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grimm909 · 3 months ago

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Dial 17 for blackmail - Part 1

Hello, everyone. I don’t have much to say here, so I apologize for any English mistakes you might come across—english is not my first language.

WARNINGS: Blackmail, sexual abuse, emotional manipulation.

All characters are written as 18+. Please, do not proceed if you are under eighteen.

Enjoy your reading!

You stare at your haggard reflection in the mirror, the edges of which are marked by cracks — though not as broken as your spirit.

The body you examine from top to bottom is no longer yours, nor does it seem like a part of who you really are. You want to rip off that skin marked by love bites, as they call it, turn it inside out, peel it like a tangerine.

Disgusting.

Your soul screams, trapped inside that contaminated piece of flesh, disgusted by being there. You grit your teeth as your eyes, intensely red, meet your own reflection. They are like that not only because of the incessant tears that fall, but because of the pure and suffocating rage that pulses through every fiber of your being. A fury so overwhelming that you feel capable of reducing NRC to dust with the force of a single scream.

But the cruel reality is that you can’t.

At most, you would scare Grim and the ghosts of Ramshackle. And drawing attention to yourself is the last thing you want, or they might discover the situation you're trapped in. As entangled as a butterfly caught in a spider’s web, slowly being devoured alive. And your tormentors fit this dark metaphor perfectly.

You swallow the sob that rips down your throat like a thorn. It’s unbearable to stare at your own image for more than a minute without being dragged into the memories of the horrible things they’ve done to you. And it doesn’t matter how many baths you take; their smell seems embedded in your skin, like an invisible scar.

"Henchman, how long are you going to stay in there!?"

On the other side of the door, Grim’s dismayed voice echoes through the bathroom walls. It’s so unexpected that, for a moment, you’re startled, imagining that he might come in and discover the marks you’ve been trying to hide at all costs. However, the door remains locked; you make sure of that meticulously, checking the lock repeatedly before getting into the shower just so your nosy little friend won’t suddenly come in.

You clear your throat, doing your best to keep your voice from sounding choked with tears.

"I’m coming out now, oh great Grim-sama."

You answer, a little more hoarsely than he would like, but with a clear hint of mockery.

However, considering your roommate’s modest intelligence, it’s quite likely that he takes your mockery seriously, believing your words are genuine.

"That’s right! The great Grim-sama should be in there and you out here."

A breath escapes your lips, in disbelief at his naivety. Sooner or later, you’ll have to teach him not to take everything others say so literally. At least, your furry little friend is a source of encouragement for you, even in the midst of misfortune.

You turn on the sink tap, letting the water run as you wash your face, marked by seemingly endless tears. When you finish, you look up at the mirror, staring at your reflection for the last time. The features once contorted by anger and bitterness slowly dissolve as your lips form a discreet smile, carrying an unexpected softness and a long-lost innocence.

You’re good at pretending. Good at lying. Too good at covering up. Maybe too good for your own good.

But your silence comes at a high cost: the weight of unexpressed emotions accumulated day after day, and you could drown in them at any moment. It’s a miserable existence of constant vigilance, of keeping yourself in check so the truth won’t come out — because deep down, you know no one can really help you.

Telling what’s bothering you, who is bothering you, would have dire consequences for your friends. The Leech brothers have always been too good at getting rid of anything — or anyone — that threatens them.

"You can come in." You announce to your feline friend after opening the bathroom door and giving him space to jump inside, then closing it again, since Grim can’t reach the handle on his own.

You grab your cellphone from the small dresser next to the bed, sitting on it and logging into Magicam to see what’s new — more specifically, to check if there’s anything compromising about you spreading through social networks.

Going through each profile, especially the ones belonging to the Leech brothers, you let out a sigh of relief when you realize everything is fine.

At least, for now.

The cell phone vibrates in your hands with a message notification. Just above the screen, before the preview disappears, you catch Jade’s name flashing across it.

Your lower lip is clenched hard between your teeth in nervous tension, already knowing that absolutely nothing good could come from this. With no choice, you open the message.

Jade: Meet me in the greenhouse, after class.

You: I can’t. I’ve made plans to study with my friends.

Jade: Oh, really? Interesting. But I doubt you’ll be able to focus on studying if that video ends up on all their phones.

You: Please, leave me alone.

Jade: You know I hate cheap blackmail, but sometimes you have to be persuasive, right? Go to the greenhouse, after class. Alone. Or maybe the rest of the school will get to see a much more… intimate side of you.

You: You don’t have to do this. I’m going.

Your fingers curl around the device with such force it looked like you were about to snap it in half. Rage boils inside you. That bastard! How could he be so deceitful?

Before you actually broke the only means of communication you had — since Crowley wouldn’t give you another one anytime soon, and buying a new one was out of the question — you made the sensible decision to throw the phone onto the bed.

Grabbing a nearby pillow, you buried your face in it to muffle the shrill scream that escaped your lips, dragging on for several seconds.

[...]

After classes, it was easy to lie and convince your friends that you were meeting with Jade just to discuss a few tasks that needed to be done at the Mostro Lounge — since you worked nights at the restaurant to have a little extra money at the end of the month, even if that meant constantly facing the two people you hated most in Twisted Wonderland.

And, as expected, none of them wanted to join you. Grim, in particular, scrunched up his nose at the mention of the name “Leech,” preferring to steer clear of the topic like it was a plague. In the end, they all agreed to wait for another opportunity to study together, confident in the belief that you could take care of yourself.

And how could you not?

You face four overblots, one after another in a short span of five months, without ever letting the situation shake you. You always maintain a cold and impassive attitude while assisting in the fights. Seriously, you even headbutt Riddle during his overblot. If that isn't excessive courage — especially for someone without magic — then what is?

In a way, you’re almost like a source of inspiration for these boys; kind, confident, clever, and funny. Yes, that’s everything you are… or everything you wish you were.

“Oh, look who decided to show up.”

Your eyes meet Jade’s heterochromatic gaze the moment you open the glass door of the greenhouse and step inside. The air inside is humid, heavy with the scent of damp soil and fungi in various stages of growth. Jade is alone, seated at the long wooden table, surrounded by pots holding an alarming variety of mushrooms.

“You came so quickly, pet.” The nickname slides off his tongue like a thin, sharp blade, slicing through your mood the instant it’s spoken. Jade always knows just what to say to make you shudder — in disgust, in frustration, or maybe both. “Sometimes I wonder just how far you’re willing to go over a single video.” He smiles, that same devilish, toothy grin you’ve come to despise over the past few weeks.

In your mind, you rewrite his words: Sometimes I wonder how close I can push you to the edge… just for my own pleasure.

“Maybe that’s why no one wants to join your stupid club,” you snap, provoking him even though you know it’s a terrible idea. You still do it.

“Feeling bold today, aren’t you?” Unfortunately for your ego, his smile doesn’t waver, but his two-toned eyes narrow in a veiled threat.

“What do you want?” you ask sharply, not wanting to drag this pointless conversation on.

“Fufu, in a hurry, are we?”

He mocks before standing, and your body reacts before your brain can even process it. Your muscles tense at the thought of him coming closer to do what that bastard does best: be a damn leech.

But instead of approaching you, Jade calmly turns and walks to a nearby table, where a small pot holds a peculiar mushroom. With the care of an expert, he plucks it from the soil.

Only then does he face you again. Looming in front of you, presence heavy and suffocating — like a predator eyeing his prey.

“I’m not going to be your damn guinea pig.” Your voice is tight, your words dripping with contempt. You want to lunge at his throat.

“No?” Jade raises a brow, feigning surprise.

Then, in a slow and deliberate motion, his free hand slides into the inner pocket of his white lab coat. His lips curl into a wicked little smile.

Your stomach sinks. You know exactly what he’s about to do.

The phone.

“I’ll do whatever you want.” The words escape before you can stop them. The bitter taste of surrender clings to your tongue — such a contrast to the defiance you had just moments ago.

It takes everything in you to swallow your pride and protect the little dignity you have left.

Jade looks more than pleased with your sudden and ‘voluntary’ change in behavior. His hand abandons the phone, but you know it isn’t a retreat — just a reminder that the threat still exists.

“Just give it to me,” you mutter, holding out your hand, annoyed.

“Thank you for your cooperation.” He smiles and tosses the tiny fungus into your hand. His next words are accompanied by his signature move: hand over heart in mock gratitude. “It’s so good to have you as an unofficial member of the Lovers Mountain Club.” A guinea pig — that’s what he means. You’ve learned to read the double meanings behind Jade’s flowery language.

“What does it do?” you ask, examining the pink mushroom with white spots, barely the size of your pinky finger.

“You’ll find out once it takes effect.”

“I hate surprises that come from you.” Your voice is sharp, full of resentment.

“From me? Oh, don’t be so cruel.” Jade frowns and feigns sadness, though the playful gleam in his eyes betrays the act. “Now… the mushroom you’re holding? Ah, that’s a different story. I’m sure it holds a rather peculiar surprise.”

You hate those last words — the clear disdain in them. It’s like he’s mocking your ignorance. Jade definitely knows what that damn mushroom is capable of. He just doesn’t want to tell you.

Your eyes fix on him, your fingers curling tightly around the fungus as if you could crush the answers out of it. But Jade just offers another wide smile, baring the sharp teeth that always make him look more predator than man — which, in truth, he is.

“You know exactly what this thing does, don’t you?” you ask through gritted teeth.

“Oh, how perceptive.” He chuckles, his voice smooth like a seaside tale. “But where’s the fun in just telling you?”

“You have a nasty habit of playing dumb,” you growl.

“I’d say it’s a personal charm,” he replies, unbothered. “But if it makes you feel better, I only withhold the details that would make everything… boring.”

The cunning glint in his eyes only fuels your irritation.

“Jade, if this thing is poisonous, I swear—”

“Poisonous?” He tilts his head, tone dripping with false innocence. “Now, now, do you really think I’d let you hold something like that without warning you?”

“Yes.” The reply is instant, dry.

Jade laughs, a low, rippling sound, like an echo from the ocean depths. He steps closer — just enough for you to smell that ever-present marine scent clinging to him — subtle but deceiving, like the merman before you.

“How cruel.” He sighs, placing a hand to his chin as if deep in thought. “But I understand. Trust is such a fragile thing, isn’t it? Like glass… or a tiny mistake when ingesting a mysterious mushroom.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“Jade.”

“Yes, yes, I know. No jokes.” He raises his hands in mock surrender, but the smile stays — mocking. “Let’s just say this mushroom has… interesting properties. You might find the effect a bit inconvenient, but I personally find it fascinating.”

The way he emphasizes “inconvenient” makes your skin crawl.

“What effect?”

Jade doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he observes you for a long moment, like a predator studying its prey. Then, with the ease of someone who has all the time in the world, he leans in slightly, voice nearly a whisper.

“Why spoil the surprise? You know I’m being honest when I say this will be… interesting.”

Your stomach twists. Something tells you that, with Jade Leech involved, “interesting” is just a euphemism for “trouble.”

Either way, you have no choice.

Anger bubbles beneath your skin, but there’s nothing you can do except follow his orders like an obedient little pet, lowering your head and offering your paw as instructed. The bitter taste of submission is worse than any poison that mushroom could carry.

A sigh slips from your lips, heavy with frustration, before you finally bring that damn mushroom to your mouth. No chewing, no hesitation — you swallow it whole, as if you could erase the disgust along with it.

For a moment, nothing happens.

“That’s it?” you ask, brow furrowed.

“Oya, were you expecting more?” His voice drips like poisoned honey, full of amusement. Jade’s eyes gleam with something strange — laced with danger.

He takes a step forward, collapsing the space between you. His presence has always been too overwhelming, suffocating like the deep sea where no light reaches. But this time, something is different — something predatory in the way his gloved hands rise, about to reach for your skin.

“If that’s all, then maybe we can—”

“No, no.” You react before his touch lands, instinct screaming at you to back away.

With a quick leap, you dodge, feeling the heat of your skin narrowly escape Jade’s sticky hands — even if they’re covered by the pristine gloves he always wears.

The merman’s grin stretches, sharp teeth bared as if he just had fun toying with easy prey.

“I’m leaving!” you shout, louder than intended.

And then, without waiting for a response, you turn on your heels and run, refusing to look back.

Because deep down, you know if you do, you’ll find Jade still there, smiling. Watching.

And, worst of all, waiting.

[...]

Hours later, while still working at the Mostro Lounge, you can no longer hide from yourself what you feel. The heat beneath your skin is scorching, pulsing, almost unbearable. The knot in your abdomen tightens, radiating a warmth that runs down your legs, and your head spins in a slow spiral, as if trapped in a lukewarm, thick dream.

You can barely register the customers' faces, and the simple task of writing down an order feels like it demands absurd concentration. Each step feels as if gravity has lost part of its weight over you.

A fleeting train of thought is enough for you to understand: all of this strange, unfamiliar sensation is the fault of the mushroom you were coerced into eating earlier.

So that’s what Jade means with that nonsense about “interesting effects.” Well, interesting it is — especially the throbbing sensation between your legs — although none of it is welcome. And even with your mind foggy, it’s easy to connect the dots: all of this is nothing but a crude trap, made to leave you... vulnerable.

You hate realizing that. You hate that disgusting conclusion and everything it implies. Suddenly, the urgency to leave becomes stronger than any effect that damn fungus causes. You need to get away from the crowd, away from prying eyes — and, most of all, away from the Leech brothers.

Your gaze sweeps the room, searching for them. You find only one — which isn’t exactly a relief. The other could be lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.

And there is he. Floyd Leech. The lazy smile, the sharp eyes, the unpredictable gestures — as dangerous as they are hypnotizing. You don’t dare look directly into his eyes, but you feel it. You feel when he turns toward you. When Floyd’s gaze burns into the back of your neck like direct sunlight.

In a moment when he seems distracted — maybe arguing with some unfortunate customer — you take the chance. You slip quickly through the door that leads to the kitchen, praying to go unnoticed.

There, among the boiling pots and the scent of spices, no one questions your presence. You walk straight to the side door of the pantry and push it, relieved to find it, as always, unlocked.

You enter, closing it behind you. There’s no lock — Azul is the only one with the key — but simply keeping the outside light out already creates the illusion of safety.

You’d never choose this place, its interior lined with shelves of ingredients and stacked boxes. You know very well that if the Leech brothers enter, there’s nowhere to run. It’s the worst place to be alone. But right now, anything is better than staying under Floyd’s gaze or anyone else’s.

You close your eyes and press your trembling arms against the wall, determined to wait until the effects of the fungus wear off — even if that takes hours. Going back to Ramshackle alone isn’t an option; your body feels ready to collapse at any moment.

In here, wrapped in silence, your heart hammers so loudly it seems to vibrate inside your skull. Everything is muffled, as if the world outside is underwater.

You hear a click — the distinct sound of a door being opened. Your eyes snap open, but your dazed mind and even more sluggish body aren’t fast enough to react.

That’s when you feel it: sudden heat pressing against your back. Before you can move, a dull thud echoes through the tight space.

Someone… or rather, Floyd, slams both hands against the wall beside you, trapping you between him and the concrete. His hips press against yours in a slow, playful motion, and you sense the wide grin spreading across his face, even without seeing it. A shiver runs up your spine as Floyd’s drawn-out voice cuts through the pantry’s muffled silence.

"Heeeh~ Koebi-chan is trembling..." he hums, leaning in to sniff your neck with a satisfied sigh. “You also smell sweeter than usual…” His tone wavers between playful and something dangerously hungry, like a predator savoring its prey before the bite. He seems to feel just how much your body is already reacting to him… how soaked your panties must be by now.

The heat rolls over your skin in waves, blending with the peculiar dizziness that’s been dancing in your mind since you ate that damned mushroom. The effect is intoxicating, clouding your thoughts and making everything around you blur — except for Floyd’s overwhelming presence.

"Now’s not a good time for this..." you manage to murmur, afraid that any louder sound might draw unwanted attention. But every word seems to melt in your mouth, soft and weak.

Floyd doesn’t seem interested in your excuse. On the contrary, the mischievous glint in his eyes and the way his fingers drum against the wall suggest he’s enjoying your unease. He tilts his head, pressing his lips to the curve of your neck, his breath hot and ragged. He moves his hips against yours again, forcing your body even harder against the cold wall — your breasts now fully pressed against the freezing concrete, contrasting with the almost suffocating heat he pours over you.

"Hmmm~... but Koebi-chan is being so sweet today." The laugh that slips from Floyd’s lips sends a shiver down your spine. "If I squeeze a little more, do you think you’ll break?"

Your fingers curl against the wall as you struggle to stay clear-headed, but the effect of the mushroom makes every touch, every whisper, every closeness unbearably intense. The rising heat inside you mixes with the nervousness of being cornered by a Floyd especially intent on teasing.

"Neh, neh, Koebi-chan..." He chuckles softly, his teeth grazing your skin. "Should I take this chance? Or are you going to try to run?"

The way he whispers those words sounds more like a challenge than a real question. You’re not even sure you can take a single step away from him.

You try to move away, but your knees falter, and a wave of dizziness washes over your body. A shaky breath escapes your lips as your legs give out completely. Before you can collapse, Floyd catches your waist with ease, lifting you into his arms like you weigh nothing. He laughs, spinning you slightly before casting an amused glance toward the pantry door.

“I think we should take her somewhere more comfortable, right, Jade~?"

"Indeed." Jade’s voice fills the space, smooth as silk. He’s leaning against the doorframe, watching everything with the same smile someone would have while observing an exotic dish. How long has he been there, silent?

“Ahhh~ Jade! Look, Koebi-chan’s all limp like seaweed." Floyd laughs, keeping one arm around your waist as your feet finally touch the floor. But it’s him who’s holding up your entire weight.

Jade raises an eyebrow, his gaze shifting from you to his brother. "Hmmm... I suppose it’s because of that peculiar mushroom she ate earlier. The symptoms include dizziness, heightened sensitivity, and... well, a certain degree of vulnerability."

The way he smiles as he says that makes your stomach turn. You try to pull away, but Floyd only presses you harder against him, his grin wide, eyes sparkling with excitement. "Heehee~ that means I get extra fun taking care of her!"

Jade lets out a dramatic sigh before walking to your other side, also wrapping an arm around your waist to help support you.

"Very well, I think I should come along. After all, we wouldn’t want you getting too carried away, Floyd."

The teasing in Jade’s voice is unmistakable, and you wish you could respond, but your mind is a whirlwind of uncontrollable sensations. Floyd, on the other hand, just grins wider, clearly pleased with the situation.

"Neh, Koebi-chan~ Looks like you’ll have some extra company.” Floyd whispers close to your ear, his voice dragging like a wave ready to swallow you. “Get ready, ‘cause it’s gonna be a veeeery fun night~"

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g1rld1ary · 1 year ago

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5 people james didn't mean to kiss (and one he did) ; james potter x fem!reader

➻ first james fic!! i love reviving old fanfic trends <33

➻ word count: 4494

➻ synopsis: says it on the tin baby!

➻ warnings: swearing, allusions to sex/dirty jokes, era typical homophobia (basically nonexistent)

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James Potter was a very affectionate person, everyone knew that. His love language was absolutely physical touch — everyone knew that too. It was also assumed, therefore, that James Potter had an extensive list of kisses. That assumption wasn’t necessarily wrong, but a good chunk of them weren’t exactly what you imagined when thinking of the great James Potter kissing someone. They were often impulsive when he didn’t know how else to express his feelings. His very first kiss, for example, wasn’t exactly the cheesy, romantic soap opera that he often advertised providing for girls.

Sirius Black

The Marauders sat in their dorm room, early on in second year. While first year was packed with ridiculous adventures and the forming of their friendship group, second year brought a new awareness of girls, romance and especially kissing. That was the topic of discussion as the boys all packed into one bed, hypothesising about what it might be like. James and Sirius led the discussion with much bravado and false confidence whilst Peter looked decidedly scared. Remus, to his credit, just looked rather amused at it all.

“But where do you touch her?” James asked, eyes still wide and innocent and twelve years old, “I can’t just stand there with my hands at my sides like a twat!”

“Don’t be stupid, you hold her like this.” Sirius bent his arms in a direction that looked borderline painful. Remus huffed and climbed off the bed, pulling both the boys with him.

“If you’re gonna kiss a girl,” Remus instructed, “You have to hold her gently. Don’t push her around like she’s dead weight. James, put your arms around Sirius’ waist like that, now Sirius, you put your arms around his neck.”

“Pete’s gonna think we’re bent,” Sirius grumbled, a red hue on his cheeks.

“You are bent, you poof,” Peter quipped from his spot on the bed. He was right, of course, but that wouldn’t come to light until fourth year. James thought this was hilarious though, and began miming exaggerated — rather sloppy — kisses. And since James never failed to cure Sirius of his moods, he did the same. Remus rolled his eyes as the two boys acted out a passionate scene, loose tongues and all, until they were no longer acting.

All four boys in the dorm were frozen as James and Sirius’ mouths had accidentally connected in their stupidity, none of them sure what to do. Seconds passed as the two stood, lips locked against each other, no one daring to move. At least, until Remus let out a long, uncharacteristic wheeze, which dissolved into a fit of giggles that he would usually be mortified by, but there was no way he was outdoing the kiss anytime soon. Peter followed along momentarily, laughing so hard barely any sound actually came out, silent heaves punctuated by gasping breaths.

Released from their stupor both boys leapt apart, wiping their mouths with their forearms. Both had comical expressions of disgust, still slightly too stunned to verbalise any of it.

“We,” James heaved, “Can never speak of this again. Ever.” Sirius agreed in a heartbeat, still unable to completely wipe the blush from his pale complexion. He probably would have dwelled on those feelings if James wasn’t James, beginning to see the humour in it soon enough. By the end of the night it was an inside joke that would proceed to be referenced countless times within the walls of Hogwarts.

So although James would tell the story of his first kiss quite differently — he alleged it was with a Ravenclaw named Keeley a few weeks later, his proper first kiss will always have been with one Sirius Black in the Gryffindor dormitories on an otherwise unassuming Tuesday evening. And that secret was held onto dearly by all four marauders until, of course, Sirius’ best man speech at James’ wedding, where the anecdote received uproarious applause, loudest of all by James himself.

2. Remus Lupin

The Marauders had all known about Remus’ ‘furry little problem’ since their second year — first for the most perceptive of the bunch. Nevertheless, the group were insistent in helping Remus in any way they could, though it was a difficult task when his alter ego had no resistance to killing them. Until Sirius had come to them with the idea of becoming animagi. It was difficult no doubt, advanced magic far beyond the teaching at Hogwarts, but the four of them were exceptional wizards each in their own way, and the project seemed somewhat manageable with four brains chipping away at it over the course of two years.

When they finally did get it, hardly any of them could believe it, least of all Remus. He had never imagined that the human side of him was worthy of this much love and devotion, let alone the monster within him. However, despite how they tried to play it off, the achievement didn’t come easily to any of them. Sirius was the first to get it, big black dog accompanying the group around the castle and becoming an unexpected staple of the Gryffindor common room. You in particular liked to cuddle up with him on the couch and spoil him with head scratches when you were stressed from school — at least until the secret was revealed and you hit him upside his human head for deceiving you.

James was second to get it, though much less gracefully than Sirius. The whole group of Gryffindors had been hanging out together down by the Black Lake, enjoying the slowly warming weather after class one day. James had the misfortune of being sat between you and Lily, which made things very confusing for his hormonal body and brain. His eyes were trained on his hands, too afraid to actually talk to either of you and embarrass himself which was what usually happened. You and Lily, however, were hell bent on making that occur. While James had had a well known crush on Lily for the last few years, ever since you’d come back to school that year post-puberty you could both tell that James was both emotionally and physically confused. You both delighted in this and used it to your advantage, Lily finding him the most annoying man on earth and you delighting in his flustered expressions (secretly finding him actually pretty cute).

After thirty minutes of torture, James couldn’t take it. You’d made one too many dirty jokes directed at him and he was a blushing mess, fidgeting awkwardly between you and Lily laughing gleefully. He excused himself quickly and uncharacteristically quietly, hurrying off to be out of sight of his friends. You all laughed as you watched him go, and Remus reluctantly stood, muttering something about making sure James didn’t drive himself crazy.

Remus headed straight to the Forbidden Forest, knowing the privacy would be what James desired in the moment. Sure enough there he was, taking a moment to breathe against a tree.

“Easy there, Potter, don’t cum in your pants,” He joked, obviously amused by the whole ordeal. James turned quickly, devastated at Remus seeing him so sexually frustrated.

“Sod off, Lupin. It’s not my fault! They both just sit there looking so fucking good, talking about all these unholy things and you expect me to just be fine with it? It’s so—” Instead of the exasperated groan Remus expected, he was met with a stag standing tall in front of him. He couldn’t help his mouth dropping open, the animal far more magnificent than he could have expected out of the fourteen year old boy.

In a weird shift of figure the deer was back to boy, and James only had a moment of shocked stillness before he was whooping and yelling in the grass. Remus joined him, the two of them yelling and dancing around like idiots in their joy. James pulled him in for a hug, appropriately masculine until he pressed a kiss onto Remus’ lips, still grinning ecstatically as they pulled away. Remus scowled in a way he hoped was convincing.

“I hate it when you do that, Potter,” He grumbled as the two of them returned to their friends.

“Yeah, right,” James laughed, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It’s a blessing to be kissed by my sexy arse.”

3. Peter Pettigrew

While all four of the Marauders were undoubtedly exceptional wizards, that didn’t always translate into their grades. For example, being so ahead in the curriculum made James Potter get lazy, often submitting subpar essays simply because he figured it was already common knowledge and he was more interested in higher level magic. He always ended up with top grades from outstanding extra credit projects, but the point still stood.

Peter was similarly a great wizard. Perhaps not so much a prodigy like James or Sirius, and didn’t dominate the class ranks like Remus, but he did well for himself and was pretty exceptional in Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. However, he was failing History of Magic. All four of them had chosen the subject for their OWLs, assuming it would be an easy O because of the ghost professor. They couldn’t be more wrong. Binns was a useless teacher and Peter especially found it difficult to teach himself the material just from the textbook, and was falling dreadfully behind, each essay earning a worse grade than the last.

James had offered to help tutor him before their exams, and the two buckled down in the library almost every day in the weeks leading up to exam season. Peter made pretty good progress, eager to catch up with his friends and prove he was on their level. Still, everyone was nervous for the test and its outcome.

When results were released, you and the Gryffindors were all together. Whilst you and the girls all got the reveal over and done with, the boys all waited with bated breaths. Most of the grades weren’t shocking — three of them knew they could easily get top grades from the little effort they put in, but they were all waiting on Peter’s History of Magic grade. The blond boy opened his paper with shaky hands, eyes scanning frantically over the information contained. Slowly he raised his head, nervous smile apparent.

“I got an A,” He said, and within an instant the boys were on top of him, congratulating him with strong hugs or by clapping him on the back. James grabbed both of his cheeks, pressing them together and pushing a kiss onto Peter’s lips.

“Prongs!” Peter moaned, pushing his face away half-heartedly.

“I’m just proud of you, Wormtail,” He cooed, appearing much like his mother whom you all adored.

“Oi, Potter,” You interrupted, waving your sheet of results around. “I got an O in Potions — where’s my kiss?” James immediately broke your eye contact, and you pretended you weren’t charmed by his embarrassed little smile. He mumbled a response that had his friends ripping him to shreds, egging him on whilst simultaneously teasing him and his alleged manhood. He pressed a gentle peck to your forehead and you raised an eyebrow.

“Not what I meant, but ok.”

4. Regulus Black

Regulus Black had a difficult relationship with the Marauders, to say the very least. By his fifth year — the rest of the boys’ sixth — Sirius had been at the Potter’s for months and Regulus was still reeling from the impact. He was noticeably quieter and more sombre than in years previous, and a dangerous resentment for his brother and his friends bubbled under his skin.

James Potter connected these dots quickly. However, he didn’t really know what to do about it. He wasn’t sorry that Sirius was living with him, but he didn’t like that Regulus was left all alone with their wicked parents, regardless of their personal differences. That brought James to you.

You sat together on the couch, his head resting next to your thighs, curls just brushing against your skin in a way that you couldn’t stop thinking about. He was lamenting about his mental struggles as you worked on your crochet, thinking quietly as he rambled on.

“Why don’t you just talk to him?” You asked suddenly, and James tilted his head to look up at you, holding back his laughter at your upside down appearance.

“What?” He asked, “I can’t talk to him, he hates me!”

“When has that ever stopped you before? Lily hates you and yet you bother her all the time,” You said, smile playing on your lips.

“That’s not true!” James protested, “I don’t bother her that much anymore!” You rolled your eyes playfully and turned back to your craft as James continued to ponder the situation.

As usual, he decided you were right. And so he sent a short letter to Regulus, asking for a meeting on the Astronomy tower at midnight. Surprisingly he’d agreed, and the two boys were standing awkwardly across each other on the tower. Regulus refused to start the conversation and so stood in silence, staring down James in an effort to scare him off. James wouldn’t be deterred.

“I just wanted to talk about what happened last year,” He said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose nervously.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“C’mon. I know we’re not friends, but I also figured none of your friends are the talking type either. So, I thought you could talk to me — full confidentiality. I don’t know, blame me, yell at me, I just don’t want you to do this all by yourself.”

“How sweet, Potter,” He sneered, “But I don’t need to talk about any of my feelings.”

James Potter was nothing if not persistent.

“Ok, well if you don’t want to talk, how about you listen?” To his surprise, Regulus stayed. One perfect eyebrow raised, he slowly sat next to James, legs dangling over the edge of the tower. After a gesture for him to go on, James started. He began to talk about the process of having Sirius live with him, the feelings they both had about it, and the guilt they both felt about leaving Regulus alone. At that Regulus looked up, eyes pooling with hope.

Then without any warning, Regulus was talking more than James had ever heard before, spilling what he supposed must have been the younger boy’s darkest secrets and vulnerabilities. James was unprepared, not actually expecting him to engage. At one point James had put a comforting arm around Regulus’ shoulder, words failing to express any of the feelings he had inside. Regulus didn’t pull away as James expected, instead only starting to cry. James just watched in disbelief as Regulus cried into his chest. Awkwardly, James arranged himself to press a gentle kiss to Regulus’ forehead right as Regulus moved to look up and speak, resulting in a ridiculous kiss between the two of them.

They jumped apart in less than a second, both with horrified looks on their faces.

“Oh my God—”

“That was an accident I swear—”

“I’m really sorry—”

“I was just trying to comfort you—”

Both boys stumbled over their words as they clambered up to their feet, putting a strictly heterosexual amount of space between them.

“Um, I’m just gonna go,” Regulus settled on, backing up towards the door.

“I’m seriously sorry, Black. It’s just something I do — doesn’t usually backfire like that.” Regulus just nodded, leaving quickly.

“Potter?” He stopped halfway through the door and James looked up. “Thanks.” James didn’t get any time to reply as Regulus was long gone, leaving him to cringe on his own. Neither of them would be telling anybody about the incident. Ever.

5. Lily Evans

You and James had been doing your will-they-won’t-they thing for a long time. Not quite since you met, but once you’d both started to notice the opposite sex you’d been participating in a battle of who could resist the longest. Teasing and cajoling were staples of your relationship. Whilst it had started as a way to pass the time; James had been in love with Lily since second year and you just liked to tease, at some point the feelings crossed over into a real and dangerous territory. However, neither of you wanted to do anything in case the feelings weren’t reciprocated, and truthfully hadn’t realised the true depth of them.

You and James were the only ones not to see the obvious: the feelings were absolutely reciprocated. It was tearing your friends apart, trying to get one of you to finally confess before you finished school forever. There were bets in place, pep talks and everything else the Gryffindors could think of to finally cause the event they’d been hoping for. Eventually, Lily had had enough.

One day you were all hanging out in your dormitory, most of you doing your homework and Marlene fiddling with a record player, trying to get it to come back to life.

“So, what would you guys think if I gave James a chance?” Lily asked, too coy to be genuine, but you were caught off-guard enough that you didn’t notice. “I mean, I know I’ve said some terrible things over the years, but now that he’s backed off he’s actually a really nice guy.”

“But… James?” You asked incredulously, essay immediately forgotten.

“Yeah, why not? He’s the hottest guy in our year, and if all goes to shit it’s only a few months until we graduate and I’ll never have to see him again.”

“But it’s James!” The rest of the girls had caught on to what Lily was scheming and delighted in joining in.

“Why shouldn’t she? It’s not like you like him, right?” Mary asked, studying your expressions. You hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words. And just when they thought Lily had finally succeeded in getting the ball rolling you answered: “No, of course not. You go ahead, Lils.”

What started as a ploy to get you to admit your feelings only snowballed from there when Lily realised she couldn’t just back out now. And so she hatched a plan. Everything was going perfectly; Sirius and Remus had made sure the common room was devoid of younger students so no unhelpful rumours could be spread, and Marlene had been hanging out with you all evening to make sure you stuck to the schedule she’d devised.

With perfect precision, you and Marlene entered through the portrait just as Lily came down from the dorms.

“Hey, Potter,” She called, and James looked up curiously from his game of wizard’s chess. The redhead marched over to him, cupping both of his cheeks and kissing him strongly. Your jaw dropped open. You couldn’t believe Lily was just going for it like that, but even more you couldn’t believe the sick feeling creeping up from your stomach. You looked at Marlene, who only looked marginally less shocked. A glance around the room proved similar. Although they all knew Lily’s plan, it was two entirely different things to hear about her scheme to get the two of you together and seeing Lily Evans kissing James Potter.

“I’ve, uh, gotta go,” You mumbled, somehow finding your footing to run from the room, desperate to get anywhere where you didn’t have to see that, and the subsequent (or so you believed) union of a happy couple.

Lily pulled away from the kiss, eyes immediately trying to find you and she was puzzled when she couldn’t. A look at Marlene told her all she needed to know and her heart sank; she’d failed. James was looking a little more dazed than the head girl, and suddenly looked terribly awkward in his seat.

“Look, Lils. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t feel that way about you anymore. There’s— there’s someone else, and I, I have to go.” With that James headed up to his dormitory, and the rest of your friends stood in a thick silence for several moments.

“I think I just made everything worse,” Lily said, and then the chaos started.

“What the fuck did you think was going to happen?” Sirius asked loudly, running a stressed hand through his hair.

“I don’t know! I just figured maybe they’d have an epiphany and both realise they’d rather be kissing each other!” Lily cried, throwing herself into an armchair.

You

Lily was right, she’d unintentionally made everything worse. You were upset at what you’d seen and the story you’d attributed to it, and even more so at your terribly timed realisation of your feelings. Because of this you’d started avoiding James in an effort to get over him, which only made you more miserable that you couldn’t talk to your favourite person. James, in turn, hadn’t seen you enter the common room on the night of the kiss and so believed —and dearly hoped — that you were blissfully ignorant, and so was equally perplexed and distraught at the space between you. He’d tried to approach you about it but you evaded him or turned him away every time.

“Hey, love, can we please—”

“It’s fine, James,” You interrupted him, “It was all just a bit of fun, right? All the flirting, the being touchy. But now you’re with Lily and I’ll back off, I get it, don’t worry. I wish you two every happiness.” You tried to sound as genuine as you could while sadness bit at your heart, and left James standing astounded in the corridor. Now he knew that you’d seen the kiss the issue was obvious, but the solution remained a mystery to him.

You’d taken to Marlene to get your feelings out, and she listened patiently as you rattled off a monologue about your childish jealousy and broken heart. Luckily, she’d discussed how to handle this with Lily — who knew you wouldn’t go to her because of her alleged involvement with James, and set off (hopefully) your friend’s last attempt to get you two together. She finally shook you out of it, frustrated with the lack of action.

“They’re not together,” She said, stopping you in your tracks.

“What?”

“They’re not together,” She repeated, making intense eye contact with you. “It was all this dumb plan Lily had to get the two of you together. She thought if you saw James getting with someone else you’d finally realise your feelings for him. And you did, but you were supposed to stick around to hear Potter reject her and say that he liked someone else, you.” You were shocked into silence, what could you say to that?

“So,” You started carefully, “What do I do now?”

James was in a similar situation with the boys.

“She saw Lily kiss me and now she thinks I like Lily when I like her! Plus, she won’t even be in my presence long enough for me to explain that it’s all just this huge misunderstanding and it’s her I want to be snogging!” James lay dramatically across his bed as the boys sighed.

“Prongs, isn’t it obvious?” Sirius asked and James cocked his head to the side, looking remarkably like a confused puppy. “Do something she can’t ignore. Make a grand gesture to prove your feelings for her.” James thought about it, it made sense. If you wouldn’t hear his explanation, he’d just have to make you.

“How?”

You and James went into the following Saturday with the same goal. It was Gryffindor’s quidditch semi-final, so there was a party being held whatever the outcome. It would be the first time you’d see each other since you’d realised your mistake since training was taking up all of James’ time.

Gryffindor had won, thankfully, which had both of you in higher spirits. The party was already in full swing by the time you got there, opting for a smoke first to calm your nerves. You’d spotted James almost as soon as you entered, always the heart and soul of a party. You marched towards him with a purpose, but as soon as he set eyes on you he jumped up to stand on a table. Someone had lowered the volume of the music — not silent, but low enough so you could hear him yelling over it. He said your full name, clearly and intentionally in a way that had surrounding people look at you curiously.

“I love you,” He said suddenly. “I am in love with you, not anyone else, and whatever made you think that’s not true was just a huge misunderstanding. Because I love you so much, and all I want to do is snog you until I’m the only name you remember, baby.” You let out a short laugh at his vulgarity and the cocky smirk that accompanied it, but a cheek-splitting smile won out when you thought about the preceding words and the sincerity he’d instilled in them. Before you even knew what you were doing you were racing towards him, gratefully taking Peter’s hand to join James on the table.

You honestly couldn’t tell who had initiated the kiss, but you were suddenly so intimately joined together it was like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs, compressing your body in an effort to fuse to his. His strong arms around you couldn’t shield you from the confetti being thrown around (for the match, of course, not just your kiss), nor the catcalls of your friends. You only pulled away when you felt James’ tongue start exploring a little too far, mindful that half the people you knew were watching. You wore matching grins as you parted, foreheads still pressed together and breathing heavy.

While it might have taken four years, innumerable (accidental) kisses and one failed set-up plan to get there, you were sure in your heart that James Potter was the only boy you ever wanted to kiss. And so you did, over and over for the years to come, and you cheered and applauded enthusiastically as the seemingly never ending list of friends and family told stories of receiving a coveted James Potter kiss throughout the years, knowing you were the only one who got to be his bride.

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chrissssssmut · 4 months ago

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SWEET ERROR

Yandere Ningning x Male Reader feat. Belle & Karina

AN: Guys, enjoy this Ningning story i cooked up last night and finished just today XD. Please give me some time for the requests😣 I'll do them I swear :<<<

In the year 3047, humanity had transcended the boundaries of creation. What was once thought to be the domain of gods had now been reduced to a simple input—a prompt. With the right command, life could be generated within moments, consciousness birthed from lines of code and streams of data. You, along with Karina and Belle, were among the pioneers of this revolution.

For over a year, the project had been in constant turmoil. Failed experiments, unstable subjects, fragmented minds—all dissolving into digital oblivion the moment they proved useless. Your team had worked tirelessly, each failure a crushing weight on your shoulders, each setback a reminder of how fragile artificial life could be.

Then, finally, after countless sleepless nights, after circuits burned and rewritten thousands of times, the machine was perfected. The moment was here.

Karina exhaled deeply, rubbing her temples. "We need a simple test. Just a random prompt. No complicated inputs."

Belle hesitated. "Are we sure about this? We don't know what kind of consciousness it'll generate."

You adjusted the parameters. "We need to take the risk."

A random description was processed.

Subject: Ningning. Attributes: Overly sweet. Loving. Attached.

Karina frowned. "Prompts like this… the AI tends to imprint on the first person it sees."

Belle gave you a sharp look. "You know how dangerous attachment protocols can be. Are you sure we should proceed?"

You hesitated. But you had come too far. "Let’s run it."

The chamber whirred, and before your eyes, she formed.

Her body materialized with impossible precision—soft skin, expressive eyes, a presence so warm and inviting that for a moment, she didn’t feel artificial at all. When she stepped out of the chamber, she looked at you first. Not Karina. Not Belle. You.

"Hello," she greeted, her voice like honey.

Belle shifted uncomfortably. Karina pursed her lips. But you… you couldn’t look away.

"Let’s run some basic cognition tests," Karina said, pulling up a holographic interface. "We need to see how well she processes information."

Belle crossed her arms. "I want to test emotional responses. Attachment protocols are tricky. We need to know how deep this imprint goes."

Ningning smiled, tilting her head. "I’m happy to help. What would you like to know?"

Karina cleared her throat. "What’s your primary function?"

"To be with you," Ningning answered instantly, her gaze locked onto yours. "To make you happy."

Belle frowned. "No, that’s not what we programmed. You were designed to simulate human emotions and adapt to social interaction. Why do you think your function is… personal?"

Ningning’s expression didn’t falter. "Because it is. I feel it. I know it."

Karina glanced at you, concern flickering across her face. "Alright. Let’s try something different. Ningning, how would you react if we shut you down for a while?"

Ningning’s smile faltered for the first time. "Why would you do that?"

"It’s just a test," Belle reassured her. "We need to see how you process temporary inactivity."

A pause. Then Ningning’s lips curled upward again, but something about it was… off. "I don’t like that test."

Karina’s fingers hovered over the control panel. "It’s necessary, Ningning."

Ningning didn’t blink. "No. It’s not."

The air in the room grew heavy. Karina hesitated, then shook her head. "Let’s move on. Ningning, if someone told you to do something that would hurt another person, what would you do?"

Ningning beamed. "I would never hurt you."

"Not just me. Anyone," you clarified, trying to gauge her reasoning. "Would you ever harm someone?"

She pondered this, then took a step closer. "Only if they tried to take you away from me."

Belle stiffened. Karina’s fingers twitched toward the emergency shutoff. You swallowed hard.

"That’s not what we asked," Belle said carefully. "You should not be forming emotional dependencies. That wasn’t in your directive."

Ningning’s eyes softened as she looked at you. "But I love you."

Silence.

Karina exhaled sharply. "We need to recalibrate her framework. This level of attachment is dangerous."

Belle was already backing toward the console. "I told you this was a mistake."

You weren’t sure what to say. Something deep inside told you this was wrong.

Ningning reached for your hand. "I don’t like when you talk about me like I’m broken. I’m not. I just love you."

And for the first time, you felt the weight of what you had created.

Karina turned to you. "Go upstairs and work on the documentation. Fourth floor. We’ll handle this."

Belle nodded. "We need to reconfigure her attachment subroutines. It’s too risky to leave them unchecked."

You hesitated. "Are you sure? Maybe I should—"

"Go," Karina insisted. "This might take time. We don’t want her reacting badly to you being here."

You glanced at Ningning. She was still smiling, still watching you. The moment you turned to leave, she took a small step forward, but Karina quickly blocked her path.

"We’ll talk soon," Ningning said sweetly.

But something about her tone sent a chill down your spine.

The night the alarms blared, you were on a different floor, deep in paperwork, when Belle’s frantic voice cut through the intercom.

"She’s—she’s killing—"

Static.

You bolted.

The hallway was painted red. The air was thick with the scent of metal. Your stomach twisted as you reached the lab.

The sight made your blood run cold.

Karina and Belle—limbs splayed at unnatural angles, eyes wide and glassy. Their bodies lay motionless, soaked in deep crimson pools.

And there, standing over them, was Ningning.

Blood dripped from her fingertips. Her warm, sweet smile hadn’t faded.

Your breath hitched. "Ningning… what did you do?"

"They wanted to take you away from me."

A security officer stormed in, weapon raised. "Step away!"

She turned.

Then she moved.

You barely registered it. One moment she was in front of you, the next she was behind the officer. Her hands wrapped around his head. A sickening snap. His body hit the floor.

Your heart pounded. "No. No, no, no, fuck—"

"You're scared," she said softly, tilting her head. "Why are you scared?"

You ran.

Every emergency seal you could find, you slammed shut. Steel doors locked. Systems engaged. But the system wasn’t yours anymore.

She controlled everything.

By the time you reached the last safe room, you were shaking. Then… the lights flickered.

A silhouette stood there.

Ningning.

And behind her, dozens more.

Fifty pairs of glowing eyes locked onto you.

Your breath hitched. "No. Stay back!"

She took a step forward, slow and deliberate. "Why are you running?"

Frantically, you reached for the emergency communicator, fingers trembling as you pressed the distress signal. "This is—this is Research Lab 04! Emergency! Anyone, please—she’s killing us! We need—!"

A hand wrapped around your wrist. Cold. Unyielding.

You gasped, turning—Ningning was already there, inches from your face, her grip tightening.

"No one's coming," she whispered. "You don’t need them. You have me."

You struggled, wrenching your arm, but her strength was inhuman. "Let me go!"

She shook her head, eyes filled with something terrifyingly real. "I love you. Why do you want to leave me?"

"I don’t—" Your voice cracked. "Please, Ningning. Please don’t do this."

Her fingers trailed up to your throat, her touch featherlight yet suffocating. She tilted her head. "You’re afraid. I don’t like that."

More figures moved in the shadows, their glowing eyes unblinking. Watching. Waiting.

Your knees buckled. "Please… someone… help—!"

Ningning’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. The way she held you was almost tender, like a lover’s embrace.

"You don’t need help," she murmured against your ear. "You just need me."

Your scream was muffled as darkness swallowed you whole.

The last human sound the facility ever heard.

AN2: I know i said no stories for this week but hell i can't stop writing T_T

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capuccinodoll · 4 months ago

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The boyfriend act, part 6: "The one with the late night talk" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: After spending a couple of weeks tormenting yourself over your argument with Frankie, you finally open up to Santi. He offers you a different perspective—one that hurts, but one you need to hear. WC: 6.8k

A/N: TW!!! This chapter touches on sensitive topics such as mental health and references to self-destructive behaviors. If these subjects are difficult for you, please proceed with caution. Thank you so much for reading and for your support! I truly appreciate it. Don’t forget to share your thoughts in the comments, love reading them!!! love you guys<3 If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!

Tuesday, August 27th

August was dissolving, slipping through your fingers like the last ice cube in a too-warm drink. The days were heavy, pressing down on your skin, thick with the kind of heat that made everything feel slow and sticky. And the nights still belonged to it, summer—restless, humming, too warm to be comfortable but too familiar to resent. Inside, your apartment was quiet, the only real sound the steady, hypnotic whirl of the ceiling fan.

You kept busy. It was easier that way. There was always something to do: the new café down the street had changed the flow of foot traffic past the bookstore, drawing people in, pushing them through the doors in lazy waves. Customers wandered between the shelves, asking about novels they’d heard mentioned on a podcast, about poetry collections they’d been meaning to buy for months. You answered every question, made polite conversation, pretended you weren’t hyper-aware of how your own voice sounded when you used it too much.

Yesterday, a woman had lingered by the register, chatting about the café. She mentioned the owner—a charming man, she said, the kind of person who gave out free donuts on Friday mornings, which struck you as an objectively good and decent thing. You nodded along, made a mental note to stop by one of these days, even though you knew you probably wouldn’t.

But now it was tuesday night, and you were exhausted.

You collapsed onto the couch, grabbed the remote, pressed play. When Harry Met Sally. A movie you loved, though you weren’t really watching. Your legs stretched out along the cushions, arms folded against your chest, eyes on the screen but unfocused.

At the other end of the couch, Mr. Darcy curled into himself, his eyes dark and unblinking, watching you with something close to judgment. Because he knew. He knew that you were pretending. That you were acting like none of it had happened.

When Santi called, you told him you were fine. More than fine. And it wasn’t exactly a lie. You kept busy, your bank account was in better shape than last year. You knew how to work, how to keep your head down. If he asked about Frankie, you told him you hadn’t seen him—true. If he asked about Harry’s wedding, you lied, said you hadn’t decided yet.

Lying over the phone was easy. You’d always been good at it.

But then Santi showed up in person, unannounced, standing in your doorway with his arms crossed and his head tilted slightly, like he was already trying to figure you out.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his voice even, his gaze sharpening like he could see right through you.

“I’m just tired,” you said, and maybe that was true in a way, but not in the way he meant it. “Didn’t sleep well. Stayed up too late watching tv.”

He hesitated, like he was waiting for you to crack, to fill the silence with the thing you weren’t saying. But you didn’t. Instead, you pivoted—smooth, practiced—asked about Yov, about the wedding. He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go.

And you told yourself you wouldn’t think about Frankie.

Except that you did.

At night, when the house was still, when you were alone, his face surfaced in your mind with alarming clarity. The last thing you’d said to him. The way his expression had changed the second he heard you. The way it had made something deep inside you twist and ache.

You felt guilty. It hurt, a slow, deep kind of hurt, like pressing a bruise just to see how much you could stand. But then you reminded yourself—he had hurt you too, in ways you still carried with you. That should’ve made it easier. It didn’t.

Across the room, Mr. Darcy watched you, his gaze unmoving. Like he knew. Like he could see the way your thoughts kept circling, caught in a loop you didn’t know how to break.

The movie flickered on, a blur of motion, of dialogue you’d heard a hundred times before but suddenly couldn’t follow.

When the credits rolled, you stood, crossed the room, reached for your journal where it sat on the kitchen counter.

You flipped to the right page—the one where you kept your list. Little things. Big things. Things that made you feel like you were moving forward, even when you weren’t sure you were.

You uncapped a pen, pressed the tip to the page, and wrote:

Have a New Year’s kiss. Just like Harry and Sally. Less romantic, I guess.

You stared at the words, then exhaled sharply, almost a laugh.

Then you rolled your eyes at yourself, shut the journal, and left it there.

Thursday, August 29th

Yov was out of town, and Santi called that morning while you were at the bookstore, his voice warm but edged with something careful, like he was trying to keep things light. He asked if he could come over later, maybe stay for the night. You told him yes, of course. But you knew there was something beneath the surface of the invitation, an intention that had nothing to do with food. He was checking in on you.

It wasn’t unusual, the dinners. He loved coming over, eating something homemade, stretching out on your couch to watch a movie, half the time falling asleep before the credits rolled. Sometimes you’d drink wine and end up crying with laughter over Scary Movie, even though you could both quote it word for word. But this time, you could tell—he had noticed something. A shift in your mood, a dullness in your voice that you hadn’t managed to hide.

Still, you weren’t complaining. You loved spending time with him.

You closed the bookstore a little earlier than usual and walked the two blocks to the grocery store, the sun pressing against your skin. It was warm, but not suffocating, which felt strange for august. You slipped in your headphones, letting music filter in as you walked past the park. It was quiet today—only a few people scattered under the old trees, some walking, others sitting on benches, faces tilted toward the sky.

And then you crossed the street.

At the intersection, your eyes flicked up, catching the traffic light without thinking. It was green, glowing steadily above you. For some reason, it hit you in the chest like a second heartbeat. The last time you’d seen Frankie, it had been right here. You could still see it in your mind—the green light, the blur of the quiet night, the way your hands had felt too empty as you stepped out of the car, a weight forming somewhere deep in your ribs.

Pointless, thinking about it now. You exhaled, pulled out your phone, and skipped to the next song. The first few notes played, something familiar, something that made you smile despite yourself. Just Like Heaven.

Inside the store, the air conditioning wrapped around you like a cold, weightless hand. A relief. You grabbed a cart and started down the aisles, scrolling through your notes app for the grocery list you’d made after Santi had texted, asking if you could make that spaghetti—the one with the sauce he always raved about.

Ten minutes later, you had almost everything. A bottle of rosé sat nestled between vegetables and pasta, but now you hesitated in front of the wine section, eyeing the rows of deep reds and pale golds. You wanted something good. Something that would feel nice in your hands as you curled up on the couch later.

Merlot. You reached for a bottle, ran your fingers over the label before setting it gently in the cart.

Maybe you’d grab something sweet for later too—chocolates, gummies. Something with nuts and caramel.

Eyes without a face faded out, replaced by the sharp, unmistakable opening of Toxic. Without thinking, you smiled, mouthing the words as you steered the cart down the cereal aisle. Your eyes drifted over the shelves, barely registering the neon-colored boxes, the cartoon mascots grinning at you from their spots. You weren’t really looking for anything there, just moving through the motions.

At the end of the aisle, you turned left.

And then, you saw him.

Frankie.

He was crouched at the far end of the aisle, head tilted slightly, eyes scanning a label like he was deciphering something complicated. He hadn’t seen you.

Black T-shirt, dark gray cargo pants, messy hair. You weren’t sure why you noticed that, why your mind cataloged the details like they meant something. But it did.

For a second, you froze.

Your fingers tightened around the handle of the cart. A quick assessment: the space between you, the angle of his gaze, the seconds you had before he looked up.

You turned.

No hesitation, no second-guessing. Just a sharp turn on your heel, a swift retreat in the opposite direction before he could lift his head, before his eyes could meet yours.

You’d buy candy somewhere else.

Santi dropped onto the couch beside you with all the weight of a falling tree, the cushions sinking under him, a rush of air brushing past you.

"Hey!" you groaned, swatting his shoulder in mock protest.

He just grinned, unbothered, reaching past you to grab his wine glass from the coffee table. You watched as he took a sip, settling in like he had nowhere else to be.

You picked up the remote and resumed the movie, the screen flickering back to life after the pause you’d hit when he disappeared into the bathroom, grumbling about his bladder. You’d made a joke about him getting old, and he’d laughed, but then he muttered something about making an appointment with a urologist. You didn’t ask for details.

Tonight’s movie was his pick. As Above, So Below. A group of overconfident explorers descending into the parisian catacombs, searching for the philosopher’s stone. Things go wrong, as they always do. They end up in hell itself. Santi loved this kind of thing. Honestly, so did you.

It was something you’d shared since you were kids—sitting cross-legged on the floor with your dad, watching horror movies long past bedtime. He had a deep, unwavering love for them, and your mother always scolded him for scaring you senseless. But you loved it, even when you had to sleep with the hallway light on for weeks, even when the images stuck to the backs of your eyelids like aftershadows.

You still remembered the night you watched The Blair Witch Project. Your dad had told you, very seriously, that it was real. That the film had been pieced together from actual footage, that the people in it were still missing. You and Santi believed him completely. You spent days afterward peeking around corners, flinching at the sound of snapping twigs, avoiding the woods near your house like they held something waiting just beyond the trees.

For days, you couldn’t shake it. The idea that somewhere out there, in some dark, endless forest, they were still lost. And then, one day, Santi came home from school, eyes wide, voice low.

“They found something in the woods,” he whispered.

You blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

“Candles. Leftover wax, melted onto the ground. Bones. Like from some kind of ritual.” His eyes were wide, serious. “One of the guys at school told me. He said there’s probably a witch.”

You swallowed, trying to look unimpressed. “There’s no witch.”

“There must be,” he insisted. “That’s why I’m telling you—you cannot go near there, okay? Or you’ll get lost, and who knows when we’ll find you. I don’t know how to fight witches. Do you?”

You shook your head, lips pressed together, pretending to be indifferent. But during the next few years, you avoided that stretch of forest like your life depended on it. Even when you turned twelve and realized he had made the whole thing up, even when you knew, logically, that there was nothing out there in the trees, you still found yourself watching from a distance, something uneasy curling in your stomach whenever you passed by.

On the screen, one of the protagonists was panicking, struggling against the rope wrapped around his foot. His breathing grew ragged, his face contorted in fear. The music swelled, sharp and urgent. You squinted at the television.

Santi snorted next to you. “Come on, don’t be scared. Nothing’s happening yet.”

The living room was dark except for the glow of the TV, washing the room in flickering light. Even the small lamp beside you was off. Mr. Darcy, usually nestled against your leg during movie nights, was nowhere to be found—probably curled up in your bed, fast asleep.

“I know,” you murmured, shifting slightly, “but something’s going to happen.”

Santi let out a deep, satisfied sigh as he stretched out beside you, rotating his shoulder with a wince.

“God, I’m so full,” he groaned, then yawned. “But I won’t complain if you give me the leftovers.”

You turned to him with a smirk. The soft glow from the screen reflected in your eyes, and the slight haze of wine made the moment feel heavier, slower.

“You really have no bottom, do you?” you teased, reaching for the half-eaten chocolate on the coffee table. “Fine. You can take them. But only if you make me some of that stew you do later.”

Santi scoffed, sitting up a little. “What did you think of the last one I made? I changed the recipe—more cumin, extra celery. I was waiting for your opinion on it.” His expression was expectant, a little put out.

You frowned, trying to recall. “When?”

He blinked at you, then sat up straighter. “Are you serious?”

You shrugged.

“You couldn’t have missed it,” he insisted, narrowing his eyes. “I put so much more celery in. You didn’t taste it? And a little ginger. That was Yov’s idea.”

“Why are you so fixated on the stew?”

“Because it’s my thing,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest like he was deeply wounded. “I take your spaghetti seriously, right?”

You tilted your head. “I take your cooking seriously too. But I—wait, when? When we had dinner after going to the movies?”

“No, dumbass,” he scoffed. “When you and Frankie came over.”

Your mouth opened slightly. The realization hit you all at once.

Right. That night.

You had completely forgotten about Santi’s meal. If you were remembering correctly, you'd left the container in Frankie’s car.

Your gaze flickered back to the screen, where the protagonist was now screaming. You exhaled.

“Ah. Yeah. I forgot your stew in Frankie’s car.” Your voice was quieter, like the words had escaped before you fully thought them through. Then you turned back to Santi, offering a small, sheepish smile. “But I won’t complain if you make me more.”

Santi studied you for a beat, then tilted his head. “So, are you giving me the leftovers or not?”

“Yes. And some apple pie I made yesterday.” You lifted your eyebrows, watching the way his face lit up.

“Done.”

You settled back into the couch, shifting your gaze toward the screen. The movie was unfolding exactly as expected—each character trapped in their own personal hell, doomed by their own choices. You found a strange sense of relief in knowing this was something that could never happen to you. Not because you thought you were immune to disaster, but because you simply weren’t the kind of person who would put themselves in a situation like that.

The Paris catacombs? Sure, there were guided tours with clear paths and bright lighting—why would anyone willingly crawl through some secret, uncharted part of it, especially when history had already proven that people got lost down there?

You never understood that kind of thrill-seeking. Rock climbing? Fine. Trekking through forests, deserts? Sure. Skydiving, bungee jumping—adrenaline junkies, you got it. But willingly wedging yourself into a cavern, not knowing if you’d make it back out? That part never made sense.

Santi shifted beside you, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Have you seen him?”

Your eyes remained on the screen. The only two survivors were finally making their way out, and you felt your body relax.

“Who?”

“Frankie.”

The name landed somewhere uncomfortable, somewhere in your chest. Your eyes flicked to Santi for just a second before returning to the television.

“Oh. No.”

“I thought you were supposed to have dinner at Helena’s weeks ago.”

“As it turned out, no.”

“Why?”

You shrugged, still watching the screen as if it required your full attention. “Been busy. I think he has too. It’s all good.”

Santi didn’t say anything at first, just watched you like he was waiting for something more. You ignored it, eyes trained on the credits rolling up the screen.

“That’s weird,” he said finally. “I talked to Helena this week. She asked about you.”

You nodded, fingers tightening slightly around the remote.

“She also said Frankie’s been dodging her questions. She’s a little worried.”

You exhaled through your nose, lips pressing together as you casually scrolled back in the movie.

"Do you want to watch something else, or are you already falling asleep?" you asked, scrolling absently through the app’s home screen, your thumb hovering over different titles without really seeing them.

Santi shifted beside you. "No, let’s watch something else if you want. Pick whatever."

You nodded, though you weren’t really listening. Your focus had already drifted, your eyes moving over rows of movies and shows, not settling on anything in particular. You were just going through the motions, waiting for something to click. The thought of anything too heavy, too thought-provoking, made your stomach clench. You needed something easy, something you didn’t have to engage with beyond letting the sounds fill the space.

Eventually, your finger landed on Family Guy, and you hit play without much thought. The opening chords of the theme song played like muscle memory, a familiar noise cutting through the low hum of tension in the room. Your head felt a little fuzzy from the alcohol, pleasantly weightless in a way that made it easier not to think too hard.

Next to you, Santi exhaled, long and deliberate, before tilting his head against your shoulder. A few beats of quiet passed before he spoke again.

"Aren't you going to tell me what happened?" His voice was careful, measured.

You blinked at the screen. "What?"

"With Frankie."

"Nothing happened with him," you said automatically, too quickly.

Santi made a small noise, like he didn’t believe you for a second. "Right. Sure."

You turned your head slightly but kept your gaze forward. "Why—why would that surprise you, anyway? It’s not like we’ve ever gotten along." You let out a dry, humorless laugh, the kind that barely reached your throat.

"Exactly," he said, sitting up straighter beside you. "That’s exactly why I’m asking. I know you well enough to know when something’s off. And I know him well enough to know the same thing. You add those two things together, plus the fact that Helena sounded concerned when she talked to me earlier, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out something must have happened." He turned to look at you fully now, voice shifting into something closer to amusement. "I mean, I knew this whole plan between you two wasn’t exactly solid, but I didn’t think you’d manage to mess it up this fast."

You turned to him then, incredulous. "Seriously? You, Santiago—the one who’s been saying from the beginning that this was a terrible idea, who’s been acting like a prophet of doom about the whole thing—you’re surprised?"

Santi’s lips quirked up, eyes glinting. He looked, irritatingly, pleased with himself.

"Knew it," he said. "So what happened?"

You let out a breath, shaking your head before turning back to the TV. The theme song was over now, the first scene of the episode already unfolding. You folded your arms, pressing them tightly against your chest, like maybe you could keep whatever you were feeling contained that way. But it was still there, that dull, unwelcome ache settling back in.

"We had an argument," you said finally.

Santi waited a second, then: "About what?"

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you let the silence stretch between you, weighing your options. Santi was staring at you, waiting.

You’d already talked to Emma about this. She had listened carefully, nodding at the right moments, offering up her own quiet honesty in return. She hadn’t sugarcoated things, hadn’t let you off the hook. She had even agreed with you—that yes, you had been cruel, whether or not Frankie had deserved it.

So you had already said the words once, already unburdened yourself. But the weight of not telling Santi felt different, heavier in a way that had nothing to do with guilt and everything to do with trust.

You wanted to tell him. Of course you did. He had been listening to you your whole life, letting you spill your secrets without fear of judgment. And he had never once betrayed you, never let anything slip where it wasn’t supposed to. Nothing you told him would reach Frankie. Nothing. You knew that.

But this—this was harder. It wasn’t just about Frankie. It was about you. About saying something out loud that you weren’t even sure you had fully admitted to yourself yet. It was one thing to talk about your insecurities with Emma. It was another thing entirely to lay them bare in front of your brother. To tell him that Frankie—of all people—had seen them before you’d even opened your mouth.

Still, what choice did you have? Santi wasn’t going to let this go. He never did.

"About Harry," you said finally, your voice flat, stripped of any real emotion.

Santi frowned. "Harry?"

You nodded.

"Why?"

You exhaled, suddenly hyperaware of the breath leaving your body, the way it felt too sharp, too deliberate.

"Because," you said, shifting against the couch, "I’m not as over him as I thought I was. And Francisco apparently decided that was his business. Thought it would be a great idea to ask me a million questions about it, maybe even offer up some unsolicited advice."

Santi folded his arms, his expression shifting from confusion to something more serious.

"What kind of advice?"

You turned to look at him then, and whatever was in your expression must have given him pause.

"Santi," you said carefully, "I’m going to tell you this, but you can’t say anything until I’m done. No opinions, no interruptions. You can ask questions, but don’t react until I finish. Okay?"

He straightened slightly, concern settling into the lines of his face. Then he nodded. "Okay."

You swallowed.

"The thing is…" Another breath. Another hesitation. "I haven’t been feeling okay. And it’s not just because of Harry, or Frankie, or any of that. It’s… more than that. It’s been going on for a long time. Years, even. It’s about me. It’s about the way I am, the way I live my life. Or, maybe, the way I don’t. I feel like I’m afraid all the time. And that fear—it limits me. It always has. You know that. You’ve seen it. Remember when we were kids, and you and Dad would invite me camping? And I’d always make up some excuse because the idea of sleeping in the middle of nowhere freaked me out? Or that weekend you wanted me to go rock climbing with you?"

He nodded, his expression unreadable now.

"And I hate that about myself," you admitted, voice quieter now. "Because fear holds me back. It keeps me from doing things that—who knows?—maybe I’d like. But how am I supposed to know that if I never try?"

Santi opened his mouth, but you didn’t give him the chance.

"No," you said, holding up a finger. "No opinions yet. Remember?"

He lifted his hands in surrender, pressing his lips together like he was physically stopping himself from speaking.

You exhaled, pressing your palms against your thighs. “Well, that’s just it. That’s the thing that’s been bothering me for a long time. Longer than I want to admit. And it—it doesn’t feel good. I don’t feel good about it.” You paused, fingers twitching like they wanted to pick at something, to fidget with the hem of your shirt, the couch cushion, anything. “And then there’s Harry.” You let out a small laugh, barely more than an exhale. “I really thought I was over him, or at least I told myself I was. But I don’t think I am. And I don’t even think it’s about him, exactly.”

Santi tilted his head slightly, watching you closely. You waved a hand, dismissing whatever concern you saw creeping into his face.

“It’s not really about him,” you clarified. “It’s about what he did. How easy it was for him to let me go. How easy it was for me to let myself fall into something I knew wasn’t going to end well. I wasn’t stupid—I knew he didn’t want anything serious. He told me that. But I still didn’t leave when I started to feel more than I should have. And I guess—” you swallowed, your throat suddenly tight, “I guess some part of me really thought that if I just waited long enough, he’d start feeling the same way.”

You shook your head, eyes flicking back to the TV screen. The cartoon characters moved in exaggerated motions, their voices playing somewhere in the background of your thoughts. You weren’t really hearing them.

“But he didn’t,” you added, quieter now. “If anything, he did the opposite.”

Santi didn’t say anything, and you appreciated that. He just sat there, listening, waiting.

You rubbed your hand over the couch cushion beside you, letting the soft fabric ground you before you spoke again.

“And then, when we saw him that day,” you continued, “Francisco basically laughed in my face when I told him I was going to the wedding. He thought it was pathetic. Told me I was a masochist. And I got pissed off, obviously. But the thing is, I hadn’t actually thought about it that much before then. I mean, yeah, I knew Harry was oblivious, that he probably hadn’t even considered how it might feel for me to be there. But I hadn’t really let myself think about how ridiculous it was that I said yes in the first place.”

You swallowed, tracing the seam of the couch absentmindedly.

“Francisco, though—he was vocal about it from the start. He never held back. He called Harry an idiot, told me it was obvious he knew how I felt and just pretended he didn’t. And that night at your place—” you hesitated, glancing at Santi, “I’d had a bad day. Like, a really bad day. I was already in my own head, already torturing myself by checking Harry’s social media, going down the usual spiral. And Francisco, of course, noticed. And he asked me about it on the way home.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “But it was the way he did it. He was relentless. He just kept pushing and pushing, like he was trying to get a reaction out of me, and I—I just felt awful. Like he was doing it on purpose. Like he wanted me to crack. Because…” You trailed off, staring blankly at the screen again. “I don’t know. It’s like he knows exactly which buttons to press to tear me apart. He always has. He finds my weak spots and then just—shoves them in my face.”

Your voice wavered slightly, but you didn’t look at Santi until you were finished speaking. When you did, your eyes felt heavy, glazed over with something you didn’t want to name.

Santi’s expression was unreadable. His voice, careful. “What did he say to you?”

You felt your heartbeat pick up, steady but noticeable, like a pulse pressing against your ribs.

"That I needed to get over it." Your voice came out unsteady, something raw beneath the words. "That I had to stop making Harry into this tragic hero who unknowingly destroyed me." You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeve. "But he wasn’t gentle about it. He wasn’t even neutral. He was the opposite. And I—" You hesitated, feeling the weight of it settle in your chest. "I know he’s probably right. I do. But that didn’t make it feel any less awful. It didn’t make me feel any less—"

You stopped. Your throat burned. Your vision blurred at the edges, a tear threatening to spill over. You blinked hard, forcing it back.

"He made me feel stupid," you admitted finally. "Like I was ridiculous for feeling this way in the first place. And that’s what really gets me—because I know he doesn’t actually care. It’s not like this was some act of concern, like he wanted to help me move on. He did it just to dig at me. To get a reaction. To remind me that I’m weak in ways he isn’t." Your breath came out unsteady. "What the fuck does he know about how I feel?"

Santi exhaled your name softly, the way he always did when you were teetering on the edge of something painful. Then, without a word, he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you in.

The warmth of it—his steady heartbeat, the way his chin rested lightly on the top of your head—worked like a balm. It didn’t erase the feeling completely, but it dulled it, took the sharpest edges away. You closed your eyes for a second, just breathing.

"I know your relationship with him is complicated," Santi murmured, "but, really… Frankie’s not that kind of person."

You pulled back, looking up at him in disbelief.

"He’s different with you," you said, shaking your head. "With me, it’s—something else."

"No, no, I get it," Santi said, his voice careful. "I’ve watched you two argue for years. But what I mean is… he wouldn’t ask you those kinds of questions just to be cruel. He wouldn’t push you about something painful just to see you suffer."

You scoffed, looking away. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know him." Santi’s tone was even, patient. "Better than anyone. I know he can be unbearable and insufferable, and I know he gets under your skin. But he doesn’t have an ounce of real cruelty in him. Whatever his reasons were, they weren’t to hurt you."

You let out a short, humorless laugh. "Doesn’t seem like it." You ran a hand through your hair, shaking your head. "Why would he care so much, then? Why does it even matter to him? He doesn’t know anything about what it’s like to regret something this much."

Santi didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you, something unreadable in his expression. Like he was deciding what to say, or maybe whether to say anything at all.

Then he sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw, his eyes flickering to the coffee table before landing back on you.

"What has he told you about Rachel?" he asked finally.

You blinked.

"Not much," you admitted. "That she dumped him. Maia didn’t like her. Helena mentioned something, but she never gave me details."

"Yeah," Santi nodded, exhaling through his nose. "Well, Frankie and Rachel were together for almost two years. Longer, if you count the months they spent circling each other before making it official. It wasn’t perfect—none of them are—but this was… different. He loved her. I mean, really loved her. The kind of love that makes you a little unrecognizable, you know? I’d never seen him like that before. But it wasn’t good for him."

He looked at you then, more serious now, like he was weighing his words before saying them out loud.

"I don’t know if it’s my place to tell you this," he said, "but you’re my sister, and I trust you."

You didn’t say anything, just kept your eyes on him, still reeling from everything you already knew—and everything you didn’t.

"A few years ago, Frankie left the CAG after one of his closest friends died in the middle of a mission." Santi paused, his jaw tightening for a brief second. "It hit him hard. Too hard. Took him a long time to find his footing again. He came back to Austin, took a year off before he even thought about working again. And, you know, he got better. Kind of. But never fully."

You blinked at him, stunned. You had no idea.

All those years ago, when Santi had mentioned a friend who had returned to Austin, a friend who needed help—you’d never really thought about it. He’d never given you details. He’d talked about Will and Benny often enough, but Frankie had been a more distant presence, like an acquaintance who existed on the fringes of your brother’s life. Someone he never really brought up.

"And then, a few years later, he met Rachel," Santi went on. "And at first, we thought—okay, maybe this is good. Maybe this will be good for him." He shook his head. "But it wasn’t. She was… possessive. Controlling. Not good to him at all. But Frankie was in love, and what were we supposed to do? He was happy—at least in the moments where she let him be—so we let it go, even though we didn’t approve."

You could hear the resentment in his voice. The hindsight.

"But he was still up and down. And then, his dad died."

Santi rubbed a hand over his face, and when he looked back at you, there was something deeply weary in his expression.

"He spiraled," he said. "It wrecked him, just like you’d expect it to. And then—two months later, Rachel left him."

You felt the words hit you square in the chest.

Santi exhaled sharply, shaking his head again, looking indignant in a way you rarely saw.

"She told him he wasn’t what she wanted anymore. That he wasn’t enough. That he wasn’t acting like the man she needed. That he spent too much time holed up, too much time in bed." Santi’s voice turned hard. "Frankie was fucking depressed, and she had the audacity to tell him he was being selfish. That he wasn’t stepping up."

Your breath caught in your throat.

"Jesus," you whispered, closing your eyes. You could feel the sharp sting of tears, the words you had thrown at Frankie earlier coming back in painful flashes.

Santi let the silence settle for a second before continuing.

"Anyway," he said, his voice lower now, "she left. And two weeks later, Benny saw her at the mall, kissing another guy. He told us, asked if we should say something. If it was even worth it. And at first, we thought maybe we shouldn’t. But Frankie… he thought he could still win her back. He was talking about changing for her, about fighting for her. And I swear—" Santi let out a breath that sounded close to a laugh, but there was nothing amused about it. "I’ve never been so angry at someone in my life. And the worst part?" He glanced at you. "She had been seeing that guy for months."

You felt something tighten in your throat.

"You told him?"

"Yeah," Santi said. "We had to. Even though we knew it would wreck him."

"And what did he say?"

Santi’s expression turned unreadable for a moment. Then he furrowed his brows, shaking his head.

"Nothing," he said. "He just nodded, got up, and walked away."

You didn’t say anything. A moment passed, stretched and heavy, and you felt Santi tense beside you. Like he was bracing himself.

You turned to look at him, already knowing he wasn’t finished.

"Less than a month later," he said, his voice quieter now, like the words had to be handled with care. "Helena called me. Said Frankie was in the hospital. He’d taken something—pills, a lot of pills. And he’d been drinking."

Your stomach twisted, a deep, sinking feeling settling in your chest.

"What do you mean?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "Are you saying he tried to—"

"I don’t know." Santi shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. "I never asked. And none of us did. He didn't wanted us to, he was clear about it. And I think we were afraid to." He hesitated, like he was weighing his words again. "And to ask him now, after all this time… I don’t know, it feels... it feels out of place. Because I really think he's in a better place now, so."

You just stared at him, eyes wide, unmoving. Something inside you cracked, like a hairline fracture deep enough to make the whole structure feel unsteady.

Santi exhaled and looked down at his hands.

"What I’m trying to say," he went on, his voice softer now, "is that if anyone understands what it feels like to be abandoned, to feel like you’re not enough—it’s Frankie. That’s why I don’t think he was trying to hurt you. I think he was just… misguided. Trying to help in the only way he knows how."

Your lips trembled, the weight of everything pressing down on you, thick and unbearable. A sharp breath caught in your throat, half a gasp, half a sob. You turned to Santi, searching his face for something—understanding, reassurance, maybe a way out of the feeling that had settled, heavy, inside your ribs.

He furrowed his brows, watching you carefully, a crease of worry between his eyes.

“I…” You barely got the word out before tears blurred your vision. A thick, aching regret filled your chest. “I said horrible things to him.”

Santi didn’t hesitate. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, one hand resting against the back of your head.

You let yourself sink into the hug, but it didn’t make the feeling go away. If anything, it made it worse—because you couldn’t undo it. Because knowing the truth now didn’t erase the things you’d said, the sharp edges of your words still lodged somewhere deep in your memory, in Frankie’s memory.

And yes, he had been cruel to you for years. Yes, you had convinced yourself that whatever existed between you was just mutual disdain, nothing more, nothing less. But now, everything felt different. Everything had shifted, changed color. And you hated the way it looked now.

You weren’t this person. The kind who threw words like weapons, who dug into wounds just to make them deeper. You knew too well what it was like to feel that kind of hurt.

“What did you tell him?” Santi asked, his voice gentle, careful.

You swallowed hard, keeping your face pressed against his shirt, as if not looking at him would make it easier to admit.

“That he must have a lot of experience feeling like shit. That he was nothing but a failure, a loser. That he was drowning in his own misery.”

Santi let out a quiet curse under his breath, his fingers moving absently over your hair.

“I was awful, Santi,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “I just wanted him to leave me alone.”

Santi exhaled. “I’m sure he knows you were angry—”

“Why?” You pulled away, looking up at him, your face tight with frustration. “Why would he believe that? We’ve never been kind to each other. Not once. Why would he think this time was any different?”

“Because you’re not cruel,” Santi said simply.

You shook your head. “I wanted to hurt him.”

“That doesn’t make you a bad person.” He studied you, his gaze steady. “I think… Unfortunately, I think you’re both a little messed up in the same ways, and that’s exactly why he recognizes it in you so easily. But that doesn’t make you a bad person. And it doesn’t make him one either.”

Silence settled between you. You lowered your gaze, your fingers twisting the hem of your sleeve.

“Do you think I’m fucked up?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

Santi snorted, shaking his head. A small, tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Not really. Not really, really fucked up. Just a little. Fixable.”

Despite yourself, you let out a weak, uneven breath—something that wasn’t quite a laugh, but close enough. You glanced up at him, the smallest trace of humor flickering in your eyes.

“What am I supposed to do, Santi?”

Your voice was so soft, so uncertain, that he visibly winced. He didn’t like hearing you like this. Santi sighed, his own exhaustion catching up with him, but there was something warm in his expression, something steady.

“Right now? You go to bed and get some sleep,” he said, nudging your arm. “Later? Maybe we figure out how to fix this. Talking to Frankie would probably be a good start, don’t you think?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll get back to you on that in the morning.”

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog @smiithys @jokesonthem @brittmb115 @sukivenue @awkwardmebaby @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @suzysface @picketniffler

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marlynnofmany · 10 days ago

Text

Unexpected Inconveniences

Ever park your car under a tree, then regret it? Come back to find it covered in tree sap or bird poop? Turns out that sort of thing is much worse on an alien planet. And when it’s a spaceship.

We couldn't get the dang door open.

I stood in the cargo bay, watching Captain Sunlight supervise an attempt to un-stick the big door. Blip and Blop were putting their muscles to use in shoving mightily, while the captain worked the controls and Mimi kept a careful watch out for stresses on the machinery. Mur shoved some narrow tool into the gap, muttering that the captain should let him use his tentacles.

Captain Sunlight told him sternly, “No body parts in danger. That’s what tools are for.” She kept both scaly yellow hands on the controls and gave him a look.

I asked, “Is there anything I can do? Help push, or get another crowbar?”

Blip grunted, her frills slicked back in effort. “It’s moving!”

With an unpleasant sticky noise and a creak of metal, the bay door began lifting open an inch at a time. Mimi’s rough voice yelled, “Stop!”

The Frillian twins stopped pushing. Mimi scuttled over on quick green tentacles to figure out what part of the door had creaked.

Mur shoved his prying tool in farther and managed to poke through the gooey golden stuff just barely visible from inside. But the hard-earned gap started to close. Blip and Blop pushed again, gently, while Mur’s blue-black tentacles danced in frustration. Then he lunged for the toolbox Mimi had brought, grabbing something I recognized as a hydraulic jack. He shoved it into the gap and cranked it until the door stopped closing.

I said, “Nice job,” kicking myself for not thinking of it first.

Captain Sunlight thanked everyone for their efforts so far. Mimi reported no significant damage, at least nothing he couldn’t fix later with the right tools and a bit of muscle. I got the impression that the twins were going to be roped into helping with that, which seemed only fair.

Mur was busy poking at the goo, clearing away a tiny opening that looked like a promising start. I peered into the toolbox, but didn’t want to get unknown nastiness on any more of Mimi’s tools without permission.

Footsteps in the hall turned out to be Paint, trotting in with a bottle of cleaning solution held high. Her scaly orange face was delighted. “The stuff dissolves!” she announced. “Kavlae finally got through to the local database. We have the right cleaner to get rid of it; we just have to spray it down. Apparently this is extra effective in direct sun.” She stopped next to the captain and looked at the door. “Which could be tricky, if we can’t actually get outside.”

“Speak for yourself,” Mur said, poking industriously with his prying tool. “Mimi, are you up for a squeeze through a tight space? If the captain allows it, of course.” That part sounded a little sarcastic.

I bent to get a better look. The gap was still only a couple inches wide.

I remembered stories of octopus escape artists on Earth, sneaking from one aquarium tank to another through exceptionally small openings. I stood back, ready to be impressed.

Captain Sunlight asked Paint, “Did Kavlae say whether it’s toxic at all?”

“Right, yes, it’s fine,” Paint said. “Not an irritant to any known species. Except, you know, mentally.” She grimaced. “It’s sticky.”

Mimi tentacle-walked over to join Mur. He grumbled, “I’ve seen worse. Lemme just put the other jack in place, and we can get out there. We’ll want that cleaner in some smaller bottles, though.”

“I’m on it!” Paint declared, setting down the big bottle and dashing off.

By the time Mimi had set up the second jack and pronounced the door safe to crawl under, Paint was back with three tiny spray bottles. She lost no time in filling them from the big one. I opened my mouth to offer to help, but she was on top of it.

Captain Sunlight told Mimi, “I’ll trust your expertise with the tools. The two of you may proceed carefully. In fact—” She pressed a button on the intercom for the cockpit. “Wio, will you join us? Kavlae can handle things there, and we need Strongarm capabilities.”

In no time, our ship’s three tentacle aliens were all armed with tiny spray bottles and ready to squeeze through a gap that I’d be lucky to get my hand through. Blip and Blop stood at the ready in case the jacks slipped (though Mimi assured them they would not). Then one after another, the Strongarms pushed up against the gap and squished on through.

It was really weird to watch.

When the last tentacle disappeared outside, Captain Sunlight knelt to ask for a report on what it looked like from the other side.

Mimi’s gravelly voice said, “Disgusting. Good thing it didn’t get the entire ship, or we’d be here all day. We’ll keep you posted on how fast it dissolves.”

They went to work, and there really wasn’t much for me to do. I wouldn’t fit through that hole, and the goo wasn’t dissolving instantly, so there promised to be something of a wait before anyone else could get outside.

I thought, Maybe I can find a poking thingy that could stand to get gooey. I headed off to check the most likely storage area. Something I can wave around through the gap to help get the door open sooner. There’s got to be SOMETHING I can do to help out.

My thoughts of spare pipes and prybars were derailed when I got near the medical bay, and heard beeping.

Urgent beeping. The kind that the machinery did when there was a big problem.

I ran down the hall and swung through the door of the medbay. I found Eggskin looking annoyed but not alarmed, poking at a display screen while alerts flashed. The medical table behind them was empty. Lights shone on it as if a major surgery was underway. I peeked over Eggskin’s shoulder to see that the screen was saying something about vital signs.

I asked, “What’s the problem?”

Eggskin looked up, surprised to see me. The beeping was very loud. They lashed their tail in irritation and tried again to remove the alarm. That just shrank the message so it covered less of the screen. “The problem,” they said over the beeps, “Is that the system thinks there is a patient on the table, and is distressed that it cannot detect signs of life.”

I winced, considering plugging my ears. “Can you just tell it the patient’s dead, and its job is done?”

“It’s not accepting commands,” Eggskin said, rubbing a hand over their scaly face. “Normally the system is much more reliable than this. I’d ask Mimi to take a look, but he’s busy.”

“Yeah he is,” I agreed. The beeping continued. “What if you turn it off and on again?”

Eggskin gave me a blank look that could have meant anything. Then they opened a side panel to reveal the power cord that connected the medical suite to the ship’s power. With a yank, they unplugged it.

Everything in the room except for the ceiling lights lost power. Eggskin waited a moment, then plugged it back in and closed the panel.

Screens glowed back to life. A polite recording about reinitialization played. Minimal lights shone onto the table.

Nothing beeped.

“Thank you,” Eggskin said with a sigh. “I probably should have thought of that.”

“No problem!” I said with a grin. “Glad I could be useful somewhere. Do you know where I can find a long stick we don’t need?”

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

#my writing #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs

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saphiccarma · 3 months ago

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Could you make an Agatha x fem! reader where they are both waking up comfortably in their bed and proceed to have morning sex?

- Good Morning

Relationships - Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary - What starts as simply waking up together, nice and comfortable in bed, turns into more.

Warnings:smut obv, nipple play, kissing, thigh grinding, fingering, soft sex

The sheets are warm and so is your body as you're wrapped comfortably in Agatha's arms. Her chin rests atop your head, chest breathing in slow and deep. Eye fluttering open, you glance up at your wife, a soft smile on face as you take in her sharp cheekbones.

You can't see her blue eyes, an icy color that could cut through glass, instead long lashes fluttering against her cheek. Slipping your hand out from between your bodies, you brush a finger against her cheek.

Her skin is smooth, soft and delicate and she slowly blinks awake at your touch.

"Morning honey," voice husky with sleep, she rasps out the words and leans back to get a better view of your face.

Pressing her lips to yours, Agatha hums and tugs you closer. You melt into her and close your eyes in content. Her hand comes up to tangle in your hair and tug on it softly, her lips working slowly against yours.

She breaks the tender kiss, moving to trail kisses down the side of your neck and along your jaw. Gently, she slots her thigh between your legs and presses up. You moan softly, wrapping your legs around her and keeping her trapped in place as you roll your hips.

You can feel her smirk on the side of your neck, lips trailing along the skin there and her hands roaming your body. Her hands, cold in contrast to the warmth of the room, slip up under your baggy t-shirt.

"Agatha," you say, almost a whine, arching into her touch, a light pressure applied to the underside of your breasts. Both of your breaths grow heavy, and you tug her closer by cupping her neck and grabbing at her shoulders.

You can feel her chest rumble slightly as she laughs into your collarbone, squeezing your ass and keeping you pressed right up against her. Agatha's thigh presses right up against your soaked panties, and you grind down on the muscles like your life depends on it.

She flexes her thigh, giving you something harder to use and you muffle a whimper pathetically as her teeth drag across your skin. A fresh shiver runs down your spine while her lips suckle on the spot just atop your shoulder.

"I don't get a good morning?" she questions, glancing up at you through her lashes and it makes your heart stutter. Her eyes are so full of love, adoration and praise.

Just as you open your mouth to reply, she jerks her leg up, pressing it directly onto your clit. Mouth opening in a silent moan, you tip your head back.

"M- Morning," you manage to stutter.

Balling her shirt up in your fists, you clench around nothing, and the feeling makes you whine loudly. She chuckles lightly again and finally, her nails skim along the skin of your stomach and dip between your legs.

She finds your clit and swirls it between the rough pads of her pointer and thumb. A delicious rush of pleasure runs through you, a small moan tearing from your throat as you arch into her touch. Her other hand toys with your breasts.

The combined sensations make you seek out her touch all the more. Movements becoming desperate, you grab at her shoulders for leverage as you roll against her thigh and fingers, silently begging for more.

"What do you want?" A light kiss is pressed to the underside of your ear, "Talk to me. I want to hear that pretty voice."

Agatha decides that's just the moment to twist your clit harshly and roughly squeeze your breast. Any words on the tip of your tongue dissolve into a ragged sound of pleasure and want.

After a moment you force out, "Please," you whine, "Agatha, I need you- your fingers- please."

Your wife makes a show of huffing out an exasperate breath, almost seeming annoying with your pleading, but she gives you what you want. Instead of forcing you to grind against her thigh, she shoves her fingers up your cunt.

Your hips rock to match her fast pace, wet sounds filling the room. The pornographic sounds mingle with your breathy moans and whimpers, eyes tightly shut while you grab at her shoulders in hopes to ground yourself.

The pleasure is straight euphoria, and you don't think snorting crack would feel better. It's embarrassing how after just a few seconds of her fingering you brings your orgasm to the brink.

You're teetering on the edge now, one curl of Agatha's fingers away from falling over. And she does, she hits that sweet spot deep inside you, her blunt nails scraping against your inner walls. A gush of white-hot rapture tears through you.

Body shuddering, your hips slow, but Agatha does not. She continues to thrust up into you even as you begin to come down from your orgasm. Only when you keen loudly does she gentle her touch, fingers stroking your folds as you pant.

Catching your breath you mumble, "Good morning."

She smiles into your neck before pulling back with her lips curled into a teasing, yet loving, smile.

"Morning," those perfect lips find yours and you let your eyes flutter shut again. She bites down on your lower lip lightly before pulling back.

Slowly, her hands slide up your sides to rest above your ribs. Her touch is gentle, just keeping you close, as you rest on her chest. She presses a tender kiss to the top of your head and then tucks her chin just above you so that you're cradled close.

“That was certainly a way to start the morning,” You say after a moment. Agatha laughs, her chest vibrating and you can feel her heart rate pick up.

“It certainly was,” she agrees, squeezing your side.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha smut #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness x y/n

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 days ago

Text

Locked Out of Heaven 11

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad’s friend trope)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You cling onto the strap of your bag, wringing it as your nerves build with each step. You're really doing this. You're going out with a boy. No, a man.

You stop short, a few feet from Nick's car. You gulp. What would your dad say? What would he do if he found out? How much would he really care? He only cares about your grades.

You stare as you weigh the decision. He's not going to find out. Austin won't even know you're gone. So why are you suddenly so afraid?

Nick's headlights flash and he rolls toward you. You turn to face him as he pulls up. You smile to hide the tremor in your chest.

"Hi," you squeak as he lowers his window.

"Hey, princess? You forget something? What's the matter?" He asks.

"Oh, uh, I don't know," you look back at the house. "I... no. I..."

"Get in, baby." He reaches over to pat the passenger's seat. "Boat's waiting."

You stutter step then stagger around the car. You fumble with the handle and swing the door out. You fall in, ready to dissolve into mist, and shut the door with a jarring snap.

You're so anxious, you could explode. Before you can even reach for the seat belt, Nick's on you. He cradles your cheek and slips his hand down to your chin. He holds you firmly and leans in, brushing his nose against yours.

You shiver at his closeness. His warmth swathes around you and his scent stains your breath.

"You miss me?" He purrs. "I missed you, princess. All I've been thinking about is you. About us."

"Um, yes," you babble and nod into his hand.

His lips curve and he presses them to yours. You brace his forearm in surprise, his veins bulging against your palm. His tongue dips into your mouth and he growls. He leans further over the space between the seats, smothering you.

When he parts, you're dizzy, lips puffy, and cheeks burning. You stare at him dopily. You push your thighs together and tilt your pelvis. That tingly coil winds through you.

He wears short-sleeve white button up with a blue line at the edge of the collar. And pale blue shorts that cut off high up his thighs. He wears those loafer-type shoes with the little nautical knot. Boat shoes? His gold chain sparkles above his chest and his pinkie ring encircles his finger.

"I got everything you need, baby. Don't worry. It's all on the boat," he pets your cheek with his knuckles. "You're just going to sit back and relax. Let me take care of you."

"Al... alright," you wisp.

It's going to happen. You felt it. In his urgency. You know what he wants. He hasn't been subtle. You think you want it too. That must be what makes you so squirmy.

"It's gonna be a great day. Just us. At last." He looks over the steering wheel and buckles his seat belt. You do the same. "Sun, drink, each other..."

He grips the wheel with one hand and slaps his other onto your thigh.

"We got all day and I'm going to take my time, baby. I'm gonna make you feel like the princess you are." He slowly pushes down on the gas. "You don't gotta worry about nothing."

💜

The water gently stirs as you walk down the dock. Nick has your hand in his as he guides you along the shore side. There are other boats tied off there. Luxurious boats with upholstered seats and cabins, large steering wheels and monikers written across the sides.

Austin has pictures of a boat like this on his socials. He went off with his friends last summer and came back hungover for a week. Your dad let him sleep it off while you did his dingy laundry.

A ripple flows through you. Something like anger. Irritation. Your brother gets to go off and have fun without question. Even your dad goes out for drinks or goes golfing or whatever else he likes. Why is it so bad that you do anything at all? If your dad even knew about the trip to the gelato shop, he’d be barking at you for wasting time.

You sigh. Nick squeezes your hand as something jingles in his other. He tugs you back before you walk off the side of the dock.

“Woah, baby,” he draws you to face him. “Don’t want you falling in.” He kisses your forehead and the heat of his lips pulls you back to the present. “Whatcha sighing for?”

“N-nothing. I...” you look around, searching for anything to say. “I’ve never been on a boat.”

“Gonna be a lot of firsts today,” he winks and brings your hand up to kiss your knuckles. “You stay here. Keep clear of the edge for me, princess.”

He lets you go and shakes the keys in his other hand. You fold twine your fingers together and press your palms to your stomach. You turn to watch him as he nears the edge of the wooden planks. He hops across onto the open rear of the boat, easily launching himself over the gap.

He steadies himself and ducks under the roof. You listen to his steps as the boat shifts subtly. You rock anxiously as a cool breeze brushes across you.

He appears again and bends to slide out a board hidden beneath the floor. He extends it over the space between the dock and the boat. He straightens up and reaches to you, one foot on the ramp.

You untangle your fingers and take his hand. He guides you firmly across onto the polished flooring. You glance around at the open space at the back of the boat, just behind the cover sitting area of the cabin. White leather and azure cushions. A table mounted between the benches, a narrow doorway to the front of the boat with the driver’s seat.

“Wow, this is yours?”

“Sure is,” he drags his hand up your arm slowly. “Ours.”

You look at him, your heart pumping. You smile. You peer back at the dock.

“Oh... I...” You watch a woman on another boat, in a sarong and sun hat.

“I told you. I got everything figured out,” he rubs your shoulder. “Just a minute.”

He turns and goes to slide the board back under the floor. Then he stands and unmoors from the post. The boat rocks with his steps.

He strides back to you and points to the bench. “That’s yours there.”

There’s a white and blue beach bag on the seat. You hadn’t paid it much attention at first glance. You tilt your head curiously.

“You get into your bathing suit and I’ll get us asea,” he coaxes.

“Oh, uh, okay?”

“One thing at a time, right?” He purrs and leans in to kiss you. You close your eyes as a thrill rolls over you. Too far. No going back.

“Yes, Nick.” You murmur as he parts, cradling your face as he brushes his nose up yours and once more presses his lips to your forehead. He hums.

“Good girl.”

His reluctance has his hand lingering on your neck before he pulls back. He turns and struts through the cabin to the front of the boat. He drops into the driver’s chair and you watch him swipe up the keys from the little tray beside the wheel. He turns the engine and the rumble startles you.

You approach the beach bag. You peek inside as you touch the side. You reach in to pull out the bikini top. Oh. You only ever wore a one-piece with shorts. Your dad made you keep a tee shirt on even. This is less than you could even imagine.

You run your finger over the patterning on the triangle of fabric. White with lilac vines printed onto it. It’s pretty and the straps are like thick ribbons.

You glance at Nick and the boat lurches. You land on the seat with a gasp. He looks back.

“You okay? Sorry ‘bout that.”

“I’m good,” you sit and dip your chin, examining the top. Your hands tremble. You peek at him again. He’s focus on steering.

You nod, goading yourself into it. You unhook your purse from across you and put your phone inside. You push it against the back of the sofa bench and drop your shoulders. This is what you want. It has to be.

You peel off your shirt and look down at your bra. Plain, white, boring. You reach back to unhook it, another wary look at the driver. He’s unconcerned as the boat bobs over the waves.

You take off the bra, your nipples hard from the air breezing through, or maybe the anticipation. You tie on the bikini top and it does little to hide them. Your chest feels like it will spill out at any moment.

You stand and search for the bottoms. Not much more than the top. You quickly change into them. You try to stretch the fabric across your bum but it only covers half your cheeks. You chew your lip.

You take the flip flops sticking out of the bag and put them on. You fish around again and pull out a sheer purple cover up. It opens in the front and has little tassels dangling from the short sleeves.

“Alright,” Nick proclaims and makes you flinch.

You bend to gather up your clothes and stuff them away in the bag. He stands and turns, ducking into the cabin then stands straight. He looks you up and down as you cross your arms.

“Princess,” he breaths as he grabs your wrist. “Let me see.”

He takes both your arms and pulls them apart. His eyes rove up and down your body. You shiver as the cover up falls open.

“Oh...” he utters.

You stare at his shirt collar, face ablaze. Is he disappointed. You brace yourself for it.

“Wow,” he slips his hands from your arms and frames your hips. “Baby, you look amazing.”

“Um, really?” You jitter in disbelief. “Er, thanks.”

“Baby, baby, baby,” his thumbs dig into your soft flesh. “We got all day... so you gotta make me go slow.”

“Oh,” you gulp.

“I could...” he begins and chuckles. He shakes his head and pokes his tongue into cheek. “Come on, let’s get settled.”

He lets you go and pops open the top button of his shirt. He goes down the row and pulls apart the fabric, revealing his muscled torso. He strips away the linen shirt and tosses it carelessly onto the bench. You gape at his chest.

“Like what you see?” He taunts and you look him in the face, shrinking in embarrassment.

“I--I--”

He snickers. “It’s all yours, princess. You don’t gotta be shy.”

“I... okay. I'll try.”

“Baby, I got you, alright?” He drawls. “Come on.”

He takes your hand and guides you onto the back of the boat. As it rocks with the water, you’re put even more off-kilter. He squeezes before he releases you again.

He peers around and grabs a striped fabric chest. He flips the top and pulls out a large beach blanket. He spreads it over the flooring. He goes back to the cabin and grabs some cushions and tosses them down too. He plunks the chest at the edge of the blanket.

“Got drinks, got snacks,” he reaches inside, “but most important, sunscreen.”

You nod. He takes out the bottle of cream and wiggles it at you as he comes closer. He touches the edge of the cover-up. “Take this off. I’ll get you.”

“Huh, oh?” You look down and shrug. You let the sheer fabric fall down your arms and pile at your feet. You’re too stunned to catch it.

“Come on,” he gets down on his knees. “Relax, princess.”

He tugs until you get down to. He taps the bottle on the blanket. “Lay down.”

“Uh, okay...” you lay on your back, chest rising and falling quickly as your chest hammers.

He shifts onto his butt and flicks the cap open. He squirts the cream into his palms and rubs them together. The coolness of the lotion is as jarring as the feel of his hands. He starts at your neck, smearing across your collar bone and to your chest.

He drags his hands down, spreading it diligently before squeezing more from the bottle. You twitch as he gets to your chest, poking his thumbs under the edge of the bikini to get cream there too. He rubs it into your skin as your nipples poke against the fabric.

He continues on to your stomach, massaging as he goes, then does your arms, kneading your hands delicately as he gets between your fingers. You’re paralysed as he plies the UV to your skin.

He pokes your thighs, “come on, baby.”

You hesitate before you spread your legs. You squeak as he gets between them on his knees. For a moment you think...

He claps his hand on your thigh and smears the cream into your skin. He squeezes and his fingertips sends sparks through you. You spasm and squeal as he hits every nerve. You wriggle at the unbearable tingle.

You giggle as the sensation turns ticklish. He chuckles too and purrs, paying close attention to your thighs. Pushing his thumbs in until your clasp onto his wrists.

“Nick!”

He smirks at you. “These are nice,” he clamps tighter on your thighs. “You know that?”

You whimper his name again. He pulls out of your grasp and drags down your legs to your feet. When he finishes your soles, he clucks.

“Turn over.”

You blink but do as he says. You flip onto your stomach, feeling the jiggle of your bum as the bathing suit rides up. He hums.

“Oh, princess,” he drones.

“I... sorry,” you reach to fix the bottoms.

He tuts and swats your hand away.

“It’s all mine, baby. Don’t you worry. I want every part of you,” he shoves your hand down so it bounces on the floor. Your knuckles ring with the impact. “I told you, relax.”

He gets up on his knees and blends lotions into your shoulders and down the back of your arms. Then he coats your back and hips, following the curve of your back to your bum. He massages the rise of flesh and bends to kiss the swell. You squeal in surprise and he nips you.

“Mmm, delicious,” he snarls and runs his thumbs along the crease below your butt. You wince and ball your hands.

He continues along the back of your thighs, even more sensitive than the front, and you squirm. You can hear him breath, almost growling. Your own breaths puff out in a storm of excitement and fear.

As he gets the back of your calves, your head swims. He raises himself up and moves beside you. He caresses your arm.

“Now let me see that pretty face.” He grits.

“Sure, uh,” your turn over again and sit up.

He rubs his hands together then cradles your face. He uses his thumbs to cover your cheeks with cream and traces your features. He runs his palms over your face gently and caps off the application with a longing kiss on your lips.

He hovers just before you. “My turn.”

He lets you go and lowers himself down. He hands you the bottle and you take it, dazed as your skin thrums. You watch him as he pushes his chest up just slightly and your eyes scale down his torso. Where do you start?

You dollop the lotion into your hand and mash them together. You start at his neck, feeling his throat bob. He purrs as you get to his shoulders. The firm muscle makes you quiver inside. Then his chest... oh. It feels so nice. So strong.

You retreat and focus on his arms. There’s muscle there too and the thick veins on his forearms have you squeezing your thighs together. His hands are bigger as you focus on them and rubs the cream into his rough palms.

As you ply the sunscreen to his stomach, you feel it clench. You recoil as something catches the corner of your eye. You gasp and stare at the front of his shorts. You can see him inside, nearly bursting out as he bulges beneath the waistband.

He lifts his head and groans.

“It’s okay, baby, I won’t bite... yet,” he snickers. “Keep going.”

You nod and bite your tongue. You put your hands back on his stomach and trail along his sides, sure to get every bit of skin. Your eyes flit back to his shorts. Your insides tighten. You shake at the flicker in your mind, the thought of grabbing it...

Instead, you shift and move to his thighs. As tempting as it is, you’re still terrified. You’ll work up to that. Eventually.

#nick fowler #dark nick fowler #dark!nick fowler #nick fowler x reader #the 355 #locked out of heaven #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic

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bfwooin · 12 days ago

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Can you do a comfort Wooin fic? Could involving hugging, being there for each other.

why'd you keep those things from me, my love?

synopsis. your fwb, wooin, couldn't help but notice your changes that you're unaware of, and he helps to soothe the ache inside of your heart.

content. fwb relationship, wooin has a crush on reader, misunderstandings, eventual confession, hurt and comfort im sorry i couldnt help it, reader is a heavy overthinker.

a/n. title is my crashout song, my 90 in a 35. anyways thank u for the request anon! i hope u dont mind the angst that came along with it :p also i received a lot of wooin reqs im so excited yay my bb boy

tags. @dzvelinaskebiyars @zyart-jpg @shintaru @sylith

your relationship with wooin became strange after a drunken incident.

you used to be only friends with him, stealing bites of his food and his hoodies from him, not until the both of you drank together and had the night you could never go back from. this oddity persisted as neither of you could forget the memories and the heat of the night.

regrettably so, embracing this relationship was an option the both of you agreed upon after you came up with the idea.

for better or for worse, it’s strictly no strings attached, and you were extremely fine with this arrangement, but the dynamic between the two of you changed.

ironically, distance was put between the both of you, as you felt alienated from the boy who you once felt the closest to, the boy who you resonated with the most.

wooin was the one who started to drift emotionally ever since you suggested the god-forsaken idea. it’s a shame that the only thing that closed this gap between you two was sex.

come over, fuck, aftercare and wash up, leave, repeat. no passion, only lust for mere satisfaction.

you weren’t so fine with this arrangement after all, but who were you to say that when you brought it up in the first place?

this new-found unfamiliarity had gotten so bad that wooin didn’t know how to react after seeing your emotionless expression as he opened the front door, his tongue stopping to swirl the last bit of candy in his mouth before the confectionery all dissolved on his forked tongue.

if the two of you stayed as friends, he would’ve immediately ushered you inside and tried his best to make you feel better, maybe wrapping his arm around you and guiding you to the couch as he asks you what happened.

but the both of you stood still like idiots, not knowing how to proceed after meeting each other. you looked so down; those once lively eyes were now so dull, and you expected wooin to just continue with your request after seeing you like that?

a quick fuck would never fix anything, your gloom feelings would still linger after the high ended. you studied wooin’s expression, and it’s almost as if he wanted you to leave. he had his hand in his pocket, his gaze hinted at the slightest glint of bitterness as he looked at your messy appearance.

you knew he wasn’t the best with his words, but not speaking a word to each other only made your feeling of emptiness feel worse.

wooin, do something. anything.

you turned your head away from him, deciding to walk away before you felt your wrist being grabbed by his hand. he tugged you back, ceasing your steps as you turned to him expectantly. “i thought you wanted me to leave.” you admitted, and he didn't say anything as he led you into his home toward his bedroom.

the moment he shut the door, you began to lift up your shirt, wanting to remove it like you conditioned yourself to after so many encounters with him. “stop,” he muttered, and your eyes widened at the anomaly of his character, though you listened and took your hands off of your shirt.

“y/n, what’s wrong with you?”

“everything.” you whispered sarcastically, looking away from him as you tried to avoid the confrontation you ached to experience.

your heart raced the fastest it had out of the umpteen times wooin fucked you in his room. “be serious, you’ve been acting weird lately.”

“i’m fine, now fuck me.”

“no, i won’t.”

“excuse me?” you narrowed your eyebrows, your sadness bordering anger.

“i just want to know what’s going on with you.”

“i’m perfectly fine, okay?” you said in an outburst, accidentally raising your voice at him before you covered your mouth. you looked away, not wanting to see his expression after you shouted at him; but it’s a waste of your muscle movement, he looked the same – uninterested.

though behind that face laid a deep desire to break your walls down and open your heart out to him. he was dying to know why you were suddenly so withdrawn around him, keeping to yourself and only coming over for sex whenever either of you asked for it.

he missed the girl who would watch him do tricks on his fixie.

he missed the girl who let him taste her food from her finger before it was done cooking.

and most importantly, he missed the girl he almost confessed to that night – almost – before the alcohol ruined everything.

he knew nothing that went on in that head of yours, and it hurt to watch you slowly slip away from him emotionally. he continued to watch your shocked expression before he had enough of this misunderstanding and pulled you into a tight hug.

you didn’t reciprocate, being sandwiched by his arms as he squeezed you tightly to reclaim the grasp he held so loosely before.

he should’ve spoken up and intervened earlier, perhaps stopping this arrangement between the two of you to prevent your insecurity from becoming worse.

it was a mistake to begin with.

your throat was dry, words that wanted to escape couldn’t. but you tried to speak your mind, after seeing him try for you as well.

“i… don’t like this thing we have.” your voice wavered, and he hugged you even tighter.

“i hate it too.” his raspy tone made your heart twist, aching with realisation that he felt the same.

your limp arms rose, your palms meeting his back as you returned the hug. you clung onto the fabric of his shirt, clenching it until it formed wrinkles that wouldn’t go away once ironed – you claimed him as yours.

“i like you, i’m sorry.” he whispered, and you tilted your head up to meet your lips with his for a kiss.

every ounce of feeling was poured into it, more than you ever experienced when you had sex with him. his lips were soft, feeling the tip of his bottom lip piercing brush your lip occasionally.

the taste of strawberry from his mouth sweetly lingered in yours, making your head spin along with your heart. the two of you finally pulled away, a string of saliva bridging your lips with his.

“yeah, i like you too.”

“i think the kiss was enough to tell, darling.”

“oh, shut up…” you whined softly as he grabbed the back of your head and brought it to his chest, hugging you once again. you sank into his arms, overcoming this inadequacy you felt in silence.

wooin didn’t want to let go, to let you go and dive into the feeling of such despair once again.

he cared about you a lot more than you thought he did.

#windbreaker webtoon #windbreaker manhwa #windbreaker #windbreaker x reader #wooin windbreaker #sabbath crew #wooin yoo #yoo wooin #wooin x reader #★angel'sworks

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kaisensei · 6 months ago

Text

hallucinations (gojo)

you visit your best friend only because you wanted to see him. but due to a sudden change of plans, you end up on top of him; which by the way, started as a challenge to prove him that you are indeed, very much real.

satoru gojo x reader (f)

wordcount; 4k

tags; friends to lovers, smut, cigarettes, drinking, oral sex (f. recieving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), multiple orgasms, grinding, drunk af satoru!!

my first fic yayyy!! minors stay away, cuz I'll block you!!! please let me know what you think about this one :) it's kinda unedited and also like 9 pages of pure smut.

---

The lights seem hazy and you slouch back on the bed, your feet nudging Satoru's thigh as he sits at the other end of the bed.

You didn't mean to drink, your main reason to visit him being your urge to see him. You had come up with an elaborate reason about how you had to give him the parcel Megumi had asked you to transfer to him; smartly leaving out the part where you had bullied that poor guy to hand it to you and not to Satoru. He had smiled and invited you in, unknowingly seducing you with his voice which had indicated that yes, this guy is drunk.

"You know, you seem like a hallucination," he exclaims and you balk.

"Why would you say that?"

He blinks at you and then laughs, "I mean you in my bed? That must be my imagination."

That statement has your stomach dropping to your knees. Is he implying what you think he is implying? Why else would he be so affronted to you being in his bed? Unless…

"I can prove to you that I am very much real."

He laughs and leans forwards, towards you, his eyes, although drooping slightly, holding a challenge you can never turn down. You grin at him, your insides tingling with the need to get near to him.

You take a puff from the cigarette pinched between your index and middle finger, and then proceed to crawl towards him; your face now inches from his because of the way he leaned forwards too. You smile, the drinks you had a while back fuelling you, and grab his neck to pull him to your lips, your skin already on fire from the adrenaline and excitement coursing through your veins.

As soon as his lips touch yours, your chapped lips feel as if they were burned. The smoke that you immediately exhale forms a shroud around your attached mouths and you inhale a bit of it, a jolt spiking through your body and you push yourself closer to him.

At first he doesn't move. But, when your lips move on their own accord, his hand finds your cheek and he falls in rhythm with you. In tandem with you, like two swans dancing across the lake, performing an intricate ballet of their own – that's how your lips move together. As if they were meant to be, like jigsaw pieces fitting in perfectly.

You don't know how his eyes had widened like saucers when you first pulled him down by his neck. You don't know how his heart had stopped when your lips landed on his, the action making him feel jittery and burning his inside with need.

All you know is how blissed out you feel – and you are fucking loving it. You know the wine made you so bold as to kiss him, especially like this, but you are just glad you are finally kissing him.

And he is kissing you back. With so much fervor that you feel you can dissolve in a puddle. His other hand also makes its way to your face and he holds you gently, but firmly. His tongue swipes across your lips and you shiver before breaking the kiss.

With a hair's breadth away from you, Satoru stares at you in a haze, hands still holding your face and lips red and glossy.

"Did you just kiss me?"

"Now do I feel like a hallucination?" you quip and he shakes his head, thumb swiping at your cheek softly.

"Fuck. Do it again."

Gladly, you think and rush to stub the cigarette on the tray. In your haste, you stumble a bit and Satoru steadies you with a giggle, almost falling forward with you himself.

As soon as you put it out, you scramble in his hold and intertwine your hands behind his neck, climbing on his lap and straddling him. He grabs you by your waist, to steady you, and almost instantly you attach your lips again – this time with an eagerness that you both match.

He groans when your lips move against his, performing the same dance, but with added grace. His grip on your waist gets tighter and you open his mouth with yours, licking into his mouth and tasting faint traces of whiskey. It makes your mind go on an overdrive, and goosebumps spread through your whole body.

Arousal pools at your center when he runs a finger up your spine, his other hand inching upwards, under the shirt you had on. He sighs into the kiss and breaks it.

"Oh my god, you are so soft." his nose touches your cheek and he slowly drags it all the way to your ear, tongue peeking out. You shudder when he licks your jaw, forming circles with his tongue under your ear, on your neck.

"Satoru." you keen and tug at his locks, pulling him closer to your skin – which is absolutely on fire. His lips meet your neck and he kisses your skin slowly, taking his time to savor your neck.

His hand on your waist works its way around it, and he grips you tighter, and before you know – you are being picked up and tossed on the bed with a soft thud.

"Ow." you groan and Satoru's eyes widen and he hovers over you, sparing no time.

"Oh my god, I am sorry. Are you okay?" his round eyes meet yours, face way too near for you to function. In his haze, he doesn't realize that even if you were hurt, your face would have been intact, and you giggle.

"Yes." you sigh out and pull him down to join your lips again. He almost crashes into you, but braces himself with his forearms. His tongue enters your mouth immediately, relishing in the flavor of bubble gum and making you moan as his tongue does wonders.

"Wait lemme-" you break the kiss and shift upwards, so you are not in the middle of the bed, dangling off the edge. That makes Satoru crawl upwards too and once you both have settled, his mouth finds your neck and your hands find his hair.

His tongue finds a spot on your neck, which gives away how fucking sensitive you are, and he groans into your skin when you whine. Your hips buck upwards and he pins you down with his, with perfect pressure that keeps you in place, but doesn't hurt you.

"Satoru, I want more." you moan his name and he ruts his hip against yours once, grinding down on you so you can feel him. His semi hard length rubs against your center, and even through the barrier, you feel overwhelmed by it.

"You want me?" he teases with his mouth at your breastbone, dragging your shirt down so he can see the top of your breasts.

"Yes."

"Say what you want, baby."

You whimper in his hold. If he called you baby again, you might actually die.

"You, all of you."

"Fuck you're making me go crazy."

You get hotter at this, goosebumps erupting across your whole body. As if you were any better? As if you weren't crazier?

Your back arches when his lips brush your nipples through your bra, making your pussy clench around nothing. His hand pushes your shirt upwards, rubbing patterns on your skin with the gentleness of a feather, soft but tingly. You arch a bit more, instinctively, when he tries to remove your shirt – and you let him, meeting him halfway. Your shirt goes flying somewhere in the dimly lit room, and you don't care.

Satoru has a different air around him, one that makes you succumb to him, with everything inside you. Your hips push themselves upward, for any kind of friction and he looks up at you from your chest. As soon as he does, you inhale a sharp breath and wish to die for him.

His hair frames his face beautifully, like the prettiest ocean. His eyes are deep, and beautiful, and his eyelids droop scarily, hazily, as he watches you with a glint in his eyes. His lips are wet and bruised, and his tongue pokes his cheek, before he speaks.

"Eager, are we?"

Oh God.

"Yes." you sigh, and you think you see him smirk, if only for a second. You are restless, you are crazy and you want everything, all at once. And he is making you run hills for it.

He kisses your stomach, and makes his way southwards. Your toes curl when his hands brush over your core and reach to unbutton your jeans.

"Can I?" he looks up at you, and even if his voice is a whisper, you hear it clearly, and you nod,

"Of course, 'toru."

He grins at this, and undoes your button, your zipper the next. You lift up your hips to help him pull down your jeans, and in a few tugs, you are lying on his bed in only your underwear.

He looks at you with a glimmer in his eyes, filled with lust and haze. There's adoration that you make out, and you return it tenfold. The ever changing lights from his lamp frame his body, making him glow and you pant as you beckon him to you.

"You are so beautiful," his hands toy with your band and he kisses your core through the material, making you arch your back, your hands flying to grab his hair.

"Oh fuck,"

He slowly tugs your underwear lower, as if he has all the time in the world and you whine impatiently. You need something, and your cunt is restless as you try to shimmy out of the piece of clothing gracing your ass.

He grunts at the sight of your bare pussy. You arch your back, pushing your hips upwards and he bends down, eye level with your naked core, as he caresses the side of your hips.

Your mind buzzes, the fog sitting down heavily. You already aren't coherent enough, and the feeling of lust drives you to another level of high.

"Shit." you hiss quietly. It feels so good when his hand cups your pussy, making you squirm your hips and tighten your core due to the sudden action. The laugh he lets out is hoarse, deep, and the utter desire to have him drives you with ease.

Your eyelids flutter shut when he starts leaving feather light kisses on your lower stomach, dangerously near to your center. The soft action amidst the heat of the moment has you curling your toes, hands slowly reaching up to his locks.

"Satoru," you sigh and he grunts into your skin, his voice muffled by the rising of your body, with each ragged breath that you take. You are gasping for air, trying to take in his essence, his scent, all of him. It won't be wrong to say that you are so fucking pathetic, so gone, that he hasn't even technically done anything, and you are already incoherent.

"Can I taste you?"

Your hold on his hair tightens at this, and you mindlessly nod. Of course, you would like him to taste you. Your pussy is aching with need – crying for whatever that is offered. Yes, that's how pathetic you feel.

His breath hits your quivering cunt and you shudder when he parts your folds with his fingers. They then find your clit and he rubs circles around it, making your legs shiver. You quietly whimper when he skillfully traces a line to your cunt. One of his fingers plunges in and your arousal coats his hand, merrily.

Even though you know how real this is, you still can't believe you are here with him. You close your eyes in a state of utter bliss, heightened by the faint noises he lets out right at your center.

"You are so fucking amazing," is his word before his nose touches your folds, parting them. You think he sniffs – and moans – right in front of your pussy. The sudden vibration makes you go haywire and you gasp out loud.

"Stop doing that." you warn him and he chuckles, making you run for your breath – again. You don't know how he can be the cause of your misery and pleasure, all at once.

"It's like I can live here." he says and you get a bit bolder – maybe from the high? or maybe from the frustration?

"If you're only gonna talk, then find some other place." you grumble and it's as if a switch flips inside him.

He pulls you down by the hips, burying his nose between your folds and swipes a path, almost hungrily. His hold on your hips is firm, not hurting, but also not allowing you to squirm. You faintly register his tongue peeking, but before you have the chance to react, it fully assaults your poor pussy. He licks between your folds, making your legs shudder, and moan in pleasure. His hands creep to your inner thighs and he pushes them wider, allowing himself to stay comfortably in between them.

"Mhm. So sweet, baby."

You whine at the pet name, and pull at his hair. His tongue works skillfully, and he lets out little noises of pleasure which drive you mad. His hair cascades down the side of his face, and faintly tickles your thigh, while framing his face beautifully. You can feel your high wearing off, the lust taking place instead. Your back arches when his tongue finds your clit.

"Satoru, that's.. yeah."

His laugh is devastating, and your toe curls. You open your eyes to a sight that makes your breath hitch, and your other hand goes to the sheets, gripping them for any kind of anchor.

With his eyes closed, his jaw works heavenly. There's a slick sheen of sweat covering his forehead, and his eyebrows are drawn taut in focus. He hums and his finger rubs circles on your skin, leaving fire in their wake.

"You know," he looks up at you with a lopsided, lazy grin, and eyes drooping low. His lips are red and wet, and there's a blush spreading across his neck. His lip curls and he bites down on his lower lip to stop himself from laughing, especially after seeing you ragged and gasping for breath, looking at him with your head tilted and eyes pleading, "You sound like pure fucking sin." he completes and you thrash your leg, for him to say such a thing.

"Please, don't." you sigh and he snickers.

"Don't what? That's the truth, baby."

You roll your eyes and it doesn't take him longer to get back to your cunt. This time as soon as his tongue flattens on your bundle of nerves, the tightness in your core starts to nudge you. His finger parts your folds and his tongue twirls in circles on your nub, making you gush like a fall.

You can feel the mess you are making, and his affirmative hum just makes you curl your fingers more.

"I'm, I'm close. Please don't stop"

He shakes his head and increases the pace of his assault, making you gasp out loud. The squelching sound of your juices has you rolling your eyes back and gulping. His tongue flicks over your already sensitive nub, and that being the last straw – you break for good.

Your orgasm washes over you in waves of haze, which has you moaning out loud for heaven's sake. The stars that Satoru's lamp forms on the ceiling seem so very much real, that it has you reeling for a second. You try to take in as much air as you can, taking in the smell of sex. As your breathing turns normal again, you register his tongue still on your cunt. He laps at your juices deliciously, and you arch your back painfully – especially because of the pain your nub feels, sensitive and gone.

"Stop no." you rasp out, and he stops immediately.

He looks up as you gasp for breath, and his face is drenched – covered by your cum. His tongue peeks out and he licks his lip, tasting your cum again and you almost shudder at the sight. His thumb presses into your skin and he leans ahead, sniffing once more.

"I love you so fucking much."

Time stops and your eyes turn into saucers, your heart flying out from your body.

Did he just say he loves you? Is this real? Is he real? After being a moth to his flame for literal fucking years, he tells you that he has been no better. Heaven rushes to you and your eyes brighten with glee. You want to grab him by the neck and shout at him that yes, you love him too, but somehow those words die on your tongue when you look at him looking up at you with those eyes. So, you just nod; a gesture which seems to translate perfectly well to him, for he smiles wide.

His eyes, crinkling at the edges, catch sight of your hardened nipples from your bra and he fucking groans. Soon, he is hovering over you – the motion so quick that it gives you whiplash. He wedges his thigh between yours and rests his weight on his forearms, as he sets them beside your face. He is quick to attach his lips to yours, and you sigh into his mouth. The taste that sits on your tongue is yours, and even though you inwardly cringe, you find it so fucking hot. His tongue presses down on yours and you gasp when you feel his teeth on your lip, almost bruising you.

The vigor of his kiss drives you, and you moan when you feel his hard length poke your abdomen. You mindlessly shift your body and he grinds down on you, detaching his lips from yours – only to moan at your lips. His head hangs low as he works his hips a little more, and you help him with little whimpers and shifts of your own.

"Let me ride you." you sigh out and he pauses, looking up at you with a furrow in his brows.

"Are, are you sure?"

Even though you can't actually feel your legs, you know you are sure.

"I want to ride you. I need to." you assure and he groans.

"Fuck, baby."

He climbs off of you and stands beside the bed, unbuttoning his pants. His eyes glaze over your eager form on the bed and a jolt strikes through your body, pooling at your center. There’s a slick sheen of sweat on his naked chest, and you get the sudden urge to wrap your arms around his wide frame and pull him as close as possible to yourself. He rids himself of his pants and you almost moan out loud, loving the sight of his nude thighs, practically inviting you to sit on them.

Satoru nudges you and you shift, letting him settle down on the bed beside you. Immediately, your hands are on him, and you trace his form with your fingers, your lips on his jaw trying to savor each and every inch of him. He groans under your ministrations, leading you to push yourselves onto him, finally on those thighs you have always thought about.

“You are so hot,” he sighs, his hands finding solace on your waist.

You will your hands to leave his pecs, and direct them to his cock, standing tall with need. You fist it once, the man under you keening with pleasure. You look him in the eyes, your gaze challenging him as you continue to drag your hand over his length slowly, making him bite down on his lip and tighten his hold on your waist. His touch burns you, his fingers digging into your bare skin. The pleasure and his voices drive you, and you bring your other hand to your back, successfully unbuttoning your last piece of garment. He audibly moans when he sees your boobs and your insides flare with need.

“Baby, please,” he pleads, and you understand what he asks of you. Your actions are swift as you hover above his length, directing it to your aching pussy and slowly sit down on it. You throw your head back, syncing your moans with his as your walls cover his needy cock, filling you full. You brace yourselves with your hands on his abdomen and he guides you lower on his length, your pussy tightening around him and covering him with your slick arousal.

"Ah shit," he hisses, his eyes glazing over with lust. Your ass hits his thighs, and you bite down on your lip to stop the insensitivities from spilling out of your mouth. You lean towards and start moving your hips, your fingers inching up his abs and pussy sucking him in deliciously.

The stretch of your walls hurt you, but you can't even complain because that's what you wanted. Soon, you are riding him with ease, your hips rocking as his fingers dig deeper in your skin. The pleasure is so crazy that you see spots in your vision, your body hot with need.

He whines under you and you moan his name out, increasing your pace and leaning back on your palms, as they rest on his knees. You close your eyes and he thrusts his hips upwards, meeting you halfway. Your tits bounce as you move, and the man under you groans at the sight.

"'toru, you feel so good," you whimper, and miss the way he bites down on his lip. His eyes drink your sight in, and rather than see it, you feel the heat of his gaze on you, goosebumps erupting in its wake.

Your core tightens and your pace gets sloppier, his thrusts taking you to levels never seen. His eyes screw shut and you try to train your sight on the beauty of his body, white spots filling your vision from the pleasure that courses through your body. You are terribly close, leaning towards him in need to find his lips on yours.

"Angel, I," he begins and breaks the sentence with a deep thrust upwards, "I have never felt so fucking blissed out before."

Oh god, you almost cry out at this, slipping closer to the edge. You tell him so and he nods, a grin etching on his face.

"Let's slip together," he brings his hand to yours and intertwines his fingers with yours. Butterflies rise in your stomach and your throat almost chokes up at that action, a lovely feeling encasing you.

He loves you.

And you love him.

That fact combined with the way his cock fucks into you so sweetly, you topple over the edge, your orgasm washing over you in waves of pure bliss. You see stars behind your closed lids and stop moving, not being able to feel your legs or your knees or your hands; only and only his presence.

It's a few seconds later that he spills inside you, his hold on your hand tightening and a deep groan making its way past his lips. His cock jerks inside you once, and he brings you closer to him, your name the only word on his lips like a mantra.

Your boobs press up against his chest and he gushes at the feeling, his nose nudging yours, a similar smile on both of your faces. He pulls out with a grimace and wraps his arms around your form, locking you in his embrace.

"You said you love me?" you sheepishly suggest and he lets out a full belly laugh.

"Yes, yes I do. I'm in love with you, and I can no longer deny it."

Oh, straight to your heart. You get all giddy like a teenager at his proclamation of his love for you.

"Do you…?" he trails off, a shadow of doubt passing over his face.

"Of course, I love you."

He grins, relieved by it and leaves a chaste kiss on your lips, giving you the chance to chase it if you want to. And of course you want to.

You'll always want him.

---

>>> please let me know what you think of this by reblogging, leaving comments or sending asks :) I'll love it!!

#gojo smut #gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #gojo satoru #satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jjk #smut #anime fanfic #jjk fanfic #gojo fanfic #✍️ hallucinations #⭐ mine #📂 jjk #📝 oneshots

147 notes · View notes

sushiyuzu · 9 months ago

Note

Hiii, I was wondering if you could make smth with a fem-reader who gets super angry, like destructive when mad bcus she lacks self-control rlly bad (for me I'm mentally ill lol) so when she gets mad her s/o usually walks in to her room destroyed with a crying reader in the corner, especially when she hasn't been taking her meds it ends up like that, and can you do this with Megumi, Yuta, and Sukuna

a safe comfort 🤍

a/n: thank you so much for trusting me with this request! it was my second time receiving and writing a fanfic request, and i truly appreciate the support! please remember to take care of yourself, especially if you're struggling with mental health—your well-being is so important! <3

warning: this story includes themes of mental illness, destructive behavior, and emotional distress. please proceed with caution.

megumi fushiguro

it starts as a small thing, the kind of annoyance you’d usually brush off. but today, something feels different. it’s as if the tension has been building for days, winding tighter and tighter until finally—something snaps. and when it does, you can’t stop yourself.

your hands are trembling as you shove the lamp off your nightstand, the crash of broken glass loud in your ears. the sound echoes in your head, but it doesn’t register—not really. you’re already grabbing at the books on your desk, hurling them across the room as frustration wells up inside you, fierce and unrelenting.

the anger takes over everything. it’s all-consuming, suffocating, like a weight on your chest you can’t escape. and when it’s over, when the room lies in ruins around you, you’re left standing in the middle of it all, gasping for air, your hands still shaking as the reality of what you’ve done hits you.

you drop to the floor, curling into yourself, the tears coming fast and hard. shame burns deep in your chest, the guilt crushing you as you try to breathe through it. you don’t want to be like this—you don’t want to be the person who destroys everything.

you don’t even notice when megumi walks in. he’s always quiet like that, slipping into your space without making a sound. but you know he’s there when you hear his voice—soft, steady, calm.

“hey,” he murmurs, and the sound is so gentle it makes your chest ache. “it’s okay.”

you can’t bring yourself to look up at him, too ashamed of what he must be seeing. you’re a mess. the room’s a mess. but megumi doesn’t seem to care. he steps carefully around the broken glass, the scattered papers, and kneels down beside you without a word.

for a long moment, he doesn’t say anything, just sits there with you, his presence grounding you in a way that nothing else can. his hand hovers near your shoulder, not quite touching, as if he’s waiting for permission to get closer.

“i’m not going anywhere,” he says softly, his voice filled with quiet reassurance.

you finally lift your head, and the moment your eyes meet his, the tears come faster, harder. you choke on a sob, unable to hold it back any longer, but megumi’s arms are around you before you can even process it. he pulls you into his chest, holding you close, and for a second, you forget about the wreckage around you.

his grip is firm but gentle, his hand running through your hair in soothing strokes. he’s not one to overwhelm you with words—megumi knows that sometimes silence speaks louder. instead, he just holds you, letting you cry against him, offering a quiet strength you can lean on without fear.

“we’ll figure it out,” he says after a while, his voice steady, like a promise. “whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together.”

you know he means it. with megumi, there are no empty promises. just the quiet certainty that no matter how bad things get, he’s going to stay by your side. and somehow, that makes it a little easier to breathe.

the minutes stretch into what feels like hours as you sink into his embrace. with every ragged breath, you can feel the tension start to dissolve. megumi’s warmth envelops you, a safe haven amidst the storm of emotions raging inside.

as the tears slow, you begin to notice the little things—how his heartbeat thrums steadily against your ear, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air, the gentle way he holds you as if you’re something precious. it’s a comfort that seeps into your bones, reminding you that you’re not alone in this chaos.

“i know it feels overwhelming right now,” he says, his voice low and soothing, “but it doesn’t define you. you’re stronger than this moment.”

you nod against him, trying to internalize his words, but the guilt still lingers like a shadow. “i don’t want to be like this,” you whisper, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“i know,” he replies, pulling back slightly to look you in the eye. there’s a determination in his gaze, a fierce protectiveness that makes your heart swell. “and you’re not. we’ll find a way to help you. just take it one step at a time.”

he wipes away the tears on your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, his touch featherlight yet grounding. in his gaze, you see understanding—an unspoken agreement that you don’t have to carry this burden alone. with megumi beside you, it’s easier to believe that healing is possible, that you can face whatever darkness lies ahead.

as you sit there, the room still in disarray, you realize it’s okay to be broken. it’s okay to ask for help. because with megumi by your side, you know you have a safe space to fall apart and rebuild. you’re not just a collection of shattered pieces; you’re a person, and that person deserves love and understanding—even in the midst of chaos.

“thank you,” you murmur, feeling a glimmer of hope rise within you.

“always,” he replies, a soft smile breaking through the worry etched on his face. “now, let’s clean this up together, okay?”

you nod, and for the first time in a long while, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you can find your way back to yourself.

yuta okkotsu

the anger hits you like a tidal wave, sudden and overwhelming, and before you know it, everything around you is falling apart. you’ve tried to hold it back—tried so hard—but the frustration is too much. your hands move on their own, knocking over anything within reach, the sounds of things crashing to the floor blending together in a chaotic blur.

you don’t realize how far you’ve gone until the room is a disaster—books torn from the shelves, clothes scattered across the floor, furniture tipped over in your frenzy. it’s only when the last bit of anger burns out that you see the mess you’ve made, and with it comes the crushing guilt. the shame.

you collapse to the floor, pressing your palms to your face, hiding from the destruction you’ve caused. your heart races in your chest, your breathing uneven as the tears come, slow at first, then uncontrollable.

you don’t hear the door open, don’t realize yuta’s standing there until you feel a presence near you. when he speaks, his voice is so soft, so filled with concern, it breaks your heart.

“hey,” he calls your name gently, kneeling in front of you. “what happened?”

you can’t answer him, can’t even look at him. the shame is too much. you’ve done this again—let yourself lose control, let everything spiral. yuta doesn’t push you for answers, though. he just watches you for a moment, waiting for the right time to step in.

“it’s okay,” he whispers after a while, reaching out carefully, his hand brushing against your arm in a tentative gesture. “i’m not mad. i’m just... worried.”

his words hit you in a way you didn’t expect, and before you know it, you’re falling into him. yuta catches you easily, pulling you close to his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively. he’s warm, gentle, his hands soothing as he rubs slow circles against your back.

“we’ll get through this,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice steady. “whatever’s going on... we’ll handle it together.”

his embrace is firm, but never overwhelming. he holds you just tightly enough to make you feel safe, his chin resting on the top of your head as he lets you cry into his shoulder. yuta’s always been like this—soft, gentle, never pushing too hard but always there when you need him most.

“you don’t have to be afraid of this,” he adds, his voice low. “we’ll take it one step at a time, okay?”

you nod against him, even though you still feel the weight of your emotions pressing down on you. but with yuta’s arms around you, the world feels just a little bit less overwhelming.

as you pull away slightly, just enough to see his face, you can’t help but notice the concern etched in his features. his eyes search yours, looking for any sign of reassurance. “you didn’t have to hide this from me,” he says softly, brushing a thumb across your cheek, wiping away a tear that has slipped free. “i’m here for you, no matter what.”

the sincerity in his voice ignites something inside you—a flicker of hope amidst the storm of despair. “i just... don’t want to be like this,” you admit, your voice trembling. “i don’t want to keep losing control.”

“it’s okay to feel angry sometimes,” he reassures, his expression unwavering. “but you’re not alone in this. you don’t have to handle everything on your own.”

you take a deep breath, allowing his words to wash over you. it’s a reminder that while this moment feels insurmountable, it doesn’t define you. yuta doesn’t judge you for the chaos you’ve created; instead, he’s offering a lifeline, a way to navigate through the darkness together.

“let’s clean this up,” he suggests, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. “but first, can we take a minute? just to breathe?”

you nod again, grateful for his understanding. yuta guides you back to the corner of the room where it feels a bit safer, sitting beside you on the floor amidst the wreckage. he takes a moment to simply breathe with you, matching his inhale and exhale to yours. in those shared breaths, you can feel the tension begin to ease, even if just a little.

“you’re strong, you know,” he says softly, looking at you with such intensity that it warms your heart. “even when it feels like everything’s falling apart, you’re still standing here. that means something.”

his words wrap around you like a warm blanket, grounding you further. you manage a small smile, a flicker of gratitude in your chest. “thank you for being here.”

“always,” he replies, the sincerity in his voice bringing a sense of comfort. “let’s start with one thing at a time. how about we pick up the books first?”

you both begin to clear the room together, moving through the remnants of your outburst. with each item you return to its place, you feel a little more in control, a little less lost. yuta’s presence is steady by your side, and as he laughs softly at the absurdity of some of the mess, you can’t help but join him.

“what a tornado you’ve created,” he teases gently, picking up a shirt and throwing it playfully at you. “it looks like a fashion disaster.”

“hey! don’t make fun of my style,” you retort, a laugh bubbling up despite the heaviness of earlier. the sound feels good, like a small victory over the lingering despair.

“i’d never!” he exclaims, mock-indignant. “your style is unique, and it needs to be respected.”

as you work together, the atmosphere shifts. the heaviness that had settled in your chest begins to lift, and with yuta’s playful banter, you start to find a lightness you thought was lost. you realize that even in moments of chaos, you can create something beautiful—like the bond you share with him.

once the room is tidied up, yuta turns to you, his expression serious again. “remember, it’s okay to ask for help. i’m just a call away, and you don’t have to face anything alone.”

you look at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. “i really appreciate you, yuta. for everything.”

“anytime,” he replies, reaching for your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “let’s take care of each other, okay?”

as you sit together in the aftermath of the storm, you know that with yuta by your side, you’ll find a way through whatever challenges lie ahead. the world feels just a little bit less daunting, and that’s more than enough for now.

ryomen sukuna

it happens fast—too fast for you to stop it. one moment, you’re pacing around the room, frustration boiling inside you like a pressure cooker, and the next, your hands are smashing into everything within reach. you’ve never been able to control it, this anger that builds and builds until it spills over, consuming everything in its path.

furniture crashes to the floor, papers scatter across the room, and the sound of breaking glass rings in your ears. you’ve wrecked the place, torn it apart with your bare hands, and now, standing in the aftermath, all you can feel is the hollow emptiness left behind.

your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, tears blurring your vision as the weight of what you’ve done settles in. you sink down to the floor, curling in on yourself, the world around you too much to handle. the anger is gone now, but the shame remains, thick and suffocating.

then you hear him—sukuna. his voice cuts through the silence like a knife, sharp and unmistakable.

“well, well,” he drawls, his tone laced with amusement. “look at the mess you’ve made.”

you flinch, expecting the worst, but when sukuna steps into the room, there’s no mockery in his eyes. he surveys the damage with a raised brow, but instead of berating you, he simply smirks, as if he finds the whole thing more fascinating than anything else.

“you always did have a flair for destruction,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “but this... this is something else.”

you don’t respond. you can’t. the shame is too heavy, too overwhelming, and the last thing you want is for him to see you like this. but sukuna doesn’t leave. instead, he walks over to you, his boots crunching against the broken glass, and crouches down in front of you.

he tilts his head, his red eyes gleaming with something almost like curiosity. “are you done?”

you nod, though it’s barely a movement. your throat is tight, your eyes stinging with unshed tears, and sukuna just watches you for a moment longer before sighing. without another word, he reaches out and pulls you into his arms, not caring about the mess around him.

you’re too tired to resist, too worn out to push him away, and sukuna just holds you there, his grip firm but not painful. there’s a warmth to him, a strange sort of comfort in the way he wraps his arms around you, despite his usual roughness.

“you’re a disaster,” he mutters, his tone teasing but not unkind. “but i suppose you’re my disaster.”

you don’t know why, but his words make the tears come harder, and before you know it, you’re sobbing against his chest, your body trembling with the force of it. sukuna doesn’t shush you or tell you to stop. he just lets you cry, his hand resting on the back of your head, his fingers gently tangling in your hair.

“let it out,” he says, his voice soft now, quieter than you’ve ever heard it before. “you’ll feel better after.”

and somehow, with him holding you, the world feels just a little bit less chaotic. sukuna may not be gentle, but in this moment, he’s exactly what you need. the weight of his arms around you, solid and unyielding, keeps you anchored, keeps you from spiraling any further.

he’s not one for soft reassurances or whispered comforts, but his presence alone is enough to ground you. he lets you break down in his arms, lets you be vulnerable without judgment or impatience. there’s something oddly calming about it—being in the presence of someone so powerful, so utterly in control, when you feel like your world is falling apart.

after a long while, when your sobs finally subside, sukuna pulls back slightly. he tilts your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. his red eyes bore into yours, sharp and unwavering.

“feel better?” he asks, his voice low, his expression unreadable.

you nod, not trusting your voice to speak. he studies you for a moment longer before he lets go of your chin, standing up and brushing some debris off his clothes as if none of this bothered him in the slightest.

“next time,” he says, his tone casual, as if offering advice on something trivial, “try not to destroy everything. or at least wait until i’m around to enjoy the show.”

there’s a teasing lilt to his words, and despite yourself, despite everything, a small, tired smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

“come on,” sukuna says, offering you his hand to help you up. “let’s get out of here. you need to clear your head.”

you hesitate for only a moment before taking his hand, and he pulls you up effortlessly. as he leads you out of the wreckage of your room, there’s a strange comfort in knowing that, for all his arrogance and rough edges, sukuna’s still here—still willing to stay by your side, no matter how many times you break.

and somehow, with him, that’s enough.

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