to your friend who just nodded.

Walking out of the party, you felt your body being pushed into some dark place and hitting the corner of some sharp iron, making you squeal in pain. However, Wanda seemed to care much more about killing you with one look.

Wanda was standing in front of you, her breathing heavy and her eyes glowing with a mixture of anger and something darker. You instinctively backed away, but the metal spike in your back reminded you that there was nowhere to go.

“Do you realize what you did in there?” Her voice was low, but charged with fury. “Dancing, drinking, rubbing up against anyone who paid attention to you.”

“I was just… trying to have fun.” Your voice came out shaky, but you tried to keep it steady.

Wanda let out a dry, humorless laugh, taking a step towards you.

“Have fun?” The word came out as an insult. “With Yelena pushing drinks at you and Natasha looking at you like she's going to devour you? Is that what you call fun?”

“And what did you want me to do, Wanda?” The words escaped before you could stop yourself. “Sit at home, waiting for you to decide that I deserve some of your attention? Be content to watch you be the perfect wife while I run myself ragged inside?”

The intensity of the silence that followed was suffocating. Wanda stopped, her eyes narrowed, as if she were measuring the impact of your words. Finally, she took another step, her proximity taking your breath away.

“Watch your mouth, young lady.”

“Why?” You lifted your chin, tears starting to form in your eyes, but your voice was defiant. “The truth hurts, doesn't it? I love you, Wanda, but you only know how to play with me! Use me whenever you want and then go back to your perfect life with Vision!”

Wanda didn't reply immediately. Her face hardened, anger flowing from her eyes like lava. Then, almost unexpectedly, she grabbed your chin firmly, forcing you to look at her.

“You're a spoiled brat,” she hissed, her sharp tone cutting through the air. “A selfish little girl who thinks the world revolves around her.”

You tried to wriggle out of her grip, but her gaze seemed to pin you in place.

Do you know what you need?” Her voice was lower now, almost a whisper. “A lesson. Someone to teach you to control that insolent mouth of yours and stop acting like you're the center of the universe.”

You swallowed, your heart beating wildly. There was something in the way she spoke, in the darkness of her eyes, that made you shiver.

“And you're going to be that person?” The question escaped your lips before you could think, defiant despite the tremor evident in your voice.

Wanda let go of you abruptly, as if the touch had burned her hand, her eyes blazing. The woman pulled your hair back, so violently that your head was taken with it.

“Attention. That's what you wanted, isn't it, little tramp?” Wanda turns you to face the wall while she still has a handful of your hair in her hand.

Wanda leaned towards you, moving closer until your faces were so close that you could feel the warmth emanating from her, along with the soft perfume that always accompanied her. Her heart seemed to be pounding in her ears, each pulse echoing like a drum.

“Do you want to know if I'm going to be that person?” Her voice was a whisper laden with something dark and irresistible. “Do you really want to test me, Y/n?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but couldn't make a sound. Before you could react, Wanda ran her fingers down the side of your face, tracing the outline of your jaw in such a delicate way that it seemed to completely contradict the brute force you had felt just a few minutes before.

“I should. I should teach you the difference between wanting and deserving. Because, honestly, you have no idea what you're asking for.” The words came out slowly, almost lazily, but loaded with a weight that made her legs weak, even though she was sitting down.

She pulled her fingers away from your face and held your chin firmly, forcing you to look into her eyes. They were dark, almost black, and there was an intensity there that made something in you freeze and boil at the same time.

“Do you think you're brave, teasing me like that? Playing with something you can't control? Little…” A smile curved her lips, but it was a cruel, predatory smile. “You have no idea what I can do to you.” Wanda rubbed against you, making you feel a roughness, something stiff in her pants.

Her hand went down to your neck, her fingers lightly touching the base of your throat. It wasn't a squeeze, but her mere presence there made you feel as if the air was being stolen.

“You know what the problem is?” She continued, leaning in even closer. “You think you can control this, but the truth is that you're already mine. Every thought that goes through your head, every time you try to challenge me, every part of your body-all of it already belongs to me, even if you won't admit it.”

She rubbed herself more and more, making her pussy feel gooey and sticky.

“I'm inside your head, your heart. Inside your skin, Y/n.” She laughed against your ear-as if it was silly of you to think you could change that.

You tried to say something, but her hand on your neck came up to cover your mouth, interrupting any words. Her smile widened, but her eyes were more serious than ever.

“Shhh… Don't say anything. Don't try to answer me. You've said enough, and look where it's gotten you.”

Slowly, Wanda pulled her hand away, but she didn't move from her spot, still close enough for the weight of her presence to be almost overwhelming.

“You want my attention, don't you? Well, congratulations. Now you have all of it. But I'm going to give you a warning, bunny…” She tilted her head, her eyes burning into his as she squeezed his neck. “If you keep challenging me, I promise you won't like what happens. Because when I lose control…” Squeezing, squeezing and squeezing. Wanda savored it when you ran out of air and gasped for it. “…no one will save you from me.”

You felt your panties being ripped brutally, and you bucked, already craving the woman's rough touch. The head of the belt caressed your entrance, like a kiss - or torture.

Lunch at Agnes' house should have been a simple distraction, a chance to sustain the Maximoff family's impeccable façade. Wanda knew how to play the role of devoted wife and loving mother to perfection. Vision at her side, always so polished, the twins running around the pool, laughing loudly, while she served drinks and exchanged cordial words with Agnes. A perfect picture of normality.

But you.

You were there, trying to disappear among the other guests, but

Wanda always found you. Her gaze had an unerring way of finding you, even when you didn't want it to. Especially when she didn't want to. The way you looked at her - full of something intense, something forbidden - made her burn from the inside out.

And then came the twins' innocent, or perhaps not so innocent, comments. They were sharp, as only children could be. “Y/n, you're so pretty. You'll get a boyfriend at church, I'm sure!”

Wanda froze for a moment, the glass of lemonade in her hand almost slipping. Their laughter seemed to echo in her ears, and then she looked at you. Her expression was a mixture of embarrassment and something else. Something that only Wanda seemed to see.

You blushed, stammered something to change the subject, but it didn't work. Wanda saw the discomfort, the hurt in your eyes, and something inside her clenched tightly. But it was different from what she had expected. It wasn't empathy. It wasn't compassion.

It was anger.

Anger at herself for wanting you in a way she shouldn't have. Anger at Vision, who seemed so oblivious to the storm roaring inside her. And, above all, anger at you. For being there. For feeling so much. For making her feel so much.

When you disappeared from the party without warning, Wanda tried to ignore it. She tried to convince herself that she didn't care. But the thought of you wandering around alone, your thoughts in turmoil, made her grit her teeth. Then, when night fell and you didn't show up for dinner, Wanda lost her patience.

She didn't have to ask where you were. She didn't have to search. A cold, sure intuition led her straight to you. Yelena. Of course it would be her.

The sound of loud music and laughter echoed through the night as Wanda parked her car in front of the club. She felt her chest tighten, the air in the car becoming heavy. Her hands were shaking slightly, but she wasn't sure if it was from anger or the anticipation of seeing you again - and bringing you back under her control.

As she entered, the atmosphere almost suffocated her. The smell of alcohol, the sweat of dancing bodies, and the throb of the bass in the speakers were oppressive. But it was the sight of you - in the middle of the dance floor, dancing with Natasha Romanoff - that really destroyed her.

The way you laughed, the way the light reflected off your hair, the closeness between you and the other woman… it was unbearable. Something feral and possessive grew inside her, darkening her vision.

Now with you here, in front of her. All Wanda wanted was to make you pay. Looking at your trembling, demanding body - already so ready for her… The woman releases you, stepping back and making you look at her with puppy dog eyes.

Wanda smiles darkly.

“Aren't you a precious little whore?” She asked herself. “Kneel.” You were so well trained by her, being her good girl.

“Suck my cock, make it juicy for you, little girl.” Wanda ran the base of the strap-on over your lips, making you open them slowly, taking the toy into your mouth, savoring the flavor.

“That’s right, honey…” It excited Wanda to see you like that, humiliated, subjugated, sucking the cum off your plastic cock after you disobeyed her.

Grabbing your head, the woman pushes it deeper into your throat, making you cough. “Shh… breathe through your nose, Dekta.” The excitement was all there. In commanding, directing your steps, humiliating you and then welcoming you.

“Stand up and turn around again. Face forward this time, as much as I love your ass, I need your eyes for myself.” Wanda said, already positioning the strap-on at your entrance, however she only introduced the toy when you said she could.

Arching your back and breathing hard as Wanda's cock stretched you wide, you murmured, "Mommy, harder!" Wanda's eyes, which had previously been filled with rage, shone with the definition of the purest, rawest desire.

"Oh, look at that… My little slut is showing her claws… She likes to be taken hard, huh? Fucked until that tight little pussy of yours is all swollen, huh?"

The woman began with the thrusts, making you delirious. She placed you on top of a table so that you could wrap your legs around her waist—loving this position.

You moaned loudly, crazy, and Wanda increased the intensity in response. "Scream! That's it, scream! Let everyone hear who you belong to… Yelena, Natasha… They're no one to you, they could never make you moan like that."

Wanda murmured unconsciously, crazy with desire. You howled when you felt Wanda's cock go deeper inside you.

"Yes, baby. Only mommy knows how to do it, right? Only mommy knows how to hit your hot, juicy spot, right?”

“Mo-mommy!” You gasped, feeling your legs tremble—announcing the strong orgasms you were going to have.

“Oh, do you think you deserve it, Dekta?” She asked, her mouth sucking on your neck. “After everything you’ve done…” Wanda dug her hands into your hips, leaving finger marks on your immaculate skin.

You whimpered, desperate.

“No, mommy! Don’t deny it, please! I can be good! I ca—” You cut yourself off in a strangled scream as you felt the woman’s index finger caress your clit, prolonging your orgasm.

“But I didn’t even deny anything…” She laughed, enjoying your desperation, “You’re such a smart bitch, aren’t you?” Wanda breathed. “Apologize… apologize to your mommy!”

“Yes! I’m sorry, mommy! I’m sorry! I'm a needy little slut who needs your attention all the time.” You said against her lips, grabbing the lower one and giving it delicious little bites, making her moan into your lips.

“Mine!” She squeezed your clit between her fingers, making you scream and burst into a strong orgasm. “Cum, sweet girl, cum on my cock.”

You trembled around her, throwing your head back, making it irresistible for Wanda not to bite the spot hard. When you returned to your natural state, Wanda gave you no rest—making you kneel again.

“I need something, Dekta…” She let out a shaky sigh, finally exposing her real needs. “Mommy's pussy is sore seeing her baby girl so naughty and needy, fix it now, Y/n.”

You were mesmerized by the way Wanda was rocking her hips in front of you—your excitement gradually building again.

You could smell the woman’s arousal in front of you, intoxicating you. Hungry, you attacked Wanda’s pussy—as if you were kissing her. Hearing the woman exasperate in approval, you continued to do it harder.

“A little more pressure, darling… Oh!” She exclaimed as you reached her burning point. With her eyes rolled back and a deep, guttural moan, Wanda came—having to sit down quickly because her legs were shaking.

You sat up and looked at each other—the insecurity still growing in your eyes at not knowing her thoughts.

“Let’s go, little one.” She said, her voice still hoarse. You followed her, of course—but no words were exchanged on the way home.

[…]

The hot water cascaded down, filling the bathroom with steam. The sound was soothing, drowning out the world outside. You sat in the bathtub, your knees pulled up to your chest, while Wanda gently washed your hair. Your eyes were downcast, avoiding hers, your face marked by the weariness of the turbulent night.

“Do you want to tell me what happened today? Last chance.” Her voice was low, without the harshness of before. She was calm now, and her tone sounded almost motherly, which only made the knot in your chest tighten more.

You hesitated, feeling her hand slide through the strands of your hair, her fingers methodical as she applied the shampoo. “I don’t know where to start,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Start with what bothered you,” she suggested, unhurriedly, her fingers still working gentle circles on your scalp.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes to let yourself feel the comfort of her touch. “It was lunch. It was… you and Vision.” The confession came out shaky, and you hated how vulnerable it sounded.

“Me and Vision?” She paused for a moment, her hands stilling before returning to work. “What exactly?”

“I don’t know…” you began, trying to gather your thoughts. “I know he’s your husband. I know that. But I can’t…” Your voice trailed off, and you bit your lip, trying to stop the tears from falling. “I feel like I’m alone… here. Like a shadow. Something you use when you want, but that will never be enough for you.”

Wanda stopped washing your hair and knelt beside you, ignoring the hot water that was soaking your clothes. She took your face in her hands, forcing you to look at her. Her eyes were softer now, but they still held that intensity that always made your heart skip a beat.

“Look at me, Y/n.” The order was gentle but firm. You obeyed, even if reluctantly. “I never want to hear you say that again. Do you hear me?”

You blinked, surprised by the seriousness in her voice.

“Do you think I would do all that for just anyone? Do you think I would lose my control, risk everything, for something that meant nothing to me?“

But I—” you tried to argue, but she interrupted, her voice lower, almost a whisper now.

“You’re not something I use. You’re… my refuge. My chaos and my peace at the same time. And yes, I’m selfish. Because even though I know it’s wrong, I can’t let you go.”

Her words disarmed you, taking you completely by surprise. You’d never heard her speak like that before, so open, so raw.

“But Vision, the twins… They’re your life,” you whispered, doubt still heavy in your voice.

“I love my boys, I would die and kill for them… But they, all of them, are my responsibility,” she corrected, her eyes burning into yours. “You are my choice, understand?” You felt the tears start to run down your face, mixing with the water from the shower. Wanda wiped them away with her thumbs, never looking away.

“I know I can’t give you what you deserve,” she continued, her voice almost breaking. “But you need to know that, to me, you are not replaceable. You are unique. And I would do anything for you, darling.”

You wanted to believe her, wanted to hang on to every word, but the doubt still lingered. Wanda seemed to sense this, because she leaned in close, her lips touching your forehead.

“Stop thinking.” She whispered, “Let me be in charge of everything, darling. Mommy will take care of everything.” Wanda helped you up from the tub carefully, holding your hands tightly as if you were going to break at any moment.

The water was still falling, warm against your skin, but you felt the heat of her hands more. She turned off the tap, wrapped a towel around your body and, with infinite patience, began to dry the wet strands of your hair.

The silence between you was filled only by the sound of the fabric rubbing against your skin, a moment as intimate as anything else you had shared.

“Raise your arms,” she asked, with a softness that contrasted with the undeniable authority in her voice. You obeyed without question, letting her put on a light nightgown on you, which seemed too big, probably hers.

As soon as she finished, Wanda took you by the hand and led you to her room. The bed was impeccable, the room perfumed with the soft scent of lavender. You hesitated for a moment at the door, but Wanda, noticing, gave a light tug on your arm for you to follow.

She laid you down carefully, adjusting the blankets around you, and then sat on the edge of the bed, watching you as if she were checking every detail to make sure you were comfortable.

“Am I still going to be punished?” you asked softly, your voice filled with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

Wanda’s smile was barely noticeable, but you saw it. She tilted her head, her fingers caressing your cheek with the same lightness as a feather.

“Without a doubt,” she replied, her tone soft but full of promise that made your heart race.

You swallowed hard, but before you could think of a response, Wanda lay down next to you, pulling you closer. Her arms wrapped around you, firm and protective, and she began to run her hand through your wet hair again, an almost hypnotic rhythm.

“Now, close your eyes for me, kitten,” she murmured, her lips close to your ear. You obeyed, feeling her warmth envelop you completely.

She began to rock you with slow, deliberate movements, small, gentle pats on your bottom, following the rhythm of your breathing. It was an unexpected gesture, but strangely comforting, and you felt your body begin to relax.

“You are mine, Y/n,” she said softly, as if she were speaking more to herself than to you. “And I will make you understand that, in every way possible.”

Your eyes grew heavy, the tiredness and the feeling of absolute security finally overcoming the tension of the day. The last thing you felt was Wanda’s comforting touch and the soft melody she hummed, almost imperceptibly, before falling into a deep, peaceful sleep.

In that moment, as she bathed you, Wanda felt her own anger melt away, transforming into something more tender, but equally selfish.

The care she offered you was not just out of compassion; it was confirmation that you were hers. Every touch, every soft word, was a way of reaffirming that dominance.

And as she rocked you, she felt a peace that almost frightened her.

There was something deeply comforting about seeing you so surrendered, so vulnerable. As if, in that moment, nothing else in the world mattered except you, there, in her arms.

But at the same time, Wanda knew that she still had a long way to go.

Because as she tucked you in, she was also making plans. Plans to show you, slowly and deliberately, that you would never need—nor should—seek comfort anywhere else.

~*~

Y/n don't cry, your mommy is here.

UREVISED CHAPTER

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @trindad2k

@indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher

@idkwhatever580 @valentine585

@reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good

@imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @bees-for-brains @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @i-luv-w1menn @lesbiansweet

#mommy wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #mommy k!nk #elizabeth olsen x reader #lgbtq #lgbtqia #mommy k1nk #wanda x you #wlw post #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader

440 notes · View notes

helioooss · 6 months ago

Text

i was never there

synopsis: yu jumin joins novis corp as it’s head corporate lawyer, but her boss, y/n, remembers her eyes from somewhere else.

w/c: 3k+

warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! stripper by night, lawyer by day karina, swearing

a/n: a short one for the books, this is more a prompt

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the sun had barely crept over the horizon when your sleek aston martin pulled up to the curb of novis corp’s headquarters; the tech conglomerate you had built from scratch. the building, a masterpiece of modern architecture with its reflective glass and sharp geometric lines, it stood as a monument to your success.

as you stepped out of the car, the valet offered a polite bow before retreating and you adjusted your tom ford suit — a deep charcoal grey that sat perfectly on your shoulders, tailored to a level of precision; its silk lining was monogrammed with your initials, a subtle mark of exclusivity.

in your world, every single detail mattered.

as soon as the glass doors opened into the lobby, the atmosphere shifted immediately. the soft murmur of voices hushed to a whisper and employees straightened their postures instinctively as they caught sight of you.

your presence demanded attention, not because you sought it, but because you simply carried an aura of authority. heads bowed as you passed, a wave of respectful acknowledgment rippling through the space.

“good morning, y/n,” someone greeted softly, their voice tinged with awe.

you simply offered a slight nod, your expression unreadable as you stepped into the private lift. the moment the polished steel doors slid shut, the world outside felt momentarily silenced. you allowed yourself a brief glance at your reflection in the mirrored walls, backing a strand of misplaced hair and smoothing down the lapel of your jacket before the lift opened to the top floor.

here, the energy was palpable. this was where the very lifeblood of novis corp flowed, where your senior executives and teams orchestrated the daily operations of the tech giant. the open floor was a hive of activity: assistants juggling tablets and documents, executives murmuring into headsets and a faint hum of urgency in the air.

the moment you stepped out, it was chaos aimed at you.

“miss l/n, the european market data is ready for your review.”

“legal flagged the merger contracts; they need your approval before noon.”

“the board wants confirmation on next quarter’s strategic pivot —”

amidst the shitshow that you specifically called ‘the everyday’, your personal assistant, claire, darted towards you, her heels clicking against the polished wood floor as she clutched a stack of files to her chest whilst her usually composed demeanour was slightly frazzled as she struggled to keep pace with you.

“y/n,” claire began, her voice soft but persistent, “i apologise for the interruption, but felix has been trying to reach you all morning. he said it’s urgent, and i tried to hold him off, but he’s really insistent.”

you glanced at her, stride unbroken whilst offering a faint smile that was more a gesture of reassurance than warmth. “i’ll take care of it, claire. thank you.”

she gave a slight nod, relief evident in her expression, stepping back as you pushed open the heavy oak doors to your private office. the room was a reflection of your meticulous standards: minimalist yet luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering an unparalleled view of new york city. a sleek, dark wood desk sat in the centre, flanked by leather chairs and a low cabinet housing bottles of vintage scotch.

oh, and the air carried the faintest scent of bergamot, a signature detail you had to have.

as soon as you set your briefcase down, you loosened your tie slightly and sank into your chair. the intercom blinked with pending calls, but you ignored it for now, reaching instead for your personal phone. scrolling through the missed calls, you found felix’s name and with a small sigh, you hit dial.

he answered right after the first ring. “finally!” his voice was a mix of relief and mischief, as it always was when he called you.

“what’s so urgent, felix?” you asked, leaning back in your chair.

“okay, hear me out,” he began, a tell-tale sign that whatever followed would likely test your patience. “there’s this club. super exclusive. like, billionaires-only exclusive. i’m talking black cards, champagne fountains, and the kind of entertainment that makes even the rich blush —“

pinching the bridge of your nose impatiently, you groaned. “just get to the point.”

“well, if you must insist,” he continued, “i need someone to vouch for me. someone who ticks the billionaire box. someone, you know, like you.”

“felix, why on earth would you want to go to a place like that?” you sighed, shaking your head. “everyone will just be as obnoxious as mum.”

“research,” he said, a little too quickly. “and before you ask, yes, it’s legit. i just…need to see it for myself. one night, y/n.“

“research,” you repeated, unimpressed.

“please, my dearest sister,” he pressed. “i promise it’s harmless. just one night, and then i’ll owe you. big time.”

he had always been the rebel — tattoos peeking out from beneath his sleeves, a penchant for bending rules and a charm that got him out of most trouble. he was your stepbrother, younger by five years and despite his antics, you couldn’t help but feel a soft spot for him.

he’d been your constant companion through a tumultuous childhood and for all his recklessness, his loyalty to you was unwavering.

you exhaled deeply. “if this turns into a mess, i swear, felix —”

“it won’t, i swear,” he interrupted eagerly. “you’ll barely even have to do anything. just show up, look rich — which is easy for you and let me in.”

there was a long pause. you weren’t one for foolishness, specially not something as absurd as this, but he had a way of getting under your skin and despite your better judgment, you relented.

“fine,” you mumbled; annoyance evident in your tone. “but this better not blow back on me — the press are already on my ass for not being present enough.”

“you’re the best!” he exclaimed, his relief palpable. “i’ll text you the details.”

shaking your head, you hung up and pressed the intercom button on your desk. “claire,” you began. “i need you to do something for me.”

“that’s my job, y/n,” her voice came through immediately.

“clear my schedule for tonight,” you carefully instructed. “reschedule all appointments and let the rest of the world know i’ll be unavailable after six.”

there was a brief pause from her end. “understood.”

staring out at the sprawling skyline, you heaved out a sigh. this wasn’t your usual scene, but something about it intrigued you nonetheless. tonight promised to be unlike anything you’d done before.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the hum of the limousine was almost soothing as it glided through the city streets, the blacked-out windows shielding you and felix from the world outside. the interior was nothing short of opulent: plush leather seats in a deep oxblood red, a bar stocked with rare whiskies and chilled champagne and soft ambient lighting that cast a warm glow over the polished surfaces.

felix was seated across from you, his legs stretched out casually as he swirled a glass of whiskey he’d poured himself. his usual rebellious flair was subdued tonight, though the faint smirk on his lips betrayed his excitement.

he was dressed sharply, his dark green blazer and crisp black shirt a rare effort on his part. the tattoos that normally peeked from his sleeves were hidden, though you knew they were still there, a reminder of his defiant streak.

you, on the other hand, wore a simple white shirt and blue jeans.

“so,” felix began, his tone light but probing, “how’s the empire going?”

you gave him a sideways glance, your fingers lightly drumming against the armrest. “the empire is fine, felix. novis is on track to secure the venatrix deal by next quarter and the sirocco expansion is finally moving forward.”

“of course it is,” he said with a grin, taking a sip of his drink. “you’ve got the golden touch. everything you touch turns to money.”

“it’s not magic,” you replied, your voice steady. “it’s work. a lot of it.”

he shook his head, leaning forward slightly. “and that’s the problem, y/n. you work too much. when was the last time you actually did something for yourself? and don’t say this counts,” he added, gesturing around the limousine.

you gave him a small, wry smile. “this is for you, not me.”

“exactly my point,” he said, leaning back. “you need to live a little. have some fun. maybe get a girlfriend for once in your life.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “a girlfriend?”

“yes, a girlfriend,” he said with a chuckle. “you know, someone to share your life with? someone to remind you that there’s more to life than spreadsheets and board meetings?”

you exhaled softly, turning your gaze to the city lights flickering outside the window. “it’s not that simple. i’ve got responsibilities. people rely on me. there’s no room for anything else right now.”

“that’s the excuse you always use,” he said, his tone softer now. “but you’re going to wake up one day and realise you’ve built an empire but never lived your life. is that really what you want?”

his words lingered in the air and for a moment, you simply let them. as the limousine turned down a quieter street, the glow of the city fading into the background, you thought about what he’d said.

was he right? was there something missing in your meticulously crafted life?

before you could dwell on it further, the car slowed to a stop in front of an unassuming black door, illuminated only by a discreet gold plaque that read elysium.

the driver opened your door and the moment you stepped out, you felt the shift in atmosphere. the door was opened from the inside by a tall, sharply dressed man who exuded an air of authority.

“miss l/n, mr. l/n,” he greeted warmly, his deep voice carrying just enough deference to make you feel like royalty. “welcome to elysium. my name is pierre and i’ll personally ensure your evening is nothing short of exceptional.”

“thank you,” you replied, your tone polite but guarded as pierre stepped aside, gesturing for you both to enter.

the interior of the club was breathtaking — sleek and sophisticated, with an undeniable air of exclusivity. red lighting bathed the room, casting a sultry glow over the rich leather furniture and dark wood accents. the faint hum of low music filled the space and the scent of expensive cigars and perfume lingered in the air.

pierre led the way, his posture immaculate. “we’ve limited the floor capacity tonight to ensure you have a comfortable experience. it’s not often we host guests of your calibre.”

your gaze flicked to your brother, whose smirk grew with every step deeper into the club.

“they’re really rolling out the red carpet,” he whispered to you, amusement lacing his tone.

there were silhouettes moving across the far end of the room. they were fluid, deliberate, their movements drawing attention like a magnetic pull.

it wasn’t until you caught the glint of polished metal — a pole, that the realisation struck.

this wasn’t just a private club. it was a strip club.

“i thought you said this was a fucking nightclub,” you muttered in that scolding tone of yours. “or whatever you said it was.”

he laughed at your comment and had deliberately chosen to ignore you, clearly revelling in the attention. as you passed, heads turned subtly, and even the staff seemed to regard you with a mixture of curiosity and respect.

“our girls,” pierre continued as he walked, “are among the finest in the world. each performance is curated to perfection. should you require anything — anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“a dance costs a million for each hour,” felix raised his eyebrows playfully. “i can afford it, you have nothing to worry about.”

i’m going to kill him, you thought.

the corridor opened into a sprawling room bathed in deep red light, the glow casting shadows that danced across the rich leather furniture and polished dark wood accents. chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystal facets scattering faint prisms of light though the overall effect was moody and intimate rather than pretentious.

pierre, ever the professional, either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the exchange. “elysium prides itself on discretion and sophistication,” he explained, leading you toward the bar. “our performers are not only the best in the industry but also highly selective about where they work. we cater to an exclusive clientele and tonight, they are all eager to perform for you.”

the words hung in the air and while his tone remained formal, there was no mistaking the double meaning.

this wasn’t just about entertainment — it was about status, yours specifically.

“you’ve truly outdone yourselves,” you said evenly, though your tone betrayed nothing of the thoughts swirling in your mind.

“only the best for our esteemed guests,” he replied, stopping at the bar. “would you care for a drink before you settle in? our bartenders specialise in rare and exclusive cocktails.”

“i’ll take a manhattan,” felix answered, leaning against the bar as if he owned the place.

pierre turned his attention to you. “and for you, miss l/n?”

“call me y/n, please,” you requested, keeping your composure. “i’ll have a glass of champagne for now.”

felix shook his head, whilst pierre only nodded. “don’t worry, pierre, this is a good sign — champagne is telltale of the kind of night she plans to have.”

you gave him a look, one that could silence an entire boardroom, but it only made his grin widen.

as the bartender prepared your drinks, your eyes scanned the room. the performers were elegant, their movements slow and deliberate as they worked the poles or engaged in subtle conversations with other guests. the lighting accentuated every curve, every flick of hair, every step in towering heels.

it was seductive, but there was a sophistication to it.

felix clinked his glass against yours when your drinks arrived, his grin mischievous. “welcome to the real world, y/n. you might even have fun tonight.”

before you could respond, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you alone with pierre, who gestured towards a hallway deeper into the establishment. “y/n, may i guide you to our private bar? we’ve reserved a section just for you.”

you nodded, offering a faint smile. “lead the way.”

he guided you through a discreet side door, the noise from the main hall fading into a low hum as you stepped into a quieter corridor. the lighting here was softer, the air perfumed with hints of amber and bergamot.

the sound of your shoes against the polished marble floor echoed faintly as you trailed behind him.

then, he stopped at a heavy door, its deep mahogany finish gleaming under the warm light. with a subtle bow, he pushed it open, revealing a private space that was both opulent and refined.

the room was bathed in a soft golden glow, with leather seating in a deep burgundy hue arranged around a bar made out of white marble. a crystal chandelier hung above, its light refracting into subtle rainbows across the room. the air was cooler here, yet tinged with the faintest trace of something warm and intoxicating.

“we’ve taken great care to ensure your comfort,” he gestured for you to step inside. “a selection of our finest performers has been prepared exclusively for this space tonight. as per tradition, all our vvip performers wear masks to preserve their mystique.”

your gaze shifted to the centre of the room, where a single pole stood illuminated by a spotlight. at its base, a woman danced, her movements fluid and hypnotic.

she was dressed in black, the fabric clinging to her graceful frame in ways that accentuated her every curve. a delicate mask adorned her face, its intricate lace design concealing her identity while leaving her eyes and lips visible.

and those eyes…

almond-shaped and lined with the faintest hint of shimmer, their depth was startling. they locked onto yours the moment you entered and for a second, it felt as though the world narrowed to just the two of you.

her lips were no less striking, painted a deep crimson that contrasted beautifully against her glowing skin. they moved subtly as she shifted her expression, curving into a faint smile that was neither coy nor brazen but perfectly balanced between the two.

you moved to one of the leather chairs directly in front of the pole, lowering yourself gracefully into the seat. a glass of something pale and sparkling had already been placed on the table before you — krug, if you had to guess.

she danced as though gravity held no dominion over her, movements slow and deliberate; her body bending and turning with an elegance that seemed almost otherworldly.

her eyes never left yours.

there was no touch, no exchange of words. only the silent conversation carried through her gaze.

you sipped your champagne, the crisp bubbles fizzing faintly on your tongue as you watched her.

“her name is karina,” pierre’s voice broke the silence, soft and almost reverent as he stood to the side. “one of our most gifted performers. she never agrees to private dances, but tonight, she insisted.”

you raised an eyebrow at his comment but said nothing, your eyes still locked with hers.

her lips curved slightly, a small but unmistakable reaction to his words. whether it was amusement or approval, you couldn’t tell.

there was a certain kind of power in her performance, an effortless command of the room that rivalled your own presence in the boardroom. it wasn’t just her beauty — it was the way she carried herself, the silent confidence in her every movement.

for the first time in a long while, you felt captivated.

as the music swelled, she climbed higher up the pole, her body arching and twisting with a grace that seemed to defy logic. the light caught her skin as she spun, casting shadows across her toned figure.

her gaze found yours again as if she had never looked away.

the song ended, the final note hanging in the air as karina stilled, her body poised and elegant as she held your gaze one last time. then, without a word, she stepped back into the shadows, disappearing as swiftly as she had appeared.

you leaned back in your seat, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“she’s…impressive,” you murmured, your voice soft.

“indeed,” he replied, his tone pleased. “shall i have her return for a performance, miss l/n? or would you like to see the next girl?”

you glanced at the glass in your hand, then back at the empty spotlight.

“perhaps,” you said, your tone deliberately nonchalant, though the way your thoughts lingered on those eyes and that smile betrayed you entirely. “i’d like to see karina again.”

he gave a slight bow, his hands clasped neatly in front of him. “i’ll leave you to enjoy the performance, y/n. if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call for me.”

you sent him a faint nod, watching as he quietly slipped out of the room — the air seemed heavier now, charged with something you couldn’t quite name.

the soft spotlight followed her, casting her in a halo of warm light as she emerged out of the shadows. her movements were deliberate, the sway of her hips measured, her body arching with the kind of elegance that felt effortless. the music swelled, a sultry melody that filled the private bar, wrapping itself around you.

the pole became an extension of her, her fingertips grazing it lightly as she spun effortlessly, hair cascading over one shoulder like silk.

pushing yourself up in the leather seat, you cradled the crystal glass in your hand, the crisp bubbles fizzing against your tongue were forgotten.

your attention was fixed solely on her.

her gaze was dark and unrelenting, as though she could see through every wall you’d ever built. it made you feel vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to, yet you couldn’t look away.

for years, your life had been a steady climb to the top. every decision and sacrifice you made — it had all led you to become one of the youngest billionaires in the world; a life of luxury and power, yet moments like this felt foreign to you.

you had never allowed yourself distractions. relationships had always been a distant thought, something you dismissed as incompatible with the weight of your responsibilities. and yet here you were, sitting in the middle of a dark room, utterly captivated by a woman you didn’t know.

as the music deepened, so did her movements. she slid down the pole with precision, her legs extending gracefully before she landed softly on the floor. then, she began to close the distance between you.

you stiffened slightly as she approached, her bare feet making no sound against the polished floor. her every step was a calculated mix of power and allure, head tilting slightly as her eyes burned into yours.

when she reached the edge of your seat, she leaned down, her hands bracing against the armrests on either side of you. the faintest scent of her perfume: something floral with a hint of musk wafted over you.

your breath hitched.

karina’s face was mere inches from yours, her lips curved into a subtle, knowing smile.

she tilted her head, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder and as she leaned closer, her lips brushed against yours — not quite a kiss, but enough to send a jolt through your body.

the touch was light, but it lingered. your hand tightened slightly around the glass, though you made no effort to pull away.

her eyes locked onto yours again, the corner of her lips quirking up ever so slightly. she didn’t move, staying close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of her breath against your skin.

“you’re full of surprises,” she murmured, her voice low and laced with amusement.

“you’re not what i expected,” you replied, your tone steady despite the way your pulse raced.

her smile widened just a fraction, her lips still hovering dangerously close to yours. “and what did you expect, miss l/n?”

you let the question hang in the air, unwilling — or perhaps unable to answer it.

she pulled back slightly, her eyes flickering over your face as if she were committing every detail to memory.

then, with a graceful turn, she returned to the pole, leaving you frozen in your seat, every nerve in your body alive.

but your focus wasn’t on the dance anymore.

it was on her.

the song reached its end, her final spin slow and graceful, her legs extended as she descended to the floor.

when the music ended, she stayed still for a moment, catching her breath, before calling out softly, “cut the music.”

the silence was deafening.

she stood up, reaching for a glass of water placed on the table near the pole. she sipped it slowly, her back turned to you, before setting it down and facing you again.

“you’re y/n l/n,” she said, her voice carrying an easy confidence, as though she were stating an undeniable fact.

you straightened in your seat, your composure returning. “i am indeed, and you’re karina.”

her lips curved into a small smile as she stepped closer, her mask framing her captivating eyes. “so, you’ve heard of me?”

“pierre mentioned your name,” you replied. “and according to him, you never agree to private performances.”

“ah, pierre,” karina chuckled softly, a low and melodic sound that sent another ripple through you. “that’s true, but you’re not exactly a regular guest.”

“why did you agree?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

she tilted her head, her smile deepening. “curiosity.”

“about what?”

her gaze didn’t waver. “about you.”

you raised an eyebrow. “me?”

“it’s not every day the most eligible bachelorette in the world walks into a place like this,” she said, her tone light but pointed. “how could i not be curious?”

her honesty was disarming, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond.

“you don’t seem like the type to come here,” she continued, her voice softer now. “i wanted to see what kind of woman you are.”

“and?” you asked, meeting her gaze.

karina smiled again, enigmatic as ever. “i think you’re a woman who knows exactly what she wants, but you haven’t decided if you’re ready to take it.”

her words hung in the air, sharp yet tantalising. you swallowed hard, the weight of her observation pressing against you.

before you could respond, she glanced at the clock on the wall, her expression softening. “unfortunately, my time’s up — but i will see you again, hopefully.”

you watched as she stepped back, her movements as graceful as ever. “thank you.”

she turned back to you, her dark eyes glimmering. “the pleasure was mine, miss l/n.”

“please call me y/n.”

she nodded and then, just like that, she disappeared through the door, leaving you alone with the lingering scent of her perfume and the memory of her lips brushing against yours.

moments later, pierre entered the room, followed by an awestruck felix.

“holy shit,” felix yelled, his wide eyes taking in the space. “this room is insane. do you know how much this costs?”

you raised an eyebrow at him, still feeling the warmth of karina’s presence. “do i want to know?”

“five million dollars. per dance,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

you smiled faintly, your thoughts far from the number. “well, tonight was the most expensive night i’ve ever had then.”

he put an arm around you, ruffling your hair. “told you you’d enjoy it!”

the limousine hummed softly as it glided through the quiet streets. deeply in your thoughts, you sat stiffly in your seat, legs crossed, arms folded, the leather cool beneath you.

the night had been…complicated, to say the least.

felix, sitting across from you, looked far too pleased with himself, scrolling through his phone with a self-satisfied smirk that only irritated you further.

“never again,” you said sharply, breaking the silence.

he glanced up, the smirk widening as if he’d been waiting for this. “never again, what?”

“you know exactly what i mean,” you snapped, glaring at him. “you are never taking control of a night out again.”

he raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “elysium? come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

“felix,” you said through gritted teeth, “it was a strip club. a strip club. do you have any idea how bad that looks for me? if anyone had taken a photo of me, it could’ve been a PR disaster.”

he laughed, leaning back lazily against the plush seat. “oh please, that place is so exclusive. and anyway, it’s not like you were doing anything scandalous. you sat there, drank champagne and watched a performance. you didn’t even touch anyone. honestly, it was boring.”

you stared at him. “boring? you dragged me to a place where the floor alone costs millions to reserve and you think it’s fine because you had fun?”

“well yeah,” he said casually, shrugging. “and don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy yourself. i saw your face during that dance.”

heat rose to your cheeks and you looked away sharply, your fingers tightening around your arm. “that’s not the point, felix.”

“oh, it absolutely is,” he countered, leaning forward. “look, you’ve spent your entire life building this empire. you’re brilliant at what you do but you don’t live, y/n. you don’t even let yourself breathe. all i did was give you one night to do something out of the ordinary and now you’re acting like the world’s going to end.”

“because it could,” you shot back. “my name, my reputation — it’s all tied to novis. if anything jeopardises that, the fallout would be catastrophic. you don’t understand what’s at stake.”

he tilted his head, his expression softening slightly. “no, i don’t understand,” he said, his voice quieter but still firm. “because unlike you, i actually let myself live every now and then. when was the last time you did something just for yourself, y/n? when was the last time you let yourself feel something that wasn’t tied to work?”

his words hit harder than you wanted to admit. you glanced out the window, the city lights blurring as the limousine sped through the streets. “this isn’t about me,” you muttered, though the defensiveness in your tone betrayed you.

“oh, it’s absolutely about you,” he said with a knowing grin. “come on, admit it. you didn’t hate last night as much as you’re pretending to. i mean, you could’ve walked out anytime, but you didn’t. you stayed.”

you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “felix, i can’t afford to have nights like that. my life isn’t like yours.”

“and that’s exactly the problem,” he said, his voice more serious now. “you’re so afraid of messing up, you don’t even let yourself enjoy anything. y/n, you’re one of the most powerful people in the world and you’re scared of living? what’s the point of all this success if you never let yourself have anything?”

you didn’t answer, his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. instead, you stared out the window, your reflection blurred against the city lights. he leaned back, clearly feeling like he’d won the argument, though he said nothing more.

as the limousine approached your building, you sighed deeply, finally breaking the silence. “this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. no more clubs, felix. ever.”

he laughed softly, shaking his head. “we’ll see.”

as it rolled to a stop, you stepped out without another word, the weight of the conversation lingering as you made your way inside.

you couldn’t stop thinking about the way karina had looked at you — as if she saw right through the walls you had spent years building.

her eyes haunted you, dark and full of secrets you suddenly found yourself wanting to uncover. and for the first time in years, you wondered if there was something, or someone, outside your carefully constructed world worth stepping into the unknown for.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the morning was as chaotic as ever, the hum of novis corp’s top floor vibrating with urgency the moment you stepped out of the private elevator. polished shoes clicked against a mix of wooden and marble floors, assistants and executives alike moved from desk to desk, each with something that required your attention.

“y/n,” the updates for the venatrix deal are ready.”

“legal has flagged the elara contract for revisions.”

“the team needs your approval on the new AI interface by noon!”

normally, you thrived in the controlled storm of your office. today, however, your mind was elsewhere. your focus wasn’t on contracts or product launches — it was on her.

the memory of last night lingered in sharp detail: the intoxicating crimson glow of the club, her sharp gaze, the brush of her lips against yours.

karina had left an imprint you couldn’t shake, no matter how much you tried.

the design meeting was supposed to centre you. the team presented mock-ups for novis’s latest AI interface, a sleek design meant to revolutionise smart tech, but as the lead designer droned on about user functionality, your attention slipped.

their words barely registered. your eyes were on the screen, but your mind was still in elysium. the feel of her perfume in the air, the way her eyes had locked onto yours: daring you to react.

“y/n?” samuel, the lead designer’s voice, broke through your thoughts, ultimately bringing you back to the present.

you blinked, shifting slightly in your seat. “yes?”

“we were asking for your feedback on the gradient colour scheme versus the flat monochrome,” he said, his tone careful.

you glanced at the screen, the options displayed clearly, but for once, the answer didn’t come easily. “the gradient,” you pointed after what seemed like at eternity. “it’s fine.”

a few of the designers exchanged surprised glances. it wasn’t like you to give such a vague response.

when the meeting ended, you stepped into the hallway, only to find giselle waiting for you, leaning casually against the wall with a look of exaggerated curiosity.

“well, that was weird,” she said, falling into step beside you.

“what are you talking about?” you asked, your tone clipped as you navigated through the bustling corridor.

“you,” she replied, waving a hand dramatically. “you’ve been off all morning. normally, you’re snapping necks and giving ted talks in these meetings. today, you were practically sleepwalking. so, spill. what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you said curtly.

she narrowed her eyes, clearly not buying it. “is this a felix thing? what did he do now? start a crypto farm in the middle of montana? buy a haunted house because ‘it looked cool’? or, wait — did he drag you to one of those ridiculous underground poker rings again?”

you gave her a sharp look. “felix has nothing to do with this.”

“so there is something,” she said, her smirk growing. “come on, boss, you can’t keep secrets from me. i’m like the human recourses version of sherlock holmes.”

“giselle,” you warned, stopping in your tracks and fixing her with a pointed glare, “drop it.”

she raised her hands in mock surrender, but her grin didn’t waver. “fine, fine, i’ll drop it; but if you spontaneously combust during the next board meeting, don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

as you started walking again, she called after you, “oh, by the way, your new head corporate lawyer is waiting in your office. yu jimin. punctual, sharp as a blade, and word on the street: dangerously hot. good luck!”

the name sent a jolt through you, stomach twisting as you reached your office doors, the memory of last night rushing back with startling clarity.

when you stepped inside, the first thing you noticed was the figure standing near the window.

she was dressed sharply in a black suit that fit her perfectly, the crisp white shirt beneath it undone just enough to convey confidence without stepping into arrogance. her posture was relaxed, one hand resting lightly on her hip, the other at her side.

her dark hair was pulled back neatly, accentuating the sharp lines of her face. when she turned at the sound of the door, your breath caught.

her eyes met yours, and for a split second, the world tilted.

it was her.

the woman who had unraveled you the night before, the one who had danced with the kind of precision and allure that left you spellbound.

karina.

no, yu jimin.

“miss l/n,” she greeted, her voice smooth, calm, and so painfully familiar. “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

you forced yourself to nod, gesturing toward the chair across from your desk. “miss yu, please, have a seat. and call me y/n.”

you walked quickly to your desk, avoiding her gaze as you settled into your chair. when you finally looked up, the intensity in her eyes was undeniable.

she sat with perfect posture, her hands resting lightly on her lap, her expression polite but unreadable.

“so,” you began, clearing your throat, “tell me about your experience. what drew you to novis corp?”

her lips curved into a faint smile, one that sent a chill through you.

“my career has largely focused on high-stakes corporate law,” she said smoothly. “mergers, acquisitions, billion-dollar lawsuits — you name it. novis corp stood out to me because of its reputation for innovation and precision. it’s a company that demands excellence; i happen to provide that.”

her tone was professional, poised. but then her eyes glinted, and her smile widened just slightly.

“but if i’m being honest,” she added, “it wasn’t just the company that intrigued me. after last night, the person behind it all captured me.”

your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to maintain a neutral expression.

“i’m not sure what you’re referring to,” you said evenly, though your voice wavered just slightly.

“of course not,” she said, her smile deepening, though she didn’t press further.

the rest of the meeting passed in a blur of questions and answers, though the tension in the room never dissipated. every time her gaze lingered on you, you felt your resolve crack, memories of her dance, her eyes and her lips flashing vividly in your mind.

when it concluded, jimin stood gracefully, smoothing her blazer as she moved toward the door.

just as she reached for the knob, you hesitantly called out, “and miss yu?”

she paused, turning back to face you. “yes?”

you met her gaze, forcing your voice to remain steady. “i was never there.”

her smile returned, slow and knowing, her eyes glinting with something that sent a shiver down your spine. “don’t worry — the only person in that room was karina.”

for the second time in two days, yu jimin had left you completely undone.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end.

#kpop x reader #karina imagines #karina x reader #karina #aespa x reader #kpop gg #kpop imagines #jimin x reader #yu jimin

524 notes · View notes