#dare I say... not give af

[theshipdiaries]

saw this and immediately thought of kastle and klaroline!

[widevibratobitch]

.

[loftwinglullaby]

wow thank you so much

[dilftaroooo]

Being perverted strikes naturally within Gojo, so when the idea of being a step brother comes to mind during sex he can’t help but act upon the roleplay. You think he’s gross for it, but his questionable passion for it keeps you engaged (oddly enough).

☆word count: 6.3k+

★tags/tw(18+): dark content + stepc*st roleplay + foot f*tish + toe sucking (f!recieving) + dubcon (because reader is unsure at first) + reader is college-aged/gojo is 28 + squirting + age gap + vanilla sex + pubic hairs + scent kink + implied ass eating + hesitancy + reader is afab using she/her pronouns + mentioned latex kink + use of 'satoru-nii' + established relationship + gojo is a lil' mean + and sassy + lots of kissing + nipple play + creampie + getting caught having s*x + exploring kinks + praise kink + pet names + skull fucking + gag reflex + snot + we're talkin' 'big beefy whore with black compression shirt' gojo here + reader is a bit inexperienced + questions of certain kinks.

☆a/n: hey alexa, play 'poundtown by sexyy red' ayyye come suck a bitch's toooes. enjoy y'all, this shit nasty af.

You’re not a kink shamer.

You understand the sexual thrills of getting off to something that turns one on to the point of fulfilled ecstasy–weighted breaths and skin coated with a sheen of sweat from the unorthodox fantasies that provoke the human mind and manipulate the human body, keeping them bound to the shackles of pleasure as their perversion engulfs them whole. It feels beautiful–ethereal, dare you say, and you get that. Who wouldn’t want to feel blissfully satisfied just by mere thought alone? 

Now, exclusive of the deranged fetishes involving children, scat, or whatever fucked up shit out there that's befitting for a lowlife, you would say that you're a pretty open-minded individual. Always tolerating the naughty anecdotes told by your friends’ concerning their past hookups, distinctively remembering the giggles you all shared when reciting one of the stories from a particular friend that had them clad in a latex suit, lips decorated with ruby red, and three-inched heels coming into contact with the cheek of their previous partner as they squirmed in shameless arousal.

‘It was pathetic to see, but I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t get me going…’ And that mutuality between both parties is what makes it even more fun. They both get a kick out of something they enjoyed, so what’s to hate about it?

You’re not a kink shamer–not at all.

You and your boyfriend of a year and four months, Satoru Gojo, always carried the qualities of a couple depicted in unrealistic romance movies: the nuzzle of the nose that tickled your cheek before delving in for a peck, the surprise hugs he’d startle you with as you prepared an early morning breakfast, as well as the intertwined fingers while you both make your way to his favorite bakery (his kisses are even more sugared after scarfing down the kikufuku he’d order no more than a minute ago).

You always felt like the princess to his prince, stumbling over your gown to keep up with his hurried footsteps as you both venture through the gracious evergreen of a mythical forest. You have no time to remove the pastel violet and pink petals slotting themselves in your locks since your hand remains occupied with Satoru’s, moving exquisitely to the melodic song of the nightingales. It was a dream from a childhood storybook.

Moreover, what was revealed in public was, undoubtedly, the same in the comfort of your bedroom, living at your university’s on-campus apartment that you shared with two indifferent roommates. He would frequently stop by after work to spoil you with his affection. Always asking how your day was and whether or not you finished your assignments.

He was a tad bit older than you–twenty-eight and going, but you didn’t mind the age gap, it gives you all the more reason to tease him for his ‘old’ age, to which he responds with a pout and furrowed eyebrows, ‘Oh, how mean! Who would’ve ever thought that my darling angel could be such a devil…?!’ He’d say with faux anguish. He knows you’re only playing around–such the jokester.

Though, he couldn’t say the same for you in bed. Protected by the warmth of your sheets, you relished at how accustomed your body and soul were to his heartfelt transactions, vanilla-flavored sex, so sweet and tasteful on your tongue as he kissed you with want. Tongues twirling a sensual dance as your lips combine in rhythmic harmony. You also loved it when he coos in your ear, reminding you of how you’re so good to him before wrapping his lips around puffy areolas in a way that makes you writhe.

He’s so gentle with you. Handling a fine china cabinet with the utmost care, he makes sure he touches you in ways that wouldn’t break your fragile body. And when your nude skin presses against his as a result of his thrusts to your core, he reminds himself to get you moaning in his ear and get your hands gripping against the muscular curvature of his back.

It feels good. It always feels good. So, why does a part of you feel…bored?

The love is there, you won’t question that. When you come, you feel as though you’re one with the stars. And above all, he praises you. It’s nothing new, but in this context, you like to be his ‘pretty girl’ whenever the tip of his nose pushes against your wet clit. So, why do you feel like something is missing? You don’t know.

You haven’t been in many relationships. The last one you remember was in high school, dating a boy who only loved you out of teenage fever, and you shamefully admit that you reciprocated his confession. You were both young and unknowing of what the aspects of ‘love’ really meant. You never went past the boundary of hand-holding and cheek-kissing, so it remained stagnant until the moment you both broke up.

None of it was mutual, however. You can recall how distraught you were as you bawled in your mother’s arms, asking her what you did wrong while she soothed you with maternal pets to the crown of your head. That being said, it’s safe to say that you really don’t know what’s missing from you and your boyfriend’s intercourse–like, really.

But, thankfully, Satoru makes up for what you lack, telling you not to fret since he knows a lot and letting you know how much he’s been wanting to get to this point of intimacy with you–wanting to whisk his girlfriend away from the comfort zone that you’ve grown so attached to.

Satoru is without exception, enthusiastic to portray more during times of intercourse, yearning to teach you more than just the fluffy, domestic sex you both indulge in. It’s lovely and all, bleh bleh, whatever, Satoru gets it, but, man, what he wouldn’t do to see you on your knees, between his sinewy thighs parted for your form as he hovers above you, your head tilted upwards to take in his thick shaft through wet lips.

He’d make sure his red, throbbing tip hits the back of your throat so he can hear that sickening gag scurry out your mouth paired with the sloppy froth of your saliva slapping against his heavy balls with each quick thrust. He’d be too occupied to find the snot dribbling from your nose revolting because you’d be taking him in so deep.

That’s forever been his little fantasy–that amongst the vast amount of others. And to try each and every one of them with you would be a delight.

After you confessed to Satoru, you couldn’t help but notice how peculiar his ministrations started to get. It was gradual–starting with spanks on your ass to eating said ass. You’ll even bring up the time he used your feet to get off. It caught you off guard, you’d admit.

That day he had you pliable–on your knees with the left apple of your cheek flushed in the pillow beneath you and arms resting idly on your sides as you allowed your enthralled boyfriend to take the lead.

You assumed he was just gonna spit on your already-soaked pussy before massaging your puffy clit in the teasing, clockwise motions he likes to test you with, cock oozing with leakage before languidly gliding upwards to push in-between your cunt lips, but what you didn’t assume he’d do was trace his slimy precum against the soft skin of your toes to then rub his tip across your soles.

You tried to retract your feet away from him (toes wiggling in the process which had them accidentally graze across his balls. You could’ve sworn you heard him hiss) and protest his weird behavior but Satoru was already three steps ahead, firmly gripping both feet and nearly squishing them together if it wasn’t for the thick base of his cock preventing them from touching.

Each thrust he made ached with raw fervor and fuck him from being incapable of suppressing his passion because he couldn’t help but look down and see your cute pussy pucker and asshole twitch. What a sight for sore, cerulean eyes. Just as sore as your ass after he slapped it with an ever-so-firm hand, silently thanking his calluses for the rough impact.

He found it adorable how your shimmering entrance craved for insertion, winking rhythmically at him as though it’s saying, ‘Please fill me up, ‘toru! ‘M so lonely without you…’ (he chuckles to himself at the personification when done in a high-pitched tone).

But your pussy always gets his attention. You have another hole too, ya’ know–one that sits right above it, unused and virginal. Just imagine his excitement as he leans forward, cock still buried at the innermost part of your feet, to take a closer look. He’d smile at your coyness when you felt his hot breath blow on your skin, unsure of his next move.

In this new position, he can trace the faint smell of sweat emerging from you, and God, does that turn him on. More than it already does. So of course he had to steal a taste, trailing a fat strip of saliva against the rim, you squeal at the warm and wet feel of his tongue touching a place it had never been before,

“S-Satoru…what the fuck!” You jolted before moving from your position, migrating to any spot as long as it's far from your lover. You’ll never forget the sleazy look on Satoru’s face as both corners of his rosy lips tilt upwards for a cocky grin–yuck.

It grossed you the fuck out.

Not in a way that antagonizes your boyfriend, you love him too dearly to feel as such, but in a way that questions his morals. Why on earth would someone like Satoru want to be minimized to using the bottom of your soles for pleasure or savor the briny taste of sweat that builds up around the tight ring of your ass? I-I mean, you excrete from there, for God’s sake! That’s gross, especially in a place where the sun doesn’t shine.

You understand that he likes doing it, but why? How could something so perverse and dirty get him hard so quickly? Where’s his shame? His humiliation? His guilt? Were they not present whenever he sneaks a lick at your toes?

Perhaps you are trying to understand–who wouldn’t want to indulge in their lover’s feet, to caress the tough surface of their heels, and lead up their toes, to draw soft lines against them with plush lips as their medium before dipping them inside the wet cavern of their mouth and sucking the small digits before swirling their tongue and–ugh!–no! No, no, no, that’s sick! How can one do such a thing with ease? You can’t possibly imagine that.

But you’re not a kink shamer…right?

Your question remains unanswered, though, as you’re interrupted by Satoru’s moistened kisses trailing down the curve of your neck. You must’ve been in your daze for quite some time considering that the camisole top and loose shorts you lounge in took their positions on your bedroom floor. 

“Come back to me, baby.” You hear your boyfriend murmur and you deliberately oblige by running your digits through the white sea of his mane, wild and free as your fingers feather against his roots. He hums with love before leaving a kiss that's sloppier than the previous one. It starts with your usual routine, with soft and tenderhearted sex.

He pecks at your clavicle and you whimper in return as silvery lashes tickle the most sensitive areas of your skin. The passionate atmosphere continues to flow within the four walls of your room–containing your moans and your kisses and your touches, reverberating them in your heated figures while filling you both with distinct pleasure. It was good so far.

“Have any ideas in mind for tonight, sweetheart?” His voice is muffled as he joyfully sucks at the skin between the valley of your breasts, teeth clasping over the hot flesh to induce a mark darker than what your skin tone provides. You hold onto the fabric of his black shirt, soundlessly wondering why he is still garbed in unbreathable polyester while you remain bare save from your panties.

Lolling your head to the side in thought, you dwell on his question. Should you have something in mind? This isn’t the same as getting asked where to eat for dinner, per se. And owning to your inexperience with sex and fetishes, you’re incapable of bringing anything to the table in this sense.

You open your jaw, mouth filled with saliva due to the raunchy actions performed by your boyfriend onto your supple body, ready to speak your retort as you lick your chapped lips in preparation, but, Satoru knows you better than you know yourself.

“Yeah, I know you don’t,” It’s like he was born to study you. Your eyes travel to his person again, orbs resting upon Satoru’s scalp as you wait for him to finish. “Nothing in that gorgeous head of yours. It’s okay, though. I don’t blame you. I know an amateur like you wouldn’t have anything planned.” 

As might be expected, your brow raises at his comments slightly glazed with a patronizing drip, it’s gotten your attention, all right, as you turn your head to glare down at him. He’s sucking on your nipples this time and you forge a jerk but don’t falter, perked up by this newfound attitude from your loving partner.

“Oh?” You start and it carries the same uppity weight as his tone. “And I suppose you have it all figured out?”

He nods right after gazing up at you with arctic globes saturated with a heavy rush of sincerity and you can already feel the dreamy sigh materializing in your throat but never emerging. Satoru immediately sniffed out the indignance behind your words like a trained bloodhound. He rises from his spot upon your heaving chest to travel his way to the swoll of your chin, apologizing with a quaint kiss. 

“I do,” His smile is affectionate. “You know I always do, sunshine.” You gasp once something hard nudges against your squishy thighs before poking the outermost part of your panties.

“-Always think of something for that little cunt.” It isn’t long before it's cast to the side for clear access to your glimmering slit, doused in slick because your boyfriend had a remarkable way of handling you. He didn’t miss the embarrassed mewl of his name when he used filthy words.

He also didn’t miss the pull of air you took in as his thick finger swept up your bodily remnants, coating the fingertips of his middle and ring finger. You voluntarily buck your feeble hips in desire for him to push through your entrance but you know he wasn’t going to give it to you that easily. “You know, it gets me going when we do stuff like this when others aren’t around–when we do something so forbidden.” 

What–?

“Forbidden…?” Each syllable muddles your tongue as you ponder on its meaning: something that typically isn’t allowed or accepted–you’re not unaware, it’s a simple word, but is that the word he meant to say? “Why would it be forbidden? You’re my boyfriend, are you not?” Unless there’s something you’re unknowing of.

Perhaps he has a wife that he kept hidden in the shadows of his past. What if one wife turned into several wives? Maybe he’s a bloodthirsty murderer, ready to indulge in his next killing after getting you to trust his charming blue eyes and pink-liped smile. You don’t exactly know what the forbidden aspect of it all that he’s keeping from telling you-

You hear him ‘tsk’ and you assume it was meant to be taken seriously but it seems covered in mockery.

“Hah, Boyfriend? Have you no shame?” And he chuckles deep and grimy. “Don’t act like don’t know, dear.” You honestly don’t. “What would our parents think if they saw you, my sweet, little sister, grinding her greedy pussy against her older brother’s fingers?”

Oh.

Oh God.

Gritting your teeth for an evident cringe, you hurriedly toss your head to the side to break eye contact (how did he even manage to hold it for that long despite what he just said?!). There’s no way he’s doing this. Out of all kinks…

“For the love- Satoru. Stop, that’s fucking-” A sharp whine halts your sentence, stressed to the point of exaggeration. You don’t bother looking back up at him, already imagining his brows creasing with complaint at your disgusted remark.

“Ehh, what happened to ‘Satoru-nii’?” You almost would’ve forgotten the fingers sketching light circles on your sensitive button, going in for a pinch before tapping it aimlessly due to its slippery surface.

You clench your thighs together but Satoru’s heaping form prevents you from doing so. He’s a big mass of muscle reminiscent of a bull–broad shoulders along with thickened veins peeking through tough skin in the forms of streams, carrying the pulsing blood flow of adrenaline and transporting through each significant section of the body to energize his raging carnality.

“Are my fingers dwindling your vocabulary already? I just started using this pussy, sugar plum.”

A part of you wanted to believe he was joking–trolling like he usually does on literally every occasion. He knows how acquiescent you were in situations like these. So easily obedient to follow his golden rule when clinging to his hip, taking full advantage of your attributes to get you to do the perverted shit that spoiled his brain to corruption.

Of course, there’d be times when you’d retaliate, shouting out a brief ‘no’ before leaving the conversation unfinished, but it’s okay because he can butter you up to your good side. Use his words and his hands to do the convincing. Satoru has attributes of his own too.

But gazing into his eyes and seeing how aquatic blue dissolves into crimson red, only driven by lust, tells you he’s serious.

You look off to the side once more because staring at your nightstand is more soothing than staring at your deviant boyfriend. Out of all kinks, why this one?

“I don’t,” You close your eyes in an attempt to rid yourself free from his piercing glare. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” You weren’t about to do this. You weren’t about to play into his wicked fantasies of being a relative of any sort. That doesn’t sound appealing at all.

“Don’t be like that, babe.” He mutters softly as if other people were in the room, prying with open ears to catch whatever dialogue is being transmitted between the two of you. A fingertip taunts at your sloppy entrance, just barely shoving past its tight grip. Sexual anticipation surged through your core at his ministration (his giggles at your hopelessness didn’t help you any). “You won’t know unless you try. Come on, do it for me?”

He’s too cute to refuse when your peripherals pick up his bottom lip raising upwards for a pout and feather-like lashes fluttering over glossy, blue orbs. Practically, begging you to follow through with this look alone–if only he wasn’t so handsome and used his charm against you in every way possible. God damn it-

“You’re sick, you know that?”

“Then you’re my antidote.”

You exhale in defeat since you unfortunately realize there’s no way out of this. Satoru’s too adamant to get you to play along with him, it’s insane. Turning your head to fully face him, which feels like the one-millionth time you’ve done so, you look him in the eye before aiming at the button of his nose, upturned and perky. Mentally getting ready to produce the God-forsaken words you are about to utter.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” You start and the way Satoru’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas irks you. 

You still feel mortification swirl in your skull like second nature. Your cheeks feel hot and it hurts–were you really about to do this?

Satoru was still teasing you to no end. Teasing that doubtlessly wet pussy with expertise. He was killing you by not giving you what you craved, only remaining on the surface as he waited for your verdict. Just one more push, one more shove and you’ll get there.

“And why is that?” He inquires.

Your bottom lip quivers with hesitation before an erotic groan escapes you. He’s so close to putting them inside. “Because you’re-” You pause to wait for a sliver of courage to finish your sentence. You’re not sure if you can-

“...I’m?” He continues.

You both catch on to the shaky breaths you’re letting out, two separate bodies feeling two separate emotions, one agitated and the other electrified.

“You’re my,” You tense but Satoru loosens. “-my b-brother.” He’s the Cheshire cat as of now. You wail once two fingers invade your thirsty hole, entering with a mushy squelch.

“And what is it that we’re doing, huh? What is it that we’re doing that would be so revolting to the public eye, hm? Tell me.” Can he stop pushing you already, for crying out loud?

“You fingering my, my,”

“You got it, keep going.”

“...fingering my p-pussy.”

Satoru cherishes your hesitance and rewards you, his obedient puppy. 

Digits curl upwards in search of that sensitive g-spot resting amongst your gushy insides. If applied enough pleasure, he’d be able to see how your back arches off your cotton sheets. Your mouth opens for a silent scream as the force of his fingers supports the buildup of liquid passion, pounding the area in addition to his palm rubbing your stiff clit the deeper he goes.

“There you go, my sweet girl, my gorgeous, little sister.” He fingers you harder and sucks at your erect nipples–when did they get so hard? As a matter of fact, when did your body feel so hot and needy? As though you’re deprived of something. 

Your boyfriend sucks at your tit before biting the small nub, grazing his teeth along sensitive skin for a chomp, causing your hands to fly to his head and grip the fur of his undercut, all while wincing in pain. He retracts his head with your nipple still in his mouth, giving it a stern tug like an elastic rubber band. You would have cursed him out if it wasn’t for the fingers still beating at your nether regions.

“Ah, S-Satoru!” He bites harder and you remember his request from earlier. “Satoru-nii.”

As if you hear a winner's buzzer, he hums in approval and releases before gorging his lips around the other one, gently guzzling it this time, skillfully whirling his wet appendage around the nub in combination with hungry sucks. He unloosens with an obnoxious, wet pop!

“M’so glad your mom married my dad. If it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t be able to take care of my little sister’s pussy like how I’m doing now. Wouldn’t that be so sad?!” He inquires gleefully. “I’d be so miserable–jerking myself off to meaningless porn when I could be stuffing my big dick deep inside your aching cunt. Hearing you moan out how much you love your older brother for making you squirt your sticky juices all over me. You even got your hairs trimmed in the way you know I love.”

The sound of fabric grinding against fabric fills your ears as he maneuvers his head to reach down to your pelvis, stuffing his nose on top of the shortened pubes, his mouth hangs dangerously over your clitoris.

He takes in a deep breath like he’s smelling the fresh air of healthy trees and freshly cut grass, basking in your heady scent while feeling his cock go rigid in the plush of your mattress. 

Too aroused to feel embarrassed, you buck your hips so you can finally get his mouth on your itching button and he finally compels, switching between sucking in your clitoral hood and tonguing your labia. Satoru moves his fingers faster in hopes of provoking your climax. He knows your proximity by noting the way your thighs tremble and toes spread across your sheets.

You finally get to the stage you’ve been craving since the beginning of this session. Releasing your fluids onto your awaiting boyfriend, the grip at the nape of his neck more powerful than before, you squeal a brief ‘Satoru-nii!’ as he proceeds to lap at your overstimulated pussy. He’s now sparkling with your juices. Satoru sits up on his knees after wrapping his buff arm around the width of your shoulders to hoist you up and get you closer to his thighs, your figure remains seated as you process what he wants you to do–he wants you to suck him off.

So you lean your sweat-stained face over his clothed member and unwrap it like a Christmas present you’d save for last because it's so big. His cock springs up rudely and smacks at his now naked abdomen (when did he take off his shirt?) with a loud clap. His abs are so detailed and his pecks puff out in pride while he looks down on you, like his little servant.

He controls the length of his cock with a stern hand and traces ivory white lipstick over the plump of your mouth, a hazy web of precum connecting to your upper lip.

“Wrap those beautiful lips over my cock, darling angel. You know it makes me happy to see you stuffed full with my dick, no matter the hole.” He cheeses when he hears a quick scoff come out of you.

You listen anyhow, swallowing the tip of your big brother’s rod, hallowing your cheeks like a skeleton to circling your tongue around its rosy circumference. You feel your remaining cum dribble onto your bed when you hear him make a guttural moan from above. Clenching his ass cheeks as fingers place themselves on top of your head like an armrest, laying idly as of now.

“Oh shit, baby, yeah, just like that. Keep sucking me off juuust like that.” He bucks his hips impatiently once you decide to devour him up to the mid-base, continuing the actions of sucking in your cheeks to tighten around his cock. “Fuck!” He mewls before chuckling humorlessly.

He stares down and you look up. Your eyelids roll back til they’re just below your brow ridge to catch sight of azure undertones. You were just about to wonder why he was tittering until pressure made its way to both sides of your head. When his pearly white smirk twinkled under dim lighting, that's when you knew-

“Hmphh,” The noise was pitiful when subdued by the heavy weight of Satoru’s cock.

“Hold still, pretty girl.” He coos before pushing his hips back and applying the same manner to your head as he controlled you effortlessly and then thrusting forward and forcing your head to do the same. His balls slap on impact with your chin when he buries himself deep into the hot cavern of your throat, you have your nostrils planted on the silvery wisps of his pubes, reeking of potent masculinity. He leaves you in that position, powerless as he ignores the smacks to his meaty thighs.

“Hold it,” He warns. His voice is pitched below the Earth’s surface. “Gotta teach you how to please big bro properly.” You fight hard as his tip keeps irritating the thing that hangs at the back of your throat, trying to oppose your body from naturally activating your gag reflex but it ends up being fruitless. Your throat convulses as it bulges with his cock print and you cough out an ugly sound. Your vision blurs once you feel your eyes start to water up. You want him to move back already!

“Good.” It’s like he heard your thoughts because he finally retracts from his perfect spot lodged in your gullet. His swollen tip tickles the surface of your lips as you gasp several breaths of air. Just what was he thinking? You could’ve puked!

“What the hell was- mmph!” Halted by another intrusion of his cock burying itself in the pits of your throat, you muffle out a sound of surprise. You couldn’t believe it.

Satoru starts, “Less talking from you, sunshine. I wanna hear you slobber on my dick. Think you can do that for me?” He quickens up the pace of his thrust, going at the speed of someone walking. You gag disgustingly at each thrust and you can feel snot starting to leisurely slip from your nose (just what he wanted to see).

“That’s a messy girl, my messy sister. Got you, hah, so worked up you even got snot dripping from your nose and your spit running down my balls. Oh, you don’t know how much I longed for this.” He resumes his praises and tips back his head for a howl, feeling himself approaching his end as he hears you glurg, glurg, glurg on his veiny member.

“Oh shit, shiiit…!” Suddenly, you’re abruptly pushed off of him, freeing your esophagus from the restraint. Your back lands on the bed with a thud, your landing protected by your doughy comforter. Satoru stands motionless as he recovers from edging himself to oblivion. Biting his lip, his cock twitches up and down before it gradually remains unmoving.

You don’t even remember it happening, but you’re already restricted underneath Satoru’s panting body, thighs folded backward for a mating press, squeezing your squishy tits together, and feet perched on top of his shoulders. He takes his infamous spot between your legs, his overworked hands, decorated in calluses and scars, cuff around the underside of your knees.

He gifts you a heated kiss on your lips. “‘Toru-nii-” You say while struggling to keep up with his tongue. He breaks away from you and the string of saliva snaps into two.

“I hear you, baby, want me inside you already, I know, hear you loud ‘n’ clear.” His tip finds your entrance and it's sopping wet tenfold. He’s never seen you so needy in his life. He pushes in slowly and smoothly. Relishing your moans as he delves within you inch by inch, his thick cock stretching you out deliciously. You squirm in lascivious desire each time he enters you.

“I know, sugar, I know…” He soothes you upon hearing your sobs go up an octave. His head rests at the empty spot next to your neck and his hair tickles the crevice. “Almost there.”

As soon as he sinks deep in your warm cunt, he pecks your cheek with a softness that resembles duck feathers in a pillow before plummeting into you. A pornographic squelch resounds through your room.

“Hnn, T-Toru-nii is, so deep, ah, in my pussy!” You yelp. He’s so glad you’re still following his gross footsteps. So dazed by his cock hitting every ridge nestled within you.

“Yes, that’s right, little sis. And you’re gonna be a good girl and take it for me, right?”

You give a nod, “Yes, I will. I always will. Just f-for you.”

“Mmm, that’s right. That’s what I like to hear.” 

He inclines his torso backward, finding his attention on the feet placed at each side of his shoulders, more specifically, the one to his left as he grabs your ankle with ease, stroking the bone and putting your pedicured toe between wanting lips, your french tips hitting the roof of his mouth while lapping at your salty skin.

His pelvis hammers into you at a steady rate in combination with the gushes emerging from both sexes, it's so damn loud, you’re quite sure your Resident Assistant will come banging at your door frantically, telling you to lower it down because of the noise complaints that lead to your room.

You giggle, not just at the thought but at how much it tickles to feel Satoru’s tongue swirl around each toe.

“Satoru, that tickles.” You quip and the aforementioned man stares at you with knowing lids, purposely tasting your soles which have you trying to take your foot away, but the position you’re in makes it impossible.  

You feel as though hours go by as your older brother pushes on with fucking you silly and having a makeout session with your foot. His v-line collides with your poor pussy on every steady beat and you can’t help but let your earlier accusations fall from your mind like slippery soap.

The revulsion, the distaste, the discomfort–all of which were confined in a silk-woven case, trapped and compacted hitherto its evolution of approval. Although tentativeness plagues its cycle, the result remains beauteous as a cherry red butterfly protrudes through the rotten surface of the cocoon. The successful escapee finally swarms the sky with a setting sun.

It feels good. You feel good. Your pussy feels good as your step brother pounds it with intent–with purpose. You wiggle like a fearful worm ready to be eaten once the need to release creeps up slowly.

“My little sister always manages to feel so good. This pussy is just gripping me so fucking tightly and-” He stops abruptly and so do your moans as you hear your front door creak open.

The sound of jiggling keys and the chaotic trembling of plastic bags alert both your ears as you hear the door slam shut accompanied by a relieved sigh. You glance at the digital clock on your nightstand–‘10:35 PM’. One of your roommates is back from work. Coming home to rest easy from their enervating shift, she wants nothing more than to take a scalding hot shower, laze in her bed, and listen to nothing but silence as she drifts off to sleep.

But before those temptations come into play, she first wants to check up on you to see if you’re still in your room. Walking up sluggishly to your door, she raises a hand to prepare a few knocks while you and Satoru both stare wide-eyed at the shadow that occupies the crevice beneath your bedroom door–still like Michelangelo's statues.

“Hey, (Name), you in there?” The pause is long as you look up to Satoru and see his gaping mouth transform into a smirk before turning your attention to the door.

“Uh, yeah, I’m here. What’s up?” You ask, slightly hoping that your answer will satisfy her queries on your safety before retreating to her room.

“After work, I took a quick trip to the store for some wings and frozen pizza if you’d like some. Even got honey-barbeque-” You smile at her gentle antics. She remembered your favorite flavor.

“Oh, thanks, I really appreciate th-oh!” You’re stopped once Satoru resumes pounding your sloppy pussy. You cover your mouth in an attempt to conceal your yap but a strong hand grabs both wrists to cuff them above your head.

“Keep talkin', sis. Can’t leave mom pondering, now can we?” He whispered with precaution. That devious little-

“H-Hey? Are you okay?” The squishy slaps of both Satoru’s precum and your wet fluids compose a cacophonic symphony. Shit, if he keeps going, you’ll- 

“Yeah, m-mhm. I-I’m, fuuuck, fine.” Satoru grins maniacally above you his hot breath pasts your cheek and into your ear. The tip of his cock abuses your cervix as he compacts you tightly under giant muscle, arms littered with bulging purple and blue veins as he keeps you steady. His pubes tickle your clit whenever his hips kissed yours. Both breaths were getting heavy.

“Are you sure, you sound…sick.” Her words were laced with worry as she stood there, unmoving. “Do you need for me to come in?”

Satoru finds her naivety hilarious but decides it's time to break the barrier. He does so by raising his hips to an exaggerated extent before hammering back into you, the sound much louder than before as clapping fills the atmosphere. He guarantees your roommate will pick it up. Which she does.

“Wait, are you-” She gasps when she hears your sobbing moans echo in her ears. “Oh my God.” You’re too fucked stupid to give a reply when she blurts out an embarrassed ‘sorry!’ before taking hurried footsteps away from your door.

“Guess we scared her off, huh?” Knowing damn well he was the one who only made the effort to let your roommate know you were being pounded to oblivion. “Think she’s gonna tell everyone about this? Tell everyone how her son and daughter ruin the family name because we were caught fucking each other in your room?” He’s quick to pick up in your roleplay.

“Hnngh, I don’t know, ‘Toru.”

“I’m quite sure she will. What do you say, sweet girl, how about we both give a real reason to soil the family name and let me come in this pussy?” His thrusts start to stutter with each filthy word–cream drips from your cunt and down to the tight rim of your ass. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you groan quietly.

“Answer me now, sweetheart, or Satoru-nii is gonna-”

“Yes, Satoru, fuck. Please come inside me, please, ‘don’t care about anyone in this family but you! Come inside me, Satoru-nii!”

With that being said, he fulfills your wish by giving you one, big thrust and stilling his cock deep in his little sister’s pussy to pump his hot seed in increments. Whimpering loudly as he does so. His face contorts in the cutest grimace that you wish you could smooch. You heavily breathe in unison until he pulls out of you (fingering his remaining cum back into your fluttering hole).

He kisses your cheek, then your forehead, and lastly your lips before saying, “You did so well for me.”

And it’s after this session that have you thinking–‘perhaps you do get it’.

[gorejo]

▸ I'LL MEET YOU FOREVER IN THIS MEMORY. - GOJO SATORU. forbes30!gojo

synopsis: he'll argue it's fate — a divine moment — that he's always in your proximity, and you call it bullshit. he says his class was in the same building, panting with a sweat pebbling on his forehead, yet you've seen him run across campus just couple minutes prior as he awkwardly stood in front of you. he's a man on a mission, determined to succeed. to have you finally fall for him.

content: wc: 6.6 k (sigh), fluff, light cursing, uses of she/her to align with the original au but the fic can be read without it. reader lovingly calls him stupid for one part and is shorter than him because the man is canonically tall af. petnames (babe, sweetheart, angel). slight nsfw towards the end, Gojo calls himself daddy in one scene just for jokes. college forbes30!gojo !!

There was nothing but the sound of chalk hitting the board, the frustrated sighs of students trying to keep up, and the monotonous tone of Takashi sensei talking that filled the lecture hall. 

Students hastily typed on their electronics, while others chose to go old-fashioned with simple pen and paper. 

But for Gojo Satoru, none of that mattered, really.  

11:47.

Impatiently shaking his legs, his body just barely fitting in the cramped seat, uncaring if the attendant in front of him sent multiple glares for his crude manner of bumping his knees against the back — why the hell were these spaces always so damn cramped? 

Satoru released another long sigh as he clicked open his phone to check the time, again.

Infuriatingly, it was still fucking 11:47.

It'll take me about six minutes to get to the quad, and another five to make it to the east building...

“Dammit,” Satoru cursed, his supposed whisper radiating a bit too loudly throughout the silent hall as he slumped further into his seat groaning as his impatience imbued his mind with thoughts. 

One more minute and it’ll be just enough time to make it over —

“Gojo-kun,” releasing an annoyed sigh, “would you mind sharing with the class what could’ve gotten you so possibly worked up today?” his professor questioned without even turning his back to look at who just so rudely interrupted his class — again. 

What excuse should I make today? Maybe I can leave now and act as if —

“Gojo-kun?” The professor's voice laced with irritation as he put the chalk down, the click of the powder hitting the rail echoed throughout the auditorium — no one dared to speak a word — not especially when the semester was so close to ending. 

“Can you answer this question because you seem to be awfully more interested in something else rather than studying for your exam tomorrow?”

maybe I can ask her to study for finals? Oh, that’s good… I can show how studious and dependable I am, and then maybe she’ll fall for me. Goddamn call me a genius! But wait — fuck, I can’t use that because — 

“Satoru, uh… sensei's coming,” Gojo felt a nudge on his side, his colleague nervously squirming in his seat, whispering to get his attention but yet it went unacknowledged — far over Satoru’s head — surely, the man currently had other priorities than to be rotting in business calculus. 

Business calculus… the bane of his existence, his utter torture of attending every session, a complete fifty minutes wasted three times a week just for him to sit there and ponder about something else — most of the time, it was him getting antsy to get to you.

It was much to everyone’s surprise that he even went to all his lectures — the one student no one ever expects to have perfect attendance for a class he gives two shits about — well, he does give a shit because it’s all for his plan. 

…. 

“So tell me why you’re trying to take this class?” His best friend glanced over Satoru’s shoulder. 

“Don’t bother me, I can’t multi-task,” Gojo murmured, ignoring his raven hair friend as he lightly bit his lips, furiously typing up his course number into the system, his back hunched as he anxiously stared at his loading computer screen, “never thought getting a class would be so stressful," Satoru groaned.

“Why are you so stressed, it’s unlike you,” Geto’s voice was serene, “and what other dumb shit are you up to?” he chuckled while taking a sip of his coffee. 

“It’s not dumb,” Satoru shot back.

“You tested out of calculus, Satoru.”

“So what?” he grumbled — just a couple seconds more…

Geto didn’t quite understand why Gojo had to go to such lengths, completely acting out of his character as he pitifully waited for his screen to load.

He’d never seen his friend so riled up about something so simple. The last time Satoru got like this was a couple of years back when a small pastry shop he searched online closed an hour before they got there. His defeat and whines were understandable since the trip took three hours by train.

But this… yea, Suguru couldn’t quite put a finger on it… well not until a very minor dialogue he had with a certain someone, such small talk that even he forgot that it occurred a semester prior.

“Are you by chance doing this because —”

Cutting him off, “fuck…” was all Suguru heard as his best friend rested his forehead on his arm, body slumping from the adrenal fatigue.

In bold, a message read: 

Congrats! You have successfully registered for all your classes

Perhaps, it wouldn't hurt to learn a bit more about limits and infinities, Satoru thought before taking a nap in the library.

….

Or I can ask if she can help me study. because she’s good at that, right? she’s always at the library, always ignoring my texts because of her goddamn exams…

Gojo pondered, crossing his arms with his index and thumb rubbing against his chin, his cheeks squeezed while furrowing his brows. 

but fuck, that means I won’t be able to talk to her because last time — I mean, it’s been a month since then, maybe it’ll be different now, I figure we got closer. she's smiling a bit more and we’ve gone on a couple of dates… I suppose — 

… 

“Psst,” Gojo harshly whispered from across the table, “psst!” 

Glaring at him over your laptop, eyes sparkling and round, face needy for attention, “what do you want?” You spat out.

“Just wondering,” Gojo chirped, his ears perked in your direction with his elbows resting on the table, body leaning towards your direction, “Have you fallen for me yet?”

“No, you’re not my type.” you retorted emotionless.

“What’s your type then?” Gojo countered, unfazed, smiling as he challenged your words. 

“Someone, not Gojo Satoru.”

“Well, aren’t you spicy?” He stretched out his legs while leaning back on his chair, boyishly smiling with his arms thrown behind his neck, the lean physique of his body outlined in this position — he looked hot, no doubt about that, and… he knew that. 

“but i’m just going to tell you now,” cocking his head to the side, licking his soft lips that shined a pretty pink, confidently proclaiming, 

“there will come a day when your words will bite you in the ass.”

“Did your parents ever teach you about having some class  —“ 

“Can you guys lower it down, or move someplace else?” a student hushed, stating through gritted teeth as he witnessed the tortuous and unforgivable sight of you both, love, bantering in the library of all places. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, apologetically smiling at them before facing forward to meet your stalker — you swore he was stalking you because there was no way he and you could have this many “random” encounters, that would work out so perfectly with him just magically appearing wherever you go — it's bullshit you thought, especially when his acting skills weren’t necessarily that great… 

“Hey babe,” Gojo cheekily whispered,

“I’m not your babe,” you hissed back.

“Ooo, so you like the sweet pet names huh? Noted,” he nodded, the curve of his lips turned upward, humming a tune while he typed something on his phone.  

you couldn’t tell what annoyed you more, his devilishly handsome smile, or the fact that your heart was beating in unrhythmic patterns the more you talked with him.

A facade maybe, but you’ve come to undeniably enjoy his rambunctious company despite him getting on your nerves. 

“Then, sweetheart, do you wanna —“ 

“No.” you numbly stated while typing away at your report.

“But I didn’t even get to —“

“Still, no.” 

“Fine…” for a moment Satoru slumped into his chair, before quickly asking again, “how about —”

“No.”

Smiling as he rests his elbows on the table, leaning forward as he pushes down your laptop, his long, pretty fingers lightly tapping the case, “Do you hate Gojo Satoru?” His words slyly spewed out of his lips, anticipating your shy face when he catches you slipping for saying ‘no’ without much thought.

“Yes.” 

“Boo,” Satoru pouted while retreating to his side, slumping his back to rest his cheeks on his textbook as he closed his eyes.

With your screen down it was easier to take notice of his features. Not that you were blatantly indifferent about his looks — everyone knew Gojo Satoru was handsome — but you rarely got to see him for who he was underneath all the layers of superficial worth people praised him for. 

There was a lot on his shoulders from the brief mentions about his family and childhood that you could sense. It was easy to tell that behind all the crazy and loud was a little boy hiding his loneliness and pain under a mask and careless demeanor. 

You noticed his lips were mildly protruding out, his brows slightly furrowed and his white hair gently frayed down on his forehead with his lashes long and occasionally fluttering. His skin was unblemished and his jaw was sharp yet his face still held the youth of his age.

He’ll soon prepare to work for his family business, learning about the intricacies of the business and possibly becoming one of those cutthroat bosses you’ve seen in the dramas. 

He’ll probably grow a bit more — he’s been working out a lot Gojo would say, proven by the multiple thirst traps he’ll post. His arms were getting a lot more defined, and his abs… oh, you didn’t mean to take a peak. But guess you did have a front-row seat to his almost topless torso when he mindlessly pulled up his shirt while he took off his sweatshirt.

can't say you disliked the view.

You remember feeling warm that day — stomach fluttering with something, while your back felt gently embraced with his scent and clothing. 

“You checking me out?” Gojo muttered without taking a glance at you, pulling you back into reality.

“N-no!” you quickly looked away, opening up your laptop as you grimaced at the harsh stares you got from those around you for the noise, “j-just wondering if you were going to study or not?” you murmured, hiding your face behind your laptop and your cheeks starting to feel hot.

“For someone so smart you ask dumb questions,” Gojo chuckled as he stretched out his legs, his feet purposefully tapping against yours, “what does it look like I’m doing, sweetheart?” he quietly mumbled before his voice started to fade out, “you know,” silently yawning as his body curled inward — all 6’3’’ of him on the small desk that barely housed his long legs — the tapping of his foot now softly, soothingly, rubbing against yours, “you gotta work smarter, not hard…er…”

You weren’t sure if the man before you was a complete idiot or a genius. but for unknown reasons, this guy surprisingly scores the top grade in his classes when his only method of “studying” is sleeping with his head on top of his textbook — surely, the world isn’t fair.

Despite the little snore you heard in front of you, with the light grunts he made from the uncomfortable position, you couldn’t help but fondly look at the guy in front of you. 

Smiling — yea, you’ve been doing that a lot these days.

You decided — maybe, opening up wouldn’t be so bad… 

For you, you remembered it was the first time you felt odd in the stomach. A bit like butterflies as you watched him doze off to sleep, trying your absolute best to restrain your hands from moving a piece of hair that covered his face as he slightly drooled while you studied. You’ve been catching yourself stalling time to meet him where he supposedly just ran into you — he was nice and the epitome of warmth, and you liked that in your dull world. 

But for Satoru, it was another failed attempt to get closer to you. 

He remembered waking up in an empty library — alone. he swore he rested his head for no more than thirty minutes, but how the hell was the time three hours past that? 

Stretching as he released a low groan, his gaze foggy as he squinted his eyes to look for you, only to frown when he realized you were nowhere to be seen.

“dammit” Satoru grumbled while quickly packing his bags, “I wanted to buy dinner —” 

A neon post it leafed its way down to the table, planting face down as Gojo slowly blinked in confusion while touching his forehead.

Picking up the piece of paper, it read:

Hey loser, you were mumbling about some food while you slept, so I got you dinner and placed it next to your backpack. go home and eat ( :

p.s. also, stop bothering me, weirdo.

p.p.s. you know you drool while sleeping?

Dumbfoundedly wiping his lips with the back of his hand, Gojo wasn’t sure if he was blushing from embarrassment or the fact that you were the first girl to buy him dinner — well, it wasn’t in the typical romantic sense… but who the fuck cares, it’s the fact that you bought him dinner; therefore, a step a closer to his goal. So he wins.

Carefully folding the note and placing it into the safeguard of his wallet, Gojo quickly strapped on his bag as he gently held onto his dinner, cradling it like a prized possession, mentally noting what to use for his excuse tomorrow while he made his way down the stairs to the exit.

The air felt oddly cold for the summer. the slight breeze brushed against his face, the ends of his hair tickling his cheeks as he breathed in the damp air.

Everything felt good — right almost despite his lost chances of getting dinner with you. Perhaps he can save that for another day. 

“Just you wait,” beaming up at the moon lighting up the campus, his blue eyes sparkling as Gojo declared, “you will be mine.”

…

“ — Gojo-kun,” his professor called out. His impatience ran thin as he tapped his foot against the floor, “if you don’t answer, I will fail you —” 

“Sensei, the limit just simply doesn’t exist — it’s limitless.” Satoru nonchalantly responded, cooly peaking at his watch now — maybe the time would read faster with that — but the second hand still stayed the same, seconds excruciatingly feeling long. 

“No matter how difficult you propose this function, if the derivative doesn’t exist, nor will its limit.” Gojo continued to calmly iterated his reasoning.

“But doesn’t this point here,” pointing at the board, the chalk panging against the surface, “exist?” his professor challenged, “it’s a point on the graph.”

“Well, no matter how far you stretch this graph within the axes, going as far as trying to touch the asymptotes, it will never. because the limit will always be limitless since the function at those points won’t exist. So, no, that point isn’t on the graph.”

“And what about here?,” pointing to the chalkboard,“what is your answer, Gojo-kun?”

“Assuming you only have one x to one y, then the answer is simple. By definition, the limit will exist if the points on both sides of that graph approach the same point. To find that point, well that depends on the graph given. And looking at this graph, no. there are two points that are open.”

It should be about damn time. 

Gojo felt his blood rushing through his body, heart anxiously pumping with each heavy thud drumming to his ears, the only sound audible that his brain could decipher instead of the pointless questions his professor was asking — why was he making it so goddamn difficult. 

His urgency spiked up as adrenaline pumped through his body, anxiously shaking his leg, Gojo clicked his phone open again, his large hand covering the device as he peeped down. 

11:48 — shit.

“Well, what about when —”

“Shit, I'm late,” Gojo cursed, frantically packing up his bag and zipping it up.

“Excuse me?” His professor frowned, obviously taken aback by his student’s daring use of profanity in his lecture.

But paying no mind, Gojo quickly stood up and paved his way out, harshly whispering past with a light smile as he hugged onto his bag,  “Psst, sorry, going through!” doing his best to swiftly move through the cramped isles while his giant, uncaring if his lanky build caused a nuisance in the middle of the lecture, unbothered if his professor was done talking to him or not, 

“Gojo-kun?” His professor was flabbergasted at his student’s rude ignorance.

“excuse me, sorry!” Satoru cheekily exclaimed while finally making his way out.

“I haven’t dismissed —”

“Sensei sorry!” Gojo exclaimed while opening the lecture door, ready to sprint out, “I promise, I’ll pass your exam tomorrow!” he blurted, voice fading off into the distance and Gojo now nowhere to be seen.

“... at least don’t sit in the middle if you’re always going to barge out like that,” his professor murmured to himself, massaging the bridge of his nose as he sighed. 

Yet the only response he got was silence, the awkward creaking of the door closing, and the clock striking the end of his lecture. 

“Fuck,” he panted while brushing his fingers through his hair, a little damp from his sweat, his chest huffing from the sprint across campus as he looked at his watch, brows furrowed as his eyes searched everywhere for a glimpse of you. 

“Not there,” he mumbled, gazing to his side, “no, not here,” frustratingly turning around as he scanned the area just in case you slipped out the back door, his eyes loosely looking past a couple of figures, “damn it, not here too.”

“What’s not here?” he heard a soft voice from behind him. 

“Just looking for someone,” without processing, Satoru blurted out, “uhm… sorry just talking to myself —” Gojo mumbled as he slowly turned around, impatient that someone was taking away his precious time to find you.

Call him a dreamer but he was still hopeful that you possibly didn’t just leave — I mean how could you, when he made it a point to always see you after class, you couldn’t be that clueless.  

“You’re late,” you stated, trying to stifle your laugh, his busy eyes quickly changed to ones of nervousness as he registered who was exactly in front of him. His clear, azul eyes were imbued in sheer panic as his expression dwindled to eventual ease as a droplet of sweat ran down from his temple.

“Oh god, uhm,” scratching his head as he awkwardly looked off to the side, whispering under his breath, “I- I ended class a little late, but great to see you again,” he tried composing himself while smiling — the one that made his lips twitch from nervousness.

“I see,” you hummed, “you seem out of breath, Gojo,” you teased, remembering just how frantic he looked minutes prior while running over. 

You ended class a bit earlier, wondering if he’d be waiting outside like he normally did, pacing back and forth to make it seem like he simply ran into you — how utterly stupid was he?

But it was you that would giggle, feeling the type of happiness that made your heart full and cheeks hurting — guess you were the stupid one for falling for such an act. 

So you decided to wait today, standing off in the corner to witness how he would stage his act — you just didn’t expect him to be in such a panic rush trying to get here.

“Yea, y-you know those stairs, it gets me all the time,” Gojo stiffly laughed as he fisted his hand behind his back, trying to steady his breath and nose from embarrassingly flaring.

“Satoru,” giggling as you peeped up, noticing just how much taller he was compared to you while his hands nervously twitched and cheeks rosy despite his firm stance that his class was only but a few steps away from yours, you couldn’t help but smile at his innocence, “there are no stairs in this building.”

“Satoru, huh… that’s a change… sounds so nice rolling off your tongue,” he pondered while staring at your lips. It was cute and just perfect as you said every letter, every syllable of his name —

“Earth to Gojo Sa-to-ru,” waving your hands, tip-toeing to get his attention.

“Ah, right…. Sorry,” he mumbled, shyly looking away only to take a quick glance at you looking up at him. 

“So…” cocking your head to the side, eyes doe-like while looking up through your lashes, “ what’s the plan for today? You softly chirped.

“uhm,” eyes widen, shocked at your response, “what?” his voice was unexpectedly sharp.

“I asked what are we doing today….” Rolling on your heels, “I-isn’t that why you’re here?” you nervously asked.

“Just like that?” Gojo glanced at you, eyes full of suspicion. 

“What do you mean?” you questioned, lips starting to form a pout as you awaited his answer.

“Sorry,” he sighed, stretching his legs out to match his height with yours, “didn’t mean to sound harsh,” he apologetically whispered while gazing into your eyes.

“It’s just that you always reject me…  I - I mean,” holding his hands up, shaking in defense to not offend you, “don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it,” furrowing his brows as he shook his head, “no, no, let’s retract back. I’m thrilled that you’re asking me. It's just that…” his voice slowly fading as if embarrassment finally caught up to his head.

“It's just what?” you softly mumbled. 

“Well,” sighing, “I had all these excuses planned out just in case you said no,” he confessed as he pulled his phone from his pocket, “It’s all in my notes app.”

“Notes app huh?” your lips twitched from trying to contain your laugh.

“So what was the excuse for today? or… ” you teased, gently hitting your elbow against his arm, “should I say no, so your efforts don’t go to waste?”

“Thought we could go for coffee after I uncoincidentally bumped into you after your class,” Satoru shrugged.

“Coffee sounds nice,” you hummed, “you’re buying?”

“Here gimme,” he softly encouraged, quickly taking your bag and swinging it over his shoulder, “I mean, I do owe you one for bumping into you that one day.”

“Ah, so you do admit, that was your fault,” you jokingly glared, “the headache you put me through because of your stupid five hundred dollar shirt,” you grumbled.

“Well technically it was a bit more,” he grinned, “but not really, I believe in fate,” he winked, “it was a divine moment.”

“You’re ridiculous,” rolling your eyes, “but I need to study.” 

“I have an excuse for that too.”

“And what could that be?”

“I got an exam tomorrow, so you can watch me be handsomely studious,” Satoru smiled.

“For what class?” stunned to hear Gojo Satoru and studying be spoken in a sentence together. 

“Business calc,” he frowned.

“Oh my god! Who’s your professor?” you beamed. 

“The one and only Takashi sensei,” Satoru chuckled, softly patting your head as he couldn’t resist your cute enthusiasm.

“What?” your voice suspicious, yet you had no resolve to remove it — it felt nice, his hands were big… you realized. 

“Nothing,” biting his lip to contain his laugh,” it’s just… that’s the most you’ve shown interest in me.” 

“Whatever…” you huffed to flush out the embarassment, “I have him next semester —” 

“I know,” he softly responded, his words going unnoticed.

“— and I’m worried because math isn’t really my forte,” you honestly confessed.

“That’s why you have me!” he stood with his chest tall, his thumb pointing at himself, “I’ll be your dependable, hot tutor that you fall in love with.”

“You’re ridiculous…”

Winking, “I don’t charge pretty girls like you —”

“So you’re telling me, you tutored other girls by being their hot and dependable tutor?” you raised a brow, standing to one side as you crossed your arms.

“What? N-no, that’s not it!” 

“mhm, yea… playboy,” shaking your head,” so why are you taking business calculus? Thought you tested out of it, no?”

“Well… a man has his reasons,” he cheekily stated.

“And how does that help me to study?” raising one brow as you questioned his logic, “ I thought your method of studying was sleeping on your textbook.”

“Okay wow, I was not prepared for that. You’re making it difficult for me again, but you know what?” pulling his sleeves up as he stood tall in front of you, “I’m prepared for your rejections. And in answer to that, then we can study together.”

“But you talk too much, and snore when you fall asleep.”

“Not true,” Satoru murmured, “Suguru said I was generally a peaceful and quiet sleeper.”

“Explain generally,” you eyed him suspiciously, “and I didn’t know you both were like that,” giggling, your heart slowly expanding in adoration the more you talked with him, “... sleeping together and such.”

“We just had one too many nights where we would pass out a little drunk after a party,” scratching the back of his head, “and m-my body runs a little hot… so…”

“So…?”

“So, Shoko may or may not have some photos of us,” Gojo’s face started to contort in disgust, “cuddling…”

“But aside from that,” he tried defending himself, “I’m very great to sleep with!” 

“Sure…” you gave him a teasing glance, “I’ll ask Geto the next time I see him about that.”

“Hey…” suddenly stepping closer to you, his voice serious yet soft. He was careful to not overstep any boundaries you might have placed, slowly reaching down to grasp hold of your fingers, 

“just give me a chance yea? I’ll be good, I- I won’t snore, I won't drool, and I’ll only talk when I need to, hmm?” he reassured

You can almost feel the sore desperation in his voice as you feel the feathery grazes of his fingers against yours; his breath held as he anxiously awaited your answer.

“Okay,” you softly mumbled.

“Great,” releasing his breath, “you won’t regret it, I promise,” Gojo whispered while smiling.

“Hey Satoru,” you lightly called out, his name perfectly rolling off your tongue — so delicate, so pretty.

“Mhm,” he invited you to continue.

“Did you run here?” You questioned, playing with your foot as you rolled a rock on your shoe, “you’re normally not so out of breath.”

“Pssh, no,” he awkwardly laughed, “I told you my class is in this building as well —“

“Stupid, come here,” you murmured, pulling him slightly down, taking a piece of your sleeve as you tiptoed to reach his face. Gently dabbing the small droplets of sweat under his soft white bangs, “next time don’t run. And finish your class, Sensei’s going to hate you,” you softly told him.

“I- I told you,” blushing because your face was way too close — dangerous even — examining your features, ‘pretty’ he thought as he watched you concentrate on him,

“I just happened to have class —“

“I’ll be waiting next time, so take your time coming,” you smiled, looking into his eyes before quickly flattening your feet, “it’s quite far to come here from across campus, no?”

Satoru just gives in, like the hundred different times where he willingly lost to you, “Not as hard as scoring a date with you,” he smiled while spreading his feet out to make it easier for you to continue.

“It’s not a date,” you mumbled, your cheeks feeling hot as his soft eyes gazed at you, his two hands lightly placed on your hips to draw you closer.

“It is so definitely a date,” Satoru professed, “and I can just tell,” his voice feathery and light, “that we’ll have many more.”

10 years later —

The light scratching on his pen against the document loomed in his office. Ijichi, his most trusted secretary anxiously waited for his boss to finish signing his papers, watching guard just in case he didn’t go running off before finishing all his duties — again.

“You don’t need to stand there hovering,” Gojo nonchalantly stated, his wrist gently peeking through his cuffs, his watch shining with every stroke of his name.

“Well, these reports are important that you have them signed by today,” Ijichi nervously answered.

“Do you have it ready?” Gojo responded without removing his gaze from the file he was reading just before signing.

“I-I do, the flower shop did say it was difficult to find the specific color, but they made it work. I’ll bring it over when you’re done… and reservations have been made, sir.”

“Perfect, because…” his voice calm and emotionless, his hair once perfectly set in the morning, now just a little frazzled from his busy day, his tie now loose from his stress, “this should be the last one I do,” Satoru smiled while giving his secretary the folder. 

“Sir, uhm you still have —”

“I’ll do them tomorrow,” Gojo stood up, reaching over to grab his coat, quickly throwing it over his broad shoulder.

“B-but!” Ijichi was frantic, his eyes shaking at the visible stack of papers Satoru had yet to sign — and oh, god, he didn’t even get to read over the file for tomorrow’s presentation.

“Satoru-sachou, the Chairman will be there for tomorrow—“

“And the flowers are beautiful, she’ll love them, thank you,” Gojo warmly smiled while taking a whiff of its scent, walking past the frazzled man to a mirror to quickly freshen up his white hair and clothes, reapply your favorite cologne and spray some mint into his mouth.

“Satoru-sach —”

“Relax, when have I ever worried you?”

'always,' Ijichi thought.

Nonchalant and unbothered as he fixed his tie, “It’ll be fine, I’ll be fine, and you’ll be fine,” Satoru stated as he took one look at the mirror, his sharp cerulean eyes looking at his secretary, “go take the night off, you look exhausted.” 

You! You are the source of my stress and mental breakdowns! Ijichi wanted to scream.

While making his way to the door, Satoru quickly noted, “I’ll be here in the morning with all of it finished,” he stated before leaving his office.

At a loss for words, helpless in front of his careless boss, Ijichi just stood frozen, mind racing at all the changes and accommodations, the phone calls and e-mails he’d have to make to fit into Gojo’s schedule because he knew for sure… Gojo Satoru will not be here bright and early in the morning to finish his work — especially when it is date night.

“I should just quit,” falling to his knees, defeated by his boss’s carelessness to simply skadoodle off on a date when he was one impacted by the brunt repercussions of his actions, “surely he wants to kill me with all this— ” 

Disrupting his internal monologue, “Ah, I almost forgot,” Ijichi’s mortal enemy spoke while opening the door and holding onto the knob, “I booked a small vacation for you and your wife for this weekend, it should be in my drawer,” the man simply blinked in response, “and don’t call me until I text you, I got important business for tonight,” Gojo warned before his voice quickly changed to that of pity, “yea… you definitely need that break,” he stated as he shook his head and closed the door again.  

Registering what just occurred, Ijichi grunted as he lifted himself up, brushing his knees as he walked towards Satoru’s desk, lightly skipping as the scales of his exhaustion flaked off from the caring act of his boss, “Well, guess I gotta start sending those emails now…” Ijichi hummed.

…

“Traffic doesn’t seem too bad,” Gojo muttered while looking at his phone’s navigation, his steps pacing as the clicks of his heels echoed through the halls of the empty parking garage.

Sliding his hand behind the handle, the car automatically turned on as he opened the door. Lowly grunting as he entered his Bentley, his eyes quickly scanned his back seat from the rearview mirror, his mind recalling a moment a couple of days prior that left you rather speechless in his arms — hot and sticky as he reconfirmed once again his love for you in a rather lustfully carnal matter.

He could do that with you — boyfriend privileges.

It’s not like he picked out this specific car, testing out the back specifically for its… spacious seating and tinted window. Totally didn’t bring this car to work today because he wanted to test those specifications out again… but only if you were up for it. 

And stepping on the gas pedal, Gojo drove out, the light screeches of his car heard from inside. 

“Daddy’s coming, sweetheart,” Gojo chuckled while firmly placing a grip on his wheel, his vacant arm resting on the side. 

Though a decade has gone by, Satoru still feels the same giddiness that he did when he was eighteen. He’s gotten taller, bulkier in his frame, and styled his clothes better from the god-awful sweats he always wore — though you still seem to always complain if he wasn’t wearing his specific gray ones, he doesn’t blame you. It makes his dick look nice.  

He kisses you a lot better than the sloppy ones he gave you in his teen years. He gets to wake up with you — face cutely bloated, tummy peaking through his loose shirt, legs entangled with his as he takes in your beauty. He likes that, all of it. 

He reads and understands your quirks before you even tell him. And strangely so, when you have a headache, well god be damned, he had one too. 

He’s become more influential and held power to his name, leading a multi-billion company, but in the privacy of his home, he was still silly, honest, and vulnerable. Contrary to the changes throughout the years, Satoru was still the same — a lovesick man.

Despite your harsh decision to break up with him from a simple misunderstanding, Gojo never held it against you. He’s grown to understand and works to amend the loss — together. It was his time to grow, his time to expand his horizons and his time to explore his options. But guess fate was really on his side because he walked back to where it all started with a fresh start — finding you two years ago at a college reunion. 

Life was good for Satoru — better when you came back into his world. Mornings weren’t so tough and nights didn’t feel so lonely. His mundane days of meeting and mediocre dates were of the past. Now, even the simplest days felt refreshing.

Looking out as he drove through the highway, a couple minutes from your workplace, he watched the city’s skyline sparkle in the dark. He recalled the days when he looked out the night sky, thinking if you were happy, wishing he could just understand why you decided to leave him — only for him to make some regrettable choices of relying on alcohol and texting quick fucks, slipping into weakness during the quietest of times.

It’s often when everything was quiet that felt the loudest — the most difficult to bear for him.

But now, when he sees the night sky he can’t help but feel warm with a slight tingling resonating from his core because even if it's quiet, he isn’t alone — you’ve nestled into a portion of his heart that he could never forsake, nor did he want to. 

She’ll like that, Gojo thought while looking up, making a mental note to mention it to you later.

He felt his heart beating fast as he imagined what face you would make when you would see him today — happy, relieved, excited? Or did you happen to have a bad day, the exhaustion dripping from your slumped shoulders simply needing a hug with light kisses as he expressed his love?

And parking his car, carefully grabbing the bouquet as he took another whiff — he doesn’t remember flowers smelling so beautifully fragrant when you weren’t in his life, but strangely now… it does. 

“Yellow tulips are my favorite,” you mentioned once while Satoru dropped you off at your dorm. 

“Why,” he asked. Repeating ‘yellow tulips’ in his head multiple times just so he can type it into his notes app later when he was alone.

“Just cause… they’re beautiful and they symbolize hope and happiness,” you softly said, “I like to think there’s something out there I can be hopeful for… and maybe find the answer to finding true happiness, if that even exists, ” you shyly confessed with a gentle laugh.

And grabbing hold of your hand, gently bringing it up to his lips for a soft kiss, specific to a finger on your left hand, Satoru marked a promise, “I’ll buy you all the yellow tulips in the world, till you find that answer.” 

Obviously, no flower could come abysmally close to your natural scent when he held you tightly in his arms, naked bodies touching as he breathed into your skin. 

And he hoped the time he spent with you was a step closer to finding your true happiness because, to him, you meant the world.

“She’ll be out in a few, so...” he murmured while taking a look at his watch, briefly scanning the entrance to find a good spot to wait. 

“There should be perfect,” he whispered to himself as he made his way to the corner — a place difficult to see through from the dangling tree leaves and vines.

Satoru couldn’t help but pleasingly reminiscence the times when he would run from his lecture to pick you up. Who can blame him, he was a man on a mission to find his princess — just so happens that she broke his heart eight years ago — but who the fuck cares about setbacks, things were good now.

He feels his heart beating, the familiar thumping in his chest as he waits for you. The usual sweating of his palms as he checked his phone for the time again, mentally groaning as time seemed to be infinitely fixed. Good thing there was no sensei asking him useless questions as he nervously waited.

“I’ll see you next week, have a great weekend Tanaka-san.” 

Gojo could realize that voice anywhere.

There you were, waving goodbye to a fellow male coworker that he had never liked — the lovely Tanaka-san, you always had so many great things to say about. He should just have you transferred to his company, you’ll thrive, and even have a chance to expand your talents … but you’ll give him an earful if he does.

But that’ll be a conversation for another day when he’s more willing to put up a friendly fight with you.

Because right now, he had a mission  — one he’s been striving for since eighteen.

“Ah, fancy I see you here,” Satoru voiced out, coming out from the dark with a hand behind his back, “must’ve been fate that we meet,” he stated with a wink.

Rolling your eyes with a chuckle, turning around to see your boyfriend walking over, “did you run here? Or…” you hummed while looking over to find his Bentley parked on the right, “are you gonna tell me you work here too?”

“Neither,” he shrugged while walking, “just came here to ask a pretty girl out on a date, that’s all,” his voice soft yet enticing as he now stood so closely in front of you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry but I’m actually waiting for my boyfriend,” you looked around, your knees feeling weak when you caught his confident smirk, the sweet scent of his cologne hypnotizing your senses, “have you seen him? He’s really handsome, you know?” you played on.

“You do?” Satoru warmly stated as he gave you the bouquet he was hiding behind his back, his fingers gently resting on your hips as he pulled you in, your dainty heels standing in between his larger dress shoes while he pressed a warm kiss to your cheek, “Bet your handsome boyfriend doesn’t have flowers for you like this, no?”

“He gets them for me all the time,” you took a whiff of the rose and caught sight of the yellow incarnation of hope, “and always picks me up from work even though it drives his secretary insane.”

“Pssh, what a bad boyfriend,” he whispered with his gaze traveling to your lips, “you should totally dump him for me,” he pitched while cupping your face, lips teasing to touch, the slight minty breeze of his breath warming your cheeks, as he slowly closed the impending gap between you two, 

“what do you say, sweetheart? Give me a chance and I’ll treat you to more than just coffee for our date tonight.”

note: hope you all enjoyed! it was rather difficult to pull out this piece because I was heartbroken from the last jjk chapter... but all is well now because gojo is healthy and well in the forbes30! universe. this was a headcanon that spiraled into a 6k fic... and hopefully i'll be able to expand on the other hc's i have for him, without breaking the word count rip

[byuntrash101]

realistic sex with mingi

mingi x f!reader fluff | smut | mdni a/n: mingi is the second entry to this series where i try to imagine how each member would actually fuck, as ✨realistically✨ as possible. disclaimer: i say realistic but lets be honest this is pure delulu behaviour and total fiction. everything is solely based on the vibes the boys give off.

first i wanna say loyal af. like he probably simped for you for a while before daring to even speak to you so now that he's got you he's not interested in anyone else. 

he will literally place in every conversation with a stranger that he has a gf within the first few minutes just so everything is clear.

also it helps that he just constantly wanna brag about you/show you off (more on that later). because he’s just so proud he pulled you.

mingi makes his intentions KNOWN. that man is taken thank you very much

he wears his heart on his sleeves and it shows when he's dating and i think that's why he sucks at flirting when he actually cares. if he's crushing on you he'll be all clumsy and will try to do too much to impress you by doing/being too much. eg: laughing super loud at jokes, or if you are with a group of friends he would find a way to make everyone quiet so you can speak (also will find a way to always be the one sitting next to you)

if it's just a fling for a confidence boost and he has no real interest in the person then he'll be so smooooooth, literally rizz over 9000. we’re talking full on witty/flirty remarks, attentive sharp eyes and sinful lip biting morphing into the most stunning smile you’ve ever seen.

but not with you nuh huh. the man was a mess either too selfconscious to speak or just ending up saying something really cringe (which he thought about for weeks after)

but eventually he got to score you for himself

that's why he absolutely loves skinship. he wants to hold your hand, have you play with his hair all the time. he wants to have his big hand on your thigh (we'll talk more about that later wink wonk) when you're sitting next to him. and he doesn't care if people are around. pda is his middle name. (definitely pda line with san and woo)

he will literally kiss you like his life depends on it in front of whoever wants to see. (actually he might even like have an audience wink wonk again)

i feel mingi enjoys lazy sex. he loves to take you when you're both laying on your side.  he likes that this way he gets to hold your hips. curl his fingers around your thighs and pull you back on his cock over and over again while he peppers you with kisses in the crook of your neck moaning just for you right in your ear

but what this man really loves is when you are on top. i’m convinced he's a switch. He can dom or sub but if he doms then you'll have to be a power bottom.

he just loves seeing you on top.

he truly believes under you is his rightful place. there or between your legs (more on that laterrrr)

needless to say he's a sub leaning switch but that being said he's not into anything very rough (especially not on the receiving end).

but he definitely has it in him. he can be really rough if you know how to push his buttons right

speaking of which that is not through jealousy

if he sees you flirting with someone else i don't think it will tap into his possessiveness. well it might but it won't have the desired effect. it will only make him insecure and maybe he will feel like he's losing you. so please don't make our giant baby jealous he'll only be sad.

(i think that would absolutely do the trick on joong, woo and 2ho)

no if you want him to rail you like a train i think you have to use one specific tactic for maximum domification effect: tapping into his voyeurism/exhibitionism thing

i feel like he would love for you to be risky in public like i said mingi is proud of you and he loves to show you off. he is def the type to like to have an audience. i think there's a little voyeurism/exhibitionism hiding in him somewhere. so tap into that to get him really going.

maybe lift up your skirt for him while grocery shopping or like whisper to him that you're not wearing any underwear while at the dinner table with all the members better yet one up that statement by discreetly slipping the undergarment into his hand. i guarantee he’ll become hard on the spot. if you start stroking his thighs (an innocent token of affection for the others) he will start leaking for you too. getting red in the face and blaming it on the alcohol when the others point it out.

if you’re really daring (and you really want him to go crazy on you after) brush your hand over his hard on but that’s risky because he just might jerk his hips up so powerfully (unintentionally ofc) that it will knock over your soju glasses.

but that’s the perfect excuse to bring him to the bathroom pretending he got some soju on his pants… (smirking evilly)

but yeah just be a little secretly naughty just for him. 

and now that he’s got you for himself it’s all over for you

he'll tear your clothes the second he can. making you take him hard and deep and manhandling you

bending you over the bathroom sink and pushing his big fat cock into your already pulsing little pussy. scoffing at you when he swipes his tip through your folds only to realize you are soaking wet.

“look at you. getting all wet from being a little brat all night”

the second he bottoms out he lets out the lowest of groans and snakes his fingers in your hair, lifting your head and making you look at yourself in the mirror.

"that's what you wanted right?" "i should have bent you over the table and taken you right there in front of all of them" 

he probably made you cum embarrassingly fast too "looked at your fucked out face, baby. you talked a big game but is that really all you got?" then proceeds to fuck you some more just to overstim you <3

dklajdlskslskdb

but i think he naturally gravitates towards subbing. he can and will dom but he prefers being taken care of (a princess <3) so if you're a dom by nature that's completely fine by him

one thing is certain mingi needs LOTS OF PRAISE. just watch his face melt when you tell him what a good job he does. the low groans turning into high pitched whimpers every time you call him your good boy. 

“you’re doing so good for me baby” “you feel so good inside me”

he will literally bury his face in your neck and muffle his whines on your skin.

and that's it he’s gone. done for. 

another big thing about this big man: ORAL

eating you out

mingi's purpose is to be between your legs. he loves to eat you out. hwa and him are the members that like it the most. but contrary to hwa that takes advantage of the absolutely fantastic muscle he has in his mouth mingi uses another advantage. which is his beautiful nose. mingi loves to actually fuck you with his whole face. he will slip his tongue into your center while rubbing his nose on your clit. 

or better yet he will have you sit on his face. and just so we’re clear when he says sit on it. he means SIT. he wants to suffocate in your juices, your thighs tightly wrapped around his head. he wants you to use him. he wants to feel your arousal dripping in his eager mouth and your taste clouding his mind. he wants to lose himself into you. he loves to feel your thrusts against his face, struggling to breathe every chances he gets. feeling drag you swollen clit over his mouth and nose and throbbing when your close. there’s nothing he likes more.

but mingi loves oral in general he also absolutely loves to be in your mouth

and the primary reason for this is very simple EYE CONTACT. he loves that. he loves to see you look at him. he wants to be your whole world (because you surely are his everything) and he loves to have your undivided attention. (that man just loves attention i mean have you seen him on stage? Doing all the scandalous body rolls just to wreck every bias list in the venue. literally the most leo move he can pull smh)

other reason why he loves to be in your mouth is because this man be packing the big gunsss proud member of big dick line with yunho

he loves to see you struggle to take him all in your mouth and loves to see your watery eyes and he likes it SLOPPY. Just go to town on his big fat cock. Really don't be shy. Use a lot of spit and changing of pace and don’t forget the balls. maybe edge him a little i think he might like it too. just imagine the beautiful noises you can pull out of him if you keep him on the edge for a while. until he caves in and just begs so sweetly for you <3

“pleasepleasepleaseplease” when he feels he’s close then sigh in disappointment when you take your mouth off him once again. So he bucks his hips up trying so bad to have your mouth around him again, his tip red and leaking for you. “please wanna cum so bad. pleaseplease i’ll do anything please let me cum”

all the while looking you dead in the eyes. he looks so cute his face all flushed and his mouth agape. he wouldn’t dare to take his eyes off yours for a second because he loves to see that smirk of yours spread on your lips. he wants to look at you all the time.

thats why mingi never wants to fuck in the dark in wants to see you (unlike hwa who loves to see you ofc but he needs to hear you)

and that's also why his favorite position is cowgirl!!!! he just loves looking at you make yourself feel good using his cock. he loves to look at your face, your chest, your body. just all of you using him. 

he gets to see your breasts bounce on your chest with every thrust. he gets to see you arch your back and your jaw fall open when you get close and gets to see your skin glisten under a light sheen of sweat. he gets to see your nails leaving beautiful marks on his pecs. the undeniable proof that he belongs to you. because that’s exactly what he wants to be. he wants to feel like your toy.

when it comes to the sounds. i don't think mingi is very vocal.... with words that is because yes you WILL absolutely hear him. when he's on top/in control. It's lots of deep, guttural groans. i mean the man can go deeeeeep with his voice (and his dick) so i feel like he'll do just that.

he's not the one doing the dirty talk but HE LOVES to hear you saying all those nasty things (hence the praising from earlier). It's literally the only time he'll shut up to let you do all the talking. so do that. that will make him absolutely crazy for you.

and when he gets close or he’s subbing the groans turn into high pitched whines. mingi can go really high pitched (cfr. the way he screams when he's scared in wanteez) so you know instantly when he's about to cum. right when he is on the edge i think is the right time to be a little rougher if you're on top. maybe choke him or pull his hair. he would really love that. but don't be too rough either, especially with words.

he likes to cum anywhere on or in you. but what he really likes is when you choose. he loves to hear you say "i want you to fill me up with your cum" or "you can cum in my mouth baby" he will bust instantly at those commands. because you got him wrapped around your fingers and he knows and can’t get enough.

but when you say "you're doing so well for me my baby as a reward i'll let you cum where you want" then be certain he's going to pick your face almost every time. and don't close your eyes. look at him! he loves to cum for you. he wants you to see that. 

afterwards you better big spoon him to sleep because he deserves it <3

IF U WANNA HELP ME PLEASE REBLOG WITHOUT USING THE COMMUNITY LABELS 🖤

want to see another member? request it in the comments or asks <3

realistic sex with seonghwa, with yunho, with wooyoung | ateez masterlist | navigation

[beefboyandbabygirl]

Pretend It's Someone That Came for You (18+)

pairing: coworker!wonwoo x fem!touch-starved!reader

genre: coworker au, office au, strangers to lovers, angst w a happy ending, smut (MDNI!!), fluffy fluffy fluff fluff

description: you're lonely. you're so lonely you think it might actually kill you. but when wonwoo transfers to your office, he might just change that fact.

warnings: unprotected sex (do NOT pls my babes), soft dom!wonwoo, sub!reader, v loving sex, praise (f. receiving), confession of love, riding, fingering (f. receiving), pussy rubbing tihi, pet names (pretty girl, good girl, baby, darling, etc), VERY angsty beginning, yn is truly v sad so DO NOT READ THIS if u fear it will make u sad!!, they say i love u unrealistically fast but i had to do it, yn uses sex to feel less lonely/ends up feeling more lonely, relatable yn frs, slightly dramatized symptoms of touch-starvation (?), kinda boring plot but idc bc its CUTE AF

quotes from my creative director (@joshibambi): "finally!!" (she was fed tf up), "stanley is the most stanley man ever. i hate him but i love him.", (more r coming she actually didnt have time 2 read this and i didnt want to wait with posting.)

wordcount: 10.0k

a/n: this story was supposed 2 have more angst, like it was supposed to have this whole misunderstanding, but it just didnt feel right, it made me sad, so instead this is a short n sweet love story xx

Sometimes you think that the loneliness might kill you. 

You weren’t always like this. You remember being a sociable, joyful child; half-broken bikes and teddy bears and booster seats. You remember pigtails and popsicle sticks and Power Rangers, and what came after that? Being a moody teenager, became being a moody adult. High school became college, and college became an office job that served to keep you alive, even if it didn’t feel like being alive. College wasn’t that bad, you remember, so at what point had you mistaken isolation for privilege? And at what point had you gone too far into that tunnel-hole to turn back? 

 You must’ve been cursed, you think, putting on your outfit for work in the deadly still apartment. Dust dares not move, dares not give you hope that you are not alone. 

You must’ve been cursed, you think, coming into work to a string of half-hearted, mumbled greetings. Your office is off-white and black and gray and everyone inhabiting it is also off-white and black and gray, and their skin is faintly oily and sickly and their faces are dragging down as if the very earth was reclaiming them and you think that you fit in here better than anywhere else. 

You must’ve been cursed, you think, when you spend your day writing emails and organizing documents of information into different formats to send to huge corporations. Sometimes you fantasize about the other end of the transaction. Maybe their office is warm and brown with an accent of blue, and maybe people put hands on each other's shoulders, when they tell one another they’ve done a good job. 

Yes, there’s no other explanation, you think, and can’t even muster the energy to feel bad when you blame some old hag from your hometown. You think she must’ve conjured up the worst ingredients, something cartoonishly evil, and a spell befell you, sunk into the crevices of your skin and dug into your pores.

You lie on your couch with a glass of wine and the television going, but you’re not really listening. You don’t think anyone has touched you in six months. You’re not even sure you’re real anymore. You swear, you could live with no one hearing you out, because you’re not sure you’d have anything worthwhile to say, but you just needed someone to touch you. To reach out a hand and confirm, you’re real, you’re right underneath my fingertips, and I’m squeezing your shoulder, and I see you, and I feel you right here.

Sometimes you think that the loneliness might kill you.

Lying physically very still, you still feel like you’re scrambling, fighting the clutch of the curse, and tugging on metal chains. Maybe that’s where all your energy goes. 

What do normal people do when they feel this bad?

Sometimes you leave open the window, and when the wind tugs at your door, you pretend it’s someone that came for you. 

Tug, tug, tug. The door rattles against its hinges when the fatally empty sky brings to you, in outstretched palms, the wind interlaced with glimmers of hope. 

There’s never anyone at the door.  _____________________________

This particular day starts like any other. You wake to your alarm and you put on clothes and you get ready and brush your teeth. Then you trample down to the bus stop. The sky is smothered by a duvet of heavy rain clouds. The rain hasn't come yet, but you know it will. Your fingers become stiff and hard, where they adhere to the polyester strap of your bag, massaging it. The bag is cold and dead.

The bus ride is by far the greatest part of your day. It’s quiet - early enough that you’re only accompanied by a few other souls. You rest your head on the window, vibrating gently against the curve of your forehead, and watch the people in the street. 

 The bus hums a gentle tune and snakes down the streets. Then you’re there, and whatever solace that it offers you under artificial light and mediocre, felted seats is gone. 

Your office building is maybe the most depressing place on earth. It’s no glamorous feat of architecture. It is but a large, orange-y, puke-y, brick square, and the building is shared between yours and the Forester company. You don’t talk to the Foresters, but you know they eat cream cheese bagels on their breaks and throw birthday parties and once you saw the branch manager squeezing a salesman’s shoulder and telling him he had done a good job. His fingers squeezed down and the movement of the fabric revealed a shoulder pad built into the suit. You remember thinking it was a shame that it blocked the real touch. 

Today, you walk up the stairs with heavy steps and you idle into the office building, eyes cast down to the dirty, gray carpet. You begin the long trek into the back of the building where your desk is located.

“Morning, Y/n,” mumbles Tina.

“Morning, Tina,” you mumble back.

“Morning, Y/n,” mumbles Gerard. 

“Morning, Gerard,” you mumble back. 

“Morning.”

“M-”

Wait a minute. 

Your greeting falls short. You don’t recognize that voice. Stopping in your tracks, your shoes scratch on the rough carpet, and lift your head to see him. 

The first thing you notice is that he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. He looks like he jumped out of an underwear commercial; he’s all strong jawline, sharp eyes, round glasses on his pretty nose, neatly trimmed, short dark hair stretching down the planes of his face. He’s wearing a button up (usually you wouldn’t even register the clothing your coworkers adorned, but something about how he wore it was noteworthy), a tie draping over the dress shirt, and formal slacks hugging his thighs. 

He smiles at you sheepishly, hands nervously smoothing down his thighs. 

“I’m Wonwoo” he says curtly, nodding to you. “Just transferred from the Wallingset branch.” 

You nod. “Right. Wallingset,” you nod more. “Nice to meet you. I’m Y/n.” 

“Nice to meet you too, Y/n.” 

Something about your name on his lips makes your heart flutter. It’s pathetic, you know, but his peregrine being in his office chair, spilling your name from his pink lips makes you feel a little more real. You look at him and then you nod again-again, kicking your legs into gear again and walking the last stretch to your desk. 

You can see the back of his head from your orange-wood desk. Papers and sticky notes are scattered among the desktop. The monitor watches you accusingly, all big and square and black, waiting for you to open it up and begin working. Your eyes linger on him for a moment. Then you work. 

A few hours pass on emails and translating information from a company into a comprehensive sheet. However, today you’re having a hard time focusing on work. 

This is not new. 

Sometimes you briefly talk to a man at the grocery store, and your mind will wander to him for next week, wondering if he’s thinking about you too, imagining yourself cuddling with him, watching movies, imagining him telling you it’ll all be okay. Sometimes you briefly talk to a man on the street, sometimes it’s even a date, but whatever the case you obsess and you dream and you always end up alone. 

Today the victim of your depraved mind is Wonwoo. The guilt is easy to push away. You feel sorry for yourself. You think you deserve this. You think you can’t survive without this. And so you imagine him hugging you, stroking your hair, and you imagine him falling in love with you, and you imagine not being alone. Your fingers rest on your keyboard. It’s old and mechanical. You think it’s from a yard sale, probably an old woman whose children moved away. It’s plastic, and it curves inwards underneath the pads of your fingertips. The keys are cold and dead. 

You fully zone out, eyes blearing into the back of his head, but you don’t really see it, your mind has traveled elsewhere. You guiltily imagine his hand between your legs, on your chest, straddling him, kissing him. And it’s not rough, it’s loving, because in this world he loves you, and he’d do anything for you, and you don’t have to be alone again.

You don’t love Wonwoo. It’s not some magical love at first sight, it’s not a romance book, it’s real life. You’re lonely. You need this to survive. 

“Hey, Y/n?” 

You snap your head up. Maybe you were still daydreaming. But you recognized the voice well and true, and it was Wonwoo, leaned over your desk, hands in his pockets.

“Oh, uhm, hey-” your voice is shaky and you quickly rush to compose yourself, hands moving frantically and uselessly to glide papers over one another and, then, realizing that there was no point to your movements, stilling and looking up at him, cheeks flushed. “Hey.” 

Wonwoo smiles gently. “Uh, you know, I was wondering,” he looks around the office, as if surveying the area. “If you knew where to get a good lunch? I don’t know this area at all, so..” 

He trails off, looking at you expectantly for an answer. Now that he’s standing before you, it’s much harder to ignore the guilt you feel. You wanna gnaw at your nails until they’re nubs, you want to crawl under your desk and cover your eyes. Does he see how red your cheeks are? 

“Uhm- well- I don’t- I eat a packed lunch, so I’m-” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I’m, uh, no expert,” you giggle awkwardly and watch his gentle smile drop into pursed lips. “But! Uh- I hear the- the hot dog stand, uh, just a little down the street is good!” 

“Really? Maybe I should try it,” he contemplates, smile returning to his lips. “Would you mind showing me this mysterious hot dog stand?” 

“Uh-” 

Just seconds before you were thinking of his fingers in your pussy, and his hands caressing you, and him making you feel loved. He’s standing before you and he’s a totally normal guy, and you feel like shit. You feel like shit for using this fake image of him to comfort yourself. You can’t be around him, can’t convince yourself that maybe this’ll turn into something more - not when you always end up alone. Your brows furrow in determination.

“Actually, I have to, uh, get this done, so-” you gesture vaguely to your monitor. 

“Right! Yeah,” Wonwoo seems embarrassed, biting his lips and nodding. “It’s, uh, just down the street?” 

“Yeah, to the right when you walk out the building.” 

“For sure. Thanks,” he doesn’t even look at you then, just waves you off half-heartedly and starts trailing down the office. His shoulders are incredibly broad and his belt wraps tightly around his small waist.

You feel like shit.  _____________________________

Why is no one else cursed? 

You look out of the window, lying on your bed after work. Everything is very still and unmoving - your whole apartment feels like it’s knotted in strings, tightened until everything is snapped into place, and if you move the wrong muscles, the invisible hands will let go and everything will fly and hurdle through your home, and you can almost hear the sound, like the hard, empty sound of throwing a bowling ball and getting a strike. 

No one else is cursed. People crowd the streets with friends, family, partners, and they’re talking and laughing. You rest your head in the windowsill, a lone spectator in the window. The glass cuts you off from the streets. 

The afternoon after daydreaming the way you did about Wonwoo is always hard. Your apartment seems intent on suffocating you. Your daydreams serve as a reminder that you’re alone, that you truly have no one, and the act itself is so humiliating, you sulk into a glass of red wine and sometimes you cry. What do normal people do when they feel this bad, you wonder again, sobbing in your bed and spilling wine on your nightie. 

Nighttime falls early while you’re crying. You weep on and off, hug your knees, eat a microwave dinner and watch TV, light casting onto your pathetic form on the couch.

And in your most vulnerable state is when you most easily slip into your old habits. 

You press an old contact in your phone, one you’d tried to steer away from recently. You wipe mascara from your reddened cheeks, you wear pretty lingerie, and you lie, completely empty, void of any warmth, on your bed, awaiting.

It’s the first time he touches you in months. When his hand finds your shoulder, you shudder terribly. Sorry, he says, and he seems taken aback. Just ignore it, you plead, just ignore it. He does so, unsurely, and every time his hand grazes over your body you shudder and sob and every time he hesitates, asking if you’re okay, you cry at him to continue.

It feels good while it’s happening. Skin beneath your fingertips, hands on you, a face close to yours. You and him are the only thing moving in the apartment, synergizing on your bed, conjoining and writhing, and for just a moment, you don’t feel so alone. 

When you’re done the anonymous man stands back up, sliding on his pants in the late hour. He says it was great and you hum. But then he looks around, hesitating on every old piece of furniture, on every photo on the walls, and lastly on you.

“What?” you ask, lying naked in your bed. He grimaces at you, as if signaling that he can’t quite figure it out himself. 

“I don’t know,” he says slowly, hands on his newly-clothed hips and surveying the corners of the room, where shadows pool. “It feels haunted in here.” 

He leaves. 

When the warmth is gone, the bile rises in your throat. Old habits die hard, you think, and you feel totally empty. You couldn’t go on like this. It was nights like these you began to feel like a martyr - sacrificing yourself for a brief escape. Because when the door is closed with a click and you’re alone again, you feel yourself trembling and your heart is glowing red in the empty astral plane. Brief, easy forms of pleasure are often the most harmful.

It feels haunted in here. You remember his words, and before you finally fall asleep, you wonder one thing. You wonder if you’re already dead.  _____________________________

The next day is a pain to overcome. You’re slightly hungover, slightly sore, and very uncomfortable. But you comply with your routine, and you enjoy the bus ride, and when you get to the office everyone greets you. 

 “Morning, Y/n,” mumbles Tina.

“Morning, Tina,” you mumble back.

“Morning, Y/n,” mumbles Gerard. 

“Morning, Gerard,” you mumble back. 

“Morning, Y/n,” Wonwoo says. You look up from the carpet carefully, flashing him an apologetic smile. You hope he can read its intention: Sorry about being weird yesterday. You think he got it.

“Morning, Wonwoo.” 

And then you’re landing yourself at your own desk and beginning work once more. It’s boring, but today you ward off the daydreams and you focus, and you’re getting an exceptional amount done. 

The clock on the wall (off-white, but yellowing near the top) reads 12:28 when your boss, Stan, approaches your table. He’s half bald, and his suit is much too loose, and he has a ladder of wrinkles climbing his larger-than-life forehead. 

“Hey, N/n!” he calls, so loud that a couple of heads turn at the commotion. You’ve asked him several times not to call you that. 

“Stanley,” you breathe, tapping a stack of papers on your desk to neaten the pile. You wonder if you were in trouble, but if his smile is anything to go by, you’d guess not. 

“My favorite woman in accounting!” 

“Hehe,” you laugh half-heartedly. You catch the eye of Wonwoo, glancing over his shoulder with a small, teasing smile. You smile back. 

“I have a big- oh wait, wait, new guy, uhh, Jeon? Come over here real quick!” Suddenly his solid fingers waft the now scared Wonwoo over. The spectacled man’s shoulders hunch up as he moves off the chair, nodding respectfully. Wonwoo stands beside Stanley at your desk, and you focus your attention on Stanley, hoping to not get too lost in the idea of Wonwoo again - you were doing so good today. 

“I have a big job for you, and I thought you could work with Wonwoo on it,” Stan moves his hand up to cup the side of his mouth, as if telling you a big secret, “seeing as he was a bit of a star over in Wallingset.”

Shit. The guy you were daydreaming about was working with you? Wonwoo laughs, embarrassed, but you hardly have time to catch it. You can’t do this. Yesterday you were thinking about him fingering you while looking at you lovingly!

“We have a massive, new client! Just dropped a big competitor of ours, and they want us to do their six month report!” Stanley seems genuinely excited about this, so you can’t help feeling a little guilty that you’ll be a gobbering, slobbering mess, sitting beside Wonwoo on this. 

“That’s great-”

“I know! So, my two star members in accountancy, I’ll hand this off to you. The data should be coming into your emails soon,” without letting either of you react, Stanley hunches over, like a coach does before a little-league baseball game, wrapping his arms around both of you and Wonwoo. “You got this, troopers!” 

Stanley claps his hands on both of your backs, so hard you jerk forward at the movement, and then he bounces off to the elevator at the far end of the room. You sigh heavily from the interaction. It’s quiet for a moment, while you fiddle with the papers in front of you.

“What a guy,” Wonwoo muses finally, thin fingers resting on the edge of your desk. You giggle, unable to look him in the eye for fear that you might remember how you’d thought about starting a family with him. “Yeah.”

You and Wonwoo settle into an unoccupied meeting room, and it’s all very professional. Markers and post-its, trying to find the best way to structure the report, excel sheets to categorize and overlook data, double check numbers. 

However bad you think it’s going to be, you’re wrong. Wonwoo is easy to talk to - he’s quiet, but he’s intelligent, and he understands how to bring on conversation, even when you fold in on yourself like a used napkin. 

“Yeah, we used to steal signs from our neighborhood,” Wonwoo admits halfway into a conversation about your hometowns. “I don’t think that’s gonna fly anymore.” 

“Why stop now? You’re letting societal rules hold you back,” you joke, and the two of you laugh, and it’s so pathetic, you’re certain you haven’t laughed this much in years, and the conversation has lasted maybe 20 minutes. 

“Well, I could show you the craft, you know, it’s a delicate process-” 

While Wonwoo talks your phone buzzes and you absent-mindedly pick it up, reviewing the notification.

Your grin drops. Faintly, you hear Wonwoo stop talking. He tilts his head to study the way you frown at the screen. “What’s up?” he asks. 

It’s the guy from last night and he’s asking if you’ll be available again tonight. 

Maybe it’s how you could almost forget it - how you let yourself into positions that would hurt you, just to feel seen and heard and touched. Maybe it’s the dichotomy of that encounter and now, talking to Wonwoo, and having the laughter steal away the loneliness. But you’re reminded so terribly of your position. You’re reminded that this, too, will end, and that the loneliness will return. You’re reminded that once the shift ends, you’re alone again. 

Suddenly you’re a thousand daggers all pointing out. You shield yourself. 

“Uh,” you trail off, putting the phone down again. “Just some guy.” 

Wonwoo’s eyebrows raise. “Boyfriend?” 

“No!” you say quickly. “No, he’s, uh. Just some guy.” 

A pause. 

“Okay,” Wonwoo says. You don’t even remember where you left off the conversation. You bite your lip because everything is all agony. The table is cold and dead beneath your hand. 

“I’m thinking we group these together,” you say, eyes now tuned to your screen and fully submerged back into your work. Work. That was all that could cover your beaten down, cursed self. 

The rest of the shift you feel Wonwoo looking at you carefully, as if he’s trying to read you. You don’t talk about yourselves anymore, no more banter, no more witty comments. You structure the report, and try to ignore how his eyes laser you open. You don’t like it. You feel like he can tell you’re a pathetic, lonely woman and that you have nothing and no one. You feel like he can sense the curse upon you. 

This would be torture.  _____________________________

It is not torture. 

The next day, to your surprise, Wonwoo is nowhere to be seen. You wait 5, 10, then 15 minutes in the meeting room you’d camped in, before you begin working on your own. It’s slower without him, but you manage. 

You can’t help but slightly worry about him. It feels stupid. You know you’re putting too much emotion into a person you’d known for two days, but you can’t help it. You wonder if he’s gotten hurt or injured, or if maybe he hates you and has transferred back. You think even Excel finds you pathetic. 

You sit there for three hours, among the ruins of paperwork and your open laptop, running your hand through your hair and typing in sentences that mean nothing, and the wallpaper is off-white and yellowing at the top, and the blinds are closed to the meeting room. 

Around 1 PM the door to the meeting room is opened, wood smacking against the glass that surrounds it, and Wonwoo stands in the doorway, slightly out of breath. You snap your head up to him, like the jerk of a lifeless doll, suddenly interrupted from a very disorganized Excel sheet.

“Hi, shit, sorry,” he gasps, slinging his bag off of his shoulder to sit down next to you. 

“Are you okay?” you ask immediately, and Wonwoo nods blindly, pulling his laptop out of his bag. “Yeah,” he says, cheeks slightly flushed and licking his lips. “My cat- my cat needed surgery, she got sick last night, it was an emergency.” 

You nod in understanding, “it’s okay-” 

You can hardly get the words out before Wonwoo rolls his chair back, wheels resounding hollowly on the floor, so he can look at you clearly. “I’m really sorry about this, it was not nice of me to leave you alone with this.” He gestures vaguely to the scattered papers, and you shake your head.

“It’s okay, Wonwoo, I get it,” you say reassuringly, peering up at him through your lashes. “You don’t need to worry about it. You’re here now.” 

Wonwoo seems less intent on personal conversations today - it’s probably because he was so late, and now is trying to make up the time. But it’s okay, in fact you’re somewhat relieved, because it dampens the false hope that blooms in your chest, whenever he asks you about your life. 

Even if you and Wonwoo work hard and quietly, you slip into the late hours of the night in an attempt to keep on track for your schedule. Outside the windows that separate you from real life, the sky turns orange, and then dark, muted blue, and stars begin dotting its impressive stretches. People begin to leave around five, and by the time you and Wonwoo finish all your work, you’re the last ones left on your floor of the office. 

Wonwoo lets out a loud sigh when he finally finishes the second segment of your report, and the both of you slump back in your seats. 

“It’s so fucking late,” Wonwoo limply throws his hand in the direction of the window. You smile a little, looking out. Smaller buildings spawn geometrically from the ground, and every once in a while someone walks by with their dog, spotlighted by the stretch of street lamps that stand outside the parking lot. “I really am sorry about this, you know. Really ruined your night,” he says quietly. 

You shake your head. “It’s fine, I had nothing to come home to anyway.” 

There’s a pause.

Wonwoo looks at you intensely. Oh shit, you realize, was that too obvious? Was that too pathetic? Has it just clicked that you’re a loser that no one wants? You nervously look back at him, but there’s no malice in his eyes. A totally unreadable expression adorns his features, where he’s leaned back in his leather chair, legs spread invitingly. You look away, feeling dumb. 

“At least we followed our schedule!” you say. Wonwoo snorts.

“Yeah, thanks to you. If you hadn’t completed so much before I got here, it would’ve been hopeless.” 

Now it’s your turn to scoff, blushing lightly and looking at the linoleum flooring. “I don’t know about tha-” 

“Seriously, Y/n, just take the compliment,” Wonwoo reaches a hand over, and you watch its movement.

It’s like time slows down, not like the movies, no, like you can stop time with the heavy weight of your gaze, pinning his muscles in place. But you can’t, and it lands on your shoulder with a soft thud. Fuck. His hand is warm and alive on you. 

“You did so well today, I-” Wonwoo cuts himself off, because suddenly you’re trembling. 

He feels your body shuddering and jerking under his hand, like the wind rattles your door when you leave it open, and he can’t see your face behind a curtain of hair, but he hears you gasp, and, fuck, you look like you’re sobbing. 

The man from last night had become so hesitant when you reacted this way. When your body trembled and shook and when you cried, but Wonwoo seems to understand. He peers at you from above the rims of his glasses, and his hand stays put right there on your shoulder. 

“Y/n,” he whispers, so sincere it causes a pathetic squeak to escape you. What must he think of you? The thoughts spiral and you can’t control a single one of them, they dance like freed souls in your head, and you can’t stop the spasming of your muscles, and you know you look so pathetic beside him right. “Y/n, look at me.” 

You don’t. You can’t. You can’t because there are tears spilling from the rims of your eyes, and rolling down your cheeks, wet and glossy. Besides, you’re an ugly crier. 

“Look at me,” he says seriously, finger tightening on your shoulder. You try to steady your breath and calm your tears, before you obey and begin to turn your chair. The simple motion requires so much effort - it’s like the air has become so thick, that the friction against your leather seat slows you down. 

Finally you turn to him, eyes first resting on his knees, then, carefully, traveling up to his face. He’s frowning. 

Your face is reddened and your eyes are puffy, your cheeks are shiny and you chew your bottom lip in a futile attempt to keep the tears at bay. 

Wonwoo looks genuinely devastated. The hand on your shoulder softens its grasp, then begins petting your arm, rubbing up and down. The action has you choking out gasps, trembling even more in his hold, and Wonwoo feels the need to roll his chair closer to you, so his other hand can grab yours. His thumb rubs over the back of it, and he lowers his head to look at you. 

“Shh, relax, relax, Y/n,” he whispers, and you try to nod, but it’s so overwhelming; being touched, being seen, being heard, all at once. For months, maybe years, no one has touched you like this - as if they care. Now the feeling is foreign, so scorching hot on your arm and your hand, your body can’t take it anymore. You’re stuck between wanting to lean into his hands, wanting to feel how real you are, and how physically true your existence is, and wanting to shy away. What must he think of you? 

“Y/n,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut to banish the sigh of your sobbing. “When was the last time someone touched you?” 

You hiccup painfully. “Uhm- I- I don’t, ” your eyes are bleary and your lashes are wet. Your lip trembles and your whole body shakes when you try to breathe. 

Apparently this was enough of an answer for Wonwoo, because he suddenly stands, somewhat harshly tugging you into a standing position too, and pulls you directly into the harbor of his arms. 

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his torso. His chest is pressed flat against yours, so, so warm, when he nudges your head into the crook of his neck, and presses his face against its side, sighing softly into you, and breathing warm air onto your hair. His palms push you into him, soothing your trembling body, and holding you like an anker. One hand travels up to your hair. 

“W-Wonwoo, you don’t have to-”

“Shh,” he quiets you immediately, voice the softest wind of a peach tree. “Just let me take care of you.” 

You do. Wonwoo holds you until you stop crying, and though it must’ve been twenty minutes or so, it feels like no time at all. Standing in his space, breathing in his dark cologne, and letting his heat thaw your dead heart is a totally timeless act. Joy and serenity flows from the places where your bodies touch. When you stop crying, Wonwoo holds you for longer. 

Eventually, he lets you go. 

You step back sheepishly, now much calmer and the red in your face faded. You wipe your tired eyes shyly with your sleeve. 

“Thank you, Wonwoo,” you mumble, voice thick and garbled. When you look up at him, he smiles softly, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says softly, arm extending one last time to squeeze your forearm. Then it falls limp again. 

“I, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Of course.” 

When you return home, you’re buzzing. Your entire apartment buzzes along with you, things seem to clatter and beam along with the bright, glowing of your heart. You snuggle into bed and nothing is still and even when you’re drifting into sleep, your nerve endings spin in joyful circles, and your feet are a static hum. Suddenly you are very, very real. _____________________________

You’d think the next day would be tense and awkward, and maybe it is at first, but soon enough you’re talking again, more intimately than before even. 

This is Wonwoo’s doing - you know this. You know he’s smart and you know he doesn’t want you to feel bad, so he makes conversation and builds trust between the two of you. You know he hopes you don’t feel insecure. Every word he says and every flick of his eyes is riddled with it. 

The conversation decidedly slows down your progress, so Wonwoo once more suggests staying overtime. You look at him for a moment before agreeing. 

You can’t tell what his end goal is. A chamber of your heart has been revived and rebirthed, and you’re more chipper, more bouncy, but the rest of your heart insists: you’re still cursed - eventually it’ll go back to how it should be. You listen. You try not to get your hopes up that Wonwoo really cares about you. Why should he, really?

Although when you’re done for the day, about an hour after your usual 5 PM, you stand up and begin to pack your things, laptop sliding into your bag and clustering pens in your hand. It’s gray outside, but the sun comes in a single strand through a gap in the smog and the clouds. The wind hoots by the windows, and it smells like the indian you ordered for lunch together. 

You stop your packing, feeling a set of eyes in your back. You twist your head to see him.

Wonwoo is sitting completely still in his chair, slack-covered legs spread open, and he makes no move to collect his own things. He just stares. 

“What’s up?” you quip. You’re slightly nervous. Just before it was all silly childhood stories, college and weed and life before the dead-end job. Now Wonwoo has that unreadable expression on his face again. 

He slowly lifts his hands from the armrest, eyes locked with yours, and claps his palms on the tops of his thighs. 

Your eyebrows furrow. 

“Wha-” 

“Come here,” he says simply. When you stand completely still, like a deer in the headlights, Wonwoo scoffs and rolls his eyes. “What? You think you’re cured because someone hugged you once?” 

“Cured?”

“You’re touch-starved, Y/n,” Wonwoo states matter-of-factly, “you need to be touched.” 

“Touch-starved?” you echo, a bewildered expression on your face.

“We can also just hug, like yesterday,” he suggests calmly. You envy his collectedness. “I just don’t want you to feel bad. So please. Come sit.”

To emphasize, Wonwoo pats his thighs again, patiently. You step away from your bag with hesitating steps, pursing your lips. Your cheeks blaze when you look at his thighs again - they’re so long, and the folds in his slacks stretch down and centralize on his crotch and- You’re being a pervert. 

“Okay,” you squeak and Wonwoo tuts. Why is that hot, you think, why the hell is that hot?

“We can just hug if you-” 

You feel bold.

Without letting him finish, you swing your leg over his, and plop down, straddling halfway down his thighs. You thank God you put pants on this morning instead of a skirt, when you look down at where you rest on top of him. 

Wonwoo is a little taken aback, but when you’ve settled on him, his hands find your waist and he looks up at you with a hum. Your breathing is a little shaky. Once again his hands provide a pumping of golden joy into your body, and more of you comes alive and becomes real, and you smile. 

What had Wonwoo been talking about? Touch-starved?

“What’s, um-” your question is cut off with a gasp, when Wonwoo uses his hands on your middle to tug you closer. You rest on the highest point of thighs that you can without sitting on his dick. Cheeks red and eyes squeezed shut, you hear how Wonwoo hums, pleased. “What were you talking about? Touch-starved?” you whisper, keeping your eyes shut. 

Wonwoo sighs, and once more, like the movement is entirely replayed, his hand finds your hair and pushes your face into the crook of his neck. You sigh against it, enjoying how his arms protect you and hide you from the evil of the world. 

“If you don’t touch anyone,” Wonwoo begins, his voice low bass in your ear, “you become touch-starved. That’s why you reacted the way you did yesterday.” 

His hands run up and down your sides. 

“But- but I’m not crying today,” you say quietly into his neck. Wonwoo hums.

“No, that’s good,” he says. “We can stop if you really want, I just wa-”

“No!” your voice squeaks immediately, and, as if he were running from you, you fist his shirt to keep him close. 

“Okay,” there’s a smile in Wonwoo’s voice. You can’t see it but you can imagine it. 

Comfortable silence. Wonwoo traces patterns on your back and you breathe deeply against the skin of his neck. The two of you function as one living thing, the only living thing left in the office. Chairs are turned halfway, a couple lights are left on. The desks betray the past presence of humans. 

“Wonwoo,” you pip. 

“Mhm?” 

“You don’t have to do this, you know? I don’t want you to do it if you- if it’s just.. Pity.” 

Wonwoo sighs, and you feel the way his torso deflates underneath you. He trails his hand up from your back to tap your cheek. You move back and look at him. 

Your faces are very close, you can feel how your exhales collide and then scatter, hell, you think you could count each of his eyelashes from here. 

“I already told you. I’m doing this because I don’t want you to feel bad. I-” he hesitates for a moment, pursing his lips. “I’ve been there. So I know what it’s like.” 

The thought of Wonwoo feeling like this, like you, is sickening. Genuinely sickening, you feel your insides turn to rot and mold and you frown so deeply, you think your lips might forever lock in that position. 

“I’m okay now,” he reassures, reading you immediately. His hand finds your cheek and he almost cries out at the way you lean into it blindly. 

“How did you-.. I- I always thought it was, like, a lifelong curse,” you say.

“A curse?” Wonwoo grins, thumb stroking over the skin of your cheek. It makes you happy, it makes you feel like your heart will burst. 

“Yeah. I guess I just blamed some old woman from my hometown,” you giggle, blushing a little because, yes, it did sound stupid when you weren’t just echoing the theory to yourself, like playing a team sport alone. 

“You’re not cursed,” Wonwoo promises, tucking your head into his chest. “I’ll help you, don’t worry. I’ll take care of you from now on.” 

He does take care of you. 

Every day you work overtime, and every day when you’re done with work, Wonwoo slides you into his lap and holds you, while you curl up in his chest. Then you talk and you laugh, and you listen to each other's music. His hands run warm up your back and in your hair and on your hips, gentle caresses, deeply intimate. For two weeks you and Wonwoo indulge in this nighttime ritual. 

You have not felt lonely since that night. And Wonwoo can tell. Your skin is warmer and brighter, you smile wider, your eyes twinkle, and there’s energy in every movement. Your body thaws under his warm hands every night, and sometimes when you smile, he gets so happy he could kiss you. 

You realize you like Wonwoo one particular night when you’re falling asleep in your bed and you can still feel the ghost of his arms around you and it lulls you into a deep, dreamless sleep, and when you wake up you smell a little bit like his cologne. That’s how you realize. You like how considerate and how gentle he is, you like how sweet he is to you, you like how he looks when he smiles and when he laughs and you like how much he loves his cat. You like how his arms feel wrapped around you. 

And you like him, and suddenly your apartment is a song that you dance in, and every photo on your walls is smiling and your bed is always warm and so is your heart. 

There’s nothing dead in here, you think, when you cook a delicious meal on the stovetop, sauce bubbling in a stainless steel pan. Nothing haunted about your home or your heart. _____________________________

“We’re almost done.” 

“Mhm.” 

“I can’t believe we’re almost done!” 

Wonwoo looks up, bemused, lips made small and pointed. You’re staring at the almost-done document, scrolling up and down through long and arduous paragraphs. It’s nighttime again - not that you had to stay late today, it was a choice - and the city glimmers brilliantly in the coolness. You and Wonwoo wear sweaters to keep warm. 

“Feels like a lifetime,” Wonwoo murmurs, same smile upon his beautiful face. His cheekbones point out from beneath his skin. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, leaning back. You won’t put your fingers back on the keyboard. Not when it could be done so soon. You look at him, all snuggled up in a brown sweater. “What if..” 

A pause. He tilts his head.

“Well, are we still gonna talk?” you chew your lip dejectedly, feeling a little sad and desperate, but Wonwoo only laughs. It’s a beautiful sound, it’s one you associate with joy. 

“Of course,” he says, as his laughter quiets down. “If you want to.” 

A shy smile forms on your lips. You turn to look back at the computer, but you hear the now-familiar sound of Wonwoo patting his thighs. You flit your eyes back to him, teasingly scolding.

“We’re not done.” 

“We don’t have to be done now,” he shrugs, an equally teasing smile on his lips. You roll your eyes, but, unsurprisingly, you shift over to him, sitting down in his lap. He immediately tugs you closer, fingers searching for stimulation on the seams of your jeans. There’s something different about Wonwoo today, you realize, his touch is more feverish, his fingers dig deeper into the fat of your hips and he looks up at you like you’re a diamond-encrusted chandelier, hanging from the ceiling, all glittering jewels. 

“What’s up?” you giggle nervously. It’s becoming hard to breathe with the way he paws at your hips. 

There’s something in the air between you, but maybe you’re imagining it. Maybe it’s your mind playing tricks on you, concocting the magnetic pull that lingers between you, the thicker, heavier air, that urges you closer. 

He sighs heavily, as if he was dreading this. All of a sudden composed, cool, icy Wonwoo is chewing his lip and avoiding your eyes, looking instead down where your fat gives way for his needy fingers. 

“I, uh, I really like you, Y/n,” his voice shakes. “Would you. Maybe. Want to go out some time?” 

At the last syllable his gaze locks on to yours, and you watch him visibly relax, because you’re fucking grinning. 

Not maliciously, not crudely, not a dime or a dab of evil, only genuine joy. 

“I-I would like that,” you control your smile, pointing your lips in the same way that Wonwoo does and blushing all over. Wonwoo grins too and it’s unbearably boyish. 

“Okay,” he says, as if he can’t believe it. “Okay. Great.” 

The window slams shut, the spell is undone by his hand, the dead defy their only law to bow to his necromancy. Wonwoo is alive and warm underneath you, and you are alive and warm on top of him, thighs pushed up against his and tugging at the fabric of his shirt. Your balloon of heart pops in your chest, and the bone-cage of your chest is filled with helium, that has you floating. Rosy and shiny, your heart beats at twice its normal speed.

There’s a lull in the conversation. It would’ve been a more comfortable silence, if you couldn’t see by how Wonwoo looks down and purses his lips, that he’s itching to say more. 

Sparked by his confession, you confidently snake your hand up to tap his cheek lazily. He turns to you with a loafy smile. “What is it?” 

He breathes out unsteadily.

“You’re-” he closes his eyes. “There’s so much I like about you. It- It makes me feel really bad that you weren’t feeling well, so I-” 

He cringes at himself, one hand pushing away his glasses to rub the eyes underneath them. 

“Can I make you feel better?” he asks vaguely. 

You huff out a laugh. “Are you trying to ask if I want to have sex?” 

He laughs too, behind his big hand. “No. It’s not the same, I want it to be about you!” 

You laugh more, and Wonwoo’s face reappears as he lowers his hand. He looks up at you adoringly, dotingly. He’s smiling.

“I’m being serious,” he says quietly, when you finish. He seems less embarrassed now, more so smug. “I want to make you feel good.” 

He’s paying an awful lot of attention to your hips, which he has not let up massaging and squeezing roughly. 

“Can I..?” he begins, eyes fixed on your hips in his lap. “Can I make you cum?” 

Then, slowly, Wonwoo lifts his hands and gently places them around on your face. His touch is always as soft as a hope-laced wind. He’s warm and he’s alive and he’s holding onto you, and you see it in his eyes: you’re real, you’re right underneath my fingertips. 

“Please.”

That’s all he needs, before he presses his lips against yours.

The kiss is everything you want it to be; because it’s loving. It’s slow, it’s deep, it’s gentle, there’s no tongue, just the soft, warm, real, alive flows of his lips against your own. His hands on both of your cheeks caress your cheekbones gently, and warm air is spilled in the small space between you. He pulls away, panting. 

“I don’t understand it,” he mumbles, before he’s pressing his lips back to yours hungrily. You let out a confused hum, and you have to gently push at his shoulder to back him off again. “What do you mean?” you ask.

“Why you were so alone,” he breathes, transfixed on your lips. “I want to be with you all the time.” 

Before you can respond, Wonwoo grips the underside of your thighs, lifting you and himself from the chair and placing you on the desk. You gasp at the impact when the glass table meets your bottom, and Wonwoo is standing over you, suddenly so tall and so broad, and slimming at the waist. His narrow eyes become hooded behind the reflection of his glasses. His head is tilted down to meet yours.

“Can I take off your clothes, pretty?” 

You don’t answer, only grip the edge of your shirt, tugging it over your head, so your bra-clad chest is exposed to him. He groans at the sight. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles, nimble fingers dancing across your back to unclip the bra, sucking in a harsh breath the fabric becomes loose, sliding down your arms. “Such a pretty girl.” 

“Stop,” you whisper, face warm and red. Your heart has never beat this way. It’s utterly unbearable and addicting at the same time, it’s without rhythm or class, it’s wild. And it’s because he’s looking at you and it’s not just lust. It’s adoration. There are deeper strings to the make-up of his eyes, there are lines connected to his heart, and he’s all flushed.

“What?” he asks. “I’m just telling you the truth.” 

Wonwoo throws your bra on the floor next to him, hands finding the hem of your pants. “Can I take your pants off?” 

You nod, still so shy and abashed, because Wonwoo’s eyes feel like a pink spotlight, and you are bathed in its warmth. He unbuttons your pants and you gently slide off the table to work them off your legs. 

“Your panties are cute,” Wonwoo remarks (it should feel lewd, but he has a hand on your hip, that brushes the bone and he smiles at it). “Thank you,” you breathe, before you’re taking them off too.

Wonwoo doesn’t need to, but he still insists on gently lifting you back onto the table, and he kisses your nose when you’re sitting before him. He’s standing in between your legs, and then he’s looking down at where wetness drips onto the glass table. 

His hand slides down your stomach, resting on the fat of it. He’s smiling, he’s so gorgeous, because he’s smiling the most gentle smile at how wet you are and how it leaks onto the table and his hand is so warm on your stomach, doing nothing, yet turning you on even more than you’d ever been before.

He sighs like he’s carrying the greatest burden on his broad back. “You’re so pretty,” he says, almost exasperated by it. He pinches some of the fat of your stomach between his fingers lovingly. “I can’t believe I get to have you like this.” 

Then the hand on your stomach slides down further. His large, veiny hand cups your pussy, the tips of his fingers just barely teasing your hole. You whimper against him, hands finding his biceps for support. Wonwoo studies you, craning his neck down to peer at your face, while his fingers begin swaddling your folds. 

“You’re so wet, baby,” he mumbles, trying to catch your eye where you bury into his chest. One finger dips into your hole, penetrating slowly and settling knuckle-deep. 

“Wonnie!” you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“Mmm, clenching down on Wonnie’s finger so hard. My beautiful girl.” 

He begins pushing his finger in and out of you, pace slow and torturous. His other hand slides up and down your body, squeezing your waist then your thigh, then coming right back up to fondle your chest. He pushes your back flat against the glass, so you’re all splayed out for him and you watch him from there, eyes hooded and legs spread to accommodate him. He breathes in shakily at the sight of you. 

“Shit, Y/n. What were you doing hiding all this from me?” His finger picks up the pace, as another finger slips in alongside it. You’re moaning and panting, lips red and hair mussed, unable to focus on his words, when his fingers curl against that spongy spot inside you. Apparently Wonwoo expects an answer though, because he speaks again, voice lower and rougher. “Hm? You didn’t want to go have lunch? What, was it that guy?”

“W-What?” 

“Just some guy,” Wonwoo echoes your past words, emphasizing with a harsh thrust of his fingers. 

“N-No, I- Hng!” you cry out, when Wonwoo’s thumb presses onto your clit. He rubs it torturously. “I-I was embarrassed because I- I was thinking about you!” 

“Oh?” this catches Wonwoo’s attention, as he diligently works his hand within you, staring down at your naked form, fully clothed and tall. “Tell me what you were thinking about, baby.” 

“This!” you cry out, too high off the pleasure to really feel embarrassed about it.

“Pretty, sweet, dumb baby. You were thinking about you whimpering and writhing while I fuck you with my hand, hm?”

“N-No,” you mumble, cheeks aflame. “W-Was thinking about you l-liking me.” 

At this Wonwoo hastily leans over you, pressing his lips onto yours again, and this time his tongue pries open your mouth, wet and warm in the cavern of your mouth. You moan into the kiss, hips canting into his hand. There’s something so desperate about him then, something so eager in the way he crooks his fingers, and how he kisses you, panting and covering your face in warm air. You feel a tight knot in your stomach.

“Cum on my fingers, please, pretty, sweet, baby, darling,” he mumbles into your mouth, rushing out the words before he’s sealing your lips again. 

“God, I think I might fall in love with you.” 

That makes you cum. You cum so fucking hard, clenching around his fingers like an air-tight seal, and your cum spills onto his fingers and his name spills into his mouth. The curse comes out with it, escaping like the air that spills out from an ancient, rediscovered chamber, and dissipating into the night. Your heart is beating and you’re breathing into his mouth, nose brushing his. 

“Good girl,” he breathes, finally releasing your lips and letting his lips fall heavy and wet on your cheek. 

He pulls out his fingers, unbearably wet and slick, and you think for a second that he’ll let you calm down and then maybe he’ll put his dick in you, but as soon as the fingers are out of you, they’re settling back on to your clit, rubbing heavy-handed circles.

You whine, arching your back off the table and wiggling your hips at the overstimulation. His other hand catches your hip and he shushes your cries softly. 

“You can cum again, can’t you, baby? You can take it,” he says, so nonchalantly, while his slick fingers rub you. You cry out. Your legs are shaking. “Think you can cum again from just this?”

“Y-Yes,” you sigh and when you look down, his entire hand covers your pussy, as he pets your clit in circles. He smiles at your words, pinching your clit teasingly. It causes a squeak to escape you, hips struggling against his hold, where he pins you to the table.

“Good girl,” he praises, purring. “Letting me use your pretty pussy like this, letting me make you feel good.” 

His body in front of you prevents your legs from closing, but, God, do they try, knees pinching his thin waist, and hair bunching up on the glass when your face scrunches up in pleasure. 

“A-a-ah!” you cry out. Your hips involuntarily begin to inch away from him, but Wonwoo pulls you back with one strong hand, tutting. 

“Don’t do that,” he mutters, pouting. “You need to be touched, remember?” 

The whole thing is so heart-achingly intimate. The way he stands, still fully clothed and with a huge fucking tent in his pants, simply rubbing your pussy and looking at you with heart-eyes. Seriously, eyes swimming with adoration for you, teasing words slipping from his mouth unable to mask the genuine wonder he feels, at how you gasp and you arch and you clean and you jerk from the simplest of his movements. And your pussy is so warm and wet under his hand, and his body between your legs is so warm, and you cum again from just that; from how much love he looks at you with, and from the fingers crooking to pinch your clit again, wet and swollen underneath his glistening fingertips. 

“W-Wonwoo!” you cry out, cumming again, and your body convulses around his, when it oozes out of your hole. Wonwoo’s fingers gently work you through it. His gaze on you is so intent, so careful and insistent, you can’t bear it, the way he sees you totally lost in the pleasure he brings you. 

“There you go,” he whispers gently, fingers letting up and disappearing from your pulsating pussy. 

“Wonwoo,” you mewl tiredly, pushing yourself onto your elbows to look up at him. He looks at you, so sweetly, so attentively, hands immediately finding your back to stabilize you. “Can I please have your cock now?” 

“We don’t have to-” 

“I want to!” you interrupt him, brows furrowed and lips in a pout. Wonwoo grins at that and though he may deny it, you don’t miss the red that twinges his cheeks. 

“It’s just if you were too tired..-” 

“I’m not,” you say decidedly, and Wonwoo nods. 

“Okay. C’mere then.” 

You’re confused when Wonwoo sits back down in the office chair, fingers working his slacks open. He doesn’t answer to your grimace though, only manages his pants unzipped and in one lift of his hips, peel both them and his boxers down. 

His cock springs free, and your confused grimace is replaced with one of awe. It’s pale and veiny, the head is red and thin, white liquid oozes from it, like melted candle wax. And it’s huge.

You’re too slow to mask your amazement, it seems, because when your eyes return to his face, he’s already looking at you, smiling smugly. 

“Come ride me, baby.” 

You don’t need to be told twice. You slide off the table eagerly, lumbering over to where he’s relaxed against the back of the chair. He looks up at you, all naked and pretty, with a grin. 

The top buttons of his dress shirt are unbuttoned, but he must’ve given up halfway. Either way, the milky plates of his chest are exposed, shining gloriously in the warm office light, and he discards his glasses, face fully exposed to you. He’s beautiful, and you think to tell him.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, planting each leg around his, so you’re straddling him. Like your ritual, Wonwoo grips your middle and pulls you closer, but this time it’s even closer than normal. Your stomach meets his dick, all heavy and hot on your skin, and your breath hitches at the sensation. 

“You’re beautiful,” he teases, looking up at you. You smile. 

“Can I put it in?” you ask. 

“As if the answer was ever gonna be no?” 

You snort out a laugh, raising yourself by your thighs and gripping the base of his dick to steer him inside. He hisses at the feeling of your hand grappling with his impressive size, and he hisses once more when the head of his cock buries into your heat. 

His hands on your waist anchor himself while you slowly sink down, until he’s so fully sheathed in you, you think the tip of his cock must be brushing your heart, because it feels like it’s swinging in your chest. 

“You’re so big,” you whimper, clutching his broad shoulders, and scrunching the fabric on top of them. 

“Don’t say shit like that, I’m gonna cum, babe,” he grits out, fingers bruising your waist. You mewl, clutching his shirt. Then you begin to bounce. 

Your thighs flex on either side of him as you heave up and down his cock, the both of you gasping into each other, and clutching each other for stability. 

“Shit,” he pants out, genuinely out of breath. “Fuck, you’re the loveliest girl in the world.”

You cry out, pressure already welling in your stomach and burying yourself in his neck like you’ve always done, and it’s so intimate and he’s warm, and, fuck, he wants you. You can feel it in his grip, in his cock, in his words; he wants you more than anything. The thought makes you wanna cum. 

Wonwoo is not quiet at all. He grunts and whines and his words are strangled and garbled, but frequent, showering you in affection and praise, while you bounce eagerly on his huge cock. 

“You’re so pretty, baby.” 

“Your tits are so perfect, shit.”

“Pretty girl.” 

“Loveliest, prettiest, sweetest girl, bouncing on my cock, fuck.”

Praises spill from his lips in purrs, one after another, and when you cum you can’t help but return it tenfold. 

“Wonwoo, Wonwoo, Wonnie, fuck! Gonna- fucking cum, I think I’m- f-falling in love with you”

You and Wonwoo come alive. Cum spurts from his cock and into your pussy, and you both cry out, entangled and completing one another in the space where you meet. 

And it’s true, falling in love with him is so easy. And falling in love with you is easy too, you realize, because the second he’s spilled his cum in you, he pulls you from his neck to kiss you so deeply, so thoroughly, you think your lips might never unpuff from his hasty, bitten kisses. 

His cock, now soft, still inside you, his warm chest against yours, his nose nudging yours, his eyelashes fluttering against your skin, the kiss is totally perfect, and you’re warm, and the windows are all closed and fogged up and there’s no curse other than the most fatal and most perfectly tantalizing of them all: love. 

You are not alone. You’re sitting in his lap and you think if you give it a day or two more, you might want to spend the rest of your life with him. 

You catch your breaths. 

“You’re really good at that,” you say finally. He grins again, perfectly undone, hair tousled and cheeks flushed. “Yeah?” he asks. You hum. 

After some minutes of keeping him inside you, kissing lazily, running your hands over his pretty chest and arms, you pull back, beginning to flex your legs to pull him out of you. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, hands wafting to still your movements. You furrow your brows, confused. 

“Am getting your dick out of me?” 

His hands sink down on your hips heavily, fully encompassing his dick again. You sigh at the feeling. 

“Don’t do that, silly. You’re touch-starved, remember?” 

He tilts his head teasingly. 

“So why don’t you just sit snug on my cock, so you can get all the closeness you need?”

[animehideout]

JJK X HAIKYUU X READER IN ONE ROOM.

a/n: Idk just had this random idea of jjk men and Haikyuu men being in one room with the reader like the general dynamics.

Which room you'd rather be locked in?

Room 1 : Gojo Satoru/ Ryomen Sukuna / Toji Fushiguro/ Kuroo Tetsuroo / Oikawa Tooru / Atsumu Miya

A bunch of loud narcissistic extroverts in one room.

Let's say Kuroo is the calmest comparing to them.

Over confidents in their looks and capabilities.

Cocky ass men.

They would start showing off in front of you, literally out of the blue.

Would start an arm wrestling match to see who's the strongest.

Smart? super smart, they'd know exactly what to say to you to make you blush and weak on the knees.

Would try to outshine each other, each one of them trying to be the center of your attention.

Brag about their achievements

“huh a captain of a volleyball team? how lame..I'm the king of curse”.

Showing off their skills to you trying to be better than the other

“come on Oikawa, you can try to punch me, bet you can't..my infinity won't allow it hehehe”.

Everyone talking loudly and at the same time, giving you a terrible headache.

Flexing on you, flexing their muscles in front of you

“come on don't be shy y/n, you can't touch my biceps”

“Hah you call that a biceps?”.

They would put each other down to seem the strongest and the dominant one in front of you.

Total flirts, praising you a lot!!!

Impressive but terrible use of pick-up lines.

Would make their voice deeper to capt your attention and turn you on.

They would wink at you, a lot.

Touchy af.

You'd be giving them weird stares totally crushing their ego.

Room 2: Yuta Okkotsu / Choso Kamo / Toge Inumaki / Kenma Kozume / Kageyma Tobio

Introverted but can be stupid.

You can literally fall asleep there with how tranquil the atmosphere was.

Yuta would be reading his book, Kenma playing games on his phone, Toge just busy in this thoughts, Kageyma awkwardly eating snacks and Choso silently judging.

They shared the interest in you, but none of them dared to start a conversation.

Their attempts to approach you would fail miserably leaving them a blushing mess.

Low-key would suffer from an anxiety/panic attack if you touch them.

Their faces would turn different shades of pink if you catch them staring or smile at them.

Would stutter if you start talking to them.

Would try, key word try to flirt with you.

“That's n-nff-nice!”

Room 3: Yuji Itadori / Ino Takuma / Hinata Shoyo / Bokuto Koutarou / Lev Haiba

Over hyped and energetic squad is here.

These mfs would bond up at the spot

without any obstacles.

Very goofy.

They would turn the room into a lively and enthusiastic atmosphere.

Would laugh a lot while cracking jokes.

It would be easy to be around them since they would make you feel welcomed and try to engage you with them.

Very playful and spontaneous flirting when it's about you.

They would try to make you laugh with their stupid jokes and impressions showcasing their comedic side to you.

Also they would compliment you a lot.

“Your hair smells nice, I love it”

“You have a cute laugh”

It would be very easy to vibe with them.

Would play a lot of games together or watch random videos.

You'd feel very comfortable around them and safe.

Despite their playful nature they would take a good care of you.

Room 4: Nanami Kento / Geto Suguru / Megumi Fushiguro/ Iwaizumi Hajime / Daichi Sawamura / Akaashi Keiji / Ushijima Wakatoshi

Wise squad.

Gentlemen squad.

Aaah lock me in this room with them please.

They would be really quiet and calm.

Each one of them is sitting peacefully.

When they start interacting it would feel like an intellectual forum.

They would talk in formal language.

Engaging in philosophical, existential topic.

They might seem boring to others but they're actually interesting.

Veryyy polite when they start " hitting on you ".

If they sense that you're showing the slightest discomfort they would give you your space and never bother you again.

Would lowkey start a conversation with you talking about the weather

“So do you like the weather? I kinda like rainy days”.

They are CHARMING IN THEIR OWN WAY LIKE.

Treat you like a fucking princess / prince.

Respectful is their middle name.

They would take turns to engage you to talk about your interests.

“You're feeling cold y/n? here take my jacket”.

Very attentive when you start talking, memorizing each word you said.

They calculate what they'd be saying, making them flawless.

You'd fall head over heels for them.

[babydin]

Make A Wish - REQUEST

ANON REQUESTED: But what if Sarah never died? And Reader was married to Joel pre-outbreak but when the outbreak happened they (Reader and Sarah) got separated from Joel and he was convinced they had both died. But then they reunite in Jackson.

- Joel Miller x f!reader - 18+, minors DNI! - Joel is dad, references to violence, domesticated af, angsty, fluff, pre-outbreak, post-outbreak, time-jumps. - 2490 words  - Comments/likes appreciated. Requests are open! A/N: I had some song inspo with this one in the way of Zambezi by Rationale (released under Tinashe). I also headcanoned that the Miller brothers are (at least) half Latino seeing as they had two Latino actors play them. Fight me on it.

Do you remember the day the soldiers came with all their guns? 'Cause I remember begging you to leave my love, "Just run! Past the river, don't you dare look back for me my love. I will come. I will come, because you're the one."

 You knew what you were getting yourself into. Your mother thought you were insane but she didn’t know Joel Miller like you did. He was 4 years divorced when you met him with the sweetest little girl. He made it clear from the outset that he was a single father, and Sarah’s mother had left when Sarah was a baby and she wasn’t coming back “I’m tellin’ y’now because girls tend t’ cut an’ run the second they find out I’m a twofer.” he explained on the first date your best friend had set you up on. “Sarah is my number one, she is my top priority.”

You hadn’t intended to date anyone who ‘was a twofer’ as he put it, but the way he spoke about his daughter, and the way his face lit up when he did, you knew you wanted to give him a shot.   You dated, you married after two years of being together, and you had 8 years of marital bliss as a perfectly happy family before the world turned on its ass.

OUTBREAK DAY

You find Joel and Sarah in the kitchen making dinner. The Clash are playing from a vinyl record in the next room and they’re both so into it; You remember Joel telling you that Sarah had been a fan of the Clash since she was a baby.

“You should be sitting down doing nothing, birthday boy.” You tell him, swatting his rear end playfully as you lean over his shoulder to see what he’s fixing. Of course it’s a chili con carne; he was half Texan half Latino.

“And leave the cookin’ to you two? Yeah ‘cus that’s how I wanna spend the rest of my birthday… dead.”

“Hey!” Sarah drawls.

You pinch his sides and it coaxes a ticklish squeal from him.

Sarah goes to set the dinner table, singing to Joe Strummer's ongoing debate about whether he should stay or whether he should go.

There’s an almighty bang from somewhere and it’s enough to make Joel put his spoon down, “Sarah?”

You both turn around to go into the dining room but Sarah’s on her way back with a fist full of cutlery to ask the same question.

“What the hell was that?” Joel asked, “Did you drop something? Did something fall?”

Sarah shakes her head, her ringlets bounce as she does and her eyes are full of fear.

Joel’s trying to figure out if she means that or if she’s saying no because she’s scared to say yes. The second bang answers his question.

“What the fuck?” he mutters, and goes to the front door to see what’s going on. Sarah finds comfort in your arms and you rub your hand over her back and tell her it’ll be okay. You can hear commotion outside and you put one hand over Sarah’s ear and press her into your chest so she can’t hear.  You can hear Joel talking to the neighbors but you can’t hear what he’s saying, then suddenly there’s a PA urging people to stay inside.

Joel comes back after a few moments, “Military jets,” he says from the hallway as he makes his way back through the house “they just sonic “they just went supersonic, there’s somethin’ happenin’.” he doesn’t come back to you, he goes straight to the living room and turns on the TV. You don’t fully listen to what is said but you hear the words ‘risk to life’ and ‘infected’.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ.”

You jump nearly out of your skin and cling tighter to Sarah when the door bursts open and Joel’s brother Tommy runs through the house “Joelie! Joel!” He finds the two of you in the kitchen and then Joel joins you all.

“What the fuck is going on man?” Joel begs the question, leaning in to turn off the stove. The chili is ruined now, he’s sure of it.

“There are soldiers everywhere, they’re telling everyone to stay inside, but the infection is spreading like wildfire here, if we stay we ain’t got a chance in hell Joel, we have to get out of town.”

You feel Sarah’s body tremble and there’s a slight moisture that falls on your shirt and you realize she’s silently crying. If you squeeze her any tighter she might suffocate but you do anyway, just to try and shield her from the horrors that are unfolding. She had started calling you Mom when she was 9 years old, and you loved her like she was yours from the day you met,  “We can’t just leave. We can’t–” You look at Joel desperately.

Joel looks at you, and he looks at Tommy. You can see he’s torn, he needs to keep his family safe and right now he doesn’t know if leaving is the safest option or staying put is.

Should I stay or should I go? 

“Alright, let’s go.” He says finally. “Go upstairs, throw some stuff in a bag.”

“Hurry up.” Tommy adds.

  You punch him in the chest as you walk past him, holding Sarah’s hand to lead her upstairs to help her pack a bag. You try to keep her talking to distract her from the screaming, and the gunfire from the situation that has escalated outside, through the window you see a faint glow of flames and you wonder how the hell you’re even going to make it out of the town. It’s difficult for a 14 year old to whittle down the most important things in her life to one rucksack, it’s difficult for you to decide what from your 10 year relationship with Joel means enough to survive the apocalypse. Because that’s how it felt. You take your wedding photos, you take childhood photos from Sarah’s life; things like that can’t be replaced but other shit can.

You both head back downstairs and you throw Joel his bag. The vinyl has stopped and it’s now skipping but it doesn’t feel like there’s time to lift the needle. You just leave the house and cram into Tommy’s truck. Something down the street catches Joel’s eye and he gets back out again.

“Joel!” you and Tommy both yell at the same time Sarah cries out “Daddy!”

“I’ll catch you up!” he yells back.

“The fuck you will.” You mutter under your breath, getting out of the truck too, “Joel Miller!”

He stops and turns around, “Run.” he orders, looking over your shoulder at his crying daughter in the back seat of the truck, “I’ll find you.” he looks back at you, “I promise I’ll find you.”

There are soldiers surrounding you who start to scream at you to get back inside your house, their guns aimed to tell you that their threats are serious.

“I’ll find you.” 

FOUR YEARS LATER

You knew what you were getting yourself into. You knew what you were getting yourself into when you fell in love with Joel Miller and his four year old daughter. Your mother thought you were insane and maybe she was right. What you didn’t expect was for a bunch of mutant mushrooms to eat away at people’s brains and turn them into, well, there was no easier way to say it than zombies. You didn’t expect Joel to be missing, presumed dead, and to raise Sarah mostly by yourself. The people of Jackson were helpful people, they were in a tight knit community because they had no choice but to be. Where else were they going to go in a world of nothing? It had been four years since you last saw Joel. Four years, nine months and twenty nine days to be exact. You made a point to count the days because you didn’t want Sarah to ever miss a birthday. She was turning 18 now, and if the world was normal she’d be getting excited to make plans for college and register to vote - because Sarah Miller was very opinionated and had a good head on her shoulders, and she definitely would not have let her voice go unheard - but the world wasn’t normal. So you woke as you always did, tucked up together in a double bed, the morning sun illuminating the room with a golden glow and the two of you stretching like a couple of lazy house cats. “Happy birthday, baby!” You croak, pulling her closer. The older she got the closer your relationship became, it might’ve been pathetic but she was your best friend and you hoped you were hers. She wasn’t a child anymore, she was an adult (although it pained you to admit she hadn’t been a child for a long time). “Thank you.” She smiled sleepily and scrubbed her eyes. She wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for you counting down the days. “What’s your birthday wish this year?” You ask. Sarah sighed and looked over your shoulder at the photograph on your nightstand of you and Joel on your wedding day, six year old Sarah who had been a flower girl, tucked onto his hip as you all smiled into the camera. A perfect picture of a happy family. “Him.” It’s been the same wish for the last four years, and you wish you could fulfill it for her. “I know, baby. I miss him too.. More than anything actually. I don’t miss going to the movies, or grocery shopping, or parent-teacher conferences or any of the boring, mundane stuff that just doesn’t exist anymore. At least not in the capacity that it used to… I just miss him.” In an attempt to lighten the mood a little you add, “I made a cake for you last night, you want some for your breakfast?” “For breakfast?!” “It’s your birthday! And you’re an adult now.” The day passes by as the days often do, slowly and unspectacularly. On slow days nothing happens in Jackson, occasionally bandits come and try to raid the dam that powers the town but their missions are always shut down quickly by those appointed to secure it. You and Sarah are tending to the patch of vegetables you have in your front yard when you hear a voice from the entrance of the town echo “Stop right there!” Both of you look up. You can’t see what’s happening but you wish people would stop pointing their guns. You can only assume someone has wandered through the forest and found the town, the guard on the gate has stopped them in their tracks. Understandably, newcomers aren’t welcomed warmly in fear of infection. You see the person set down a rifle, and a backpack and their hands disappear from their side to, you assume, rise in surrender. You strain slightly and hear a gruff voice speak but you cannot make out words and no matter where you position yourself you cannot get a good look at the newcomer.  The guard yells for Tommy, who is always close by and your interest is piqued. You rise from your knees and your eyes scan for where Tommy is going to come from, when you find him you watch him, you study his face and you watch it fall. He points a finger at the guard, “Put your fucking gun down! Don’t you dare! Don’t you shoot!” he picks up his pace, he jogs, he runs. You start to walk and you hear a second voice yell for Tommy. It’s the newcomer’s voice. It’s familiar somehow. The two men come into view, locked in a tight embrace, you can only see Tommy but you keep walking towards them, you barely hear Sarah calling out ‘Mom’ from the swirling in your head. “Tommy?” You ask when you’re in earshot. The newcomer pries himself out of Tommy’s grip and his head snaps in your direction. A lump forms in your throat and your chest heaves so much you feel as if you could throw up. Joel. It’s him. It’s really him. He’s got flecks of silver running through his hair now, maybe a few more wrinkles. Patches of darkened skin from wounds he’s gained over the years, and a few small fresh purple bruises. You haven’t seen him cry since Sarah moved up from Kindergarten to big girl school and she was gone all day and he didn’t know what to do with himself. You thought he’d be better when she went from middle school to high school but he was just as bad then. But he was crying now. He was sobbing in such a way you wondered if he’d been alone for these years apart; you didn’t ask, it didn’t matter. He was here. You could hardly believe it. Your eyes filled with tears of joy; you had dreamed of the day that Joel might be returned to you, although you had given up hope of that ever happening, you had imagined yourself being the same sobbing mess that Joel was but you weren’t at all. Your body was vibrating with delight, and your smile was so big your cheeks were hurting. “Hi.” you whispered. That was all it took for him to drag you into his arms and squeeze you so tightly that it almost winded you. You took all of him in again, the feeling of his body against yours, his arms wrapped around you, the smell of him in your nose. “I thought I’d lost you forever.” he whispered, “I thought you’d—” he couldn’t finish that sentence, but you knew, because you thought the same of him.  “You said you’d find us. You did.” Us. Joel’s eyes open and scan the surroundings over your shoulder, you hear him sob and he pulls away from you and he runs towards her. His baby girl. Sarah starts crying as she jumps up into his arms, her limbs wrapping around him like a koala bear. It doesn’t matter how old she gets, she’ll always be his baby. You approach them and hear Joel whispering “Look at you,” as he brushes his hand over the back of her head, “my little girl, look at you.” Sarah dropped down so she could look at him too, your arms wrapped around Joel’s middle as he studied her face so carefully, his fingers delicately mapping out her features, “You’re all grown up,” he says in a chuckle, but with a hint of sorrow in his voice. “I wished for you.” Sarah tells him, her voice has more childlike innocence in it than you’ve heard in a long time. “Today is my birthday, Daddy. I wished for you.” Joel put one arm around you so he could embrace the both of you, “I always knew you were magic, babygirl.” “Are you staying here with us? Are we going to be a family again?” “No.” you answer before Joel does, much to the surprise of your husband and daughter, “Not until he’s had a shower.” Joel breathes out a sigh of relief and kisses your forehead.

[wood-white-writer]

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [2/…]

- OPLA! Buggy x F!Reader

"Do-mi-ti, why not me? Why not me?"

— Mitski, "Washing Machine Heart"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. Years have passed since you last saw Buggy following the dispute that you thought ended your friendship. When you finally reunite with the blue-haired menace you once considered your closest friend, it’s under less than “friendly” circumstance.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Canon Typical Violence, Slight Canon Divergence, Buggy is an asshole, The reader used to go by "Cross-Hairs" in the past, hot tension, resentment and love, flashbacks, Reader is strong AF

A/N: Buggy's behavior in this chapter kinda gives off Yandere-vibes, but he's not. He's just really desperate, and a general asshole, (and lonely).

He's dead.

Gol D. Roger, captain of the Roger pirates, your captain, is dead. Pierced through the back by the Marines like a pig for slaughter, a death unworthy for someone of his rank. He deserved to live a long life, drunk on rum, surrounded by his friends and crewmates, before being finally laid to rest in a casket and shipped off with the waves as per tradition.

As chaos ensues and all hell breaks loose, his corpse remains on the same stand where he met his end, left to roast in the warm sun. At the very least, he did not leave this world without flipping one last bird at the Marines.

His final words leave such a domino effect upon the witnesses, one that will last for years to come. Sailors, pirates, men, women, and children all head toward the vast oceans in a hurry, ships pushing off the docks at record speed as they prepare to hunt for his legacy. To claim his title for their own. A title he earned and subsequently put up for auction.

The Marines were hoping that his death would mean the end of Piracy, but as though fate itself had something else to say about it, it had the exact opposite effect.

You're not moving with the swarm of people. The race goes on, but you do not. 

You're still standing in the same spot as you were when you watched the officers drive their spears through your captain's back, having ceased to function as you saw the man who practically raised you, succumb to the same fate that claims all in the end.

Even as people are pushing their way past you, shoving you in God-knows how many directions on their way to the oceans, you can't find it in you to move on your own accord. 

The world has gone deafly quiet now, everyone else is gone, and you're its sole occupant now. Despite the unrest going around, and the wind that brushes against your neck, Roger's last words echo in your ears like the whispers of a ghost.

"Wealth. Fame. Power. I found everything this world has to offer. Free yourselves! Take to the seas! My treasure is yours to find!"

Someone - whether accidentally or not - thrusts against your stomach, and you take a tumble to the ground. The world finally perforates your consciousness, yet it leaves you exposed to its chaos. You attempt to stand up, but the ongoing movements from all around halt your efforts. 

You raise your arms to shield your face from further damage, suffering several pairs of feet and a handful of scratches from the crowd. Nothing too bad, but you don't dare to try and get up just yet. Your initial plan is to just stay put until the storm is over.

That is, until you hear a voice calling your name from somewhere in the crowd, muffled by the ruckus, but still audible for you to make out among the many others.

"COME ON! HURRY!"

You're hastily pulled up to your feet and collide face-first into a chest. Looking up, you only manage to register Buggy's hand tightly clenched around yours in a near-painful hold as he pushes you both through the ongoing crowd. 

While trying to navigate through the masses, you raise your head to gaze at his face.

Not unlike your own, his eyes are stained with tears.

------

Nothing is in its correct shape when you blink your eyes open. For starters, the room is spinning at an incredible speed, and for seconds, there is twice of everything. Two coats are hanging on the rack just on the edge of your vision, the same color and length and everything. You discover you have two pairs of hands and feet as you sit up, and at least over a dozen iron bars are separating you from the rest of the room.

In a minute or two, your sight establishes yourself. The world has become one again, but to your chagrin, you discover that the number of bars caging you remains the same. 

Shaking off the dizziness and nausea that accompanies your waking, you get up to your knees and discover that, once again, you're fucking trapped. This time, it's in a metal cage hanging off the floor by a hook and chain, swinging you lightly back and forth with each fraction of movement you commit yourself to. 

Exhausted from simply waking up, you clash your forehead against the bars. "Shit."

"Well, good to know that your colorful vocabulary remains the same."

You snap your eyes up to see Buggy striding into the room, and your gaze immediately narrows.

"And your eyes." His right hand dislodges itself from his wrist and hovers over to you with an outstretched finger, where it lands right in the space between your eyes. "Sharp as ever, if not even sharper. Careful, you could kill someone with those."

"Wishful thinking," you murmur indignantly and raise your hand to wave off the offending appendage. Like a fly will with sugar, it merely withdraws for a few inches before returning to the same spot. 

You elect to ignore it as best as you can.

He feigns a horrified gasp at your words and clutches his chest with his remaining hand. "Such harsh words! I thought we were friends, you and I. I mean, what kind of friend would threaten the other with their life so cruelly?"

Friends? That's rich coming from him. You haven't considered him as such since the day he left. You won't even dignify that with a response, and so you merely turn your head to the side and rest your cheek against the bars.

His voice lowers a few octaves, enough for you to differentiate between the real him and the act he puts on for a performance. "Then again, what kind of 'friend' leaves the other behind?" His footsteps come closer, each one weighing heavier than the last. "What kind of 'friend' abandons the other?" 

Your eye twitches, but you still refuse to look at him, much less speak to him.

"What?" the Showman farce has by now ended and been buried as he takes one last step forward. "Nothing to say? I'd thought that after twenty years, you'd be happy to see this handsome face."

As much as you want to admit that, yes, the years have done wonders on his face and he most definitely would've been categorized as 'handsome' in your dictionary, you don't. 

"What do you want me to say?" You tilt your head marginally to the side so that merely one eye is aimed at him. "That it's good to see you? That I've missed you?" Even though both of those statements are true to some extent, he doesn’t need to know that.

"Well, I could go for all of the above if you insist on being cordial, but for starters, an apology might suffice enough on its own." If you weren't already looking at him, you'd think that he’s joking. He isn't. He’s as serious as a heart attack, and he’s not smiling this time. All you can think at the moment is that it's strange not to see a clown smile.

"An apology?" You withdraw the impulse to scoff. "What, exactly, do I have to apologize for?"

He doesn’t answer right away. In fact, he doesn’t do or say anything at all. You can't even hear him breathing, and it’s twice as eerie as his general demeanor. It's a foreboding omen that signifies he's on the edge of his temper like a bomb sizzling just before it goes off. 

"What do you have to apologize for?" he echoes.

That's all the warnings you get before the cage rattles with enough force to knock you back against the other side of the cage. Buggy's hand curls around the iron bars with such vehemence that it almost looks like he's about to break them right off the hinges.

He leans forward until his nose barely brushes against the cold steel placed between you, his bright-blue eyes near-bloodshot with the way they glower. Even now, with the few feet between you, you find yourself almost drowning in those blue irises of his. 

"You left me. You betrayed me!" he shouts loud enough for his voice to reverberate throughout the room, all thoughts of maintaining his composure thrown out the window the moment you inadvertently admitted your own cluelessness. "Just like all the others! Shanks, now I could've predicted that, but you?"

His hand dislodges yet again to point an accusatory finger at you, but it maintains a safe distance this time. Probably afraid of what you'll try to do with it if you get your hands on it. 

You have to give yourself some credit. You've not lost your temper once since you ended up here. In your adolescence, you would've torn him a new one fo the trouble, but you can't be bothered this time around. You’d have thought two decades of separation would’ve led to some pent-up fury like it has done to him, but all you feel is … well, nothing.

Nothing yet, anyhow.

"What you did to me, now that was cruel. That was something I did not expect, but you did it, and for what?" The cage continues to shake as his fingers dig into the rods. This time, you observe, he’s keeping his head slightly tilted downwards, rendering you unable to detect his eyes. "For Red-Haired fucking SHANKS!"

With all the movement going on in your limited space, you’re jolted forth again like a ball and cling to the front bars with your hand positioned right above his. Even with the gloves and the short distance keeping you separated, you can feel the scorching heat emitting from him.

How long has it been since you were last this close to him? It was underneath the stars, you unexpectedly recall. You were clinging to him, crying your heart out as the death of your captain had finally been processed. He was holding you close, whispering something you could not make out at the time.

It was during a time when it was just you, him, and Shanks. The three of you, against the rest of the world, ready to live up to Gol's legacy and become the Pirates of the New Age. With  Shanks’ leadership, your strength, and Buggy’s general unpredictability, nothing could stop you.

But now you're here, a captive. No longer a friend, no longer a... 

It never went that far, anyhow. No use bringing it up now when it’s hardly relevant. 

When Buggy’s raspy breaths slow down and his hold on the iron rods lessens, you decide to finally speak. 

"You're the one who left, Buggy," you say, your words laced with such apparent apathy that no one would’ve guessed what you’re feeling. In reality, you want to scream until his ears literally pop. 

Your chest constricts just to say it out loud, but you won't even stop and address the tremble that threatens to claim your voice the more you go into it. "I went with Shanks, because who else was I supposed to go with? The Roger Pirates were spread to the fucking corners of the earth, Gol D. Roger was dead, and you left. I had no one except for him. You closed that door, not me." 

Silence reigns loudly upon you as you're left there, nearly breathless after your little rant despite having kept your voice even throughout it. You feel pathetic, childlike, small. People say that admitting something is the first step towards overcoming it, but you feel neither achieved or relieved of any burdens.

You just feel ... small. As small as you were the day he disappeared from your life.

Buggy doesn't say anything, his countenance empty of any tell-tale signs regarding what he might be feeling. It's almost ironic. The man who used to wear his emotions on his sleeves, the same expressive man who used to spend hours bragging about his capacities and capabilities on the Oro Jackson, has now been rendered mute like a mime instead of a jester.

His eyes find yours again after an unknown amount of time, only now, it's not just bitterness and resentment you have to salvage from them. For a second, just a brief flash of the moment, there's something else. Something vulnerable. 

It goes as quickly as it came. 

He shoves himself from the cage, his indecipherable gaze – now laced with both anger and regret – lingering on you before he starts pacing around the room, having calmed down from his outburst but being no less agitated by the turn of events. 

"What are you talking about?" he demands, sounding a tad more curious now than accusatory. "You were already going to leave with Shanks before I booked it, I just beat you to it."

This time, it's your turn to point an accusatory finger toward him, lowering your voice just enough for him to hear you recount the most painful memory you have, save for Gol D.'s death. The memory you had spent almost two decades trying to bury deep down inside you. 

"The last thing you told me was that you wished that you'd never even met me, and then you fucking left me behind to go do who the fuck knows what. Which, apparently,— " You gesture to your surroundings with a dismissive wave of your hand. "— Includes enslaving people and keeping them in cages."

"Hey, people are allowed to have side-gigs!" he retorts, almost boyishly as if you didn't just have a serious argument moments ago. "Don't judge me! You used to steal shit when we were kids, but you didn't hear me bitching about it!"

You roll your eyes. Some things don't change, that being the childish bickering, not the enslaving and caging bit. Your lip inclines upwards for just a second, and it declines just as quickly. You lean back against the other wall of your cage and heave a breath, tired of it all

"Speaking of kids," he rests his arms atop a crate to his left. "What's up with you and Rubber-Boy over there? Luffy, was it?"

Your lip drops to a scowl. Looks like the kid's Devil Fruit powers have come to light, one fruit eater to another. "What about him?"

Buggy smirks and pulls out a knife from inside his coat. He turns it playfully in his hand, balancing the sharp edge at the tip of his finger as though in deep thought. "He yours or something? 'Cause, I gotta admit, I never took you as the white-picket-fence type."

He’s joking, right? 

Right?

"He's not mine.”

The look that befalls his face almost seems like … relief? He’s quick to mask it though with a half-assed smirk.

"No?" He tips his head to each side and lets the knife lie on the crate. "You sure as hell seem protective over him, and I know for a fact that not just anyone earns the favor of the legendary Cross-Hairs.” He puts a hand under his chin, feigning a motion of deep thinking. “What'd he do? Save your life? You found him in the trash? Or did you shag up with his daddy or something?"

You raise an eyebrow. "I made a promise."

At the mention of this, he promptly ceases with his ridiculous guesses and his words turn sharp. "To whom?"

"None of your fucking business." You're pretty sure that if he learns that you made that promise to none other than Shanks, he'd unleash a different kind of hell not even the death of Roger could hope to spark. 

Rather than pushing the matter, he shrugs with an air of indifference. "I just find it funny, that's all." He chuckles, but his tone lacks any visible sense of comicalness. "You, one of the most notorious pirates to ever cross the East-Blue, disappeared for a decade to do what, exactly? Look after a simple-minded brat who talks shit about becoming King of the Pirates." 

He snaps his attention back to you and moves closer to the cage again, crouching on his knees to gaze up at you instead. "Sorry not sorry to burst that little bubble, but that title will belong to me. Once I get the map your stretchy little runt has hidden, I will find the One Piece. I will become King. I will be known, and I will be loved."

("You were loved,") a part of you wants to tell him. The part that still lingers in your shared past. ("You were always loved.")

But you keep your mouth shut.

He perceives your silence as a sign to continue. "You know, despite everything that happened, I'm opening my heart to forgiveness, for old times’ sake."

"Forgiveness?"

He smiles, but this one, you discover, is genuine. At least, in comparison to all the other ones he's flashed you beforehand. It's a lukewarm feeling, but familiar. You're almost tempted to reach through the bars and feel his cheeks, trace the edges of his lips, and smudge away the red make-up just to know if it is real or just a figment of your imagination. 

"If you convince Rubber-Boy to hand over that map of the Grand Line, I might consider opening a special spot in my crew, just for you. I know better than anyone what you're capable of. Hell, it'll be just like old times, like nothing ever changed. You and me, against the rest of the world."

Slowly, he reaches his hand up and towards you through the bars, palm open for you to take.

"Don't you miss it?" he whispers, wistfully. "I do. Save for the One Piece, it's been the one thing I've wanted more than anything else."

You blink, and a feeling settles over your chest. Not uncomfortable per se, but not kind either. Like being enveloped by a warm yet tight blanket, staving you off the cold but suffocating you all the same. 

Your dream. You remember your dream. The one you thought gone forever, now seemingly resurfacing from the depths in your heart where it initially drowned. To travel and explore the seas, the three of you by each other’s sides until the very end. That’s all you’ve ever wanted.

Now, Buggy is opening up the possibility of that dream coming back to life again. 

You're tempted to take his hand, feel the warmth that once held you so openly when you were younger.

You raise your hand to him ever so slightly.

"Fuck, Rubber Boy can come too for all I care.” He proceeds to add. “He's a special case, and there's nothing I appreciate more than special ones." 

Your hand stops and promptly withdraws.

Buggy raises his eyebrows in shock, his fingers curling as they were about to grasp at yours only to find empty air. "What? What is it? What's wrong?" 

Luffy.

You shake your head. "He won't give up. He won't give up on his dream." 

"What, Rubber-Boy?" he scowls like the name itself tastes like bitter venom on his tongue. "He's just a stupid kid, he'll grow out of it. Once he sees that there's no way he would last in the Grand Line on his own, he'll get in line."

You take a deep breath, preparing for the confrontation that's about to come with your next words. "He won't, and no power or authority on this earth is ever going to be able to change that."

A flash of hurt crosses his facial features, only for a second, yet it feels like longer. Then, it stops, and all that's left is the same bitterness he showed that very day.

Snarling, Buggy pulls his hand back and gets back up on his feet. “I should’ve expected this. You never choose me!" he flares and pulls both his hands to his chest, gesturing to himself. "It's always someone els- Always someone fucking else. First Shanks, then this damn brat! Why?" He briefly pauses, as if weighing his next words. "What did they ever do that was so special that you decided to stick around for them that I didn't do?"

You’ve just about had enough of his self-pitying attitude. 

"I never 'chose' Shanks!" you hiss back at him. "It was never a choice. Why was I supposed to 'choose' anyone for that matter? What made you reach the conclusion that there had to be a choice at all?!"

He parts his jaws to answer with what you can only expect to be yet another sneer when the curtains behind him parts, and a member of the troupe enters. A dark-skinned man with a Mohawk of sorts, with filed teeth resembling a shark more than a man.

"Boss, the kid ain't saying nothin' about the map." The man ("Sharptooth", you decide to call him for now) says with a deep twinge of aggravation. "We're already at nearly thirty-damn-feet, and all the little shit does is fuckin' laugh at us."

Buggy does not even turn to address the man, his attention solely at you, but you can tell he's irritated by this interruption.

"Sharptooth" turns to you, having just realized you’re here. A sinister grin spreads along his cheeks, and he licks his upper teeth lecherously. "What do we do 'bout her? Is she up on the menu yet? I'm starvin'."

You crouch down, one hand positioned between your knees like a predator ready to lunge at the slightest movement. Truth be told, despite your reputation, killing someone has never been one of life's greatest joys for you, and it's been a while since you last committed a murder. However, the years have done little to weaken you, and you're not afraid to get your hands dirty if the situation demands it.

You'll be sure to let him know first-hand that if he dares to try anything.

"No," Buggy replies, voice void of any tangible emotions. "She'll snap your neck like a twig before you can get within a foot of her." He turns to face the disappointed performer, and before the latter knows it, a severed hand clamps around his throat and dangles him above the ground with what you can only expect to be a bruising grip. "I am, on the other hand, not limited by such proximity."

The man's face begins to pale as the blood flow to his brain is cut short, but the grip does not lessen at all.

Buggy speaks like he’s having a normal conversation. "She stays here, and no one, and I mean no one, is going to touch her. Understood?" His soft say leaves no room for opposition.

You watch as "Sharptooth" struggles to form a coherent sentence as he desperately clings to the hand keeping him afloat. "Y-Yes si— Yes, Captain. W-We won't!"

With a bored swish, the hand shoves the performer back a good two feet, where he crashes to the ground and clutches his neck in search of air.

"Splendid!" Buggy attaches his wrist back and claps his hands together, his Show Man act replenished. "Now, be sure to tell the others of that little fact, and while you're at it,—" he draws his palms away from one another in a straight motion. "Add another five feet."

The crew member wastes no time shuffling from the ground and all but books it out of there.

Buggy heaves a deep and dramatic sigh, exaggeratedly slumping his shoulders, and swings back to you again.

"Supporting casts, am I right?"

You don't bother with a reply.

He takes this with a lackadaisical shrug. "Now, as much as I'd like to continue this intriguing, little tête-à-tête, I'm afraid I'm needed elsewhere. The show must go on, but I’ll come back before you know it."

It doesn't matter when he'll be back. You don't plan on waiting for him. You've already waited twenty long years, and as your temper simmers evenly under your skin, you intend to get one thing across.

"Just remember this, Buggy," 

You lean against the bars, pressed so tightly that it feels like your body is about to push through the narrow gaps. "If you do anything to the kid, anything at all, and you can consider our past six feet under. I'll come after you, and when I'm finished,—"

Fist clenched; you deliver a solid strike to the bar that rattles throughout the room to the point where it feels like even the ground is quacking from the force. Buggy jumps a few steps back in retreat, and when he looks up again, his breath halts. 

Where there was once a straight bar keeping you contained, there's now a prominent curve pointing out towards him. Not nearly large enough for you to squeeze through, but it's there, nonetheless.

When you lower your fist, knuckles red but intact, you finish your warning. "— Not even your Devil-Fruit powers will manage to keep you intact."

His eyes flicker between you and the now-deformed iron bar. Unexpectedly, he only stares, neither returning a threat nor even a joke to ease the tension. He doesn’t say anything at all, and the absence of words leaves nothing up to interpretation.

Buggy knows better than anyone that you don't make half-assed threats. Never you. Once you’ve set your eyes on a target, you don’t rest. He recalls the look of pure bloodlust in your eyes from back when you were young. It was neither cruel nor sadistic, but it felt cold to witness. Ice incarnate. 

A predator just following its prime instincts.

Whenever someone posed a problem to either you or your crew mates, you would counter it with a threat. It didn't matter how bold-faced it sounded, you always made sure to see it through. 

As a teenager, he begrudgingly thought that it was hot as hell. You were. Watching the way your eyes would almost glower as you made good on your promises, it did things to him.

Now, even when he's on the receiving end of it, it still does.

He can't deny that the feeling hasn't diminished. For what it’s worth, it means that you’ll keep your focus on him. He’ll have your eyes, all for his own now. Those very eyes, always so sleek and ready to cut and by God, he realizes at that moment just how fucking much he’s missed them.

How much he’s missed you.

“Well,” he says as he makes his way to the exit. “I guess I’ll see you in the front row.”

[sylveon-and-velveon]

Playing "4 Big Guys" around the slashers

Shitpost idea has been made, so here XD

This will include: Michael Myers {OG & RZ}, Brahms Heelshire, Jason Voorhees, Billy Lenz, Freddy Krueger, Stu Macher, Billy Loomis, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Harry Warden, Tiffany Valentine

Feel free to request any shitpost writing prompt ideas you can think of in my asks, I love silly non-serious ideas XD

Given the music is VERY adult related, this is 18+ ONLY

OG Michael Myers

Ain't gonna lie, the second you play that song he's probably staring at you instantly. Anger? Disappointment? Cursing your entire family and possible future children? Who knows! It's Michael-Fucking-Myers baby!!!

He's not used to anything sexual overall so hearing a song openly sing about gay sex, and in such a detailed way, would worry him. Not for the singer, no- more on your taste in music.

And don't even get me started on when he hears about shit being involved. The second he hears that being mentioned he's turning off the music entirely, patting your head, and dragging you away so you'll listen to something he likes instead to cleanse that weird mind of yours. Like... Kate Bush or something.

He'd like Kate Bush right? He looks like a Kate Bush enjoyer.

RZ Michael Myers

Judging you, hard. Though he ain't saying it. His aura is practically smellable he's judging you so hard.

Does he like it? No. It's loud, obnoxious, and profound filled. Ignoring the obvious "gay sex and other weirdness" part, the volume of the music reminds him of his childhood.

He's smashing the device the music is coming from. He doesn't care if it's your MP3 all the way to a damn TV or Alexa, he's smashing that shit to pieces if it means he doesn't need to hear it anymore.

What would he put on instead? Calming ambient noises that play for hours on end on YouTube. It's the exact opposite of whatever hellscape you just played. It's better.

Brahms Heelshire

Well first of all it ain't classical, so that's a point on the "I Hate This" list.

Second it's not a piano.

Third it's literally "4 Big Guys"-

Not only is this poor man confused about everything the singer is saying, I highly doubt his parents explained LGBTQ+ to him, he's also hating how loud it is.

"Who puts things up their ass?" - Brahms Heelshire 2024

You turn off the music yourself when he practically begs you to.

You're probably tryna hold in your laughter while he's sitting on the floor trying to figure out what the fuck he just heard.

Jason Voorhees

Is there a bigger word for "traumatized"? Because that man earns it.

You're lucky af, if his mom was live she'd hit you with a crowbar so fast- Not kill you tho, she wouldn't dare hurt her boy.

But yeah, he's not saying anything, nor moving. Bro's too traumatized. LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE-

You better give him his teddy he fucking deserves it TmT

Laughing his ass off until the shit is mentioned, even this horny gremlin has his limits.

Can you tell I hate shit kinks? XD

He'd want an apology for you blasting that song so far to that section. But no music! He hates Christmas songs, they're so repetitive and they all sound the same anyway.

Bake him a cake, the more unique the better. His favourite so far is red velvet with cream cheese frosting!

Then when he's finished eating you're getting railed by him not longer after, man's not changed. Not now, not ever.

Freddy Krueger

You can play this entire song with this man on REPEAT and he'd be fine with it.

I'd be surprised if he didn't given his track record and.... slicing open his skin to reveal green "blood" and maggots crawling out.

Would he laugh the first time? ABSOLUTELY!

Would he jokingly sing along, probably.

But he would TOTALLY play this song when going after his victims sometimes. Imagine dying and the last thing you hear is:

"4 BIG GUYS AND THEY GRAB ON MY THIGHS-"

Stu Macher & Billy Loomis

Billy is concerned for your wellbeing. Especially when you start singing it at full force with Stu joining in not long after.

Yeah Stu is enjoying this to the max!

Finds it hilarious, who the fuck wouldn't when you've got humour more broken than Brahms' doll-

But seeing you enjoying yourself to this.... absurdity, at least makes Billy calm down from worry. Now he's just concerned your taste in music may infiltrate your taste in movies.

I doubt the man's used to hearing music.... imagine this being his first time hearing it-

OMG he'd probably think this is normal for music.

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??? XD

If it's not his first time hearing music though? No concern, laughter, nothing. He's neutral, given that this is something that makes you a little chaotic gremlin.

He's happy seeing you comfortable enough around to be a "gremlin" as you call it.

Bubba Sawyer

Don't traumatize him more than he's been already!!

Sure he doesn't realise it, or the fact he's used to it, but the poor guy's already traumatized-

Though he's probably more confused in the whole scheme of things. I mean, he knows what sex is. But just the surface of it.

So he's probably just learnt way too much in such a short period of time.

Oh lord what have you done-

Harry Warden

Okay first of all, why is there no GIF of this man? WTF????

Second; man's from the mines, man's old fashioned, you've probably just thrown way too much modern shit in his face way too quickly that he's just staring at you, the music video, and then the floor.

Poor miner is so confused, especially when the "cum starts spraying".

Oh god he'll probably think it's like dust from the mines spraying everywhere.

Fucking hell that's a vision-

Tiffany Valentine

Finds it amusing? Yes.

Judging? Not as much as you'd expect.

Girl's been through a wild ride, hearing you blast out "4 Big Guys" from your phone wouldn't be the most shocking thing in the world.

Hell. she'd probably encourage you to start singing along to it XD

Oh she's gonna use that song to torture someone with it. She doesn't know how yet, but she's got the idea in her head now

[st4rg1rl-16]

━━ ✶✶˖° 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗦𝗜𝗫 | 𝗡𝟰𝗦.

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴(𝘀) ━ 2019 to 2023!11 grid x driver!female oc

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 ━ mattia calls for a meeting to talk about the relationship between his drivers, after it nick becomes suspicious about his feelings towards arabella

𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲 ━ 2019, 10 april

𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 ━ shanghai, china

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ━ anxiety, anxiety attack, sexism (there’s going to be a lot of this in this fic) mattia binotto slowly starting to show his true colors, kids being little shits to our babygirl

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ━ i was going to post this yesterday for valentines but since I’m single af and I was tired and bored of seeing all those people in love I tried to do my own bangs and guess what? i fucked up HAHSHSH so I was sad (I still am, I hate my hair so much right now) btw the parts in cursive like this are flashbacks or little previews of the future, keep that in mind!!!

𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ━ @namgification @louvrepool @d3kstar @omgsuperstarg @whoselly @yl90 @wcnorris

• — need for speed’s masterlist

“OH, I also receive threats from tifosi. Things like "You are a traitor, you have left Ferrari for the enemy."

"Why did you leave Ferrari?" The interviewer, sitting in front of her but out of the eye of the camera, asked her.

The twenty-two-year-old Arabella let out a laugh in a snort raising her hips to get more comfortable in the armchair “Ferrari was not very... kind to me so I stopped being kind to Ferrari”.

Two, almost three, years earlier, an eighteen-year-old Arabella was sitting in an uncomfortable chair without being able to avoid comparing the beginning of her day to that moment. The cold office did not look anything like the warm room, the uncomfortable chair could not be compared to the comfortable and soft bed and, of course, the look that Mattia Binotto was giving her was the opposite of the affectionate and warm look that Charles had given her when she had woken up in his arms.

She looked up at her manager, who watched her standing behind Ferrari's boss, with his arms crossed over his chest and serious face. Next to him was Charles' manager.

She looked down at her hands where her fingers had begun to play with the rings that occupied the opposite fingers. She wanted to look at Charles to see a smile, a look or at least feel his hand against her giving hers a squeeze trying to say that everything was going to be fine but she preferred not to do it.

"I'm going to get straight to the point, I don't want to waste some time we need" The Italian's black curls peeked out under the red cap when he shook his head looking at his wrist where a watch was. He looked up to the front again to see his drivers “Are you dating, yes or no?”.

A deep silence crossed the room after the question while the three "adults" looked at them expectantly. The silence was clear but for Arabella there was a lot of noise in the room, she could hear her heart beating in her ears, Charles' breathing next to her, the annoying noise that Binotto's fingertips made when he hit the glass of his desk.

When he saw that they didn't answer, the Italian let out a sigh “I need you to tell me the truth. It's not that I care who you sleep with but the men above seem to care and they don't find it funny their drivers dating” He looked at them desperately “You can lose your seats in Ferrari because of this, guys”.

"It would be a breach of contract," Nicolas, the manager of the 16, said in a sigh. He looked at his client with severity “Not only would you lose your position in Ferrari but you could be sued”.

An alarm began to sound non-stop in the head of the youngest in the room, suddenly she felt a dizziness and her chest contracted. She thought of her parents, of her brother, of her eleven-year-old self. It would be a disappointment for them.

Everything she had fought for would go to hell in a second.

She dared to look at Charles sideways and when she did she had to take a breath, he was already looking at her. She separated her gaze from his and lowered it to the ground, her hands began to play with each other again before she squeezed her jaw and looked up: looking, for the first time since she had entered the room, at their boss.

"We're just friends, can't friends hold hands?" A crooked smile slipped down her lips while she shrugged "I'm sorry, I can't help it, I'm very affectionate. You can ask Carlos, Lando or anyone, I'm always holding hands with them or hugging them”.

The eldest of the room turned to her manager looking for confirmation and when he saw Nick nod he let out a sigh of relief that almost went unnoticed by the others present. He turned his gaze to the young duo in front of him and nodded to himself "Well, then there's not much to say. You are free to go”.

The first to get up from the chair was the girl, who began to go to the glass door wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible. She heard the chair in which Charles was sitting crawling on the floor and a short time later she felt his presence behind her. She placed her hand on the doorknob ready to leave but the voice of the team boss stopped her.

"Avoid expressions of affection in public, please. We can let it go once, but twice...”His tone was calm but it hid something behind his words, the girl didn't want to jump to conclusions but could swear that it was a threat. She knew that the words were for the both of them, but then, why did she feel his eyes only on her?.

She heard Charles' voice respond with a "Yes, sir" while she turned again to get out of there once and for all but then she heard her name with a slight Italian accent overflowing through the white walls causing her hand to freeze on the doorknob, she closed her eyes strongly waiting for the worst.

"I'm sorry for what has happened in Twitter, the advertizing team has already taken care of everything. I can't even imagine what you've been through” His words were nice and even somewhat kind but the tone with which he had said them made it clear that those were not the feelings he really felt towards the girl. She looked at him over her shoulder, ignoring the questioning expression on Charles' face and the frown of her manager, and nodded before running out of there.

She passed through the garage aware of the not at all disguised looks of the team on her, she accelerated the pace wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible.

She needed to be alone, get away from reality even if it was for ten minutes. She felt that at any moment she was going to faint.

She went to her driver’s room, she was mentally grateful that the area of the rooms was empty, she hurried to close the door but Charles' foot in the middle prevented her from doing so. She looked up slowly over the boy's leg until she reached his face, she snarled.

"Move”.

“No”.

"Charles, move” She pushed the door but with the boy's foot in the middle it didn't move too much. She looked at him angrily “Remove it or I'll destroy your foot”.

"We have to talk about what has happened, Bells" He looked at her pleadingly but she still didn't remove her expression from her face.

"There's nothing to talk about" She snarled, squeezing her grip on the doorknob "Everything has already become clear in there”.

The Monegasque bit his lower lip, this could not be happening. Only four hours ago they were lying in bed kissing until they were out of breath. He looked at her face, her precious face, and cursed himself for having fallen into her charms. Because of them, they were now on a thin line that threatened to break. He felt guilty, he was the one who had kissed her, he was the one who was looking for her, he had started everything.

On the other hand, he was angry, with Binotto, with him and right now with her. Why did she have such a hard time talking about things? Why did she run away at the first change? He thought that maybe it was because she was younger than him, after all, they were three years apart and she was only eighteen, she was a still a kid.

He sighed leaning his forehead on the door “Whether you like it or not, we have to talk”.

A silence formed between the two that was soon interrupted by the girl's sobs trying to escape through her throat, he heard her sip her nose.

"What do we have to talk about, Charles?" She no longer sounded angry but sad and hurt, her voice trembled "We can't be together, if we do we will lose our seats. Everything is against us”.

A puncture made a hole in the male driver’s chest “So that's it? Don't you want us to be together?”.

She opened the door and pushed him into the room, closed the door quickly. Unfortunately, now they couldn't risk anyone seeing them arguing or anything. Now they would have to think very carefully about what their interactions would be like both in public and in private, you never know because as her grandmother said "the walls have ears and eyes."

Charles dedicated himself to observing her, her green eyes were already injected with blood and her cheeks wet. Her nose was red. He felt even worse because he knew it was his fault.

"It's not that I don't want to be with you, it's that I can't!" She exclaimed frustrated. She was tired, she felt that all this was way big for her. Her anxiety didn't help the situation too much and that she had little experience in couple arguments wasn't very helpful either. She moved her hands in front of her showing her frustration, she didn't really know how to express her feelings or her thoughts “I can't risk everything I've achieved, everything I've suffered for”.

"And you think I haven't suffered?" He looked at her in disbelief "I have also suffered to get here. It took me a long time to get here, you know?”.

An ironic smile stuck on her lips as she snorted “You have grown up with money, with friends and a dick between your legs. I didn't. I hardly had any money to eat, the other children didn't want to be my friends and I was a girl. You don't know how difficult it is to be a girl in this world and much less in a sport in which there are only men. So yes, it may be that you have suffered, but I don't think you have suffered the same as I did”.

"I understand, but you can't run away just like that" He tried to touch her arm but she moved away, he licked his dry lips and frowned feeling rejected "What did Mattia mean by what happened in Twitter?".

He observed how the color went away from her skin and how her face deformed showing several emotions that he didn’t know how to decipher although he could differentiate the fear from the others before faking a look of indifference “I don't know”.

"Yes, you do" He raised his arm pointing to her face "You have it written all over your face, don't lie to me”.

"I'm not lying to you”.

"Then tell me!".

"There's nothing to tell".

Both began to raise their voices, one more fed up than the other of the conversation. It was clear that neither of them wanted to have that conversation but, unfortunately, you don't always have what you want.

Charles' face began to take the same color as the red that decorated some of the walls and objects of the room, a vein began to take shape on his forehead “Let me help you, Arabella! I'm here for you, it's not that hard, fuck!”.

"Maybe not for you, but for me it is!" She shouted back, her eyes getting redder and red as tears ran freely down her cheeks. She put a hand to her chest and pulled her shirt “I feel like I can't breathe every time I want to explain how I feel and you want me to let you help me because...don't you feel connected to me or something like that?! I'm sorry, okay?! I'm sorry I'm not like the other girls you've dated, I'm sorry I can't tell you at all times what I'm thinking or feeling!”.

Finally the silence was present between them, the only thing that could be heard was the girl's quick breathing and how the boy absorbed his nose from time to time. Both were with red eyes and soaked cheeks.

Finally she let out a sob breaking the silence, wiped her nose with the sleeve of her red sweatshirt and gave him a sad smile “I'm sorry, but I can't risk it”.

"Ma belle, I..." The angriness that ran through his body was still there but now Charles felt bad, bad because she was right.

She took a breath of air feeling an anxiety attack cover her body, squeezed her lips trying to swallow the sob that was on its way down her throat and looked at him with her eyes bathed in tears "Everything has gone very fast and look at us" She pointed between the two while shaking her head "Everything that could go wrong has gone wrong. We should give ourselves some time”.

And with that she turned around and, again, she ran out of there, leaving Charles trying to pick up the pieces of his broken heart from the ground.

“ELVIRA, Elvira...” The tall man's gaze moved non-stop throughout the red garage, trying to find the black and smooth hair between the sea of red shirts.

He clicked his tongue rolling his hand in the bicep of his little girl's engineer, Alexander raised his neck to look at him curiously.

"Have you seen Elvira?" He asked urgently to which the eldest smiled broadly, kneeling his index finger in the chest of the tall one, he looked at his finger frowning before turning his gaze to the man.

"I knew that there was something between you two" He also clicked his tongue shaking his head while the blond looked at him as if a second head had come out on his shoulder.

He began to question whether that man was in a good mental state to be a Formula One engineer but he ignored it, it was not the time.

"Have you seen her yes or no?"

"Ah, yes, yes" He took off his glasses and wiped them clean with the edge of his red polo shirt before pointing in the opposite direction "I think I saw her go around there”.

He sighed a thank you before starting to jog in that direction. He felt a bad feeling on his chest, he knew that something was not right as soon as he left the office of the head of the team. Had he heard wrong or had Binotto threatened Arabella? Well, technically he had threatened both of them but while he was doing it, he could see his gaze on the girl more than on the monegasque.

He moved in the direction of the cafeteria, he lightened his step when he saw the black, long and smooth hair move on one side on the fabric of the red polo shirt that covered Elvira's back. He approached her exclaiming her name, making her stand in her place and turn to look at her.

"What did Mattia say?" She asked him once he was close to her. The publicist observed him worried because although she knew Arabella for a short time, she had taken affection for her and was worried about her.

He took her by the elbow and started pulling her “Come, we have to talk somewhere where they don't hear us”.

The woman's frown furrowed as she looked at the back of the blond's head, beginning to feel anguish in her chest “It was that bad?”

He pulled her until he found a small space between garages, they both got into the small "alley" hoping that there was no one nearby to listen to them.

"Nick, can you tell me what happened?!" Elvira was already hysterical, her coworker was getting on her nerves with so much secrecy.

He raised his hands trying to calm her down "Well, okay, okay" He put both hands on his hips and took a breath “I have the slight suspicion that Binotto has threatened Arabella”.

"What?" She looked at him strangely "What do you mean, has he threatened her?".

"He was scolding them over the photo that has gone viral but his gaze was on her all the time, it was as if Charles was not present. And in the end he said something like "it can't be repeated again" and, seriously, Elvi, he just looked at her!”

"But, it doesn't have to. Arabella hasn't done anything wrong”.

"Not everyone likes a woman in Formula One, Elvira. Mattia may be one of them”

"But he has been treating her well so far”.

"Maybe he was trying to be professional until he saw the opportunity" He sighed running his hand over his face showing his frustration.

Maybe they were taking things out of context but when there was as much money involved as there was in Formula One, neither of them was surprised that the situation was true.

Both remained silent, weighing the situation and the consequences it would bring with it if it were true.

The woman with pale skin like milk bit her lower lip “Do you think she has noticed?”.

"I know she did. Arabella is an observer, of course she has noticed” He nodded, turning his head to look for something to sit on. There were a couple of boxes so he took a few steps back and sat on top of them, he really needed to sit down. He felt that his blood pressure was raising.

"And what are you going to do?".

"For the moment, try not to get her into some scandal that involves Leclerc, keep an eye on Mattia and pray that these two years will pass quickly and without any problems”.

"And when her contract with Ferrari ends?".

"Last month Toto Wolff made it very clear that he is interested in Arabella, Zak and Christian are also looking to sign her" He denied with a smile on his face, but it was not a smile of joy but one of incredibleness.

"Horner? I don't think it's a good idea for her to go to Red Bull, not when they have Verstappen”.

He nodded in agreement with her “Yes, they would belittle her as they do with Pierre but if she goes to Mercedes they would do the same, they have the five-time champion as the leading driver”.

"Valtteri doesn't seem very unhappy" She crossed her arms resting his back on the wall.

"This sucks" He let out a sigh, throwing his head back "When she was in Formula Two, everything was much easier. I miss that”.

She looked at him with empathy “But now she is in Formula One. She is going to be a star, Nick”.

"But the stars fall from the sky and I don't want her to be hurt. You've already seen what they say about her on the internet, she's just a little girl!” Unintentionally, his head revived yesterday when his was in his hotel room watching a chinese romantic comedy and suddenly his phone seemed to explode from all the notifications he was receiving. He almost started to cry when he read the things people said about Arabella.

"She is a little girl who drives a car at three hundred kilometers per hour defying death every weekend. She is a little girl who has entered in Fotmula One, something that no little girl has been able to achieve for many years” She approached him looking at him with sadness because she knew it hurt. I knew that the girl was the closest thing he had to a daughter “You know she's not just a little girl”.

"But it's been so recently that her race suit was bigger than her" An expression of melancholy crossed his face as he remembered a little Arabella fighting with her race suit so that it didn't fall off her waist.

"I know that you've known her for many years and that you see her as a daughter and that's why it hurts you that all this is happening because you know that it also hurts her, but it's her dream, isn't it?" She looked at him expectantly and after a few seconds he nodded.

He began to play with his hands, a bead bracelet, clearly made by a little girl, peeked out of the sleeve of his left arm attracting the woman's attention. It was seen that it was old because the beads were white but with pieces of colors staining them indicating that they had lost the color and the rope on which it held itself seemed to be struggling for every second of it’s life.

She was able to appreciate the letters forming a 'Nicky ♡'.

"I have shed sweat, blood and tears for that girl since I met her ten years ago" He began to play with the bracelet, an act he did every time he was nervous "And I have never asked for anything in return, only that nothing ever happened to her but now there are fifty thousand people saying dirty shit about her on twitter, her boss seems to hate her and I don't know what to do. I always know what to do but not now” The air got stuck in his chest and his voice trembled becoming hoarse “And I can't ask her because she has trouble letting people help her, now I never know what she's thinking and I know that her anxiety is not helping. And I'm afraid because I'm the one who must protect her, her parents gave me that honor and now I can't do it”.

She stroked her arm to tell him that she was there for him, she felt a tear running down her cheek "You're doing well, Nick. Just... talk to her and make it clear that you are there for her.”

The man let out a little laugh “I wish it was so easy”.

“AND Arabella Torres crosses the finish line two minutes apart from Marcos Gómez!

From ear to ear, the smile of the eleven-year-old girl couldn't be bigger. From the podium she looked at the audience and smiled even more –if it was possible– when some hands showed up in front of her and extended the trophy. Her small hands took it between tremors, she analyzed it for a few seconds before lifting it over her head. She looked at her podium teammates waiting to see their smiles but it wasn't like that, both children looked at her seriously before looking at each other sharing a look of displeasure.

Suddenly her smile no longer reached her ears.

She lowered the trophy and after the photos she got off the podium, trying to find her parents. She pulled the brilliant trophy without much desire going to where they decided that she would meet with her family after finishing the race.

"I'm sick of her" The voice of the second winner of the day filled her ears, she frowned and hid behind a wall of one of the trailers.

Listening to other people's conversations is wrong, Arabella. Her mother would have said but she couldn't help it.

"I don't understand what she is doing here" Another voice joined him "She's a girl! This is not for girls”.

"My father said that they let her win because her family is very poor”.

"In addition to the fact that she is very annoying, I hate her. She gives me a headache just for listening to her”.

"She's not even good at driving”.

"She thinks she is a big deal for being the only girl but she'll never get to anything”.

Maybe she should have thought more about what her mother told him and not let curiosity win her over. Because as they say, curiosity killed the cat but this time it killed the heart of little Arabella.

A pout began to threaten to be present on her small lips, she released the trophy and turned around ready to run away but her body crashing into a larger one prevented her from doing so.

"I'm sorry" She murmured, passing her small hand formed in a fist through her eyes, trying to wipe away the tears.

"Don't worry" The man bent down to see her better, he extended a tissue to her "You're today's champion, right?".

She frowned slightly when she heard him speak in english and let out the smallest of sighs, it's not that she was bad at english but she still didn't speak it fluently and it was a little tedious for her to have to be speaking in another language being sad.

She looked up a little, enough to see the tissue in his hands and accepted it murmuring a "Thank you" before wiping her face, once she did she looked at the man.

"Sebastian Vettel" A gasp came out of her little lips when she realized that he was the Formula One driver. She couldn't believe it, it was Sebastian Vettel!

The german laughed "Yes, that's me. What's your name?”.

"Arabella" She said and he extended his hand to her, she looked at him curiously.

"Nice too met you, Arabella” Between his gigantic hand he took hers and waved them up and down "Now, can you tell me why you were crying? Are you lost? I can help you find your parents”.

"No, no, I know where they are" The tissue moved with every gesture that the little girl made and Vettel smiled again, the girl seemed adorable with her big green eyes and dressed in her little race suit.

He had always wanted to have a daughter, he was still very young but he was sure of it and even more so after seeing little Arabella.

"Well, then?".

He regretted asking because he quickly noticed that she was uncomfortable, he squeezed his lips in a thin line waiting for the girl to say something. He opened his mouth to talk because it seemed like she wasn't going to tell him anything but he shut up when she suddenly answered.

"The other children hate me for being a girl" She shrugged, looking down at the tissue in her hands, began to play with it while a sad smile stuck in her lips "It’s okay, not always people have to like me”.

A puncture made a hole in the blond driver's chest. How is it that a little girl of nine, ten or eleven years old –he wasn’t very sure about her age– could speak like that? He grimaced by responding to himself, probably because she was already used to being rejected.

He looked at her with sympathy “That's true, not everyone will always like you and that's why you don't care. You have to ignore what they tell you or think, the only important thing here is you”.

Arabella looked at him with bright eyes and admiration coming out of every pore of her body because one of her favorite Formula One drivers was there in front of her giving her some advice. A piece of advice that she would take very serious.

"Seb, Seb!" A blond boy with blue eyes shouted the german's name as he ran towards them. Arabella looked at him cautiously, she didn't want another boy to make fun of her, much less in front of the next Formula One champion.

The older blond turned as soon as he heard the boy's voice and could swear that if he had looked in front of a mirror he could have seen a light bulb light up above his head. He smiled at the boy when he finally arrived next to them.

"Seb, dad is looking for you" He said between accelerated breaths, swallowed saliva and looked up, colliding with that of the mysterious girl who was with her father's friend. He frowned.

"Yes, I'm coming" Even without erasing his smile, he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and brought him closer to him "I want to introduce you to someone”.

"What are you doing?" He asked in german to what Sebastian looked at him badly.

"She's Arabella" He pointed to the girl, making him to look back at her. He observed her, she was a little taller than him and his green eyes attracted more attention than his blue ones. She was in a red and blue rice suit and a trophy was lying on the ground, not far from her, he deduced that she was the champion of the race. She sent him a smile to which he replied blushing, she was beautiful.

Sebastian's smile got bigger “He is Mick and I think you are going to be great friends”.

She hid her face between her arms and squeezed her grip on her knees more, bringing them even closer to her chest if that was possible. She let out several sobs, one stronger than the previous one, almost drowning with her own tears.

She cried for herself, for her family, for the boys and cried for Charles.

She had screwed up everything and she didn't know how she was going to fix it or if she could fix it.

She regretted everything and for a moment she wanted to go back to that moment when she decided to sit for the first time in that kart that was not for her and avoid it, if she had not touched it maybe now she would be in college and would be a normal girl with normal problems or maybe she would be unemployed struggling to find something to put in her mouth, she didn't know but at that moment anything seemed better than the present.

At what point had she stopped being in a hotel room living a honeymoon moment with Charles to have broke up with him, to have been threatened by her boss to fire her and be sexualized on twitter?.

"Oh, tyttö" Little girl. She heard someone's voice bringing her back to reality, she still didn't raise her head because her body had stopped working, she didn't feel anything. "What happened to you?".

She heard a few steps and then a presence near her, she felt like some hands made her raise her head, finding Kimi Räikönnen's cold blue eyes looking at her with some concern.

She couldn't answer, when she tried to speak her lips contracted in a pout and another sob ran away for them. The blond frowned, holding her head.

"You have to breathe, tyttö” He said but he didn't get an answer. The girl in front of him really looked like a corpse. He moved her head between his hands “Eh! Tyttö, are you listening to me? Breathe with me, c’mon”.

He began to do breathing exercises trying to get the girl to follow him, his heart jumped in his chest when she began to follow him. They stayed like that for about fifteen minutes until she stopped crying and was able to keep her head high on her own.

Once he separated from her, an uncomfortable silence embraced them. The eldest looked at her “Eh...Do you want to talk about it?”.

The girl shook her head and he felt a little relieved "How did you know what to do?".

"I'm a father, tyttö." He raised the bottle of water he had left on the floor as if he were toasting and drank from it "I know how to do everything”.

She let out a small smile at the finn's attitude and began to play shyly with the zipper of her jacket. The blond looked at her curiously.

"Is this for Binotto?" Arabella raised her head looking at him surprised.

"How...?"

"I'm friends with some of the engineers. I heard them talk about the twitter thing and Binotto scolding you and Leclerc”.

She let out a moan taking her gaze to her shoes “Great, so everyone knows”.

"You should not care, you shouldn’t give a fuck" Before the expression the girl laughed covering her knuckles with the sleeve of her jacket and passing the fabric over her cheeks to wipe the tears that silently continued to fall. The blond looked at her from above “You know what? I thought you were tough, I guess I was wrong”.

"Excuse me?" She looked at him somewhat offended.

"I thought you wouldn't care so much about what they'll say" Kimi was trying to get a reaction from her and Arabella, unconsciously, she knew it but still couldn't help but feel his words.

"Well, sometimes you can't take it anymore" She shrugged, looking away from him.

"I know you can do it, but you can't yet" He pointed out "The first day I saw you, I knew you were going to be big, you know? I knew you were going to change things, that you were going to make history" He drank from the bottle of water as if nothing had happened while Arabella looked up to him with her mouth open, was this really happening or had she become unconscious thanks to the anxiety attack?.

She wanted to laugh, the situation literally seemed surreal to her.

"You have a champion's face, so don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Don’t mind them, do whatever you want. Win races, get on the podium and show everyone who you are. If they are going to hate you okay, but give them a reason to hate you: be the best” The finn spoke with passion and knew that it was because he had experienced hatred first hand. He had been in that world for many years, he had seen many friends suffer from the hatred of the public eye but none of them were like her. He knew it was different because she was a woman and very young. She had achieved what many men hadn’t been able to but, right now, before him she was only a scared little girl.

Maybe he wasn't aware of what he was saying to the girl, much less about how her skin had bristled or how something had "clicked" on her head thanks to his words. But he still continued “Make them get bored of seeing you win, I know you can do it but remember that after all not always people like you”

That phrase reminded her of an old friend.

A phone rang, causing him to separate his gaze from her. He looked for the device in his pockets and when he found it he looked at the screen. He raised his head to look at the girl, who was looking at a fixed point in front of her “I have to go. Will you be okay?”

At his question, she raised her head and Kimi could swear that there was something different in her gaze. She gave him a small smile of gratitude “Yes. Thank you, Mr. Räikkönen”.

"Call me Kimi, tyttö”.

And with that he turned around and left, leaving the girl alone again.

She licked his lips observing how the figure of the Alfa Romeo’s driver disappeared in the distance. She tested the salt of her tears on her lips and sighed before moving her hand down her leg, looking for her own phone. She took it out of the pocket and after unlocking it she went to the contact app, her eyes moved all over the screen in unison with her finger, looking for the right name. Once she did it, she pressed the call button.

She put the device in her ear and waited for it to sound “Hey, uhm. I miss you, do you think you can come to the next race?".

[7ndipity]

Falling for a friend: Maknae line

Maknae line x Reader

Summary: How they would handle and confess to having romantic feelings for a friend

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking,

A/N: As promised, here's the maknae line lists! I'll also link Hyung line here in case you haven't read those. Hope you like them!

Masterlist

Requests are open

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Jimin:

Tbh, Jimin was the hardest member for me figure out, because the only word that came to mind was 'confusion'.

Like, it would be a near 180 from Namjoon's scenario. No one knows wtf is actually going on with you two, except maybe him. And even he's all over the place about it.

(Literally half your friend group thought you were already dating? Help?!)

It's not even like he intentionally meant to confuse you(or at least, not completely), but he's such a naturally massive flirt that sometimes it's hard to tell where you stand with him.

Honestly feels kinda guilty when he realizes his feelings aren't purely platonic, cause he's not sure if you feel the same, so he kinda starts testing the waters, like Hobi, to see how you respond, but starts to worry if he's manipulating the situation to fit his wants.

Big on casual affection, both giving and receiving, but he's kinda sly about it. Says shit like "oh, your nails/rings/etc look so cool!" so he can grab your hand to examine them and then just... doesn't let go?

Flops his head in your lap and is just like 🥺"Pet my hair?"(he's basically like having an overly affectionate cat)

But heaven forbid you get too close or flirt with somebody else, because he will get salty af and sulk.

Finally confesses one night when he comes over to hang out after a particularly long day. As had become typical routine, the two of you were sat side by side on the floor at your coffee table, eating takeout and watching TV.

At ease for the first time all day, he could feel the fatigue begining to catch up with him, letting his head droop to rest on your shoulder. Without missing a beat, you offered him another bite of food, which he accepted with a muffled "thank you."

The two of you stayed like this til the end of your show, him looking up at you sleepily, a small smile teasing at the corners of his mouth as he watched you, his heart giving a little twist.

"I love you."

You looked down at him in surprise, his expression leaving no room for misunderstanding.

"I love you too." You replied.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You smiled.

"Good." He shifts around so that he can wrap his arms around you more comfortably, pressing a kiss to your cheek before settling against you again.

Feeling his breaths begin to even out against your neck, you feel yourself being lulled to sleep, sinking further into his hold.

The two of you wake up later in the same position with sore necks, but you couldn't care less.

Taehyung:

Honestly? Unbothered(lying)

Don't misunderstand, it's not that he doesn't care about those feelings, it's more that he doesn't mind them, if that makes sense? Like, of course he's in love with you, who wouldn't be?

Pendulum swings between cocky and shy with you.

Easily impressed by you doing anything. He hears you sing and he's like🥺. Doesn't matter if you sound like an angel or a cat trapped in trash can, he's so down hard for you and applauding either way.

Thrives on skinship with you, giving out hugs for anything. You passed an exam/got a promotion? Hugs. You bought his favorite snacks? Hugs. You breathe? HUGS!

Doesn't hide his feelings for you, but doesn't act on them either.

Like, y'all have sleepovers and he'll joke like "And there was only one bed!" But then nothing ever happens.

Kinda likes the weird limbo state you're in, until he thinks someone else is also into you and he turns into a sulky baby, ranting about it to one of his hyungs. "What are you so worried about, I thought you guys were already a thing?" "No, it's not like that." "Then what is it?" And he just doesn't have a good answer for that.

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth." You say, scraping more batter out of the bowl sat between the two on your tiny kitchen table as you played the game that had become a habit for you.

"When did you realize you were falling for me?" He asks with a cheeky grin.

"Dare."

"You can't change answers now!" He laughed.

"Says who?"

"Me!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were on the official rule committee for truth or dare."

"If you don't answer, I win."

"You always win." You grumbled, making him grin, thinking that was the end of it.

"My birthday."

He looked back up at you surprise, not having expected to actually get an answer. "What?"

"It was right after I had moved here, and I didn't really know anyone yet, except you." You said, fiddling with your spoon.

"I remember." He said, watching you closely.

"But you showed up with balloons and a cake, saying you couldn't let me be alone." You shrugged. "I don't know, it made me feel... special."

You were now very aware of his eyes on you, making you nervous you'd said too much. "Nevermind, it's dumb-"

Before you could finish, he had caught your face in his hands and kissed you.

Jungkook:

As I think I've mentioned before, I think he gets small crushes pretty easily, to the point that when he notices the shift in his feelings for you, he doesn't really acknowledge it at first, figuring it'll go away in week or two, no biggie.

But then it doesn't.

And then he panics a lil bit. Ghosts you for like three days, then goes back to normal without any explanation, and you're just like "???okay???"

He decides he's just gonna play it cool, but he is not nearly as subtle as he thinks he is.

You're each other's comfort person, so you're together constantly which means even a tiny shift in his habits or behavior stands out.

Although it's not hard to notice how much clingier he's become(and jealous of FUCKING EVERYONE), so it's not difficult to put two and two together.

Would probably have realized you like him too, if he weren't so busy trying to act slick and come up with excuses to hang out all the time.

Y'all play flirt constantly too, which blurrs the lines between 'friend' and 'definitely not friend' even more, but sometimes you manage to catch him off guard.

One night when you're hanging out together, and he's a couple drinks in and lets his guard down. And you complement him on how good he looks or smth, and he just smirks.

"You want me so bad." He says in a low voice, trying to tease you,

And it's then as you're sitting there watch him, you decide fuck it, and just put it out there.

"Yeah, I do."

Nearly giving himself whiplash from how fast he spins around, he turns to stare at you wide eyed. "Wait, what?!"

"What?"

"You said-." His eyes are so big now, you can almost see the wheels turning as he tries to make sense of what just happened. "You like me?"

"Yeah." You shrug, trying to play it off. "Is that okay?"

He nods slowly, a smile beginning to creep across his features. "I like you too."

You're both suddenly aware of how close you're both now sitting.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks, already starting to lean in, before jumping back abruptly.

"Wait, ugh, my breath stinks like beer, lemme go brush my teeth!" He says, practically vaulting over the sofa and running for the bathroom, leaving you sitting there, unable to bite back the laugh that slips out because he's just so... him.

But that's why you love him.

Taglist: @fandems

[tojitopiia]

toji being a meanie :’(

a/n: first smut nd its just for himmm hehe , feeling shy ab posting this , toji is mean af duh, toji praises you ONCE, degrading, pussy spanking 😈, bratty reader, female reader, not fully proofread , toji makes you beg , cant resist toji (literally) , tied up reader , okay byebye enjoy!!!

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“you see that shit, princess?” he whispers softly, forcing you to look at his fingers graze your sensitive clit, “thats fuckin’ mine, you hear me?”

you nod slowly. toji had been at this for hours now. hours and he still hasn’t fucked you. you were way too spaced out to remember how you got here. toji definitely didn’t forget, though. nothing out of the norm, just a classic case of you being bratty and toji dragging you home to put you in your place.

he smacks your pussy, causing you to yelp in surprise and making you grip the bedsheets beneath you, your legs starting to quiver. “just listen to yourself. and you talked all that shit earlier.” he scoffs. “guess you don’t got nothin’ else to say.”

your brows furrowed in frustration. you would just ignore his stupid ass taunts and get yourself off with your fingers. it’s too bad he’s got your hands tied behind your back.

“j-just… fuck me already.” you whine, earning yourself another harsh smack to your cunt. “now you’re tellin’ me what to do? ‘really tryin’ it today, babe.”

“i’ll consider speeding this along.. if ya beg for it.”

not a fucking chance is what you wanted to say, but you knew if you did he probably would leave you there and not fuck you for the rest of the week. him asking you to beg was his way of trying to tame you. the nice way.

“toji.. please..” you mumble, looking at him with pleading eyes. “don’t make me wait anymore.”

“i don’t think you get it, princess.” he starts, and suddenly he was holding your jaw in his hand, getting nice and close so that you could hear him, “y’want me to just give it to you, but it’s not gonna happen unless you beg like you fuckin’ mean it. got it?”

“..mhm.” you whimper timidly, you couldn’t deny that you felt a bit intimidated for a second there. at this point, you needed to just set your pride aside. all you had to do was say those magical words…

you gasp softly as his hand lets go of your jaw and moves back down to your sopping little cunt, applying pressure to your swollen clit and moving his thumb in a circular motion. you cry out in pleasure and you felt his eyes watching every pathetic little expression on your face. “..need your cock s’bad, toji.” you say softly, “need to feel you inside me..”

“yeah? care to remind me who this pretty pussy belongs to?”

you don’t even dare hesitate anymore. “y-you.. always you.”

“that’s my girl.” he praises, finally getting up and tugging at his sweatpants so he could show you what you’ve been wanting this entire day.

(sorry for the cliffhanger pookies :p)

[darkbluekies]

AHHH JUST GOT ANOTHER REQUEST! silas with a crackhead gen z s/o.This guy would be so fking confused.😭😭

Silas:walk out of that front door and I'll break your legs👿👿.

s/o:*uses the open window besides the door instead and casually walks away*

Silas texting:WHY ARE YOU NOT HOME YOUR GONNA GO THROUGH HELL IF YOU DON'T COME BACK.

S/o: You're* dumbass and proceeds to ignore the calls from this dumb af guy.

first anon (im sorry but i thought this was funny 😭😭)

[Do you want to break him??? Congrats, you succeeded 😭]

Not a joking matter

Mafia!yandere OC x reader

Summary: you decide to pull a stunt on Silas while you are fighting, which causes him to go insane with fury. He promises himself to make sure you never dare to do it again.

Warnings: yandere content, mentions of killing, guns, threats, isolation punishment, Stockholm syndrome, Silas who can't take a joke, manipulation

Word count: 1.5k

Normally, you wouldn’t dare fight with Silas. It only gave you consequences you couldn’t bear. Besides, just giving in and listening to him makes your world turn easier. But some days, things get too much and your anger bubbles out. This has led you and Silas to argue down by the front door about his jealousy.

“I’m literally done!” you scoff out. “You’re insane, this is insane! I’m leaving!”

“If you walk out through that door, I’m breaking your legs”, Silas warns you with his arms over his chest. “Don’t test me, little thing.”

You give him a long stare before opening the window next to the door and jumping out. Silas gaze darkens as he watches you walk away. How dare you?

“What are you doing, boss?” one of his men asks with a shaking voice. “Are you just going to let them leave?!”

“They will be back soon”, Silas says through gritted teeth. “They can’t survive without me. And when they return, they’ll go back into the basement until they apologize sincerely.”

“And if they don’t come back, boss?”

“Then they’ll regret it.”

You walk along the road, cursing Silas for living out in the middle of the fucking forest. You’re not even wearing shoes! Why did you walk out like that? Well, at least you’re free. Right? This has to be worth it. You have to show Silas that you mean business … he can't treat you like that.

You reach the nearest city after an hour of walking. You're sure you've destroyed one skinlevel by now. No blood has been drawn yet, but your skin is ripped and dirty. You sink down by the side of the road, next to a coffee shop. Now what? You don't have any money … only your cell phone. Silas IT master has blocked the phone from calling any other number than Silas.

It buzzes. You look down and see a message from him.

"WHY ARE YOU NOT HOME?? YOUR GOING TO GO THROUGH HELL IF YOU DON'T COME BACK, DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?"

You shouldn't do it — it's childish — yet you do it. Your fingers tremble as you type the message back, but you can't help but snicker for yourself.

"You're*"

If only you could see his face once he receives the message. Silas, on the other hand, throws his phone at the wall once he gets your little fun text. He calls you, but you don't answer. He calls again … and again … and again. Same automatic voice telling him to try again later.

"This little shit, I swear to God-" he growls before grabbing his car keys. "I'm going to get them, I don't fucking care. They'll be sorry. Who the fuck do they think they are? Seriously? Fucking brat.”

“What are you going to do, boss?” the same man as before asks.

“If Y/N wants to act like a shitty, little brat, then I’ll treat them like one.”

He rips open the door and walks out to his black sports car. You might be his darling, but this car is his baby. Although he doesn’t know where you are, he has an idea. There's not a lot of places you could have gone to. You're not stupid enough to run into the forest, you'll have followed the road. You can't have gotten too far. He'll find you.

He notices that you're not on the road.

"These little legs were faster than I thought", he mumbles. "Just wait til I get my hands on you."

He drives into the small city, looking around. A smirk creeps up on his face once he sees you sitting on the sidewalk. He parks the car right in front of you and jumps out. His anger turns into some weird adrenaline kick once he sees your terrified eyes. He will punish you, don't you worry … but first he wants to play.

"Either you get in the car now or I'll make you", he says with one hand resting inside of his jacket, on his gun. "I'll blow this place up."

You know Silas, and you know what he keeps in his pocket. You know he's not lying. Suddenly, incapable of moving, paralyzed in fear, you shake your head desperately. Silas smiles.

"Boom", he says, forming his mouth to an 'O'.

"No, please", you whisper.

"Yes? If you say so …"

He's about to pull put the gun. You finally manage to move your limbs and shoot up from the sidewalk, stopping his hand.

"Silas, don't", you beg.

"But you wanted to be bratty and not do what I said", he pouts and gives you puppy dog eyes. "It's not more than fair that I get to play too?"

"Silas, people will get hurt if you do that."

"People could have gotten hurt by your stunt too. If I wouldn't have found you …" He moves closer until you can feel his breath against your face. "... I'd killed all of my men."

You shiver and give him a horrified glance.

"Y/N, get in the car now", Silas tells you seriously, no longer in the mood to play games.

And you do.

"Y/N, I want you to know something", Silas says as he starts driving away. "You only 'escaped' today because I let you. The only reason you're still alive is because I went to get you. You should be happy that I love you because what would you have done without me? You have no money, your phone — which you should be grateful I gave you — only works for my number … you aren't even wearing shoes!"

Your head slumps. You shouldn't feel so guilty, you shouldn't start to cry … but you do.

"I could have left you", Silas continues. He won't stop until you've broken down completely. "I could have forgotten about you and moved on, find somebody that actually appreciates what I do for them and is grateful for my love. But I went back for you because I love you."

He has noticed that you've started crying in the seat next to him, but he isn't done.

"People could have died today and it'd be all your fault", Silas says.

"Stop!" you shout and cover your ears with your hands. "I get it! I'm sorry!"

"I'm not sure you do, baby. That's why you'll spend a little while down in the basement once we get home. Just to make sure this won't happen again."

You want to protest, but his gaze makes you shrink to the size of an ant. Yu're already six feet down, no need to do yourself any further.

When you get back to his house, he pulls you with him down to the basement and chains you before saying a word.

"Silas, I'm really sorry", you sob. "I'll never do it again. Please don't leave me here.'

"You've acted like a complete brat, baby. My partner is an adult, not a damn child, do you get that?"

"Yes!"

"Good. I will see you in a while."

"No, Silas, please!" you shout. "Don't leave me here!"

You hear the door to the ground floor, leaving you in pitch black darkness. You sob out into the emptiness and hug your legs, burying your face into your knees.

You don't know how much time passes by. You have no idea how long time you've been down here, all you know is that your growling stomach stopped making sounds a long time ago. It doesn't hurt anymore … although it should. Your body must have gone numb because you can't feel anything. Or you've died. That's at least what you tell yourself. You no longer live and will never feel anything else ever again. This basement works wonders on the brain.

The door from the ground floor creaks. You look up, seeing how Silas come walking down. Your body fills with electricity. He came back!

"Hey, baby", he says and squats down in front of you.

"Silas …", you say quietly, tasting the name, seeing if he can hear you. Seeing if you're alive.

"Yes?"

A wave of relief flows through you. Your hands start reaching out for him, needing to hold onto something to fully convince you that you're still real.

"Careful, baby", Silas says softly and stops your hands. "I have to remove the chains first."

Impatiently, you wait for him to unlock the heavy metal keeping you to the ground. As soon as you feel the weight lifting, you throw yourself at him, locking your arms around his neck and hiding your face into his warm shoulder. He chuckles and wraps his strong arms around you in return.

"Eager to see me?" he smiles right by your ear.

You don't answer. You're happy to see someone. It just happens that this someone is Silas.

"Do you want to come upstairs now?" he asks.

You nod against his shoulder.

"You're not going to be a bratty little shit anymore?" he asks.

You shake your head.

"And you won't pull a childish stunt?" he asks.

You shake your head. Your humor doesn't work on him and you learned that the hard way.

"Very well then, let's go", Silas says and stands up, pulling you up with him.

You wrap your legs around his torso and keep your arms in place. You can hear him purr like a cat. Silas always gets what he wants. He always wins.