#But every now and then... I start to imagine 'what if...?'

[madamechrissy]

Brooklyn Baby

art in the banner is by @e0308r on X

pairings - dad's best friend! Satoru x F! reader

summary - you've got the opportunity of a lifetime for an audition for Julliard, your dream, but there's just one problem, the hotel in New York has booked your room and has nothing available. Good news, your dad's best friend Satoru Gojo shows up and offers you to stay in his suite since he's in town on business. But there's two big problems - one, you've wanted him since you can remember, and two, he can't stand how fucking pretty you are. He can't want you - and nothing can come from it - imagine what your dad Suguru would do if anything ever happened between you!? So nothing will happen - right?

warnings- MDNI- taboo tropes, age gap (Satoru is 41, reader is 22) reader is Suguru's daughter, forbidden relationships, obsessive Satoru, mutual pining, sexual tension, explicit smut and light angst- this chap - masturbation (Satoru) a fuck ton of tension, reader having a lifelong crush on him, mentions of past relationships, self loathing as they both want each other, drinking and kissing -WC- 8.3k

This will be three parts! comments/rbs appreciated if you enjoy!

part two>>> (coming soon)

part one

Satoru Gojo has never had his cock twitch from just looking at someone's back, not even your ass - though fuck that was nice - but something about the bare back in the slinky little dress was fucking him mentally. The gentle curve of your spine, a little birth mark along your shoulder blades has him - a man who's in his early forties and very experienced - leaking precum.

The fuck was that?

He clears his mind, blinking a bit then, he's checking into his favorite suite as he does every couple of months for various business events that he has to attend. Running the Gojo corporation is a never ending list of bullshit he's got to do, and events and speeches were just one of the many.

He sighs as he takes in the immaculate bustling lobby, trying to divert his attention from this girl's back and look like some creep when he's literally Satoru Gojo. He brushes his silken white locks back, walking up to the tall counter then with an easy smile, as the three receptionists rush to him, and leave the girl with the pretty spine behind.

"I can wait my turn, no worries ladies." He winks and they all swoon, and when you hear that voice, you know it's him.

"Gojo?" Satoru blinks at the familiar voice, turning to his side to look down at -

Suguru Geto's only daughter.

Fuck.

He swallows just a bit nervous, how does he explain he just leaked pre looking at his best friend's daughter's spine exactly!? About the ways he would have to explain how your instagram photos haunt him at night, and how he can't help but have glimpses of you in your bikini when he cums.

There's a big reason he's avoided Suguru as of late, and that's because he can't handle how beautiful you are - it's like you fucking just do something, and he refuses to accept it or acknowledge it consciously. Now you're smiling up at him, before you come over and hug him tightly around the waist, your breasts pressed against him.

It takes everything not to either shove you off or give in and pick you up and prop you right on this fucking counter. It's some miracle he just pats your back instead - your bare pretty back that he shouldn't touch because it makes it worse.

"Hey sweetheart, what're you doing in town?" He manages to act normal, putting on an easy smile as he sees now your eyes glimmering with tears. "What's wrong?"

"They gave my room away, and I have the audition for Julliard this week! Everything is booked except shit way out of my price range. I don't wanna bug dad about it." He sighs then, remembering Suguru telling him about your opportunity, he'd been so proud every time he watched you play piano.

It's originally why he followed your IG, but whatever happened your junior year of college made you start posting those damn pictures in your bikini or slutty little outfits. He shoves that all back, focusing on your worry, and then eyes one of the receptionists, backing away from you just a bit.

Not like your scent hasn't already filled his senses.

You're important to him, just like Suguru is, and he'll not let his dumb fucking thoughts ruin your opportunities. "Surely there's a room available, I'll pay."

"You can't do that! It's too much." You're a flustered mess, as he flashes that pretty smile of his that makes your tummy clench.

"It's nothing," he pats your head and smiles down at you, and you try to ignore just how fucking good Satoru Gojo looks then. Try to ignore his cologne in your senses, ignore how the man just gets more attractive every fucking year, a little crinkle on the sides of each eye the only lines on his face.

You have been trying to ignore your crush on your dad's best friend for as long as you can remember - fuck they're so close too, and you hoped it was some childhood idolization. But as a twenty two year old woman, it's as bad as fucking day one - worse maybe, when you study the way his hands move as he speaks, long fingers that give you the worst thoughts you wish would go away.

"Nothing at all open but the presidential suite you said?" He asks softly, you're still too close to him, fucking up his senses, as the receptionist frowns, clacking away at her keyboard.

"They just booked the last one online, Mr. Gojo."

"Shit, then..." He eyes you, blue eyes glinting as he takes in your distraught, pretty little face.

He can compose himself, can't he, hasn't he always?

"She'll stay with me, give her a key card," you hug him once more, he's chuckling and pecking a kiss on your head. "You're clingy still, remember you always were."

"Maybe, oh Gojo, thank you! I didn't wanna have to ask dad for money..." You're independent, Satoru loves that about you, Suguru is well to do - not rich like Satoru, but well off. But he's mentioned you never ask for a thing.

"No worries, the room is huge, we won't even be near each other much." He's pressing the button to the elevator soon once you all get checked in, and the silver automatic doors close, leaving you two alone, nothing but the soft sounds of your breaths and stupid elevator music.

And there's just one problem.

Satoru Gojo can't help but picture pressing you against those elevator walls, sinking to his knees and slipping up your slutty black dress, the one where he can so clearly see your breasts rise and fall, a nipple daring to slip out. Can't help but picture fucking you better than surely any of your dumb little college boys could.

He can't think that way.

He hastily tugs off his jacket, laying it over your shoulders as the elevator dings on each floor.

"Thanks, it's a little chilly." You say softly, tugging his jacket close on you, he exhales in a mix of relief and hot desire at how good you look in his armani suit jacket. "You're a life saver, really."

"It's nothing, kid."

"Kid! I'm not a kid." Your pout earns his chuckle, the two of you walk through the halls, decked with cream colored walls and fancy paintings, it's fancier than even you were used to. He presses the card against the hotel door and it opens, and that's when you both realize just how alone you were.

Satoru had been a part of your life for all you can remember, him and your dad would go off on the silliest adventures, and your dad’s other best friend Shoko would watch you at times. You don’t remember your mom that much anymore, she has been gone since you were young, and Satoru and Suguru had always been inseparable, especially since she left.

Satoru had taught you how to swim, Suguru had taught you how to shoot a gun, Satoru taught you how to throw a ball into a hoop, and Suguru taught you how to hit one with a bat. Every time he came to visit during the summers, you’d be so excited, he always had some new gift and an easy smile.

Until you got older.

You remember the first time he brought over one of his girlfriends, she was beautiful, and you’d still been young, hopelessly staring in the mirror at yourself after, wondering if you’d ever be pretty like that. And when he came for your high school graduation with another girl on his arm, when he told you that you looked beautiful and bought you the necklace you still wear today?

You’d been insanely jealous.

You try to explain it away as being eighteen, you were still a baby then, and the crush had been raging. So badly you found yourself comparing every boy you dated to the man Satoru was, and every single one fell hopelessly short. You both get settled, taking in the opulent surroundings, it’s surely big enough he’s right, there’s an entire other room, a kitchen, spacious furniture and beds.

Satoru sets down the luggage, as he eyes you in his suit, and you start taking some of your things out. It’s quiet, the sense of unease filling the two of you as you both busy yourselves, little friendly smiles are the only passages between you as you two live in your own minds.

“You can take a shower first,” he offers softly a bit later, slipping that tie down just a bit to loosen it, and then rolling up his sleeves, revealing those muscled forearms, light blue veins wrapping up them from his wrists. Your mouth goes dry as you look at them, while he slips off his silver rolex, smiling at you a bit. “Do you want me to hog all the hot water instead?”

“Huh? Oh…” you blink a bit, it’s not like you’ve never been with anyone, never seen a man naked, but Satoru’s forearms were taking you the fuck out.

He is effortless with his little movements, he must do this almost every day, freeing himself from the confines of his perfect facade, the buttoned up business man who you’ve never seen in the same suit twice. You’re sure he wears them again, it’s just you haven’t seen him enough to have ever caught it, the only thing you’ve noticed is he wears the same cufflinks.

The ones you saved to buy him when you were in high school, storing up all your extra funds where you worked as a waitress to purchase them for his birthday. You eye them now as you still hold the jacket close, fingers brushing along the bright blue sapphire of one of them. You’d walked by a jeweler in the mall with your friends and thought they matched just one shade of his eyes.

“You still wear these?” You ask softly, his attention goes to your little fingers brushing over the gem carefully, and he nods a bit. “Why? Aren’t they kind of not up to your… standard?”

“They’re my favorite, and they weren’t cheap either,” he walks up then, touching the other one, his nearness fucking your senses. “I remember you buying them, I think it was my thirty-sixth birthday. I was having some existential crisis and they really cheered me up.”

“You, a crisis? No way,” he hums a bit, gently tugging the cuff links out now, one by one, setting them next to his Rolex on a little black glass tray he’d brought along with him, the lights catch them and make them glimmer prismatically. “You were young though, still are.”

“Yeah no, I’ll be forty one in December, yuck.” You laugh with him, shaking your head then.

“That is not ‘yuck’ or old, you and dad are super young. Dad was always like the youngest at any parent event, shit usually the only dad altogether. I remember him going to Moms and Muffins.”

“Yes, you put bows in his hair, he showed me.” You both laugh then, Satoru stands against the dresser, his mind racing then.

He can’t want you like this, and it has to stop, the way he keeps thinking of having you naked and his jacket splayed under you, if you could stop looking at him like that!? Your lips parted, your pretty eyes lidded, making him tortured by the thoughts of fucking you so good they roll back, so good you drool. He’s clenching his hands into fists at the thought, almost twenty years between you.

Maybe if he keeps saying the number, it’ll fucking matter, the fact that he’s never even been with a girl ten years younger, Satoru just wasn’t a man to do that. He enjoyed intellect, experience, someone who got his references and shitty jokes - but the problem was you did check all those boxes. You’ve been kicking his ass at chess since he could remember, you laughed at all his dumb jokes.

You were a brilliant girl with your life ahead of you, you’re right, he’s not ‘old�� but he just is ‘older’ than you. Having already had a divorce and two broken engagements, he also was tired of trying, he’d settled on some regular girls for sex and focused on business fully now. Something a young Satoru who hated his parents and the Gojo name altogether would gasp at.

“You’re not old, you look my age you know.” You break his thoughts up, he chuckles a bit at that, before sucking in a breath, when you walk closer, slipping his jacket off to hand it to him.

“Yeah, genetics and Korean skincare products.” You giggle, as he keeps his eyes affixed on your face, not the strap that’s fallen down the gentle slope of your shoulder, he takes the jacket instead, your fingers brushing against each other for the briefest moment.

“Well, they work, I don’t think you’ve ever changed. I hope I look super hot when I’m your age.”

“You will, you already are beautiful…” He trails off, your eyes meet then, as he realizes what he said, and the tone he said it. He smiles to break the tension. “Thank god you don’t look like your dad.”

“Oh whatever! He’s pretty, you know.”

“Psh, okay.” He rolls his blue eyes, and you both laugh then.

“Thank you, that’s nice of you Satoru.” When you say his first name it’s like testing it, you’ve always called him Gojo, aside from when you made him birthday cards, and you’d write Satoru on them.

“Not being nice, you know you’re a gorgeous girl.” He’s clearing his throat now, looking away as he hangs his jacket up, next to the other suits he’d brought, smoothing it out.

“It’s kinda nice to hear from the Satoru Gojo.”

“Uh huh, flattery will get you everywhere.” He pats your head then, ruffling up your hair, you blow a thick strand off your brow. “You go take a shower.”

“Yeah, thank you again.” You smile and head into the bathroom, finally leaving Satoru to exhale in relief after he glimpses your back again, like pure torture, he’s curious just how the fuck he’ll handle a week alone with you.

Hopefully a room would open up or something by then.

The sounds of hot water pounding on the tiles below fills the room now, mixed with some light singing echoing from the bathroom, he can’t help but smile a bit at how pretty your voice is. If anyone should get into Julliard, it’s surely you, talented and just a natural at everything, the sound fills the room and ignites something in him he’d rather not think of.

Comfy, homey, it’s how you make him feel, and maybe that’s worse than wanting to bend you over the bed, worse than wanting to lift you and slip you against that shower wall. Much, much scarier than the thoughts of filling you up with so much cum your tummy is full of him, watching his fucking cock bulge that tummy as he’d make sure your cunt was ruined for anyone.

No, homey and comfy were worse by far, they were things he absolutely never thought before, even during his marriage - and what a disaster that was. Women all wanted him for his looks, his money, what he could do for them, but no one really knew him deep down, just the facade he’s tired of putting on.

Picturing you naked in the shower is his fucking downfall, picturing your pretty body with water dripping down it, his cock is hard by the mental images, he scowls down at it. He’s just in his slacks now, putting up his dress shirt, luckily this suite always had good hot water and pressure, it’s why it was one of his favorites, and he could surely use a shower.

Jerk off in there to act normal.

He’s like some pathetic teenager around you rather than a grown man, and it irritates him to no end. He hears your singing stop after a bit, as he is typing some notes for tomorrow’s presentation on his laptop, slipping on his glasses to see the screen just a little better, when he sees you from the corner of his eye, wrapped in a soft terry cloth towel.

He almost whimpers at the sight, clenching his teeth together to focus on the screen as you walk out. “Okay I feel a million times better.”

He looks up then, and it’s his downfall, as he has to see the way the towel is tied right at your breasts, pushed up and glistening, skin dewy and flushed from the shower, making him want to kiss every inch. “I bet, the plane ride was a long one.”

“It was, for sure, and then to get a ride to the hotel was hard, I’m not used to a city this big,” you’re adorable with your little pout, your own gaze taking in his bare chest then, like a caress. “I failed my drivers test again by the way.”

“Again? Shit,” he’s snorting in laughter, even as you cross your arms and glare just a bit, you play along with the motions, but your gaze can’t rip itself away from his chiseled body. “Do I gotta teach you?”

“Do you drive anywhere, Gojo?”

“Hush.” You giggle at his own glare, he looks too fucking hot in those glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, his body shifting a bit to face you now.

It’s not like you haven’t seen him shirtless constantly, Satoru had helped you swim after all, and Gojo and your dad were always taking you to the beach. You’d always known how perfect he was, sculpted within an inch of his life, lean defined muscles that begged for your fingertips to brush across them, lines and shadows cast as the bathroom light filters into the now dim room.

You wish you felt bad about how badly you want him, but you only feel bad it can never happen, feel bad he couldn’t have been your first, like you’d dreamed over and over, until you knew it couldn’t happen. It wasn’t like Gojo ever saw you that way, the times you think he looked at you as more than a ‘kid’ you feel it was just your imagination.

You feel this man could fuck, you just feel it.

But no, stuck with losers who couldn’t care less if you cum - in fact, the last guy you fucked asked if you did after not touching you more than a minute and cumming pathetically quick in a condom. You’d smiled and said ‘of course’, making him grin and kiss you all happy, and that’s about the time you just gave up on ever liking sex either, too far in your fucking delusions.

It wasn’t a healthy desire, or okay, but usually with Gojo not seeing you much, and you having moved out of your dad’s, it was better. It was just elusive memories and fantasies that you could lose sight of, you could focus on school and your music, focus on your dream — but part of you wanted him in the front row.

“You’re gonna catch a cold if you don’t dry your hair,” he teases, standing then, you watch how his muscles flex as he moves, with ease, his long legs making strides so close to you now, when he touches your damp strands with a sigh. “Wasn’t there a blow dryer in there?”

“There is, but I needed to grab some clothes first- ah!” Your towel threatens to fall then, you gasp, but Satoru’s got it bunched together in a fist quicker than you can blink, bringing you right against him.

The only sounds in that moment are your breaths, and your heart pounding in your ears, when your eyes lock together, and you see the way they dilate, almost black in that moment. Your own hand comes over his balled fist, when he leans down, and for some insane fucking moment you picture it - a kiss from him, from Satoru Gojo, his glossy lips and how they’d feel.

Something you wrote about in endless diaries, it can never happen, it would never happen, he’s making sure you’re not naked if anything, you have to remember it, have to hold back. You smile nervously then, hoping the shower will explain away the flush of your cheeks in front of him, as you take the towel from his hold, holding it together now.

“Thanks, I’m so sorry…”

“No, it’s fine,” his voice is darker, huskier than you’ve ever heard it, making your thighs press together, still slick from the water, in need. “I’ll go take one now.”

“Yes,” he stomps away quickly, leaving you to catch your breath, looking in the mirror over the dresser at how badly his nearness affected you. Your own eyes are so dilated you can’t see your iris anymore.

Soon, Satoru’s leaning against the tile wall, stroking his cock in the hot shower, his eyes fluttering shut in a mix of self loathing and need. He has had you pop up in his mind the past couple years, when he’s hitting a girl from the back with your hair color, when he’s fucking one in a spoon position, and her tits are about your size, he’s shoved them all away though.

He’s never jerked off to you specifically, but there’s no denying it, he’s jerking his thick, veiny cock to his best friend’s daughter in the other room. He feels filthy, as filthy as the sick thoughts he has, of making sure he fucked you so good you’d never even look at one of your stupid college boys again. Showing you what cumming really is, because he’s sure no one has done it right.

You’d be so pretty full of him, leaking his cum for him to shove it back inside your cunt, fuck he’d stock up on plan bs if he could do it every night, if he could watch it pour from your perfect pussy. He hasn’t even seen it, but he just knows it’s as beautiful as the rest of you is, god even your thighs in that towel had him leaking more pre, so hard it hurts.

His tip, usually a blushing pink, is now a mean red with how badly it’s been stuck in this fucking state, he hisses a bit as he runs his fingers along it. He’s picturing it all, that towel falling at your feet, and him slipping his hands across that dewy skin, sucking on that delicate neck he’d like his hand around. It’s pathetic, really, he is better than this surely, but he can’t not touch it.

He’s jerking it faster, fisting his long, curved cock, when the fucking door opens, and he tenses, glaring into the shower curtain that thankfully covered him. “I forgot my phone in here, sorry Gojo.”

“Ah, no, it’s f-fine…” he’s sick, he’s sure of it, jerking it even while you’re in there, in fact knowing you’re there has him feeling closer to cumming, hoping you don’t notice the sounds of his fist on his cock.

“Is there still hot water?” You tease, swiping a little bit of the condensation left on your phone with a towel, already wearing your little shorts and a crop top.

“Yeah, plenty, you didn’t hog too much.”

“See!”

“You left strands of your hair on the wall though.”

“Shit, it fell out!” He laughs softly, as if he’s not still stroking it, and you sigh a little bit then. “All right, I’ll leave you to it.”

Why do you fucking think of offering to jump right back in there? Why do you hesitate, wondering just how perfect he looks under that spray? You shut the door gently with a click that echoes, resting your back against it and shutting your eyes, sighing.

You’re already so stressed about the Julliard audition, the last thing you need is this pounding in your head, an impossible fantasy.

When you’re snuggled up in the main bed out in the entryway, Satoru comes out with a towel slung on his hips to grab his clothes, you can’t help but eye the white happy trail, the little v cuts on either side of his hips begging for your tongue on them. You tug your blanket up a little bit, avoiding the sight of the tenting in his towel, and how badly you’re curious about it.

“Feel better?” You tease, he smiles and nods a bit, grabbing his boxers then, hesitating as he realizes he didn’t bring shit else to sleep in.

“Much better.” He’s gone back to the bathroom, you’re exhaling and leaned back, head on the plush leather headboard, fingers tapping in the rhythm you’ll practice tomorrow, focusing.

He finds you like that when he’s back out, sitting down on one of the chairs to tap back at his keyboard once more, and your lips are pursed, fingers tapping along the red silk comforters. You’re beautiful like that, lost in your own world, surely composing some masterpiece only you can hear, a beauty that tugs at his chest.

It’d be one thing if you were just hot, but to be truly beautiful seemed one of life's meanest jokes to him.

Your phone rings, your eyes open and you catch sight of him. “Shit, you saw me like that?”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine, ya gonna get that?” You look at your phone on the nightstand, tugging off the covers just to make him hard again.

Do you wear clothes!? Or just scraps?

“It’s dad!” You’re giggling, picking up the phone, legs dangling high off the floor as he tries not to imagine slipping his fingers across them. “Hey dad!”

“Hey sweetie, you didn’t check in with me, how’s my girl?” Your dads voice instantly makes you miss him, you two are as close as you can be, and you wish he could be here, but he’s out of the country stuck right now because of some stupid customs issue with a pet he and his new girlfriend bought.

She was actually cool as fuck, but you don’t know if your dad really will ever get over mom, though you’d love to see him happy.

“Wishing you were here,” you say, hearing him sigh over the phone.

“I know, shit, I think we should be able to fly out in the next couple days but I’ll miss the audition for sure.”

“Ugh! I’m okay though, actually… Satoru is here.”

“Satoru? Shit, put me on speaker,” you bounce up then, making your tits jiggle as you hop down, Satoru almost chokes when you run up and stand right next to him, popping on the speaker. “He’s here!”

“Satoru, what’re you doing there?” Suguru’s voice is friendly, relieved even. Thank god he can’t sense the dumb fucking thoughts in his head.

“I was actually staying here for business, when the hotel booked her room, so I offered her to just stay in the suite with me.”

“He saved me!”

“Psh.” He’s chuckling as you smile, leaning across his table a bit, tank top slipping off your fucking shoulder, as if the straps were mocking him.

He sure couldn’t stare at your tits while he talks to your dad!?

“Thank you, Satoru, I feel so much better that you’re there with her,” he almost laughs at that, because he sure the fuck wouldn’t want himself around, with what’s brewing in his mind. “I worried about her alone in the city.”

“Dad, I'm a big girl now, you know.” You’re pouting too fucking cute, Satoru can’t drag his mind off your plush lips for a moment as Suguru speaks.

“You’re still my little girl, anyway I am glad it worked out. By the time I even get back you’ll be in Julliard!”

“You have too much faith in me,” your voice is quiet now, and Satoru puts his hand over yours, smiling at you, earning your little smile back.

“She’ll kill it.”

“Exactly, see we both believe in you.” You tear up a bit, sniffling now, it’s been months since you saw either of them.

“I miss you so much.”

“Aw, me too baby, I’ll be home soon okay?” You sniffle as Satoru caresses the back of your hand. “Take good care of her for me, Satoru.”

“I will.” You hang up the phone then, the exhaustion of the flight and your self doubt creeping in, Satoru tugs you close then, hugging you gently as you’re between his thighs, and your arms wrap his neck.

“Hey, hey, you’ll do great. He’ll be back soon,” you’re taking several breaths, burying your face against his neck as the tears fall, and his big hand splays the small of your back, so warm and soothing. “It’s okay.”

“I missed you too.” You say it softly, like a secret, making Satoru pause, his hand still gently running up and down your back.

“Missed me, why?” You just shake your head, hugging him tighter, as his blood rushes to places he wishes it fucking wouldn’t. “Miss me teasing you?”

“Maybe I do,” you pull back, and Satoru swipes your tears, streaking down your pretty cheeks. “You haven’t visited in a long time.”

“Yeah, I know…” He can’t admit why, he eyes your tears still falling, your glassy eyes, it’s too intimate then, too close, your lips a breath away. “I guess work got the best of me, and my nasty break up.”

“She was a bitch.” He snorts in laughter then, swiping more tears as you stand there between his long legs, like you belong there. “I didn’t like her.”

“You didn’t, huh? She was pretty bitchy, it took a lot for me to get her out of the house. I think I considered an exterminator.” You both laugh then, before he realizes he’s still cupping your face. “Why didn’t you like her? She played nice pretty well to others.”

“She wasn’t in love with you enough,” he pauses at your observation, tilting his head, the lights catch the lavender hue on his hair that falls over his brow, still a little damp, the scent of shampoo filling your nostrils. “She didn’t look at you enough, notice you enough. So I decided I didn’t like her.”

“I see, you’re pretty observant huh?” You shrug a shoulder, hand on his wrist now, your thumb brushing over the veins that dance along it. “She wasn’t in love with me, more the idea of being a Gojo I suppose.”

“Well I’m glad she’s gone. I haven’t liked any of your girlfriends.” He laughs now, but you’re dead serious.

“None of them? Now that’s silly, some of them weren’t that bad.”

“Hmm, nope they all sucked.” He’s laughing harder, his hands finally falling, but one of them remains in yours, he looks down at it then, at how small your hand is compared to his. “You deserve someone that really loves you.”

“Yeah, well, I think I give up.”

“What now?”

“Yeah, I’m ancient.”

“Shut up!” You shove at him, he’s chuckling more but you’re very serious. “Stop saying that. I won’t be old at forty.”

“No, you won’t be able to drive then either.”

“Excuse me!?” He’s grinning as you smack playfully, until you smile and sniffle a bit. “You’re such a jerk!”

“Thought I deserve all this love, what now?” His hands found their way to your hips, as he leans forward, before he can think about it, and you suck in your breath, your heart hammering as he pulls back, realizing how natural it felt.

“You do, but you also deserve a few smacks.” You stop his hands before they leave your waist, and he stares right at them, before the gaze drifts to your nipples, glaringly apparent in your top. “Satoru…”

“You should get some sleep,” he barely manages to speak, standing then, towering over you. Your head falls back when he brushes a strand back behind your ear, leaning over to press a friendly kiss on your head, the one that you’d die if it slipped lower. “I’ll have a car ready to bring you in the morning, okay?”

“You’re the best, Satoru, thank you.”

You keep saying it - Satoru - like you’re testing it on your tongue, and it’s never ending hell to hear it, but he plasters on a smile, patting your head like he always does and walking into the room off to the side. Thankful for the privacy and distance, he shuts the heavy cream door and rests his head against it.

He can barely handle looking at you, inhaling your scent, feeling your skin against him, but you saying he deserved love fucked him up completely. He swallows that down, grabbing a water out of the little fridge in there, swallowing it in needy gulps, before finally laying in the bed, forcing himself to fall asleep.

*****

“Good morning, sweets,” Satoru’s bright and cheery as he comes inside the room with two bags full of donuts, muffins and treats, along with two cups of coffee in a carrier. He’s already fully dressed in his suit, looking like a million bucks, so pretty with his smile as bright light filters in the floor to ceiling windows. “You need to eat.”

“Oh, thank you so much.” You yawn and stand, stretching just a bit, when he sees your tit is precariously close to falling out. He flushes and averts his eyes, when you bounce over to him. “You’re so sweet!”

“It’s nothing, all included. You need something in your system so you don’t get shaky,” his thoughtfulness chokes you up for a moment, you just stare at him with a muffin hovering in your hand. “Want a different flavor? I can go grab more.”

“No, no it’s… you remember me getting shaky?”

“Yeah, you were shaking insane at that pool party last year because you were silly and didn’t eat, knowing we were out in the sun all day.” He taps your nose, as you giggle and peel the wrapper. “Bad girl.”

Jesus fuck, does he not know what that does!?

You stare at him, he’s smirking just a bit like maybe he does fucking know, but then he gets to sipping on his sweet coffee, sighing as it hits his tastebuds. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“I remember a lot of shit I guess,” he shrugs a broad shoulder, taking a donut and starting to devour the sweets, you can’t help but smile as you nibble on your muffin, and he’s sucking on his thumb to lap up icing. “What is it, brat?”

“Brat!? Hey now,” he’s licking his other finger, your body responds almost violently at the sight, picturing the most obscene fucking things. Like him licking you off him instead. You hastily look away, blushing, god is that all you do around this man now? “No, just how you keep that body perfect and eat more than Goku.”

“No one eats more than Goku,” you giggle again at that, as he laughs softly, now tearing into a chocolate chip muffin. “Genetics and working out I guess.”

“You have won the gene pool, this will go to my hips.”

“Nice hips,” he trails off then, clearing his throat, and your tummy clenches as his eyes dart across your body. “I mean to say… you can eat a muffin, you look great, okay?”

“Thank you, Satoru.” You smile and do just that, taking another bite, as the tension in the suite grows with every fucking breath, until you can’t breathe, not with how he looked at you just now.

It has to be your fantasy brain again, he was probably being nice, he’s always been supportive and sweet, someone you could come to. It’s you who is the problem, who can’t stop thinking of fucking your dad’s best friend, something he would never forgive either of you for. Something that will never happen.

You have a huge opportunity, you have to focus.

“Tell me you brought something like… not as… revealing for this? Or do I need to buy you an outfit?” You laugh a bit then, and his thin brows lower. “I’m serious.”

“Are you saying I dress slutty!?”

“What!? No… just very revealing.”

“Maybe you are old.”

“What now!?” You’re biting your lip to stop laughing as he stands up, and you find your back pressed against the table, his arms on either side of you. “Do I look old to you?”

“No, you’re the one that says it silly! You’re old fashioned.” You shove at his chest and he smirks a bit.

“I am not old fashioned, but you do have something professional, yes? I don’t mind taking you shopping.”

The visions flash then, shopping with Satoru, on his fucking arm, god it’s too much, you look down a bit nervously, at his neck, the tie just a bit askew. You fix it carefully, watching his adam’s apple bob up and down. “I have something professional, I’ll put it on and show you.”

He eases back and you come out a few minutes later, a pretty white dress shirt and a cute little bow tie, along with a black little skirt and suspenders, you look fucking adorable. He can’t help but melt a bit as he sees you do a little twirl, black tights and pretty black heels finishing it off.

“Now that’s perfect, you look…” Beautiful, fucking beautiful. “You look like you’re going to nail this.”

“Yay! Thank you!” You kiss his cheek and smile against it, on your tiptoes, a hand over his jacket, burning his skin. “I’m so nervous.”

“Don’t be, you’re going to do amazing. Are you ready to get going? I have to leave a little early for this meeting and the traffic is terrible here.”

“I’m ready!”

Satoru’s in the back with you on his phone, talking to this person and then that person, negotiating a multi million dollar deal while you’re tapping your fingers, an ear bud in with the three songs on rotation that you’ll be performing. You keep tapping them, shutting your eyes, lips murmuring the notes silently. You don’t realize your thigh is shaking until his huge hand covers it.

“You’re a nervous wreck,” his fingers press gently right above your knee, you’re taking several breaths, eyes locking with his as the car stalls through the heavy traffic, slowing to a crawl. “How much are you gonna jiggle it?”

“A lot,” he’s rolling his eyes now, hand falling off, and you instantly miss its warmth, its presence. “I’m gonna fail it.”

“Don’t go in with that attitude, stop that.” He frowns at you, eyes hiding behind those dark shades, just a hint of blue shimmering as they slip down his straight nose a bit. “You’ll do great.”

“Right…”

You wish Satoru was right.

You’re so nervous, so stuck on your insane desires and thoughts, that you keep missing keys you would never. You’re such a fucking mess, every time you hit a sharp key the sickness sinks in deeper, until you’re fucking it all up. You try to save face, the judges are shocked considering all the references on your lists, all the videos that have gone viral of you.

You can’t perform for shit today, and you’re shaking and sobbing by the end of it, heart sinking as you realize what has happened. Instead of waiting for Satoru, you’re walking blocks until you find the nearest bar, and drinking until you’re a mess, all while you picture the disappointment.

All your life living for this dream, for what. What was any of it for?

A few guys are hitting on you as you sit alone at the bar, you let them buy you drinks, but you don’t speak to them, hardly notice as one of them whispers something in your ear and hands you his info, as another touches your back. You barely remember texting Satoru where you are later on, when he was heading to get you from his meeting.

He’s furious when he does walk into the bar, it’s filled with college people probably partying for the summer, he walks through hoards of them when he sees you, two men on either side of you as you down a shot. You’re not smiling or enjoying yourself, he feels the upset from across the bar, your shoulders slumped when one of them dares to touch your back.

He loses any control he’s had, losing it all for the frustration you’ve just put him through, an enigmatic - ‘i’m getting drunk’ and nothing the fuck else at five pm. He’s stomping right over, clearing his throat and getting the two men’s attention, both trying to shoot their shot at a girl who shouldn’t give them the time of fucking day.

He says your name, and you turn to him, skin flushed and eyes glassy, clearly drunk as fuck. He just hopes you had the good sense to only take drinks from the bartender rather than these creeps, as he snatches you right off the barstool, and you almost lose your balance.

“Who’s this, baby?” One asks, Satoru narrows his eyes at the fuck boy.

“It’s Satoru,” you’re hiccuping then, swaying even though you’re not even moving, about to fall if he doesn’t catch you. “Satoru Gojo.”

“Come have another, we can hit a party,” the other says, and you just bury your face against Satoru’s chest, as he carefully holds you.

“She’s going home.” Satoru’s words ring through your drunk ass brain, he lays a tip for you on the table, snatching up your bag and wrapping an arm around your waist, leading you out into the cool night air.

You’re sobbing when he gets to the sidewalk, concerning him to no fucking end, the sun is setting as he guides you gently into the back of the sleek black car, isntantly grabbing a bottle of water from the cooler installed. He twists it open and tilts your chin up gently.

“Drink some water, yeah?” You shake your head, and he scowls. “I said drink some fucking water.”

“Okay, dad.”

“I’m not your fucking dad,” his voice is clipped and harsh then, your eyes try to focus on his angry, handsome face, he swirls just a bit as you let him put the water to your lips. “Drink.”

You do as he says, swallowing greedily then, body craving anything other than the endless shots you’ve just fed it - nothing but a muffin this morning in your body to soak it up. He sighs as he eyes you, unreadable in his gaze, slipping a thumb over your chin as a little bit falls along your chin, before snapping the cap back on.

“Celebrating like this is dangerous, you could have been taken advantage of by those douche bags.”

“Celebrating!” You’re laughing then, until you’re crying, a whole fucking mess as he watches you, swallowing the tightness in his throat. Celebrating, what a joke that was, he looks at you in concern, brows lowering now, the sky is dimming outside, darkening the seat as you try to breathe, try to focus.

“Will you just tell me what’s wrong, what’s going on?” He asks quietly, you sigh then, looking at him, as he gently cups your face.

“I fucking failed, Satoru.”

“What now!?”

“I fucked up, I ruined it.” You’re sobbing again, he holds you against him, as your hands ball his jacket into your fists, tears soaking the expensive material, he exhales and shakes his head. “I did, I did all of this to just fuck it up, dad’s gonna be so d-dissapointed… and you are…”

“Fuck this, I’ll go demand a redo.”

“You can’t!” You pull back and look up at him, the alcohol warming your body, spreading as he’s right near you. “Satoru they will never.”

“The fuck they won’t, you’ve never seen me negotiate shit, have you?” He raises a brow, you swipe at your tears, lip trembling.

“You can’t just fix it for me.”

“I can give you another chance, okay? I’ll meet with them tomorrow, you’ll find I can be very convincing, yeah?” You sigh then, nodding as he brushes back some of your hair. “You’re a mess, ya know?”

“I know.” He frowns contemplatively, as you lean closer, he can taste the liquor on your breath, as your eyes dart to his lips, and the tension coils in your tummy. “You think you can really talk to them?”

“Of course I can, but you better be ready this time. I’ll come watch you, would that help?” You nod then, so quickly it makes you just a little dizzy. “All right then, just let me work my magic.”

You love him.

Fuck you almost say it, the alcohol threatening to loosen your tongue, but you swallow instead, a hand on his chest, and his own eyes lower, snowy lashes casting shadows over those baby blues, the proximity making you both heat up in that moment. He pulls back just a bit, realizing how precarious the moment is, he needs to comfort you, not fucking kiss you, or worse.

Especially drunk off your ass.

“You need more water-” You’ve pressed your lips on his before he can finish his sentence, too far gone to hold back, to stop the motion, pulling back just a bit to look up at him.

He says nothing, eyes wide, and you would apologize if you cared enough to, if you felt bad enough about it, but in that moment it’s all you want, to kiss him, even if it’s only once. You lean back a bit, you want to form the apology you don’t mean on your lips, form it into words, as it’s so silent in the back of that car, all you can hear is your blood rushing in your ears.

“Sorry,” he scoffs then, eyes narrowing, hand slipping into the nape of your neck, tugging your hair just enough to make your head fall back.

“You’re not sorry, are you?” You smile, you can’t help it, you’re too drunk to lie to him.

“Kind of sorry,” he tightens his hand, tugging at the delicate strands of hair, you’re whining out, the sound fucking him completely. “Satoru…”

“You’re forgetting this, okay?” You nod then, understanding him, when he slams his lips on yours, the release so fucking good he can’t stand it, drinking in your cries as your arms wrap his neck.

He’s lost then, letting himself have one moment, where he devours your mouth with his practiced tongue, where his other hand slips up your thigh, up your hip, to your ribcage, brushing right under your breasts. You’re clinging to him, closer and closer, until you’re straddling him, even as he shoves at your hips, you roll them, whining out when you feel him.

“Fuck, you’re a brat…” he’s huffing, biting back a moan as he feels your heat, soaking wet even against your tights, pressing you down for just a moment to torture himself, kissing you deeper, hungrier. It’s messy and desperate, you’re kissing him sloppy, saliva dripping, as you roll your hips against him.

“Please…” He wants to give you it, fuck he wants you to have all of him, but he yanks you off him, holding you up by your hips, kissing you one more time.

“No more, you’re drunk and… this is a terrible fucking idea.” He sits you right next to him, you’re dizzy and breathless. “Forget that happened.”

“Right, sure Satoru.” You glare at him, he glares right back, leaning over and hating himself, he wanted to rip your fucking tights at the crotch, slip his fingers inside your wet cunt, stretch you out on him.

Shit that can never, ever happen.

“You’re upset and drunk, and I’m fucking stupid.”

“You’re not-”

“Drink.” He orders, and you do just that, he’s back to being caring and distant, as you ache for him, more and more as the water sobers you up just a bit.

He’s helping you up into bed later, he puts your hair up off your neck carefully in a pony tail, he makes you eat food that he orders. The alcohol has lost its effects mostly as you lay in bed, and he’s typing over on his laptop, the glasses looking unfairly handsome on his face as you study him.

“Will you really help me get another chance?” You ask softly, his eyes catch you across the room.

“Of course I will, but it’ll be up to you to show them what you can do, show them how good you are. Okay?” You nod then, snuggling against the pillow, eyes drifting shut, neither of you mention the kiss, neither of you breathe a word even close to insinuating it happened.

“Thank you, Satoru. Good night.” You murmur, he sighs, nodding then.

“Good night.” His clicking of the keys drifts you off to sleep, the vivid images behind your eyes of him overtaking your mind, wondering if it was all some fucking drunk fever dream.

But it wasn’t.

When later he closes the laptop and brushes your hair back, studying you for a moment, he tries to make a promise to himself - that it will never happen again, he’ll never let his control slip like that. Even if all he can think of now is slipping into bed next to you and holding you against him, he shoves it all down, going back to his room, and staring at the ceiling.

What had he been thinking?

He can’t feel this way.

He shuts his eyes, failing to sleep as he knows you’re in the next room, while you dream the filthiest things about your dad’s best friend.

tags- @valentinegab3 @vinnababy @sakisworld @satorupied @lolliibunny @coralbae @lnette04 @delightfulstay @zephyairies @flowerymenendez @yomama2089 @chocoyanchan @hargun-s @ic-slxt @lovelytwixx @lily-bisque @sirencholia @etosh0e @yesdere @luciferlikesducks @frankoceanfan9911 @sukunaslilsocks @dientesdefresa @maah-sama @amesenseii @lem-hhn @keiiate @ttrinity @monster-effer @coffinboy666 @neliislost @thequeenofcurses @inzanekillian @gojoswaterbottle @melotter @buckturd @artbligh @msniks @shibataimu @macchianikato @neohoestechnology @levislug @trsh-kitty @satsattoru @erisfayred @gh0stgirl333 @silverfangmarks @smashlyn89 @hwngez

[mggslover]

MR. HOTCHNER — aaron hotchner

In which being a nanny for the Hotchners doesn’t only mean taking care of Jack, but also pleasing your boss

genre smut (18+) cw free use arrangement, nanny!reader, age gap (r is in 20s), post haley, mentions of jack, lowkey toxic relationship, soft to hard cock, thigh biting, some brat taming, praise, shower sex: oral (f receiving), p in v, use of showerhead, body painting wc 5k a/n i have been feeling #insecure about writing, but it's the same as when you haven't driven in a while and you're like "fuck i need to go on a ride otherwise i'll be too anxious to ever do it again", so here is me ignoring my inner demons yelling at me and posting anyway. oh and this is also my formal job application to be hotch’s free use nanny!!

You are a feminist, obviously. But beliefs tend to change in certain situations. To be precise, around certain people. The certain people in question being Aaron Hotchner.

You’d been babysitting throughout your entire college career—a job not only you, but all of your friends did. It’s no one’s plan to continue their college side job after getting a degree, but sometimes there isn’t much of a choice. You didn’t know what to do with your life after graduating, not sure how to navigate the struggles in your twenties while it seemed like everyone else had their shit together. A stable factor in your life was what you needed, and with capitalism taking over the world, the money was welcome too.

Nannying for the Hotchners was better than the families you babysat for in college. The term says it already; you were a nanny now, a live-in nanny at that. You had a home, a stable income, and took care of a shy but very sweet kid who grew more comfortable around you every day. If you closed your eyes, you could almost picture this being your life: the apartment you clean and cook warm meals in being yours, the mothers at Jack’s school seeing you as their equal and not just as “the nanny of”... And if you squint hard enough, you could imagine Aaron being your partner, the one who brought in the money so you could be a stay-at-home wife.

It’s not as delusional as it sounds, promise. Even though you and Aaron weren’t actually dating, at this point you might as well be. Because, honestly, can there really be any love involved with a man who always prioritizes his job? You lived in his house, took care of his kid, and besides that, there was only one more thing needed for the label of having a relationship: sex. And sex there was. Lots of it.

Okay, again, it might not be like the sex you’d see in a traditional relationship, but you lived in the 21st century, for Christ’s sake. It counted as something. At least to you. 

It had been a couple of months since you started working for Mr. Hotchner when you had made the mutual decision to add an extra addition to your contract: a free use policy.

The decision didn’t come out of nowhere. The second you had met up with Aaron over coffee to see if you were suitable for the job, there was a tension that neither of you could deny. An undeniable attraction that lingered in the air when your eyes first met across the café. A spark that coursed through both of your veins when he held out his hand and cupped your smaller one in his. The way your heart did a jump when he pulled out a chair for you and how his body had the same reaction at seeing your dress ride up when you sat down, revealing the slightest sliver of skin. 

This arrangement was destined to work. Aaron was stressed out and on the verge of breaking down if he didn’t get the relief of tension he so desperately needed after a long day of work. You needed to feel useful and worthy. Wanted by someone that in your eyes had it all. 

One and one make two.

It sounded simple enough to you: being each other’s sex buddy, satisfying each other’s needs without overcomplicating it. But it wouldn’t be your life if the execution of this plan went that smoothly. 

During a late night on the couch, several glasses of wine in, you tried making a move on Aaron. Your legs were intertwined, bundled up beneath a warm blanket. His fingers had found the bare skin of your calves, drawing slow circles as he listened to you recalling your day with Jack. His lips would curl ever so slightly when you mentioned Jack getting a compliment from his teacher or when you laughed as you repeated the pun you had learned from his son.

Still, the tiredness in his eyes remained, just like the dark circles beneath them that never seemed to fade.

You just wanted to help, make him feel comforted in a way you knew would work. He didn’t object when you scooted closer, turning your upper body to his to rest your head on his shoulder. He didn’t react when you used the tip of your nose to lightly graze his neck—apathetic to the small shiver of his shoulders and the trail of goosebumps that followed with your movement. He did not even flinch at the first couple of kisses that you pressed to his skin.

It was only when your hot breath fanned over the shell of his ear that he had stopped you. 

“We need to set boundaries. This isn’t professional.”

You swallowed down your sigh, chirping out a high-pitched sure. Deep down you could’ve predicted this. Aaron was the type of man disciplined enough to print out another copy of your contract, all the while ignoring the hard-on that was uncomfortably pressing against the zipper of his pants. 

It was admirable how he took the time to explain this “free use” arrangement to you. Despite you working with kids, you weren’t as patient. You were getting sex. That was all you needed to know. So you politely nodded along to his words as he scribbled down new information on the contract. 

“I need you to sign here,” Aaron murmured, glancing up at your position on the couch.

With an inaudible huff, you stood and walked up to the wooden table he was bent over. Aaron took a step back, giving you the space to prop yourself in between the table and his frame to take a better look at the paper.

Your eyes flit over the rules:

No kissing

Minimal talking during the act (sounds of pleasure and code word allowed)

No talking about the act outside of the act

And most importantly, since he is the boss, he makes the calls on when you’ll be having sex. No arguments.

The second you had scribbled down your signature on the new document, Aaron had pressed his body to yours. Large arms wrapped around your waist, his palms finding a home on your lower stomach. The erection you had spotted earlier wasn’t gone, as it now poked against the soft curve of your ass.

A breathless sound escaped your mouth, quickly turning louder when Aaron’s short, dark hair brushed against your ear, placing open-mouthed, wet kisses on the place where your neck met your jaw.

You remembered how his hand slid into your jeans next, his fingers expertly slipping between the puffy folds of your pussy. His breathing heaved with every curl of his finger, and so did his movements as he rocked his hips into your back. He was visibly enjoying making you feel good. That much you could tell, but still you had thought that this was just a warm-up to get you ready for him. But when you came—with a loud cry he had to muffle with his other palm—he had simply left the room.

It had been like this for the next couple of times: Aaron worshipping your body with his mouth or hands but never asking for anything in return. Maybe it was a boundary he wasn’t ready to cross yet, or maybe watching you come undone was enough to satiate his needs and take away his stress. No matter his initial reasons, eventually he wasn’t able to hold back anymore, your endeavors more often turning into you sucking him off while he’s on a tense phone call or having a quickie in the kitchen before the workday would start. Yes, specifically in the kitchen. Or any location other than the bedroom, for that matter. Because although not on the list, having sex in bed was an unspoken form of intimacy you agreed on not having.

But all sexual acts aside, at the end of the day you were a nanny. One who had a job to do. 

With a long stretch of your arms and a loud groan, you climbed out of bed this morning. The weekend—two days filled with cheering Jack on during his soccer matches and baking chocolate chip cookies—unfortunately has come to an end. 

Your feet moved on autopilot, still in a dazed state from your sleep, until you found yourself in Aaron’s bedroom. It was only to enter the connected master’s bathroom. It was probably against the “rules”, but no one could deny that his bathroom was superior to the guest one: it had a large shower cabin made out of glass, a window where the perfect amount of sunlight beamed through in the mornings, and there were discreet spotlights hidden in the ceiling that illuminated the room in a romantic setting during late night showers.

You never showered here when Aaron was at home. But he had been on a case this entire weekend, giving you the opportunity to fully enjoy the luxuries of his apartment. You did suspect that he was aware of your sneaky endeavors. One day he had come out of the shower smelling exactly like the vanilla scent of your shampoo—the shampoo you had forgotten to take back to your room with you.

Turning on the shower made you realize why waking up early was worth it. Warm drops of water fell down your skin, the fog that came free wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. You had exactly one hour until Jack would wake up, one hour to abuse Mr. Hotchner’s water bill and carry out your sacred full-body routine.

You were in the middle of rinsing the shampoo out of your hair when the creaking of the bathroom door sounded. 

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath, blindly reaching for a towel to dry your eyes from the prickling foam that’s running down your face. 

“Jack, what did I tell you about knocking when—“

Standing in front of you, barricaded only by the fogged shower doors, stood a man that—considering someone couldn’t grow twenty inches overnight—was not Jack. 

The dark, short-cut hair and the black blazer that was thrown over the figure’s form gave him away. It was none other than your boss standing in front of you.

“Jack’s still asleep,” Aaron said matter of factly as he tugged the blazer off his arm before dropping it into the laundry basket.

A tinge of worry filled your chest, your mind running in a million different directions as it tried to come up with the most natural and fast explanation for you being here. “I didn’t want to wake him. Your room is at the other side of the apartment, and you weren’t home, so—“

He waves you off with a motion of his hand. “Good call, he needs his sleep.”

The fogged glass hides the deep breath of relief you're letting out at hearing his approval. 

With the anxiety slipping away, you carefully reach out to wash the rest of your hair. You should turn around, face your back to him, and get the job done as fast as possible, but your boss had this essence that was too captivating to look away from. Squinting your eyes, you could make out the exhausted expression that lingered on Aaron’s face as he was busy untying his tie. 

“Rough weekend?”

He gave a short snort. “As always.”

You nodded in understanding, although he couldn’t see. Another silence followed, causing you to finally look away. It didn’t take long for your curiosity to be piqued again, when the sound of a belt buckle unclasping and the soft thud of a shirt falling to the ground interrupted the steady stream of spilling water. 

Turning your head, you could make out a vague tanned beige color where you previously saw the white of his dress shirt. The skin… the belt… Fuck, was this man getting naked?

“What are you doing?” You gulp when a strong hand reaches out for the shower’s doors. 

“Joining you.”

Such a deadpan tone, like your boss joining you in your morning shower is the most normal thing to happen on earth. But this is what you wanted, wasn’t it? To feel like it was a mundane thing. For it to feel like you had an actual, healthy relationship with Aaron, that you weren’t essentially getting paid for your services.

“Okay,” you respond back with a newfound confidence.

You weren’t sure whether Aaron had waited on your confirmation, but the second the approval left your mouth, the doors were being opened. 

There was no need to hide your body; it wasn’t anything he hadn't seen before. The way he looked, however, was different. You’d only seen Aaron in a state where he was turned on, where he’d either been fantasizing about you all day at work—walking around with a painful boner all day—or where you’d been teasing him before you had greedily pulled his pants down. Now, however, he was still soft.

It wasn’t a sight you’ve often seen in your life, most men that you’d encountered feeling ashamed of the flaccid state; being a grower, or not thinking it looks sexy. So the fact that Aaron didn’t think twice of walking in showed a sense of trust and intimacy that made your stomach flutter. Besides, he had no reason to worry about his looks, because he looked good in this state. His balls were tight and roundly shaped, his length looked a bit shorter when soft but hung thick and heavy over said balls, and what drove you even wilder was the way his full tip twitched when his eyes had landed on you.

“Can I help you with that?” He asked, nodding down to the pink loofah in your hand.

You answered by taking a step back, giving him the space to fully enter the shower and close the doors behind him. He reached out his hand, and you had to blink a couple of times to make sure that this was really happening before handing him over the sponge.

Aaron accepts it. His other arm extends, almost brushing against yours. You inhale a deep breath, only to find out he was reaching for the shower gel behind you. With the use of his thumb, he clicks open the cap and squeezes a generous amount of liquid onto the loofah. 

Aaron’s eyes flick over your body, as if deciding where to start first. It was difficult for him to imagine that he had you right where he wanted. That you were standing right in the spot where he had fisted himself for months to the thought of you. The way you looked, with your curves bare on display as drops of water fell down the side of your body, was beyond any visualization his own mind could’ve ever come up with. 

Your nipples harden under the weight of his long, dark gaze, and it seems like the decision is made for him. Gently, he places the sponge on your collarbone, then moves it down in a slow stroke, following the curve of your breast. Your eyes close shut when the rough material catches onto your nipple, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core.

With curious eyes he takes in your reaction, then repeats the movement, moving the sponge back up. Your breast sways along, causing Aaron to swallow back a groan. In circular motions he moves on to your other breast. You hum in pleasure as he repeatedly caresses the pebbled bud while covering you in little bubbles of soap. 

“Don’t fall asleep on me now,” he teases. “Is it that relaxing?”

The corners of your lips lift up, it’s not often that he breaks his own rules by talking to you. When you open your eyes, you notice a mischievous glimmer behind the stoic facade. It’s not just that that you notice: the proximity is undeniable. In the few seconds your eyes were shut, Aaron had moved closer. So close that his forehead was nearly touching yours. So close that you could almost count the curly hairs on his chest that have deepened in color because of the streaming water. 

It was a mistake to look down.

Just an inch away from your stomach, heaved Aaron’s rock hard cock—that’s how fast the transformation can go. The large vein that you could dream at this point had made its appearance, and his bulbous head was shining in pre-cum. A thick drop hypnotizingly coating the slit.

“That’s what you do to me,” Aaron breathes out, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours.

Your heart was beating a million miles an hour. He could kiss you right now, his lips impossibly close to yours as he wet them with his tongue. Instead, his mouth moved: “Up.”

Before you were able to squint your eyebrows in confusion, Aaron had his arms wrapped around your thighs, giving you a firm tug up, allowing you to jump like he’d asked you. 

In a smooth—way too smooth—motion, you were thrown against the cold tiled wall, legs wrapped around his waist. Then he said it again. Up. 

Like a toddler being lifted by their parents, Aaron had managed to climb you up so that your thighs were seated against each side of his face, legs dangling over his shoulders and the back of your calves planted firmly against his lower back.

“How the fuck…” you gasp out in belated shock.

“Don’t waste your words asking questions,” he murmured, his hot breath fanning over your spread pussy. Not like you’d be able to in the state he’s got you in. “Just enjoy yourself.”

With his hands pinning you against the wall, he used the sole power of his neck to dive in. No time was wasted as his wet tongue split open the folds of your pussy, immediately latching onto your swollen pearl—completely magnetized by it.

Your thighs clenched around his head, a sound in between a moan and a gasp escaping you as you threw your head back.

“Shit,” you hiss, the back of your head making contact with the cold surface. 

Aaron groaned. You knew him well enough to know that it was a sound of disapproval, one of his dad-like “I told you to be careful” huffs. It didn’t have its designated effect, though; his muffled sound vibrates through your body, causing a wave of tingles to ignite your skin, your clit twitching against his tongue. 

When you looked down, he was rolling his eyes at you. “Are you serious?” his face spoke. A giggle left your chest, you couldn’t take the stern attitude seriously. 

Apparently, he did take it seriously. Aaron leaned back just enough to turn his head, and you missed the warmth of his mouth on you already. The light stubble that covered his jaw from being away on a case all weekend grazed along your inner thigh. 

“More,” you whimpered, lifting your hips from the wall and driving your cunt into his face.

His eyes flick to yours for a split second. It was easy to miss the moment, but something behind his eyes shifted, reaching the max of dealing with this daring disobedience of yours. Your breath gets caught before it happens: his teeth sink into your thigh.

You sputter in his grasp, legs locking tighter around his waist. He didn’t bite hard enough to cut skin, but he was definitely leaving a mark. You were sure of that when, after the use of teeth, he wrapped his lips around the aching spot, sucking and not stopping despite your sharp nails digging into his back.

“Are you going to be good for me now?”

“Yes! Yes, I promise!”

Wrong answer. Another bite.

This time you just nod, not speaking any excessive words. 

His teeth are replaced by his lips. He leaves two featherlight kisses on the bruised spot and moves back to your needy hole.

“Haven’t touched you in a minute, and you’re already dripping.”

Apparently the rule of not speaking doesn’t apply to Aaron Hotchner today. Not that you minded.

He licked the sweetness off your pussy, getting back into rhythm. Aaron’s lips sealed around your labia, gently suckling until the only sounds leaving your mouth were passionate moans. 

At this point it was impossible to decipher whether the wet, sloppy noises came from your pussy or from the water that dripped out of the shower's head, warming the sides of your bodies. 

You dug your nails lightly into his shoulders, grounding yourself from the accumulating heat that was starting to form low in your stomach.

With every up and down of his chin, Aaron’s nose would bump against your clit, making it twitch in desperation.

“Mmph,” you whine in response to his actions. I’m close! Aaron, please! Is what you wish you could scream out to him right now. Wishing you could beg for a fast release as the obscene sounds grew louder around you. But you couldn’t, not if you wanted to have any release at all. Forced to endure his sweet torture.

Aaron lifted his head, his mouth inches away from where you needed him most. 

“Are you close?”

You obediently nod up and down, making sure he gets the memo. 

“Will you cum if I touch her?” 

You vehemently nod, tears burning in the corners of your eyes. Please, touch my clit, Aaron. 

His hot breath ghosted over the swollen bud. “Hold on tight.”

You moved your fingers to wrap tightly in his locks, right on time as Aaron wraps your throbbing clit in between his lips. It was a combination of his satisfied moans and the slurping of his tongue that tipped you over the edge.

By the time Aaron had placed you back on the ground, you were wobbling on your legs, and your throat felt sore from the cries that had tumbled from your lips. 

There wasn’t much time to recover, Aaron’s hands finding your waist, warm palms burning your skin as he turned you around. Your chest heaved from your orgasm, and your heart rate only sped up when his fingers made contact with the back of your arms. He guided his hands up until your fingers locked. 

The bathroom tiles weren’t as cold as you expected them to be when you placed your palms against them, still heated by Aaron’s hands that were pressed against the same spot only a minute ago.

“Arch your back for me, sweetheart,” he instructed. 

The nickname had your legs close to giving out. You clawed against the wall as you arched your back, ass raised high in the air, your cunt making contact with his poking cock as it pulsed from the sight of you. 

An arm cups around your frame, holding you steady against him. With the other, he brushes the skin of your curves, mapping out his favorite spots.

Aaron’s thick fingers grip around the cheek of your ass, spreading you open and watching you in a mix of lust and adoration. “Fucking beautiful,” he murmured under his breath, as if he’d just witnessed the opening of an exotic flower.

You felt the weight of his solid chest against your back, dew drops falling from his skin and melting onto yours. Aaron bent slightly through his knees, enough to line himself up with your hole. Then he pushed in.

“That’s it, you can take it,” he encouraged as his throbbing length entered you inch by inch. “Almost there. You’re doing so good, taking all of me.”

“Feels good,” you whisper softly, not able to help the words from spilling out.

“I know, honey. Going to make you feel even better.”

With that, he started pumping himself in and out of you, creating a mark in your cervix that he kissed with every thrust of his hips. It was hot. So fucking hot. The steam that has built up in the shower cabin, the warm press of Aaron’s body, the fullness of him inside of you, the heaving of his breath in your ear… Too hot.

It’s like he heard you, because in the next moment he had you pushed up against the cool expanse of tile. A shiver ran through your body, a pleasant one, as your nipples peaked against it, stimulated by the continuous rubbing against the surface as Aaron moved your body up and down his cock. 

A groan tore from his throat, the sound lightning through your body. “I missed this. Missed having you wrapped around me.”

The words were dirty, definitely, but it was the most affectionate thing he’s ever said to you. You could do this for the rest of your life: have him use you, be the reason he feels good, because there truly was nothing that made you feel more whole than to be praised by him. 

You fluttered your pussy around him, enticing another deep groan from him. 

“I’m getting close,” he hisses, and you nod. Give it to me, please. 

Instead of speeding up the slapping of skin, he halts his movements, pulling a whiny no out of you. 

With your back facing him, you don’t catch on to how he’s taking the shower head from its bar. Not even noticing the change of there being no more water falling down your body. 

What you do take in, is him hungrily cupping your mound. And you are definitely aware when he uses two of his fingers to spread your lips. You swear you can feel his grin against your neck when the shower head magically appears in his hand, turned to a setting where a strong current of water spurts out, which he places directly above your clit.

A high-pitched cry leaves your mouth, making you wiggle in his grasp. If he didn’t have you pinned against his body, you would’ve fallen to the ground, your legs feeling like complete jelly.

“Hold yourself open for me.”

Regret followed later, when you realized that Aaron would pick up his pace again, all the while your clit was being overstimulated by the flow of water.

Your mouth was agape, moans and gasps and cries tumbling out—sometimes loud, sometimes utterly breathless. The last sound that left you was a scream of Aaron’s name as you came around his cock. 

Your hand had left your pussy, reaching back to grip Aaron’s ass—the most accessible, and convenient place to hold—as your orgasm stuttered through you. You held him tightly, forcing a few more deep thrusts out of him before he pulled himself out.

“Knees. Now.”

The next moment passed in a blur. You fell to your knees, your legs squeaking against the cold, wet floor. You didn’t have the time to decide where to settle your eye: on his thick length that he held tightly in his fist, on his soft stomach and chest that heaved in anticipation of his orgasm, or on his face that was barely visible with the way he had his head thrown back, lip caught in between his teeth. 

His hips twitched, and his muscled thighs clenched as a white-hot fountain erupted on you. His release fell down your body, covering you from your breasts to your stomach to your legs. He even made a mess of himself, his hand covered in his essence, spread all over his cock by the jerking of his hand.

“Jesus,” Aaron curses, using his clean hand to push his hair out of his face. 

When his eyes fell back on you, he caught sight of you obediently sitting in front of him, using your thumb to flick a white stain off your breast before swirling your tongue around the digit.

He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his face. “You’ll be the death of me.”

You pick up the shower head that was thrown beside you on the ground, then place your hand around his thigh for leverage, wanting to clean him up.

Aaron sharply inhaled, body tensing when the stream hit his sensitive cock. “Don’t do that!”

“I’m sorry!” You quickly apologize in a stutter, then burst out in small laughter.

He shakes his head, opening his palm. “Hand it over to me.”

For a second you’re afraid he’s planning his revenge, but he turns the handle so that a gentle and even stream flows out of the head, then holds it above your body. Your personal waterfall.

With a hum, you wash yourself clean, almost sad to see the proof of his loving vanish from your body. 

“Come here,” he whispers when you’re done and helps pull you up by your arm.

Surprisingly, he wraps a strong arm around you, the back of his fingers running across your cheek to put the wet strands of your hair back in place. 

“I can bring Jack to school today.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Are you sure? You haven’t slept all night. I don’t mind—“

“Me neither,” he assures. “I know the work here is tiring too.”

It was. You knew nannying wasn’t an easy job, but nothing had prepared you for the days and nights spent alone while Aaron was catching killers in different states. It wasn’t easy being the main responsibility of a child in his most formative years, no matter how much gratification the work gives you.

“Okay,” you hum. “Thank you.”

“I have some free time when I get back.” His eyes search for yours as he speaks the words, awaiting your reply to the invitation. His eyes soften when they catch your small smile.

“Sounds good.”

He nods. “Good.”

[kxsagi]

Salutationsss, hiii, I'm the same anon that sent a request, something abt a nerd readerr, I'm sorry for requesting when you weren't taking at the time! I didn't see 😔. But could I req that same trope again?? Thank so much you for your time!

“𝐞𝐫𝐦 𝐚𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 🤓☝️”

a/n: hiii you’re all good, but unfortunately i don’t have that request anymore so i’m not sure what specifically you requested

bc of that, i turned this into headcanons and i hope you don’t mind! 

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, kaiser michael, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito, bachira meguru

isagi yoichi

yoichi thought he was smart until he started dating you. like sure, he knows tactics, he’s got game IQ, but you? you’re out here solving riddles on a whiteboard like it’s nothing. 

he once asked if you wanted to watch a documentary with him and you said “only if it’s narrated by joe dispenza or has a plot twist at the 30-minute mark.” 

he genuinely thinks you have a superpower. how else do you know this much random stuff? 

"you know how many stars are in the milky way galaxy?" you ask. "no," he says. "good. neither do scientists. but i will ruin your sleep schedule by explaining dark matter." 

yoichi gets this glazed-over look when you go off, like he’s watching god speak through you. 

“bro, how do you know all this?” he whispers in awe as you explain entropy using a sandwich. 

he’s not even mad when you correct his grammar in front of people. in fact, he gets a little flustered. "did you just… teach me something in public? … hot. whatwhosaidthat." 

itoshi rin

rin fell for you after overhearing you quote dostoevsky and then immediately say “but also, the scooby-doo gang was gay-coded.” 

he will die before admitting how hot he finds your brain. like, he’ll glare at you when you start infodumping about the history of the guillotine, but that glare is just him trying not to fall for you. 

you send him 20-slide powerpoints at 3 AM about why light yagami was right, and he reads every single one. he’s unwell. 

once he saw you organizing your bookshelf by theme, subgenre, and emotional damage, and he just… stood there. watching. blinking. 

“you okay?” you ask. “… can i kiss you right now or is that, like, a breach of the fibonacci sequence or whatever.” 

he has an entire notes app folder full of weird phrases you say. once you said “i want to kiss you under the fluorescent lights of an abandoned lab” and he had to take a walk. 

god help anyone who tries to outsmart you because rin doesn’t even jump in to help. he just steps aside like, “yeah, go ahead. she’s got it.” 

itoshi sae

sae met you once and immediately started saying “shut up, nerd” in the most loving tone imaginable. 

like yeah he acts unbothered, but if you stop talking about your interests for five seconds he’s like “… why’d you stop?” 

you once brought a clipboard and a graph to explain how his sleep schedule is ruining his skin elasticity. he hasn’t eaten sugar since. 

he’s obsessed with how you argue. like, someone will say, “i didn’t really like that movie” and you’ll go, “well actually, the entire point of the cinematography was to mimic isolation, so your brain’s just too small for the themes.” 

and sae’s in the corner nodding proudly like “yeah. eat ‘em alive, baby.” 

he won’t ever admit it out loud, but if you ever stopped being smart? he would simply perish. 

also: he absolutely starts fights on twitter just to screenshot them and send them to you like “babe, look what this idiot said. go ruin him.” 

kaiser michael

oh he lives for this. the way you ramble about history and sprinkle in “violence”? he is down BAD. 

kaiser will interrupt you mid-rant just to be annoying. like you’re explaining molecular structures and he goes “explain it to me like i’m five… and make it sexy.” “the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.” “well then i am the powerhouse of this relationship.” “please stop talking.” 

if you cosplay? he is fully in character. fake accent. dramatic monologue. he once spent $200 on a fake sword just to match your anime aesthetic. 

calls you “my little google doc” or “professor schatz” in public and refuses to stop. 

he 100% cheats off your notes if you take a class together. 

also once used your obsession with linguistics as an excuse to kiss you mid-sentence: “wait wait, how do you pronounce lo–” smooch “oops. distracted you. guess i win.” 

you're the only person on earth that can out-argue him. and he loves it. even when you humiliate him in a debate club meeting in front of six people. especially then. 

mikage reo

rich. nerd. simp. this man once bought you a whiteboard wall so you could explain conspiracy theories and niche film symbolism uninterrupted. 

he funds your hobbies like it’s a government project. need 72 highlighters in pastel? boom. got ‘em. a limited edition sailor moon notebook with gold foil? already shipped. “i just need this for journaling, reo.” “you mean world domination. say less.” 

he loves pretending he doesn’t understand what you’re talking about just to hear you explain it like a teacher. 

he’ll sit there all wide-eyed like, “woah, tell me more about black holes.” 

you once built a 3D model of the solar system for fun. he walked in, saw saturn, and said, “hey babe. just like saturn, i’ll adorn you with the most beautiful rings in the universe.” 

he once got jealous because you were paying more attention to your manga than him. “you’ve been reading for three hours.” “i’m at the part where they confess their undying love, you can’t interrupt now–” “… i’ll confess my undying love right now if it gets me eye contact.” 

nagi seishiro

nagi doesn’t understand a single thing you’re talking about, but he loves the way you talk. 

you could be explaining the lifecycle of a parasite and he’d just go “cool... say that again but slower. it sounded pretty.” 

he gets very attached to your reading time. you’ll be curled up with a book and he’ll just drape himself over you like a weighted blanket and nap while you whisper lore. 

you tried to teach him a game strategy once using chess pieces and he got bored halfway through and started kissing your neck. “sei, focus.” “i am focused. on the smartest person i know.” 

he secretly loves it when you make schedules, take notes, organize everything – he feels calmer with your brain leading the way. 

you once said, “i’d choose you even in a logic simulation.” and he got so flustered he forgot how to hold his phone for five minutes. 

shidou ryusei

you are the one person on earth who intimidates him. not because you’re loud, but because you’re smart and savage. 

he’ll say something like “gravity’s a myth” and you’ll deadpan, “so is your personality.” 

he flirts with you just to hear what kind of insults you’ll hurl back. 

you’ll be like “actually, that’s a misinterpretation of the theory of relativity” and he’ll be like “wow. you wanna kiss me or correct me harder, nerdzilla?” 

he once called your bookshelf a “nerd shrine” and you kicked him out. he came back with snacks and a post-it that said “i’ll behave if you teach me about the holy trinity”. 

he thinks it’s hilarious when you use big words. starts repeating them wrong on purpose. “you’re being extremely cacophonous right now.” “aw, thanks. i try.” 

he says he doesn’t care about your trivia. but the next week, he quotes you during a fight with a ref. “well actually, statistically speaking, you’re 73% more likely to suck.” 

karasu tabito

karasu walked in on you doing sudoku while eating spicy ramen and watching a documentary and went, “yep. that’s my girl.” 

he teases you constantly but don’t let that fool you – he brags about you to everyone. “yeah, she solved a murder mystery in two minutes. sexy, right?” 

he once found your annotated copy of crime and punishment and was like “damn, she’s not just a menace, she’s an educated menace.” 

he makes fun of your color-coded calendar, but then uses it religiously. 

calls your bookbag your “bat-nerd utility belt.” 

you once said “i organize chaos with knowledge” and he choked on his water because how are you both terrifying and hot at the same time. 

he 100% made you a trivia quiz as a date activity and cried when you got a perfect score. 

“i can’t even spell aesthetic,” he sniffled. “but you… you're a weapon of intellect.” 

bachira meguru

bachira thinks your brain is the eighth wonder of the world. he stares at you when you talk like you’re casting a spell. 

he mimics you when you start nerding out. “so actually, the evolution of language–” 

“babe, are you possessed again? blink twice if you’re still in there.” 

he brings you weird niche books from secondhand stores and is like “i got this because it looks cursed. i knew you’d love it.” 

he once watched you do a sudoku puzzle and got jealous of the numbers. “why are you smiling at that box like that.” 

loves playing study music and drawing you while you read. your “reading face” is his favorite thing ever. 

he doesn’t get half the things you say but if someone else calls you a nerd? he’s biting ankles. no hesitation. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[dollyforever]

a "ritual" to say goodbye to your old self and everything you've known

are you feeling stuck in your manifestation/shifting/void journey? do you keep seeing people telling you to persist in your desires, but you feel like your mind is doing the complete opposite?

it's time to let go of your old identity. the doubtful one. to step into your new self. the one who already has it all.

before you start: do this in the afternoon (ideally), before you go to bed. turn off your phone notifications, clean your space/table, make it a safe place, light a candle, whatever makes you feel calm and relaxed. (optionally) listen to this subliminal as you do the following steps https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sRFnXo2vlWI :

the goodbye letter: take a piece of paper and write a letter for your old self. the one you're letting go of. write: what no longer serves you, what you're saying goodbye to. tell them thank you, for everything they've done to get you to this point in time. tell them that it has been a long journey, but now it's time to leave. write the date down. this is the last time you're doing this.

burn the letter or tear it into tiny pieces and throw it away. once you don't have the letter in your hands anymore, say out loud or in your mind: "It is done."

any doubts that show up from this point forward are just whispers of your old self. but you're not that anymore, so simply ignore them, laugh at them. they don't belong to you, but to somebody you don't know anymore.

take a shower; however long you want the shower to be. play some frequency music in the backround. as you wash the soap off of yourself, imagine you're "cleansing" your old self. this is rebirth. the second you step out of the shower, think of yourself as a blank canvas. you are renewed. anything you want to be at this point, you already are.

as you get ready for bed (self care, brushing teeth, etc.), treat every movement as sacred. this is not routine. this is reverence. you are officially your new, master manifestor, master shifter, master of EVERYTHING self. feel how incredible it is to finally be free of all the doubts you used to have.

lie down in your bed, and say (out loud or silently): "This body is no longer a cage. This mind is no longer a battlefield. I am nothing. I am everything. I am."

let yourself drift off to sleep while repeating any short phrase that implies fulfillment, like a lullaby. an example is "thank you, thank you, thank you..." or "isn't it wonderful?" or any short phrase you prefer, until your mind is completely dominated by the sensation of thankfulness.

when you wake... open your eyes like you're seeing the world for the first time. because you are.

[hatethysinner]

kinda messed up toxic!remmick x pregnant reader

ᴛᴏxɪᴄ!ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ x ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴛ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

ᴀ/ɴ: NOTHING IS TOO MESSED UP FOR ME ANON!! please heed the warnings, they are there for your benefit <33! went more serious than my normal headcanon writing bc even though i love writing dark themes i never want to come off as too silly when approaching these topics. i don't do taglists personally, so just follow me if you want to be updated when i post.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 18+ MDNI (!!!!!!), shamelessly gratuitous smut, unapologetically dark (!!!), malicious fluff (i'm coining this), obsession, manipulation, isolation, lovebombing, dubcon (!!!), noncon (!!!), mental/emotional abuse (!!!), heavily abused power dynamic (!!!), breeding kink, pregnancy kink, lactation kink, praise/degradation kink, cunnilingus, fingering, p in v, free use, overstimulation, dacryphilia, unreliable narrator-ish, read at your own discretion

remmick loves you so much it’s suffocating. tells you so every single day, in a voice dripping honey, in words soft enough to be a lullaby. “ain’t nobody in this world loves ya like i do, darlin’. not your friends, not your family. nobody.”

and he’s so good at making you believe it. at making you think he’s the only one who ever could.

he’s doting in ways that would be sweet if it wasn’t all followed by iron chains. he insists on cooking every meal for you, pressing kisses to your temple as he sets a plate in front of you, murmuring, “gotta keep my best girl strong. my baby needs ya strong.” he does the chores, every single one, moving around the house like a gentle shadow, humming while he sweeps, while he folds your clothes, while he rubs oil into your growing belly at night.

he draws your baths, tests the water with his fingers, carries you to the tub if your feet are sore. he brushes and combs through your hair with long, careful strokes, cooing, “such a pretty girl. my pretty little wife.” and sometimes it almost makes you forget the other side of him.

almost makes you forget the hours he’ll lock you in your room when he’s angry, pacing on the other side of the door, telling you it’s for your own good. makes you forget how you never get a private moment anymore, not even to bathe or change clothes, because he’s always there, eyes tracking every breath you take, every twitch of your fingers.

he buys you gifts constantly, filling the house with flowers and silks and gold, draping you in it like he’s gilding a shrine. but you’re not allowed to go out and show it off. “don’t want all them eyes on ya, baby. you’re mine to look at. mine to keep.”

he isolates you, sweetly. softly. makes sure you know the world outside the house is cruel, full of people who’d never understand you the way he does. “ain’t safe out there for a pretty thing like ya. folks’d try to hurt ya. i’d kill ‘em if they did.”

sometimes you believe him. sometimes you want to run. but even the thought of running makes your stomach flip, because you can’t imagine where you’d go without him. you can’t imagine being alone.

and he loves you so thoroughly that you start thinking maybe you’re the one who’s being cruel. for doubting him. for crying when he touches you. for saying no. for not wanting him every time he wants you.

because he always wants you.

he’s obsessed with the way you look carrying his baby. the round swell of your belly, the fullness of your breasts. runs his palms over you like he’s petting something precious, voice low and reverent. “you’re so fuckin’ beautiful, baby. didn’t think it was possible for ya to get prettier, but look at ya now. full of me. just like y’should be.”

he talks about putting more babies in you before you’ve even had this one. about keeping you pregnant for the rest of your life. about how your body was made for this. “gonna keep ya so full, folks won’t even remember what you looked like before i bred ya.”

he adores your milk. even before it’s fully come in, he’s latched to your tits whenever he can get them, licking and suckling and praising you for how sweet you taste, even if you’re crying. especially if you’re crying. “shh, darlin’. let me have it. s’just me. always gonna be just me.”

he’s always touching you. even when he’s pretending to be gentle. fingers stroking your belly, your thighs, slipping between your legs while he murmurs, “need to make sure you’re still stretchin’ nice f’me. can’t have ya closin’ up on me now.”

he’ll tell you how good you are in one breath and tear you down in the next, lips soft against your ear. “such a good girl lettin’ me use ya like this. my sweet little broodmare. nothin’ but a hole to keep my kids warm.” and when you sob, he groans, hips snapping harder. “cry all y’want, sugar. ain’t gonna stop me.”

he lives for the taste of those tears too. for the way your voice goes high and broken when you’re crying and coming at the same time. loves licking the salt off your cheeks and telling you how pretty you are when you cry. “ain’t no sight sweeter than my girl in tears. means i’m doin’ my job right.”

eating you out isn’t even something he asks permission for. you’re his. he’ll spread your thighs, mouth hot and relentless, licking you until your legs shake and your tears spill, ignoring your babbled pleas to stop. loves how your blood sings under your skin when you’re aroused, how your pulse hammers, how your body betrays you even when you’re trying to crawl away.

and fucking you while you’re pregnant is nonnegotiable. he’ll go slow sometimes, murmuring about how delicate you are, but most nights it’s ruthless. bent over the bed, your swollen belly bouncing with every thrust, your breath catching on sobs as he snarls, “takin’ me so good, even with my baby inside ya. gonna stretch ya wider. gonna make room for all the rest.”

he uses your body whenever the urge strikes him. nothing and nowhere is off limits. slides his cock between your thighs while you’re folding baby clothes, or pushes you up against the pantry shelves while dinner’s bubbling on the stove. he’ll slip his fingers between your legs while you’re half-asleep on the couch, or drop to his knees to eat you out right there on the countertop. sometimes he bends you over the bathroom sink, fucking you slow and deep while steam curls around you both, and other times it’s fast, frantic rutting on the front porch as moonlight spills over your bare skin. sometimes he comes just from grinding against you, his fangs scraping your neck, red eyes rolling back as he groans, “can’t help it, baby. can’t fuckin’ help it.”

but remmick never seems satisfied, no matter how many times he takes you. he’ll fuck into you for hours, fingers or tongue or cock never stopping, dragging you over the edge again and again until you’re shaking so hard you can’t hold onto him anymore. even when you’re sobbing, whispering you can’t take any more, he only kisses your temple and murmurs, “just a little longer, darlin’. just one more.” and that’s when he finally bares his fangs and sinks them into your throat, drinking you down as your body convulses around him, making sure the last thing you feel is the bright, dizzy pleasure of giving him everything he wants.

and you want to hate him for it. you know you should. but sometimes, curled against his chest, feeling the weight of his palm over your growing belly, hearing him whisper how you’re his whole world, you wonder if maybe this is love after all.

because you can’t remember what it felt like to breathe without him.

[hcvney]

“ After Everything ”

After surviving the games, you find Dae-ho again—this time in the quiet of his apartment. What starts as a reunion turns into something deeper.

-

Rating: 18+ (explicit, nsfw)

Pairing: Kang Dae-ho / player 388 x F!Reader

Setting: Post-Squid Game, modern setting

Warnings: mutual pining, unprotected sex, praise kink, overstimulation, creampie, dirty talk, body worship, aftercare

-

It had been days since the Games ended. The chaos, the deaths, the silence after that final moment.

But what stuck with you most was the way he looked at you before it ended.

Like he was already imagining a life after.

“My place is near that corner noodle shop with the flickering sign,” he’d said, barely above a whisper, when the guards turned their backs.

“If we make it out… find me.”

And now… you had.

You stood in front of his door, heart pounding, fingers curling into your sleeves.

Would he even want to see you again?

But before the anxiety could sink in deeper, the door opened.

And there he was.

No uniform. No bruises. No blood.

Just Dae-ho.

Plain black tee. His hair down — soft against his face, no longer slicked back like in the games. His eyes widened when he saw you.

Then slowly, lit up.

“You… actually found me,” he said, breath catching.

You smiled. Nervously.

“You told me where you lived. I remembered.”

He opened the door wider without hesitation.

“Come in.”

-

The place was small, quiet — but clean. Warm.

He gestured to the couch, and you sat. You could feel his eyes on you, but they weren’t calculating like during the Games. They were… soft.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, sitting beside you.

“After… everything.”

You let out a breath.

“Still trying to believe it’s real. That we’re not in a simulation or about to wake up in the dorms.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze locked on you.

“You look different,” he said quietly.

You turned to him. “So do you.”

He smiled. “Do I?”

“Your hair’s down. You seem…”

You trailed off.

“Alive?” he offered with a half-laugh.

“Free,” you said.

He looked at you then — really looked.

“You were the only thing that felt real in there.”

The air shifted.

You didn’t know who leaned first. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

But when his lips touched yours — slow, careful, almost afraid you’d vanish — it was like breathing for the first time.

And then… it deepened.

His hand cupped your jaw. Yours slid to his chest. The tension built naturally — no rush, just relief. Like everything had been bottled up from the first time you looked at each other in that brutal world.

His body shifted closer, heat between you both rising, kisses turning desperate — until his forehead rested against yours, breath shaking.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the first night you sat next to me,” he whispered.

You touched his cheek gently, thumb brushing over his skin.

“Then don’t stop.”

He let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years.

And then — he kissed you again.

Deeper. Stronger. Everything else blurred.

-

His lips didn’t leave yours for a long time.

The couch shifted beneath you as he leaned in closer, his hand moving to the side of your neck — gentle, but possessive. Like he couldn’t believe you were real, and didn’t want to take the chance.

You gasped slightly when his other hand touched your waist. He paused.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, lips brushing yours.

You nodded. Slowly. Breathlessly.

“I want this too.”

That was all he needed.

He pulled you in again, the kiss deepening — hungrier now. Still careful, but there was something behind it: a need that had been starved for too long. You didn’t feel scared. Not with him. Not here.

Your back hit the cushions softly, his body sinking above yours. The space between you disappeared—his chest pressed flush against yours, skin to skin, heat rising between every breath.

Every brush of skin, every low breath and shift of closeness was desperate in its own way — not just about touch, but about being alive.

Your hands found his chest, his shoulders, his hair — which was soft now, falling around his face as he kissed down your neck and whispered your name like it was something sacred.

When the moment finally grew heavier — when the rhythm of your kisses slowed but deepened — he pulled away just slightly, forehead against yours.

“You’re the only thing that kept me human in there.”

“And you’re the only one I trusted,” you whispered.

His mouth moved over yours, then to your jaw, trailing kisses down to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. You gasped when his tongue grazed it—he smiled against your skin.

Your hands slid under his shirt, feeling the sharp lines of his torso, the ridges where hunger and muscle met. You could feel his heart racing beneath your palms. He sat up only to tug the shirt off, revealing everything, every tense breath—before his mouth found yours again, rougher now.

You wrapped your legs around his hips as he pressed his body to yours, grinding down just enough to draw a moan from you.

His name left your lips like a prayer.

“Dae-ho…”

“I need you to say it again,” he murmured against your lips.

“Need what?” you asked breathlessly.

“My name,” he whispered. “Only you say it like that.”

You cupped his face, guiding him down for another kiss. “Then I’ll say it all night.”

That was all it took for him to lose the last bit of restraint.

Your shirt came off, and his eyes locked on your chest, gaze darkening. The way he looked at you wasn’t lust alone—it was hunger laced with devotion. As though he were worshipping something sacred.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, brushing his thumbs over your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra, making you arch into him with a soft gasp. “You don’t know how many nights I thought about touching you like this.”

He reached behind you to unclasp your bra—his fingers surprisingly gentle despite the urgency—and you helped shrug it off your shoulders, leaving you bare beneath him.

Dae-ho let out a low breath as his hands slid over your breasts, kneading softly at first, then rougher as your thighs shifted beneath him.

He leaned down, lips wrapping around one nipple while he teased the other with his fingers. You cried out, threading your fingers into his hair, your back arching beneath him, your hips rising up to grind against his

Your were soaked by now, the ache between your thighs sharp and pulsing. He clearly felt it too. The way you kept shifting your hips against the growing bulge in his sweats made him growl into your skin.

He groaned into your mouth as you pulled him closer, the sound low and guttural, vibrating deep in his throat.

“You drive me insane,” he murmured, dragging his lips along your jaw, down your neck. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this? Since the Games… since before the final round.”

You nodded, breathless. “Please… don’t stop.”

his length grinding against you through thin fabric. You arched beneath him, eyes fluttering, mouth parting with a shaky moan.

He grunted. “You feel… so good. I can’t—”

He kissed down your stomach, tongue flicking over your navel as he slowly pulled your pants and underwear down together, exposing you fully.

You parted your legs for him, and he settled between them, hands gripping your thighs. When his fingers slid through your folds, testing how wet you were, you whimpered and grabbed the cushion behind your head.

“God… you’re soaked,” he muttered. “Is this all for me?”

“Only you,” you said, breath hitching as he circled your clit with two fingers, just enough pressure to make your thighs tremble.

He leaned in, placing a kiss just above your hipbone, and then another—closer to your center. But instead of diving down, he pulled himself back up, letting his body settle over yours again, his sweats now shoved low on his hips.

You felt him—thick and hard—pressing against your entrance as he lined himself up.

When he entered you, it was deep and slow. He hissed through his teeth, clutching your hips like he might lose himself completely. You cried out softly, your body molding to his like you were made for this moment—for him.

He stilled once he was fully in, pressing his forehead to yours, both of you trembling.

You kissed him again, moaning into his mouth as he began to move—deep, slow thrusts that filled you completely, every drag of his hips hitting the sweet spot inside you. The rhythm wasn’t rushed. It was intentional. He wanted you to feel every second of it.

“Dae-ho—fuck—don’t stop,” you whimpered, your voice already wrecked

His forehead was pressed against yours, sweat dripping down his temple. “You’re taking me so well, baby. So perfect… God, you feel so fucking good.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, silently begging him to go faster. He did. His thrusts turned harder, more urgent, and your breath turned to gasps, soft cries of his name every time he drove into you.

“Say it again,” he panted. “Say my name.”

The combination of his cock dragging inside you, thick and deep, and his thumb working relentless circles over your swollen clit had your body tensing beneath him. Your walls fluttered, tightening with each stroke, and you could feel it—your orgasm coiling hot and fast in your belly, just about to snap.

He could feel it too.

“Dae-ho… Dae-ho, I—I’m close—”

“That’s it,” he groaned, hand sliding between you to rub tight circles over your clit. “I wanna feel you lose it on me. Come on—let go.”

His words pushed you over the edge.

You cried out his name as the orgasm slammed into you—white-hot, full-body, blinding. Your back arched off the couch, thighs shaking, mouth open in a desperate moan as your pussy clenched around him, pulsing in waves.

“Fuck—just like that—” Dae-ho groaned, barely holding on.

He didn’t last long after that. The way your body clenched around him, how you moaned his name —it pushed him over the edge.

You felt him throb inside you as he slammed into you one final time, hips stuttering, his breath catching on a curse as he came—hot, deep, filling you. He gasped your name into your neck, his entire body going tense, then softening as he spilled into you, riding the last waves of his high.

His whole body trembling as he held you tight.

Burying his face into your neck, whispering broken things—your name, I love you, I missed you.

His arms didn’t let go. Not even after.

-

Warm sunlight peeked through the thin curtain. Soft, golden, and quiet.

You were curled into his side on the couch, one of his arms around your shoulders, the other resting gently at your waist.

Dae-ho’s eyes were still closed, but his grip tightened slightly when he felt you shift.

“You’re still here,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“I wasn’t going anywhere,” you said, barely above a whisper.

He opened his eyes slowly and looked at you. Messy hair. No tension in his jaw. Just peace — the first time you’d seen it.

You reached for his hand resting at your waist and held it tightly.

“What now?” you asked.

He was quiet for a second.

“I still don’t know,” he admitted. “I never thought we’d make it out.”

You nodded. “Me either.”

“But… if I have to figure it out,” he continued, turning toward you, “I’d rather do it with you.”

He gave you a small, tired smile. The kind you hadn’t seen during the games. One that was just for you.

“I used some of the money already,” he added. “Quiet place. Rent for the year. Cleared my debts. Still have enough left to disappear if I need to.”

“And you?” he asked gently. “What’ll you do with your share?”

You looked down, thoughtful.

“Start over, I guess. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere I can actually sleep through the night.”

He nodded.

“Then come back here anytime,” he said. “Or stay. I wouldn’t mind.”

He squeezed your hand.

“After everything we’ve been through… you don’t have to survive alone anymore.”

You leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

“Neither do you.”

-

[saosinn]

skips is a pervert, and a munch.

nsfw under the cut, afab/fem reader!

it's common knowledge that almost, if not every, object in this house has heard you touch yourself. you moan unabashedly, your shaking whines bouncing off the walls of your seemingly barren abode, however when you met skylar all of that changed. since you met her, and found out that you weren't as lonely as you thought, you rarely had time to touch yourself anymore.

your 'alone time' had come to a screeching halt. even when you did have time, you felt too paranoid to even look up anything, lest phoenicia or mac tease you for it. the thoughts started to keep you up at night, keeping you tossing and turning from a mixture of guilt for the noises and the messes, and embarrassment for being so shameless... even though this was your own house to begin with.

unbeknownst to you, this pause in your masturbation was driving a certain shadow up. the. walls. skips' chest felt tight every time your moans would grace his ears, his shuddering breaths falling in time with yours while he imagined how beautiful you look with your fingers slick with desire. he was so, so achingly jealous of betty. she got to hear, feel, even see everything in far more detail than anyone else. no matter, he'd have you to himself soon.

he was so giddy when you used the dateviators on him, he almost had to slap the excitement out of himself to conceal his image. the process of regaining all his spectral arms took much longer than he originally anticipated, the other objects in this house having you run this way and that to solve their problems. skips noticed what the others didn't though, how your patience was running short, how stiff your body had become, but he could fix that all very soon.

finally regaining all of the spectral arms, he was terrified that you'd turn him away, worried that all his allure was lost. to his delight, you reassured him with a gentle touch to his upper arm, a touch that you thought nothing of. skips however, felt a tent start to pitch in his pants as soon as your fingers caressed him. strangely enough, he felt envious of the jacket he was wearing, as it directly felt your skin.

he plead with you to keep coming back, to spend more time with him, and out of the kindness of your heart, you did. every time you came back he had to remind himself that this wasn't a dream, and that you were finally here with him. it didn't take long for him to start acting like a lovesick puppy, barely more than two feet away from you at all times. the sudden clinginess wasn't really unexpected on your end, but even still it was welcome.

one day, sitting in that pitch black space with skips, you were rambling about your frustrations. for the first time in a while, you felt free to talk without judgement. even though the empty space had scared you at first, it soon became a place of peace, a place where you could breathe without prying eyes. skips, of course, listened attentively, nodding and humming along as you spoke - words surrounded with an air of impudence.

"i don't even have the time to jerk off anymore, it's so fucking annoying!" the words fell from your lips before you could catch them, your palm slapping against your mouth as your eyes went wide. obviously you knew he heard you before, but your attempt to maintain any sense of modesty had been shattered. skips didn't judge you, not that you thought he would.

with soft words and gentle reassurances, he helped you calm down, a large hand settling on your shoulder to ground you. after you caught your breath, you noticed a slight glow in his cheeks, that neon yellow now being a familiar sight. tilting your head in curiosity, you urged him to speak up. skips' heart was hammering against his chest, and the urge to sink into the shadows and hide there was greater than ever, but he couldn't just let this opportunity pass him by.

"i—" he stuttered, choking on his own spit before awkwardly clearing his throat. "i could help you, if- if you want, of course.." it took a moment for you to process what exactly he wanted to help you with, your face growing hot with realization. you shook your head, hands mirroring this motion as you fumbled over your own explanation. you couldn't possibly, after all this was something you usually handled on your own.

before you could even finish telling him that you were 'fine' and that you 'could deal with it a later time', he had already taken his jacket off, folding it up and placing it on the floor beside you. with a heavy swallow, you lifted your hips from the floor (?), and sat on his jacket. skips crouched beside you, eyes flitting to yours as his finger hooked under the waist of your shorts, his gaze letting you know you could back out at any time. you nodded, weight falling back against your elbows as you lifted your hips again to aid him.

he moved in front of you as he guided the material down your legs, sucking in a hiss through his teeth when his hard made contact with you. he wanted to tease you, to slowly drag them down your thighs, to really take his time with you, but his own eagerness got the better of him. you barely had time to process that your shorts were actively being taken off, before they were already off and sat next to you.

he took the back of your knees into his palms, spreading your legs for him like it's what he was meant to do. his cock throbbed against the fabric of his jeans at the sight, the wet spot in your panties spurring him on more. lowering himself in front of you, the way he brought your legs above his shoulders was eerily natural. skips' hands dragged up your thighs, settling on the apex of your hips.

his mouth watered, each breath he took in shaking more than the last. the sight of you was enough to get him drunk, but the smell? oh my god, he truly was a filthy pervert. he took a deep breath in through his nose, exhaling from a small 'o' in his mouth, shuddering in glee from the way you squirmed. the smell of your sex made him moan, eyes practically rolling to the back of his head as he did so.

with no hesitation, he licked a warm, wet stripe through the thin material, hips rutting into the floor with fervor. your stomach flexed, a choked gasp escaping your lips. his fingers dug into the meat of your hips, eyes closed and brows furrowed as he continued to ravish you. even through the thin fabric he could taste you just fine, but he soon grew impatient. groaning into your heat, he pulled away, much to his dismay.

before you could even question his actions, he tore the material, the sound echoing throughout the empty space. you looked at him in awe, complaints dying on your tongue as he delved back into your heat. he moaned loudly, the vibrations sending shivers up your spine. "'m sorry-", he mumbled into your cunt, "couldn't wait any longer."

like a starved man, he ate you out, not daring to spill a drop. his tongue circled your clit before he cupped his lips around it, sucking on the bud with a steady rhythm. breaking away for air, he planted a gentle, if not teasing, kiss to your cunt, offering a soft hum in response to your whines. he brought his right hand from your hip, thumb immediately rubbing circles onto your clit. your legs clamped around his head in response, nails digging into your palms, the pain in your elbows immediately overshadowed by pleasure.

skips' tongue dragged up and down your folds, briefly dipping into your core before returning to his ministrations. with the way he was going at it, it was like he was getting paid every time you came. he was humping the floor at this point, every quiver of your body making threatening to tip him over the edge, but he made himself wait. he'd only cum when you did, it wouldn't feel as good otherwise.

his boxers were so terribly sticky, filled with his white. he moaned and whined into your cunt, his left hand gripping your hip in a bruising grip, your third orgasm of the night building in your stomach. fighting your wants, you pushed his head back, the action taking much more effort than you thought it would. he looked up at you with doe eyes, chin covered in your slick as he whimpered in confusion. the sight made your heart flutter, and your core subconsciously flex around nothing, which skips did in fact notice.

"i wanna— i want to cum around you, please.." your request came out much more mousy than you originally intended, chest heaving as you spoke. skips stared at you for a moment, almost like you were speaking in another language. fuck, he could've cum in his pants just from hearing you say that. as much as he wanted to, wanted to split you open, to hump you like an animal in heat, this was about you. he shook his head, cheek resting against your thigh as he looked up at your flushed face. "not this time, i wanna focus on you, so let me, please."

and with that, he lost himself in you once again, making you cum until you couldn't stand it anymore. well.. at least he promised you a next time, right?

— 𓈒 ❤︎︎ ࣪ ˖

this is how i interpret skips' little shadow space .... sorry if it's inaccurate idrc LMAO, anyway this one sux so bad i'm so sorry...😢 also my page isn't a safe space for emo/alt fetishists, as an emo person myself i find yall weird as fuck sorry not sorry :p

6/30/25

[midoriiakina]

Soulmate AU where soulmates share a bond that gives them something like Dermatographia, (skin writing). Even the lightest scratch leaves a mark for up to 30 minutes, allowing them to write to one another, if they wish.

But there's another, deeper kind of bond, where soulmates are forced to share their pain between the two (or more) of them, feel every cut, every bruise, every burn, as if it were their own.

Imagine a Civilian!Reader being bound to the boys in the 141, all four of them at once, and the boys have no idea. They're all together, thinking that it's just the four of them.. Until something happens to Reader, either by her own hand or by the hand of another, and they realize with mounting horror that there's another, one they never even realized was there, feeling all of their pain as if it were her own, and now it was their turn to feel hers.

(I can also imagine that the boys used their bond to write messages to each other while on missions. Think about it, it's a totally secure way to share intel. Why wouldn't they? And now they realize, they were sharing that incredibly sensitive intel with an unknown party, a soulmate they had no idea even existed.)

What lengths would they go to, to find their missing fifth? If her injuries are severe enough, would they arrive in time to save her?

How desperately would they be writing over their own skin, covering their forearms in hasty chickenscratch, raised red lines spelling out desperate pleas for her name and location, so they could find her...

(This is just a free-to-good-home writing prompt. I don't care who uses it, just tag me in whatever you post inspired from it. I wanna see what y'all come up with~! Love you!)

(Edit: I'm a horrible, horrible person. I just imagined a scene where the boys are all on leave, living together in the same place. Then they feel it, the kind of pain they knew came from (being shot, being in a car accident, dealer's choice.). Instantly, they're struggling to their feet and trying to find their soulmates, one after another. John is in the kitchen, he's fine, Simon is in the back bedroom, he's also fine, Johnny was in the shower, he's fine, and Kyle was in the living room watching TV, he's fine too.. They're all fine.. So what the fuck..? And then it hits them, there's another, someone else who feels their pain and now they're feeling hers. Then they're desperately writing their names and phone numbers onto their own arms, trying to give Reader as many ways to contact them as possible.. Simon is the one to write it on his chest, where it would be seen by medical professionals.. And then they get a call from a nurse at a nearby hospital, where Reader was just admitted to, unconscious and seriously injured, telling them that she's about to go into surgery and the doctors need to use anesthesia, warning them that they'll start to feel numb soon. I'm getting this whole quiet angst, broken bird vibe from this, but with an overall happy ending.. eventually.)

[sidemari]

• In Bloom •

Some texts about exploring a breeding kink with them.

Characters included: Alex Keller, Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, John Price, Keegan P. Russ, Logan Walker, Simon “Ghost” Riley — [separately] x Fem!Reader.

TW: Age gap, aftercare, breeding kink, creampie (explicit), death mention/implied character loss (Soap), emotional vulnerability, implicit pregnancy, power imbalance (very soft dom/sub dynamics), raw sex/R.A.C.K. dynamics implied, references to war and military life. 

Pin: https://br.pinterest.com/pin/4925880837057340/

Alex Keller 

He was the one who brought up the idea, right after an intense night between you two. He shifted positions, placing you on top of him, your head resting on his chest while he stroked your hair.

“Have you… ever thought about becoming a mother? One day, maybe.”

“I didn’t think so. I always believed military life would take that privilege away from me. But with you… I think it might be possible.” He smiled against your hair, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“And you? Have you ever imagined yourself being a father?”

“If you told me you wanted a child... I swear, I wouldn’t think twice. We’d start trying right then.”

With him, the act of filling you during the nights you share together isn’t just sexual — it’s an act of surrender, of intimacy, of trust.

After the first time you made love without a condom — raw, intense, intimate — it became routine for him to fill you with everything he had to give. It was never just about marking you; it was about making you feel cherished with every touch, kiss, whisper, and thrust.

He made it a habit to ask for permission before coming inside you. He knew — knew that you had given him all the consent he needed that first night. But he still asked, every time. Because he wanted you to know that your yes still mattered.

He watched you closely. Noticed every detail. The way your body welcomed everything he gave you. The way your eyes locked with his as you both came. The way you pulled him closer when it was over.

Alex was grateful. Grateful you trusted him enough to let him in — in every sense of the word.

Your body was exhausted.

Sweaty, marked, aching.

But his movements didn’t stop.

His thrusts were rhythmic, deep, relentless.

The moment was intimate, beautiful, and erotic.

“Alex… I…” You moaned as he pressed you harder into the mattress, the silk sheets brushing against your breasts just enough to make you writhe beneath him.

Your back was fully exposed — he kissed your shoulder, your neck, tugged your hair just to hear that sweet whimper escape you, and all the while, he kept moving inside you.

“I know... just give me one more. I know you can…”

How many times had you already come? You couldn’t tell anymore. All you knew was that beyond obeying his request, all you wanted now was to fall asleep in his arms.

And then it happened. Again.

Strong. Intense. Real.

He filled you one last time that night. And you thanked him.

He turned you onto your back and kissed your belly — slowly, reverently.

“I hope it was today.”

You smiled.

Little did you know, a small miracle had already been growing inside you for a few days.

Johnny MacTavish 

It all started when he saw you carrying a rescued child in your arms. The way you held that refugee child — so tenderly, protectively, lovingly — it flipped a switch in his mind: what if, one day, the child you were cradling was his?

So, during one rare moment of peace — an afternoon the two of you managed to steal away from brutal responsibilities — he asked:

"Imagine… a little Soap running around, or a mini version of you?"

"They’d burn the base to the ground. For sure." You smiled as his hand squeezed your thigh in that sweet, familiar way only he did.

"You know… sometimes I catch myself wondering if…"

He didn’t finish. But your gaze encouraged him.

"If we’d ever have a chance at that. A family. With the lives we lead, it feels crazy, I know. But..."

You reached out and cupped his face, tracing the line of his jaw with your thumb.

"Johnny..."

"You don’t have to answer now." He whispered, resting his forehead against yours.

"I just wanted you to know. That when I look at you… sometimes I think, 'She’s the one I want it all with.'"

"And what if I told you I want to try...?"

Soap had always been impulsive, passionate, and affectionate. But now, he had a new goal. To make a small miracle with you. To give life a chance to bloom inside you.

Cumming inside was never just about lust for him — it was about being as close to you as humanly possible. And every time it happened, it became more intimate. More intense. More sacred.

He definitely preferred positions where he could see your face while claiming you. And the moment he finished inside, he’d grip your waist and keep you there, locked to him, refusing to let you go.

If, when pulling out, he noticed anything leaking, he’d push it back in — with his fingers, or with his already-hardening cock, ready to give you more than your body could handle. And before long… it always started again.

He had this habit of kissing your belly after sex — even when there was no baby yet. Just the idea of a future there made him soft.

"Bonnie, come here," He murmured against your neck, pulling you close inside the armory.

"Soap, not here..."

"My dorm’s just around the corner, remember?" He whispered against your skin, lips brushing that sensitive spot between your jaw and neck.

His hand slid along your waist, pulling you against his hips — and you could feel just how ready he was. 

He was already guiding you out of the room, hand clasped in yours, his eyes wild and full of need. Every hurried step toward his dorm was soaked in nerves and anticipation.

Once the door closed, he pinned you against it — eyes locked to yours, as if battling between respecting you… and devouring you.

His hand slid under your shirt.

The kiss was fierce, desperate, tasting of longing and urgency.

You moaned into his mouth, already surrendering, tugging up his tactical shirt.

"I’m gonna fuck you so deep your body’ll be begging me to fill it again before the next mission."

And he gave you exactly what he promised.

His words lit you up from the inside.

Every thrust was firm, deep, deliberate — like he was shaping your body to match his own.

Soap wasn’t just fucking you.

He was marking you.

Planting himself in you as if your body were sacred soil, made for him.

You cried out, completely undone, muscles shaking, legs trembling with every drive of his hips.

His voice faltered with emotion, with lust, with raw need.

Your moans turned into a plea.

He smiled — that bold, lovesick smile of his.

"Say it, love… tell me you want this. Tell me you wanna be full of me."

"I do, Johnny..." You gasped. "I want it so badly, please..."

He groaned, eyes rolling back for a second, his body trembling against yours.

And he came, deep — just like he dreamed about every night — with his body pressed to yours, breath ragged, fingers digging into your skin as if the world were ending and he wanted to leave proof that you happened.

He stayed inside you for long moments, eyes closed, forehead resting against yours.

"Thank you for letting me share this with you."

But the universe is cruel sometimes.

The most hellish mission of your lives unfolded just weeks after that.

His child was the last piece of him you had left.

And he never even got the chance to know about the little miracle you made together.

"You're all I have left of him. And I swear... I'll protect you with everything I have." You whispered those words the day you saw the two faint lines on the test.

(Sorry for the angst. I have a melancholic soul.) 

John Price

Something about the fact that you're younger than him just awakes something inside of him he can’t properly name. You're there, in the prime of your youth, giving your best every day, being present in his life in a way he never imagined would happen... it's all so perfect. And irritatingly stimulating.

He's no fool. He knows you're teasing him on purpose. The way your legs lock around his hips when he's about to cum — just to see the shock and lust in his eyes before he releases inside of you. The way you beg him to mark you, to give you every last drop, to use you... He knows exactly what you're doing and he lets you think you’re in control, because he loves putting you in your place after he realizes you’re way too bold.

One day, you were wearing one of his t-shirts, sitting on his lap, kissing his face, your nails occasionally scratching his scalp. Your lips tasted like whiskey, your skin was warm, and the way you moved on top of him, even if unintentionally, was simply driving him crazy. And that was when his first thought came to him. What if you were the mother of his children? And God, he got completely hard just imagining you carrying something so pure... and his.

The fact that, if he wanted to, he could turn you into a mother with absurd ease makes his blood boil with desire. You're young, completely his, and stupidly fertile, and that breaks him because he knows that with one slip, he could get you pregnant, tie you to him, if he wanted to.

Then, he would explain how he had been feeling about all of it because he knows that communication is the basis of everything. "Do you want this as much as I do?" He would murmur against your belly while his fingers prepared you to receive him. And you would give yourself over. Body and soul. Willing to take the risk. Willing to become completely his. Willing to seal your destiny by his side.

"You feel it, don't you?" He smiled as you writhed under a particular thrust. "Your body is begging for mine. Begging to be claimed, used, marked, bred."

"I'm... so close..." You could barely speak, the air escaping your lungs with each violent thrust. "F-Fuck, Price!" Your hands found purchase in the curve of his shoulder, digging your nails into his skin and making him groan in pleasure.

"I'm going to fill you, mark you with something of mine that only I can and deserve to give you." You broke when he murmured against your ear, "Cum for me, love. Give me everything you have and are." Your body shuddered, your heart raced and the spasms began. Your back arched, your orgasm finally coming — strong, hot, raw. He groaned as he felt your body tighten around him eagerly, as if it knew you belonged to him. And then he filled you, his warm essence invading your body, marking you, ready to start something new.

"What was that?" You would murmur, chuckling softly as you caressed his face.

"Connection."

Keegan Russ

Another soldier who tried to convince himself that cumming inside you "wasn't all that." And he failed miserably in that mission.

One night, after a few glasses of wine, he let it slip. Lost in the moment, in the feel of you, he murmured things like, "Do you want this? Do you want me to fill you, breed you? Do you want me to mark you with my child?" But when he heard himself, his cheeks flushed, his thrusts faltered, and he felt ashamed of himself.

You noticed how vulnerable he was and how those words made sense to him, so you reassured him that you wanted to explore this with him too. "I trust you." You would murmur against his neck, kissing the sensitive spots you knew by heart.

When he realized that you really wanted this as much as he did, he gave in. He began to closely monitor your cycle, knowing precisely when you would be most fertile, most sensitive. He began to have sex with more purpose, not only wanting physical release, but emotional connection. He wanted you raw, real, completely his.

He became more affectionate, even without realizing it. He would cover you with a soft blanket after sex, pull you against his body, distribute kisses over every mark he left on your skin, whisper compliments and, sometimes, lie down with his head resting on your belly, as if he already knew that soon, there would be life there.

"You... are so deep..." You whimpered, your hands clenching the sheets beneath your body. "Keegan!"

"Tell me what you want." He would increase the pace of his thrusts, the sound of your bodies coming together echoing through the room: wet, raw, intense. “Use your words, love.”

"Make me yours, fill me... mark me inside..." Your voice was a broken plea.

"You'll feel me for days." He murmured against your lips, occasionally pressing short, wet kisses against them. "You'll be marked, full of me, carrying something of mine."

You reached your peak together, your essences mixing inside you, seeking shelter in which to blossom. He would pull out soon after, but he would put a pillow under your hips just so it wouldn't "slip out so fast." The feeling was warm, intimate, and serene. And even though your life wasn't necessarily simple or conventional, you waited for the day your little miracle would happen.

Logan Walker

He never imagined he would have a thing for seeing you full of him. Never.

Most of the time, you used condoms, occasionally abusing the luck of the pull-out method (which, thankfully — or not — never resulted in a mini Walker), so this fetish was never even considered by him.

But you couldn’t help but think about how interesting it would be. Something about the way his eyes sparkled as he claimed you, something about the way he talked you through it, helping you relax and enhance every sensation was just... hot.

Sometimes you catch yourself thinking about continuing his family's legacy. His faithful, protective and quiet way enchanted you, making it hard not to imagine him as a father.

You knew it was risky, but you wanted to test the waters to see if he was open to trying it, and on a night when his frustration got the better of him and training alone wasn't enough to make him relax, you were his salvation.

He admitted after the first night you two gave in to your lust that he felt turned on by seeing you full of him — dripping, hot, marked. 

With him, it's never just about having sex and marking you with his essence. It's about connection, trust, and intimacy.

Finally, he imagines you carrying his child more often than he'd like to admit and secretly longs for the day when you actually start trying to have a baby.

Those eyes...

He maintained eye contact as he continued his movements, thrusting in a slow, intimate, and intense rhythm. The wet noise of your bodies meeting, the moans, the sound of your kisses, the whispers and sincere smiles that you allowed to escape every now and then every time you realized how in love you were with each other... it was all so precious, so beautiful.

"Logan, please..." You whimpered, your nails gently scratching his back the way you knew sent shivers down his spine. 

He didn't answer, but the look in his eyes said it all: 'Speak. I'm listening to you. I always have been.' 

"Cum inside me, please..." 

"What...?" He asked confused, his orgasm close enough to make his body shudder and his thoughts go haywire. You stroked his hair, your eyes filled with devotion. 

"I want to feel you..." His breathing became uneven, the rhythm of his thrusts messy, as if you had awakened something in him that he didn't quite understand. 

"I want... Fuck, I want it..." He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as if it would bring his sanity back. "But what if..." 

"Just let me feel you... Cum for me, love." And his body obeyed your voice. 

"Shit—" He bit the skin on your neck to keep from moaning so loudly. You couldn't see it, but his cheeks were flushed, his heart hammering inside his chest with pure ecstasy. "That was... Fuck, that was so good." 

You pulled him into a kiss when you noticed his body finally relaxing above yours.

"Thank you. For trusting me." You murmured against his lips, with him still inside you.

Simon Riley

Very discreet about it, he would probably even deny the fact that he enjoyed seeing you full of him if confronted.

You were the one who noticed. One night after a mission, with the accumulated stress and fatigue, he couldn't pull out in time, and when he apologized and got pissed at himself, you comforted him by saying that everything was fine, despite the imminent risk.

You both, as functional and intelligent adults, know that the pull-out method is a very risky contraception, but, again, in that post-mission context, all you wanted was to listen to the infernal desire you felt.

When he felt your legs wrap around his waist, preventing him from pulling out even after he had came, he moaned. Because it was the first time he had felt that sensation with you, and god, it was addictive.

"What are you...?" He murmured against your neck, trying not to find it pleasurable, but failing miserably.

"Stay a little longer." You murmured, stroking his hair, your chest rising and falling quickly due to your recent orgasm.

"But..." He removed his face from the curve of your neck to look you in the eyes. "Fuck, I'm sorry... I..." He felt ashamed.

"It's okay. If I wanted you to pull out, I would tell you."

He didn't answer anymore.

He didn't need to.

For him, it was enough to be there, with you, having that opportunity for the first time.

Since then, he secretly wished he could cum inside you whenever he wanted, but he never really expressed it.

He was relieved to know that you had started taking birth control. It wasn't that he completely hated the idea of ​​being a father, but having a baby while you were still at the military would be complex, to say at least. 

You noticed. You noticed the way his pupils dilated every time he came inside you. You noticed how he kept on thrusting, sometimes filling you up a second time, just because he refused to pull out of you so soon. You noticed how his body relaxed after his orgasm, saw how vulnerable he was as you spread kisses across his stubble. You wouldn't get pregnant due to the pills, but fantasizing about it was enough for you two.

Knowing that you were ruined (nicely, lol) and marked by him simply sends shivers down his spine. He just loves how warm and intimate it is, and whenever it happens (with your permission, of course), he's even sweeter in the aftercare. He'll pull you close to him after cleaning you with a towel, knowing that part of him is still there inside you, deep inside, just waiting for a chance, a slip, to blossom. 

Maybe he'll fill you up again on purpose if you waste too much, but at the same time he loves seeing the essence of both of you, mixed together, dripping out of you. He just loves and yearns for every second of it with you.

[chimielie]

You've gotten kind of obsessed with Suna's voice.

You don't know how because you so often hate the actual content of his words. He's monotone, often, so you have to really focus in to hear the nuances of it. The chuckle in the back of his throat when he's laughing at someone to their face, the dip when someone annoys him, the slight pitch up when he says something outrageous just to make you start shouting.

His voice is mellow and deep, not so bassy that it's grating, not so quiet that you ever have to ask him to repeat himself. He doesn't ramble and doesn't stumble over his words; if he speaks, he's self-assured and says only what he needs to say. If you unfocus your eyes and let whatever bullshit he's saying fade out and just listen to the rolling sound of it, you could almost imagine...

You refuse to finish that thought.

Still, it keeps leaking into your life in ways that aren't ideal. You try not to show preference when conversing with your friends, but your head snaps toward him whenever he says something, no matter how intently you'd been listening before. You start asking him to repeat himself even when you heard him perfectly clearly because you liked his inflection (or more often, lack thereof) on a particular word, the roundness of a certain syllable. He obliges so easily you start to wonder if he knows.

It's even coming up in your dreams. Nothing too explicit, not that your waking self knows of, anyway—you just wake up, suddenly missing the weight of a hand on your waist and the warmth of lips against the shell of your ear. Only one or two sentences will stay with you: sometimes lacking context, like "I missed this," this forever a mystery to you, or impossible phrases, like "I missed you."

Suna is a friend. A friend of a friend that you think is kind of annoying. You're not sure why you walk around with false echoes of him—him confessing to you in your head.

He's funny, sure, but too often mean. He always looks like he's thinking of a joke about you, one he doesn't even mind saying to your face because he doesn't expect you to get it. He's vitamin D deficient, he didn't know how to do his laundry until way too late in life, and he keeps inviting you over to watch weird experimental films.

You go, but only because you enjoy arguing with him about the meaning of it all and somehow the argument never quite finishes. "We'll finish this next time," he says, and you keep coming back like a lab rat for rage-hormone-laced sugar water. He used to invite the rest of your friends, but they stopped attending one by one until it was just you and him, whisper-shouting at each other at 2 a.m. because his hand touched yours in the popcorn bucket and you reflexively grabbed it and then bit him. And all the time, he has that stupid half-smile on his face, like he knows something you don't, like everything you say to him is a joke.

You're there now, your requisite fist-fight over the popcorn over and vacuumed up already, some 60s Soviet film playing on his TV. Somehow, after the violent intermission had wrapped up, he'd maneuvered you down so that your head was in his lap, petting you every time you started making unpredictable movements in a way that managed to make you go limp. It was unfair and made it much harder to win arguments without utilizing physical force.

"It's kind of obtuse if you don't know anything about the filmmaker," he's saying.

"That's the point," you say, his hand stroking across your forehead and making your eyes flutter closed. "You're telling me you make me watch this artistic shit and you want it to be linear?"

"You're not even watching," Suna laughs. "I don't want it to be linear, I'm just curious how much the average person knew about his biography back in the day."

"Mmf," you say. His other hand is on your shoulder now, gently applying pressure, working out some of the kinks having to put up with him has put there. "Annoying guy. Annoy me all the time."

"Do I?" He says. "You look pretty relaxed. You gonna fall asleep on me, huh?"

"It was an order, get it right," you grumble. "Not gonna fall asleep. Just keep talking."

"Anything you want," he says, "I knew you liked my voice."

You'd fight him about it, but you're so comfortable. It'd be like letting him win to disturb your peace right now, so you just listen to him neg you and then narrate the screen for your closed eyes, your breathing slowing and getting deeper. You'll wake in the morning not remembering coming to bed, a hand on your waist you remember without ever experiencing, a sharp chin you hadn't known to imagine digging into the crook of your neck.

He'll say something and be smug and obnoxious to the core, maybe (maybe!) awakening something in you even worse than it was with his morning voice.

When he tells you "we didn't finish last night," his lips tilting subtly in a motion that shouts out loud to you, "I thought you'd want to stay and get the last word in," you'll laugh without meaning to.

There's so much to disagree about in the world; you'll have to stay a long time before you've covered all of it. Thank heavens you have the spirit to battle it out till the bitter end.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (59/59)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The end.

Warnings: heavy on the angst, heartbreak, mention of panic attack

Word Count: 3.8k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: the end of deal. thank you for coming on this ride with me. it's been over two years and I couldn't be more grateful for every single one of you. for every like. every comment. every message. I love you.

The iron railing he clutches with his fingers as if it were a lifeline is freezing cold. The frosty wind creeps under his layers of clothing, his shirt and the normally soft sweater, which now feels like steel wool and scratches his skin. But he doesn't feel it, the biting cold that envelops him and tugs at him. 

Somehow, he doesn't feel anything anymore.

In front of him lies his home, warm lights illuminating the night, and on other days, this would be a sight that would calm him, that would feel like a welcome home after a grueling race weekend. But all he sees now is a city that no longer feels like home. 

And he knows why.

He sees it every time he closes his eyes. The moment that destroyed everything. The moment he thought would never happen. 

The moment he lost you. 

Charles notices the patio door opening behind him, but he doesn't turn around. After all, he knows exactly who is keeping him company right now. And he also knows the look he's being given, without taking his eyes off Monaco. 

“I've got you a hot chocolate.” His best friend's voice is quiet, as if he doesn't want to interrupt the race car driver's train of thought. “If you want.”

Charles hears ceramic on glass as Joris sets the cup down on the table behind him, but he keeps his gaze fixed on the houses in front of him. Whether he drinks the hot chocolate or his favorite tea or eats the hottest chili pepper, nothing can dispel the cold inside him.

It has taken hold there, its claws dug into his guts and its teeth sunk into his heart. It is so cold and icy that it feels like anesthesia, as if his organs are shutting down and refusing to continue working to keep him alive. As if his body knows exactly what it needs to do to kill the pain.

But unfortunately, the pain is omnipresent. 

Joris stands next to him at the railing of his terrace and also looks out over the houses. Charles sees his breath in his peripheral vision as he exhales. “You'll have to go back inside at some point. You'll freeze to death out there.”

He doesn't care enough about his best friend's concern to respond. Charles knows he can't stay out here forever. Eventually, he'll have to go back to the living room or go home or pack his bags to race somewhere else on this godforsaken planet.

He'll have to go on living as if he hadn't lost the love of his life. As if he hadn't pushed her away in the cruelest way he could imagine. As if everything were fine and the only person he ever truly loved hadn't fled the country and moved away to start a new life.

A life without him. 

He deserves the pain, in his opinion. The emptiness inside him, that hole in his heart that can never be filled as long as you're not with him. The weight of the fact that he alone can be blamed for all of this rests on his shoulders, pressing down on his chest like a panic attack that won't go away. He can't breathe, can't think. 

He can't be without you.

“Charles,” his friend tries again. 

“I'm begging you. You have to take care of yourself. I know how you feel, but it -”

“You have no idea how I feel,” he interrupts his best friend harshly, without looking at him. He notices that Joris is raising his hand to put it on his shoulder to comfort him, but the Monegasque takes a step to the side. The friendly hand drops again. 

“Charles -”

“Just stop.” His tone is hard and cold, and he doesn't sound like the man Joris has known all his life. Not even after that crappy race weekend here a few years ago, when Charles didn't even start the race, did he sound so - unfamiliar. 

The men just stand there staring ahead, only the whistling of the wind around them filling the otherwise silent night. Not even cars are driving through the streets, not a soul is to be seen. It's oppressive. 

Charles' fingers cramp around the metal. He takes a breath, then another, and then: “I'm sorry.” The usually warm voice that can light up any room with its laughter sounds tired and exhausted, as if the man it belongs to hasn't slept in days. 

He hasn't, at least not properly. Only a few hours at a time, and his sleep is plagued by nightmares, by your face, by the feeling of having lost you. And when he wakes up, there's that brief moment, that millisecond, when he forgets that you're gone - and as soon as reality catches up with him, his heart stops. 

Joris looks over at him, sees the emotionless expression on his best friend's face, and feels completely helpless. As the race car driver's longest friend, he usually knows what to say to help, to be a support - but how can he help someone who can't really be helped?

It hurts him to see him like this. So passionless, so detached, so unrecognizable. As if everything positive about Charles had also vanished with your disappearance. As if Monaco had become a little colder since then. 

“I'd really like to help you,” he tries again, looking at Charles' hands, which are reddened from the cold. “I just don't know how.” Or if his friend would even let him.

The Monegasque shakes his head slightly. “No one can help me.” His warm breath rises in little clouds in front of his face. 

“You sound like you've already given up,” Joris says quietly, almost reproachfully, but more out of concern than anger.

Charles shrugs his shoulders and lets them drop again. “Maybe I have,” he murmurs, as if he doesn't care whether anyone understands him or not. “Maybe it's easier that way.”

Joris scrapes his foot across the cold stone, as if movement could chase the helplessness from his body. He looks at his best friend, searching for something to hold on to - a glance, a word, anything. But Charles remains frozen, like a statue in the middle of Monaco's wintry silence. 

“Do you want to go somewhere? Have some tea if you don't want hot chocolate? Or just... be inside?” It sounds awkward, almost banal, but Joris means it. Anything would be better than standing there in the cold next to this broken man, unable to do anything. 

But Charles just shakes his head. “I don't want anything.” His voice is calm, but it sounds like glass about to shatter.

Joris nods slowly, more out of uncertainty than understanding. He had seen many sides of Charles - the loud, ambitious, focused athlete, the loving friend. But this side, so sharply indifferent, is new. And frightening. 

“You don't have to tell me everything,” he says after a while. "I don't want to pressure you, especially because I can't. I don't know what happens behind closed doors, but... I'm here. Even if I don't know how I can help you."

Charles doesn't respond. His gaze remains fixed on a point somewhere in the invisible nothingness of the night. But then, for just a split second, his face twitches. His jaw tenses as if he's trying to hold something back - a word, a tremor, a tear. 

His best friend sees it. And although Charles immediately regains his composure, smoothes the expression on his face, and lowers his gaze, the moment has not gone unnoticed. And a little hope flares up in Joris's chest.

“You still feel something, right?” he asks quietly. 

Charles breathes in through his nose, long and controlled. When he answers, his voice sounds cold again. “It doesn't matter.”

Joris shoves his hands into the pockets of his thick jacket and wonders for a moment how Charles isn't freezing in his sweater. He wants to say something, anything to dispel the coldness in his voice, but everything that comes to mind sounds too grand or too empty. So he remains silent for a moment. 

He looks over at him. “It matters to me,” he says finally.

Charles doesn't answer, continuing to stare straight ahead as if his friend isn't even there, but something about his gaze has changed. It's no longer the rigid emptiness of a moment ago—more like a kind of escape. As if he doesn't want to be seen. Not now, when something inside him is threatening to crumble. 

“I know you don't want anyone to get close to you,” Joris continues. “But I'm not just anyone. I'm not here because I feel sorry for you. I'm here because you're my friend. And because I can't stand by and watch you destroy yourself. And because I miss you. The real you.”

Again, no response. Then, very quietly: “The real me... is gone.”

Joris's heart tightens. “No,” he says gently. “He's hurt. But he's not gone.”

Charles's lips press together. For a moment, he looks like someone caught between two impulses - the need to push everything away and the desire to simply be heard. 

Joris takes a tentative step closer, carefully, as if walking on thin ice, trying to close the distance between them. “Let me at least do something,” he pleads, almost begging. “You don't have to go through this alone. I mean it, Charles.”

His jaw muscles tense again, his eyes stubbornly fixed on the darkness in front of him. “I'm alone,” he says in a strained voice. “And that's better this way.”

“For whom?” Joris' voice becomes firmer, more urgent. “For you? For her? For anyone?”

Charles' eyes narrow and his shoulders stiffen noticeably. “What do you mean?” he asks sharply, without looking at his best friend.

“You know exactly what I mean,” he replies calmly but unwaveringly. “Who is this better for? For you - because you're punishing yourself for what happened? For her - because you think you have to protect her? Do you mean the one who left you? Or do you mean Elena?” He pronounces the name carefully, as if touching a fresh wound. 

Charles's gaze hardens. A muscle twitches on his cheek. “Don't do this,” he hisses.

“No.” Joris's voice grows firmer. "You talk about how it's better to be alone, but everything about you screams that you're going down. And I want to know if you're doing it for yourself - or for her. For the one who took your oxygen away when she left, or for the one you showed up with on that damn red carpet, even though—“ He breaks off, shaking his head slightly. 

Charles snorts through his nose, his tone bitter. ”You don't know anything."

“Then explain it to me!” Joris snaps. “Explain it to me so I can finally understand why you act like closeness is poison and help is an attack. I was there, Charles. I was there when you broke down, when you stopped talking. And I'm still here, but you - you're doing everything you can to keep me out.”

Charles' hands are shaking now. Only a little, but enough to be noticeable. He takes his fingers off the railing and crosses his arms as if to hold himself together. The anger in his voice is cutting. “You don't understand, Joris!” Charles blurts out, his words sharper than intended. “You can't understand!”

His voice echoes between the walls, carrying the harshness of a man who has long since given up on saving himself. For a moment, it is not the controlled Charles who always knew how to behave, but someone standing on the edge - of the abyss, of exhaustion, perhaps even of himself. 

Joris remains calm, does not flinch, even though the blow hits home. “Then help me understand,” he says quietly. “I'm not here to judge you. I don't want to lose you.”

Charles laughs bitterly, without any joy. “You've already lost me,” he says. “Everyone has.”

“That's not true.”

“Yes, it is,” Charles snaps, and now there are tears in his voice, though not in his eyes. “She left me, Joris. Because I lied to her. Because I -” His voice breaks, he bites his lip as if he can hold back the truth. 

Joris's gaze softens. Finally, he thinks. At last, a crack in this impenetrable wall. 

Charles struggles with himself. The coldness is deep in his voice, his movements, his thoughts. Everything about him seems tense, on the verge of snapping. “I had to do it,” he whispers finally, barely audible. “It was the only way.”

“What was the only way?” Joris presses, taking half a step closer. “What exactly did you do that justifies all this?”

The athlete shakes his head vigorously, his gaze hard and at the same time haunted. “I can't explain it. It was - it was necessary.”

“Why? Because of Elena?” Joris' voice grows louder again. “Because of that damn gala? You took her with you even though you knew exactly who should have been standing by your side.”

Charles Kiefer tenses up but says nothing.

“Say something,” Joris presses, now completely stunned. “Say something, damn it!”

Charles looks up, his eyes flashing with suppressed anger—or perhaps overwhelm. “What am I supposed to say, Joris?” he asks sharply. “That I regret every day how things turned out? That I miss her every damn night? That I hate myself for letting her believe I didn't care about her?”

The words echo in the air, raw and unprotected. But as soon as he says them, Charles immediately withdraws, almost as if he has frightened himself. 

“Then tell her that,” Joris demands. “You can't just leave everything like this!”

Charles's gaze hardens. “You don't understand.”

“Because you won't explain it to me! I don't want to lose you, Charles. And I don't want to watch you destroy yourself.”

Another bitter laugh, hollow and cold. “Too late.”

Joris wants to say something in response, grab him, shake him - anything to break through that armor. But Charles takes a step back. The distance between them grows with every moment, not just physically, but tangibly. Inevitable. 

“Charles, please. You don't have to carry this alone.”

A flicker in Charles's eyes, barely noticeable. Maybe doubt. Maybe longing. But he immediately erases it, as if he can't bear it himself. “Yes, I have to,” he replies. “Because otherwise everything I've done has been for nothing.”

“You mean with Elena.” Joris' voice is cautious, tentative. “Was she - was she a protective measure? For the press? For her family? For your career? Or - for her?”

The Monegasque shakes his head. “Don't ask. Please.” He almost begs him, unable to talk about it.

Joris's chest tightens. He can see how hard it is for his friend to keep up the façade. How much strength it takes not to just break down. “I'm not asking because I'm curious,” he says quietly. "I'm asking because I understand you. Or at least I'm trying to.“

Charles looks away, turns away. The cold paints a thin film on his lips, but that's not the only reason he's shivering. For a moment, he looks so young, so vulnerable. Then he narrows his eyes, forcing himself to control himself. ”You can't understand,“ he says tonelessly. ”No one can."

“Try anyway.”

Charles just stands there, motionless and silent. It's as if he's fighting an internal battle - between the urge to finally say what's tearing him apart and the panic-stricken fear of what might be left behind.

Joris waits. Silent, caught between hope and helplessness.

But Charles just shakes his head, barely noticeably. Not defiantly, not dismissively, but simply—tired. 

“If I could say it,” his voice almost breaks, “I would.” And with these few sad words, he turns away. He leaves, not abruptly, not dramatically, but with the bitter determination that comes from despair. He hears Joris calling his name, but he doesn't stop, can't stop, as his footsteps fade quietly but definitively. On the street, the fog quickly engulfs him, the darkness behind it doing the rest.

Charles runs. Fast at first, then hurriedly, then slower again—but he keeps moving. As if he could run away from what is eating him up inside. The memories. The guilt. You.

Every street he crosses knows your shadow. Every streetlight reflects a night when you laughed, argued, understood each other without words. Even the wind carries your name in its cold breath. It's unbearable. 

His apartments – each one a prison of glass and luxury. Everywhere there are things of yours that you didn't take with you in your haste. Plants, books, a bottle of your favorite wine that he can't drink or even take out of the fridge because the emptiness in the compartment would be worse. A testament to the fact that you were his. A testament to the fact that he is still yours. 

He can't go there. He can't go near a bed where you once slept. No coffee machine that used to be the first thing he turned on in the morning for you. The walls whisper there. And he doesn't know how long he can stand not listening to them. 

So he walks on, further and further. The streets lose their familiar appearance, the city limits blur. At some point, he is no longer sure whether he is still in Monte Carlo. The lights become fewer and fewer. The night grows colder. But Charles keeps running. 

He runs until his legs grow heavy, until his thoughts are nothing but a single noise. Until he reaches the top.

The viewpoint.

Charles just stands there, staring out into the darkness, where the sea and the sky merge almost seamlessly. Only a few lights glimmer in the distance - boats perhaps, or houses on the coast. Everything seems far away, unreal. The wind tugs at his sweater, but he hardly notices. Only a single moment echoes in his head - the day he brought you here. 

It was shortly after you met, after the first night you shared the small apartment. Not love, not even friendship, but that strange, vibrant thing that arises when two souls recognize each other before they really know each other. 

He had hesitated to bring you here. It's a quiet place, a personal one. Not a place for superficiality or games. But one that laid him bare in a world where he constantly has to pretend and bend himself out of shape to live up to what is expected of him.

But you had looked at him - calm, open, curious. And he hadn't regretted it for a moment. 

"I like to come here when I'm stuck. When I'm stuck in a situation where I wish I could ask him for advice. Or I'm feeling lonely. I may not get an answer here, but somehow – I don't feel quite so alone anymore when I'm here," he had confided in you. He had spoken the words with such gravity that they lingered in the air for a long time, supporting you in your helplessness, even though he didn't know if it helped you in the slightest. 

Words that he now repeats alone on this cold earth, in the silence of the night, as if searching for an answer that would never come. 

Whenever he was here, he spoke to his father - not always out loud, often only in his thoughts. He felt his presence as if he were very close, despite all the years that had passed since he was no longer among the living. Back then, this place gave him stability, comfort, and a kind of inexplicable connection that helped him find his way. 

But today it feels different. Empty. Lonely. As if his father is gone, disappointed in his actions, in the man he had become - or the man he had not become. The closeness that once seemed so natural has disappeared, and with it, all sense of security. 

Charles bites his lip, silent tears on his cheeks, the cold creeping deep into his bones, but not as much as the weight on his heart.

He did it to protect you - from the glare of the spotlight, from the relentless scrutiny of the public, who knew too much about you. He had to pull the ripcord before you were completely lost in the maelstrom of rumors and expectations.

It wasn't a decision made out of recklessness or betrayal, but out of desperation. Out of a desire to create a refuge for you, even if it meant breaking himself in the process.

He couldn't warn you. You probably would have told him you could handle it - the stares, the rumors, the opinions. But that didn't matter. The press would have found out sooner or later. Your last name may not be particularly well known, but a Google search and a little digging would have been enough to bring everything to light.

Your parents are responsible, having done things that would have cast a shadow over your future long ago if they hadn't been dismissed earlier – decisions that made headlines at the time and could still distort your image in Formula 1 today. One wrong move, one wrong connection, and suddenly you would no longer be the subject of discussion, but your origins. Your family. Their mistake.

The public would have been merciless, judging you by their standards, condemning you for something you didn't do. And Charles couldn't let you break under that burden – not when you've already suffered so much.

So now he sits here, on the edge of the world, alone with the cold wind blowing through his tousled hair. The stars above him seem unreachable, as does the comfort he so desperately seeks. His hands are numb from the cold, his heart heavy with pain. 

On this night, he is nothing more than a shadow - lost between guilt and love, between what was and what will never be. And as darkness envelops him like a cloak, he knows that he will carry this pain with him forever. 

He thought of all the deals he had made in his life - promises he had made to give himself and others something to hold on to. But none were as important to him as the one promise he made to protect you.

No matter how deep the darkness, no matter how painful the journey. No matter how much you would hate him for the heartbreak - he would never break that promise.

And he would rather die than break that deal.

💫 end of deal - book one 💫

[kxsagi]

GIRL I visited your blog because of the titles right it's very Tiktok-esque I have a random idea, not a req of reader and Isagi. Inspired by the #ihatemybf trend but like hear me out Imagine if reader is a prodigy in a different field and has a very questionable close friendship with Kaiser, honestly looks like you dk how you befriend him either, you look confused, Isagi is equally confused because you seem too good to be friends with Kaiser, and your first interaction is him giving you the "blink if you need help" gesture lmao

“𝐦𝐚𝐦𝐚, 𝐚 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮”

a/n: LMAO THANK YOU, i think i am very brainrotted 

and i’m not sure if i did this right, but i had a blast writing this lolll

you’re the kind of girl who makes everything look easy. prodigy-level smart, unintentionally intimidating, and somehow always five steps ahead of everyone else without even trying. you’re not just good at your field, you own it. like if intelligence had a face, it’d be yours in perfect lighting, doing a soft smirk as you cracked a code or revolutionized a new tech niche or cured the common cold just for fun. 

so when isagi sees you laughing, genuinely laughing, with michael freaking kaiser, he does a double take so aggressive he almost sprains his neck. 

“what the hell,” he mutters under his breath, blinking like maybe if he squints hard enough, the image will change and you’ll suddenly be talking to someone reasonable. or at least someone who isn’t kaiser, the human equivalent of an overconfident designer perfume commercial. 

kaiser has his arm slung around your shoulder like he owns you, and you’re just kind of... allowing it? and smiling?? not in fear or pain??? 

isagi watches in real-time as you pause mid-conversation with kaiser, glance around casually, and then lock eyes with isagi across the room. 

his reaction is instant. hand slowly lifts. index finger and thumb form the tiniest rectangle. he gives you a solemn blink twice if you need help gesture. 

your eyes narrow. 

and then you – you – have the audacity to respond with the most deadpan, “nah i’m good” expression. you even offer a thumbs up. like this situation is normal. 

isagi’s whole brain is just static. 

later, he corners you in the hallway with the concerned energy of someone who thinks their friend might’ve been lured into a pyramid scheme. “hey. uh. can i ask something?” 

“sure,” you say, casually sipping an iced coffee and looking entirely too composed for someone who’d just willingly stood next to kaiser for 45 uninterrupted minutes. 

“… how do you know kaiser?” 

you blink. “honestly?” pause. “no idea.” 

“what.” 

“we just… started talking one day. he made fun of my thesis title. i insulted his hair. then we ended up at an art museum somehow and now he texts me daily with memes and cursed advice.” 

isagi stares at you like you’ve just announced you’re legally married to a rat. 

“you don’t even like soccer.” 

“i don’t,” you nod, perfectly serene. “but he said i have main character energy and asked if i wanted to do a dramatic slow-mo walk with him to annoy his rival. i respect that kind of commitment.” 

“… that was me, wasn’t it.” 

“yup.” 

there is a long pause. isagi looks at the floor like he’s questioning every decision he’s ever made. 

“… so like. are you guys… dating or…?” 

you wrinkle your nose, immediately offended. “ew. no. god, no.” 

a beat. 

“… why not?” 

you shoot him a curious glance, like you’re just noticing him for the first time. “you jealous?” 

“what– no– i just– i mean– you’re way too normal for him–” 

“then maybe you should do something about it, yoichi.” 

and then you walk off. sipping your coffee. smiling like you didn’t just wreck his internal logic with a casual flirt and a knowing smirk. 

in the distance, kaiser watches with the proud grin of a man who knew exactly what he was doing when he introduced you two. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[dixonsbugaboo]

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦.

ꜱᴀᴊᴀ ʙᴏʏꜱ🎵

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝟢 - 𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵

Fem!Reader x Saja Boys

Summary: Reincarnated in the body of a demon from the last film you saw before you died, you have decided to change the script of the story in your favour. But you didn't count on your presence in the story changing everything.

Warnings: slow burn, swearing, mentions of death, kinda cringe

Word count: 700+

A/N: the K-Pop Demon Hunter fever is SO ALIVE. I just need more content... so I decided to jump in the fanfic like many others to try and get something out... I have so many ideas!! I hope you like this one! No proofread btw, sorry about that

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

Every day was the same: feeling pity, torturing the human souls that Gwi-ma didn't devour, feeling anger, remembering a past too distant and painful, and trying to remember what had brought you to that point, to hell itself. It was a daily thing for you: a demon.

Or that would be the case if you really were a demon; that is, if you had sold your soul to Gwi-ma in a deal… but you never did that. You just… kicked the bucket. Dead meat. Gone. R.I.P.

You were born human, grew up and lived as a human all your life: a normal life. You studied art and decided to specialise in music production because of your passion for pop, especially Korean pop. You were good at it, but it wasn't easy to make a living, especially when you came from nothing and had no contacts. And just when life was starting to smile on you (a K-Pop girl group had heard one of your demos and wanted you to work with them to release it), you died. You didn't quite remember how… You had decided to celebrate that you had signed the production contract for the song, gone up to the roof of the building where you lived to have a drink… and then… did someone push you? who?

The fact is that you were now a demon. But at the same time, you weren't exactly you… At least, physically. Somehow, you had been reincarnated as a demon. It sounds strange, but that's how it was. You had their memories and yours at the same time. Strange that now your soul was in a body that had sold its own… But that's the way it was. Take it or leave it.

The funny thing is that, as far as you could imagine, Gwi-ma wasn't real in your world… nor were the hunters, nor any of those elements of the last movie you were able to watch (about seven or eight times) before you died. So not only were you reincarnated, but you were now WITHIN the world and plot of the movie. And in the body of the most secondary possible villain: unnamed demon number 435, or something like that.

And the worst part is that you knew exactly what was going to happen: Jinu would make a deal with Gwi-ma, gather a demonic k-pop boy band, meet Rumi, everything would go down the drain because of betrayals and misunderstandings… and you would be trapped under the barrier, or worse.

And that couldn't be.

First: you have already died once, and once is more than enough. You were miserable enough as a demon to continue that filthy life for centuries, or die before you could do anything about it.

Second: you knew the movie, you knew what was going to happen… and you wouldn't let Jinu and Rumi's relationship end that way. Jinu didn't deserve to ‘die’. You would do anything for that ship. Even sink in it if needed.

Third: … What if, since you could keep Jinu and Rumi as a real couple, you could also manage to pair Zoey and Mira with a member of the Saja Boys? Which, by the way, your curiosity was killing you; they hadn't had enough screen time, and you'd give anything to interact with them to really get to know what they were like. Hell, you'd love to talk to all of them (Jinu included) like you did with them. It would be a dream come true, wouldn't it?

And last but not least: What would it hurt to change the plot of the movie a little bit to save unnecessary drama and deaths (yours included)?

So you got down to work, notebook in hand, and started planning what you loved doing most: writing music.

You would produce a complete discography for the Saja Boys, make them successful, teach them that they could regain their souls (all of them, without exception), and together defeat Gwi-ma. No casualties.

All thanks to a skill you had had since you entered that body: Gwi-ma couldn't get inside your head. At all.

So ladies and gentlemen, it's time to turn the script around in your favour….

Or at least that was your plan, before you realised that your involvement in the story would change everything.

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

Ch. 1

A/N: Honestly, I don't know what to expect from this. It's literally an introduction to the story, so to speak. But the idea had been floating around in my head for some time and I needed to write it down as soon as possible. I hope you like it.

See you soon,

Nun🐇​

[mona-risms]

Imagine Rumi with a patient girlfriend? And I'm not talking about "oh, she's an hour late, that's fine, I can still wait." No. I mean patient patient. Considering Rumi is a Demon Hunter and her girlfriend doesn't know about it so sometimes Rumi accidentally misses their planned date around 7 times in a row where you waited for (possibly) hours upon hours, and the only excuse she can give is "idol work".

But to her absolute surprise, in the midst of her ranting her apology to the point that you couldn't even understand what she's saying, you just reach over and cup her face, planting a soft kiss from her forehead down to her lips to make her shut up. She stands there like 🧍🏻‍♀️. And you just give her a small smile then hit her with:

"Calm down. You're apologizing like you failed to save my life from certain death. It's just a date, we have more days ahead of us to plan another one, love. For now, how about we go home and cuddle instead, you look like you need a long rest, yeah?" With the most gentle voice too?? Oh she's marrying you alright.

Oh. Oh she's weak for you :(

Every time she has to go to slay demons and completely miss a date or smth, she always gets way too into her head about it. Like are you gonna hate her? This is like the nth date in a row, how are you not fed up yet? What in the fuck is she supposed to do???? She doesn't wanna lose you ☹️. But every single time she is met with the most patient acceptance known to man, and she really really cannot help but overanalyse that too bc what if you're just being nice?

But then eventually she genuinely just realises that oh. No you're just genuinely patient. You actually mean it. You're not reprimanding her or angry or anything, you don't mind. Hell, you're kissing her without any bitterness whatsoever—you're offering to rest with her!! Even call it a nap date as well :3c bc you can see that she id trying so hard, even if you don't actually know what with. When she realises all of this, her heart feels so so so full and she tears up and cries a bit in your embrace bc oh. She didn't think she'd ever have something like this😞😞😞

I think this would be another main reason why she wants to push the Golden release and create the Golden Honmoon, in this case. Because once that's done and over with, not only will her patterns go away and the people will be safe, but then she can start making up for all the lost time that was taken from her bc of Gwi-Ma's demons popping up all over the place. Once the movie's events are over and done with? She's making sure that every ounce of free time is spent on you and that you are gonna be spoiled in EVERY WAY—gifts, kisses, affections, all the dates you can want!!! All to say thank you for waiting and being patient with her :3c and she'll keep being thankful even after death do you part :3c

[zulashi-the-writer]

A Fever Dream

Romance x Girlfriend

Credit goes to therosettasun on TikTok

Summary: to love but never to forget, how could someone claim to love you but disappear when you needed them most

1st/2nd person pov

His eyes stared out into the crowd emotionless at the screaming fans, the bittersweet smile plastered on his lips as he blew out hearts then his eyes caught it the glimpse of something familiar, his heart fluttered seeing the sway of your hair, it couldn't be you, could it? He didn't get time to check as the red mist wrapped around his body taking him back to the demon world.

He couldn't get you out his head the thought of his past life resurfacing, all the memories flashing in front of his eyes, oh how he'd do anything to be back in your arms, to feel your warmth and hear your angelic voice say his name, but the remembrance of old memories comes fondness but also regret.

He'd look for you everywhere, hoping you'd be there looking straight back at him but you never were, all the girls screaming for his attention none of them could compare to you, he yearned to feel like that one more time to feel loved by you.

He decided to sneak away after the idol award trails following the exact route he used to take, his heart ached as he saw your favourite restaurant with a for sale sign blocking the door and the small playground you used to take him to sit on the swings with hazard warnings all over and the gate chained shut.

He wandered through every ally way, remembering everything that happened and watching the memories like an hallucination, from the kitten you found and nurtured cradling it in your arms keeping it from the rain to where you stood shouting at him when you were fighting, he was so lost in thought but his feet moved so perfectly knowing exactly where they need to go.

He looked at all the old things you pointed out when he'd walk you home, the neighbourhood kids that always played games on the sidewalk you boasted how the kids you would have together would win every single one, but the kids were no longer there they'd all probably in their teenage years now, a lump started forming in his throat as he started nearing your house.

He didn't even know you still lived there maybe it was his imagination playing tricks on him, maybe it was Gwi-ma being cruel, he tried swallowing the lump in his throat he peered around the corner his eyes softening as he saw your house, his heart fluttering as he saw all the modifications you spoke about, the beautiful colour garden that was maintained modestly, his steps faltered as he came to the path leading up to the door.

His eyes wondered over the porch, his eyes caught sight of the small engraving he made on the banister it was your initials in a heart his eyes squinted seeing another initial added he rolled his shoulders the feeling of uncertainty feeling him up once more, his eyes moved as he slowly stepped closer he saw the shoes he brought you for your birthday settled by the door frame he remember how you always wanted them but didn't have the money, his brows knitted together seeing pink kids show next to them, did you have a kid?.

A feeling of jealousy filled him, you found someone else? his eyes fluttered in sadness, he lifted his hand to knock on the door but his body froze what is he supposed to say 'oh I made a selfish deal with a demon king that's why I left you' he bowed his head in distress his eyes bolting up as he heard the click of the door his breath hitching as it opened, he didn't dare to blink scared that he was going to blink and you'd be gone.

"Yn" he watched your face panic, your chest raising up and down due to your shallow breathes "it's me" his voice was low just above a whisper he watched your eyes squint your eyes filling with curiosity then sadness "it can't be" your voice cracked your head turned as small footsteps charged towards you "mama" you bent down picking up your little girl keeping her close in your arms, Romance stood shocked seeing this little child with pink hair similar to his "is she..." the words caught in his throat.

Even you didn't know what to say he disappeared never said goodbye now he's here "uh-yeah" I murmured before whispering her to go play in the back she nodded quickly and ran off as I put her down "where did you go" I tried sounding emotionless but my sadness showed I hugged myself giving me a little comfort "I made a deal with a bad person" his voice dwindled "I'm so sorr-"

"No" I muttered interrupting him "you don't get to apologise, you left me when I needed you" I paused catching my breathe the anger boiling up in my chest "we needed you" I dropped my head to the ground tears streaming down my cheeks, my eyes stared at the ground fill of anger and confusion "why" I asked but he didn't answer I looked up glaring at him "why" I yelled pushing him making him stumble back.

He stared at me not saying anything his mouth opened and closed silently, he stood up straight composing himself "if I could go back in time I would my love, I never wanted to hurt you" his voice was soft holding so much emotion "but you did you weren't there you hurt me, hurt us" I shook my head weakly my body collapsing to the ground his body colliding with mine as he caught me holding me against him "I wish I was I swear, I've missed you every day" his tears slipped down his cheeks falling onto your hair.

My fists balled up his shirt as I pressed my face into his neck, my tears wetting his shirt "you left us" my words were hushed as he stroked my hair like he used to when I was stressed "I know" he said his voice breaking his lips shakily pressing a soft kiss against my head before taking in a shaky breath.

"I promise to never leave you again"

[sloaneispunk]

"the thrill of a double-life"

s3!frontman x you. (season 3 spoilers)

summary-> the only time in-ho would make an exception in the games.

you met in-ho when you were playing ‘red light, green light’ he had pulled you behind him before thanos could push you over with the other unfortunate players.

“stay behind me, it can’t detect movement behind, see.” he told you, waving his hand behind his back where only you could see.

you didn’t know why he saved you, or what he saw in you, but you were more than grateful.

after that, he never left your side.

when he had approached gi-hun, joining his team, he’d made sure to bring you along, leading you like bee attracted to sweet nectar.

you didn’t trust him at first, only giving him one word answers when he asked you questions about yourself. but as the days went by, your walls started coming down.

maybe it was the fact that during every meal, he would give you half of his portion. or maybe it was how he protected you from thanos when he tried taking you away from him.

either way, by the third day, you had placed your life in his hands.

unbeknownst to you, every night as you slept in his bed, he would disappear, heading back to the control room.

“why are you protecting her? she isn’t part of your plan, in-ho.” the masked officer would ask every night and yet, he’d only receive the same answer.

“she will be.”

in-ho stayed up watching you sleep from behind the screens, his eyes always finding it’s way back onto the monitor where you were. he knew his actions would sooner or later have consequences, but he wasn’t ready to face them just yet.

gi-hun was his target, not you. yet somehow you always creep into the back of his mind like a plague slowly infecting him.

but he wasn’t dying, he was being brought back to life.

after ‘mingle’, everyone was rooted in despairing and devastation. they were all just soulless bodies walking back like a herd of zombies. but he didn’t care, not for anyone. anyone but you.

as you laid on his lap sobbing, he threaded his fingers through your hair, it was like a lullaby being sung that stilled the angry waters of emotion that flowed through you. he never shifted, not once, he adored the feeling of you curled up on him, your head so close to his chest he could hear every sniffle and whimper that left your lips, finding the rhythm of your heartbeat against his.

everything was perfect.

until the rebellion formed.

“if we don’t strike now, we might not get another chance!” gi-hun yelled, trying to convince the players to join him in his desperate attempt to take the frontman down.

“we are putting everyone else in danger, gi-hun. it’s not logical!” in-ho challenged, arm tightening around your shoulders as if you were going to be ripped away from him.

“look, if you don’t want to come that’s fine but we are doing this.”

god knew he wanted to stay with you, protect you from the harm that was coming your way. but at the same time, he couldn’t risk gi-hun finding the control room, it would ruin the games. his games.

so he went, leaving you in the care of the old lady and her son.

the worst part wasn’t him leaving, it was him not returning.

you broke down when you realised only dae-ho and hyun-ju had made it back. you had lost too many people in the games, and you thought you had lost in-ho too.

after that, you refused to eat, drink, or even sleep. no matter how many times hyun-ju pleaded, you just sat and stared.

little did you know, in-ho watched your every move. seeing you slowly loose yourself was the most painful, intense feeling in-ho had ever felt in his years of being frontman. in his heart, he silently begged with hyun-ju for you to take care of yourself, but it didn’t seem to work.

“why do you keep observing her?” the masked officer would question again, noticing his strange, out of pocket behaviour.

“i don’t know.” he could only mutter out as his eyes lingered on you. he’d imagine if the circumstances had been different, if the rebellion had never formed, he would still have you in his arms where he swore to the god’s above that you belonged.

you were silently picking at your food as the team’s voices were fading in and out. you couldn’t make out what they were saying as their mouths moved but in a way, it was comforting.

suddenly, the alarm blared at the doors drew open, revealing the masked guards carrying an all too familiar black box.

the air stood still as they slowly placed it onto the cold, hard ground. nobody dared to move at first, waiting to see if anyone stepped up. but nobody did.

you felt like you were being drawn by the box, as if it was calling out your name, pulling you in. so you got up, carefully making your way to the centre of the room.

you felt dozens of pairs of eyes watching intensely as you lifted the lid.

you stumbled back.

it was gi-hun.

“gi-hun? gi-hun! oh my god!” you gasped, checking his pulse as the rest of the team came to your side. “he’s still alive!”

suddenly he jerked awake, wheezing.

“y/n?!”

“i-i thought you were dead! oh my god.” you cried, smushing him, hugging him tightly.

“why am i here?” you heard him whisper, barely audible but you caught it.

“what do you mean?”

“they killed everyone else, killed jung-bae, so why did they let me go?” he questioned and you pulled away.

you didn’t know either.

then he got up, stumbling, tripping over his own two feet as he headed right for the guards.

“why did you let me live?!” he shouted in rage, his throat hoarse as he cried out. “why…”

the guards ignored his wails, taking him by the arms and dragging him back towards the bunks where they handcuffed him to the metal frame. and with one swift punch, silenced him.

when he came to, you were the first thing he saw. you were sound asleep beside him, your hand placed on his.

“y/n?”

you stirred awake, eyes slowly blinking open. “you okay?” you asked.

he shook his head.

“i’m sorry, gi-hun, i really am.”

“it’s not your fault, y/n…i’m sorry too.”

“what for?”

he sighed deeply, hesitating before he spoke again. “for losing young-il.”

oh.

you felt tears brimming your eyes but you quickly wiped them away, wanting to stay tough for gi-hum. he could use any last bit of hope in this place.

“you tried.” you answered, sniffling.

“we both did.”

in-ho watched the interaction between you and gi-hun. on one hand he was thankful that you had regained some sense of optimism again, thanks to gi-hun. but on the other, he knew that gi-hun had broken, which meant that he wasn’t going to be able to protect you. not like he did.

he couldn’t sleep that night. not like he ever could in the first place. his mind raced as he thought about the next game, it was brutal, inhumane even. with the VIP’s joining as guards too, you didn’t stand a chance, not without him.

so he came up with a plan; he would pose as one of the guards be there when you drew your team and played the game.

he knew that by now, player 100 and his team of lunatics would be eyeing you, like vultures circling the corpse of a dead animal. he had to intervene.

the next day, he put on the red jacket, mask in hand as he stood in front of the mirror.

in-ho was living off a double life once again, torn between two roles that he created, two different personas that lived in him, slowly pulling him apart.

he made his way down and blended in with the other guards in red as they entered the next game.

as the team selection begun, his gaze searched for you, his heart racing, praying that the okd trash hadn’t gotten to you yet overnight.

he let out a sigh of relief when he finally found you in the midst of the crowd. you stood silently beside gi-hun, breath held as the players were divided into the red and blue team.

“player 450”

it was your turn.

you just had to get it over with, no matter what, you knew gi-hun had your back and you had his.

blue.

walking towards the blue team, you caught something in your peripheral vision-a guard silently watching your every move. it wasn’t in a intimidating way, but more of a caring one.

in-ho smiled under the mask, he wanted to run to you, pull you back into his arms but he couldn’t. not yet.

“player 456.”

you had your fingers crossed.

red.

nononono

gi-hun locked eyes with you, seeing your panicked state. he mouthed, ‘it’s okay’ and you could do nothing but nod.

as the rules of the game were explained, every player in each team was handed a box. inside yours revealed to be a small key, capable of opening the locked doors in the game they said.

but as you looked over to the red, you saw that they didn’t get a key…they received a knife.

“in order for the players in the red team to pass the game, you must eliminate one player from the blue team.” the guards clarified.

your blood ran cold. it was as if you’d forgotten how to breath.

“eliminate?” you heard gi-hun ask.

“yes, that is correct. you will now have five minutes to exchange roles with another player if they wish the same.”

gi-hun wasted no time running to you. the minute you felt his hands on your face, you broke down.

“just swap roles with me, i can find a place to hide, you’ll just have to-”

you shook your head, “i-i can’t kill anyone.”

from the the far corner of the room, in-ho stood, hid mind racing under the mask. he knew that it was inevitable but now that it was happening, he was defeated.

‘please switch teams, y/n’ he thought, watching you push gi-hun away over and over again.

“no, gi-hun! you and i both know i can’t do it…” you sighed, “i’ll stand a better chance hiding.”

he knew it was no use fighting, so he agreed. he promised that he would find you after he ensured his safety and you didn’t need to ask what that meant, you already knew.

you snuck a glance at dae-ho, he was cowering in a corner. he was gi-hun’s target. but there wasn’t any point trying to get him to change his mind anymore. once he was set, you knew that he would stop at nothing to go through with it.

3..2..1

you ran. to where? you didn’t know but you had to put distance between you and the red team.

for the first fifteen minutes, it was easy. you had almost memorized every twist and turn of the place like the back of your hand. you occasionally took breaks in the various safe rooms you could find, leaning against the door so no one could break in.

but when it got down to the last fifteen minutes, people started to grow desperate. those players that had never laid a hand on anyone else in the games started to become feral, taking down the first person they could find.

you observed the walls as you stepped out of your hiding spot, needing to change every few minutes to avoid getting caught.

they were now covered and smeared with bloody handprints, you shuddered as the screams of players bounced off every layer of wall.

suddenly, you heard the voice of the same old man that had convinced more than half of the players to stay and continue play, it was growing closer. you turned to run but you were too late, his team appearing from the other end, you were trapped.

“where’s your guardian angel, girl?” player 100 mocked, “oh that’s right, he listened to the lunatic and look where he ended up.”

you bit the inside of your cheek. your fists clenched and you narrowed your eyes, you couldn’t beat them, but you’d rather make it even.

then they charged all at once. you dodged and fought back but it was no use against the sharp edged knifes in their hands.

suddenly, you heard gi-hun call out to you, “y/n, run!” he stepped in, holding them back as you ran off, not stopping to look behind as their taunting voices pierced your ears.

you looked up at the clock, three minutes remaining. you passed different players at every turn, but the atmosphere was different. they were driven by greed and fear, it gave them the cofidence drugs give junkies when they took it. there wasn’t a trace of humanity left in the place anymore.

finally, you spotted an unlocked door, you pulled the key from the chain around your neck, quickling unlocking the door but then you froze, it was already open.

as the door creaked open with a loud squeak, you found yourself face to face with nam-gyu, thanos’ sidekick throughout the past few games.

“ah! how nice of you to join me!” he cheered, but his pupils were blown out, he was higher than the tip of mount everest.

you slowly backed away, raising your hands up as if you were pleading with him, asking him to spare you.

“oh, nono that’s not how this game works.” he laughed, stalking toward you, twisting the blade in his palm.

with a battle cry, he lunged at you. you shut your eyes, your hands held up above your face like it was going to protect you from the crazed man.

then, there was a loud gunshot. your senses overwhelmed you, feeling a splash on your face, the air suddenly smelling like smoke and blood, your ears ringing with the buzz of the gun fired.

you waited.

but the impact never came.

when you finally gathered enough courage to open your eyes once again, you found nam-gyu on the floor, his head blown open, trails of his brains covering the ground.

you turned to where the shot came from, seeing a masked guard with his gun still drawn.

you were frozen in place, every fiber in your body tensed up with fear, your feet rooted to the ground.

“follow the arrows on the walls, you’ll find the exit.” the guard ordered.

you just stayed where you were, you could hear your own ragged breaths, but still your chest was tight. the guard immediately dropped his gun, he made his way to you, taking your hand. “if you want to live, you have to leave. now!”

you could only slowly nod. with one last look at the lifeless body on the floor, you took off.

following the blood-drawn arrows, you managed to find the exit. on the other side, you saw gi-hun waiting expectantly at the door.

“y/n! are you okay?!” he asked, voice frantic.

“i’m okay.” you cracked a smile as he pulled you into a hug.

“oh, i knew you’d find your way out.” he sighed into your hair.

“yea…i did.”

that night, you didn’t tell him about the masked guard that had saved your life, you didn’t find the need to.

gi-hun watched over you as you laid in bed, but still unable to fall asleep. he was at the foot of your bed, keeping watch, but the only thing he spotted wasn’t the players, it was the guards walking towards the both of you.

“he would like to see you.” they said.

“who’s he?” you asked gi-hun, the expression on his face dropping into a stoned, scowling look.

“the frontman.”

stepping into the frontman’s room, you felt your stomach drop.

there was no noise, no sound. not even the soft humming of the air conditioning, it was just quiet. not the kind you would want to hear when you were going to be face to face with someone like the fromtman.

it was like death hung in the air, one wrong move and you would face a cruel punishment.

“player 456, player 450. welcome.” the frontman said, inviting you to sit down on the sleek black sofa in fromt of him.

you moved to sit, but gi-hun caught your arm. “be careful.” he warned.

it seemed stupid, but you never denied the man that saved your life.

“please.” the frontman said once more, this time more assertive. “you two must be tired.”

gi-hun only let you sit down after he himself garunteed that it was safe.

happy with the both of you, the frontman sighed.

“do you know how long it took to formulate a masterpiece like this?”

you stayed silent.

“of course you don’t… but you,” his gloved finger pointed at you, “and you,” then moved to gi-hun. “messed it up within a few days.”

“we’re just trying to save everyone before you kill them off eventually.” you spat and he went quiet.

your words had stung him. you were always so sweet to him, never raising your voice once.

in-ho didn’t know what came over him, but he reached for his mask, pulling it over his head as your eyes grew wide.

“young-il?” you whispered under your breath as gi-hun’s eyes filled with tears of anger.

“y/n…” in-ho tried to reach for you but you flinched, pulling away. he nodded, he didn’t need to press on. then he turned to gi-hun, “i’m sorry about jung-bae.”

that did it. gi-hun jumped off the couch, grabbing in-ho by his collar, screaming. but he couldn’t hurt him, he didn’t have time to before the masked guards stormed in, yanking him away.

“please take him back to his bed.” in-ho ordered, brushing himself off, adjusting his collar.

“no! young-il, why?! you killed them! let me go!” he screamed, thrashing in their grip as the elevator doors closed.

it was just you and him now.

“y/n.” he tried again, his voice softer now, as if he was speaking to a little kid. soft and gentle.

you didn’t answer, you couldn’t.

you didn’t remember crying but by now, your cheeks were drenched in salty streams.

“shh, it’s okay, why’re you crying? i’m here now.” he hushed, wrapping his arms around you, kissing the crown of your head.

“you k-killed my friends.” he heard you cry harder, but he only shook his head.

“i saved you, y/n.. i did it so you could live.”

then you remembered the guard that had took down nam-gyu, “did you-”

“yes, and i’ll do it over and over again if that meant saving you.”

you looked up, gazing into his eyes. but he wasn’t the man you knew anymore, this wasn’t in-ho. it was the frontman.

then he drew something from his pocket, a custom made blade. it shimmered in the dim yellow lights, almost beautiful.

“there’s no doubt that that old trash will make you a target in the next game.” he said, his free hand cupping your face, “kill them before they kill you.”

when he got no reply, he simply dropped it into your pocket.

“it’s going to be morning call soon, you have to get back.”

“please don’t make me…”

in-ho took your hand, leading you to the elevator.

“make the right choice, y/n.” he said as he gently guided you in, pressing the level.

then, with a kiss to your cheek, he started to walk away.

just as the door begun to close, he gave you one last advice.

“oh and y/n? your last and final game would be sky squid game.”

you had one day.