#god the glow from his eyes and his hair and and and and and | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shelovesosa · 2 days ago

Text

CTRL + ALT + LOVE

paring: Fictional!Satoru X F!Reader

art credits to scarlettismm on X!

sum!! After staying up late reading an emotional fanfic, a college student wakes to find the fictional love interest—Satoru Gojo—somehow real and lying beside her. Confused and out of place in the real world, Satoru begins to unravel. As they grow closer, they share laughter, secrets, and something deeper… even as time threatens to take him away. But sometimes, endings aren’t what they seem.

CW: MDNI, Romance,Contemporary Fantasy, Soft Sci-Fi, Magical Realism, Bittersweet, Angst with comfort, Temporary Love, Borrowed Time, Soft Smut, First Time Together, nerdjo cameo, soft dom, Memory Loss / Fading Reality Unexpected Second Chance. WC: 10.9k

It’s 1:41 a.m., your eyes are puffy, your nose is running, and you’ve just finished sobbing over a fictional man named Satoru who doesn’t even exist. And yet, somehow, he broke your heart like he did.

You’re curled up on your side in bed, blanket cocooned around you, the glow of your laptop screen still burning into your tired, emotional retinas. You knew what kind of fic it was going in—CEO AU, enemies-to-lovers, workplace drama. Classic. But nowhere in the tags did it say “character death.”

You sniffle loudly and scroll back to reread the last paragraph, as if torturing yourself again will somehow dull the pain.

“I should’ve said it sooner,” he whispered, blood soaking into the snow, eyes never leaving hers. “It was always you.”

The lights from the city faded behind him. And he didn’t blink again.

[End.]

You slam your hands on the keyboard.

“You’re kidding me,” you mutter out loud, nose stuffy and voice cracking. “You killed him? Seriously?! You made me sit through twenty chapters of slow-burn sexual tension, one shared bed trope, three almost-kisses and a forehead touch—just for this?”

You groan, throwing your arm over your face dramatically.

“God, I hate you, Satoru,” you whisper into your pillow. “I hate your stupid perfect face, and your ice-cold business demeanor, and your secretly soft heart, and the way you just died before you even got to live.”

You roll over, flinging a crumpled tissue at your desk.You sniff, dragging your fingers cross the keyboard to angrily type into the comments.

You:

@shelovesosa HOW DARE YOU. Fix it. Fix it right now or I’ll manifest this man into my bed myself.

“Stupid author,” you add bitterly. “Oh Sosa. May your coffee always be lukewarm and your favorite show get canceled on a cliffhanger.”

You slam the laptop shut and toss it aside.

With a final sniff, you curl deeper into your sheets. Your brain is spinning in post-fanfic grief. You mumble one last thing, more out of sleep-deprived delirium than real intent:

“…I wish he were real.” You fall asleep with the ache of unfinished stories in your chest.

The morning comes too fast. You’re groggy, head foggy from too many dreams and too little sleep. Your alarm bleats somewhere in the background as you reach to turn it off.

Except your hand doesn’t land on your phone.

It lands on something warm. And solid. And breathing. You freeze. Your eyes fly open.

There’s a shape beside you in bed. A weight. The blankets are shifted, your mattress slightly dipped like someone else is laying there. Slowly, you turn your head.

And the world tilts. There’s a man in your bed. White hair. Pale skin. Shirtless. Lean muscle. His face is turned toward the window, but even from this angle— It’s him. Your heart lurches.

Satoru. Not cosplay. Not a dream. Not just similar. It’s Satoru, exactly as he was in the fanfic. Down to the small scar above his brow the author described in chapter six.

Your lips part, no sound coming out. You're frozen. Shaking.

He stirs. Brows knit. Eyes flutter. And slowly, his lashes lift. Blue eyes. He sees you. And everything happens at once.

He jolts upright, sheets sliding off his bare chest. You scream. He flinches.

“Wh—what the hell?!” he chokes, eyes wild. “Where—what is this?! Who are you?!”

You scramble back, nearly falling out of bed. “Me?! Who are YOU?! This is my room!”

He stares at you, chest heaving. “No. No, this isn’t… This isn’t right.”

He looks around, dazed. Confused. His voice is raspy, like it hurts to speak.

“I was in Tokyo,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. “It was snowing. I was bleeding. I was with—” He swallows, eyes darting toward you again. “Where is she?”

You blink. “Who?”

He stares. His voice breaks.

“…You’re not her.”

Something cold seeps into your spine. Because you know who he means. The her from the fanfic. The girl he loved before he died.

“But you’re not real,” you whisper. “You’re fictional. You died. I read it last night—I read your death—”

“I remember dying,” he snaps, voice shaking. “I felt it. I saw her crying. And then I woke up here.”

You both sit in stunned silence.

He presses a palm to his forehead. “This is a nightmare. I’m dreaming. Or— Or I was rewritten. Or this is some kind of punishment—”

You crawl slowly to the edge of the bed, still watching him like he might vanish.

“I think I summoned you,” you say weakly. “I cursed the author. As a joke. I said I wished you were real.”

He glares at you like you’re insane. But underneath it all—his trembling fingers, the way he keeps glancing around the room, the panic in his breathing—you see it:

He’s terrified. And it makes your heart hurt.

“…I want to go back,” he finally says.

Your throat tightens. “I don’t know how.”

He stares at you like it’s your fault. Maybe it is.

You clutch your sheets and whisper, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

His voice is flat.

“You’re not supposed to be her.”

You’ve never wanted to faint so badly in your life. He’s still sitting in your bed—your stupid college dorm twin XL bed—with your blush-pink blanket slung over his lap like that’s the most offensive part of all this.

His chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, and he’s still staring at the wall like it might open up and take him back to wherever he came from. Fiction. Paper. Imagination.

But now he's here. And he’s not pixelated or made of words. He’s real.

“I need to go back,” he mutters again. “She’s waiting.”

You chew your lip. “She’s not real.”

He flinches like you slapped him.

“I mean, she was real to you,” you add quickly. “But… she’s just words. I read her. She’s a reader-insert. She’s a blank space.”

“No,” he says, voice firm. “She was real. I loved her.”

You fall quiet. What are you supposed to say? Sorry, she was just me with better confidence and no student loans?

You sit down slowly on the edge of the bed. Satoru tenses, but doesn’t move.

“This is going to sound absolutely insane,” you start carefully, “but I think I pulled you out of your story. I was mad at the ending, I said I wished you were real, and then… this happened.”

He scoffs. “So I’m a pity project. Great.”

You frown. “No! You weren’t supposed to actually show up! I thought maybe I’d dream about you or something, not… wake up with you in my bed, very shirtless and very confused.”

You realize you’re staring at his chest. You immediately look away.

“This is a glitch,” he mutters. “Some kind of cruel rewrite. I shouldn’t be here.”

You glance at him. “Do you… remember everything?”

He nods. “Every scene. Every chapter. I remember dying.”

There’s a long pause.

“God,” you whisper. “That’s so messed up.”

He finally laughs—but it’s not a happy sound. It’s dry. Hollow. “Tell me about it.”

You rub your eyes. “Okay. Look. We have two problems.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Only two?”

“One,” you hold up a finger, “we don’t know how you got here. Two… you’re glitching.”

He stiffens. “What do you mean?”

“You were flickering,” you say, voice soft. “Just for a second. Like… your edges blurred. Like a dream.”

He doesn’t respond. His jaw clenches, like he felt it, too.

“…So I’m not stable.”

You say nothing. After a moment, he exhales and slumps back slightly.

“God, this is pathetic,” he mutters. “I was the most powerful man in the city. I could ruin a company with one phone call. I had private jets. Now I don’t even have pants.”

You try—try—not to laugh.

“I can get you pants,” you offer.

His eyes narrow. “Don’t pity me.”

“I’m not pitying you,” you lie. “I just don’t think walking around shirtless in a college dorm is going to help your situation.”

He mutters something under his breath but doesn’t argue.

You grab a pair of sweatpants from your drawer and toss them at him. “Bathroom’s down the hall. You’re gonna have to sneak.”

He catches them with ease and stands, still moving like he owns a twenty-story skyscraper. You try not to stare at his back as he walks to the door.

He turns the knob, then pauses.

“…What’s your name?” he asks, glancing back at you.

You blink. “Y/N.”

He stares for a beat.

Then says, quietly, “I don’t remember that being in the story.”

You smile a little. “That’s because I wasn’t in it.”

He hesitates. Then opens the door and vanishes into the hallway.

You spend the next fifteen minutes pacing your room like it’s about to burst into flames. There’s a fictional man in your dorm bathroom.

You summoned him. You broke something. Maybe the universe. Maybe yourself.

He’s glitching. You don’t know how long he has. And he’s desperate to get back to a girl who doesn’t exist. But for some reason, he’s still here. Still real. And you don’t know what that means yet.

You’re sitting on the edge of your twin bed, clutching a lukewarm cup of instant coffee and trying not to spiral. Because this is real.

It’s not a dream. Not some grief hallucination brought on by staying up too late reading slow-burn fanfiction and eating sour gummies. There’s no typo, no delete button, no author’s note to reverse what’s happened.

Satoru is here.

The fictional man you loved and mourned and cursed the night before is now somewhere in your dorm’s communal bathroom, wearing your ex’s old sweatpants and the expression of someone who’s been yanked out of death and dumped into a college campus like a tossed USB file.

You stare at the door until it creaks open.

He steps inside cautiously, drying his hands on the front of his hoodie. His white hair is still damp, falling slightly in his eyes. He looks softer like this, like less of the towering CEO you met through carefully crafted prose and more like a very lost man who’s trying not to shatter.

You clear your throat. “Everything okay?”

He looks at you, nods stiffly, then glances around the room again like he still can’t quite believe where he is.

“I counted six women brushing their teeth in one bathroom,” he says, sitting on the desk chair like it offends him. “One of them offered me dry shampoo. I don’t know what that is.”

You snort into your cup. “Welcome to dorm life.”

He doesn’t laugh. He just studies you with unreadable eyes. Sharp and searching. Like you’re an answer he doesn’t want to need.

“This place…” he murmurs, gesturing vaguely to your walls cluttered with sticky notes and fairy lights, “this isn’t… scripted.”

You raise a brow. “No. That’s kind of how real life works.”

He leans back, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

“You said I’m not supposed to exist here. So what does that mean? Am I… fading? Am I going to just—stop?”

Your throat tightens. You’ve been wondering the same thing.

“I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “But you’re still here now. That has to mean something.”

He exhales, head tilting back to stare at the ceiling.

You watch him in silence. His hands are resting on his thighs, long fingers twitching slightly like he’s resisting the urge to reach for something. A phone. A pen. Her. You put your coffee down.

“Look,” you say softly, “I know I’m not her. And I didn’t mean for this to happen. But until we figure out what’s going on, maybe you should just… stay.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Here?”

You nod, cheeks warming. “Just for now. You clearly have nowhere else to go. And I don’t think you're ready to navigate student housing or explain why you don’t have ID.”

Satoru stares at you like the concept of help is foreign. Which, based on the version of him you read about, it probably is.

Finally, he murmurs, “I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” you say gently. “It’s a blanket and some time to breathe.”

He looks at you, expression unreadable. But he nods once.

You set up a sleeping bag on the floor that night. It’s the best you can offer in a room barely large enough to fit two people standing up. He lies stiffly on top of it, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling like sleep is a stranger.

You lie in bed, eyes open.bYou think about how he held the love of his life while he died. And now he’s here. Not holding anyone.

“Do you miss her?” you whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away. But when he does, his voice is soft.

“I think I miss the way she made me feel. Like I wasn’t just a weapon in a suit.”

You’re quiet.

He adds, a beat later, “But maybe that feeling wasn’t even mine. Maybe I only loved her because someone wrote me that way.”

You turn to look at him. But he’s already looking at you. Neither of you says anything after that.

You wake up to the smell of something burning. Your eyes shoot open, heart already sprinting.

You stumble out of bed, nearly tripping on the sleeping bag where Satoru isn’t anymore. You hear the clatter of pans, the groan of the microwave, and a very muffled, very confused “Why is this machine yelling at me?”

You rush into the kitchenette area down the hall, still barefoot, to find Satoru standing in front of the microwave, poking at the buttons like they insulted his mother.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, half-laughing, half-panicked.

He points at the microwave indignantly. “It said ‘popcorn’ but there were sparks! Sparks, Y/N!”

You grab the bag—oh god, the foil kind—and toss it in the trash before it sets off the building alarm.

He stares at you, wide-eyed, hair slightly messy, wearing your oversized hoodie and sweatpants like he’s a very lost, very pretty houseguest.

“Have you never used a microwave?”

“Why would I?” he asks, completely serious. “I had a private chef in Tokyo.”

You stare at him. He stares back. And then, maybe for the first time since he showed up… you both laugh.

Real laughter. Yours high-pitched and breathless, his deeper, more surprised. It crackles in the small space between you. And for just a second, he doesn't look like a man unraveling.

He looks like a boy. New. Unwritten.

Later, you’re sitting on the floor together, eating cereal straight from the box. His hair keeps falling in his eyes. You reach out without thinking and brush it back.

He freezes. So do you. His eyes meet yours. And for a second—just a second—there’s something like electricity in the air. Not sparks from microwaves. Not glitchy fiction magic.

Something real. You pull your hand back quickly. But he doesn’t stop looking at you.

“…I didn’t feel this way in the story,” he says quietly. “Not like this.”

You glance at him, heart thudding. “Feel what way?”

He doesn’t answer. But his knee brushes yours, and neither of you moves.

That night, he glitches. You're the first to notice. It’s small, at first. You're talking about breakfast cereal—how you mix Frosted Flakes and granola together like a heathen—and he tilts his head, eyes clouding slightly.

“I’ve never had cereal,” he says.

You blink.

“Yes, you did. This morning. You ate like half the box.”

He frowns. “No, I didn’t. We went to that place. With the… tiny pancakes.”

“…Satoru,” you say softly, “that was from Chapter 11. Of the fanfic. The Paris trip.”

His expression blanks. And then something in his face glitches. Like static behind his eyes. It only lasts a moment—but it’s long enough.

He exhales, hand pressed to his forehead. “It’s happening, isn’t it?”

You don’t know what to say.

He looks at you, voice quieter now. “I’m not built for this world. I’m already forgetting.”

You kneel in front of him, gently placing your hand on his. “Then we don’t waste time.”

His breath catches. You hold his hand like it’s the only thing anchoring him here. And maybe it is.

You don’t go to class the next day. You don’t even pretend to.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re “monitoring the anomaly” or “preserving the fabric of reality.” But really, it’s because Satoru wakes up on the floor with the most lost look on his face and whispers, “Where am I again?” and it breaks your heart clean in half.

You sit with him until he remembers. Your name. The coffee spill. The dorm microwave. He laughs about the popcorn again, a little shakier this time. But it still counts. After that, you don’t leave his side.

The two of you walk the campus late at night when no one’s around. He keeps staring at trees like they’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

“I didn’t have these,” he murmurs. “Not like this. The ones in the fic were always perfectly sculpted. Background props.”

You smile softly. “These ones grow crooked. They drop leaves. Sometimes birds poop on you.”

He tilts his head. “I like them better.”

You take him to the library next. He walks the rows of books with reverent hands, trailing fingers across every spine like he’s scared they’ll vanish.

“I thought I knew words,” he says, voice low. “But this is different. These were made by people. Not an author playing God. Just… people.”

You nod. “People with lives. Mistakes. Ugly handwriting and messy endings.”

Satoru turns to you.

You don’t know what he sees in your face, but it’s enough to make him pause.

“You’re not what I expected,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow. “Expected from what? Fanfiction?”

He shakes his head. “No. From reality.”

You teach him how to use your phone. He FaceTimes the pizza place by accident and panics when someone picks up.

You try to explain memes, which leads to you both scrolling through TikToks on your bed for an hour straight. He becomes obsessed with cooking videos.

At one point, your head drops onto his shoulder. He doesn’t move. His breathing slows, steadies, like he’s memorizing the shape of you. Neither of you says anything about it.

You stay up one night talking. Really talking. You're lying side by side on your bed, not touching, but so close your arms are brushing.

“I used to think I was in love with her,” he says.

You stare at the ceiling. “The version of me from the story.”

He nods. “But she didn’t challenge me. She didn’t argue. She was soft in all the ways the author needed her to be.”

You don’t say anything. You’re not sure how to feel.

He turns his head to look at you. “You’re not soft.”

You blink. “Gee, thanks.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” he murmurs. “You’re… messy. Complicated. Real. You snore.”

You shove his arm lightly, and he grins.

But then his smile fades.

“I’m scared I won’t remember this,” he whispers.

You turn your head slowly. He’s staring at you like he’s memorizing you.

“I’m scared I’ll forget you.”

Your chest tightens.

You whisper, “Then I’ll remember for both of us.”

Something shifts in the space between you. Like gravity pulling tighter.

You don’t kiss. Not yet. But his hand inches closer to yours. And this time, when your fingers touch— You hold it tighter.

It starts small again. A pause mid-conversation.

A moment where Satoru tilts his head and says, “Remind me what this is again?” while pointing at something he’s already asked about twice.

You want to pretend it’s nothing. That he’s just distracted. But then you catch him standing by the window later that evening, staring out at the streetlight like it’s the only thing anchoring him.

“Do you remember this morning?” you ask quietly, stepping beside him.

He turns slowly. “…Was there cereal?”

You nod.

He gives you a sad smile. “I forgot the flavor.”

You don’t know what to say. So you walk over, wrap your arms around his torso, and press your cheek to his chest.

His breath catches. You feel his arms come up, slowly, hesitantly. Like he’s afraid he’ll crush you. Like if he holds you too tightly, he might disappear completely.

His chin rests on top of your head. His heartbeat is loud beneath your ear. Neither of you moves for a long time.

That night, he doesn’t want to sleep on the floor.

“I know I said I would,” he mutters, eyes flicking toward the sleeping bag. “But I just… I don’t want to feel far from you right now.”

You nod. You move over. He climbs in beside you. He stays on his side at first. Doesn’t touch you. But eventually, in the dark, his fingers find yours beneath the covers.

He holds your hand like it’s the last thread connecting him to the world. And maybe it is.

You dream of water. A soft tide pulling you away. Something fading. When you wake, he’s already looking at you. His hand is on your cheek. His thumb brushes just under your eye.

“I had a dream,” he whispers.

You hum sleepily, not opening your eyes. “What about?”

“I was back,” he says. “In the story. She was there. The office. The desk. The skyline.”

You open your eyes. He’s quiet for a long time.

Then: “But I didn’t feel anything.”

You turn to face him. “What do you mean?”

“I saw her. But she didn’t look like you. She looked like a blank space. Like a fill-in. She smiled at me, but it wasn’t you.”

He reaches for your face again.

“This world is loud. Messy. Exhausting. And I still want to stay in it.”

Your throat burns. “You might not get that choice.”

He leans in, forehead resting against yours.

“I know.”

Silence. Just your breath and his. Then he whispers:

“But if I’m going to vanish, I want to remember you.”

It’s quiet in the room. The kind of quiet that hangs between words never spoken. Between goodbyes that haven’t happened yet.

You lie beside him, breath soft, chest rising and falling in rhythm with his. His hand is still resting over yours beneath the blanket, fingers loosely entwined like a tether to reality. His thumb brushes gently along your knuckles.

“Satoru,” you whisper, your voice nearly lost in the hush of the room. “Are you okay?”

His eyes are already on you. He doesn’t answer for a long time. Then: “No.”

Your heart twists.

“I feel like I’m slipping,” he says, voice low, a little raw. “Like parts of me are coming undone. I try to remember the story, the office, the people... it’s all fog. But you—” His hand tightens around yours. “You’re the only thing I still feel.”

You swallow, throat thick. “Then hold on to me.”

His gaze drops to your lips.

“Can I?” he whispers. “Really hold you? Just once. Before I forget?”

You nod. The moment stretches. And then he leans in.

The kiss is slow. Uncertain at first, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish too. But when you sigh against his mouth, it deepens—his hand sliding to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head so he can kiss you fully. Thoroughly.

He kisses you like he wants to taste your memory. Like he’s carving the shape of you into whatever part of him still exists beyond the glitch.

You shift closer, and his hand slips beneath your shirt, splaying across your waist. His palm is warm. Steady. You shiver at the contact.

“Tell me what you want,” you whisper.

He pulls back just enough to look at you.

“You,” he says. “Slow. Real. I want to make it count.”

You sit up slightly, letting him pull your shirt over your head. His eyes trail over you, and something in them breaks. Reverence. Hunger. Grief.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes. “I can’t believe I almost didn’t get to see you like this.”

You press your hands to his chest, feeling his heartbeat thudding beneath your palm. His hoodie comes off next, followed by his shirt, and you press your lips to his skin—his collarbone, his sternum, the small scar just under his ribs like the one described in the story. But it’s different seeing it here. Seeing him here. Alive. Real. Yours, even if only for tonight.

He lies back and pulls you with him, hands exploring your body like you’re something precious—trailing down your sides, across your back, fingers gripping your thighs with quiet desperation.

When you grind against him slowly, feeling the thick press of him through his boxers, his breath catches hard in your ear.

“You’re killing me,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw. “You’re so soft—so warm—I didn’t know this part of the world could feel so… good.”

You roll your hips again, and he groans deep in his throat, hands locking tight on your waist.

“Need to feel you,” he whispers. “All of you.”

You shift your weight and reach down, guiding him free from his boxers, his cock hard and hot in your palm. His breath hitches as your fingers wrap around him gently, stroking once—slow and curious.

His voice is ragged. “Please.”

You press a kiss to his lips, then rise just enough to line yourself up.

And when you sink down onto him, he gasps—eyes fluttering shut, head falling back against the pillow.

“Oh god—”

You’re both breathing heavy now.

You pause, adjusting to the stretch of him, the tightness between you. His hands slide up your thighs, then settle at your hips, holding you still as he tries not to lose control too soon.

“You feel… perfect,” he chokes. “Better than anything I’ve ever known.”

You begin to move, slow and careful, your bodies rocking together in a rhythm that feels older than either of you. His hands roam—palming your breasts, sliding up your spine, gripping your hips as you roll against him with aching tenderness.

“Satoru,” you whisper, leaning over him, your forehead pressed to his.

He opens his eyes. And in them—desperation. Need. Love.

“I don’t want to forget this,” he says again, voice breaking.

“Then remember me like this,” you whisper. “Remember the way I feel. The way I look at you. The way you make me feel so full, like I was meant to hold you.”

He groans at your words, thrusting up into you with more force. You gasp, clinging to his shoulders, meeting him with matching urgency.

It builds between you—need turning sharp, trembling, sacred.

You come first—tightening around him, breath catching as you moan his name through clenched teeth, nails digging into his back.

He follows you seconds later, holding you tight to him as he spills inside you, your names tangled in breathless gasps.

Afterward, you lie on his chest, both of you still shaking. His hand runs gently down your spine. You feel him press a kiss to your temple.

“You’re the best thing I never got written for,” he whispers.

You don’t answer. You just hold him. Because you know what’s coming next. And he’s slipping again.

you lie with him for a long time. His body is warm, tangled with yours beneath the blanket, his breath steady against your shoulder. One hand rests lazily over your stomach, like he’s anchoring himself to your skin.

You’re not sure how long you stay like that—wrapped in the kind of silence that only comes after something true.

But eventually, you feel his fingers twitch. Then still. Then again.

“Satoru?” you whisper.

He blinks slowly, then furrows his brows like something's wrong.

“…What was your name again?”

Your heart drops.

You sit up, brushing hair out of his face. “Don’t joke.”

“I’m not,” he says, voice quiet. Distant. “I know you. I feel like I know you. But it’s slipping. Like I’m trying to hold water in my hands.”

You press your palm to his cheek. “You’re still here. You’re still with me.”

He nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. That’s when you realize—This is it. He won’t last much longer. Whatever brought him here—whatever magic, glitch, miracle—it’s running out.

And if he goes like this, half-glitched, half-lost, it’ll break both of you. So you do the only thing you can.

You get out of bed. Pull on a hoodie. And sit at your desk. The words don’t come easy at first. But then your fingers move. Not on your phone. Not in a fanfic comment thread. On paper.

With a real pen, real ink, real hands. You write him an ending. A soft one.

Where he’s not a CEO haunted by guilt. Not a tragic man doomed to die before he can fall in love. You write him waking up in a quiet home, sunlight through curtains, coffee in a chipped mug, a cat that curls on his lap. You write him laughing. You write him safe. You write him at peace.

And you write that he gets to say goodbye. When it’s done, you read it aloud to him. Your voice shakes.

He listens, seated on the edge of your bed, blanket wrapped around his hips, eyes full of something that doesn’t feel like a glitch anymore. It feels like gratitude.

When you finish, you look up. He’s smiling softly.

“You did it,” he whispers.

“I gave you an ending,” you say. “You deserved one.”

He stands. Walks to you. And kisses you again. This one is slower. Full of something final.

“Thank you for writing me something better,” he says against your lips.

Tears well in your eyes. “Thank you for being real. Even just for a little while.” His fingers linger on your cheek.

He vanishes in the morning. Not with fanfare. Not with light or thunder or spark.

Just… A flicker.

You’d gone to brush your teeth. You’d left him tangled in your sheets, watching you from the bed with sleep-soft eyes and a crooked smile.

You came back— And the sheets were cold. You say his name once. Then again, louder. But there’s no answer. No trace. No indent in the pillow. No warmth in the blankets.

Just a silence so sharp it cuts. You don’t cry at first.

You sit on the edge of the bed, fingers curled around the hem of your shirt, blinking at the place he had been just hours ago. You try to replay his voice in your head, his laugh, the things he whispered against your skin. You press your face into your pillow and breathe deep, desperate to find even a trace of him.

But all you smell is fabric softener and loss. He’s gone. Like he never belonged here at all.

You grieve quietly. You carry his memory in the scribbled pages of your notebook, worn at the edges from being opened again and again. But you don’t write for him anymore. You write for yourself.

You don’t talk about it. How could you? You go back to class. You go back to microwaving leftovers. You scroll past fanfiction tags and never click again.

Some nights you still whisper his name in the dark, just in case he hears it. But he never answers. You begin to believe maybe he was just a dream after all. A beautiful, impossible dream.

Three months later, on the first warm day of spring, you’re sitting outside the library, notebook open, headphones in, sunlight catching in your lashes.

You almost don’t hear it.

“Excuse me—,” someone says.

You look up. And your heart stops.

A young man stands hesitantly before you, holding a crumpled campus map. His glasses slip slightly down his nose, his hair tousled from the breeze.

He looks unfamiliar yet somehow familiar.

“Could you help me? I’m completely lost,” he says, voice gentle but uncertain.

“Do you know where the science building is?” he asks, sheepish. “I’ve been walking in a circle for like twenty minutes.”

You stare. He’s different. No polished arrogance. No CEO swagger. No tailored suit. But it’s still him. That face. Those eyes. That voice.

You slowly take out your earbuds.

“…What’s your name?” you manage, breath shallow.

He smiles at you—confused, but kind.

“Satoru,” he says. “Satoru Gojo.”

Your lips part. His gaze lingers on your face for a moment too long. Then—

“Have we met before?” he asks, tilting his head.

“No, we haven’t met,” you whisper.

He chuckles, eyes bright.

“Maybe it’s a good thing. A new story.”

And as the sunlight pools around you both, you realize some endings are just beginnings in disguise.

188 notes · View notes

kdh-tally · 2 days ago

Note

Hello!! Love your posts about Kpop Demon Hunters and you made me release my full fangirling, you saved me from feeling empty tbh. Can I request Huntrix and Saja boys meeting their future children while Baby being the Godfather of the all the ships children. Abby x Mira x Romance had 3 kids, two boys and 1 girl, same thing as Mystery x Zoey but their boys are twins. While Jinu x Rumi have one girl and one boy. Thank you!!

Prompt : Huntr/x and the Saja Boys meet their kids from the future...

Author's Note : I really enjoyed writing this one!!! I made a whole chart with names and ages and personalities and everything. Hope you enjoyed!

The group was lounging in the practice room. Bobby, who was also temporarily managing the Saja Boys till they found a proper manager, had forced both groups to take a break. He was fully encouraging of their eagerness to perform, some more than others, but wanted them to relax.

Zoey and Romance were lounging on Derpy, the tiger, as they watched Mira and Baby play an oddly competitive game of uno, something Baby had gotten increasingly good at. Abby sat beside Mira, telling her what colours to place down and Mystery laid half-asleep on the couch.

Rumi sat cuddled into Jinu’s chest as they watched some silly youtube compilation off his phone. All was peaceful, until Jinu tensed and shot up. Everyone now looked up to him.

“Something is wrong,” he muttered as he looked up to the ceiling.

Baby raised an eyebrow. “You sure you’re not just being paranoid dude?”

Jinu didn’t even get the chance to answer before a rip opened in the ceilings. With unexplainable speed, the girls had summoned their weapons, eyes strictly focused on the mysterious–and possibly galactical–tear. The boys had also activated their powers, fingers sharp and eyes glowing as they waited.

Suddenly, a huge group of people dropped through the tear, it closed up right after. “What the-” Mira whispered as they surrounded the group of… kids?

The kids scrambled upright, shrieking and elbowing one another as they tried to get out of the pile.

“GET OFF MY FOOT!!”

“WHO TOUCHED MY HAIR?!”

“Did we just fall out of a portal?”

A girl who looked a little too much like Zoey blinked around the room, eyes wide, she quickly summoned two glassy but obviously durable metal hand held fans. The boy next to her, one of a pair of twins, suddenly pointed at Mystery. “Okay. Okay. That guy looks like dad but more emo.”

“You say that like it helps us understand the situation,” the other twin muttered, he was kinda hiding behind his older sister.

Everyone just stared. No one moved. Then the Mira-look alike stepped forward, arms crossed as her eyes assessed the room. “This is not the penthouse.” Her eyes narrowed at the group of adults in fighting stances. She summoned her own weapon, an iridescent coloured staff, in case a fight broke out.

“Tell us something we don’t know,” said the other pink haired child, summoning glassy red boxing gloves around his hands. A deadpanned look on his face.

Zoey finally blinked, breaking the silence. “Okay. Who dropped eight random children here and why can they make hunter weapons?” She glared specifically at the ‘retired’ demon boys.

“Don’t look at us,” Romance said, hands up before pointing right at Jinu. “He was the most powerful one out of us four.”

Baby stood up, retracting his claws and casually grabbing his juice box (it was a new chili flavour specifically made for him). “Quick question. Who here thinks they may have possibly created life in the future and now it’s come back to haunt them?”

Silence.

Another girl, one with short purple hair and an oversized hoodie, groaned in annoyance, “We were finally having a sleep over…” she pulled out the dual katanas that formed behind her back.

The boy next to Abby narrowed his eyes. “Wait. You look like one of my—” His voice trailed off as he pointed between Abby and Romance. “Oh my god. Wait. That’s them.” He pointed at Mira. “And her.”

“What do you mean, them?” the other pink haired boy asked, dropping his fists, the gloves dissipating into a bunch of familiar string waves as he moved closer to the look-alike.

“Yea what do you mean us?” Romance echoed, voice pitching high. “OH WAIT YOU MEAN ALL THREE OF US-” he dropped to the ground, jaw dropped as it clicked.

The girl rolled her eyes, realizing there was no danger and releasing her staff back into the air. “Well yeah, obviously. You three argue like co-parents.”

Abby swore he was going to faint.

—

They tried to regroup. Tried.

Huntr/x and the Saja boys sat on one side of the practice room while the kids remained on the other. Derpy nuzzled closer to the group of small humans as happy as could be. He especially took a liking to the purple haired duo that sat on the floor.

The kids weren’t panicking, but they were wide-eyed and stressed. Everyone except the twins. One of them had already sat down next to Zoey without asking, playing with her glass blades (and comparing them with his) as she fussed over them in worry. The other had cornered Mystery (who was still half-asleep), simply staring at him in silence while his sister played with his hair happily.

“Okay,” Rumi said slowly, dragging a stool into the middle of the room like a teacher mid-breakdown. “Does anyone know what could have happened?”

“Last thing I remember,” the girl with Rumi’s eyes spoke, weapon still in hand as she was a bit untrusting, “Noa and I were in our parent’s penthouse. The kids were in the living room and I left to grab something from my room then everything kinda glitched and I fell on a bunch of legs.”

“Yep,” the Abby-looking boy said. “I thought Elio and Noa were just lagging out of reality. But now I think it was the universe.” He said as he sat beside his siblings. His twin must have been Elio and sister was Noa.

Romance raised his hand, only speaking when Rumi pointed at him. “So none of you time travelled on purpose?”

“No!” the kids chorused.

Jinu looked to Rumi. “Nothing changed with the Honmoon right? No crazy new magic?” She shook her head, confirming that nothing had changed. "So what's going on?"

“Someone did something stupid and didn’t tell me,” Baby groaned, pulling out a clipboard from who knows where. “Now, until we figure this out, we treat this like a quarantine. No touching anything magical or trying to fix it yourself. And for the hatred of Gwi-ma don’t trauma bond.”

“Too late,” muttered one of the twins, already curled up beside Mystery like a house cat. Mystery looked like he was actively trying to dissolve into the couch. He was going to have kids with ZOEY??.

Zoey touched her daughter's hair, just lightly, and her hands trembled as the teenage girl leaned into her touch. “This is real,” she whispered. “She’s gonna be real.”

“And so are the stress lines forming on your forehead,” Baby interrupted. Zoey didn’t even have the heart to insult him back. He strutted to the center of the room, pushing Rumi away and into Jinu’s arms.

“Children, all of you get in line and share your names. That will hopefully make this less confusing,” Baby mumbled as he tried to rub the ache out of his head.

The children, funny enough, quickly obeyed. The pink trio stood at the front of everyone. “I think it’s kind of obvious whose kids we are,” the younger of the two boys, Elio, said.

His sister nodded before pointing at each of them. “This is Kai, he’s 14,” to the Abby-lookalike, “this one’s Elio, he’s 11,” to the younger boy who looked exactly like Romance (the one with the boxing gloves), “and I’m Noa, their older sister and the oldest kid here.” She had her arms crossed over her chest as she stood protectively before all the kids. She obviously took Mira’s protective spirit.

"Only by 10 minutes" Zoey's daughter pouted from where she stood by her twin brothers. Romance looked as though he could cry, a wobbly smile on his face as he sat between Mira and Abby.

The next three, who basically had to be dragged away from their parents, stepped in front of her. “I’m Riven. 14.” One of the twins, the more affectionate but calm one introduced.

“Sora,” The girl beamed, clearly taking after her mom. “I’m 17 and the second oldest.”

“Vince. Also 14.” The silent one waved, hand gripping deadly onto his older twin-brother’s.

“That’s our mom,” Sora smiled as she pointed right at Zoey. "And that's our Dad," she pointed right at mystery who was still in shock.

The last two finally stood. The older one, a girl with short purple hair took in a nervous breath. “I’m Linae, Rumi and Jinu’s kid. And this is-”

“Asa!!!!!” the young toddler yelled loudly. The group winced, covering their ears as his magically powered voice rang through the room. That was Rumi and Jinu’s kid alright.

“Yea, this is Asa. He’s 3,” Linae laughed softly before picking her baby brother up and placing him on her waist. “I’m 17, third oldest by like 20 minutes,” she nodded to both Sora and Noa.

“He takes after you,” Rumi said immediately to Jinu who looked offended. The group couldn’t help but stare at their apparent children from the future. All proof that they shared something deeper than just crushes.

“Damn,” Baby laughed. He thought he got away, could be free to chill and travel on his own. Suddenly, all 8 kids turned to him, with Asa running up to cling onto his pants leg.

“Uncle Baby,” the child cooed, signaling for the man to pick him up. Baby looked to Rumi, the child's mom, and she just shrugged. “I can’t believe this.” He mumbled before picking the child up.

“Okay!” Mira clapped her hands once, the sound echoing a little too loudly across the tension-filled practice room. “We’re gonna go have a private adult meeting. Don’t touch anything, don’t summon your weapons and don’t summon any more children.”

“Do we look like we can summon children?” Kai sassed.

“You don’t talk to your mom like that-” Abby scoffed as he eyed the small child.

“Are you and Kai gonna fight again Uncle Abby?…” Vince said flatly, already poking through Mystery’s phone without permission. He knew the password after watching his dad do it multiple times.

Zoey ripped it out of his hands. “Okay—NO.” She looked around at the rest of the kids, eyes remaining longer on her kids before sighing. “We’ll just be gone for a minute.”

Baby unwillingly handed the small child back to his sister. Rumi turned to Linae and Asa. “Watch your brother.”

“I always do mom,” Linae gave her a reassuring smile before immediately picking Asa up and sitting him on top of Derpy.

“We’ll be fine,” Noa said, arms crossed. “Go panic. It’s fine.”

And panic they did.

—

The hallway outside the practice room was dimly lit, lined with water bottles, yoga mats and benches. All eight members of Huntr/x and Saja Boys stood in a loose, silent circle. Well, all except Baby, who sat cross-legged on the floor like he was watching a comedy.

Nobody said anything.

Abby kept glancing at Mira. Romance was fidgeting with the drawstrings of his hoodie like they were a stress toy. Mystery, finally fully awake, was staring into an empty abyss. Zoey had her head in her hands.

Jinu was blinking at the wall. He was going to have children. Two absolutely beautiful children with Rumi. And Rumi? Rumi looked calm, which made everyone else more nervous.

“Okay,” Baby said at last. “Who’s gonna be brave and say what we’re all thinking?”

“...This shouldn't be possible,” Zoey whispered, eyes wide and still. “I—I mean. We should’ve been busy. There’s been demon hunting, schedules, concerts. When did we even… do the thing?”

Romance coughed loudly. “Technically you don’t need that much time—”

Mira smacked him on the head.

“I think I’m having a stroke,” Abby muttered. “I have a mini me.”

"And he's just as stuck up," Romance snickered.

“Guys,” Jinu finally said, very slowly. “We have children. Named children.”

“One of mine had katanas,” Rumi smirked somewhat proudly.

“You mean one of ours,” Jinu corrected her, a light blush on his face.

Mystery finally spoke. “It was like looking into a three way mirror.” He thought of the twin boys and how they looked exactly like him, Vince copying his hairstyle as well. He thought of Sora, the energetic bundle of sunshine that almost rivaled Zoey’s excitement.

“I didn’t even know you wanted children,” Zoey mumbled before looking right at him. “Do you want kids?”

“Of course he does, you guys have three,” Baby deadpanned.

“Shut UP,” everyone shouted in unison. He took a sip of his juice box, smug.

Rumi leaned closer to Jinu, hands intertwining. “It’s not like it’s the worst thing. I mean, clearly we’re alive in the future. We’re together. We all did something right.”

“But how?” Zoey asked again. “When did we get together? I don’t even remember kissing him—”

Mystery choked.

Abby looked at her. “You kissed him???”

“I said I don’t remember—!”

“I didn’t even know I was part of a—whatever this is!” Romance shouted as he motioned between him and the other pinkettes. “I thought we were just flirtatious! I thought we were playing the long game!”

Mira crossed her arms. “If this is the long game, we lost. Badly.”

“I’m happy we lost. Have you seen our kids?” Abby scoffed.

Baby raised his hand. “In addition to Rumi’s point, you all got insanely attractive future kids with cool weapons and distinct personalities. Could’ve been worse.”

“They call you uncle,” Rumi reminded him.

“They should! I’m awesome,” Baby replied. “And I’m the only one not tweaking out right now. Just saying.” he shrugged. Everyone glared at him but Baby just smiled.

Then, silence again.

This time, it was Abby who broke it. “I think we all need to talk. Not just about those kids, but about…” He gestured vaguely in the air. “Us.”

“I’m not emotionally prepared for this conversation,” Zoey muttered, moving closer to Mystery. “I need snacks or a nap or a hug or maybe all three.”

“We’re clearly together in the future,” Jinu added carefully. “So maybe that means we stop pretending we don’t feel what we feel now.”

Mystery looked down. Romance looked away. Mira closed her eyes for a momeny too long.

Then, Baby stood up and dusted off his pants. “Well, as your emotionally well-adjusted godparent-slash-honorary single uncle, I say you should all grow up and kiss already.”

Everyone threw something at him.

—

Back inside the practice room, the kids were playing Uno. Again. Riven was winning. Elio was cheating.

Elio looked up from his cards. “Think they’re fighting in the hallway?”

“No,” Noa said confidently. “They’re just being dumb. Like usual.”

Linae nodded from where she sat on the couch, Asa snuggled on her chest as he slept. “Should we help?”

“Not until they figure it out,” Vince muttered. “They gotta suffer a little.”

Kai smirked. “Kinda like we did when we fell from a portal and none of them caught us?”

Sora giggled. “Exactly.”

Kai slapped down a +4. “Uno! I WIN”

184 notes · View notes

fayevalentiinee · 3 days ago

Text

Shanks who gently brushes your hair back behind your ear, not even thinking twice about how intimate the gesture is. his calloused fingers are rough from battles, but they cradle your face with such care.

his kisses aren’t rushed — they linger. soft lips tracing a lazy, reverent path from your neck to your shoulder, each one a silent vow that you are cherished.

tugging your shirt aside, not with urgency, but like he needs more skin to love. more of you to kiss. to reassure.

and god, that red hair catching the light — like fire, like a flag of everything he is. his freedom, his power, his warmth.

it glows when he's holding you close, and his eyes — those deep, laughing, steady eyes — go soft in a way that makes the world hush around you.

then there's the way he handles love. it’s never shameful. never hidden. if someone teases him about how gentle he is with you? that smug little grin and an eyebrow raise.

“yeah? and?”

“i am soft for her. you should be jealous.”

he doesn’t flinch away from vulnerability. it doesn’t make him any less of a captain — hell, it adds to his legend.

he’ll cry in front of you, in front of his crew, if something moves him. because why wouldn’t he? emotions aren’t weakness to him. they’re human. he’s human.

he’s also the type to put a towel over his head and pretend to be a ghost just to make you laugh when you're sick. or dramatically fake a sword fight with the air if he catches you looking gloomy. all to draw out that one real smile, the one that makes his world brighter.

shanks, who doesn’t love despite your baggage— he loves you with it. wraps his arm around the whole mess and smiles. he chose you, every version of you. and that love has no ceiling. no shame. no rules.

you don’t need to earn it. you just need to exist, and he’s already yours.

#faye!writes #can you tell im so in love with men with healthy masculinity #shanks x reader #shanks x you #one piece #one piece fluff #one piece men #shanks

245 notes · View notes

douceurrrr · 1 day ago

Text

“don’t touch me — unless you mean it.”

cw: swearing, sexual tension, explicit kissing, dry humping, emotional betrayal, black!reader, heavy making out, explicit touching, praise, emotional vulnerability

you didn’t cry when he walked back in with someone else.

you didn’t flinch. didn’t move. didn’t even blink.

instead, you sat on the daybed, legs crossed, fingers laced over your bare stomach like you didn’t just feel your world shatter in public. your edges were still laid. your lip gloss still shining. and even though your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach, your face stayed solid. cold. unreadable.

nic looked unsure. that stupid cocky grin half-faded when his eyes met yours. like he didn’t expect you to be the one not folded. like he didn’t expect the same girl he cuddled every night to be sitting there, looking through him like he was furniture.

“you good?” he asked later, after the recoupling, when he pulled you for a chat. like that wasn’t the dumbest question on earth.

you laughed. no humor in it.

“you really gonna ask me that right now?” you tilted your head, one brow raised, medium long black acrylic tapping against your wine glass.

he sighed. ran a hand through his hair. “look, i didn’t know where your head was at. we weren’t closed off.”

you leaned back on the couch, crossing your arms under your chest, your villa robe sliding just enough to expose one perfect, glowing thigh. “nah. we weren’t. but you didn’t waste a damn second to start cuddling someone else like i never existed.”

he stepped forward like he wanted to touch you, but your glare froze him in place.

“don’t touch me — unless you mean it.”

you said it so soft, so deadly, it made his throat tighten.

—

later that night, everyone went to bed. but you couldn’t sleep.

you were laying on your back, bonnet on, facing the ceiling in the dark room filled with light snoring and muffled giggles from other beds. nic was in his own bed. you knew he was awake — you could feel his eyes.

you turned over, face to the wall.

he got up anyway.

slow steps. careful. like he knew he shouldn’t. like the whole villa might explode if he touched you again.

he knelt beside your bed. “can we talk?” he whispered.

you didn’t answer.

he sat beside you anyway. pulled the cover back. climbed in behind you without permission. bold.

you were about to snap until you felt his hand. slow on your waist. fingers tracing the curve of your hip like it was the first time again. his mouth was at your ear. low, broken.

“i fucked up.”

you closed your eyes. “no shit.”

he kissed your neck. soft. like he was apologizing with his mouth. your body tensed, but you didn’t move away.

“i kept thinking about you,” he whispered. “every night. i couldn’t sleep. even when she was there, it didn’t feel right. none of it did. i was waiting on you to walk through the door.”

you turned around slowly, eyes finally meeting his in the dark. his voice cracked.

“i missed your laugh. your lips. your skin. how you smell. fuck, baby—i missed you everywhere.”

his hand was now under your villa robe. slow. grazing your thigh. then your hip. then the back of your knee. your breath hitched, but you didn’t stop him.

“you really think you can just kiss me and fix it?” you asked, voice low.

he looked down at your mouth. his voice dropped even lower. “no. but i’m gonna kiss you anyway.”

and he did.

hard. like he was starving. like he didn’t care who saw. his hand gripped your thigh as he pressed his body into yours, pushing your back against the mattress. your leg wrapped around his waist on instinct.

you shouldn’t have let him. but god, the way he kissed you—like he was trying to put the broken pieces back together with his mouth.

your hips moved against him first. slow. grinding. testing.

he gasped into your mouth. “don’t stop.”

his lips moved to your neck. “you feel so fucking good.”

his hand slid under your shirt, palm warm against your stomach, sliding up to your chest. you arched under him.

his other hand stayed planted firmly on your thigh, guiding your hips into his. you felt him—hard and thick against your core. only thin fabric between you.

you grabbed his curls. tugged.

he groaned low. “fuck, mama… i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

you were biting your lip, eyes shut. “then show me.”

he rolled his hips. hard. again. again.

your nails clawed down his back, and he hissed.

“you don’t know what you do to me,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours.

“you’re all i think about. all i want.”

you moaned into his mouth as his pace picked up, grinding into you like he needed to feel you through every layer of clothing. the room was quiet except for the soft creak of the bed and the muffled gasps you both shared.

his hands cupped your face, kisses messy and hot. “i want you. all of you. not her. not anyone else. just you.”

you whimpered as your hips met his over and over again, chasing the feeling neither of you wanted to admit had been building since day one.

and when you finally stopped, breathless and tangled in sheets, his hand smoothed down your bonnet and he kissed your forehead.

“i’ll spend the rest of this villa making it up to you,” he said.

and for the first time that night—you didn’t doubt him.

#woc #black!reader #fanfic #love island fics #love island usa #love island x reader #nic love island #love island #love island season 7 #love island x black!reader

158 notes · View notes

akeaaan · 2 days ago

Text

A Voice Across Times

Jinu X Fem.Reader

Synopsis:

╰┈➤ In a world where demons hide behind charm and shadow, and hunters cloak their pain in rhythm and steel, a voice—forgotten by history—rises once more. You're a fresh graduate trying to survive Seoul's chaos, drawn to music for reasons you can't explain. When you're unexpectedly chosen as the fourth member of an elite demon-hunting team, your quiet life unravels into one laced with monsters, secrets, and echoes of a past that doesn't seem to belong to you. And then there's him. Jinu—mysterious, distant, and impossibly familiar—stares at you like he's seen a ghost. But ghosts don’t bleed. Ghosts don’t weep. And ghosts don’t remember love. Some voices don’t fade with time. Some betrayals don’t stay buried. And some souls are meant to meet again… even if it means breaking the world to do so.

PROLOGUE

Four Hundred Years Ago Joseon Dynasty

The earth groaned before it split.

Cracks—veins of glowing pink light—ran like lightning bolts across the ground, fracturing the land as if the very bones of the world were snapping under pressure. From these wounds in the earth, they came.

Demons.

They spilled out like a nightmare set free—some as small as stray dogs, others towering like twisted trees, their limbs jagged, eyes glowing with hunger. No two were alike, but all shared one thing in common: they reeked of death and fed on fear.

Panic erupted.

Men sprinted through the dirt roads of the village, their feet pounding against the cracking earth. One of them stumbled—just a pebble, no larger than a coin, but enough to send him sprawling. He screamed, arms thrown over his head in a desperate, useless shield.

The demon hovered over him, its grin stretching impossibly wide. A sickening slurp echoed as a ghostly blue mist—the man's soul—was sucked from his body. He jerked once, then stilled.

Eyes open. Mouth agape. Dead.

For centuries, demons have stalked the shadows of our world—stealing souls to strengthen the one who rules them all.

Gwi Ma. The Demon King.

Back then, humanity stood no chance. The strongest warriors had no weapon that could pierce demon hide. Villagers locked their doors, huddled in corners, whispering desperate prayers to their forgotten gods, hoping the darkness would pass over their homes.

On the outskirts of one such village, a woman—weathered with age but not broken—stood trembling before a beast. She clutched a crude rake, hands shaking, shielding the small child behind her. Her daughter's tiny fingers clung to her skirt, tears silently trailing down her cheeks.

The demon snarled, crouching low, ready to pounce.

But before it could strike—

Swish.

A blur of light sliced through the air, followed by the demon's shriek. Its body split in two before dissolving into ash, carried away by the wind.

Where it once stood, a woman appeared.

Silks of pale blue and soft pink flowed around her like smoke. Her armor shimmered in the moonlight, and a sword—still humming with power—was clenched tightly in her hand. She was not just a warrior.

She was a protector.

The child's eyes widened. A gasp escaped her lips, then bloomed into a smile.

"Unnie..."

The warrior knelt beside her, placing a warm, gloved hand atop the child's head before turning to the mother.

"It's not safe here, eomeonim," she said gently, but firmly.

Then she turned back to the child, brushing her hair away from her face. Her eyes, sharp yet soft, searched the girl's face before she cupped her cheek.

"I'll protect you. No matter what," she whispered, voice thick with emotion. "That is my promise... to your brother."

A tender kiss to the child's forehead sealed the vow. She rose, her silhouette framed by smoke and ash.

"Get inside. Lock your doors. Do not open them until the village is safe."

The mother nodded, holding back tears, and hurried her daughter into the small home. The door closed with a soft thud behind them.

Alone once more, the warrior turned. Her gaze swept across the burning village, locking onto the wave of demons descending from the hills.

She gripped her sword tighter. Her eyes narrowed.

And then, without hesitation— She ran toward the chaos.

a/n: HELLO I am happy to announce that I was blessed by a magnificent idea when I was listening to Dimple by BTS AND honestly we need MORE jinu fanfics yall so I'm giving you a full course meal with this one. Buckle up buttercup this one will be a SERIES. I'm not exactly sure how many chapters this will take BUT I'll really try to make the chapters longer. Actually, this is a pretty nice prologue a little short, but ill try to make the first chapter longer, but also not adding too much information. Do drop theories and notes, I love reading them. <3

AVAILABLE ON WATTPAD

#jinu x reader #kpop demon hunters #kpdh #fem reader #kpdh x reader #jinu kpdh #saja boys x reader #x reader #jinu kdh #kpop demon hunters au

187 notes · View notes

itoshiabi · 2 days ago

Text

My angel walked me home

Summary: After a party, Haruka walks you home and shyly admits he wants you as his girlfriend, not anyone else. Your warmth melts his calm facade, revealing how deeply he feels.

The school party ran longer than expected.

Music pulsed through the halls, laughter, flickering lights, the warmth of friends and shared drinks—it was all golden in that moment. But now the streets outside are emptying fast and the wind feels colder than it should.

You stand under a streetlamp, dress swaying gently in the night breeze. Wine-red. It hugs your frame in a way that's quiet, not flashy—elegant, graceful, but undeniably stunning. Your hair brushes your shoulders, loose and soft under the golden light. A matching shade of lipstick curves on your lips. Brown heels tap against the pavement as you shift uneasily.

You check your phone. Then glance around.

The street is too quiet for comfort.

You don't like walking home alone. Not tonight. Not looking like this.

Then—

"Y/n."

The voice cuts through the air, soft and low. Familiar. You freeze.

Your head whips toward the sound.

And there he is-

Haruka Sakura.

Your breath catches.

He stands just beyond the reach of the streetlamp, half in shadow. His white-and-black split hair falls across his face, framing those striking mismatched eyes—gold and silver, gleaming like twin stars.

But he isn't looking at the world.

He's looking at you.

And for a second, he forgets how to breathe.

The way your dress hugs your curves, the soft flutter of your hair, the warmth in your cheeks—all of it glows like something out of a dream. You're radiant in the kind of way that doesn't try to be. That's what stuns him most.

Sakura's eyes widen before he can stop himself.

His heart stumbles in his chest.

You're… beautiful.

Too beautiful.

Then you see him.

And you light up like the world just gave you everything you asked for.

A smile spreads across your lips. You lift your hand and wave, heels clicking as you run toward him.

"Oh my god!! My angel is here!!"

Sakura jolts.

His ears burn red. Jaw tightens. Blood rushes up his neck like fire.

Angel?! What the hell was that?!

Why does that sound so soft when you say it?

You stop in front of him, still glowing, still smiling like you've just been rescued by someone divine.

"Wait—what are you doing here?" you ask, breathless.

He shifts. Hands in pockets. Doesn't meet your eyes.

"I… was just passing by," he mumbles.

His voice cracks slightly.

Lie.

You know it. He knows it.

But you don't call him out.

Instead, your smile widens."Doesn't matter. You're here now. So you have to walk me home, okay?"

He blinks. "Huh?"

You bump your shoulder into his, teasing. "At least do that much as my friend."

That word lands like a bruise in his chest.

Friend.

But he doesn't flinch.

"Tch. Fine."

You two start to walk side by side.

The night is cool. Wind rustles through trees and through your hair. Sakura keeps sneaking glances—quick flickers, then back to the ground. His fingers twitch in his pockets. He tells himself to calm down. To stop staring.

But you're too pretty like this. Too soft. Too close.

It's not fair.

"My friends from Bofurin told me about your party,' he says suddenly. His voice is quiet, but steady. "Said you'd be late."

You glance at him, surprised. "Oh?"

He shrugs. "I just… wanted to make sure you got home safe."

There. He said it.

Something warm touches your expression. You slow a little, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

"That's really sweet of you."

He coughs into his hand, looking away fast. His ears are red again.

He hears it though—sweet.

You called him sweet.

You two keep walking.

Then suddenly, you speak again. "You'd make the perfect boyfriend."

He stumbles mid-step. "What!"

"I'm already jealous of your future girlfriend," you tease, laughing softly. "She's gonna be the luckiest girl alive."

His heart slams in his chest.

Lucky?

Someone else?

He stops walking.

Your footsteps pause too. You turn back, confused.

"Haruka?"

He lifts his head.

And this time, he looks directly at you. No flickering. No hesitation.

Those strange, beautiful eyes burn with something raw.

"That's annoying," he mutters.

Your brows lift. "Huh?"

He holds your gaze. "I don't want a future girlfriend."

You blink. Something flutters wildly in your chest.

"What do you mean?"

His voice drops, just above a whisper.

"I want it to be you."

Silence.

The breeze fades. The world holds its breath.

And then— before he could deny what he just said, your lips curve slowly. A soft, knowing smile.

"I was waiting for you to say that, angel boy."

Sakura's entire soul short-circuits.

You step closer, eyes shining.

"I'd love to be yours."

That's it.

That's the final blow.

His face explodes with color. He hides his mouth behind his hand like it can somehow stop the heat rushing up his entire body.

"You're insane," he mutters.

You giggle. "You like insane girls."

He doesn't reply.

He doesn't need to.

The rest of the walk is quiet. Easy. Full of stolen glances and thudding hearts.

And inside Sakura's chest, something unfurls—wild, terrifying, soft.

And he just...... Lets it happen.....

#haruka sakura x you #haruka sakura x reader #sakura haruka x you #sakura haruka x reader #haruka sakura #sakura haruka #sakura haruka x y/n #haruka sakura x y/n #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker x you #wind breaker x y/n #wbk x you #wbk x reader #wbk x y/n #wbk #wind breaker

158 notes · View notes

deadassonthesunny · 2 days ago

Text

😱~One Piece Boys reaction to you teasing them~😱

pairing: Zoro, Sanji, Luffy, Usopp, Ace, Law and Sabo x reader

warning: none

Disclaimer: not my gif

Zoro

The sun had dipped low, casting a golden glow across the deck of the Sunny. Most of the crew was below deck or lounging elsewhere, giving the upper deck a rare, peaceful quiet.

Zoro was leaned against the mast with his arms crossed, swords at his side, eyes closed in his usual half-nap, half-alert state. His chest rose and fell slowly, sun painting highlights on his muscles.

Y/N spotted him from across the ship. A lazy smirk curled on her lips.

He was too calm. Too collected. It made her want to mess with him.

“Oi, swordsman,” she called, sauntering up to him.

Zoro’s eye cracked open, head tilting slightly in her direction. “What?”

She stopped in front of him, tapping a finger against his chest. “You always nap like this? Upright and broody? Or do you only do it because it makes your muscles look good?”

A brow quirked. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing~” she sang, her tone teasing as her fingers traced down his chest lightly—just enough to make him twitch. “I just think it's cute how hard you try to act unbothered.”

Zoro blinked slowly. “Y/N. Don’t touch what you can’t handle.”

“Oh?” She leaned closer, her breath ghosting near his ear. “Who says I can’t handle it?”

His arms tensed slightly, jaw flexing. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe I like the heat,” she whispered, her lips brushing the corner of his jaw.

Zoro grabbed her wrist—not rough, but firm. His single eye burned into hers, sharp and unreadable. “You really think I’m the kind of man who just lets someone tease him without consequences?”

Her smile widened. “I was hoping you weren’t.”

For a long beat, nothing moved. Just their eyes locked. His thumb brushed her pulse. Her hand still rested over his chest.

Then he let go. Slowly. Purposefully. “You keep doing that, and I’ll pin you right here.”

Y/N took a step back, heart pounding, and laughed, breathless. “Big words for a guy who can’t even find the kitchen.”

Zoro’s smirk was deadly. “Tch. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”

He watched her retreat, eyes dark, calculating.

And from that day forward, she noticed: Whenever she walked by, his gaze lingered longer. When she teased him again, he didn’t just take it — he teased back harder.

The game had started.

And Zoro? He didn’t like losing.

Sanji

The galley smelled like heaven.

Sanji moved between pots with effortless grace, humming a soft tune as steam curled from the stovetop. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms dusted with flour, and his blond hair hung slightly in his face as he leaned over to taste the sauce.

Y/N leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, lips quirked.

“I swear,” she said, “watching you cook is a whole other kind of sin.”

Sanji turned, eyes lighting up the moment he saw her. “Ah! Mon cœur, have you come to steal my heart again?”

She strode toward him, pretending to examine the simmering pot. “Mm, maybe just a taste,” she said, scooping a bit of sauce on her finger — but instead of tasting it, she slowly slid it between her lips and sucked it clean. “Mm... creamy.”

Sanji froze.

His cigarette nearly dropped.

“Y-You—” His voice cracked as he stared, face reddening dramatically.

She licked her lips, satisfied. “What? I’m just complimenting the chef.”

He spun around dramatically, smoke puffing from his nose like an anime character in meltdown mode. “You’re trying to kill me—! Do you know what that look does to me?!”

She giggled and stepped closer, tugging lightly at the knot of his apron. “If I wanted to kill you, Sanji, I’d just take a bite of that neck. Not the food.”

He sputtered. Actually sputtered.

“You’re—! You’re flirting—! You’re—!!” He pressed both palms to his face, dragging them down slowly as if begging the gods for strength. “Y/N, mon dieu, I am but a man!”

“And a very easy one,” she teased, pressing up on her toes to whisper, “I bet if I leaned in right now and kissed you, you’d drop that spatula.”

His hand did twitch. “I—! Okay, you win, I would.”

Then he grabbed the counter behind him like he was holding onto life itself and growled, “But two can play this game.”

Before she could ask what he meant, Sanji closed the gap, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him. His lips hovered over hers—so close she could feel the heat.

“You tease me again, I will kiss you, Y/N,” he murmured. “And I won’t stop there.”

Her breath hitched. “Is that a promise?”

His eyes darkened. “It’s a threat, ma belle.”

She pulled away just enough to smirk. “Then maybe I’ll start teasing you every day.”

And with a wink, she sauntered out of the kitchen.

Behind her, she heard a thud — the poor man had dropped the spatula after all.

Luffy

The Sunny was anchored near a small tropical island, and the crew was enjoying some much-needed rest. Everyone had scattered to do their own thing — and Luffy, of course, had climbed up to the highest perch of the ship’s mast, limbs lazily draped, hat tilted over his eyes.

Y/N spotted him up there and grinned to herself.

She had a mission.

“Luffy~” she called sweetly from below, tilting her head back. “Wanna come down and play with me?”

His head popped up immediately, eyes wide with excitement. “Play? What kinda play?! Is it meat?!”

She laughed. “No meat. Just me.”

He blinked. “You’re the game?”

“Exactly.” She winked and disappeared from sight.

By the time he slingshotted down to the deck with a big grin, Y/N was leaning over the railing, wearing a top that was… definitely more low-cut than usual.

“Hey, Y/N!” he beamed. “What game are we playing? Tag? Wrestling?”

She turned to face him slowly, brushing her hair back as her gaze raked over him deliberately. “Mm… something like that.”

Luffy tilted his head. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” she asked, stepping closer until their chests nearly touched. She ran a single finger up the center of his vest, then lightly flicked his straw hat.

“Like you wanna eat me instead of me eating meat,” he muttered, eyebrows furrowed in pure Luffy confusion.

She giggled, clearly enjoying herself. “Smart boy.”

Luffy’s jaw dropped. “Wait… you’re flirting??!”

She nodded, amused at his slow realization.

“Whaaaaat?! Why?!”

Y/N leaned in, whispering near his ear, “Because it’s fun watching you get all flustered and confused.”

“I’m not flustered!” he shouted. “I just—! Wait—what does flustered mean again?!”

She backed up, a mischievous sparkle in her eye. “It means your face is getting all red, Captain.”

Luffy slapped his cheeks. “Nuh-uh! That’s just the sun!”

But then she poked his chest and leaned in real close — so close he held his breath without even realizing it.

“If I kissed you right now, what would you do?”

He blinked. “Probably ask if I could do it again.”

Y/N paused.

Now she was the one caught off guard.

Luffy grinned, a bit smugly. “Hey, you started this, right?”

She stared at him.

He stared back.

Then he burst out laughing. “You’re funny when you’re all serious like that!”

Before she could recover, he stretched his arm, slingshotted himself to the other side of the ship, and shouted, “Let’s keep playing this weird game tomorrow, okay?!”

Y/N stood frozen, flustered now herself.

Damn it.

She'd been out-teased by Luffy.

Usopp

It was a lazy afternoon on the Sunny, and Usopp was tinkering at his workbench, tongue poking out slightly as he adjusted the gears on his latest gadget.

He was completely in the zone, muttering to himself, totally unaware of the pair of eyes locked on him from the opposite side of the deck.

Y/N had been watching him for a while now — the way his fingers moved with precision, the way his lips curved in satisfaction when something finally clicked into place. There was something strangely attractive about Usopp when he was focused.

And she couldn’t help herself.

She walked up silently behind him and leaned down until her chin rested lightly on his shoulder.

Usopp flinched so hard a bolt flew out of his hand.

“Wha—?! Y/N!” He whirled around, cheeks flushed, heart racing. “You scared the hell outta me!”

She gave him an innocent look. “Oops. I thought you’d heard me.”

“No! I didn’t! What are you doing sneaking up on people like that?!”

She shrugged, lips twitching. “You looked cute when you were concentrating. Thought I’d get a closer look.”

His jaw dropped. “C-Cute?! I—?!”

She leaned forward again, placing her palms on either side of the workbench and effectively caging him in. “What’s wrong, Usopp? You get shy when someone calls you handsome?”

“H-H-H-Hands—?!” He backed up so quickly he nearly knocked over his chair. “I—no—I mean yes—I mean—STOP!”

Y/N giggled and reached for a small smudge of grease on his cheek. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.”

But instead of just wiping it, she rubbed it off with her thumb… and then licked it clean while looking him dead in the eyes.

Usopp looked like he had just flatlined.

“Y/N—!!! THAT’S—!! THAT’S ILLEGAL!!”

“Is it?” she teased, stepping even closer, now toe to toe with him. “You don’t look like you want me to stop.”

Usopp’s entire face turned crimson. “T-That’s not true! I’m a brave warrior of the sea, you can’t just—just—weaponize flirting!”

“Ohhh,” she hummed, poking his chest gently. “But isn’t it working?”

He groaned dramatically, covering his face with both hands. “Not fair! You can’t just flirt with me and then leave me here—!”

She stood on her tiptoes and whispered near his ear, “Then don’t let me leave.”

Usopp let out a strangled noise — somewhere between a gasp and a squeak — as she winked and turned on her heel, walking away like she hadn’t just set his brain on fire.

He collapsed back into his chair, hand clutching his chest.

“…I think I just fell in love,” he whispered.

Then shouted, “WAIT, NO, DON’T HEAR THAT—!”

But she was already gone.

Ace

The heat on the deck wasn’t just from the sun today.

Ace was lounging back on a beach chair, shirt open, eyes closed beneath his hat, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. The sound of waves lapping against the ship’s hull mixed with the occasional creak of wood as the ship swayed gently.

Y/N leaned against the railing, watching the way the sun glinted off his tanned skin and the slow rise and fall of his chest.

It wasn’t fair how attractive he looked doing absolutely nothing.

She pushed away from the rail and made her way over, sipping her drink nonchalantly as she came to a stop beside him. Without warning, she dropped onto the edge of his chair, straddling it sideways so one of her legs draped lazily across his lap.

Ace’s eyes cracked open immediately, brows lifting. “Well, hey.”

“Hey,” she replied, swirling the ice in her glass. “You always this cocky when you’re napping in the sun?”

He chuckled, clearly amused. “Only when a beautiful girl sits on me.”

She smirked. “I was trying to cool off. But sitting next to you might’ve been a mistake.”

Ace leaned back, resting his arms behind his head. “Oh? Too much heat for you?”

She let her fingers drag lightly down his exposed abs. “Maybe. You are a literal fire hazard.”

He inhaled sharply. “Y/N…”

“Yeah?” she purred, leaning in until her lips nearly touched the shell of his ear. “You gonna burn me if I keep touching you?”

He tilted his head, his smirk turning into something darker. “That depends. You trying to get burned?”

“Maaaybe,” she teased, brushing her lips against his neck just enough to make his muscles twitch.

Ace's hand snapped to her waist, gripping tightly. “You’re really pushing your luck.”

“Or maybe I’m testing your self-control.”

He let out a soft growl, pulling her flush against him. “I’ve got none of that when it comes to you.”

Her breath caught. For a moment, the teasing stopped. The air between them felt thick with static.

Then she gave him a playful grin and stood up slowly, dragging a finger along his jaw as she stepped away. “Good to know.”

Ace watched her go, eyes narrowed, chest rising faster than before.

“Y/N,” he called after her.

She turned, smug.

He grinned lazily. “Next time, I’m not letting you walk away.”

She winked. “Then catch me first, fire boy.”

And just like that, she disappeared below deck—leaving a very, very warm Ace behind.

Law

The Polar Tang was docked in a quiet cove, hidden by mist. Below deck, everything was still — sterile, cool, quiet.

Exactly how Law liked it.

He stood at the center of the medical bay, gloved hands adjusting tools on a tray, the harsh white lighting reflecting off his tattoos and the silver scalpel in his hand. Focused. Calculated. In control.

Until she walked in.

Y/N leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Doc~”

Law didn’t look up. “Unless you’re bleeding or dying, you better have a good reason to interrupt me.”

She slowly walked in, the click of her boots echoing in the quiet room. “Can’t a girl say hi to her favorite surgeon?”

“I’m your only surgeon.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not my favorite,” she purred, sliding onto the examination table and swinging her legs.

Law glanced up, golden eyes locking onto her figure. He noticed the way her shirt dipped a little too low and the deliberate shift of her legs as she leaned back.

“You’re teasing me,” he said flatly.

She grinned. “You noticed.”

He turned back to his tools. “You’re wasting your time.”

Y/N hopped off the table and walked up behind him. “Am I?�� she asked, voice low as she pressed her chest against his back and lightly touched the skull tattoo on his hand. “You don’t feel very unaffected.”

Law tensed — the only betrayal of his composure.

“Y/N,” he warned. “I’m not the kind of man you want to mess with.”

She moved to stand beside him, fingertips trailing slowly down his forearm. “That’s funny, because you’re exactly the kind of man I like messing with.”

His eyes flicked to hers. Sharp. Dangerous. But something else simmered just below the surface.

“Do you have a death wish?” he murmured, stepping closer until their bodies nearly touched. “Because the way you talk, you’re either stupid…”

Her breath hitched.

“…or looking for trouble.”

She looked up at him, lips parted. “Maybe I’m looking for you.”

For a moment, nothing moved.

Then Law grabbed her wrist, gently but firmly, and backed her against the wall. He hovered just close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin.

“I could kiss you right now,” he said softly, eyes dark, “and you’d forget every smartass thing you just said.”

“Then do it,” she whispered.

But instead of closing the gap, he smirked and let go of her wrist, stepping back.

“No,” he said. “You don’t get what you want that easy.”

Y/N blinked, heart pounding.

“You started this,” he added, heading for the door. “Now you get to sit with it.”

And just like that, he vanished.

Leaving her hot, breathless, and totally thrown off.

Sabo

The Revolutionaries’ headquarters was quiet that evening — too quiet. The air was thick with humidity and tension, like a storm was building.

Sabo sat at his desk, sleeves rolled up, blond hair slightly tousled as he flipped through intelligence reports. His gloves lay discarded beside him, and a pen spun loosely between his fingers as he read.

Y/N watched from the doorway, arms crossed. There was something about the way his brow furrowed in concentration — sharp, smart, endlessly calm. It made her want to rattle him.

She knocked once, then entered without waiting.

Sabo didn’t look up. “Y/N.”

“Oh, you knew it was me?” she said, closing the door behind her. “That’s either impressive... or creepy.”

He smiled slightly. “Your steps are lighter than most. You also smell like cinnamon.”

She blinked. “Are you sniffing me when I walk by?”

He finally looked up, smirk in place. “Would you be offended?”

Y/N walked over slowly, dragging her fingers across the edge of his desk. “Not unless you stop.”

Sabo leaned back in his chair, observing her now with a quiet intensity. “You’re bored.”

She nodded. “A little.”

“Looking for trouble?”

“Maybe.”

“Trying to seduce me?”

She smiled. “Maybe.”

Sabo set his pen down, laced his fingers together, and gave her a look — calm, collected, but with a flicker of heat behind it. “You do realize what happens if you succeed, right?”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” she said as she moved behind him, trailing her hands lightly down his shoulders. “You’re always so composed. I wanted to see what it takes to make you lose that control.”

He exhaled slowly. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“You said that already,” she murmured, leaning down until her lips brushed the shell of his ear. “Now prove it.”

In a flash, Sabo grabbed her wrist and pulled her around to face him. She let out a breathless gasp as he spun her, planting her on his desk with one fluid motion. He braced his hands on either side of her thighs, caging her in.

“I don’t think you understand what happens when I do lose control,” he said, voice low and dangerously smooth.

Her breath caught. “Then maybe you should teach me.”

Sabo stared at her, jaw tight, eyes burning with restraint. And then, slowly, he leaned in—

And stopped just short of kissing her.

His breath fanned over her lips as he murmured, “Not here. Not yet. You don’t want your first kiss with me to be rushed.”

Y/N’s lips parted. “First?”

He smirked. “I told you. If you succeed... there’s no going back.”

And with that, he stepped away, grabbing his gloves like nothing had just happened.

Y/N sat there, stunned, still catching her breath.

Damn.

He hadn’t even touched her properly… and still, her knees were weak.

#onepiece #strawhats #luffy #monkey d luffy #roronoa zoro #revolutionary sabo #portgas d ace #trafalgardwaterlaw #god usopp #sanji #fanfiction #one piece x reader #fluff #romance

123 notes · View notes

nerdgirlbutinpink · 23 hours ago

Text

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝐈 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 || joaquin torres x fem!reader

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: maybe a dirty joke here, but besides that none!

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 679

𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗶 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗲𝘆𝗲𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗯𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗹𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗼𝘀!

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

joaquin’s hand finds yours like it always has—certain, warm, grounding. his thumb strokes over your knuckles as he leads you back onto the dance floor. it’s just the two of you now. no cameras flashing, no toasts ringing out, no one yelling for kisses. just wooden floorboards beneath your bare feet, your dress brushing the ground with a tired sigh, and fairy lights strung overhead like patient little constellations watching it all unfold.

the soft crackle of vinyl begins as “i only have eyes for you” by the flamingos hums from the old record player he brought just for this moment. the song blooms into the space around you, dreamy and languid, a haunting promise that sounds like it’s been playing for lifetimes before this.

you breathe out a quiet laugh that turns into a sigh as you sink against him. his shirt is untucked now, vest open, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms dusted with a golden glow under the lights. his tie is long forgotten on a chair somewhere, and his hair curls damp against his forehead from hours of dancing and heat.

he slides his hand to the small of your back, pressing you closer until your chest is flush to his. his other hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb stroking softly across your cheekbone as he looks down at you with eyes so soft and dark they make your chest ache.

“you know,” he says, his voice low and roughened by exhaustion and emotion, “i used to think i was gonna die alone in a desert somewhere. just me and my drone.”

you let out a hushed laugh, tears rising anyway, burning the rims of your eyes. “don’t say that. not tonight.”

“i’m serious,” he murmurs, leaning in to press his forehead to yours. you can feel his breath on your lips, warm and unsteady. “i never thought i’d get this. i never thought i’d get you.”

he laughs softly, almost bitterly, shaking his head. “i didn’t think i deserved it.”

you feel the tears slip free then. they drip down your cheeks and land against his chest, leaving dark little marks on his white shirt. he notices, because of course he does, and his thumb swipes them away with reverence, like he’s erasing pain itself.

“look at me,” he whispers.

you do. god, you do. and the way he’s looking at you makes your knees almost give out. like you’re salvation. like you’re a miracle he never prayed for because he didn’t know he could.

“i love you,” you whisper, voice trembling under the weight of the truth.

his lips curve into a shaky smile as he closes the distance, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your mouth. when he pulls back, his eyes are shimmering, his lashes damp.

“i’ve loved you,” he says, voice breaking, “since the second i met you. and i’ll love you long after they bury me.”

your chest tightens painfully at the raw promise, and you press your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. sandalwood cologne softened by sweat, the salt of his skin, the warmth of him wrapped around you like a vow no one else gets to hear.

the song croons around you, slow and spectral:

“my love must be a kind of blind love… i can’t see anyone but you…”

he sways you in slow circles, your gown sweeping the ground, his fingers rubbing small circles into your back to calm the shaking he feels in your shoulders.

the record crackles and hisses in the quiet spaces between lyrics, filling the hall with something deeper than music—something like eternity. like a promise sealed in the marrow of your bones.

“thank you,” he whispers suddenly, so quietly you almost don’t hear it.

you tilt your head back to look at him, brows furrowing softly. “for what?”

his lips twitch, eyes wet and dark and glowing all at once. “for letting me love you.”

you can’t speak after that, can’t do anything except hold him tighter and press your lips to the hollow of his throat, where his pulse beats strong and steady. because you know exactly what he means. loving you has always been his salvation, but tonight you realize loving him has been yours.

so you dance—slow and silent under the dimmed fairy lights—until the record fades into gentle static, the world falling away beyond these four quiet walls.

and still, he doesn’t let you go.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

a/n: okay i cried while writing this ngl … but here’s a small joaquin imagine for now!!

#nerd girl but in pink writes #fanfic #joaquin torres #joaquin torres love club #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin x reader #joaquin torres x fem!reader #falcon #falcon x reader #falcon x you #danny ramirez x reader #danny ramirez #danny ramirez x you #marvel #mcu falcon #marvel mcu #mcu

109 notes · View notes

nayiana0 · 13 hours ago

Text

"Off Limits" 2

choi san. just your brother’s best friend. off-limits. untouchable. but the tension between you two just doesn’t just disappear—it builds, until one late night... he snaps.. and it gets messy. and your brother seonghwa?? he’s not putting up with it.

wc : 7.7k

tags : explicit content, shower sex, teasing, overstimulation, softdom!san, cursing possessive behavior, san is thirsty & down bad, brothers bestfriend, protective!seonghwa, possessive!san, aftercare, secret hookup

genre : smut

a/n : okay sooo i didn’t expect the last part to get that much love lol but i’ve decided to start wrapping this up, and this chapter felt like the right place to slow things down a bit. softer energy, some sibling tension, quiet guilt, all that good emotional mess. not as messy as usual but still very them if that makes sense.

READ PART 1 !! - Part 1

taglist : @gabruix @keyiswatching @rosydipity @nopension @chartrucewhore

It’s late afternoon now.

The sun’s starting to mellow, but the heat is still pressing — thick and heavy, clinging to your skin like it’s trying to make a home there.

You're bored. Still sore. A little restless.

And curious. Very curious.

You stretch, wincing a little at the ache still blooming through your thighs, but the pull of voices — laughter, metal clinking, low murmuring — draws you toward the front of the house.

You pad down the stairs, bare feet on the cool wood floor, and when you open the front door, it hits you like a wall.

Heat. Dry and dizzying, like stepping into someone’s oven.

You squint against the brightness, shielding your eyes as you follow the sound. The garage door is wide open.

And that’s when you see them.

Seonghwa’s on his back under the car, legs sticking out as he wrestles with something metal.

And San?

San is leaning back against the big red metal tool chest — the one Seonghwa always brags about — drink in hand, head tipped back just slightly, eyes half-lidded from the sun.

He’s shirtless, skin slick with sweat, a thin sheen glowing across his chest and down his abs.

His black sweats are hanging dangerously low, clinging in all the right places.

Your body reacts before your mind does — heat curling low in your stomach like a spark against dry grass.

Flashbacks flicker: his hands on your hips, the way his voice rasped against your ear last night on the couch, those low groans buried in your neck—

You blink, snapping back into the present.

Get a grip.

You step onto the driveway.

But before you can even say a word, San is already moving.

He meets you halfway, crowding into your space, fingers brushing the hair out of your face like it’s something he’s done a thousand times before.

“You okay?” he murmurs, thumb sliding gently along your jaw. “You still sore?”

You nod, then shake your head. “No—I mean, yeah. I’m good. I’m fine.”

Without another word, he leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before wrapping his arms around you in a warm, comforting hug.

You melt into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours.

From under the car, Seonghwa’s voice barks out.

“I see your feet, dude. Why are you so close to my sister?”

You roll your eyes. “Seonghwa, I’m literally standing. He’s just—god, never mind.”

Seonghwa’s head doesn’t appear, but his voice softens a little. “Y/N, you good?”

“Yes! Why does everyone keep asking that?” You throw up your hands. “What the hell are you two even working on?”

Seonghwa finally rolls out from under the car, grease on his hands and his shirt dark with sweat.

“Alternator. Trying to swap it out before the heat fries the rest of the engine.”

San adds, “Battery’s draining way too fast. It’s not catching the charge. If we don’t fix it, the whole thing’s gonna—”

“—shit out in traffic,” Seonghwa finishes.

You blink.

“Oh… okay. Cool. Mechanic language. Love that for me.”

San grins and bumps your shoulder with his. “We have to wash the car after, though. You wanna help?”

Before you can answer, Seonghwa immediately shoves himself up, almost smacking his head on the hood.

“No. Nope. She’s not helping.”

“Why not?” you frown.

“Because I know exactly what’s going through this dude’s head,” Seonghwa glares at San. “And you’re still sore.”

“I’m fine!” you snap. “I’m not even sore anymore. Can I please help?”

Seonghwa sighs dramatically. “Fine. Whatever. Get the hose.”

Victory.

You trot off toward the side of the house to unroll the green hose while San gathers a bucket and sponges.

He tosses in a bottle of soap with no label, the kind of thing Seonghwa probably swears by.

Seonghwa backs the car out of the garage, positioning it into the little cement space in front of the house, wheels crunching over gravel.

You turn the valve, water gushing out.

San’s beside you now, pouring soap into the bucket just as the hose fills it.

You crouch down to help stir the soap in, fingers just brushing the surface—

And a sharp blast of water hits your back full force, soaking your shirt straight through.

You yelp, stumbling forward as icy droplets race down your spine.

“San!!” you scream.

He’s holding the hose, eyes shining with amusement.

“Why the fuck would you do that?! My hair!”

“You looked hot.” He shrugs, mouth twitching into a grin. “You needed to cool off. Hydration is key, baby.”

You grab a sponge and hurl it at him. It bounces off his chest uselessly.

He laughs.

You dip another sponge into the soapy bucket and start scrubbing the car, scowling — but then San joins you, arms flexing, eyes sneaking toward you every few seconds.

“You look really sexy doing that” he murmurs, low enough for only you to hear.

“Shut up,” you mutter, cheeks hot.

He leans closer, lips brushing your ear. “No, seriously. I’m about to buy a dirty car every week just to see you bend over like that.”

You slap him with the wet sponge.

“Shut. Up. And scrub.”

Seonghwa's voice floats from the other side of the car. “What’s going on over there?”

“We’re cleaning!” you both say in unison.

Silence.

Seonghwa speaks again, slower this time. “You keep going quiet whenever I get close. And I swear I heard one of you whispering.”

Another pause. You can practically hear the suspicion brewing.

Then Seonghwa again: “Are you two hooking up?”

Your entire body freezes.

“What? No!” you laugh, forced and awkward. “Ew, Seonghwa. Why would you say that?”

“‘Ew?’” San echoes, voice dropping half an octave.

Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “I know you’re hiding something. You think I’m an idiot?”

“We’re not doing anything,” you say quickly.

“Then why’d you two suddenly get so close?” Seonghwa wipes sweat from his brow.

You smirk. “Aw, Seonghwa. You scared I’m gonna steal your best friend?”

“That’s not funny,” he mutters.

“Oh, come on,” you tease. “Jealous much?”

Seonghwa scoffs from the other side of the car. “Jealous? Of what? Watching you two flirt like you’re in some cheap Netflix teen drama?”

San lets out a low laugh. “Damn, Seonghwa. You been saving that one?”

“I’m serious,” Seonghwa says, walking around the front of the car now, expression tight.

“You two weren’t even speaking a month ago. Now you’re—” he gestures vaguely at the two of you, “—all close and whispery and weird.”

You raise a brow. “Whispery?”

“Don’t act dumb. You’re doing that thing with your eyes. And he’s doing that thing with his face.”

“What face?” San asks, smiling way too wide.

“That one!” Seonghwa snaps, pointing. “The smug one you make when you think you’re getting away with something.”

You glance at San. He absolutely is making that face. You stifle a laugh.

“We’re literally just washing the car,” you say.

Seonghwa narrows his eyes. “Then why do you look guilty?”

“I’m wet and cold, not guilty.”

“You were blushing.”

You shrug. “It’s sunny.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m happy.”

Seonghwa looks at San. “And you haven’t said a word except to make it worse.”

San holds up his hands innocently. “Look, man, I’m just following instructions. She said ‘we’re cleaning,’ so I’m cleaning.”

Seonghwa turns slowly back to you. “You’re lying.”

You cross your arms. “You actually are paranoid.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“You’re projecting.”

San whistles. “This is getting intense. Should I get popcorn?”

Seonghwa throws a glare at San. “Dude. Shut the fuck up. You’re not helping.”

San grins, leaning casually against the hood of the car. “Wasn’t trying to.”

Seonghwa turns back to you, eyes narrowing. “Okay, if nothing’s going on, then why do you both look like you just committed a crime and are about to commit another one?”

You blink. “Because we’re washing your car and it’s hot out?”

He doesn’t let up. “He keeps looking at you like he’s two seconds away from doing something I’ll have to fight him over.”

You tilt your head, unimpressed. “That’s just how his face looks.”

San smirks. “You like my face.”

You shoot him a sharp look. “Not. Helping.”

Seonghwa points between you. “See?! That! Right there! You two are doing that thing again. The weird eye telepathy. Cut it out.”

You raise a brow. “Seonghwa, relax. You’re spiraling.”

Seonghwa folds his arms, not backing down. “I’m observing,” he insists. “And what I’m observing is way too suspicious for a couple of innocent car washers.”

You smirk, stepping closer to San. “Maybe we just make a good team.”

San’s grin turns sly eyes flicking between you and Seonghwa, “Dynamic duo, right here.”

“But seriously, Seonghwa, you might wanna chill before you get yourself worked up.”

Seonghwa shoots you a warning look. “Keep this up, and I’m making you both do extra chores.”

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “What, like washing your car again? Sounds like a fair deal.”

San chuckles, flicking the water droplets off his fingers as he leans casually against the car. “Yeah, I’m down if it means more time with this view.”

He glances at you — slowly, pointedly — gaze dragging from your wet legs to your face, and grins. “Could wash cars like this every day.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks betray you, burning pink.

Seonghwa’s eyes narrow, voice sharp. “You — go inside. Now.”

You stop, caught off guard by the sudden command.

“Seonghwa, come on, we’re just—”

You glance at San, and he glances at you with a little smirk. “Guess I’ll see you later. Maybe next time, less soap, more privacy?”

“San,” Seonghwa snaps.

San just grins, holding up his hands. “I’m just saying.”

You exhale sharply, annoyed now — cheeks flushed from embarrassment, from being treated like a kid in front of San. “We aren’t doing anything.”

“Sure,” Seonghwa says coldly. “And I’m just overreacting, right? Just the paranoid older brother again.”

You blink at him, frustration boiling over.

“I’m trying to look out for you,” he continues. “But if you want to keep acting reckless—”

“Oh my god,” you cut in, finally snapping, “you’re so fucking annoying, Seonghwa.”

His mouth opens — stunned, momentarily speechless.

You don’t wait for him to recover. You toss the sponge down, shoulders tense. “Seriously. You don’t get to control everything just because you’re older.”

And then, quieter, more to yourself: “It’s exhausting.”

San watches you walk away, a flicker of something more serious crossing his face as the screen door closes behind you.

—

The front door slams behind you. Your wet clothes cling to your skin, soap still dripping down your arms.

You're flushed — from anger, from the sun, from everything that just went down.

You don’t even know why you're shaking.

You storm into the kitchen. Grab a towel. Press it to your face like it’ll make the embarrassment go away.

But then—you hear it.

The door creaks open again.

Footsteps.

You don’t have to look. You know it’s him.

San.

“Y/N?”

You exhale through your nose, towel still pressed to your face. “What?”

His voice is soft. Almost careful. “You okay?”

You drop the towel. Turn to face him. His hair is still damp, sticking to his forehead. Chest bare, still glistening.

That same casual calm he always wears — but his eyes?

Worried.

You cross your arms, suddenly cold in your wet clothes. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

San doesn’t answer right away. Just steps closer. His brows pull slightly together like he’s reading you — like he’s searching for a lie under your words.

“You basically stormed off.”

“I’m dramatic.”

He hums. “You don’t usually get that pissed unless something really hits.”

You roll your eyes. “Seonghwa was being annoying. That’s all.”

San nods slowly, still watching you. “You wanna talk about it?”

You stare at him. For once, he doesn’t have that smug smirk. He just looks... present. Like he really wants to know. Like it matters.

But you notice something on his face, so you lean in a little closer, eyes narrowing.

“Wait, wait, wait—what’s that on your face?”

He follows your gaze, then slowly touches the spot on his jaw where the red mark is blooming, his expression flickering between amusement and something softer.

“What, this?” he says, trying for casual. “Just a friendly .. uh .. love tap.”

“See? Nothing to worry about,” he says lightly, but you catch the slight hesitation in his voice.

“Did he hit you?!”

San shrugs, but you can tell he’s trying not to let on that it’s bothering him more than he wants to admit.

“San.”

He lifts a brow. “What? It’s not like he punched me. Just… a warning. You know. Friendly bonding.”

You stare. “That looks a lot less like bonding and a lot more like he nearly beat the shit out of you.”

He scoffs, rubbing the mark with the back of his hand. “I’m fine.”

“Did he actually hit you?”

San exhales through his nose, not quite a sigh. “Okay. Maybe he got a little worked up. But it’s not a big deal—he just wanted to make a point.”

“And the point was?”

He smirks, but there’s less bite to it now. “That he doesn’t like me flirting with you.”

You blink at him. “And that surprises you?”

“No,” he admits, lips quirking. “..I just didn’t think he’d actually leave a mark.”

You shake your head, moving closer without thinking, fingers reaching up to gently touch the mark yourself.

He stills under the contact, the silence settling heavier between you.

“San,” you say softly. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t bother you.”

His eyes meet yours, and for once, he doesn’t deflect. Doesn’t joke.

“I’m okay,” he says. Quieter. “Promise.”

You watch him carefully, the usual cockiness softened by something almost protective in his eyes.

The room feels quieter somehow, the noise from outside fading away.

Something in your chest lets go.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He smiles — not the usual crooked, smug one you’ve grown used to — but something softer. Honest.

“Just trying to figure out what you’re thinking.”

Silence again. But not uncomfortable.

He draws a slow breath, then says,

“I know we started this all... fast. And messy,” he starts. “But I didn’t just do this to mess around. I’m not just here for a good time. I like being around you. I like you.”

You feel your eyes sting — from relief, maybe. From surprise. From the way that warmth spreads through you, slowly, like sunlight.

He watches you. “Is that okay?”

You nod, slowly. “Yeah. That’s okay.”

His lips tug up into a small smile.

A beat.

You can’t believe you said it. It left your mouth before your brain could even stop it.

“Do you wanna shower with me?”

San blinks. “Huh?”

It hangs in the air.

Your face flames. “I just—I mean—you don’t have to, I just thought…”

He laughs under his breath. Low. Surprised.

But not in a bad way.

He steps closer. Real close.

“Are you trying to make me lose control right here, right now?” he murmurs, voice like velvet.

You swallow. “You started it.”

“I started it?” He smirks. “Baby, you’re the one who invited me into the shower.”

You shrug, trying to play it off. “Well… it’s been a long day. I’m wet anyway. Might as well…”

His eyes darken slightly. “Careful with how you say that.”

You laugh, turning away to hide your face—but he catches your wrist gently.

“Hey,” he says. “I’d love to.”

You glance back up. “Really?”

His smile softens. “Really. But not if you’re just doing it to prove something. Or to distract yourself from earlier.”

You pause.

And then you nod. Honest. Bare.

“I just… wanna be close to you.”

That’s all it takes.

He leans in and kisses you, slow and sure, his fingers slipping around your waist as he walks you backwards toward the bathroom. Every step is warm. Heavy. Wanting.

The bathroom door clicks shut behind you.

Steam curls through the air, the water already running. The sound of it pattering gently against the tiles fills the silence between your mouths.

You tug your hoodie off slowly. He watches you. Every inch revealed, his gaze grows darker.

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

You roll your eyes, half-flustered. “You’ve seen me like this already.”

“Not like this.” His voice dips. “Not when it’s just us. No noise. No hiding.”

His chest is toned, still glistening faintly from the heat outside — but here, in this soft light, he looks real. Less smug. More yours.

You take a step closer. So does he.

Your fingers graze his ribs. His hands rest at your hips. And for a second, the world quiets.

“You sure?” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours.

You nod.

Together, you step into the shower.

The water hits you first — hot, calming, the spray soaking your hair and running down your shoulders.

San’s right behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you back against his chest.

You sigh into it. Into him.

His hands move slow. Reverent.

Washing over your arms. Tracing your collarbones. Palming your hips like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t keep holding you.

He leans down to kiss your shoulder. Then your neck. Then behind your ear.

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

You close your eyes.

Every kiss he leaves feels like a promise.

One on your jaw. One at the curve of your spine. One at the small of your back.

“Every time I look at you,” he breathes, “I wanna memorize you all over again.”

You turn in his arms — slowly — and his hands slide down to the backs of your thighs, lifting you before you can even brace yourself.

A small gasp escapes you as he pins you gently to the shower wall.

“You okay?” he whispers, lips brushing yours.

You nod. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He presses his forehead to yours again. “Tell me if anything hurts.”

Your fingers thread into his damp hair.

“I will,” you promise.

And he kisses you like you’re the only thing keeping him alive.

Water droplets cling to your lashes as he pushes into you, gentle yet firm.

The sensation is overwhelming, a delicious pressure that makes you arch your back and grip the tiles behind you for support.

"Are you okay?" he asks again, his voice strained with restraint.

You nod, a soft whimper escaping your mouth. "It's just... it's a lot."

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. "Too much?"

"No," you say, almost desperately. "I just want... I need you to go .. harder."

His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but he doesn't miss a beat. "You're sure? Aren't you still sore from last night?"

You give him a look that says you can handle it, that you need it. "I'm sure."

His grip on your thighs tightens, and he starts to move faster, his thrusts deep and deliberate.

The sound of the shower echoes in the small bathroom, mixing with your gasps and his grunts.

"This what you want?" he asks, his voice a low growl.

You nod, the heat in your eyes unmistakable. "Y-yes," you murmur, your voice barely audible over the patter of water.

With a gentle yet firm hand, he tilts your chin up, capturing your mouth in a passionate kiss as he starts to move with more urgency.

His hips drive into yours, the rhythm of his movements setting a tempo that resonates deep within you.

You can feel your muscles tightening, the delicious ache spreading through your body as he hits just the right spot.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers against your ear, his breath hot and ragged.

His hands roam over your curves, gripping and caressing as if he’s trying to claim every inch of your skin.

The water streams down your faces, mingling with the sweat that’s starting to form on your forehead.

You moan, your body responding to his touch, his possession. “More,” you breathe out, your voice needy.

His movements become more insistent, his hips snapping into you with a force that makes the shower wall shudder

Your legs wrap around his waist, your heels digging into his lower back as you try to pull him closer, deeper.

"Oh, fuck, yes," you cry out, your voice echoing off the tiles. "I'm... I'm there."

He chuckles darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "Already?"

"Yes," you gasp, your voice tight with pleasure. "I'm... I'm gonna..."

He kisses you harder, swallowing your words as you both feel the tension coil tighter. "Then cum for me, baby," he whispers, "Let go."

You nod frantically, your eyes squeezed shut as the orgasm builds.

He kisses you again, his tongue delving into your mouth as if to swallow your cries of pleasure.

"I-I'm.. cumming," you manage to say between gasps, your body trembling as the orgasm crashes over you.

"Good," he grunts, his pace unrelenting. "Cum for me."

“I am," you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He doesn't ease up, though, his eyes locked on yours, reading every little twitch of pleasure and pain.

"Please..," you whisper, the words barely making it past your clenched teeth.

He pauses, his eyes searching yours, a hint of concern flashing through them. "You can't take it?"

You bite your lip, shaking your head slightly. "I... don’t think I can ..."

"We're not even close to finishing, baby." He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "But if you want to beg, I'm all ears."

You whimper, the delicious mix of pleasure and pain making your toes curl.

You bite down on your lip, trying to muffle your moans. But the feeling is too intense, your body too eager for release.

“You’re being loud,” he whispers against your ear.

“I... I can't help it,” you admit, your voice strained.

He chuckles low, the sound sending a thrill down your spine. "I know, baby," he murmurs, his strokes growing more deliberate.

"But remember, your brother is probably in the house right now."

You moan louder despite his warning.

"He's gonna hear us, Y/N." he says, his voice low and playful.

You can't help but moan louder, the sound echoing in the tiled room.

"Let him," you pant, your hips pushing back into him. "Let him know you're fucking his sister."

He stares at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before it morphs into pure hunger.

"You're so fucking dirty," he says, his voice a mix of amazement and lust.

You smirk, feeling a thrill at his reaction. "Is that what you like?"

He doesn't answer, his eyes hooded and focused on the spot where your bodies meet.

His breathing is ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

You can feel his cock pulsing inside you, the tip hitting your sweet spot with every thrust.

"Say it again," he commands, his voice gruff with need.

You smirk up at him, feeling a thrill of power at his reaction. "I want him to know you're fucking me," you repeat.

For a moment, he just looks at you, his eyes dark with passion. Then, without a word, he starts to laugh.

It's a low, deep chuckle that fills the steamy bathroom, a sound that sends your heart racing even faster.

"You're crazy," he says, shaking his head slightly. But his grin says he's anything but complaining.

You just smirk, your legs still wrapped around his waist. "Only for you," you murmur, nuzzling into his neck.

He groans, his hips stuttering before he stills completely, his cock pulsing as he fills you with his warmth.

"Jesus, baby," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin.

"Mm," you murmur, your eyes closing in pleasure as you feel him throb inside you. "I need more."

He chuckles, his breath warm against your neck. "Why’re you so greedy today?"

He pulls out slowly, making you whine with the sudden emptiness. "I've got you."

You lean into him, feeling his heartbeat thunder against your chest as you both catch your breath. "Please just one more..?" you murmur, your voice still thick with desire.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he shakes his head. "No, Y/N," he says, his voice gruff. "We cant."

You pout, feeling the need for more of him, but understanding his concern. "But I can't get enough of you," you murmur.

"I’m right here," he says, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "But we've got to get out of this bathroom.."

He gently helps you stand, your legs still shaking slightly as you both reach for the towels.

Wrapping one around yourself, you watch as he does the same, his eyes never leaving yours.

You both stand there for a moment, steam swirling around you, suspended in the silence.

The water’s still running, but neither of you moves to turn it off just yet.

San’s eyes linger on your face like he’s memorizing you. Again.

You’re wrapped in a towel, damp hair clinging to your skin, and he still looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Your legs wobble a little as you shift your weight, and he catches you — one hand steady on your hip, the other brushing your cheek with his knuckles.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “Still a little shaky.”

You breathe a laugh. “Whose fault is that?”

He grins, but it’s softer this time. Gentler.

“Let’s get you into bed,” he says.

You blink. “Shouldn’t we put our clothes on and go back outside?”

He shrugs one shoulder, a playful glint in his eye. “Seonghwa can wait. You need to rest.”

You tilt your head, curious. “Since when are you this thoughtful?”

“Since I started falling for you,” he says, so casually it nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

Your chest tightens. “San…”

But he just smiles, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “Come on.”

You let him lead you out of the bathroom, fingers still tangled in his, and the moment you both go upstairs and step into your bedroom, the air feels heavier. Quiet. Safe.

He grabs an oversized hoodie — and gently helps you into it. His touch lingers longer than it needs to. Warm. Like he’s grounding himself in the feel of you.

Then he guides you toward the bed.

You sit, still flushed, still warm from the shower. San pulls the blanket over your legs, then drops down beside you, back against the headboard, towel still low around his waist.

Your hand finds his on instinct.

He squeezes gently. “You okay?”

You nod slowly, watching your fingers toy with his. “Yeah. I just… I meant it, you know.”

He glances over. “Meant what?”

“When I said I can’t get enough of you.”

His face shifts. Something softer beneath all that usual confidence.

He leans in, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “You’re not the only one, baby.”

Your stomach flips.

And for a second — just a second — the worry disappears. The guilt. The risk. Seonghwa. All of it.

Just you and San.

Tangled in silence. Breathing each other in.

But the peace doesn’t last long.

From downstairs, faintly, you both hear it:

“Y/N? San?” Seonghwa’s voice echoes up the stairs.

Your eyes widen.

San groans, letting his head fall back against the wall. “He has the worst timing in the world.”

You suppress a laugh. “You should go.”

He looks at you, reluctant. “Do I have to?”

“Unless you want to explain why you’re still in my room… half-naked…”

He raises a brow. “I could think of a few convincing reasons.”

You snort, shoving his shoulder gently.

He kisses your hand once more, then stands, grabbing the clothes he’d left in a heap earlier.

He pulls his shirt over his head, still damp, but it does nothing to hide the flush on his skin or the softness in his eyes.

At the door, he glances back at you.

“I’ll come back later,” he says, voice low.

You nod.

“I know.”

He smiles — and disappears down the hall.

You’re left alone, wrapped in your hoodie, hair damp against your back, heart full and aching in equal measure.

And even though Seonghwa might be one floor away…

Your thoughts?

Still with San.

–

That night, you’re curled up in bed, hoodie on, knees to your chest, scrolling aimlessly on your phone when there’s a knock at your door.

You barely get the chance to respond before it cracks open and Seonghwa peeks his head in.

“Hey,” he says, voice uncharacteristically calm. “You… mad at me?”

You glance up, eyebrows raised. “What do you think?”

He walks in anyway, hands stuffed in the pockets of his sweats like he’s trying to downplay his guilt.

“Look,” he starts, crossing the room and stopping at the edge of your bed. . “I shouldn’t have snapped at you… about, you know, being so close with San. I guess I just got worried.”

You don’t say anything. Just blink at him.

He shifts on his feet awkwardly. “I mean, you two are always together, and sometimes I feel like I don’t know where I fit in anymore.”

You glare.

“But—like, in a normal way,” he hurriedly adds, holding up his hands. “I didn’t mean to come off like I don’t trust you. It’s just…weird, you know?”

You roll your eyes. “We weren’t acting weird.”

He gives you a look.

You sigh. “Okay. A little weird.”

“Thank you.” He mutters. Then, his eyes flick over your shoulder, and his face changes. “Wait. What is that?”

You frown. “What?”

He leans forward a little, squinting at the base of your neck. “Y/N… is that a bruise?”

You freeze.

“Did someone hit you?” he asks, voice suddenly sharper. “What the fuck is that?”

Your eyes go wide. “What? No! No, no one hit me.”

Seonghwa narrows his eyes and steps closer. You try to pull the hoodie tighter around yourself, but you’re too slow.

His hand comes up before you can stop him and he gently pulls the hoodie up, revealing more of your shoulder.

“Seonghwa!” You half-laugh, half-shriek, twisting away from him. “What the hell are you doing?!”

He stares. “Wait… was that another one on your hip???”

“Stop undressing me with your hands, you freak!” you smack his shoulder, laughing now because his expression is pure horror.

Seonghwa backs up, hands in the air.

“No, because seriously—what is that? Are you getting beat up? Is something hitting you when I’m not around? Because I will throw hands—”

You cut him off, fast. “I slipped!”

He pauses. “You slipped?”

“Yes! When I came back into the house earlier after you told me to come back inside, remember? The floor was wet and I slipped on the hardwood. It’s not a big deal.”

Seonghwa looks you up and down suspiciously. “That’s… a lot of .. weird marks for one slip.”

You shrug, trying to look nonchalant. “I fall hard, okay?”

He stares a second longer, then sighs. “Damn. You should’ve dried off first.”

You roll your eyes, grinning. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Dad.”

He scoffs. “Whatever. Just… next time, be more careful, alright? I don’t want to see you walking around with mystery.. bruises and weird excuses.”

You nod, the smile still lingering. “I got it.”

Seonghwa moves to the door, pausing before he leaves. “And… for real. I’m sorry for earlier. I was out of line.”

You hesitate, then nod slowly. “I know. Its okay.”

Seonghwa snorts. “I mean… I’m not totally wrong, but I’ll take it.”

You chuck a pillow at him.

He catches it with one hand, grinning, then flings it right back — it hits you in the face.

“Seonghwa!!”

“I told you,” he laughs, already halfway out the door. “You're dumb and slow!”

“Asshole!”

“I heard that!”

The door shuts behind him.

You’re left in your room again, cheeks sore from smiling, hoodie still pulled up a little too high from the struggle, and heart beating a little too fast — not from Seonghwa…

But from what you’re really hiding.

And now there’s another bruise you didn’t think you’d have to cover: the ache of lying to someone you love.

–

It’s quiet now.

The hallway lights flicked off.

Seonghwa’s door shut with that signature click.

Your room is dim, lit only by the soft blue glow from your phone screen as you lay in bed under the covers, eyes heavy but mind racing.

You should sleep.

You want to sleep.

But your heart won’t settle.

Not after that day. Not after San. Not after Seonghwa’s way-too-close call.

Then—tap.

You freeze.

Another tap. Soft. Familiar.

Your eyes flick to your window.

You sit up, tugging the curtain just slightly.

There he is.

San.

On the roof outside your window, crouched down, hoodie up, his lips curved in that smug little smile that somehow makes your chest ache and flutter all at once.

You shake your head, motioning for him to come in.

The window creaks open quietly, and he slips inside with practiced ease, careful not to make a sound.

“Really!?” you whisper as he lands on your carpet. “Seonghwa just went to sleep. And why are you coming through the window??”

“Front door felt too risky,” he murmurs, voice low, laced with that sleepy rasp. “And I couldn’t go to sleep without seeing you.”

Your breath hitches, just a little.

He’s already pulling off his hoodie and shoes, like this is something he’s done a hundred times before.

You slide over in bed to make room for him, heart thudding in your chest.

San climbs in without hesitation, the bed dipping under his weight as he tugs the covers back over the both of you.

His bare arm slides around your waist, warm and solid, pulling you into him.

You sigh into the comfort of it all, head resting against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“Long day,” he murmurs into your hair.

You nod. “Yeah.”

He strokes your back, slow and soft, like he’s memorizing the curve of your spine.

A moment passes. Still. Safe.

Then—

“I missed you,” he whispers.

You pull back just enough to look up at him.

“You were literally just with me.”

“I know,” he says, brushing your hair away from your face. “But I still missed you.”

The words melt into your skin like warmth, soaking into every place that felt cold before.

You don’t even think before saying, “I missed you too.”

His eyes soften. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You rest your head against his shoulder again, and for a moment, the world is quiet. No Seonghwa. No sneaking. No pretending.

Just him. And you.

“San?” you whisper after a minute.

“Mm?”

“Do you think this is… bad? Us, I mean. Keeping it from Seonghwa?”

He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s choosing his words carefully.

“I think…” he exhales, “it’s complicated. But I don’t think you are bad. And I don’t think this”—he pulls you in tighter—“is bad.”

You nod slowly. “Okay.”

You believe him. Or… you want to.

He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Try to sleep, princess.”

You smile. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why? You love it.”

You roll your eyes, nuzzling closer into his chest. “Shut up and hold me.”

He does.

His hand finds your hoodie strings, gently tugging at them, twisting them around his fingers as his other arm stays locked around your waist.

His voice is soft when he speaks again, like he’s been thinking about it for a while.

“Okay. We should tell him.”

You blink. “Seonghwa?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

You shift slightly to look up at him. “When?”

He doesn't hesitate. “Tomorrow morning.”

Your eyebrows raise. “That quick?”

“Yeah.” He’s still playing with your hoodie strings, focused on the little knot he’s tying in them. “I’ll just sleep over. We’ll wake up, go downstairs, and tell him. Straight up.”

You bite your lip. That easy? That quick?

“Okay,” you say, after a pause. “But… don’t be too like…” You search for the word. “Don’t be smug about it. Be normal.”

He tilts his head, amused. “Smug? What do you mean ‘smug’?”

“You know what I mean,” you say, dead serious. “You do that thing. That smirky, cocky thing with your eyebrows and your stupid mouth—”

“My stupid mouth?”

“Yes.” You poke his chest. “Like when you said ‘I’ll be right back, ‘princess’ and flirted with me outside.. You almost got us killed.”

He’s laughing now, shaking his head, his hand still idly tugging your hoodie string like a nervous tic. “You’re being dramatic.”

You lean in closer, voice low. “No, San. I’m not. Seonghwa will actually beat your ass this time.

“Like not in a cute way. He’s gonna full-on older brother rage blackout if you go in there acting like you just won a prize.”

His smile falters just slightly, but the edge softens into something serious.

“I got it,” he murmurs. “I’ll be respectful.”

“You swear?”

He leans down, presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Swear.”

You stare at him for a second. “Okay. Then… yeah. Let’s do it. Tomorrow.”

His fingers lace with yours under the covers, warm and a little sweaty.

“You sure?”

You nod.

“I’m scared,” you whisper with a tiny laugh.

“Me too,” he admits. “But I’d rather him hate me for being honest… than for sneaking around with his sister.”

You exhale slowly, heart thudding again.

“God,” you say, “he’s gonna kill you.”

San grins. “Probably.”

You nudge his shoulder, burying your face in his neck again. “I’ll miss you.”

He chuckles. “I’ll haunt you.”

You smile.

Wrapped in the quiet. In his arms. Hoodie strings still twisted around his fingers.

Tomorrow’s coming fast.

But for tonight—you let yourself rest in this moment.

Warm. Honest. Real.

—

The smell of eggs and toast fills the kitchen. The morning sun spills lazily through the blinds, casting warm lines across the tiled floor.

Seonghwa’s at the stove again, flipping something in the pan with casual focus.

He’s talking — something about the car’s suspension or the alignment, his voice cutting through the silence like it's any normal day.

But it’s not.

You’re sitting at the table with your legs tucked up under you, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands.

San’s next to you, close enough that your knees are touching beneath the table. You keep your eyes on your juice, the tension heavy in your chest.

He hasn’t said anything yet.

And you know it’s coming.

“Yeah,” Seonghwa says, pulling the pan off the heat. “Think I just need to replace that whole left-side control arm. Might as well—what?”

He glances over his shoulder, noticing San watching him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

San clears his throat. Sits up straighter.

“I gotta tell you something. Like. Serious”

Seonghwa furrows his brow. “What? You’re finally gonna admit you’re fucking annoying?”

San grins. “Worse.”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes, setting the pan down. “When are you ever serious, man?”

But something in his tone shifts when he looks between you two.

“What is it?” he asks, slower this time.

You hold your breath and take a long sip of your juice.

San’s voice is calm. Steady. “I’m fucking your sister.”

PFTTTT—

You choke, juice spraying back into your glass as you slap a hand over your mouth.

“Oh my god, San—”

Seonghwa doesn’t react at first. Not right away. He just stares at him.

“What?” he says, quiet.

San shrugs, like he’s talking about the weather. “You heard me.”

“Say it again.”

Seonghwa’s hand goes to the juice pitcher.

He lifts it slowly and sets it down hard on the table. Juice sloshes over the side, dripping across the wood.

You swallow hard.

Seonghwa’s voice stays eerily calm.

“I knew something was up last night,” he mutters. “I said it. I said—‘are you two hooking up?’—and you both lied to my face.”

San raises a brow, unbothered. “Well technically, you asked a question. we just let your imagination do the rest.”

SPLASH.

Seonghwa launches the juice directly into San’s face.

A full, aggressive pour. Citrus floods his curls, streams down his jaw, and pools into his collar.

“What the fuck, man?” San coughs, laughing.

Seonghwa's already standing, storming around the table, grabbing San by the collar and yanking him to his feet.

“You think this is a fucking joke?” he growls, face inches from his best friend’s, knuckles white around his hoodie.

San just grins, tongue dragging over his cheek, tasting the juice. He winks at you.

Your stomach drops.

“San—” you whisper, disappointed. This is exactly what you told him not to do.

You quickly rise, rushing over. “Seonghwa, stop! Calm down—please, just calm—”

“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down!” Seonghwa barks, eyes blazing. “You lied to me. You lied to my face. And you—” he looks at San, his tone venomous, “—you really thought this was gonna be funny?”

“Seonghwa—” you start, but he’s already stepping back, shaking his head.

“I need air,” he snaps, already heading toward the door. “You two can clean up this bullshit.”

The door slams.

You exhale shakily, turning back to San.

He’s still laughing. Juice dripping from his nose, hoodie soaked, face red with barely restrained amusement.

You stare at him, arms crossed. “That was a bad idea.”

He wipes his eyes. “Y/N—baby come on—it was kinda funny.”

You don’t smile. “I told you not to act like that.”

He straightens a little, finally noticing your tone. “Okay. Okay, I’m sorry. I am. But hey… at least he knows now, right?”

You stare at him.

“Come here,” he says, voice softening.

You sigh and grab a towel from the counter, walking over and gently dabbing his face.

You wipe the sticky juice from his cheeks, his neck, brushing his hair off his forehead as he leans into your touch.

“You smell like oranges,” you mumble.

He grins. “Kiss me.”

You blink. “No. I’m not kissing orange juice off of you.”

“Come on,” he laughs. “Do it. Just do it—”

He tugs your wrist. You trip forward, falling straight into his lap.

You gasp, your hands landing on his chest. “San—!”

“Kiss me,” he whispers, lips brushing yours. “Or I’m not letting you go.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re literally so annoying.”

He shrugs. “And yet… here you are.”

You roll your eyes, then finally kiss him. Soft, sticky, citrus-sweet.

Then you shove off him and dart away, heading for the stairs.

“Hey—!” he calls after you, laughing. “That’s not fair!”

You don’t look back. “Maybe next time you’ll listen to me!”

His laughter follows you up the steps.

—

That night, dinner is quiet — too quiet. the only sound is the clink of forks against ceramic, echoing louder than it should.

Well, that and the faint, passive-aggressive clench of Seonghwa’s jaw.

He hasn’t said a word in fifteen minutes. Not one.

You’re sitting across from him, quietly chewing your food and trying not to look directly at his face.

His expression says everything: cold, closed-off, and aggressively avoiding eye contact. He’s stabbing his pasta like it personally wronged him.

Next to you, San is chewing like he’s got not a single care in the world.

Laid-back. Legs spread. Elbow draped casually over the back of your chair. His fork twirls lazily through his food, and he hums a little under his breath. Hums.

The tension is suffocating.

You try to break it. “This is really good, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa doesn’t even blink.

“Like… the sauce? Kind of amazing.”

No response. Just a sigh. A very loud sigh.

San smirks, glancing across the table. “You’re really not gonna talk to us? You’re just gonna sit there pretending we don’t exist?”

Seonghwa finally looks up, slowly.

Deadpan. “That’s the goal.”

You press your lips together, swallowing a laugh.

San tilts his head, feigning innocence. “What? You don’t believe me?”

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow. “Believe what? That you’re a moron?”

San shrugs dramatically. “No. That I’m fucking your sister.”

Seonghwa drops his fork with a loud clank. “Dude.”

“What??” San’s grinning now, full smug-mode activated. “I’m just saying, if you’re having doubts—”

And before you can stop him—

San leans over.

And kisses you.

Right in front of Seonghwa.

Not a quick peck. Oh no. He goes in with soft pressure, hand slipping to your jaw, angling your face toward him. It's slow. Purposeful. Completely, utterly unnecessary.

You pull back a little too late, wide-eyed, lips tingling. “San—”

Seonghwa just stares. Horrified.

Then, in a flat, revolted voice: “Okay. Okay. You don’t have to prove it. Just—stop.”

He wipes his mouth with a napkin and pushes his plate away.

“Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

San leans back in his chair, totally unfazed. “You didn’t believe me! I was clarifying!”

“Clarifying?!” Seonghwa throws his hands up. “That was not clarification, that was—graphic evidence! At the dinner table!”

You duck your head into your hands, shoulders shaking.

“Seonghwa,” you mumble through your fingers. “Please stop yelling at the pasta.”

Seonghwa mutters something under his breath. Then stands up.

“I’m eating in my room.”

He grabs his plate and storms off down the hall and up the stairs.

San’s still smirking. He reaches for your garlic bread.

“That went better than expected.”

You smack his hand. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet,” he says, biting into the bread, “you’re still sitting next to me.”

You groan and flop back in your seat, staring at the ceiling.

This is your life now.

And somehow... you kind of love it.

—

Masterlist

#ateez #ateez fic #ateez smut #smut #choi san #choi san fanfic #choi san imagines #choi san smut #san smut #seonghwa scenarios #seonghwa fic #seonghwa #park seonghwa #san

123 notes · View notes

sirenontheloose · 2 days ago

Note

we really need part 2 to Please Don't Clip This ❤️🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Here it is! I'm lowkey scared I’ll get obsessed and keep going until they start dating or something.

Please Don't Clip This pt.2

pt.1 here

Y/N didn’t go online after that day or the next. She saw the trending tags, the edits, the slowed-down clips of her blinking at Lara’s Instagram like she was being hypnotized, but she didn’t respond. It wasn’t embarrassment, not exactly. She was just... critically offline. So offline, in fact, that she didn’t even know KATSEYE was in South Korea promoting their latest release, Gnarly, while she was busy resting, cleaning, and ignoring the fact that her livestream crush might’ve actually witnessed the full collapse.

She thought it was over and everyone had their share of fun teasing her.

Until Friday night.

Y/N had just finished dance practice. Hair damp from sweat, hoodie slung over one shoulder, she followed the rest of Aespa into a nearby Korean BBQ place. It was one of those regular idol haunts. Casual, private, safe. She didn’t even think twice about it.

Until she sat down.

And saw the face.

The one she was swooning over in front of possibly hundreds of thousands of people.

Sitting at the next table.

With KATSEYE.

There she was, Lara.

Y/N froze mid-sit, hovering awkwardly over the cushion like her knees forgot how to work. Karina noticed first. She looked up, followed Y/N’s line of sight, and let out a quiet but sharp gasp.

"Oh my God. No way. That’s her, isn’t it?"

Y/N sat down so fast she almost knocked over the water pitcher. "No it’s not. I mean, what are you talking about? It could be anyone. Shut up."

Winter leaned across the table with a smug smile. "That’s definitely her. I saw that livestream, remember? We all did. That’s your Instagram crush in 4K."

Ningning giggled. "She’s even prettier in person. Y/N, you’re so cooked."

"I’m begging you all to be normal," Y/N whispered, face heating up. She reached for a menu like it could shield her from the world.

Karina grinned. "You were giggling at her selfies for ten minutes straight. Don’t think we forgot."

Winter nodded. "Should we say hi for you? No? Maybe just a little wave? You should ask for her number," she was practically scream-whispering.

Y/N groaned. "Please stop. I'm shaking."

From the other table, a burst of laughter rang out. Y/N risked a glance.

Lara was laughing at something Dani said, head tilted back slightly, eyes crinkled. Then she turned, just a bit, and made eye contact.

Y/N blinked.

And Lara smiled.

The kind of smile that said, yes, I saw everything.

Y/N turned back around and physically pulled her hood up. "Abort mission. We need to leave."

"You haven’t even ordered," Ningning teased.

"I can survive off air and shame."

Meanwhile, at the other table, the KATSEYE girls were not being subtle.

"She’s so your type," Megan said, poking Lara’s arm.

"She was literally blushing on livestream," Manon added, grinning.

"She looked like she was about to write a love letter," Yoonchae chimed in.

Lara tried to play it cool, swirling her drink with her straw. "You’re all exaggerating."

"We are not," Dani said. "She was gone, she looked like she was planning her future with you while scrolling through your page."

Sophia leaned in. "What are you gonna do?"

Lara glanced over again. Y/N looked like she was actively trying to disappear. Her hood was up. Her chopsticks were shaking. Her friends were giggling mercilessly.

Lara smiled again. "We’ll see."

Back at Aespa’s table, Y/N let out a long, silent scream into her hands.

A few minutes passed. Then footsteps were heard.

Y/N looked up just in time to see Lara approaching, casual but confident, hands in the pockets of her jacket.

And of course, she smelled good. Looked even better. Like someone who walked straight out of a perfume ad, all glowing skin and effortless charm, while Y/N looked like she just finished dumpster diving behind a dance studio.

"Hi," Lara said, stopping by their table. Her voice was calm, a little playful. "Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to say... your livestream was really fun."

Y/N’s soul tried to escape through her hoodie.

Karina choked on her water. Ningning bit her lip to stop from laughing. Winter made the most dramatic gasp of the night.

Y/N blinked up at her, completely frozen. "Oh. Uh. Thanks. It was…yeah. Unexpected."

Lara tilted her head slightly, still smiling. "Well, it made my night. I’ll leave you to your dinner. Just thought I’d say hi."

She gave the table a polite nod, eyes flicking back to Y/N for just a second longer than necessary, and turned to walk back to her group.

Once she was gone, the silence shattered.

"OH MY GOD," Karina hissed.

"She came over and she said hi. She talked to you," Winter whispered.

"Y/N, you’re sweating," Ningning added.

"I’m aware," Y/N muttered, hiding her face in both hands.

This was worse than the livestream.

And somehow, so much better.

#katseye #katseye x reader #lara raj x reader #lara raj #daniela avanzini #manon bannerman #megan skiendiel #jeong yoonchae #katseye imagines #sophia laforteza #wlw #sirenontheloose

281 notes · View notes

formulafanfics13 · 2 days ago

Text

Don't Make Me Ask Twice - IH6 🔥

masterlist

Request

She shouldn't have stayed. That was the rule. No sleepovers. No toothbrush in the bathroom. No crossing the blurry line between whatever-the-fuck-they-were into something that meant more. They'd made it clear, or rather, she had. Isack never said much. He just watched. Let her talk. Let her pretend.

But tonight, she'd stayed. And that was his last fucking straw.

It wasn't the dress. Though God knows, that didn't help, short, clinging, backless, barely there. It wasn't even the smile she gave that Red Bull engineer, or the way she'd leaned too close when Pierre poured her another glass of wine. It was all of it. Every bit of it. It was her pretending she didn't know what she was doing. Pretending that the tight smiles Isack wore all night were casual. Pretending that the fingers she laced through his on the Uber home didn't mean something.

She wanted to play like it was still casual? Fine. She could wear his shirt and sleep in his bed and smile at him like that and pretend she didn't know.

But she was about to learn. Because Isack was done pretending.

She was already in his bed by the time he walked into the room, barefoot and shirtless, hair wet from the shower. The dim glow of the hallway light cast long shadows across the room, and her silhouette under his sheets made his breath catch. One leg was bent, exposed, skin smooth and bare beneath his black t-shirt, his fucking t-shirt, and she was scrolling her phone like she hadn't just spent an entire evening testing every limit he had left.

"You didn't go home," he said quietly.

Her eyes flicked up. "I never do."

He nodded once. His jaw ticked. "You always wear my shirts like that?"

"Like what?"

He stepped into the room. "Like you know exactly what it does to me."

She laughed, light and teasing. "It's just a shirt, Isack."

He said nothing. Not until he was standing at the edge of the bed, staring down at her like she was something that had been haunting him for months. "You've been fucking mine since the first time I touched you," he said.

Her breath hitched. "Isack-"

"You think I'm joking?" His voice stayed soft. Controlled. "You think I didn't notice the way you kept flirting tonight? Laughing. Looking. That guy touching your waist? You think I'm gonna let that slide?"

She sat up slightly. Her hair fell around her face, bare thighs shifting beneath the sheets. "You're the one who said this was casual," she said, voice quiet.

"No," he said. "You said it. I never agreed."

She blinked.

Isack's hand found her ankle under the blanket. "You really think I've been fucking you for months without wanting more?" His fingers slid higher. "You think I let you sleep in my bed, wear my clothes, come every time I touch you — and I didn't mean it?"

Her lips parted.

He leaned in, hand curling around her calf, dragging it up so slowly the blanket fell away completely. "You want to pretend?" he whispered. "Then fine. I'll show you how casual this really is." He yanked the blanket down and dragged her to the edge of the bed in one smooth motion, her ass just barely on the mattress, legs spread. The shirt she wore, his shirt, rode up instantly. "Off," he said, voice sharp.

She didn't move.

He leaned forward and whispered, "Don't make me ask twice."

She pulled it over her head. Tossed it to the floor.

His hands were on her in an instant. Rough palms sliding over soft skin, up her thighs, across her hips, thumbs pressing into the crease where her legs met her pelvis. "You're already wet."

"Yeah," she whispered. "You usually have that effect on me."

He smiled. Slow. Dangerous. Then dropped to his knees. She didn't have time to gasp before his mouth was on her, hot, soft, tongue dragging through her slit like he was trying to taste everything she'd ever been for anyone else and fucking wipe it clean. One hand pressed flat to her stomach, keeping her still. The other hooked under her thigh, keeping her wide.

He ate her out like it was religion. Like he'd waited months for the permission to own her like this. He didn't tease. Didn't build. Just sucked and licked and groaned like she was his.

Her hands flew to his hair. Her thighs trembled. She moaned his name, loud, desperate, and he just gripped her tighter, fucking her with his tongue until she came with a choked cry and her hips jerked off the bed.

He stood fast. "Lie back."

She did. No questions. Isack pushed his boxers down, cock already hard, already flushed, already fucking furious. He stroked himself once, twice, lined up without another word, and slid inside her slow. So slow.

She gasped, clutching the sheets, eyes wide.

He groaned deep in his chest. "You feel that?"

She nodded, breathless.

"That's mine."

She moaned. "Isack-"

"No," he growled, bottoming out with a brutal slowness. "You don't get to say my name like that anymore unless you mean it."

She looked up at him. Eyes wide. Lips parted. Legs shaking around his waist. "Mean what?"

He leaned over her, breath hot against her mouth. "That you're mine. That no one else gets to see you like this. Touch you like this. Fuck you like this."

He pulled back. Thrust deep. Once.

She arched off the bed, mouth open in a silent scream.

"You hear me?" he whispered. "Say it."

"I'm yours."

"Again."

"I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm-fuck-yours."

He groaned, forehead dropping to hers. "That's right," he muttered, starting to fuck her slowly. Deep. Every thrust a brand. Every moan he dragged out of her a warning.

She belonged to him.

He pressed a hand to her lower stomach as he moved, slow, relentless, the angle making her see stars. She was so full, so stretched, so used, and he wasn't even trying to be gentle anymore. He was claiming.

"I want you in my hoodie," he panted, hips grinding into her. "At the track. With my hand in your back pocket. I want every fucking person who ever looked at you to know you're taken."

She cried out, clenching around him.

"I want you marked. Bruised. Sore from my cock for days."

"Fuck-Isack-"

"I'm not done until you forget what anyone else ever felt like." He pulled one leg over his shoulder, changed the angle, and snapped his hips into her so deep she screamed.

"You're mine now," he growled. "So say it."

"I'm yours."

"Louder."

"I'm yours-fuck-I'm yours, Isack!"

He fucked her harder. The sound of skin on skin, her moans, his low growls filling the room like music. He dragged her closer. Lifted her ass off the bed. Bent her in half and kept going. Kept proving it. And when she came again, when her walls clamped down on him like a vice and her whole body shook, he didn't stop.

He fucked her through it. And then let himself go. He came inside her with a low, primal sound, burying himself deep, cock twitching as he filled her full. Staying there. Holding her hips. Breathing her in like she was oxygen and he was finally allowed to fucking breathe.

Silence. Heavy. Thick. He didn't pull out. Didn't move. Just looked down at her. Flushed. Wrecked. Panting. And said, "This wasn't casual."

She nodded.

"And it never will be again."

83 notes · View notes

lottinlover · 15 hours ago

Text

Pins & Sins | Kylian Mbappé

Summary: Bowling in Miami was meant to be a simple day off. But with Kylian, even a game turns into foreplay. Playful teasing turns possessive, and before long, you’re back in his hotel room, proving that for him, winning isn’t just about the scoreboard. It’s about claiming you, every way he knows how.

Tags: 18+, Smut with Feelings, Shamless Smut, Porn Without Plot, Public Teasing, Foreplay, Hotel Room Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Quicke, Established Relationship, Possessive Behaviour, Kylian x Reader, Readers POV.

Word Count: 3500 ±

Author’s Note: Because Kylian posted a photo dump looking all sexy and hot. Thoughts spiralled, delusions diffused and fingers began typing. Here’s a quick and short Kylian x Reader that hopefully satisfies your cravings from those fine, FINE, photos.

Pins & Sins

The Miami afternoon barely seeps through the bowling alley windows, but the few creaks streak golden across the polished lanes. The air is filled with the muted clatter of pins and occasional bursts of laughter, the world reduced to soft music, sticky shoes, and the weight of small, ordinary joys.

Kylian steps forward, fluid and effortless. Even with the lingering illness coiling in his chest, he moves like there’s nothing in the world that could break him down. His cream knit polo hugs his arms just enough to reveal their sculpted hardness, veins twisting along his forearms as he lifts the ball, trousers draping low and loose on his hips. He exhales, bends his knees, releases. The ball glides down the lane with clean, vicious precision.

Strike.

Melissa cheers, clapping her hands above her head. Yaelle squeals, bouncing lightly on her heels. Billy gives a curt nod, lips twitching in quiet approval.

You watch him turn around, smile spreading wide and proud across his face. His eyes flicker to yours, glowing with boyish glee.

God, he’s beautiful.

In all his Dior neutrals, sun-tanned, deep brown skin aglow, hair brushed sharp and fluffed and forehead damp with leftover fever. The quiet ache of recovery remains in the heat of his cheeks, the sheen at his temples.

But he’s here.

With you.

Because he chose to be.

He catches you staring and his grin softens into something lazier, darker, “your turn,” he says.

You walk over and pick up a ball, fingers slipping into its weighty holes. Compared to the effortless grip in his large hands, it feels clumsy and oversized. You walk up to the lane, square your shoulders, swing back and release.

The ball veers off immediately, rolling into the gutter with a humiliating thunk.

Laughter erupts behind you, light and teasing. Heat blooms across your chest as you turn, catching Melissa’s sympathetic smile and Yaelle’s soft giggle. You shrug lightly, lips curling into a small, amused smirk. You’ve always been bad at bowling, it’s never embarrassed you.

But that smirk on Kylian’s face, that infuriatingly gorgeous, cocky little twitch of his lips, dimples protruding, makes something tighten low in your belly. You want to wipe it off him, even though you find it insanely attractive. Even though you love when he looks at you like that. Teasing, amused, knowing exactly how he affects you.

“That was…” Kylian’s voice cuts through it all, low and amused, “tragic.”

You roll your eyes, shoulders tightening, “watch me next time.”

He’s already closing the distance before the sentence ends. His chest presses against your back, warm and unyielding. The smell of him, clean skin, musky Dior cologne, something sweet like vanilla and coconut from his lotion, wraps around you until the world shrinks down to his breath against your ear.

“I am watching,” he murmurs, voice coated in dark delight.

A shiver runs down your spine. He wraps his hand over yours, dwarfing it completely. His palm is hot, heavy, his long fingers veiny and strong as they adjust your grip on the ball. He does it slowly, deliberately, each movement designed to invade and claim. His other arm snakes around your waist to hold you steady, pressing you back into him.

You suck in a quiet, shaky breath when you feel him. Feel it. The soft, warm outline of his cock rests against your ass, thick even in its idleness. Your mind swims, body vibrating at the contact, the teasing promise of him already setting your nerves alight.

“Relax your wrist…” He whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear, sending goosebumps rippling across your skin. His words rumble low, heavy with unspoken ownership. “…good girl.”

You swallow, throat tight, eyes fixed blankly at the pins ahead but seeing nothing except his reflection burned behind your eyelids. You feel his smile creep slow and dangerous against your neck, the silent knowledge that he feels your pulse flutter under your skin.

“Leave her alone, Monsieur Pro Athlete,” Melissa calls out from behind, her voice tinged with affectionate exasperation.

Kylian doesn’t move away, his grip only tightens, slightly, as he smirks, never peeling his body from yours. “I’m just helping her.” He yells back.

Yaelle giggles again. Billy flicks his gaze up from his phone, expression blank, but there’s a quiet knowing in his eyes before he looks away.

You inhale, chest lifting into his hold, bowling ball suddenly feeling impossibly heavy in your small hand. Heavy, round, dense with force, nothing compared to the weight of him pressed into your lower back, silent and throbbing with intent. The thought sears down your body like lightning, pooling molten between your thighs.

You blink hard, trying to focus. But he leans in closer, nose skimming down the line of your throat, his breath sinking into your skin like heat. You almost feel a kiss, his lips skating dangerously close to you.

“Go on,” he murmurs, voice dark with a smile. “Show me what you’ve got.”

With his hand still wrapped around yours, he guides your arm back, his other hand flattening over your stomach to hold you steady, pressing you back into the hardness of his body. You can feel every part of him. The flex of his chest as he adjusts your posture, the warm puff of his breath against your ear, the heavy, thick outline of his cock resting against your ass.

God, he makes it unbearable.

“I said relax your wrist… step forward as you release,” Kylian whispers, still oozing command, his lips grazing your earlobe, sending another shiver rippling down your spine.

You obey, body following his commands. The ball rolls down the lane in a straight line this time, clipping the standing pins and sending them clattering down in a victorious scatter.

A spare.

The cheers erupt behind you. Melissa clapping loudly, Yaelle squealing your name, Billy letting out a quiet approving hum. A small laugh bubbles out of your chest, pride mixing with dizzy relief. But before you can fully celebrate, his mouth is at your ear again, voice soaked in lazy, possessive delight.

“Good girl,” he purrs, low and intimate, only for you to hear. “Looks like you’re finally learning to take direction.”

“Oh, you’re being bad today.” You whisper back, sharing the same hunger in your eyes as his.

Still, pink flushes your cheeks, pooling under your skin in liquid waves as you turn away from his dark gaze and walk back towards the seats. He follows close behind. As you bend to sit, his hand is suddenly there, sliding under you, palm cupping your ass as you lower yourself onto him.

You gasp, eyes wide as they dart to his, your body stiffening at the sudden, filthy intimacy, then softening at the familiar touch. His smirk is slow and triumphant, eyes gleaming with dark amusement as his fingers squeeze, sinking into the soft flesh possessively.

Kylian leans in, his breath warm against your ear, voice a quiet rumble that curls low in your belly. “Careful, ma belle,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against your inner thigh teasingly. “Winning turns me on… I might need to fuck my trophy later.”

Your breath hitches sharply, thighs clenching around nothing as his words sear through you, setting every nerve alight with frantic, desperate want.

Kylian pulls back casually, arm resting behind your seat now, expression lazy and innocent as if he hadn’t just promised to ruin you.

The last frame ends with a flick of his wrist and the thunderous collapse of pins.

Another strike.

Another perfect victory.

Kylian turns with that trademark grin, dimples settling deep into his cheeks. He lifts his hands, yelling for Melissa to capture a picture of him under the scoreboard. Melissa snorts with phone in hand, snapping a picture, Yaelle claps and cheers. Even Billy cracks a rare smile, shaking his head at the scoreboard glowing bright above the lanes.

KYKS – 139.

He walks over to you, chest still glowing with leftover exertion. His beige polo clings slightly to his collarbones, sweat darkening the delicate fabric. You hate how beautiful he looks like this. Flushed, loose, triumphant.

“So proud of yourself, huh?” You tease, voice curling with fake annoyance.

“Always,” he murmurs, eyes roaming slowly over your navy sundress, lingering on the tight cinch around your waist and the way the neckline dips low against your collarbones, teasing your breast that sit pretty. “Winning’s in my blood.”

He leans in as he says it, whisper brushing your cheek, the low baritone of his voice vibrating deep into your bones. You swallow, eyes flicking up to meet his. The look he gives you is heavy, molten, his pupils blown wide with want.

The car ride back to the hotel is torture.

Miami’s heat melts into the windows, pink-orange light bleeding into the SUV’s leather interior. The AC is soft, scented faintly with vanilla and something musky that reminds you of his cologne. Melissa and Yaelle are giggling quietly in the back row, scrolling through photos from the day. Billy sits up front, attention half on the road, half on his phone.

Kylian sits beside you in the middle row, legs spread wide, chest rising and falling in a slow, controlled rhythm. His hand drapes heavy on your thigh, thumb tracing absentminded circles against your inner skin. The hem of your sundress rides up slightly, exposing the smooth stretch of your upper thigh to his touch.

He doesn’t look at you at first, eyes fixed out the tinted window at the palm trees swaying under the scorching Miami heat. But then his thumb drags higher and higher and higher, until it’s brushing the edge of your panties. You shift in your seat, biting back a gasp. His lips twitch, that dimple flashing briefly before his gaze finally flicks to yours.

“You were cute today,” he says softly, only for you to hear. The tone is dripping in honey but coated in harmless mockery. His eyes fall to your lips, then back up again, dark and gleaming. “Helpless.”

Your breath catches. Your chest tightens with want, skin prickling hot under the humid Miami air. But instead of shying away, you shift again, deliberately this time, turning slightly towards him. Your hand moves slowly, raking up his thigh, nails digging lightly into the soft beige fabric of his trousers, feeling the tense clench of muscle beneath.

He inhales sharply, a quiet hitch in his breath that makes your lips move into a small, knowing smile. Your fingers slide higher, bolder now, until your palm cups over his cock, feeling the heavy, warm outline of him through his trousers, soft still, but swelling quickly under your touch.

“Helpless, huh?” You murmur softly, your thumb stroking along his length with featherlight teasing, feeling him twitch beneath your touch. You lean closer, lips brushing his ear, your voice dipped in playful confidence. “Funny, because right now… you feel pretty fucking needy to me.”

His exhale is ragged, jaw clenching as his eyes darken, heavy with silent warning and lust. You keep your hand there, cupping him possessively as the car slows under the hotel’s grand entrance. Fans flashes flicker distantly outside the tinted windows, voices muffled by the closed doors.

He smirks then, slow and dangerous, eyes flicking down to your hand still gripping his cock. His own hand slides back to your thigh, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp quietly, heat exploding low in your belly.

“You’re driving me crazy in this cute dress,” he murmurs, voice low and guttural, heavy with promise. “I need you. Upstairs. Now.”

The lobby is quiet, cool, vibrating with marble echo. You stand beside him in the lift, the mirrored walls reflecting every angle. Like his broad shoulders towering beside you, your dress hugging every curve under the dim orange light. The seconds stretch, each floor number lighting up in silent sequence.

When the doors slide closed, he moves. Swift and unrelenting.

He presses you back against the lift wall, his body crowding yours until all you feel is him. His heat, his scent, the tension rolling off him in waves. One large hand grips your hip, fingers digging into your flesh possessively. The other snakes behind you, lifting up your dress and gripping your ass, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

His eyes are half-lidded, thick lashes kissing flushed cheekbones. Sweat from bowling still clings to his hairline, the coils tightening in the moisture. He leans down, lips ghosting over yours without touching.

“You want it?” He breathes, words lazy, soaked in dominance. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, smearing your gloss, smirking when your mouth falls open slightly in silent plea.

He rolls his hips into yours, and you feel it. God, you love it. The heavy, thick outline of his cock, pressing into your stomach, half-hard but promising.

You nod, “I need it,” you mutter, biting down on your lip to swallow the whimper that wants to escape. Your knees feel weak. Your body hums with hot, feverish anticipation.

The lift dings open.

He pulls back, just enough to let cool air slip between your bodies. His smirk widens, eyes gleaming with silent victory. He takes your hand firmly in his, leading you out of the lift into the quiet corridor, not sparing you a single glance as he walks.

But his thumb rubs slow, deliberate circles against your wrist as he holds it, a silent foreshadowing of what’s to come.

The door clicks shut behind you, the quiet snick swallowed instantly by the thrum of your heart pounding in your ears. Before you can take a breath, he’s already there, all heat and mass and hunger, crowding you back against the door, palms slamming flat on either side of your head.

His eyes rake over you, dark and molten, jaw twitching with silent restraint. The polo stretches across his shoulders as his chest heaves, each breath heavy and deliberate, nostrils flaring as he takes you in.

You're flushed, from the heat maybe, from Kylian’s stare definitely. His gaze is intense, trembling, and your dress straps slipping off one shoulder, pupils blown wide with wanting.

“Turn around,” he murmurs, voice low and ragged.

You obey instantly, front pressing flat to the cool wood, the curve of your ass brushing against the front of his trousers. His hands snake around your waist, slipping up, fingers hooking under your sundress straps and dragging them down, exposing your breasts. They bounce, giggle and the cool hotel air hits them hard, perking your nipples

A strangled gasp escapes your lips when his hands cup you, squeezing hard, thumbs brushing over your perked nipples with measured pressure. He pulls them, twirls, anything to stimulate and moans come from you. His mouth finds your neck next, open and hot, teeth scraping over your pulse before he sucks, slow and deep, marking you. You moan softly again, head falling back against his shoulder, allowing more space for his tongue to run rouge.

“Fuck… Ky-Kylian…” You breathe, voice breaking on his name.

He growls at that, the sound vibrating through your skin and straight down to your pussy. One hand leaves your breast to shove his trousers down just enough to free his cock. You twist slightly, enough to catch sight of it. It’s thick, caramel macchiato type colourway, with a darkening gradient as it slopes closer to his balls. He’s leaking, the tip gleaming with precum and veins pulsing along the shaft.

Without thinking, driven by instinct and heat, you reach back to wrap your fingers around him. He hisses, forehead dropping to your shoulder, a gentle bite there as your grip tightens, thumb smearing his precum down his length. He twitches in your hand, impossibly hard, heavy and burning hot against your palm.

He turns your head more, captures your mouth in a bruising kiss. It’s deep, filthy, tongue curling into yours with dominance. He sucks your tongue into his mouth before biting down gently on your bottom lip, pulling back with a quiet groan.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” He rasps, his free hand squeezing your throat lightly, forcing you to hold his gaze better.

“Anything for my winner,” you breathe, voice soaked in devotion and teasing pride, meeting his deep glare.

He groans, low and animalistic, the sound vibrating down your spine, “fuck… bend over the bed. Quick!”

He steps back, the weight of him no longer pressed against you, it leaves space for you to stumble forward, thighs trembling, knees weak with anticipation. The sundress pools around your waist, tits wild and free, panties clinging damp between your thighs. He follows you closely behind, a hunger in his breath. And as you kneel on all fours at the edge of the bed, you feel the brush of his fingers, rough and needy, as he slides your panties to the side, too lazy to undress you, too hungry to wait for his meal bare and open. Cool air hits your dripping pussy and you shiver, moaning softly.

He sinks to his knees behind you without a word, hands spreading your cheeks apart. His breath fans over your soaking folds, hot and heavy. And then his tongue is on you, bold and greedy, licking a long stripe from your dripping entrance up to your clit.

"You taste so fucking sweet," He moans, tongue circling your clit with tight route, with ruthless precision before sucking it all into his mouth.

“Fuck–Kylian,” you whimper, your hands clawing at the bed sheets, head dropping as he devours you like you're his favourite meal.

He groans into your pussy, loud and greedy, the vibrations shooting through your entire body. His tongue thrusts inside you, fucking you with wet, filthy sounds echoing in the quiet room, his fingers bruising into your ass as he holds you open for him.

When you’re trembling, hips bucking back into his face, he pulls away with a final, cruel flick of his tongue. You sob at the loss, knees almost giving out.

“Perk it up for,” he orders, voice dripping with command.

You obey, slanting down your chest, letting your arch perfect as your ass hovers high in the air for him to see your beauty in high definition. He stands, towering behind you, one hand fisting the base of his cock, spreading your slick along his length. He lines up, drags the heavy length of his cock along your entrance and taps.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

Then without warning, he thrusts in deep, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal, delicious stroke.

Your scream tears through the air, muffled quickly as he wraps his hand over your mouth, leaning forward until his chest is pressed against your back, his cock pulsing inside you, stretching you wide and full.

“Shh… good girl. So fucking tight for me.” He groans into your ear, hips pulling back before he leans back and slams forward again with bone-shaking force. His other hand pushes aside your panties, placing it over the curve of your left cheek, freeing up more space for his cock to fully submerge into your wetness.

Your vision blurs with tears of pleasure. Each thrust jerks you forward against the bed, his grip on your hip heated, keeping you in place as he fucks you with ruthless, unrelenting pace.

“Fuck me… fuck me,” you pant against his palm, each word broken by the slap of his hips against your ass.

He chuckles darkly, pulling your hair back so your vision tilts upside down, catching sight of his face. His brow furrowed, lips parted, sweat dripping down his temple, a crease of concentration between his brows, his tongue poking out slightly as he watches himself sink into you over and over again. He’s still fully dressed, trousers pooling at his ankle as he snaps into your.

Harder each time.

More angled.

“You like when I take you like this, huh?” He grits out, voice strained with effort and pleasure. “Can’t even bowl a ball but you take my cock so fucking well.”

His words send you spiralling. Your walls flutter around him, clenching impossibly tight as you feel it rising. Your eyes start to roll, the build up creeps and before you know it you’re hurling a loud moan.

Your orgasm slams into you with violent, searing force. Your body convulses, hips stuttering, a broken moan ripping from your throat as your vision whites out. Your legs tremble barely mustering the strength to hold you up.

Kylian feels you tighten around him, the rhythmic pulsing milking his cock. He groans low, deep, fucking you through your release before his thrusts grow sloppy. With a final, bruising snap of his hips, he buries himself deep, grinding as he spills inside you, hot and thick, filling you to the brim. He growls, riding his climax as you clench around him, the stimulation too dangerous to bare.

You collapse, arch faltering into the bed, chest heaving, thighs trembling uncontrollably. The pleasure leaves you hazy, dizzy, as if drugged by him and the Miami heat and the quiet intensity of his love disguised as possessiveness.

He stays inside you, leaning down to press his chest against your back. His hand fists your hair, tilting your head up again as his mouth finds yours in another messy kiss, the only way he likes it, sucking and mouthing at every inch of you. His tongue slides into your mouth, hot and heavy, tasting of you. He pulls back, a thin strand of spit connecting your tongues before it breaks, smearing across your lips.

He pulls his cock out slowly, a quiet groan escaping his lips as he watches his cum drip out of your swollen cunt.

“So pretty…” he breathes, voice thick with exhaustion and satisfaction. He strokes your hip gently where purple and red bruises bloom, the touch grounds you. “You did so good for me.”

You whimper softly, cheek pressed against the bed sheets, your body still shivering with aftershocks. Still slightly jerking from an explosion that set you ablaze.

He lifts off you, standing now, tucking himself back into his briefs, then picking up his trousers, running a hand through his sweat-damp coils. He looks down at you with that victorious, lazy smirk, eyes half-lidded, chest still heaving. Different from the smirk from earlier on, this one is deeper, richer, with a purpose.

As if fucking you rentlessly was always the win.

“I’ve got training,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to the base of your spine. Then trailing back up, smirking at how your body reacts in a shaking pants, still trying to catch up with reality. “Rest up, ma belle. We’ll play again tonight.”

And with that, he turns away, leaving you fucked-out and trembling, the scent of him lingering thick and hot in the air as the Miami sunset glows orange behind the hotel curtains.

Bowling had only been foreplay in the end, a simple reminder that with Kylian, winning wasn’t just in his blood.

It was in the way he claimed you too.

Every time.

Every way.

#kylian mbappe #kylian lottin mbappé #mbappé #kylian mbappe one shot #kylian x you #kylian x reader #kylian imagines #kylian mbappe x reader #kylian mbappe x y/n #kylian mbappe fanfic #footballer x reader #football fanfic

75 notes · View notes

angelseraphines · 22 hours ago

Text

ೃ⁀➷ without you ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ seong gi-hun x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! 🤍

˚ ༘♡ the air had gone dry sometime after the shooting, sometime after the shouting stopped. now, it clung to the four of you akin to a damp sheet, suffocating in its silence, in its refusal to speak. no one dared to fill it. not jun-hee, who sat stiffly with both hands pressed to the swell of her stomach as if her own touch could shield the life inside her from the horror it had almost witnessed. not geum-ja, whose wrinkled hands trembled in her lap as she kept her head bowed, dark lashes casting long shadows over her swollen eyes. and not hyun-ju, who had stopped mourning hours ago but whose breath stuttered every now and then, as if her chest refused to believe it had survived another culling. the blood had dried on the cuffs of her sleeves. and then there was you, pallid, placid, barely holding together the pieces of what was left.

˚ ༘♡ in the dim lighting of the dormitory, washed in that sickening industrial glow, he looked almost like a corpse. seong gi-hun. player 456. his hair matted down against his forehead, a stripe of dried blood cutting a harsh diagonal across his angular jaw, hands cuffed to one of the bedposts as if he was some unmanageable beast instead of the man who had once passed his kindness down the line without a word. his eyes stared past the wall, past the ceiling, past all of you, hollowed out, not empty but unbearably full of failure. of grief. of guilt.

˚ ༘♡ you didn’t blame him. for the rebellion. for the carnage. even for coming back. none of it. he had been desperate. the way a man gets when there is nothing left to pray to, when the only god left is one you have to become yourself. you had seen it in him in the days leading up to it, the restlessness, the pacing, the whispered conversations at night that never included the rest of you but never fully shut you out either. the way his eyes had kept searching the room for others like him, others who hadn’t quite lost all their dignity yet. who flinched at the sound of gunfire. he had tried. he had wanted something different. and he had failed, but he had tried.

˚ ༘♡ your throat hurt. not from screaming. you hadn’t screamed. you hadn’t moved when the shots started. you hadn’t run. you sat there, watched people die again, this time for believing it could end. your throat hurt because something had folded up inside you so tightly it ached. something had gone still. and now, looking at gi-hun chained like an animal and barely breathing, you felt it stir.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t even glance at you when you stood. the others said nothing. jun-hee shifted somewhat, protective of her unborn baby. geum-ja sniffled. hyun-ju glanced at the floor. the walls were humming faintly, always humming, always pretending the games weren’t built on the sound of human blood drying. you walked slowly, bare feet brushing over the cold concrete, the fluorescent lights above flickering faintly, once, as if reconsidering whether to stay on.

˚ ༘♡ you knelt beside the bed he was chained to, the clink of the metal cuff the only sound between you for a long time. he didn’t look at you. his chest rose and fell steadily, but it was shallow, like he’d forgotten how to breathe fully. like he didn’t want to. his left hand, free, was curled into a loose fist on his thigh, knuckles scraped from the scuffle when the guards wrestled him down after the rebellion collapsed and he demanded death. he hadn’t fought them much after that. they hadn’t needed to tranquilize him. he had… stopped.

˚ ༘♡ “gi-hun,” you whispered. not too soft, not too loud. just enough. just enough to remind him you were here. that he was here. but he didn’t blink. didn’t flinch. he may not have heard you at all. or maybe he had, and that was worse. because maybe it didn’t matter.

˚ ༘♡ your voice cracked the second time. “are you okay?”

˚ ༘♡ no reply. his jaw clenched, barely, the only sign he had heard you at all. his gaze didn’t move. not to you. not to the others. he stared at the opposite wall like he was watching the footage play back over and over, on a loop they’d burned into his skull. you knew he was seeing it. the rebellion. the people who trusted him. the blood. jung-bae’s screams. the moment the front man ordered the shots.

˚ ༘♡ you wanted to touch him. your hand hovered just above his, and you thought about all the small kindnesses he’d given over the last weeks. the way he had tried to shield jun-hee when they endured miserable and terrifying nights. the way he had forced geum-ja to eat when she’d gone limp with despair. how he’d stayed up with you after the mingle game, when your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. all of that, and now, this. this silence. this cuff. this ruin.

˚ ༘♡ “you were trying to stop it,” you said, your voice a little firmer now. “i know you were. none of this is your fault.”

˚ ༘♡ his eyes closed. just for a second. not sleep. not peace. more like a wince. your words pressed too hard against something raw inside him. he didn’t answer. didn’t ask you to stop. but his breathing hitched, only once. and his fist uncurled by a tad. you stayed there, waiting, not expecting anything in return. the next game loomed, inevitable, cruel in its mystery. and you were terrified. your knees hurt against the concrete. your throat ached. but none of that mattered right now. not while he looked like that. as if he had nothing left worth staying alive for.

˚ ༘♡ your voice dropped, soft again. “i’m here.”

˚ ༘♡ nothing. but maybe, maybe that meant everything.

˚ ༘♡ time passed like dripping wax, thick, irreversible, and strangely undisturbed in the aftermath. no one had spoken in hours. you didn’t leave gi-hun’s side, not even as the women shifted, lay down, or tried to rest. jun-hee had turned her back to the room, cupping her belly as if she could shield her unborn child from the memory of the rebellion and the horror to come. hyun-ju was silent, picking absently at the thread of her uniform. geum-ja hadn’t moved much at all except to murmur the occasional prayer under her breath, soft and rhythmic, as if it was the only thing she had left to anchor her.

˚ ༘♡ you remained at the foot of the bed where gi-hun sat, cuffed, slouched, back pressed to the metal bars. he hadn’t shifted. not when the lights dimmed. not when they rose again. not when the heavy doors clanged open with that awful mechanical groan that always preceded food.

˚ ༘♡ it was two of the guards, the usual ones, stiff and faceless behind the pink masks, who entered without ceremony and handed out aluminum trays near the door.

˚ ༘♡ sweet purple potatoes. no rice. no soup. no meat. the violet starchy cores, whole and cold. you rose quietly, careful not to startle gi-hun, though he hadn’t reacted to movement in hours. the women didn’t stir when you walked to grab your tray.

˚ ༘♡ your hands shook a little as you picked up one of the sweet potatoes. the other tray had already been split between geum-ja and jun-hee, who looked at you but said nothing. you gripped one of the potatoes, fingers clutching the warm skin of the root, and crouched again by the side of gi-hun’s bed.

˚ ༘♡ “you have to eat.” your voice was low, strained, full of effort not to sound desperate. “just a little. please.”

˚ ༘♡ his head tilted scarcely, but his eyes stayed distant. it was like watching a statue shift, a subtle movement, hardly visible, but enough to let you know he wasn’t completely detached. not gone. not yet.

˚ ༘♡ you placed the potato gently beside him, fingers brushing the mattress edge. you stayed there, kneeling, staring up at him with a kind of stubborn ache swelling in your chest.

˚ ༘♡ “you don’t have to say anything,” you added, quieter now. “but you need your strength. i know you don’t care right now. but i do. we all do.”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t blink. didn’t move. and then, so faintly it could have been breath, you heard it.

˚ ༘♡ “i’m not the man you think i am.”

˚ ༘♡ your eyes stung immediately, so sharply it startled you. not because he had finally spoken, but because of what he had said. because it felt like he had looked inside you, peeled something open, and decided to destroy it before it could reach him. his voice was hoarse. dry. cracked like something that hadn’t been used in days. but it held a clarity that gutted you. a conviction born from pain, not pride.

˚ ༘♡ “you don’t know me,” he added, so hushed it might’ve been to himself. “you think i tried to stop this. but i didn’t. i… i made it worse. they followed me. they died. i made them hope.”

˚ ༘♡ your throat locked. it was like something inside your ribcage had split, jagged. you reached for his free hand, not forcefully, but to rest yours near it. you couldn’t let him spiral further. he wasn’t alone. he had to know he wasn’t alone.

˚ ༘♡ “gi-hun…”

˚ ༘♡ “enough,” geum-ja’s voice cut through the room, not unkind but firm, worn. “please, child.”

˚ ༘♡ you turned toward her, blinking away the tears that were gathering fast. she didn’t move from where she sat, arms around her legs, but her eyes were focused on you, sharp despite the exhaustion weighing down her body.

˚ ༘♡ “you’re exerting yourself,” she said, more gently now. “he will be fine. he just needs time. space. you’re going to fall apart, too, if you keep trying to carry him.”

˚ ༘♡ “i’m not…” you started, but your voice failed. your hand withdrew from gi-hun’s instinctively, even though he hadn’t flinched. he hadn’t pulled away.

˚ ༘♡ “he’s still here,” geum-ja said, more softly, “he’s not gone. but don’t push him. not now. please.”

˚ ༘♡ silence followed. one that filled the whole room, dense and unbearable. you nodded once, shaky. then stood, step by step, heart resisting every inch of space you created between you and him.

˚ ༘♡ you didn’t look back when you sat beside hyun-ju and rested your arms on your knees. you couldn’t. the ache was too loud. it howled inside you like a wound reopened. because you couldn’t fathom it, not being there for him. not when he had given so much of himself to everyone else. not when it was clear he hadn’t given anything to himself in return. not when it was him.

˚ ༘♡ the cold sweet potato remained untouched by the bed. gi-hun stared ahead, unmoved. but a flicker of something had passed between you, and though it wasn’t comfort, not yet, it was a fracture. a crack in the silence. and maybe, just maybe, the start of something he could return from.

a/n: my first seong gi-hun fanfiction! let me know if you have any thoughts or requests! 🤍

119 notes · View notes