#like they did not HESITATE they were on my ass immediately

[dollyfiles]

barry finding out about raven!reader and frat!rafe

raven!reader mlist

cw: based on this ask (HERE), little bit of fluff, secret relationship, explicit language, barry being the annoying older brother he is

it was too late to be at barry’s place, really. unless someone was either buying some shit or blowing their fucking brains out with coke, there was no business being here. especially not after 2am. but for you and rafe it was different. you weren’t there for any of that.

you two were tangled up on the rundown couch, mouths connected, hands roaming, rafe’s shirt pushed halfway off his torso and your skirt long forgotten by the door. it wasn’t supposed to happen right now, definitely not. but that was the thing with you two. nothing ever went exactly as planned. especially when lust took over.

“you feel so fuckin’ soft.” rafe was murmuring into your neck, his teeth grazing your warm skin. you were just about to undo his belt, giving into him, when the front door swung open with a loud metallic clang. and barry stepped in. completely frozen in the doorway.

you heart dropped to your stomach, “oh..fuck.” a six-pack dangled in one of his hands, a blunt in the other. barry squinted, letting his eyes adjust to the dim room. and then he finally made sense of it all.

his sister practically draped over rafe cameron, who now looked like he’d just seen a fucking ghost. rafe’s blood drained so fast it felt like he might black out. he didn’t move. didn’t breathe. just blinked once, slowly, like that would help.

“…yoo. are ya’ little shits serious right now?” barry’s voice was flat, but the grillz in his mouth caught the light when he smiled. “GET OUT!” you shouted, launching the closest thing straight at your brothers face.

barry caught it mid-air and just laughed, stepping backward with the most smug, slow-ass exit ever. “ugh..i fucking hate him,” you complained, sighing before scrambling off your half-naked boyfriend.

rafe didn’t say anything. just collapsed back onto the couch, pale as death. “oh my god,” he whispered, staring at the ceiling. “i’m gonna die. he’s gonna kill me. he’s actually gonna fucking kill—

“no, he’s not,” you snapped, already yanking your shirt down and readjusting it. your cheeks were hot, lipstick smudged, hair a complete mess. but you still looked absolutely stunning. “because imma kill that stupid little ass of his first.”

you stormed toward the door. “y/n—wait—” rafe reached for you, “should i…like…talk to him?” you turned mid-step, not believing his words, and gave him the look. “stay here. and keep your mouth shut.” and with that rafe immediately sank back into the couch.

outside, barry was lighting his blunt again. cool as ever. leaning on the garden chair like he hadn’t just walked in on something that would make any other brother freak the fuck out.

“WHAT THE HELL, BARRY?!” you snapped, stomping across the grass. he didn’t flinch though. just took a drag before blowing it into the air. “ya’ welcome,” he said coolly. “thought y’all needed a break before it turned into a fuckin’ hell of a porno in there.” you huffed, blazing with fury. “you are such a freak.”

“i live here.” he held his hands up in surrender. “ya’ could’ve knocked.” you whined, feeling defeated. “i did. ya’ were too busy dry-humping the poor boy.” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “i swear to god, if you breathe a word of this to anyone—”

your brother grinned, “what, ya’ too embarrassed to be seen with little country club?” you hesitated. and that told him everything he needed to know. “holy shit,” he laughed. “you actually like him, huh?” you scoffed. “no, i don’t.”

he smirked. “uh huh, sure. that’s why you were about three seconds away from fuckin’ baptizing my couch with his dna.” your eyes grew wide at his words before shoving him, hard. “SHUT UP!”

“gosh, you’re so disgusting.” barry stumbled but didn’t even try to hide the laugh bubbling out of him. “relax tiger. i’m not a fucking snitch, ya’ should know that.” you shook your head.

“ya’ better not,” you said, stepping closer, voice low and sharp. “’cause if i hear one word about this floating around the cut, imma gut ya’ in your sleep.” barry snorted. “okay okay, i gotcha, jesus..”

the two of you stared at each other for another second, then your brother held up a beer. “ya’ want one, killer?” you rolled your eyes before grabbing the bottle from him. “only if i can smash it over your big ass head.”

barry laughed. this time it was a genuine, amused chuckle. “the hell man. my little baby sister and rafe fucking cameron. didn’t think he’d be the puppy-dog type shit, but ya’ really know how to pick em’, huh?”

you really expected anger when barry caught you both. maybe a lecture. or even threats. but he just looked… entertained. you frowned. “wait—you’re not mad?” barry just shrugged. “i mean, don’t love the image. but nah. as long as he don’t screw you over, i don’t care.”

you squinted at him, not really buying it. “you’re being… weirdly chill about this.” he grinned. “better not get used to it.” he flicked ash off the edge of the bench. “next time, imma charge rent though.” you shoved his shoulder, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

meanwhile, rafe sat inside the trailer, head in his hands. he had kissed you. touched you. practically inhaled you. in barry’s house. barry’s. as in your brother ‘barry’. rafe’s heartbeat thudded in his ears. he could already hear the conversation. the threats. the ‘stay the hell away from my sister’ talks.

and it wasn’t like rafe didn’t get it. if he were barry, he’d be pissed too. he sank back into the couch slowly, like the cushions might eat him alive. “you absolute idiot,” he muttered to himself. fingers tapping against his leg, guilty and terrified.

what if you were mad at him too?

what if you regret it?

what if this ruins everything?

he blinked up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of it pressing down on him. ‘she’s gonna dump me. and then barry’s gonna kill me. or maybe the other way around.‘ he thought. either way, he was dead.

he could hear your voices from outside the trailer. hear you shout at your brother while he was laughing. all while rafe he just sat there. waiting for the verdict. and waiting to know if he still had a girlfriend by the end of it. or a fucking pulse.

tags: @ibiteribbon @soangelbaby @bradshawed @sugaredbambi @rafessecret @inspiredangel @et6rnalsun @st8rkey @acklesangel @nemesyaaa @rafekisser @deansbeer @littlelamy @inbred-eater @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lacyydollette @st6ined @ellayahhs

[anachronistic-falsehood]

dude i applied to a place and like twenty minutes later they messaged me over indeed asking when i could come in for an interview. they do seem desperate for employees but in my head im weirdly suspicious am i gonna b signing myself away to a fucking pyramid scheme or something

[sukukisses22]

Attending your high school reunion with boyfriend!sukuna

You've been pacing around the bedroom for the past hour, trying to wrestle your newly bought earrings into place and fixing the wrinkles on your satin- black bodycon dress.

"You better not start anything" you say, catching your boyfriend's reflection in the mirror.

Behind you Sukuna is sprawled across the bed, already dressed in a black button up shirt, rings filled in both of his tattooed hands and a blazer resting over one of his arms.

"Fucking hell" he mutters under his breath, "You make me sound so insufferable"

Finally grabbing your purse you turn to Sukuna,

"You are insufferable around people I used to date"

The air around suddenly shifts.

"Wait" pause, "Your ex's coming?" He asks suddenly getting up from the bed like you kept a very crucial info from him.

"Well duh, of course he's going to be there, did I forget to tell you we were in the same year?" It must've slipped from your mind in one of those late night 'My ex was fucking trash" convos you used to have with Sukuna after too many beers.

"So you're asking me to play goody two shoes in front of the guy my girl used to date? fuck no-"

"I'm not asking you to be friends Sukuna just- um behave?" You ask coming closer to Sukuna with pleading eyes, the ones he has a very hard time telling the word "no" to.

"You play fucking dirty " he says letting out a sigh.

You grins as you grab onto his shoulders to press a small kiss against his lips.

Sukuna immediately react to the kiss by grabbing a handful of your ass and yanking you closer to him.

"You look too damn good tonight, we could be doing something way better-"

You shush Sukuna by putting a finger against his lips "Tempting offer but no, not tonight" you say, fixing his collar gently.

Sukuna rolls his eyes and places a soft kiss on your neck before releasing you. "Alright then, let's get this over with".

The venue was just what you expected. It was a hall from a bit upscale hotel. You entered the hall with your arm looping through Sukuna's.

Even from a distance you can already recognize the familiar faces you spent your entire school years with. And of course this goes without saying, the eyes in the room snapped to Sukuna first before they fell on to your face. And honestly you can't even complain.

The pink pushed back hair, the black lines & the silver piercings decorating his face just glistening under the chandelier lights, an all black suit that fits his physics perfectly, you wouldn't take your eyes off the man towering next you either.

And you wanted nothing more than to show off the perfect, fine ass man you bagged to the friends who saw your not-too-nice love life in the highschool days.

The event was going quite well, people started coming up and introduce themselves with small chit chats and Sukuna kept his promise, trying his best to act interested, giving them small nods and sentences.

Well atleast until he showed up to the scene.

Your ex wasted zero seconds when he saw you, he slid over to you in no time, holding the past familiarity in his eyes.

"Hey" he says in a soft and casual tone "You look good"

You smile, letting out a small "thank you" trying to be polite, after all both of you are adults now. Obviously life and time matured you into different people than what you used to be. And you've already moved on from what happened in the past.

Sukuna snorts under his breath and you quickly nudge Sukuna with your arm, signaling him to introduce himself.

After responding to your death glare with a scowl, Sukuna finally steps forward, extending a hand. "Nice to meet you. I've heard nothing about you"

this jerk.

Your ex's smile falters a little bit and he takes Sukuna's hand with a hesitant face. "And this is.....?"

"Oh this is my-"

"Ryomen" Sukuna says smoothly, trying to look unbothered as possible. "Her boyfriend, we live together".

You looked at him, giving him a face as to say "was the last part even necessary?"

And he pressed his eyebrows together, giving you an expression that says "of course it is"

Your ex just nods, like he's trying to swallow something so bitter "oh right, that's.. really great"

Sukuna doesn't smile but in his mind he's watching a mouse trying to pretend he's not cornered and that gives him satisfaction, more than he likes to admit.

Sukuna lightly tilts his head and looks directly into your ex's face and says "yeah, I know" in a low and bored tone.

You step in with a nervous laugh trying to defuse the tension and drag Sukuna to a near by buffet table and he lets you.

"You said you'd behave" You hiss.

"what? That was me behaving" he says shrugging his shoulders.

"You looked like you wanted the chandelier to fall on his head"

"I did"

You gasps "Sukuna!"

As the night grew darker, drinks started going around along with pics & yearbooks. And against your protests Sukuna managed to grab one yearbook from the table because he was curious to see what you looked like in high school.

"you had bangs?" He asks after seeing a pic of you during your awkward bangs phase.

"I looked so ugly with them, wtf" you say, trying to cover your embarrassed face with hands.

"no tf you weren't, you look cute"

*snap*

"omg Sukuna stop taking pics! I look like a duck there" you say, trying to cover the yearbook but accidently the pages flipped ahead and both of your eyes landed on the new page in front of you.

It was a photo of your highschool dance, and of course next to you was none other than your dance partner, your previous boyfriend.

Sukuna's smile falters for a second.

"oh this was from when I was 19, our last school dance I think"

Sukuna hums slightly. "You looked beautiful" a pause, "And he looked like he snuck onto earth"

You hide a laugh as you tell Sukuna to shut up but you don't miss how the smile he lost while looking at the photo returns a second later, after seeing how genuinely happy you looked at that school dance. And to your suprise he still snaps a pic.

It was around midnight when you two finally made it out of the reception hall after saying goodbye to everyone. Sukuna is already taking out the keys from his pocket.

Night air brushes were a bit cool against your skin tonight. Before you can complain you feel a big warm blazer slipping around your shoulders and a warm pair of hands coming to hold your cheeks. "You're cold, let's get home quick" he says taking one of your hands and moving towards the parking lot.

Few minutes of silence, and Sukuna was the first one to break it.

"I wasn't threatened by the way" he murmurs in a calm tone.

"huh?"

He flickes his eyes to the sky briefly. "Call it petty if you want- I just hated not being there for you first"

"And that's why you photo bombed the entire class only pic and sat next to me? Just because he wanted to sit near me?" You say letting out a light chuckle.

"That's.. different" Sukuna says as he suddenly stops the walking. A whisper came next, brushing against your ear "You looked good tonight, too good to sit next to someone who let you go"

Your breath catches.

"I don't need to be threatened" he says smoothly, like he's stating a fact . "Because I already know how this ends"

You blink. "What ends?"

"Us." He doesn't look at you when he says it, but the seriousness in his voice gets to you. "I've tried to imagine every different version of my fucking life, but somehow one thing never changes in any of em"

Sukuna finally looks at you, expression unreadable but his eyes, certainty filled in both of them.

"You're in it, sweetheart. Always been"

Your chest tightens. Not the heavy and dull kind, the soft and full kind. You smile despite your heart literally thudding against your ribs.

"You say that like it's guaranteed" you whisper.

He leans in and kisses you, slow. just once. "It is."

You smile against his lips, letting yourself sink into him, into the love you've always dream of having ever since you were a little girl.

Notes: Isn't he so dreamy? I need new Sukuna ideas to write :P

[bluewxrld07]

Soap

Lando Norris X F!Reader

Summary: Y/N has always loved hard and shows that through affection. Especially lately. She's a touch-starved kind of lovergirl, and Lando has always been okay with it. At least she thought so.

Guess I better wash my mouth out with soap

Warning(s): angst, Lando being an ass (so sorry), Max being bestie

Y/N had always been a lovergirl at heart.

She was never afraid to show it, show how much she cared about the person. Whether it was family, friends, or lovers. She thought they deserved to be shown how much she cared for them being a part of her life.

It was something she would never change doing. She grew up in a household where that's all they ever did. Showed how much they loved one another.

So, when she met Lando, she had never stepped away from her normal self. It was why he fell in love with her.

He met her at one of the F1 races, the girl working alongside Redbull, and being close to Max. Childhood friends, if you will. Max was the one to introduce the pair, always raving to both parties how well they'd be together.

Lando had always noticed the way she would hug or wrap her arms around Max. Not in a way that could lead to it looking like they were more than friends, she was just always friendly with everyone in a mature way.

It was the way she would brighten up a room when she came by, always making sure to give attention to everyone in the room equally.

After they had been introduced at an afterparty, she didn't hesitate to bring Lando in for a big hug.

Her scent smelled addictive, drawing him in more. That's when he realized that everything about her was addicting to keep around.

It wasn't long after that that the pair had begun dating.

It threw him off at first, the way she would nonchalantly be within his vicinity, like it was a reflex. It wasn't something he was used to, as his past flings and relationships were always very aware of their distance with Lando.

He had put two and two together when her touches were sly; things like wrapping her arm around his bicep or waist, when she'd run her hands through his curls randomly, or linking pinkies when they were in a crowded room.

She always had to touch him in some way, but at the same time, it was never something that overwhelmed him. It was just how she loved. How she cared.

Especially when she was drunk or tired. This girl was always by his side. Lando had soon became obsessed with it.

She wasn't afraid to show her love or affection towards Lando. She did have a brain, keeping it to a minimum as she didn't want people to roll their eyes every time a pap photo came out.

The fans had grown to love her, not too long after one of Lando's streams, she had made an appearance in. The way she wrapped her arms around him from behind, the boy leaned back in his gaming chair, at the feeling of her arms around him.

It was Raceday in Canada, Y/N was already in her game mode for the day.

Y/N was currently putting things together at the paddock, signing off on a few documents before handing them to one of the engineers and walking down towards Lando's garage.

She peers in, waving and going to give a small hug to Zac as she sees him, the man pointed to where Lando was.

The girl thanks him before making her way over towards the curly-headed boy, his back turned away from her as he spoke with one of his techs.

She softly wraps her arms around his torso, the man not alarmed one bit by her touch. Immediately knowing it was her without a glance.

He wraps his hands around her arms that wrap around him, letting them trail and slither to her hands before lacing them with his as he carries on his conversation with the tech.

Y/N presses a light kiss to his shoulder, patiently waiting as he speaks, not in any rush to pull him from the conversation.

Once the tech finishes up with Lando, the Brit turns to face his girlfriend. A goofy smile on his face as he wraps his arms around her figure. He looks down at her, placing a light kiss on her lips.

"Hi baby," he mutters softly against her lips. She grins against them.

"Hello, my love. How're you feeling?"

He shrugs, pulling back enough to look down at her as he rubs her back lovingly. "Pretty good. Pretty confident. Starting off high up after Qualifier for Canada is always a good sign. I think this will be a good one," he explains, Y/N nodding as she takes in every word.

"You got it, I feel it too. Gonna be a good one."

He hums at her, giving her a look. "Hm I don't think you should be telling me that," he jokes. "Sounding like a traitor to your own team."

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Let me just my loving boyfriend goodluck on a race he needs, yeah? How's that?"

He chuckles before his eyes flicker to her lips for a second. She presses a couple chaste kisses to his lips after catching him, the boy smiling against her lips.

"Alright," he chuckles as she presses kisses all over his face. He backs away as she teases him, laughs leaving his lips. "Enough, gonna get lip gloss all over my face now."

She gives him a look. "Like you care."

He purses his lips, nodding curtly. "Got me there."

Y/N breaks away from his grip, grabbing his face one more time to press a big kiss on his cheek before backing away. "Goodluck, Norris!" she jokes. He rolls his eyes playfully. "Yeah yeah."

"I love you!"

He smiles widely at her words, blowing a few kisses towards her as he gets handed his helmet.

Y/N chuckles as she makes her way back to the Redbull garage, seeing Max getting his gear ready to go. He looks over towards her, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"You give your Romeo his goodluck kiss?" He jokes, earning a playful shove from her.

"Shut it, Verstappen," she giggles, before pulling him for a hug. "Tear it up out there, yeah? Let's get this shit going."

He scoffs with a smug look before nodding. "It's me we're talking about. Of course I'll come out on top," That answer makes her push him away as they broke their hug, Y/N making her way back over to her spot in the garage.

Before she knew it, the race had started, and the cars were off. Y/N in complete game mode as she kept her eyes on the screen in front of her, cutting in when she needed to with Max.

Things had been smooth so far. McLaren was rocking it with their pole positions to say the least, and Max wasn't too far behind.

Y/N only froze when she had caught sight of both McLaren cars racing against one another, soon watching Lando's car get caught up and crashing into the wall.

It had made her chest tighten, and her stomach drop to her ass. She felt some of her coworkers look her way, waiting for a reaction from her. Y/N only sitting there in her chair, hands covering her mouth in shock as she watches it unfold.

The girl couldn't move. Not only because she was frozen. But they were still in the middle of a race.

As much as she wanted to drop everything and go make sure he was okay, she still had her job to do. She knew he'd understand that.

"Y/N, he's okay. All good. No injuries," Max's voice comes in, as if knowing she would immediately drift over to thinking about him. He was anchoring her back, making sure she knew he would be able to assure her to snap back into race mode.

She nods more to herself, muttering a 'thank you, keep pushing' to Max through the radio.

Her knee bounced the rest of the race, not wasting a second to stand up straight from her spot to join the crew over where Max met them as he finished P2.

Max immediately went to Y/N first, seeing both freight about Lando and excitement in her eyes for her best friend placing, in her eyes. He could tell she was in a mental battle.

So he says nothing, just gives her a tight smile and pulls her into his arms. She doesn't hesitate to hug him back, placing a friendly kiss on his head. "Still a good spot to place," she says, her tone uneasy. "That's worth something."

He chuckles before breaking away from her, his eyes looking down at her antsy state.

He nods towards the garages.

"Go find him," he says, making her snap up and look at him.

"What-"

"Go make sure he's okay. I can read you better than you think."

She gives him a sad smile, kissing his cheek before squeezing her way past people and darting straight to the McLaren garage.

Her eyes search through the crowd of reporters already over there, seeing that Lando was interviewing with one. His face showed nothing but a blank state, trying to make it look as neutral as possible.

Y/N makes her way towards the side of the garage, managing to squeeze by the reporters, watching as Lando finishes with his interviews. He starts to walk back towards his Driver's room, Y/N following cautiously behind him.

By the way he was walking, she could tell he was pissed off and disappointed.

He shuts the door behind him, Y/N stopping it before it can fully slam, before slipping inside. It clicks behind her, the girl saying his name softly as she approached him.

He huffs as he leans against the desk in the middle of the room, Y/N seeing he was trying to not lose it.

"Lan," she says once more, her arms coming out to reach for him. "I'm not going to ask how you are, I know you hate that."

He scoffs at her words, nodding and still remaining silent.

"I'm sorry. I know how bad you want it," she assures, trying to be cautious of her words. Her hands softly make contact with his back, running her nails up his spine.

It's not too long after he immediately snaps up and away from her touch, walking to the other side of the room.

She frowns at first, but just turns her body to watch his figure walk towards his closet. "You can talk to me," she says. "Say anything to get it out of your system. I'm here to listen."

He shook his head. "Stop."

Her brows furrowed. "Lando I'm just-"

"No, just stop," he snaps back at her. His head snapped over to glare at her over his shoulders. Y/N just nods, understanding he doesn't want to talk. "I'm sorry," she mutters.

So instead, she just advances towards him, beginning to wrap her arms around him. He doesn't hesitate to rip her arms off of him and turn to face her.

"Y/N fucking stop, enough! Stop touching me!" he yells at her, the tone he was using was something she had never heard him use on her before. This was the first time he had ever raised his voice at her.

"I'm sorry. Lando, I swear I was just trying to help-"

"Well don't! I don't want to talk about it, or have you always clinging onto me," he shoots, making her eyes harden. "It's fucking too much. You're too much."

"Excuse me?" she asks softly. "You always tell me my touch helps calm you down."

"Well I lied," he snaps, making her face drop. "You're always hovering. You're fucking suffocating me."

Y/N swears her heart drops.

Was she really making him feel that way?

"You're always fucking touch me, fuck," he huffs, running a hand through his hair. "I don't need this right now. You need to leave, or I'm gonna say some fucked up shit."

Y/N nods, trying her best to keep her composure. "You already did."

Lando's eyes soften as he finally turns to look at her. He sees that her eyes are glossed over with tears, but her stance and stare are harsh.

"I'm too much? That's fine," she scoffs before heading to the door, not even aware that tears are streaming down her cheeks.

"Y/N wait-"

"Feel better, Lando," she sniffles. "I hope you know you don't need to be so down on yourself."

With that, she shuts his door with a light slam and scurries her way out of the garage. Her head is down as she excuses herself past people, wiping away the wetness on her face.

Once she's back in the Redbull garage, she doesn't hesitate to make her way back towards the staircase to the offices, heading to the second floor.

She misses the way Max sees her walking in, his proud smile dropping immediately as he sees her red and blotchy face.

He excuses himself from the last of his interviews, immediately following her hurried steps. When he reaches the top of the steps he feels his heart tighten, hearing her break down into sobs behind her office door.

Max doesn't waste any time opening the door, Y/N whipping around to see him standing there.

His face falls, making his way towards her.

"Don't," she says shakily, wrapping her arms around herself. He furrows his brows, but stops in his tracks.

"What happened?" he asked her. She shook her head slowly, closing her eyes as she felt her heart break. Her chest burned as her head replayed Lando's tone. His words.

"Y/N," Max presses, a more stern tone and hard expression. "What happened?"

Y/N says nothing, just sniffling before her eyes meet Max's. The next words that leave her mouth nearly make his knees give out.

"Am I really too much? Do I suffocate people?"

Max tilts his head, confused by her words. He steps closer to her, not caring if she tries to push him away. Her words slowly starting to click in his head.

She was thinking she was clingy.

"Y/N no," he softly answers, immediately pulling her in for a tight hug. His arms encircled her entire body as he felt her body shake. "Absolutely not. You're never suffocating. You love so physically. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Then why does Lando think that?"

Oh, if he didn't have a reputation to hold, he would've easily left that room and made Lando run for his money.

He'd do it regardless, actually.

"I'm sorry," she says softly. "I don't mean to be. I just wanted to help him. I'm sorry," she sniffles in between hiccups.

Max shushes her softly, taking one of his hands and caressing her head. His other hand stays wrapped tightly around her waist. His mind was going a million miles a minute.

Y/N was always the strong one between the two. She never cried. It just wasn't something she did. It was rare, and Max would know that.

So the fact that Lando had made her cry spoke volumes in his mind.

Lando had a lot of explaining to do, and Max wasn't sure if he wanted to hear it.

Not after this.

[cap-winter-barnes]

Hangman's Sister (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Y/N is Hangman's little sister - everyone on the Dagger Squad knows she's dating Bob, except for her big brother.

Warnings: mentions of PDA? Little bit of sass from Bob.

The Hard Deck is teaming with Naval personnel when you arrive in the early evening. The drive in gave you enough time to prepare for the onslaught of friendly greetings from the rest of the squad - your friends. Well, first and foremost they are your brother, Jake Seresin's, team and friends. Yet as Maverick's assistant, they welcomed you onto the team as if you were just another Lieutenant.

As it was technically your day off and the weather was overbearingly humid, you'd opted for a small blue summer dress, the colour coincidentally the same shade as your favourite Lieutenant's eyes. As you enter the bar, you make a beeline for Penny, grabbing a bottle of water from her as you ask her how the crowd has been so far. "Nothing too rowdy yet, but then again, Maverick hasn't shown up yet." You both chuckle at her remark before she points out the Dagger Squad over by the pool table. With a brief hug and a smile, you make your way over to the team.

"Hey, if it isn't little Seresin!" Fanboy makes your presence known as the rest of the squad cheer at your arrival. Bob's attention is immediately on you as he takes in how beautiful you look in your dress, smiling as you make your way around the team, greeting everyone with a brief hug - yet your eyes stay on him until you're standing in front of him.

Bob pulls you into a tight hug, breathing in the scent of your shampoo as he does so - he's missed you.

"How's my favourite Weapons System Operator doing?" You make sure to hold onto him longer than everybody else, appreciating the feel of him holding you tightly.

"Better now you're here, beautiful." He never fails to make you giddy with his terms of affection. As you pull away, he presses a chaste kiss to your temple - eyes meeting as you move apart.

"Alright, Baby on Board, I think that's enough physical contact for you." The sound of your brother's voice automatically has you rolling your eyes as he pulls you into a headlock.

"Jake, don't be an asshole."

"Sorry Robert, I didn't mean to offend."

"And yet somehow, you always manage." You can't say you're not impressed at the snide remark comes from your boyfriend. The rest of the team, equally surprised at this comeback too. "You know maybe she likes the physical contact with me?"

The group fall silent at this next remark. Your heart thunders in your chest as you stare, shocked at Bob's face. There's a confidence there that you rarely see, but my God, you'd be lying if you said it didn't turn you on.

"What the hell did you just say?" All playfulness leaves Jake's voice as he lets you go, straightening his body to tower over Bob.

"You heard me, Bagman."

The tension in the Hard Deck is ridiculously thick, an uncomfortable silence slowly spreading throughout the bar. Without hesitation, you throw yourself between the two men, pressing yourself against Bob as he refuses to break eye contact with your brother. His arm immediately wraps itself around your waist, hand resting firmly on your waist, fingers deftly clinging to the material of your skirt. You lean into his touch, "Bobby, please. That's enough." Bob's gaze immediately turns to you, his forehead pressing against your own as he nods.

"M'sorry, darlin'." A small smile graces your lips as you savour the feel of his lips on your skin. All the while, Jake looks like he's going to combust.

"I'm sorry. Am I missing something here?" Both you and Bob chuckle, leaning into each other's touch as you turn to look at your older brother. The smile never leaving your face. With a sneaky glance to your boyfriend. " Do you want to tell him? Or should I?" A mischievous look passes over Bob's face as he moves his hand lower, gently resting it on the curve of your ass. "Nah, let him figure it out."

With arms wrapped around each other you, you giggle moving to pass your brother as he stares dumfounded, his brain trying to comprehend his little sister and Bob being together.

"C'mon Bagman, we thought you were smarter than this."

"Bobby!"

"Sorry, darlin."

**Author's Note: This isn't my best but I wanted to start writing for Bob because I can't get him out of my head...

[flwrkissed]

Could you make a hot story about bang chan and getting turned on by the reader wearing his hoodie without anything under? I just saw your post of their kinks and I couldn't stop thinking about it, love ya✨

𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑯𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒆 – 𝑩.𝑪

𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: smut

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: bf!Chan x fem!reader

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: size kink, oral (f receiving), praising, teasing, manhandling, unprotected sex, creampie, overstimulation

𝒘𝒄: 1.2k

𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: hi anon of course I actually had this in my notes to post so I may as well write it for you, I love you and I hope this is what you wanted <3

𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒓𝒚!

It started innocent.

At least, it looked that way.

You were bored. Lonely. And a little needy.

Chan had left earlier for a late-night gym session, saying he wouldn’t be long. But the apartment felt way too quiet without him — and the sight of his hoodie at the foot of the bed, left there like it wanted to be worn, made something shift in your chest.

You tugged it on, the sleeves immediately swallowing your hands. The soft cotton was warm with the faint scent of his cologne and body wash — that comforting, masculine smell that made your stomach twist in the best way.

You didn’t bother putting anything else on. No bra. No underwear. Not even shorts.

Just Chan’s oversized hoodie draped over your bare skin.

The hood fell over your head, and the hem barely covered your thighs. If you raised your arms even a little, you’d be flashing everything. And something about that — being naked underneath something that belonged to him — sent a rush of heat between your legs.

You laid down on the couch, pretending to scroll through your phone, legs crossed and one bare thigh peeking out. And waited.

Just a hoodie. Just you.

Just… bait.

You heard the door open not long after.

Keys jingled, bag dropped, shoes kicked off.

“Baby?” His voice echoed through the apartment, deep and sweet. “I’m back.”

You stayed lounging on the couch like you didn’t hear him, waiting for the moment—

He turned the corner.

Stopped.

And went completely still.

“Wait,” he said, blinking. “What are you—what the hell are you wearing?”

You looked up slowly and blinked like it was the most casual thing in the world. “Your hoodie.”

His brows knit as his eyes swept over you. “That’s it?”

You let your legs shift a little wider, the hem riding up just enough to flash a glimpse of skin. “Mhm.”

“Fuck.” He exhaled, low and hard. His gym shirt clung to his chest, drenched in sweat, and you caught the way his jaw clenched. “Are you seriously not wearing anything underneath?”

You smiled. “Guess you’ll have to check.”

He didn’t even hesitate.

In three strides he was towering over you, one hand tugging you up by your wrist and the other gripping your waist tight. You let out a breathy laugh as he stared down at you, his pupils wide and lips parted like he could barely believe what he was seeing.

“Jesus, baby.” He looked you up and down again. “You’re trying to get fucked, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“You know this hoodie barely covers your ass, right?”

“That’s why I picked it.”

He groaned and pulled you flush against him, letting you feel just how hard he already was through his sweats. “Do you know what you do to me?”

You tilted your chin up. “Show me.”

That snapped the last thread of control he had.

Chan kissed you rough and fast, his hands sliding under the hem to grab your bare ass, squeezing it as he ground against you. You gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound hungrily, walking you backward until your knees hit the couch.

“Turn around,” he growled. “Hands on the backrest.”

You did exactly what he said, your whole body thrumming with anticipation. You bent over slightly, and the hoodie rode up instantly — exposing the swell of your ass, the curve of your back, and just how wet you were.

Chan cursed behind you.

“You didn’t even think about panties?” he rasped, dropping to his knees behind you. “Not even a little?”

You looked over your shoulder and smirked. “Didn’t want anything getting in the way.”

He grabbed your thighs and spread them apart, groaning when he got a full view of your dripping pussy.

“Fuck, baby. You’re soaked.”

His breath hit your skin, and then his tongue did.

You gasped loudly, hands gripping the top of the couch for support as he licked a long, slow stripe through your folds. His mouth was hot, his tongue firm, and he groaned like you were the one giving him pleasure.

“You taste so fucking good,” he muttered against you.

He buried his face between your thighs and licked you like a man starved — teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue, then circling it, then sucking it gently until you were shaking. He held your hips tight, anchoring you to his mouth, refusing to let you move.

“C-Chan—oh my god—”

He slid two fingers inside you without warning, thick and slow, curling them until your knees buckled.

“That’s it,” he said, voice rough. “Let me hear those pretty noises, baby.”

Your whole body tensed as you rode his mouth and fingers, teetering on the edge fast, barely able to breathe. You were already close — way too close — and he knew it.

“Go ahead,” he coaxed, voice low. “Come for me, baby. Right on my tongue.”

You shattered with a cry, clenching around his fingers, hips jerking uncontrollably as the hoodie slipped off one shoulder. Your whole body was shaking, and you heard him groan as he licked you through it, savoring every drop.

But he wasn’t done.

Chan stood up behind you, chest heaving, and pressed the thick head of his cock right against your soaked entrance.

You whimpered, legs weak. “Chan—”

“Shh, I got you.” He wrapped an arm around your waist, kissed the back of your neck. “You look so perfect like this, baby. Just mine. Just wearing my hoodie. Just waiting for me to fuck you.”

He pushed in slowly — thick, hot, stretching you inch by inch — and your head dropped forward, moaning shamelessly.

“F-Fuck,” you gasped.

“That’s it, princess,” he groaned, bottoming out with a hard thrust. “God, you’re tight. Fuckin’ dripping for me.”

He didn’t move right away. Just stayed there, deep inside you, breathing hard against your neck.

And then he pulled back and slammed in again.

Your whole body jolted. The hoodie bunched around your waist now, riding up high with every thrust, and his hands were everywhere — gripping your hips, tugging you back against him, sliding under the fabric to grope your chest.

“Always so fucking perfect for me,” he panted. “You like wearing nothing under my hoodie? Like tempting me like this?”

“Yes,” you moaned, arching into him. “Wanted you so bad, Chan—couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

That drove him wild.

He fucked you harder, hips snapping against yours, and the sound of skin on skin filled the room. His cock hit deep, thick and pulsing, rubbing your sweet spot every time. Your second orgasm built fast — way too fast — and you felt your thighs start to tremble.

“Baby,” you gasped. “I-I’m—”

“Let go for me,” he whispered into your ear. “Come on, baby girl. Let me feel you again.”

You cried out and came undone for the second time, clenching around him so hard he nearly lost it.

“Fuck, baby—” He held on a second longer, then spilled inside you with a loud groan, filling you to the brim. “Shit, that’s it, just like that.”

He stayed inside you, both of you breathless, your body limp in his arms.

He leaned down and kissed the back of your neck again, softer now. “You okay?”

You nodded slowly. “Mmhmm.”

“You’re insane,” he murmured. “You know what that did to me?”

You giggled, wobbly. “I might have had a goal.”

Chan slowly pulled out, watching his cum drip down your thigh. He groaned softly and wiped it with his fingers, pressing one back inside you with a smirk.

“You’re gonna make me do it again,” he whispered.

“Good.”

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @vampzity @sooniedoongiedori25 @mhluvie @yaorzu-blog @lze325 @felixleftchickennugget @m-325 @lezleeferguson-120 @psychicyouthfox @pixie-felix @angel-writes-here @galaxy4489 @minniesverse @gncbnahc @ari-hwanggg @alondra6011 @sk1ndx0

[kannady]

rendezvous

summary: sylus has realised he's real, but everything around him isn't. but what happens when he decides to kidnap you from the real world?

a/n: as promised here's the long ass second and last part. honestly writing smth as long as this is fun and all, but rechecking it is a pain in the ass. so please ignore any errors. i hope you like reading it as much as i loved writing it. once again thankyou @tofufairy for this wonderful idea! <3

word count: 7.7k

genre: sylus, sylus smut, smut, love and deepspace, sexual tensions, slight stalking, cunnilingus, oral (female receiving), p in v, creampie, sexual content, nsfw. MINORS DNI!

The last bite of chocolate lingered on your tongue as your gaze drifted to the exposed skin of Sylus' throat. The undone buttons of his shirt revealed the sharp cut of his collarbone, the smooth plane of his chest, and you caught yourself wondering if he’d taste like the wine they’d shared or something darker, something just his own.

Then his fingers flexed around his fork, and you realized that he’d noticed.

You jerked your eyes away, clearing your throat nervously. "You promised you'd answer all my questions," you said, gripping the edge of the table like an anchor.

Sylus set his fork down slowly. Then, without a word, he rose and crossed the room to an old record player tucked in the corner. The vinyl hissed as the needle dropped, and a slow, sultry melody filled the air.

He turned back to you, hand outstretched.

"Dance with me," he said, voice rough, "and I will."

Your pulse stuttered.

For a breath, you hesitated. Did you want answers or did you just want him? The way his fingers twitched, impatient, told you he already knew.

You took his hand.

His palm was warm, his grip firm as he pulled you flush against him. One hand settled at the small of your back, pressing just enough to make your breath catch. The other tangled with yours, his thumb tracing slow circles over your knuckles.

"Where are we?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Sylus didn’t answer immediately. His gaze stayed locked onto yours, intense, unreadable, as if weighing how much truth you could handle. The music swelled around you, the heat of his body seeping through your clothes.

Finally, he spoke.

"You could say I brought you with me inside the game," he murmured, fingers tightening on your waist.

It seemed as if those words shattered your world. Because that wasn’t an answer, it was a confession.

And you weren’t sure you cared. Not when his lips were so close, not when the hand on your back slid lower.

The game had never felt like this.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure you wanted to go back.

The music still played, his arms still held you close, but everything felt suddenly too sharp, too real. The warmth of his hands, the scent of him, the weight of his confession hanging between you.

Your fingers tightened on his shoulder, nails digging in just slightly, as if testing whether he’d flinch. He didn’t.

"Why?" you demanded, voice trembling. "Why bring me here?"

Sylus didn’t hesitate. "Because you’re real." His thumb stroked the curve of your hip, slow, deliberate. "And none of this is."

A shudder ran through you. "How did you even leave the game? How is any of this possible?"

"For you," he said simply, as if that explained everything.

Your breath hitched. "Millions of people play this game. If you could just, just step out of it, why didn’t anyone notice you were gone? Why only come to me?"

He laughed then, low and dark, the sound curling around you like smoke. "You really don’t know?" His grip tightened, pulling you impossibly closer until your chest brushed his with every breath. "I wanted you with me. I wanted something real to live for in this miserable world."

The admission should have thrilled you. Instead, it made your stomach twist.

"But-" You faltered, voice trembling. "You don’t even know me. You like the game’s protagonist. Not... not me."

Sylus went utterly still.

Then, abruptly, he stopped dancing. His hands dropped from your waist, and he stepped back, his expression hardening into something unreadable. For a long moment, he just stared at you, crimson eyes burning with an intensity that made a shiver run down your spine.

"You think," he said slowly, each word deliberate, "after everything I’ve done, after tearing myself out of that godforsaken code, reshaping this world just to hold you, that I don’t know exactly who you are?"

You opened your mouth to protest, to demand more, but he cut you off with a sharp gesture.

"You’re not listening," he said, voice dangerously quiet. "I didn’t bring the protagonist here. I brought you."

The implication hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.

He’d chosen you. Not the game. Not the story. You.

And suddenly, the truth of it was terrifying.

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, sharp and laced with disbelief.

"Wait, so you did this out of greed?" You took a step back, the warmth of his touch still lingering on your skin like a brand. "You were... lonely, so you just dragged me here?"*

Sylus froze. His brows furrowed slightly, lips parting as if he’d been struck. For the first time since you’d met him in the game, in this impossible place, he looked lost.

"You don’t even love me," you continued, voice cracking under the weight of the realization. "You love her. The protagonist. The MC. The one written into your story, the one you’ve always smiled at, always fought for. Am I just– what, a replacement? Because you wanted something real to hold onto?"

The air between you grew heavy, suffocating. The record had long since stopped playing, leaving only the sound of your uneven breaths.

Sylus didn’t move.

Then, slowly, something in his expression shifted. His sharp features softened, the usual smirk gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded. His crimson eyes, always so calculating, so knowing, glistened under the dim light, as if your words had carved something out of him.

"You think," he began, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it, "that I don’t know the difference?"

You swallowed hard.

He took a step forward, then another, until you could see the flecks of crimson in his irises, the faint tremor in his jaw. "You think I spent months watching you, learning the way you bite your lip when you’re concentrating, the way your nose scrunches when you laugh at something stupid, the way you always pick the selfless choices even when it costs you, just to replace you with some scripted fantasy?"

"You think," he began, voice rough, "that I could love a script? A few lines of code designed to make players like you fall for me?" He took a step closer, and you swore you could hear his heartbeat or maybe it was yours, pounding in your ears. "Every word I said to her was for you. Every smile, every touch. Yours."

His hand lifted, hovering near your cheek as if afraid to touch. "You called my name through a screen. You stayed up late just to hear my voice. You-" His voice broke. His eyes were glistening. "You made me real. Not her. Never her."

A tear slipped free, yours or his, you couldn’t tell. His thumb caught it before it could fall, his touch achingly gentle.

"So tell me," he whispered, "who else was I supposed to love?"

Your chest ached.

"I don’t love her," he murmured, his hand lifting, hovering near your face as if afraid to touch. "I never did. Because she isn’t real. But you-" His thumb brushed your cheek, so gently it made your breath catch. "You’re the most real thing I’ve ever known."

The confession hung between you, fragile and terrifying.

You wanted to believe him.

But the doubt still clawed at your ribs. "Then why didn’t you just talk to me? In the real world? Why this?" 

You gestured around at the prison he’d built.

Sylus exhaled, long and slow. "Because out there, I don’t exist." His fingers curled into a fist at his side. "And in here? I can be someone worth loving."

The raw honesty in his voice shattered something inside you. Because now, finally, you understood.

He hadn’t taken you out of selfishness.

He’d done it out of hope.

And tha was so much worse.

Your vision blurred as hot tears welled up, spilling over before you could stop them. You took a shaky step back, the warmth of his touch still seared into your skin. "Sylus, this isn't right..." The words came out broken, barely above a whisper.

The moment they left your lips, something in his face shattered.

"Why are you blaming me for being real?" His voice cracked like ice under pressure. "For having feelings? For loving you?" Each word landed like a blow, his usually composed features twisted in anguish you'd never seen before. Not in the game, not in all your time here.

You shook your head, another tear tracing down your cheek. "You don't love me, Sylus-"

"I saw you in her. Always." He closed the distance between you in one swift movement, his hands coming up to cradle your face with surprising gentleness despite their trembling. "I've always loved you." His thumbs brushed away your tears, the leather of his gloves surprisingly soft against your skin. The scent of winter mint and something uniquely him.

"How do I make you believe me, sweetie?" His voice dropped to a whisper, his forehead nearly touching yours. "I wish I could show you what lengths I'm willing to go for you."

Your breath hitched as memories flashed through your mind. The library with its impossibly rare books, the bedroom crafted to your exact tastes down to the smallest detail, the way he'd remembered your favorite shade of pink. The way his eyes lit up when you laughed, the care he took in preparing every meal, the piano music drifting through the halls.

But then the darker thoughts crept in. The way he'd taken you from your world without asking. The way he'd watched you for months through a screen. 

You could feel his breath mingling with yours, see the desperate hope in those crimson eyes that usually held nothing but cool confidence. The realization hit you like a physical blow, he was terrified. Terrified you'd reject him. Terrified that after everything, it still wouldn't be enough.

The conflict tore at you. Part of you wanted to melt into his touch, to believe every word. Another part screamed that none of this was normal, that love shouldn't come with kidnapping.

But when his thumb brushed your lower lip so gently it made your knees weak, when you saw the unshed tears glistening in his eyes. Eyes you'd stared at through a screen for so many lonely nights. You couldn't bring yourself to pull away.

Because the most terrifying realization of all?

Part of you wanted to stay.

The moment stretched between you.You could see the intention in Sylus’ eyes as he leaned in, the way his lashes lowered slightly, the way his breath hitched just before he closed that final inch of distance. His lips were parted ever so slightly, and you caught the faintest scent of the dark coffee he’d been drinking earlier, mingled with something warmer, something him.

But at the last second, you turned your face away.

His lips brushed your cheek instead, so soft it might have been imagined. He froze. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. You could feel the heat of him so close, the tension in his body, the way his fingers flexed against your jaw as if fighting the urge to pull you back.

Then, slowly, he straightened.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Your pulse roared in your ears, your skin still tingling where he’d almost kissed you. You wanted it. God, you wanted it. But the weight of everything. The mansion, the game, the way he’d taken you here, sat heavy in your chest, a knot of fear and longing tangled together so tightly you couldn’t separate them.

Sylus didn’t move.

You could feel his gaze on you, burning, waiting. He didn’t push. Didn’t demand. Didn’t try to convince you again. He just stood there, his presence a silent question, his hands now limp at his sides.

A floorboard creaked somewhere in the mansion, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence. The scent of the candles, vanilla and something smokier, like sandalwood, clung to the air, suddenly overwhelming. Your fingers trembled at your sides, and you clenched them into fists, nails biting into your palms.

Still, you didn’t speak. Still, you didn’t look at him.

And then a quiet exhale. The barest rustle of fabric as he stepped back.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you heard his footsteps retreating, measured and slow, as if giving you every possible chance to call him back. The distance between you grew, the warmth of his body fading, leaving you cold in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

Only when the sound of his footsteps completely disappeared did you finally lift your head.

The dining room was empty.

The candles still flickered, casting long, wavering shadows across the untouched dishes. The record had long since ended, the needle stuck in a silent, endless loop. Your reflection in the polished tabletop looked pale, wide-eyed, a stranger staring back at you.

You sank into the nearest chair, your legs suddenly unsteady.

What had you just done?

Part of you ached to run after him, to take back the unspoken rejection. You remembered the way his voice had cracked when he’d said I’ve always loved you, the rawness in his eyes when he’d realized you didn’t believe him. He’d spent his entire existence in a world that wasn’t real, surrounded by characters who weren’t real, loving a protagonist who wasn’t real, until he’d seen you.

And you’d turned him away.

Your fingers traced the edge of the table, the wood smooth beneath your touch. The mansion was so quiet now. No distant piano music, no footsteps, no low murmur of his voice. Just the oppressive silence.

You thought of the library, of the way he’d watched you as you’d pulled books from the shelves, his expression soft in a way the game had never shown. You thought of your bedroom, of every little detail he’d remembered, every trinket he’d placed there just to see you smile. You thought of the way he’d looked at you tonight, like you were the only real thing in his world.

And you’d walked away.

A sound escaped you, half laugh, half sob, as you pressed your palms into your eyes. You were such a coward. You wanted him. You ached for him. But the fear, the fear of what it meant, of what he’d done to bring you here, of the fact that none of this should be possible, had won.

The clock on the mantel ticked loudly, each second stretching into an eternity.

You stayed there for what felt like hours, staring at the untouched glass of wine in front of you, the liquid long gone still. The candles burned lower, their glow dimming as wax pooled at their bases.

And Sylus didn’t return.

Eventually, you pushed yourself up, your body heavy with exhaustion. The halls of the mansion stretched before you, dark and empty. Your footsteps echoed as you made your way back to your room, the door clicking shut behind you.

The bed was still perfectly made, the pillows fluffed, the blankets turned down, as if waiting for you. As if he’d known you’d come back here alone.

You curled into yourself beneath the covers, staring at the canopy above.

Somewhere, in this impossible house, in this impossible world, Sylus was alone too.

And for the first time since you’d arrived, you wondered which of you was more trapped.

The hours stretched endlessly as you lay there, the plush comforter beneath you suddenly feeling too soft, too suffocating. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, painting silver streaks across the ceiling. You traced them with your eyes, your mind racing through every moment since you'd arrived in this impossible place.

Your favorite fictional character had somehow stepped out of the game. For you.

The thought alone should have thrilled you. It had, at first. The library with its rare books, the bedroom crafted to your exact tastes, the way he'd remembered every little detail about you, your favorite color, the way you took your coffee, the anime merch you'd never been able to afford. He'd given you everything you'd ever wanted, everything you'd daydreamed about during lonely nights scrolling through your phone.

And now?

Now you'd pushed him away.

You rolled onto your side, fingers clutching the pillow beneath your head. Had you ruined everything? The way he'd looked at you, like you were the only real thing in his world, flashed behind your eyes. The rawness in his voice when he'd said I've always loved you. The way he'd stopped when you turned away, even though he could have easily forced the kiss, could have made you stay.

But he hadn't.

Because despite everything, despite the fact that he'd taken you here, he'd still given you a choice. A shaky breath escaped you.

Even if you wanted to go back now, you'd need his help. The realization settled heavily in your chest. You had no idea how this world worked, no idea how to return to your own. The thought should have terrified you, and it did, a little. But beneath the fear, there was something else.

Did you even want to go back?

Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Right now, all you wanted was to see him. To talk to him. To feel him, the warmth of his hands, the solidness of his chest beneath your palms, the way his breath hitched when you got too close.

Your gaze flicked to the ornate clock on the nightstand. 3:17 AM.

What was he doing right now?

Was he lying awake too, staring at some ceiling of his own, thinking of you? Was he in that grand library, fingers trailing over the spines of books he'd collected just for you? Or was he at the piano again, playing that same melancholy melody, his silver hair catching the moonlight like frost?

The thought of him alone, hurting because of you, made your chest ache.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you pushed back the covers and stood. The floor was cool beneath your bare feet as you treaded to the door, your pulse thrumming in your throat.

You had to find him. You needed to.

The hallway stretched before you, dark and silent. Somewhere in this mansion, Sylus was waiting. And this time, you wouldn't turn away.

***

Sylus sat on the edge of his bed, his body rigid, his hands clenched into tight fists on his knees. The room around him was dark, the only light coming from the pale moonlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He just stared blankly at the opposite wall, as if he could erase the last few hours from existence if he focused hard enough.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

The way you had looked at him, like he was something terrifying, something wrong. The way you had turned your face away when he’d tried to kiss you. The way your voice had trembled when you’d accused him of being greedy, of dragging you into his world without a second thought for what you wanted.

And you had been right.

A hot tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it. Then another. He didn’t wipe them away. He just let them fall, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

Pathetic.

He had spent so long watching you from behind the screen, memorizing every little thing that made you smile, every detail that made you you. He had built this entire world for you, crafted every room, every book, every piece of clothing to perfection, all because he had been lonely. Because he had wanted you to look at him the way you’d looked at the screen.

But he had never stopped to think about what you might feel.

He had been selfish. Desperate. Greedy.

A broken laugh escaped him, harsh and humorless. He had spent his entire existence inside a game, surrounded by scripted lines and predetermined choices, and yet this was the first time he had ever truly felt real. And now he had ruined it.

Sylus leaned back against the headboard, pressing his palms against his eyes. He didn’t want to think about you. Didn’t want to imagine the fear in your expression, the way you had flinched away from him.

But he couldn’t help it. Because even now, even after everything, he still loved you, still wanted you.

And that was the worst part.

***

Your bare feet tingled across the cold marble floors as you stepped through the darkened halls. The mansion felt too vast, too silent, every corner and empty room a reminder of the distance you'd put between you.

You checked the library first, nothing. The piano in the garden sat untouched, its keys cold. Even the kitchen, where he'd prepared every meal with such care, stood empty.

Then, at last, you pushed open the door to what must have been his bedroom.

Oh. Shit.

You froze, one foot still hovering over the threshold. You should have knocked. What if he..

But then you saw him.

Sylus lay half-propped against the headboard, his silver-white hair messed up from restless fingers, his lashes casting delicate shadows over his cheeks. Moonlight spilled across him, gilding the sharp angles of his face, the curve of his parted lips. He looked younger like this, softer. The usual sharpness in his features was smoothed by sleep.

You held your breath as you crept closer, the plush carpet muffling your steps. For a moment, you just stood there, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. Then, before you could second-guess yourself, you climbed onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress as you crawled toward him.

He didn't stir.

Up close, you could see the faint furrow between his brows, the way his fingers twitched slightly against the sheets. Had he cried himself to sleep? The thought sent an ache through your chest.

Slowly, so slowly, you reached out.

Your fingertips brushed his cheek first, warm, so warm, the stubble rough against your skin. He exhaled softly at the contact but didn't wake. Emboldened, you traced the bridge of his nose, the curve of his bottom lip, marveling at the reality of him. The game had never captured the way his breath hitched when you touched him, the way his skin flushed slightly under your fingers.

Real. He was real.

And in this moment, with the moonlight painting him in shades of silver and blue, with the quiet intimacy of his sleeping form beneath your hands, you couldn't remember why you'd ever pushed him away.

Your thumb brushed over his lip one last time and crimson eyes flicked open.

You froze.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then Sylus's hand came up, his fingers wrapping gently around yours. Not pulling away. Just holding.

"Still doubting I'm real?" he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

Your breath hitched as crimson eyes locked onto yours, and for a second, panic spiked through you. Why did he have to wake up right now? You jerked your hand back, but his grip on your wrist stayed firm, not tight enough to trap you, but enough to make your pulse stutter.

You looked away first, your face burning. The room suddenly felt too small, the moonlight too bright, the silence between you too loud. What were you even supposed to say? Sorry I was creeping on you while you slept? Sorry I pushed you away earlier?

When you dared to glance back, Sylus was still watching you, his head tilted slightly, that infuriatingly knowing glint in his eyes. He didn’t speak. Just waited.

So you took a shaky breath and let the words spill out.

"Sylus, I’m sorry." Your voice was barely above a whisper. "I-I don’t know what you must have been going through all this time. Trapped in a world that wasn’t real, surrounded by people who weren’t real. And then I... I acted like you were the one who didn’t understand." You swallowed hard. "Maybe I was being too hesitant. Too scared."

Still, he said nothing. Just listened, his thumb absently stroking the inside of your wrist, sending little shocks of warmth up your arm.

"It’s just-" You huffed a frustrated laugh, your free hand gesturing vaguely. "None of this is supposed to be possible. You’re not supposed to be real. And yet here you are, and you… you know me. Better than anyone. And that’s terrifying."

Your voice cracked. "Because what if I’m not who you think I am? What if you’re disappointed?" The words hung between you, raw and vulnerable.

Sylus didn’t immediately respond. He just studied you, his gaze tracing every flicker of emotion on your face. Then, slowly, he tugged you closer, until your knees brushed against his thigh.

"Sweetie," he murmured, his voice rough with something that made your chest tighten. "Do you really think I’d go through all this trouble for someone I didn’t know?"

His free hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. "You’re not a character in a game. You’re messy. You’re stubborn. You overthink everything." His lips quirked. "And I like that. All of it."

You let out a shaky breath, your shoulders dropping. "So... you’re not mad?"

"Oh, I’m furious," he responded. Then, softer, "But not at you."

His fingers slid into your hair, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his gaze. "I should’ve given you time. Should’ve asked instead of just taking you." His thumb traced your bottom lip. "But I’m selfish. And impatient. And I wanted you here."

The admission should have scared you. Instead, it just made your heart ache.

"I’m still scared," you admitted quietly.

Sylus hummed, leaning in until his forehead rested against yours. "Good," he murmured. "So am I."

Your forehead pressed against his, breaths mingling in the narrow space between your lips. His exhales were warm and uneven, fanning over your mouth in a way that made your skin prickle with anticipation. Without thinking, your tongue darted out to wet your suddenly dry lips and his grip on the back of your head tightened ever so slightly in response.

Sylus leaned in slowly, his movements deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. But when his lips were just a hair's breadth from yours, he paused, crimson eyes searching yours one last time.

Permission. He was asking.

Something inside you melted at the realization.

Instead of answering with words, you closed the distance yourself.

Your lips met his in a kiss that was soft at first, tentative, testing. His mouth was warmer than you'd imagined, the faint taste of coffee and something uniquely him lingering on your tongue. His hand cradled the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he kissed you back with a tenderness that contradicted everything you knew about him.

Then his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the kiss deepened.

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, drawing a quiet gasp from you that he swallowed hungrily. Every point of contact between you burned, his chest pressed against yours, his thigh between your knees, his fingers tightening in your hair just enough to make your pulse spike.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless.

Sylus didn't let you go far. His forehead came to rest against yours again, his breathing ragged. 

"Convinced yet?" he murmured, voice rough with want.

You huffed a laugh, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "I think I need more evidence."

His answering smirk was all the warning you got before he claimed your lips again.

The moment your lips met again, any remaining hesitation burned away in the heat between you. His mouth moved against yours with a hunger that stole your breath, his tongue sliding past your lips in a claiming sweep that made your toes curl. You moaned into the kiss, fingers tangling in his silver-white hair, tugging just hard enough to draw a growl from deep in his throat.

Sylus didn’t just kiss you, he devoured you.

Every slide of his tongue was a challenge, every nip of his teeth a demand. You met him stroke for stroke, your thighs clenching together as wetness pooled in your panties. His hands roamed your back, pressing you impossibly closer until you could feel the hard planes of his body against every inch of yours.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, you were met with an unexpected sight.

A rosy blush staining Sylus’ sharp cheekbones, his lips swollen from your kisses.

You couldn’t help the breathless chuckle that escaped you. "Sylus," you teased, thumb brushing over his heated skin, "are you blushing?"

His crimson eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous and utterly delighted passing through them. His hand slid down to grip your hip, fingers pressing possessively into your flesh as he leaned in, his voice a low, rough purr against your ear.

"Do you see what you do to me, kitten?"

The words sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could respond, he captured your lips again.

In one swift motion, Sylus pulled you up into his lap, your legs straddling his waist as he claimed your mouth again in a searing kiss. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp, a sound he swallowed with a satisfied hum.

His lips left yours only to trail down the column of your throat, teeth scraping lightly over your pulse point before sucking a mark into your skin. You arched into him, fingers tightening in his hair as a breathy moan escaped you.

"Sylus-"

His name on your lips seemed to unravel him. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, and what you saw in his crimson eyes stole your breath. Raw, unfiltered desire, a hunger so deep it made your stomach flip.

"Am I being too greedy," you whispered, your thumb brushing his cheekbone, "if I ask you to keep your eyes only on me?"

A low, rough laugh rumbled in his chest. "You always had that right." His hands slid up your sides, possessive. "Which means you can be even greedier." He nipped at your jaw. "Do you want it, kitten?"

"Yes." The word left you in a rush, barely more than a breath.

Sylus groaned, his lips finding your neck again, then your jaw, then the shell of your ear, each kiss hotter than the last. "I’m hoping yes is still your answer," he murmured, voice thick with need, "because I just can’t hold back anymore."

His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he stood from the bed, your legs locking around his waist. You barely had time to register the movement before your back met the softness of the mattress, Sylus hovering above you, his silver hair framing his face like a halo in the moonlight.

"Last chance to say no," he breathed, though the way his hands trembled against your skin told you how much the words cost him.

You answered by pulling him down to you, sealing your lips against his in a kiss that held no hesitation, no fear, just want.

His mouth crashed into yours like a drowning man gasping for air, hot, desperate, and utterly consuming. You could taste the hunger in every searing kiss, the way his teeth nipped at your bottom lip before his tongue swept in to soothe the sting.

Then, without breaking the kiss, he gripped the fabric of your sleeve between his teeth and tugged it down your shoulder with deliberate slowness, his crimson eyes locked onto yours the entire time. The cool air hit your exposed skin, raising goosebumps that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the way he was looking at you, like he wanted to devour you whole.

His lips left yours to trail down your jaw, your neck, your newly bared shoulder, each kiss searing a brand into your skin. You arched into him with a gasp, fingers tangling in his hair as he worked his way lower, his teeth grazing your collarbone just hard enough to make your breath hitch.

He didn’t stop there.

His mouth traced a slow, torturous path down your arm, kissing, nipping, licking, until he reached your wrist. Then, with a final, lingering press of his lips to your palm, he turned your hand over and met your gaze again, his breath hot against your skin.

"Still with me, kitten?" he murmured, his voice rough with want.

The moment his lips found the sensitive spot beneath your ear, a shiver raced down your spine. His fingers trailed down your back, finding the hidden zipper of your dress with practiced ease. As the fabric loosened, sliding down your shoulders, you caught the flicker of his gaze, dark with desire, but with a faint blush creeping up his neck.

He was blushing.

The realization sent a thrill through you. You reached for the buttons of his shirt, your fingers trembling slightly as you worked them open one by one. His breath hitched when your palms skimmed over his toned abs, tracing them with slow, teasing strokes.

When your hand drifted lower, brushing over the hardness straining against his jeans, his entire body tensed. But before you could go further, his fingers closed around your wrist, stopping you.

"Let me make you feel good tonight, kitten," he murmured, his voice rough with restraint.

His thumb brushed over your pulse point, his crimson eyes burning into yours. "Just you."

Then his mouth was on your neck again, his free hand sliding up your bare thigh.

His fingers traced slow, teasing paths up your bare thighs, the calloused pads of his fingertips dragging just hard enough to make your breath hitch. When he reached the damp lace of your panties, he paused, his thumb brushing over the soaked fabric with a low hum.

"Fuck, kitten," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "Already this wet for me?"

You whimpered as his fingers pressed harder, circling the aching bundle of nerves through the thin material. Your hips jerked involuntarily, seeking more friction, but he tutted, his grip tightening on your thigh to hold you still.

"Patience," he hummed, though the dark hunger in his crimson eyes betrayed his own restraint.

With deliberate slowness, he peeled your dress the rest of the way off, letting it pool around your waist before his hands moved to the clasp of your bra. The second it came undone, his mouth was on you, hot and greedy. His tongue swirled around one peaked nipple, then the other, sucking just hard enough to make your back arch off the bed.

"Sylus-!" Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging as pleasure coiled tight in your core.

He chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending another jolt of heat straight between your legs. "Love the way you say my name," he murmured before nipping lightly at the soft underside of your breast.

His lips trailed lower, kissing a searing path down your stomach, his tongue dipping into the hollow of your navel. You squirmed beneath him, your thighs trembling as he reached the waistband of your panties, but instead of removing them, he hooked his fingers into the lace and dragged them to the side, exposing you completely.

His breath hitched.

"Perfect," he growled.

Then his mouth was on you.

The first lick was light as a feather, just a teasing swipe of his tongue over your clit that had you gasping. The second was firmer, more deliberate, and by the third, he was devouring you like a man starved. His lips closed around your clit, sucking hard before flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud in rapid, relentless circles.

"Oh, god-!" Your back arched, your hands fisting in the sheets as pleasure crashed over you in waves.

He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core. "You taste even better than I imagined,kitten," he rasped before diving back in with renewed hunger.

His fingers joined his mouth, two slipping inside you with ease, curling just right to stroke that sweet spot that made your vision blur. Your hips rocked against his face, chasing the building pressure, but he held you down with his free hand, his grip unyielding.

"That's it, kitten," he murmured between licks. "Let go for me.”

And when you finally shattered, his name on your lips and his tongue drawing out every last shuddering wave of pleasure, he didn't stop, not until you were limp and trembling beneath him, oversensitive and utterly spent.

Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening, his gaze locked onto yours with dark satisfaction.

"Mine," he breathed, like it was the only truth that mattered.

Your chest rose and fell with each ragged breath as you watched him unbuckle his belt with deliberate slowness, the leather sliding free. His jeans fell to the floor, and your gaze dropped.

Oh.

A dark, wet patch stained the front of his boxers, the fabric clinging to the thick outline of his cock beneath. He palmed himself through the material with a rough groan, his head tilting back, the muscles in

his neck straining. The sight of him so desperate, so needy, made your mouth water and panties wetter.

Then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pushed his boxers down, freeing himself.

Your breath caught.

He was big, thick and flushed, the tip glistening with precum. He wrapped his hand around his length, giving himself a slow stroke, his hips jerking slightly into the touch. His crimson eyes locked onto yours as he bit out, "Fuck, sweetie. You’re watching me like you want to taste."

You did.

But before you could move, he was on the bed, hovering over you. His fingers slid between your thighs, gathering the slick arousal coating your folds, then dragging up to circle your clit, making you gasp. He didn't stop there. His wet fingers wrapped around his cock, spreading your wetness over his length as he stroked himself again, his groan vibrating through you.

Then he was pressing the head of his cock against your entrance, rubbing slow, teasing circles. "Is this what you want, kitten?" he gritted out, his voice wrecked.

You could only nod, your hips lifting toward him in silent pleas.

He smirked , that infuriating, perfect smirk, and finally pushed inside.

The moment he entered you, your breath caught in your throat, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as you arched your back in delicious surrender. His thick, throbbing length stretched you exquisitely, filling you so completely that your inner walls instinctively clenched around him, desperate to keep him buried deep inside. He paused, letting you adjust, his dark eyes burning with hunger as he watched your face twist in pleasure.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he growled, his voice rough with need.

You could feel every inch of him, every vein, the way his cock pulsed inside you, the way your body yielded to him so perfectly. And then he moved slow at first, a torturous drag of his shaft against your sensitive walls, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, the rhythm growing faster, harder, until you were both lost in the primal heat.

Your nails raked down his back as he pounded into you, his hips pistoning with relentless fervor. The heat between your bodies was unbearable, sweat glistening on your skin as you writhed beneath him. Every snap of his hips sent shockwaves through you, your moans growing louder, more desperate.

Then your eyes fluttered open, drawn to the mirror above. The sight was breathtaking, his sculpted body moving over yours, his back muscles flexing with each deep thrust, his cock disappearing into your slick, willing clit over and over again. The visual was intoxicating, and you whimpered, your arousal spiking at the sheer sight of it.

He noticed your gaze and smirked, his fingers tightening on your hips before he suddenly pulled out completely, leaving you empty and aching.

"Come here, sweetie," he commanded, patting his lap.

You didn't hesitate, straddling him eagerly, your wetness coating his thighs as you sank down onto him in one smooth, delicious motion. His groan was deep, guttural, as your tight warmth enveloped him again. Leaning back against the headrest, he gave you full view in the mirror, his thick cock buried inside you, your body taking him so perfectly.

His hands found your breasts, palming and kneading the soft flesh, his thumbs flicking over your hardened nipples until you were whimpering. Then he leaned forward, capturing one peak between his lips, sucking hard before grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud. You cried out, your hips rolling instinctively, grinding down on him as pleasure shot through you.

“That's it, ride me like a good girl,” he murmured against your skin, his hands gripping your waist, guiding your movements.

You obeyed, lifting yourself almost all the way off before slamming back down, taking him to the hilt. The friction was divine, his cock rubbing against every sweet spot inside you. The mirror reflected your desperate movements, your breasts bouncing, your body glistening with sweat, his thick length glistening with your arousal as you rode him harder, faster.

You could feel your climax building, coiling tight in your core, your walls fluttering around him. "Sylus, I'm... I'm going to-” you panted, your voice breaking as pleasure threatened to consume you.

And he knew. With a wicked grin, he thrust up into you with renewed force, his fingers digging into your hips as he drove you toward the edge. The sounds of your bodies colliding were filthy, wet, obscene, moans mingling, the slick sound of his cock plunging into your dripping pussy.

Just as you were about to shatter, he pulled out again, leaving you trembling on the brink. A whimper of protest escaped your lips, but before you could beg, he spun you around, bending you over the edge of the bed. His hand gripped the back of your neck, holding you down as he positioned himself behind you.

One powerful thrust, and he was inside you again, deeper than before, his cock stretching you impossibly wide. You screamed, the fullness overwhelming as he began pounding into you with brutal, unrelenting force.

"Fuck, you take me so well," he growled, his voice dark with desire.

Each thrust sent jolts of pleasure through you, his pelvis slamming against your ass, the sound lewd and intoxicating. You could feel every ridge of his cock, every pulse of his arousal as he fucked you with wild abandon. His fingers dug into your hips, his grip possessive, claiming.

"You're mine," he snarled, his pace becoming erratic, his breathing ragged.

Your orgasm crashed over you without warning, your body convulsing around him as pleasure ripped through you in violent waves. Your walls clenched, milking his cock as you cried out, your vision whiting out from the intensity.

Feeling you tighten around him, he lost control, slamming into you one final time before burying himself to the hilt. A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat as he came, his hot seed flooding your depths in thick, pulsing ropes. You could feel him twitching inside you, his release endless as he held you tightly against him, both of you trembling from the force of your climax.

He collapsed over you, his breath hot against your skin as you both struggled to come down from the high. 

His lips found your shoulder, pressing a lazy kiss there before murmuring, "Fuck, you're perfect." 

And you lay there, still connected, still throbbing from the pleasure.

He pulled out slowly, careful not to jostle you too much, and you exhaled, a long, trembling breath, as he leaned over you, pushing the damp strands of hair from your forehead. His fingers were warm against your skin, brushing gently, as if memorizing the way your lashes fluttered against flushed cheeks. He kissed your forehead, lingering there for a moment, his lips soft and reassuring.

"Let me take care of you," he murmured, voice rough but tender, and you nodded, boneless in his hands.

He left you just long enough to run the bath. You heard the rush of water, the quiet clink of the faucet as he adjusted the temperature. 

When he returned, he gathered you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly, and you melted against his chest, your face tucked into the curve of his neck. The bathroom was already hazy with steam, the air thick with the scent of lavender from the oil he’d added to the water.

He lowered you into the tub with infinite care, one hand braced against the small of your back, the other guiding your legs in. The heat was perfect, sinking into your muscles, winding off the last of the tension coiled in your limbs. 

You sighed, tipping your head back as his hands glided over your skin, smoothing soap along your arms, your collarbones, the dip of your waist. He was thorough but unhurried, washing away the sweat and the lingering heat of your bodies.

When the water cooled, he helped you out, wrapping you in a towel so large it swallowed you whole. He patted you dry with the same slow attention, dabbing at your shoulders, the backs of your knees, the delicate skin of your wrists, before turning his focus to your hair. 

The towel was soft as he gathered the damp strands, squeezing out the excess water before combing his fingers through the lengths, untangling the knots with a patience that made your chest ache.

You were drowsy by the time he finished, your eyelids heavy, your body loose with warmth and contentment. He chuckled, low and fond, and lifted you again, carrying you back to the bedroom where the sheets had already been changed, fresh and cool against your skin as he tucked you in.

"Wait," you mumbled, catching his wrist as he moved to pull away.

He hesitated, still half-dressed, still damp from the bath, but you tugged, insistent, and he complied, sliding in beside you. You curled into him immediately, your head pillowed on his chest, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt. 

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, and you could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

"Sleep. I’ve got you," he whispered, pressing his lips to your hair.

another cute gif

tags: @harbingers-lullaby, @crimsonsylus, @theshadowsdragon, @dummiebunny, @nm4565natty, @robotinvenus, @librarydame, @moonlight-inthe-sea, @myeagleexpert, @seventeen-x, @randomness39, @amiamango, @fangbangerghoul

[antiwhores]

Rough and Fragile -

Bakugou x reader

Content: rough sex (hair pulling, biting, spanking, etc), SMUT!

Bakugou has fantasies of how aggressive he’d fuck you. The only problem is that he doesn’t want to hurt you… but what if you wanted to be hurt?

——

Its really hard for Bakugou to hold back for the first few times he fucks you.

Well, “fucks you” is an incorrect way to put it. It’s slow sex. Society would call it “making love”. It’s difficult to understand. Fucking can mean making love, but it can also mean just… fucking? Making love can mean fucking but it also means it’s filled with love.

That doesn’t too much matter to him. The only thing that matters is that he doesn’t hurt you.

Bakugou is, as we all know, a strong man. You, being a regular and not physically trained individual, are delicate to him. He sees you as fragile. He doesn’t want to break the most important part of his life.

That means that he has to hold back his urges to pull your hair, slam into you rough, slap your ass, bite you, and overall leave marks on your skin. He knows that it’s fucked up that he wants to hurt you. That’s why he doesn’t. And if that’s what it takes to keep you, then he’s willing to keep himself in check for the rest of his life.

But fuck, it’s probably the hardest thing he’s ever done.

He grits his teeth as he carefully moves his hips to connect with your pussy. His strokes are calculated, careful not to scare you but not careful enough to make it seem like he’s holding back.

It’s been a particularly hard day for him. His day off alined with yours so he got to wake up next to you. It was hard to leave you to go indulge in his morning workout. He had gotten back anxious to touch you. Busy schedules made sex impossible.

Due to his terrible luck, you were gone when he got back. He now remembers that you had to go grab some groceries with your spare time. You could’ve at least took him with you!

The day was full of turns of events. He waited for you to come back but eventually got bored. He took a quick walk around the neighborhood and when he got back you were in the shower. Just before you got out, he got a call from his agency reminding him of his schedule tomorrow. He got off the phone fifteen minutes later and immediately rushed to the bedroom to see you. You were in the bed snoring. He sighed and went to take a shower too since he was caked in sweat from his work out. He got out thirty minutes later to an empty bed. Turns out you had gone to get some soil for the plants.

When you two finally saw each other, it didn’t take long before you were below him.

He catches himself gripping you too hard due to a squeeze of your walls. He had to slow down, taking deep breaths in hopes to calm himself.

Unfortunately, today had him pent up to where he was loosing control.

He didn’t even notice when his hand had gripped your hair and pulled. He buried his face into your neck and started to speed up. He grabbed your hips and let off little pops from his palms. The smell of you distracted him from his vows. He was climbing his high better than ever before.

He finally snapped out of it when he felt your hands scrape his back. He stilled, his heart dropping.

It was over. Now you’d be scared of him and never talk to him again. His awful fantasies will drive you to move on to a guy that doesn’t want to hurt you while fucking you hard.

He hesitated while trying to find the proper words to apologize. You spoke first.

“What’s wrong?”

He was stunned. You weren’t freaked out?

“I just…”

He grit his teeth at his voice. He sounded desperate, whiny.

“Why’d you stop? Did I do something?”

The anxious look on your face wasn’t directed towards him, but to yourself. You had thought that you hadn’t reacted good enough. Were you not supposed to moan as loud as you did? Were you even supposed to like it?

“What? No. I just-“

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be weird-“

“You weren’t weird! It’s my fault. I just lost control.”

Your face fixed into a puzzled expression.

“What?”

He sighed.

“I want to hurt you. I want to fuck you rough, handle you rough. I don’t know why. I just want to ruin your hair and make marks all over your body. I’ve been holding back because I don’t want to see you in more pain than pleasure. I promise to never do it again if you give me another chance. I’m sorry, y/n.”

He was prepared for you to push him off. He looked for the inevitable terrified expression. A wince left him when you removed your hands for his shoulders.

He wasn’t expecting you to cup his face in your palms. You gently kiss his nose, your fingers trailing to glide down his abdomen.

“What if I want to be hurt?”

He doesn’t much remember what happened after that. He figures that he pounced on you, fucking you as rough as he’d dreamed of.

Your moans were louder than ever before. You were restrained by your wrists with his right hand. The other one pulled brutally at your hair. His cock abused your hole, ensuring you’d have a hard time walking tomorrow.

Every thrust had him gritting his teeth whilst your eyes fluttered. He unrestrained your hands while his travelled down to your ass, giving it a good slap. You moaned in confirmation so he slapped you again, this time adding some sparks.

Your nails dragged against his skin, surely leaving red marks. He’s never felt better, you agreed completely. You begged for him as you felt your high approaching. He felt his too, getting rougher by the second.

You let out a drawn out whine as you came, fingers pulling at his hair. The tightness of your orgasm against his cock immediately hit him with his own. He was attacked so suddenly that he had to bite into your shoulder to cope with the intense pleasure. A groan came from deep inside his chest as he filled your hole with cum.

His shaking stopped just after yours. He let the tension go when you relaxed. He felt the taste of iron in his mouth from the bite. Licking his lips with a smirk, he asked a question he already knew the answer to.

“Too rough for ya?”

You looked up at him with stars in your eyes.

“I can take whatever you give me and you know it!”

You weren’t the fragile girl he thought you were.

[sevsgiirl]

Sevika headcanons please? Romantic & sexual, when she has crush etc? Pretty pleaseeee?

— sevika being a lovesick puppy for you

synopsis: sevika doesn’t understand why she can’t seem to act normally around silco’s new hire. she’s never had a problem letting anybody know what she thinks about them, but you? you were different. and it was driving her insane.

note: my first req 🥹 so sorry if this was sloppy I did it last minute but I was just excited to write this for you. I hope you like it and thank you for sending this in!

𖥔 sevika wouldn’t consider herself a shy romantic. she isn’t the type to stutter when she sees a person she likes and she definitely has no problem walking up to people she finds attractive and asking them out. when she wants something, she goes for it.

𖥔 that’s why she was baffled when she met you. you were silco’s new hire and when he informed sevika about you saying you were his new informant and that you’d be joining her in missions, she didn’t think much of it.

𖥔 what she didn’t expect was her becoming so smitten by you that she avoided talking to you for the first couple of weeks. there was just something about you and the way you walked into a room and her eyes immediately gravitated towards you but she just couldn’t seem to muster the courage to introduce herself.

𖥔 you assumed she was either just guarded or that she didn’t like you. you tried not to take it personally but you had to admit it was torture because you found the older woman incredibly interesting and wanted to strike up a conversation with her.

𖥔 but it seems like whenever she sees you she refuses to acknowledge your presence. walking past you, answering your work related questions with either a hum or a nonchalant ‘yes’ or ‘no’

𖥔 what you didn’t know is that sevika was losing her mind because she’s never acted this way around anybody.

𖥔 perhaps it was your innocent and warm personality that made her hesitant to talk to you, because you were so different from her and everybody else that worked for silco. you didn’t seem like you fit here but you always got the job done when asked and that just flustered her even more.

𖥔 not to mention, you’re hot. so fucking hot especially when you’d walk around in those tight fitted shorts you always wore that showed off your legs and thighs that made her mouth go dry every single time.

𖥔 sometimes you’d do things by accident that would make her brain go haywire. whether it was leaning against the bar talking to thieram and you’d arch your back enough for your ass to poke out. how you’d fold your arms together and it’d cause your tits to be pushed together. how every time you’d talk to someone, you have this habit of tilting your head and biting your lower lip and she’d have to restrain yourself from biting her entire fist.

𖥔 don’t even get her started on the way you say her name, your voice all sultry and sweet “sevika? are you ready to go?” she always ends up giving you a nod because she knew if she responded verbally she’d be a spluttering mess.

𖥔 she didn’t want to come across as a bitch but she knew it was likely looking that way, but she just didn’t know how to act around you. it was frustrating.

𖥔 eventually though, you’ve had enough and asked her about it “sevika? can I have a word with you?”

𖥔 she was backed into a corner and she tried so hard not to sound like an idiot “what for?” she asked, hoping you didn’t notice the panic in her tone.

𖥔 you sighed, looking down on your feet “I just wanted to ask if we’re good? I’ve been working here for almost a month now and I know it’s probably not that serious but I just can’t let it slide how you talk to everyone here but me. if I did something wrong that made you dislike me please just-“

𖥔 “what? no!” she exclaimed which surprised you “I mean… fuck. I don’t hate you, princess. you’ve done nothing wrong and you’re…” basically fucking perfect is what she wanted to say, but she stopped herself “you’re good. you’re more than good but I just have a hard time with new hires, it doesn’t help that you’re younger.”

𖥔 “well, that’s silly. you know you can talk to me, I won’t bite.” the implications of your words made her gulp “how about you come to my place this saturday and I cook you lunch? please? I really want to get to know you.”

𖥔 trying to talk to you while there was so many people around was already a struggle, imagine being left alone with you “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

𖥔 “please?” and there it is again, that tone you always use that makes her fucking melt “I promise I’ll make it worth it.”

𖥔 the next thing sevika knew, it was saturday and she was in front of your door wondering whether or not her decision to come to your place was a great idea.

𖥔 truth be told, you had every right to feel hurt about sevika’s ambivalence towards you, but usually people would just let it slide because they were scared of her. you though?

𖥔 “sevika, hi!” you said as you greeted her at your door “I was wondering when you’d show.”

𖥔 she offered an awkward smile “yeah well, I didn’t want to leave you hanging.”

𖥔 what she came to realize as soon as she arrived however, both to her pleasure and horror, was that you were good company to have around. which she hated. it was enough that she was not only attracted to you physically but the fact she was smitten by your personality as well made her want to pull her hair out. you could talk for hours and she’d listen to every single word.

𖥔 “I’m really glad we cleared the air because I was scared that I did something wrong for you to ignore me,” you said with a sheepish smile as you ate lunch with her “for a moment, I thought I was being a show off which might’ve annoyed you…”

𖥔 sevika immediately shook her head “no, that’s not… don’t ever think that.” you blinked up at her, as if to coax her into saying what really was the reason why she avoided you like the plague.

𖥔 and she thought since she’s here and there’s no point in acting like a sappy teenager at her grown age, she might as well come clean “I just find you attractive is all, princess. you came in and you had this sparkle about you and I didn’t know how to handle it. I’m used to being surrounded with old men at work so seeing you - young, bright and full of potential… I didn’t know how to make of it.”

𖥔 you were stunned for a second, your mouth agape “sev…” you bit your lip as you look down on your plate “well… if it’s any consolation I must say the feelings are mutual.”

𖥔 sevika’s eyes widened so much she swore they almost popped out.

𖥔 “what?” she asked as you nodded.

𖥔 “yeah, you’re so experienced and good at your job and silco trusts you so much. that’s why it was a big deal that you liked me or not because the truth is, out of everyone at work, I crave your validation the most.”

𖥔 her throat bobbed at your confession, an unmistakable heat pooling at her insides “yeah?” she said hoarsely.

𖥔 you smiled “I mean, of course, take it as you will. but I just wanted to let you know.”

𖥔 sevika swore she wasn’t going to cave into the allure of your words, of what they suggested, you were the new hire and it’d be so unprofessional of her to make a move on you. she kept that in mind even as you both finished lunch and she was about to walk out your apartment and leave…

𖥔 that’s why she doesn’t understand how she got here, stomach flat on the bed with your thighs trembling on both sides of her head as she licked a fat stripe off your leaking pussy. looking up at you with needy eyes and you stared back at her, a sly grin on your face.

𖥔 “oh sevi…” you moaned “and here I thought you hated me.”

[kgetou]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ how they eat you out ! whc ⭑.ᐟ

warnings: mdni, +.18, sm.ut, men starving for puss.y, face.sitting, cun.niling.us, fem! reader, all the characters are over 18, fem dominating, sub!beomseok, overstimulation, cum eating, o.ral f! receiving, degradation (seongje), english isn’t my first language.

characters: suho, sieun, beomseok, parku, gotak, seongje.

ahn suho

↳

let's be honest, this man loves your ass so much, he just can't live without it. So you're not going to be surprised when one day he just asks, "can you sit on my face?" and because you love your boyfriend so much, you did it.

he eats pussy like he's thirsty or hungry all the time (canon), sucking and licking like a needy man. all you need to know is he encourages you to ride his face so he can "eat" properly.

you were on top of him, moving your hips, riding his face. his hands were on your tights, bouncing you with them.while you grab his black hair between your fingers, you use him.

when your knees fail and you sit completely with your whole weight, instead of worrying. he grabs your hips and keeps you there.

and, oh my god, he loves to eat your pussy as if it is his favorite food. he loves it.

he just moans at the thought of your pussy in his face; now imagine while you're actually sitting on it.

this man is a hungry man, and he loves to eat your pussy while you use him, and believe me. when you cum hard in his face, he's going to drink it all. <3

yeon sieun

↳

one day he was just stressed (something that happened really often because he's #1 in the class). he was so stressed that when he entered his room after coming from the academy and you were there immediately, he opened your legs just to suck your clit. </3

we can't judge; that day somebody bothered him, he almost exploded, but instead, he just distressed between your legs.

slurping, sucking, and wriggling his tongue on your clit. his hands were squeezing your thighs tightly, something that he loves to do when he eats you out. while your legs were squeezing his head.

and when you open your glassy eyes, you can see him eating at your folds with his eyes closed and frowning eyebrows like he was mad, and you can even see his jaw moving in a dirty way while he's eating you.

he just loves to slurp, suck your clit, and spread your folds with his tongue; just let him do it when he's stressed because when you cum in his tongue, he's going to need some attention between his legs. <3

oh beomseok

↳

he was just there, sitting on his knees. when he looked at you with his pretty eyes, you didn't hesitate to get close.

but now he's between your legs, in the same position as he was, but he was eating you out. his eyes close while you grab his hair with your fingers to pull him deeper. sucking your clit while eating messily.

his hands around your thighs, he moans directly on your clit. when you force his head to go deeper. he loves it, and you can see it on his face.

he didn't even remove his glasses, so when you see that they were foggy and disturbing you to use his face as your wish, you remove them, making him look at you.

he tried to say sorry, but you just shut him up with your folds on his lips, making him moan and squeeze your tights until it leave marks.

he just loves when you use him like this; he feels useful. So when you cum on his tongue, he makes sure to clean it entirely to make you congrats him. <3

parku (park hu-min)

↳

something about parku it’s that he loves more fuck you from behind.

he just said that he wanted to feel all the of the problems that the boys have; but he get addicted fucking your ass.

but when it’s about eating pussy, he just love spread your legs and dive into it.

and when i say dive into it, it’s dive into it.

he love licking it, try to put his tongue inside your folds, rub his nose aggressively with your clit; and everything while he press your ass.

he just love it, don’t blame him. blame him when he put his fingers inside of you while caressing your clit with his tongue and his other hand middle finger rubbing your butthole.

he’s amazed by the way you sound, the more you moan the more he’s going to introduce his middle finger in your ass.

he loves your ass i said?. so when you find yourself cuming hard with two fingers in your pussy, one inside your butthole and his tongue on your clit, he’s going to slurp it all, even your butthole.<3

gotak (go hyun tak)

↳

This man is a needy man. He needs your pussy in his face, but also your lips around his cock.

imagine he comeback tired of the training at the basketball club. when he takes a shower and see you on his shirt with nothing less than a pair of panties.

he’s done. and also, you are done.

because he’s going to ask you like the gentleman he is: to sit on his face and give him a blow job while you ride it. he forces you to move your ass, while he hears your gags sounds from his cock entering in your throat.

he likes to move his hips to get more deeper in your throat. he doesn’t concern about it certainly. because, he is training your throat for it. and he believe that his girl knows how to take it all.

when he fucks your mouth more rapidly, you know he’s about to come, but he also hug your hips, pressing his face in your pussy, moaning, licking and slurping your clit and folds.

when you cum on his face, he also cum in your mouth, filling that pretty sore (now) throat<3

keum seongje

↳

something about this mf is that he just love taking the control. and how dare you not to follow his commands…you know how you can end if you don’t do it.

so when he asked you nicely to arch your back and raise your butt. you did it.

but you didn’t expect that his tongue will explore all your pussy with a hungry needy actions. he was just amazed by your slickly pussy.

sometimes he stopped from licking it, only to slap it, calling you his slut and emphasizing how wet you are only with his mouth.

he love the sounds you make while he teases your clit with his tongue, while your hole fill with his fingers. you can see his smile on your mind, even though you weren’t watching him.

but he loves it, and he loves it even more when he separate his lips a little bit away from your pussy, and your ass went directly (almost like a tick) backward to find his mouth again.

he’s not going to deny your orgasm, you were his pretty little slut, now, let it go on his mouth, he’s going to drink it all and not stopping until you squirt his face

after all he wanted to get his face all wet just because of you<3

the request was made by @daughterof-aphrodit who asked for this when i already got the draft ready.

thank you for requesting.<3

like to see more of this, reblog if you think it’s worthy.

i wrote this at 1:30 am, sorry if it doesn’t make sense.

[mimi--writes]

Forever Mine

—"Don't leave me..."

—In which the television you see in your dreams doesn't want you to wake up.

A/N: Someone needed to make a Yandere Tenna fic and I guess it's got to be me. See my vision, I beg of you.

CW: Yandere, Manipulation, Guilt-Tripping

——————————————————————————

The Dreemurr family's divorce is a town wide scandal, the 'incident' causing it forever an unspoken haunt to the townspeople.

To you, however, it's the reason you got this nifty little free TV.

It's cool—works just fine, though it has some parental restriction codes that were quite the inconvenience to get through, but it's free. That's right. Zero dollars. You just visited Miss Toriel one day like you thought any good neighbor would. And luckily for you, she asked if you could take her television off her hands, because no one in the family used it anymore, and it just brought back memories she didn't want.

So you helped Miss Toriel and got a free TV. Sweet.

It sits in your house, affectionately nicknamed "Tenna"—because of its long antennae that almost seem to squirm when you touch them. You know it is far from the most modern form of entertainment, but it is entertainment nonetheless, and besides—you've reluctantly grown attached to this television. Late nights on the couch, just you and it, have become commonplace. Sometimes, you even fall asleep.

And on one of those nights, the dreams begin.

You are in a place so dark it's light again—bright, saturated colors in checkered patterns marking the floors, infomercials everywhere, and tons of little flyers with the same fuzzy TV silhouette your eyes can briefly make out.

Okay, what kind of fever dream this is, you don't even know. Might as well just make the best of it.

You pick up a flyer.

"Coming Straight From Your House—Mr. (Ant) Tenna's Marvelous Mystery Board!"

Some sort of game show- wait, did that flyer just talk?

There is suddenly a spotlight on you.

"That's right!" Continues the voice, with the same chipper yet even timbre of a gameshow host. From the wall behind you pops out-

A man with a television head.

A very hot man with a television head.

You would be remiss not to admit it, really. Sure, he does, well, you know, but the TV-head is really just a bonus! On top of that surprisingly charming suit and nice ass, the TV-head fills your brain with ideas that make you wonder if you are deranged.

You decide not to give them the time of day just yet.

Meanwhile, the man with the television head continues to race about his gameshow.

"Special prizes, physical challenges, and more, only on-"

"I'm in," you say, and for all his bravado, the television man—Mister Ant Tenna from the poster, wait, your TV is named Tenna, wait, are you seriously dreaming about your TV as a hot gameshow host—startles noticeably, antennae going ramrod straight.

"You are?" He says. You nod.

"Uh, yeah. Seems cool."

He claps his hands with excitement, and suddenly, a thermometer appears on screen, immediately cracking with excitement.

"Magnificent! Splendid! The Fun-O-Meter's off the chart folks! Mike, play the applause!"

And pre-recorded applause ensues. You wonder if anyone is actually watching. Except no one is watching, because this is a dream.

You go through the motions—play the games, win the prizes. You get Z Rank, because you have what many would call a massive skill issue. But Tenna does not mind, regarding you with the patience of a saint.

The credits roll, but Tenna seems hesitant.

"Maybe- another round?" He suggests. You nod.

"When I come back," you say, before he can get the wrong idea. "Every good show needs an intermission.'

With that, you leave your dream, certain that it really was just that. A one time dream.

But then, the next late night on the couch comes, and you find yourself in that same dream once again.

Tenna's antennae droop as he speaks to you in private afterwards.

"You sure took a lot time!" He says, trying to sound cheery. It fails, though, considering the way he shrinks in discontent. "It's alright though, I get it. It was fun enough, just me and the board- I've- never been good company anyways, and-"

He's trying so hard to sound alright with it that it just makes you feel even more guilty. His antennae droop, and you avert your eyes in a desperate attempt to stop the guilt from stabbing at your heart. It doesn't work.

"You're great company," you say, in lieu of asking how come it was just him and the board when he has all those employees under him. "You know what? I'll stay as many rounds as you want! Seem fair?"

Immediately, he perks up, rapidly growing in excitement, antennae perked back up.

"Absolutely wonderful!" He says. The Fun-O-Meter once again explodes. Applause roars as Tenna starts rambling.

You play and play as many bonus rounds as you can until Tenna is something akin to satisfied. At last, you wake up.

You have slept through the entire day. Angry messages await you, as a result of obligations miserably unfulfilled. You don't even want to check them.

But you do. Typing out responses and making amends.

You wish you were back there, in that dream of yours.

So you stay by the television and fall asleep once more.

And once again, Tenna greets you.

"You came by faster today, darling!" He says. You find yourself liking the nickname, if only because it is him saying it.

You nod.

"That I did."

"Miss me?" He asks, and if he had eyes you just know he'd be batting them innocently.

"No," you start, trying to set up some sort of coy flirtation, but you immediately regret it when he visibly deflates.

"Oh," he says. "I- should have seen that coming. I mean, hah, you're absolutely stellar, darling, and I'm... Just..."

"I- I didn't mean it!" You hastily amend. "I was just joking. Really, I don't even know what I was thinking; I'm sorry!"

He smiles at that, placing a tentative arm on your shoulder.

"You-" he starts, before clearing his throat and trying to regain his composure. "You won't mind if I do this, then?"

And before you can ask what he means, he's pressing a fiery, impassioned kiss to your lips.

It's half-loving, gentle, like you are the most precious thing he has ever held within his arms, half an act of possession, like he wants to lay claim to you in a way no one else can. The possessive half is carried out guiltily, you can tell, the way he gently licks at all the bites he leaves, consoles you when you yelp at the little electric shock he gives.

You've never wanted anything more.

The kiss ends, and you find a gutted sob escaping you. Tenna startles.

"Was that not alright, darling?"

"This- This can't be a dream," you say. You feel pathetic, longing for a relationship conjured up in a fantasy like this. A man born from your own furniture, who obsesses over your happiness like it is his sole priority. That can't be what you want, and yet it is. "Please don't let this be a dream."

You suddenly feel a comforting hand on your back, the touch initially sending a shock down your spine."

"It's not a dream," Tenna says, breath tickling your ear. You can only hope he's right.

You wake up with a start, dreading the day.

——————————————————————————

The relationship of your dreams is half fantasy, half nightmare. Tenna is a sweetheart, indeed he is, always fretting over your every concern and comfort, letting your worries melt away with his games and challenges.

And then sometimes he'll snap, scold you or break, and mere moments later, he'll be on his knees, begging not to leave.

"Please stay," he begs you one night, the blow of the wind that should have been pleasant chilling you to your very core. "You're all I have. Please-"

"I will," you nod, gulping. He doesn't believe you, face contorting into its familiar motion, and regardless of having no eyes, it's oh-so expressive that it immediately makes you shoot up with dread.

"Say you love me," he whispers, shaking you with a manic sort of feel. "Say it."

"I love you."

"I don't believe you."

"I- I love you," you say. "Please."

And like some sort of trance has been broken, his head jerks, the hands that were only just shaking you now cradling with the gentleness you normally know.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, kissing reverently as if that'll prove anything. "Don't leave me. Please."

You know you won't. You can't. You'll keep waking up later and later in the day, letting him take more and more out of your time. He is greedy, absolutely ravenous when it comes to you, and he'll devour you whole if that's what you offer.

And yet you offer yourself whole anyways, because you just can't say no.

Time passes. It's all a blur. You remember less and less of your day to day activities, and more and more of your dreams. Of Tenna, sweet and charismatic and pleadingly manic the next. How he beckons for you to stay even when the ring you now recognize as your alarm screams for you to wake up.

And how could you not, when his kisses are so inviting?

It all comes to a head one night.

"Stay," he murmurs, serving you dinner. You sigh.

"You know I will," you say.

"Not like that," he says. "Stay here. Forever."

"For- ever?"

Your eyes widen as the implication of his words catches up to you all too late.

These dreams- no- they're-

"I have a life back outside," you say, panicking as his antennae twitch in displeasure.

"Then you'll leave me to rot...?" He asks, falsely resigned. You gulp. You know him better by now. You know how intelligent he is. How assured.

He knows exactly what you'll say, that he knows you know but you'll do it anyways, damnit-

"That's not what I mean," you say. He sighs.

"Of course you can tell yourself that!" He says. "I really am insignificant... Just a tryst-"

"I'll stay," you say at last, acquiescing as you always have. He beams, kissing you like a touch-starved puppy, and you forget yourself for a few moments.

As far as any of your friends and family know, you will never wake up again.

But as far as you know, intoxicated by the seemingly permanent love in the air, you are the most awake you have ever been.

[wqnsho]

resurface | kang dae-ho x gn! reader

*.✧ synopsis: after years of heartbreak and betrayal, you’ve learned to bury your emotions to survive. but when your high school sweetheart, kang dae-ho, unexpectedly appears in the deadly game you're also in, the walls you built around your heart begin to crack. As past and present collide, survival becomes about more than just staying alive *.✧ word count: 10.1k (yeah) *.✧ warnings: squidgame season 2 spoilers, violence, death, trauma, toxic relationships, cursing, fluff, angst. your number is 389. *.✧ note: dae-ho won against in-ho by just .2%! thank you all so much for the support. my in-ho fanfic reached 1K notes already, while 1k+ of you participated in my poll! I'm very thankful for the support :> i was in the middle of editing in-ho's fic when the polls finished, when i saw how close the votes were i laughed. luckily i only needed to tweak a bit in this fic for it to be done. enjoy reading!! >:) dae-ho is such a cutiee!! long italicized texts are flashbacks. masterlist | request here

“Shit, I just moved didn’t I?” Player 196 asked in a lighthearted tone after swatting the bee that landed on her. Before anyone could answer, she dropped dead to the ground, a bullet from god knows where piercing through her skull.

The area erupted in chaos as players realized the horrific truth: to be eliminated meant death. Others tried to make a desperate run for it, while some froze, paralyzed from fear, and you were one of them. 

Your eyes trailed down to the corpse laying a few feet in front of you. Your heart dropped. That could’ve been you.

You should've trusted your gut. You should’ve known that whatever bullshit that shady man in a suit said was too good to be true. But here you were, paying the price of your stupid decisions.

The air was thick with panic as a bloody massacre unfolded before your eyes. People who ran got shot left and right, while those who stayed survived. Once it cleared those who moved, the mechanical doll turned around, its eerie voice rising in song. The players were too stunned to move. Only one person had the courage to act—Player 456. With unwavering resolve, they ran ahead and instructed you all to hide behind someone bigger than you.

The rest of you followed suit, moving quickly. You ended up behind Player 230—Thanos, a rapper drowning in 1.19 billion won of debt. You didn’t trust him, and your instincts proved right. As the game progressed, he shoved people ahead of him, ending their lives without hesitation. Yet, you had to give him some credit: the man could hold a pose.

One by one, players crossed the finish line. As the timer reached 0, the hellish game finally ended. You were shaking, your body trembling with the aftershock, but at least you were still alive. The guards escorted everyone back to the main area, where the survivors collapsed to their knees, begging for mercy, begging to go home. You could hear them, desperate, pleading. It was almost unbearable.

“There must’ve been a misunderstanding,” the square guard’s voice rang out, cutting through the despair. His tone was flat and devoid of emotion. “We are not trying to harm you. We are presenting you with an opportunity.”

His words did little to reassure anyone. Your eyes rolled at their response. Misunderstanding my ass! The chance of survival, of escape, felt more like a cruel joke than anything else. But before the guard could continue, a voice rose above the rest, sharp and commanding.

“Clause three of the consent form!” Player 456 called out, his voice filled with defiance.

Everyone turned to look at him, some surprised, others hopeful. You were no different. You hadn’t expected anyone to stand up in this situation. You didn’t even know what clause three was, you skipped that part and immediately signed the form, but there was something in the way he spoke that made you believe he knew more than the rest of you.

“The games may be terminated upon a majority vote, correct?” he demanded, his eyes never leaving the guard.

The square guard responded without missing a beat, his tone unchanged. “That is correct.”

“Then let us take a vote right now,” Player 456 pressed, his voice firm and unyielding.

There was a brief silence before the guard spoke again, acknowledging the request with a chilling calmness. “Of course, we respect your right to freedom of choice.” He paused, and in that moment, you could feel the hope that had been buried deep inside everyone start to stir. It wasn’t much, but it was something. “But first, let me announce the prize amount that has been accumulated.”

With the press of a button, the room shifted. The cold, sterile space took on a strange new color, bathed in a soft, eerie glow. A massive piggy bank, almost comically large, descended from the ceiling, its mechanical limbs creaking with the weight. The sound of bills filling it echoed through the room, a surreal sound that only added to the strangeness of the moment. It felt like something out of a twisted casino, a game that didn’t care about the lives it destroyed, only the money it could accumulate.

“The number of players eliminated in the first game is 91,” the guard continued, as the money filled the piggy bank at a steady pace. “Therefore, a total of 9.1 billion won has been accumulated. If you choose to quit the games now, the 365 remaining players can equally divide the 9.1 billion won and leave with your share.”

“How much is that?” Player 100 asked.

“Each person’s share would be 24,931,500 won,” the guard answered flatly, almost as if it was an insignificant amount.

You could hear the gasps of disbelief that rippled through the crowd. It was hard to wrap your mind around it. You almost died for that? The amount seemed insignificant compared to the terror you’d experienced. You could hear others murmuring, their frustration and disbelief growing louder. What good was 24 million won when you had been pushed to the brink of death, when you had witnessed so much suffering?

“Twenty million? You said 45.6 billion!” Player 230 shouted, his voice filled with outrage.

The guard’s response was cold, calculated. “The rule was that a hundred million won would be accumulated for each eliminated player. If you choose to play the next game, and more players are eliminated, the prize amount will increase accordingly.”

The answer felt hollow, like an empty promise that was meant to keep you on the hook.

“Then how much will it be if you survive until the very end?” someone asked, their voice tinged with desperation.

“As I already told you, the total prize money for all 456 players is 45.6 billion won. Those who make it through all six games will equally divide the 45.6 billion won.”

A hush fell over the room, as the reality of the prize set in. 45.6 billion won. It was an obscene amount of money. The sum felt impossible, unreal. But at the same time, it was exactly what so many of you needed. The temptation of that massive prize loomed in the air, a beacon in the darkness. Could you really leave with only 24 million? Was that all your life was worth?

“So, if you’re the only one to survive, you get 45.6 billion won?” Player 230 asked, as if the question needed to be confirmed, just to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood.

“That is correct,” the guard answered, his voice detached, like it was just another part of the game.

For a brief moment, the room seemed to breathe in unison. The weight of the prize, the gravity of the situation, pressed down on everyone. People began to murmur among themselves, the excitement in their voices unmistakable. The idea of that unimaginable sum of money—more than they had ever seen in their lives—became a tangible thing in the air. People who had been trembling in fear moments before now looked around, their eyes glinting with a new kind of hunger. The atmosphere shifted, the air thick with the scent of greed and desperation.

“So we can take a vote again and decide to leave after the next game?” someone asked, voice laced with uncertainty, but also with a flicker of hope.

“As promised in the consent form, you can take a vote after each game and decide to leave with the prize money accumulated up to that point,” the guard confirmed. “We always prioritize your voluntary actions.”

The voting began, and the room filled with tension once again. Player 456  was the first one to vote. He stepped forward, pressing X without hesitation. Others followed, some pressing X, others O. When your turn came, you felt your heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t hesitate. You stepped forward, pressing O with a sense of finality, the sound of the button clicking louder in your ears than it should have been. You placed the patch on your jacket, marking your decision, and walked back to your side of the room.

You didn’t look back.

You weren’t sure when you had made up your mind, but the choice was clear. Despite everything, despite the fear gnawing at the edges of your resolve, you knew you couldn’t walk away now. 

Out there, in the real world, the debt that had dragged you into this nightmare would still be waiting. The vultures would circle, just as they always had, but now you could fight back. You could take a step toward something better. The thought of going back to the crushing weight of your debts, to the life that had led you to this point, filled you with dread. There was nothing for you out there anymore.

The prize, the money, the possibility of escaping this endless cycle—this was the only chance you had left. There was no turning back now.

As much as you sympathized with those who wanted to leave, You just couldn’t. Here, at least, there was hope. A sliver of it. And if you survived, you could finally break free. You could pay it all off. You could start over. For the first time in what felt like forever, you had a chance—one that you couldn’t let slip through your fingers.

Your gaze wandered to the others, watching as they made their decisions. Some pressed X with shaking hands, their faces filled with desperation to leave and go home. Others pressed O with grim determination, their eyes locked on the future, no matter how uncertain. And yet, the overwhelming weight of it all crashed down on you again, heavy and suffocating.

You looked up at the piggy bank hanging high above, its golden glow mocking you with promises of salvation. If you made it—if you became the lone survivor—you’d earn it all. 45.6 billion won. Enough to erase every debt. Enough to silence the loan sharks who haunted your dreams. Enough to leave it all behind and disappear.

But as you stared at it, bile rose in your throat. Was this all your life had become—fighting for money, sacrificing everything just to survive? Your stomach twisted as your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms.

Reaching for your necklace, you clutched it tightly, the familiar weight grounding you for a moment. Its warmth offered a flicker of comfort, but even that couldn’t silence the emptiness creeping in. Here, hope felt like a dangerous thing to hold onto.

Out there, you had nothing. No one. Over time, everyone had given up on you. Your friends had drifted away, unwilling to carry the weight of your problems. Your family had turned their backs, tired of the chaos and the shame. And then there was... him.

He left without a word. No explanation, no goodbye. Just gone, as if you had never mattered at all.

When he disappeared, it felt like the last thread holding you together unraveled. You tried to move on, to make sense of it, but the truth was simple: no one stayed. Out there, you were invisible—a burden no one wanted to carry.

But here? Here, you had a purpose. As twisted and brutal as it was, the games gave you something to hold onto. Every step forward felt like proof that you could still fight, still matter, even if it was only to yourself.

You tore your gaze from the piggy bank and stared down at your shoes. It used to be white— pure. Now it’s scuffed and worn, much like you. Each scratch and stain told a story of a life lived in survival mode, clinging to scraps of hope. You couldn’t help but wonder—if you walked away now, what would be waiting for you? Nothing but the same endless cycle of despair.

At least here, you had a chance. A sick, twisted, blood-soaked chance.

And that was more than the outside world had ever given you.

In the midst of your inner turmoil, you didn’t notice someone standing beside you. They were looking at you, as if they wanted to make small talk yet didn't know how.

There was something bugging Dae-ho and he didn't know what it was. He couldn't stay still, couldn't think properly, couldn’t stay calm. He desperately needs a distraction, and he needs it now. But what could he possibly do? He can't just slap himself or shout. No way, that's too embarrassing. 

The male thought deeply before an idea popped up in his head. Eureka! He could try and talk to someone! His excitement died down as fast as it came. Yeah, he could try and talk to someone but who? His eyes scanned the crowd. To his dismay, most of the people surrounding him were scary oldies, and he was not willing to take the risk. He looked to his left, spotting a full head of hair. 

His gaze landed on you. You're young, he thinks— the white spots in your hair were less than those around him. He felt a little nervous, unsure of how to approach you, but he had no choice. This was his chance.

He coughed lightly, a test to see if you would notice him. 

No response. 

He tried again, this time a bit louder. 

Still nothing.

He began to get irritated, were you deaf or something? Shaking his irrational thoughts, Dae-ho got ready to fake cough again.

Then, out of nowhere, an old man in front of him turned and glared, sending a shiver down his spine. The male stopped, his face flushing. He needed to stop being a coward. He steeled himself, like the marine he was before doing it the right way.

He then stared at your unresponsive figure with intense, wide, and bulging eyes hoping that you would feel his intense stare and finally look at him. When that didn’t work, he began chanting “Hey! Look at me!” in his head just in case you were a mind reader. 

To nobody's surprise, his ‘plan’ flunked. Letting out an audible sigh, Dae-ho shook his head. He stopped being a wuss and garnered courage like a true marine. He should just approach you the right way, a single tap on the shoulder wouldn't hurt anybody right? Right.

As soon as his hand touched your shoulder, you ducked down and sneezed—an odd timing. He froze, unsure whether this was a sign to stop or if you were actually a mind reader and was avoiding him. But before he could pull his hand away, you reverted back to your original position— bumping into his outstretched hand.

He jumped back, startled. His cheeks flushed again as he realized he’d intruded on your space. In a sudden burst of nervous energy, he bowed deeply— a perfect ninety degrees, his hands clasped in front of him.

“I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean to... you see, I was feeling a little bored and wanted to talk to someone. Between you and me, I don’t want to talk to some old gray-haired people in debt. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, you’re free to slap me and ignore me!”

He spoke in one long breath, the words tumbling out faster than he could control. Then, he froze, bracing himself—waiting for a slap, a harsh word, anything to tell him he had crossed a line. Or maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for you to give him a sign that it was all okay. The silence that followed was suffocating, hanging between you like a heavyweight, neither of you dared to break.

When you didn’t respond, he began to doubt himself. Was this a joke? Was he imagining everything? Had he pushed too far?

And then—

“…Dae-ho…?”

The silence that was there from the beginning stretched even further as Dae-ho froze, his heart pounding. He could feel his chest tightening with every breath, his thoughts spinning in circles. Was this really happening?

He slowly lifted his head, praying, hoping that what he was thinking wasn’t true. His eyes scanned your face, searching for any sign that this was just some cruel illusion. He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision, but it didn’t help. You were still there, staring back at him, just as real as the cold walls of the room around him.

“[Name]...”

How could this be real? The years apart, the silence, the pain—it had all carved its place deep inside you, wounds that never fully healed. And yet, here he was, standing before you like a ghost dragged from the past to haunt you. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

You stared at him, unable to look away, yet every second felt like a fresh wound. How could he just stand there, shaking and silent, as if you weren’t the one left to pick up the shattered pieces of your life when he walked away? Your chest tightened, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

He looked so different, yet so heartbreakingly familiar. Those same eyes that used to meet yours with warmth now avoided your gaze like a coward. The same hands that once held yours trembled at his sides, as if they carried the weight of something unsaid.

You wanted to scream at him, to demand answers to the questions that had haunted you for years. Why did he leave? Why didn’t he say goodbye? The questions burned in your chest, but no words came. The silence between you was louder than any explanation he could give—louder than the ache of the years he left you to carry alone.

And yet, some small part of you hated yourself for hoping, for wanting him to say something that would make it all make sense. But as his lips parted and nothing came, his silence was louder than any excuse could ever be.

Cheers suddenly filled the room as the two of you looked away from each other. Looking at the scoreboard, you released a sigh of relief as O won, meaning the games would still proceed. 

Following the guards orders to disperse, you walked away as fast as you could. You needed to run away for a while, away from everyone, away from him. You weaved through the sea of players, ignoring the chaotic mix of relief and despair filling the room. Every step felt heavier, your mind still reeling from the sight of him. Why here? Why now?

Your chest ached. The large room offered little solace, the murmur of restless voices and distant footsteps a constant reminder of where you were. You sought refuge in the thin, scratchy blanket of your assigned bed, pulling it over yourself as if it could shield you from the weight pressing down on your chest.

Laying in a fetal position, you tried to steady your breathing, to stop the trembling in your hands. But his face—his eyes—kept flashing in your mind, a painful reminder of everything you thought you’d buried.

Anger simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. You clenched your fists, an attempt to stop the tears from flowing. But no amount of control could erase the gnawing ache in your chest.

“[Name]...”

The voice froze you in place. 

“Can we… talk?” His voice was quiet, almost pleading.

Under the covers, you exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to keep your tone steady. “What’s there to talk about, Dae-ho?”

His jaw tightened, and he took a cautious step closer to your bed. “I… I didn’t think I’d see you here. I didn’t think I’d see you again at all.”

“Neither did I,” you replied curtly. “And yet, here we are.”

He flinched at your words, guilt flashing in his eyes not that you could see it. “I know I owe you an explanation.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “An explanation? After all these years? After you disappeared without a word? You think I need that now, here of all places?”

His lips parted as if to argue, but he stopped himself. Instead, he looked down, his hands gripping the fabric of his jumpsuit. “I wanted to explain. I really did. But I didn’t know how.”

“You didn’t know how?” you repeated, incredulous. “You didn’t know how to tell me you were leaving? That you were giving up on us? That you—”

Your voice cracked, and you stopped, swallowing the lump in your throat. You refused to let him hear you cry. Not here. Not now.

“I didn’t give up on you,” he said softly.

His words hung in the air, but they did nothing to soothe the ache inside you. You shook your head once more, your voice trembling. “You left me alone, Dae-ho. You walked away without a word, and you left me to deal with everything by myself. Don’t tell me you didn’t give up.”

Silence followed, thick and suffocating. You could feel his eyes on your figure under the covers, before hearing footsteps walk away. You didn’t expect much, knowing that all he does is run from his responsibilities. But why did it still hurt? 

As you went to collect your dinner, you couldn’t help but overhear familiar laughter. Laughter that you used to love listening to. Silently gazing at Dae-ho’s figure, you watch in silence as he makes small talk with a group of men in the corner of the room. A small smile crept up your face, even after all those years he still has his charming laugh. You moved your gaze to the guard as they handed you your food, with a small bow you thanked them before going back to your bed. 

Looking at him one more time, your eyes widened in surprise as a set of eyes clashed with yours. Thankfully, it wasn’t Dae-ho. It was 001. There was something in his stare that made you scared. Maybe Dae-ho told them about your history and now they were angry at you, either way, who were you to care? You broke eye contact first, setting your gaze elsewhere as you retreated back to your assigned bed. Little did you know Dae-ho was doing the same, looking at you with longing eyes every time you had your back turned from him.

The next day came quickly, the game even quicker. You convinced a group to let you join their team with your gonggi skills. They were reluctant at first but had no choice but to let you in as the timer was nearing its end. Your team went through the games with ease, everyone was a pro on the games— you included. 

As the guard placed the table in front of you, you and your team squatted, the familiar weight of the stones in your hands grounding you. It reminded you of something, something far simpler, back when you were young.

“The slowest will have to buy the winner dinner, deal?” you said with a playful grin, your voice filled with mischievous confidence as you laid out the challenge.

Dae-ho’s eyes widened, shaking his head dramatically. “That’s unfair! You only say that because you’re a pro at gonggi!” he shot back, his voice half-laughing and half-complaining, clearly trying to defend himself.

Currently, the two of you, still in your high school uniforms, are sprawled on the floor of your room, surrounded by an amusing mess of half-done activities. The afternoon had been a carefree escape from schoolwork and responsibilities, as you had decided to skip school for the day. Your parents were away, so you had the house all to yourselves.

The floor was scattered with papers, a few textbooks left open, and snacks you’d absentmindedly snacked on while getting lost in your own little world. Dae-ho’s hair was a chaotic mess of clips, ties, and failed attempts at creating something resembling style. 

Meanwhile, your face was painted with makeup. Your eyes were covered in uneven eyeshadow, and your lipstick had smudged onto your cheeks in a way that had you wondering if you'd even be able to wash it off later. It was ridiculous, but it was also perfect. There was no need for perfection when you were together, just moments of unfiltered fun. You didn’t mind looking silly—it was a shared experience, after all.

You leaned back on the floor, hands resting behind your head, watching him with an amused expression. He had always been competitive, and you knew he wouldn’t let this challenge slide without giving it his all. But you also knew he wouldn’t back down.

"You're just mad because I'm about to beat you,” you teased, raising an eyebrow and holding the gonggi stones in your hand. “I’ve got this in the bag."

Dae-ho let out an exaggerated sigh, pretending to be defeated, but his eyes betrayed him—the challenge was on. “Fine. The loser buys the winner dinner.” he said, as the fire in his eyes burned brightly.

You smiled, leaning closer and placing the stones carefully in front of both of you. “You’re on,” you replied, your voice light but determined.

The game, which was just supposed to be a simple way to pass the time, had suddenly become a full-blown competition, complete with stakes. Dae-ho didn’t like losing, and you knew that meant he would give everything he had to win, but you weren’t going to make it easy for him.

With that, the tension between you both shifted. You could feel the energy change as you both focused on the stones in front of you, your hands hovering over them, ready to begin the game. The silly banter was still there, but now it was mixed with a more serious undercurrent—a challenge that was both fun and a little bit intense.

Dae-ho glanced at you once more, his expression playful but competitive, and you could see the slight smirk forming on his lips. “Get ready to buy me that dinner,” he said with mock confidence, ready to show you he was the better player.

You laughed, shaking your head. “We’ll see about that, Dae-ho.”

And with that, the game began, the stones flying through the air as you both competed to see who could win the challenge, the promise of dinner hanging in the balance.

After breezing through the first rounds, you placed all the stones on top of your hand, heart racing. You nervously exhaled, forcing yourself to focus.

“I’m honestly jealous of your gonggi skills,” you admitted, leaning back in your chair as you sat beside Dae-ho at your favorite hotpot place, a small smile playing on your lips as you stirred your bowl of soup.

Dae-ho, who had just taken a sip from his drink, blinked at you in mock surprise. “You? Jealous of me? You’re the one who won!” he said with a playful glare, his tone lighthearted.

You laughed softly, shaking your head at him. “Not that part, silly! I always notice that you always catch all five stones with ease. Even if I’m fast, I still mess up once in a while.” You looked down at your half-eaten bowl, the warmth from the hotpot filling your chest, but it wasn’t just from the food—it was the company that made everything feel so right.

Dae-ho’s expression softened as he put down his chopsticks, giving you his full attention. He nodded thoughtfully, then smiled, and for a moment, you felt as if the world outside didn’t exist, just the two of you, sharing this simple, quiet moment together.

“Well, my lovely [nickname],” he said, his voice taking on that playful, teasing tone you knew so well. “I can always tell you a trick,” he continued, raising an eyebrow mischievously. “But it’ll cost you. My secrets aren’t free, you know.”

Your curiosity piqued, you tilted your head, giving him a playful. “Go on, then.”

Dae-ho’s smile widened as he turned his cheek toward you, tilting his head just enough to make it clear what he wanted. You giggled, rolling your eyes but giving in, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his left cheek.

He grinned, the sparkle in his eyes making your heart skip a beat, and without missing a beat, he pointed to the other side, silently asking for more. You couldn’t help but smile, kissing his right cheek just as lightly.

Then, Dae-ho tilted his head again, offering his forehead with that trademark mischievous smile. “And this one?” he asked, his eyes glinting with excitement.

You didn’t even hesitate, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on his forehead, your heart fluttering in the simple affection. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, and the more you kissed him, the more the world around you faded away.

He stretched his hand out next, offering the back of his left hand with an expectant grin. You chuckled at how silly this game was becoming, but you still kissed it gently, your heart swelling with warmth. His grin only grew wider, and before you knew it, he was extending his right hand, offering it up for another kiss.

You kissed it too, your heart fluttering again at how effortlessly he could make everything feel so special. Each little moment, each silly gesture, you loved it all.

Finally, with that signature grin of his, Dae-ho turned fully toward you, his eyes sparkling with playfulness. “And this one?” he asked, tilting his face toward yours, the question hanging in the air like an invitation.

Without even thinking, you closed the space between you and kissed his lips, a soft, lingering kiss that felt full of promise and affection. The moment was so pure, so simple, that it left you breathless in the best way. Nothing mattered but the two of you, sharing this quiet, tender connection.

Dae-ho smiled against your lips, his arms subtly drawing you closer as he pulled back just slightly, a lovestruck expression on his face. “You’re the best, [nickname].” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he nuzzled you gently. His voice was soft and full of affection, and you couldn’t help but smile back, your heart swelling with warmth.

You leaned in, your voice teasing. “So? What’s the trick?”

Dae-ho let out a dramatic sigh, pretending to be exasperated but still smiling. “Can’t I have a lovely moment with you?” he asked, his tone light and affectionate.

“Dae-ho.” you said with a small laugh, nudging him playfully.

“Fine, fine! You’re a party pooper!” he joked, giving you a nudge back before getting serious. He shifted slightly, sitting up straighter and showing you a more focused expression. “Alright, listen carefully.” He mimicked the motions as he spoke. “What I do is first calm myself down. Inhale... and exhale.” He demonstrated the breathing technique, his chest rising and falling slowly. 

He paused before looking at you expectantly. Rolling your eyes, you copied his movement. Inhale and exhale.

Satisfied, he continued. “Once you find your peace, you put all your might in your palm so the stones don’t fall. Strong foundation.”

You nodded, watching him carefully. “Got it,” you said, your gaze fixed on his hands as he continued with his instructions.

He smiled, clearly pleased by your attention. “Then you throw your hand upwards—just right. Not too low, not too high,” he said, raising one hand and showing you the perfect motion. “Count one...” He paused dramatically, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Count one,” you repeated, laughing softly at how serious he was being, yet how cute he looked while teaching you.

“Then catch!” 

You threw your hand up. It felt natural. It felt right. The stones landed, and you caught them all in one smooth motion.

“Hey! I caught it on the first try!” You grinned, excitement rushing through you. You looked up, expecting to see Dae-ho’s proud smile, the one that always made your heart race.

But instead, you met the cold, expressionless face of a guard. Reality hit like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t Dae-ho. This wasn’t your favorite hotpot place.

Your heart twisted, the warmth you replaced by the emptiness of this place. You tried to smile, but it felt hollow. The distant cheers of your teammates did nothing to drown out the silence in your mind.

You couldn’t shake the memory, his teasing smile, his quiet words, the way his lips brushed against yours. Those were moments you could never go back to. As you moved on to the next station, the sting of that memory lingered, sharp and painful. The sweetness was gone. It was just you, alone in this game, with no place for memories of simpler times.

Everything was a blur after that, your mind occupied by what happened during the second game. Gonggi was something you always bonded over, and that game brought unwanted memories back. It got to a point wherein the way you’d always made decisions, small or big, was by playing gonggi. Where to eat? Play gonggi. Who’s paying the bill? Gonggi. 

But now, as you lay at your bed, staring at the ceiling, it wasn’t the same. Your mind wandered back to that moment, remembering his smile, the way his eyes would soften when he looked at you. That warmth, that sense of belonging, was gone. The past felt distant, like a dream you couldn’t hold onto anymore.

You closed your eyes, trying to push the memory away. Suddenly, the light went out. 

The light went out? That wasn’t right.

You opened one eye and saw Dae-ho standing above you, looking down at you with that nervous, familiar expression.

“Congrats, [Name]. I knew you could do it.” he said softly.

You looked up at him, emotions swirling in your chest. “Congrats also, Dae-ho.” you replied quietly. 

You stared at him as the weight of everything hung heavy in the air between you. You had so many emotions running through your veins—hurt, betrayal, confusion, anger—and yet, here he was, standing in front of you, trying to explain himself, trying to make sense of everything.

“[Name]... Please, talk to me.” he repeated, his voice soft but desperate.

You didn’t move at first. The space between you, filled with so many unspoken words. Finally, you stood up, leading him to a quiet corner between the bed frames, away from the chaos. The moment felt strangely intimate, but so far removed from anything you could have ever imagined.

Dae-ho was the first to break the silence, his voice shaking with the weight of his confession. “I didn’t want to leave, [Name]. I didn’t... but I had no choice.” He paused, his face twisted with guilt as he rubbed his hands together nervously.

“My father...” His voice cracked as he spoke, his words thick with regret. “He was... always trying to control me. Pushing me into things I didn’t want. He never let me make my own decisions. But when it came to you... he saw how much I cared. He saw how soft I was because of you, and he hated it. He thought I wasn’t strong enough to survive—how I wasn't becoming a real man, so he sent me away. He made me join the Marines. He didn’t even let me choose. I tried to fight him. I tried to say no, but he didn’t care.”

You felt your heart break all over again. “But... Why didn’t you fight harder for us? Why didn’t you try harder to stay? To... tell me?” The words were out before you could stop them, and they stung more than you’d expected.

“I... I couldn’t,” he whispered. “He had me. I thought if I left, if I did what he said, it would all be over. That he’d leave me alone. But when I came back, you were gone. I couldn’t find you. I looked for you everywhere, [Name], but you and your family were gone. And I thought... I thought I lost you forever. And I couldn’t fix it.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from crying. “But you didn’t even try to find me, Dae-ho. You just... disappeared. I waited for you. I thought I was worth waiting for, but you made me feel the  opposite. You just left, and I had to pick up the pieces of my life without you.”

“Please don’t say that. You are worth fighting for [Name].”

His eyes filled with sorrow, and he reached out for you, but you pulled back slightly, not ready for his touch just yet. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I could make it right when I came back, but... it wasn’t the same. And now I’m afraid I’ve lost you for good.”

Your chest tightened, and you fought to keep your emotions in check. “You didn’t lose me, Dae-ho. If anything, I still think about you. Every street I walk, every place I visit. I always tried to find any sign of you. You just… you never gave me a chance to be part of your life anymore. I can’t just go back to how things were. I can’t pretend everything’s okay, because it’s not.”

“I understand,” Dae-ho said quietly, his voice laced with sincerity. “I know you’ve been through so much. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you before, but I’m here now. Let me make it right. Please…”

He paused, swallowing hard before speaking again, as if the weight of his words was too heavy to bear. “If you just vote to go home, we can leave all this behind. We don’t have to keep playing. We can go back to the way things were. We can be free. We can live together.”

His words hit you like a punch to the stomach, leaving you breathless. You couldn’t wrap your mind around what he was asking. He wanted you to vote to go home? That’s all it took? To end this nightmare?

You took a step back, your heart hammering in your chest. The sudden flood of emotions was overwhelming—confusion, anger, hurt, all rolled into one. “Is that what you think this is about, Dae-ho? You think you can just tell me to vote to go home and everything will magically go back to normal? That we’ll just go back to living in some fairy tale together?”

His face faltered with guilt, but you couldn’t stop yourself. The words were already tumbling out, and the anger was building with each second. “You have no idea what it’s like for me out there. I don’t have anything left. No family. No safety. No way out. If I leave without the money, I’ll be dead before I even make it out of the game. The people who own me—they’ll come for me. They’ll end me.”

You couldn’t stop the rise of panic and fury in your voice. “You think voting to go home is going to fix everything? Do you think that’ll save me from what’s out there? You think that’s going to protect me?”

You were shaking now, your words louder, sharper with each passing second. “I’m not here by choice. I didn’t sign up for this game to have some fun. I’m here because I have no other option. I need the money. I have to win. I don’t have the luxury of walking away. If I don’t make it, I’m dead. They’ll take everything I have left. They’ll take my life. And you want me to just throw that away?”

His face went pale, his hands trembling as he reached out, but you stepped back, your emotions running too high. You were drowning in your own fear, your own anger, and he was standing there, asking for something you couldn’t give. Not now. Not when your very existence was on the line.

“I’m not going to die for you to feel like you’ve done something good,” you spat, your voice cold and full of finality. “I’ll keep playing. I’ll keep fighting. I’ll keep voting O if that’s what it takes to stay alive. Because I don’t have the luxury to just quit. I don’t have the luxury to go home. If I die here, then I die here. But at least I had a chance. A chance to keep living.”

You could see the regret flooding his face now, the guilt in his eyes clear as day. But it didn’t matter. You had already crossed the line, said everything you needed to say. The wound had already been made, and nothing would heal it now.

“They took everything from me,” you whispered, voice cracking with the weight of the confession. “I don’t have anything left. This game, this nightmare is all I have. If I leave without any money, without anything... they’ll take me. They’ll take my life.”

His expression was full of pain now. The words hit him hard, and you saw the guilt swirling inside him. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but no words came. You saw the regret in his eyes, the apology he couldn’t voice—but it was too little, too late.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered finally, his voice thick with regret. “I never meant to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was this bad. I didn’t know you were fighting for your life.”

You shook your head slowly, stepping back from him. “You didn’t know? You never bothered to ask. You didn’t care enough to understand what I was going through. You just assumed everything would be fine, that we could go back to normal. But you didn’t ask, Dae-ho. You didn’t care.”

His face crumpled with the realization of what you were saying, and the weight of your words hit him like a ton of bricks. But you didn’t care. Not now. Not when you were holding on to the one thing that mattered to you right now—your will to survive.

“I’m sorry, Dae-ho,” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips, but full of emotion. “But I care about surviving. I care about living. And if I have to vote O, if I have to keep playing to do that, then that’s what I’ll do.”

For a long moment, you stood there, facing each other in the silence, your hearts both full of unsaid things. But the anger slowly began to fade, replaced by a deep sadness, a sorrow that neither of you could fix.

He stepped closer to you, his voice quiet. “I’m sorry... I never wanted this for you. But I’ll always be here, [Name], even if you hate me for it.”

You looked at him one last time, the weight of everything you had said sinking in. And for the first time in a long time, you let the tears fall—not from anger, but from the overwhelming fear of it all. The fear of what your life had become, of how far you’d fallen, of the choices you had to make that never felt right.

Dae-ho stared at you as you quietly wept, his heart breaking at the sight of your pain. Without a second thought, he reached out, pulling you into his arms. He wrapped you in the comfort of his embrace, guiding your head to rest against his chest, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt.

He didn’t speak at first, just held you tightly, as if trying to shield you from the world, from everything that had happened, and everything you feared. His hand gently rubbed your back in slow, soothing circles, offering what comfort he could in that moment.

“I’m sorry… I know I can’t take away all the pain,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “But I’m here, [Name]. I won’t leave you. You don’t have to go through this alone anymore. Please... just let me be here for you.”

You clung to him, not knowing if you wanted him to fix everything, but just needing the solace, the warmth that came with knowing he was still here. Still trying. You didn’t know what the future held, or if you could ever truly forgive him for the past, but in that moment, you allowed yourself to feel something you hadn’t in so long—comfort, even if it was fleeting.

He tightened his hold on you, letting you cry, never pushing you away. “I’ll always be here. I promise.”

You didn’t know how long it had been, but eventually, the tears started to slow. The tightness in your chest eased just a little, and you found yourself breathing a bit easier. Dae-ho, still holding you gently, never let go. He simply let you rest against him, giving you space to process everything, even if that meant staying silent for the moment.

You looked at him, your chest heavy with everything you’d just let out. “I’m sorry too,” you murmured, voice low and shaky. “I... I didn’t mean to lash out like that. I was just... I don’t know. I was scared. I couldn’t—couldn’t bear the thought of losing everything. But I shouldn’t have said those things.”

Dae-ho shook his head softly, his fingers brushing your cheek again. “No... I deserved it. I made you carry too much, and I never gave you the chance to say how you really felt. I was so focused on my own guilt, I didn’t see how much I was hurting you.”

The weight of the words sank in, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek, though this one wasn’t filled with anger—it was filled with a sadness you hadn’t let yourself fully feel until now. “We both messed up,” you whispered, the ache in your heart growing.

Dae-ho’s gaze softened, his hand gently squeezing yours. “But I’ll try to make it right. I don’t know if I can, but I’ll keep trying, [Name]. I’ll stay by your side, no matter what.”

You took a shaky breath, finding comfort in the sincerity of his words. “I don’t know where we go from here, but... I can’t pretend like it’s all fine. I need time.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ll give you all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere. I’m just... sorry. For everything.”

The air between you was thick with unspoken apologies, regrets, and the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, you could both find a way to heal from this. You both had a long road ahead, a game to survive. But for now, the silence was no longer heavy with tension. Instead, it was filled with a quiet understanding, one that neither of you had expected to find, but one that was slowly, carefully beginning to piece things together.

"This time, the vote will begin with Player 001. Player 001, please cast your vote."

The moment the announcement was made, you felt a cold shiver run down your spine. Voting had begun. This time, you were going first—before Dae-ho. He stood beside you, his presence steady and calming, but there was an undeniable tension in the air. His hand brushed your back, the soothing gesture almost feeling out of place in this chaotic, life-or-death situation.

“Choose what you need,” Dae-ho whispered, his voice soft but full of sincerity. “Don’t worry about me. I won’t be mad.”

His words settled over you like a gentle blanket, but they couldn’t remove the weight of the decision you had to make. To survive, to keep moving forward, you knew you had to vote for O. You had to keep playing if you wanted a chance at surviving, but even as you stood in front of the voting machine, you felt a sickening sense of dread.

Was it really worth it? Pushing yourself, forcing the belief that survival was your only option, knowing the outside world would swallow you whole. What was the point of living if the only person who ever made you feel truly alive has always been Dae-ho? The thought echoed in your mind, and the walls of the room suddenly felt like they were closing in around you. Dae-ho had become your anchor in this madness—your reason for pushing through.

But now, you had to choose. You needed to choose for your own survival.

Your finger hovered over the button for O, but then you thought about everything you’d been through, everything you’d sacrificed already. At that moment, it was no longer just about survival. It was about the life you had left to live. You didn’t want to keep going without him.

X.

You slammed your hand down on the button, your choice made in an instant. The harsh reality of it stung as you tore off the patch you had placed on your jacket earlier, replacing it with a new one. As you made your way to the X side of the room, your heart felt heavy, but there was a strange sense of finality to it. You have made your decision.

You couldn’t help but look over at Dae-ho. The surprise on his face was so pure, so raw. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape, like a fish caught out of water, and the shock in his gaze hit you harder than you expected.

Despite the tension and the gravity of the moment, you found yourself quietly laughing at him, unable to hold it in. The absurdity of it all—of choosing to walk away from everything that had kept you going—made you want to laugh and cry at the same time. God, you felt like a fool. After your dramatic show earlier, how you had confidently claimed that you would continue voting O, ready to survive, ready to keep playing. Yet here you were, choosing X, choosing to stop. Choosing him.

Dae-ho just stood there for a moment, still processing, before going up the platform to vote. His footsteps were slow, deliberate, as if he were trying to piece together what had just happened. You couldn’t blame him. The moment was so surreal, so at odds with everything you’d said before. 

You watched him, heart hammering in your chest as he stood at the voting machine. His back was turned to you, but you could almost feel the confusion radiating off him. His hesitation was palpable, and you wondered if he understood. If he saw why you made the decision you did.

The sound of his vote pressing echoed in the silence, a soft click that seemed too loud for the room. He immediately walked to where you stood, his expression unreadable.

“I don’t get it,” he muttered. “Why... why did you choose X?”

The answer was too simple, too complicated, and maybe too painful to say out loud. Instead, you gave him a small smile, one that held so many unsaid things. “Dae-ho, I’ll always choose you.”

In the end, your vote didn’t matter. Since O won by a landslide, the next game was inevitable. But for the first time in days, or maybe even years, you found yourself smiling—a real, genuine smile—as you were introduced to Dae-ho’s little group. You exchanged pleasantries, introduced yourselves, and felt something warm stir inside you.

The following day came quickly, and with it, the next game. One moment, you were lying in bed, your mind running wild with the uncertainty of what was to come. Next, you were on a spinning platform, waiting for the music to stop. Your eyes immediately sought out Dae-ho, and when you met his gaze, he reached for your hand, gripping it tightly, as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly, a promise in his words. “I won’t let go.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I know.”

The rounds passed, too smoothly, almost disturbingly so. You all survived the first four rounds with ease.

But everything was about to change. 

7.

“Five women, and two men. Go!” Gi-hun’s commanding voice cut through the noise, demanding attention. Without hesitation, 007 shot his hand into the air. “I’ll go with my mother!” he announced, stepping forward. Gi-hun nodded, relieved to have a volunteer. He scanned the group again, waiting for the next person to step up.

Dae-ho raised his hand, his voice strong as he called out, “We’ll go!” He pulled you closer to him, offering a small smile that was laced with worry. His eyes betrayed his calm demeanor, revealing the weight of what was happening. The air around you both felt heavy with the uncertainty of the situation. Still, you clung to each other, walking together toward the door.

Your group of seven—007, 149, 120, 095, Jun-hee, you, and Dae-ho—ran toward the nearest empty room. The sound of your hurried footsteps echoed in the tense silence. But just as you were about to step inside, something caught your eye and made your heart drop.

Player 095, frail and struggling, was being shoved aside by a group of players. Seeing her so helpless, you couldn’t just stand by. Without thinking, you yanked your hand from Dae-ho’s grasp and rushed to her side.

Dae-ho’s heart skipped a beat the moment he felt the loss of your hand. Panic surged through him. Where did you go? He scanned the chaos around him, his eyes frantic as he searched for you in the crowded room. His heart tightened when he saw you helped 095 into the room, making sure she was safe. He could see the determination in your eyes as you ensured her well-being, but once it was your turn to come into the room, to rejoin him, disaster struck.

A group of four players, each desperately fighting for their own survival, barreled into you.

The impact was brutal. Your body was slammed to the ground with overwhelming force. Everything around you seemed to blur and slow down as you hit the floor, your breath knocked from your chest in a violent rush. A sharp wave of pain shot through your body—your limbs aching, your head spinning—but strangely, you couldn't feel it all at once. The shock of the fall seemed to disconnect you from your body, like you were floating in a painful haze.

In that split second, time seemed to stretch out. You felt a sudden sense of numbness as your body tried to process the damage, and your heart raced as you struggled to breathe. Your vision blurred, and for a moment, you feared that you wouldn’t be able to get up again. But then, the rush of adrenaline kicked in.

Determination surged through you like a lightning bolt. You couldn't afford to stay down. You had to survive.

You pushed yourself off the ground, ignoring the throbbing pain in your limbs, and scrambled to your feet. Gritting your teeth, you ran with every ounce of strength you had left, your focus fixed on the door. You had to get inside—it was the only chance left. The room was just a few feet away now, but each step felt like an eternity as you sprinted, your legs shaking with exertion and fear. Every part of you screamed for rest, but you couldn't stop. Not yet.

"[Name]! Let’s play Mingle!" Dae-ho’s voice rang out with excitement, pulling you out of your thoughts. You raised an eyebrow, already knowing his playful nature.

“With just the two of us?” you asked, teasing him. A grin tugged at your lips despite yourself, knowing that whatever he had planned would likely be a mix of fun and absurdity.

“Well...” Dae-ho scratched the back of his neck, pretending to think deeply, but the mischievous glint in his eyes gave him away. He was already scheming.

It was your third anniversary together, a day you both decided to celebrate in your usual style: by skipping class and spending it alone in your room. Both of you were still wearing your high school uniforms—uniforms that no longer felt like the serious attire they were supposed to be. The two of you had spent countless afternoons like this, laughing and simply enjoying each other's company, without a care in the world.

“I’ve got it!” Dae-ho suddenly exclaimed, his eyes lighting up as he dashed to your bed. He scooped up a handful of stuffed toys with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Let’s use our children!” he declared, holding them up like he had just discovered the most brilliant idea.

You stared at him, your laughter bubbling up instantly. "Our children? Really, tiger?" you chuckled, wiping away the tears that had already begun to form from laughing too hard.

"Hey, don’t laugh! This is serious!" he protested, feigning offense, but you could see the twinkle in his eyes that told you he was only pretending to be upset. He adjusted the toys in his arms, a determined look on his face.

“Alright, fine,” you replied, still laughing but wiping your eyes. “Let’s play.” You were already game—who could resist when Dae-ho was this excited?

Dae-ho carefully arranged the toys in front of you both, giving each one a position with a level of care that made it clear he was taking this game very seriously. “Okay. For this round… Three!” he announced dramatically, holding his hands out in front of him like he was preparing to start a battle.

You didn’t even wait for him to finish before snatching up two of the nearest toys. His jaw dropped in mock betrayal, and he huffed loudly, feigning offense. "Not fair! You should partner with me. Always!" he said, acting like you had broken some sacred rule.

You stuck your tongue out at him, teasing. “Stop being a sore loser! I’m just playing by your rules.”

"Fine," he grumbled. He pouted dramatically, a little over-the-top for someone so competitive. He then scurried around the room, gathering two more toys to prepare for the next round.

The game continued in the same playful vein, with the toys being eliminated one by one. The room filled with the sound of laughter, teasing, and mock outrage as each round got more dramatic. The toys “lost” in ways that made no sense, their plush bodies being thrown to the side in exaggerated defeat.

"For this round,” Dae-ho said, his voice suddenly turning serious. “Two!” He gave you a look, as if to challenge you to keep up with him.

You smirked, ready to grab him this time. But before you could react, he swooped down and grabbed the last remaining toy, holding it close to his chest with a triumphant grin. “Hey!” you cried out in mock outrage, throwing your hands up.

"Sore loser!" he teased, clearly pleased with his victory.

You crossed your arms, pretending to sulk. “Whatever.” you muttered, rolling your eyes for effect.

Dae-ho chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. He set the toy down, then knelt in front of you. “Wait, wait, don’t be mad!” he said, holding the toy up to his face like a little puppet. He moved its tiny arms in a dramatic fashion, as if it was trying to “walk” toward you.

"Eomma! Please don’t be angry at Appa! Pleaseee!” he said in a high-pitched, exaggerated voice that made you burst out laughing.

Your faux anger crumbled immediately, and you couldn’t help but giggle at his antics. He was ridiculous—and that was one of the many reasons you loved him.

Still holding the toy, Dae-ho slowly lowered it from his face, a more tender look in his eyes. You hadn’t noticed at first, but there was a delicate necklace hanging from the toy’s tiny paw. Your breath hitched as he gently removed the necklace and held it out to you.

"Here," he said softly, his voice unexpectedly gentle. You could feel the warmth in his words as he looked at you with such sincerity. Without warning, he leaned forward and clasped the necklace around your neck. The touch of his fingers against your skin sent a shiver through you. "Happy anniversary, [Name]."

For a moment, your heart skipped a beat as the rush of emotion hit you unexpectedly. His gesture felt like everything—a simple, yet deeply meaningful way of showing how much he cared. You blinked back the sudden welling of emotion in your chest.

Before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him, pressing a kiss to his lips in gratitude. You then buried your face in his shoulder, hiding the emotions that threatened to spill over.

“Thank you.” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin.

Dae-ho chuckled softly, his arms wrapping around you in a tight, comforting hug. “Anything for you.”

In that moment, everything else faded away. There was just the two of you, wrapped in each other's warmth, sharing a quiet, simple happiness that felt bigger than any words could express. Time seemed to slow down, and you didn’t want to think about anything else.

As you pulled back, your laughter bubbled up again, light and carefree. You couldn’t resist teasing him once more. “You’re still a sore loser, though.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dae-ho replied, rolling his eyes but still grinning. “But you love me anyway.”

You smiled, your gaze softening as you looked at him with affection. “I do. Now help me with this necklace!”

Your hand stretched toward the door, the cold metal just within reach. 

Then everything went silent.

[shotosjupiter]

BE YOUR IDOL — R. SUKUNA

pairing — ryomen sukuna x fem!reader (art by @/nikaness__)

summary — by day you're a world renowned singer, loved by all. by night you're a demon hunter, slashing and killing demons to protect every city you tour. your boydguard, sukuna, stays by your side through every performance. so, imagine your surprise when you come home bloodied from another mission only to find out that your bodyguard is a demon himself.

𖤐 word count — 4.5k

𖤐 genre/tags— angst, hurt/comfort, eventual fluff, happy ending! bodyguard sukuna, popstar/idol! reader. kpop demon hunter! au (ish) i tried LMAO, he patches up her bloodied wounds, mentions of blood, super yearner love confessions, reader is a mf bad ass.

𖤐 author's note — kpop demon hunters has been rotting in my brain so you guys get this <3

꒰masterlist꒱

THE CROWD screams your name so loud the lights tremble.

You keep your smile pinned on tight. Head high. Mic close. The choreography flows like second nature. You've done this a thousand times, your body is on autopilot, heart a thousand miles away.

But tonight, something feels wrong. Not the kind of wrong the audience can hear in your voice, or your managers can see in the timing of your spin. Not even something your fans on Twitter could screenshot and analyze at 2 AM. It’s something colder, quieter.

From the left wing of the stage, hidden behind scaffolding and shadows, Sukuna watches you.

His arms are crossed. Sunglasses on. One boot against the wall like he’s bored out of his mind, but his gaze never leaves you.

He’s too still. Too focused. His expression is unreadable, like always, but something in you flinches when your eyes meet his. You hold the final note for half a beat too long as you keep your eyes on his. You only stumble once during the song, but it’s enough to make your stomach twist. Because the truth is, you never mess up. Not here. Not on stage.

You don't miss steps unless something's chasing you.

You’ve known Sukuna for four years.

He came to you after a stalker incident left your last bodyguard hospitalized and your agency in panic mode. One phone call later, Sukuna Ryomen showed up outside your practice room, sunglasses, tattoos, and attitude in full effect.

He didn’t ask for your autograph. Didn’t pretend to be starstruck. He took one look at your bruised knees, your bandaged wrist, and said, “You either need less ambition or better security.”

You’d hated him immediately. But he never left. Not once. Not when obsessed fans were keen to follow you every place you appeared, or when you passed out from exhaustion in a van on the way back to your home. He stood outside every hotel door like a wolf in black, teeth bared for anyone who looked twice.

It took time, and more than a few shared convenience store meals at 2 AM, but eventually, you let him in. And now? You trust him more than anyone which is exactly why you're terrified.

Because Sukuna isn’t normal. He never was.

You’ve seen him shrug off a stab wound. Heal from burns that would’ve hospitalized a man twice his size. You’ve seen the glow in his eyes when he’s pissed off - a flaring red, faint, like embers that never quite die.

And more than that, you’ve seen the way demons react when he’s in the vicinity. They hesitate; flinch, run. Like they know what he is and fear it. The first time you really felt it was backstage after a fan meet.

You were changing into your outfit for the next set when you heard a noise. Not loud - just a breath, close to your ear. You spun around with a blade hidden in your sleeve and-

Nothing.

But the lights flickered.

And when you stepped outside, Sukuna was already there, leaning against the doorframe like he’d never moved, the picture of cool and collected.

“Everything okay?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded. “Did you feel that?”

He blinked slowly. “Feel what?”

You paused. The temperature had dropped three degrees in less than a minute. You knew what that meant. But Sukuna just looked… calm. Too calm.

“Never mind,” you muttered. “Just nerves.”

He didn’t press. He never did.

That night, you found a charm nailed under your dressing room table, one that wasn’t yours. Old, frayed. Marked with a symbol only demons would recognize. You burned it. 

There were other moments. Small ones, like threads tugging loose from a sweater, easy to ignore until they start to unravel the whole thing. Once, in a hotel, you passed out after a show. Later, you woke up at 4 AM from a nightmare so vivid it had left you panting for breath and drenched in sweat. 

Somehow, you ended up knocking on his door that night, not a word said but he could see the exhaustion lined around your muscles and the tears in your eyes on the brink of falling. He didn’t say a word but opened the door further to let you in. He sat with you, let you rest your head on his shoulder while the dream clawed its way out of your lungs. He never asked what it was about. And you never told him that it hadn’t been a dream at all, it was a memory. A night when a hunt had gone wrong, when the demon had clawed at you so deeply you were certain it was your last night to live. 

He was just there - silent but there. Always close, always watching, but never reaching too far. Part of you wondered if it was his way of respecting boundaries, of never pushing it too far with someone who’s already so desperately sought after by the public.

But another part, the part that watched the way his hands curled into fists when mysterious disappearances and murders were mentioned on TV, started to wonder if he was hiding something, too.

Some nights, you'd catch him looking at you when he thought you were asleep. On the tour bus. In dressing rooms. In empty stadiums before the fans arrived. There was no hunger in his gaze, no threat. Just something old. Something mournful. Like he knew what it meant to be made of secrets, too. Like he saw something in you he recognized in himself.

Conversely, you’ve never told anyone what you are. Not your label. Not your stylists. Not your fellow coworkers in the company or the creative director who calls you a “once-in-a-generation star” like it’s supposed to explain why you don’t flinch when he yells. Not the fans who scream your name from barricades and rooftops, whose love fills stadiums but could never reach the place in you that still remembers the smell of blood in the dirt.

And definitely not Sukuna.

You’re a demon hunter - born into it, raised in it, marked before you had a choice. There’s a scar between your shoulder blades that never healed right from the botched demon hunt - it itches when you feel the cold cursed energy of demons seeping into the air, or when you settle in your lies for too long. 

You thought you could leave demon hunting behind when you became a trainee. That if you made yourself small enough, good enough, useful enough, you could be reborn. Someone with stage lights in their eyes. Someone who got her scars from dancing too hard, not surviving too much, too often. Someone who sang because she loved it, not because it made the demon’s presence quieter.  But the curse mark never stopped burning and the demons never stopped coming, so you made it work.

It was supposed to get easier once you debuted, or that’s what you had convinced yourself. That the money, the fame, the makeup artists and brand deals would carve out a softer space for you. Somewhere safe. But the creatures followed you into the spotlight.

They wait at the edge of stages. Crawl under bleachers. Hide in hotels and subway tunnels, drawn to your scent in particular, cursed blood dressed in sequins. They know what you are, even when the humans don’t. Especially when the humans don’t.

You’ve had to kill them in silence. In back alleys with borrowed knives. In green rooms with talismans pressed into your palms like rosaries. You carry it all with you, the secrets, the bruises, the ache. No one notices and no one's allowed to. Your manager chalks it up to stress. Your stylists cover the cuts. Your fans think your sleeplessness is aesthetic, that the shadows are sexy, your fatigue dreamy, the pain poetic.

And Sukuna, well he notices everything, but he never says a word. Sometimes you think he’s the only person in the world who looks at you and actually sees you. Which is exactly why it’s almost cruel, having him so close, and still not being able to tell him the truth.

You come home after a hunt, blood crusted to your ankle, and he doesn’t say anything. Just tosses you a towel. Asks, “Rough night?” like he’s asking about choreography, not combat. You lie. You always lie. And he lets you. Because that’s the game you’re both playing. Pretend. Protect. Repeat. Even if it’s killing you.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

The night it happens, it’s raining.

You’d slipped out after a rehearsal, trailing a big demon across rooftops in the heart of the city. It’s feeding - not yet, but close. A girl’s gone missing from this area already this week. It had taken you longer than you expected to corner it and by the time you did, it had sunk its claws into you. You manage to kill it but not before it gets to your leg; the gash runs from your inner thigh down to your knee and your jeans are soaked in crimson. You barely manage to limp your way to the apartment before the adrenaline wears off.

You stumble through the door blearily, the time somewhere close to two A.M. Opening the kitchen light, you find Sukuna waiting for you by the table, sunk deep into his seat. He’s in a hoodie and sweatpants, arms folded, jaw clenched. His phone is in his hand, but his eyes are locked on you the second the door clicks shut, assessing if there is any injury on your body. Of course, there is, there’s no hiding the long cut running down your leg and his whole face changes when his gaze drops to your leg.

“What the fuck,” he says, voice cold and flat. “What the fuck is that.”

You try to walk past him, limping but still trying to feign nonchalance, “It’s nothing-”

“Don’t lie to me.”

He grabs your arm, not hard, but firm enough that you freeze. You try to step back, staggering, and he catches you before you hit the ground. Your blood smears across his sweatshirt and his permanently relaxed expression cracks.

“You’re bleeding,” he says, too quiet.

“Let go, Sukuna-”

“No.” His voice rises. “No, you don’t get to come home looking like you’ve been mauled and brush it off. What happened?”

You look away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You don’t have a choice.” His voice is shaking now, not with anger, but with fear. And that’s what does it. That’s what makes you crack.

You whisper it, “A demon.”

Sukuna goes still. Then, a scoff, “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

He stares at you for a long, long moment. You can hear the rain outside hitting the windows. The city feels too quiet. Like it’s listening. Finally, Sukuna says, “You’re a hunter.”

You feel your blood still. There is only one way he knows what a hunter is, how easily he accepted your truth and reached that conclusion. You grasp his hand, “Yes.”

His hand falls away from your arm like it burns him, even if he accepted this truth, it still burns him. “For how long?”

“My whole life.”

He laughs but it’s empty, a hollow laugh, tinged with betrayal fully. “And you never thought to tell me?”

“I couldn’t-”

“I’ve been by your side for four goddamn years-”

“I couldn’t, Sukuna!”

The air vibrates with the force of your voice.

“If anyone found out, I’d be decommissioned. Blacklisted. They’d throw me into a pit and never let me out. I had to choose between this life and that one, and I thought- I thought I could keep both.”

He doesn’t answer, just stares at you. His expression is an odd one - something mixed with hurt, confusion, betrayal, but still somehow affection. You’re still panting, still bleeding, still trembling but you look up at him, clutching his hand tightly. 

“You were supposed to be the one person I didn’t have to lie to,” you whisper. “But I had to Sukuna.”

Then, quieter: “But you lied too, didn’t you?”

His jaw tightens and you see the full picture now. All of it. The way his eyes never quite reflect light right, the faint heat that comes off him when he’s mad, the way no demon ever came nearby when he was near.

“I know what you are,” you say tentatively, still slightly unsure. He looks at you, really looks, and nods once, resigned. There were no secrets between the two of you now, everything was laid out bare. But still you wanted him to say the truth fully, to have it come out of his mouth. So you stare at him, prodding him to continue. 

“I’m not human.”

Your mouth goes dry. “Demon?”

He tsks before looking away from you, “Half.”

Silence. “You gonna kill me now?” he asks, half a smirk curling at his mouth, resigned to his fate. He would let you, you realize. He would let you settle a blade within him, he was resigned to the destiny that fate had assigned the two of you. 

“No,” you say softly, refusing to look away from him. You want him to feel the utter sincerity in your words, in the way you’re willing to give yourself to him, to let go of this one thing in your life for him. 

“Why not?”

“Because you were the only thing in my life that felt safe.”

And then he really goes still.

“I should’ve told you,” he says, after a moment. “I just - being human around you, it felt good, it felt like the real thing. Like maybe I could be better.”

“You are.”

He huffs. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

You don’t respond to this, temporarily stunned. It’s true - you don’t know what he’s done. How he’s gotten here, but you do know the person he is now. You know how kind he is to the other staff alongside you while they prepare you for performances, how he brings you some comfort sweets and drinks after a long dance practice, how he treats your fans in a manner you would approve of. You know this version of him and you know the kindness and sincerity it is capable of. 

He carries you to the couch. It’s not a question. You protest, but it’s weak, you’re shaking too hard and the blood loss is catching up. He disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a first aid kit, and kneels down to assess your injury.

It’s not like you to let someone do this for you. You’ve been patching yourself up in silence since you were fifteen, bathroom lights flickering, blood on tile, half-cracked ribs and no one to notice but the mirror. You learned to set bones through practice and the aggravating (and rather slow) YouTube videos. You learned to flinch inward and laugh it off, to survive without letting anyone see you the slightest bit harmed.

But this time, you let him. He moves slowly, his hands aren’t exactly gentle, but they’re sure. Big and warm, fingertips calloused from years of god-knows-what. He’s not saying anything, but his brows are furrowed with concentration, his mouth set tight. The gauze unwinds in his hands like ribbon. You sit still on your leather couch, your pants rolled up to your thighs with bits of the fabric still clinging near the inflamed wound. He kneels in front of you, carefully blotting the gash at your ribs and the silence stretches - tense, but not cruel.

“I’ve seen you bleed before,” he mutters.

Your throat’s tight. “Not like this.”

He doesn’t respond right away, just presses the antiseptic a little too hard, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you look at him and when you do, his jaw is clenched.

“You came home half-conscious.”

You inhale. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“That’s not your job anymore,” he snaps, agitated but still trying to be gentle with the injury as he finishes cleaning it. 

It’s quiet again, you don’t know how to explain it, the instinct to hide, to protect him even as you bled yourself dry. You’ve always looked at him as someone to lose. And now that he knows what you are, you feel the gap yawning wider than ever.

“Sukuna-”

“Stop talking,” he says, voice rough. You flinch. But when you look down, his hand is shaking slightly. Just barely. And his voice,  when he speaks again, is quieter.

“I’m not mad that you’re a hunter.” A beat. “I’m mad because I wasn’t there.” His eyes finally meet yours, angry, but burning with something else beneath it. “You almost died. And I was sat here, thinking it was some late practice of yours, not even realizing you were out fighting for your life.”

“You couldn’t have known,” you whisper.

“That’s the point,” he growls. “You didn’t trust me to know.”

And that, that silences you. He starts wrapping the gauze around your leg, tenderly and ever more slowly this time. Careful, like every turn is a question he’s too afraid to ask out loud. You watch his hands, watch the way he threads the ends together, tapes the bandage down like it’s something so very delicate. Like you’re something sacred. And for the first time, you let yourself be.

“You know,” you say, almost lightly, “you’re surprisingly good at this.”

He snorts. “You think I never had to patch myself up before?”

“No,” you admit. “I just didn’t think you’d be the type to even remember where the medical kit was.”

He shoots you a look. “I memorize everything about you, I’d be damned if I didn’t know where you put your stupid med kit,” To seal his point he flourishes the stickers covered box in front of you. 

You blink at his confession and debate internally, taking the chance to push the conversation. You breathe in slowly. “Even when I lie to you?”

He nods, quiet. “Even then.”

You don’t realize your hand is still shaking, whether from the wound or the way all your confessions are slowly unraveling, until he reaches for it. His big roughened palm envelops yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, calloused and warm.

“I memorized the way you flinch when someone says your name too loud,” he says quietly. “The way you pretend you’re not exhausted after a rough practice. The way your smile is so bright when you’re on that stage performing. I memorized every damn thing, you’ve created a home in my heart and soul.”

Your heart stutters. “I noticed it all, sweetheart,” he says. You want to look away but he clutches your hand tighter, willing you to keep your eyes on him. Taking a deep breath you push yourself to take a chance too, “I’ve spent years trying not to love you,” you whisper.

He freezes and you notice but you plow on, refusing to take it back. You’ve dug your hole now, you might as well get it all out.  “I thought if you knew what I was, I’d risk your life too, maybe you’d look down on me and I just - I wanted to keep you safe.”

Sukuna leans in but he doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. He just rests his forehead against yours, eyes shut, like this is all he’s ever wanted, the warmth of you, the weight of the truth, the quiet between breaths.

“You aren’t the only one responsible to keep me safe,” he says. “I want to be by your side, to protect you, to be next to you, to keep you safe. You’re the reason I started thinking maybe I didn’t have to be a monster, that maybe there was more to it, to life.”

You close your eyes and let him wrap his arms around you. Cradling you softly in his lap, mindful of your injury. His tattooed arms snake around your waist gently as he brings you in closer to him, resting his chin gently on your shoulder and pressing a soft kiss to your nape.

You settle in his arms, nearly melting with exhaustion because this is what it means to be strong, too. Letting someone in, letting someone stay. Letting him stitch your wounds because they’ve become promises he’s determined to keep.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

You wake up with your cheek pressed against his shoulder. It’s not intentional - or maybe it is, somewhere in your sleep-heavy heart. The ache in your leg has dulled, your shirt changed, your hair pulled back with the kind of gentle care you haven’t let anyone offer in years.

Sukuna was laid beside you, one of his legs tangled with your uninjured one, and his arm still strewn across your waist. You shift a little, just enough to look up at him. His head is slowly falling, as he keeps nodding off but trying to keep himself upright and his arms are crossed in a form of protectiveness. When he feels you shift, one eye opens and watches you. Of course he never really slept.

“You drool,” he says, voice low and a little smug.

You try to glare, but it comes out soft. “And you’re heavy.”

His mouth twitches, just barely, refusing to let you win by giving you a full smile. There’s something different in the air now. Like something sharp has passed. Like the quiet between you isn’t a warning anymore, more so a question, an invitation.

You sit up slowly, careful of your leg and Sukuna shifts too, like he’s resisting the urge to help you and choosing instead to let you be. The gesture doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Thank you for staying” you say, after a long moment, fiddling with the string of his hoodie, trying to avoid direct eye contact with him. He doesn’t look at you at first, just exhales through his nose.

“You don’t have to thank me for doing the one thing I’ve always wanted to do.” He shrugs a little, like it’s nothing. Like he hasn’t just cracked open something impossible.

“I’ve followed you around the world, sweetheart. Every concert. Every city. Every exit door. I’ve taken punches and dodged blades and slept on cold floors. Not because it was my job. Well, not really because it was my job.”

You’re not breathing, refusing to move an inch lest he stop talking.

“I stayed,” he says quietly, “because you were the first thing that ever made me feel like I wasn’t made for violence.”

You stare at him and your hands ache in your lap, desperate to hold his face, to kiss him softly. “I hated you,” you whisper. “When I realized what you were, when I first started suspecting. I hated how much I wanted to be wrong. How much it hurt to think I’d have to lose you.”

His eyes finally meet yours. “You never would’ve lost me.”

“You’re a demon, Sukuna.”

He nods, almost looking bored. As if this fact just did not matter at all. 

“And I’m a hunter.”

“I’m aware.” He flicks a hand, like he’s telling you to get on to your point. 

“I should’ve walked away when I found out, when you told me,” you say. “But I couldn’t, you’re the one I trust to walk me back from the edge every night. Every time I came back bloodied, I wanted you to be the one who was waiting for me to come home.”

That brings his eyes back to you, sharp, wounded, reverent. He hadn’t expected the admission, some part of him didn’t dare hope you'd see him clearly and still stay. Slowly his eyes flicker to your lips before he leans in, waiting. He didn’t want to push it, despite your confessions. Despite the fact that you had admitted the depth of your feelings for him, he was still waiting for you to push him away. 

So this time, you take matters into your own hands and bring him closer to you until your lips press against each other. His kiss isn’t soft but it feels so sure. It tastes like everything unsaid, the years of silence, aching glances, bruises, and stitched-up promises. It tastes like the truth finally given shape, finally given a home.

You kiss him like it’s the only thing keeping you afloat, the only thing you’ve ever been sure of. He, in turn, is also kissing you like he’s never had the taste of you before and now he’s addicted to the feel of your lips on his. He kisses fervently and like he can’t have enough, with one hand on your hips and the placed on your collarbone, delicately holding you. 

He breaks the kiss first, resting his forehead against yours with his breath uneven. “This isn’t going to be easy,” he mutters.

“No,” you agree, “but it’s real.”

And that was more than enough for the both of you. You get every rough edge, every soft glance he swears he doesn’t mean, every way he curls himself around your body when he thinks you’re asleep. You get the fire in his voice when he says your name. You get the stillness in his chest when he watches you sing, not because of the stage lights or the sold-out arena, but because he thinks you are the only thing worth witnessing.

You get love that isn’t soft, but love that stays.

And maybe, after everything, that’s the only kind that ever mattered.

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

The next concert, everything feels louder. The lights flash bright, the stage rumbles under your boots, and the bass pulses through your chest like a second heartbeat. You move through the choreography like muscle memory but your mind drifts.

Your body still aches in the quiet places no one can see. The bruises have faded, but your hands ache when you lace your mic into place. There’s a tremor beneath the confidence you wear with glitter and gloss.

But when you glance backstage mid-song, Sukuna is there. Same sunglasses, same stance, same quiet power. Same and yet there’s a slight shift to him now. Something you’re allowed to see now. There’s that quiet softness in the corner of his mouth when he looks at you. The way his hand lifts almost instinctively when your foot stutters during a spin, like he’d catch you even from twenty feet away. The tension in his jaw that only releases when you smile.

And when your eyes meet his, he smiles back. It’s small. Barely-there. One of those half-smiles he pretends not to mean, but it stays. And for the first time in years, you feel like maybe, maybe, you’re allowed to want this. Not just the applause, but him.

The demon who stood at your side in silence. The one who stitched your wounds and asked to fight beside you, to protect you and to stay. Maybe you’re allowed to have someone who sees all of you and chooses to stay anyway.

© shotosjupiter. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[lazysoulwriter]

show me your face, baby. - pedro pascal. (MDNI)

requested! thank you. ♡ content: established relationship, dominant Pedro, intense & emotional sex, rough but affectionate, reader prefers doggy style, dirty talk, gentle face pushing, overstimulation, soft!Pedro with a possessive edge, reader begging, strong emotional bond.

---

You haven’t been together for very long. A few months, maybe. Just enough to know each other's rhythms, each other's breaths — and, in Pedro’s case, every single thing that made you melt underneath him.

He’d learned quickly. The way your thighs trembled when he hit that spot deep inside. The way your voice cracked when you were close. The way your hands clawed at the sheets, not to get away — no — but to hold onto something while he ruined you slow.

And more than anything: the way you always, always wanted him behind you.

He never minded. Not even a little. In fact, he fucking loved it. Loved the way your ass arched up for him, the way your back curved in pure submission, the way your moans sounded wrecked when you couldn't see his face — only feel him, deep and heavy and relentless.

But sometimes…

Sometimes he wanted more.

“Turn around for me,” he said one night, voice already thick with lust, hands running down your hips as he hovered over you in bed.

You were already on your stomach, already pushing back against him, already breathing like you needed him now.

“Pedro, please—”

He kissed the middle of your spine, then your lower back, his lips soft, patient.

“I know you like that I fuck you from behind, baby,” he murmured, hips grinding slow against your ass, not quite slipping in, just teasing, just pressing. “But I missed you all day. And sometimes I just wanna see your face when I’m inside you.”

That should’ve been enough to make you turn. It should’ve made you soften, flip over, let him look at you while he loved you.

But instead, you whimpered — desperate, needy, already trembling.

“Don’t stop. Please. I need it like this, Pedro—please—”

He didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t tease. Didn’t ask twice.

Because hearing you beg like that? The way your voice cracked? The way you pushed back against him, offering yourself so fully, so trustingly?

It made his head spin.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, grabbing your hips and sliding into you with one deep, ruthless thrust.

You cried out — loud, high-pitched, perfect — and he felt your body pulse around him immediately.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he growled, hand gripping your waist as he started to move. “This what you wanted, huh? Didn’t even need to say it. I already know.”

And he did.

He knew this was your favorite. Knew your body better than you ever admitted. Knew the way you tightened when he gripped your thighs like this. Knew the way your toes curled when he hit it just right.

He leaned over you, chest to your back, hips still slamming into yours with a desperate, raw rhythm — all heat and love and need.

Then, without meaning to, his hand slid up your back, between your shoulder blades, and gently — gently — pushed your face down into the pillow.

Not rough. Not cruel. Just firm enough to keep you exactly where you needed to be.

Ass up, body trembling, taking every inch he gave you.

“Look at you,” he whispered, breath ragged. “My perfect girl. So fucking sensitive like this.”

You moaned something he couldn’t understand, something half-broken, half-sweet, muffled into the pillow.

He fucked you through it. Let you fall apart under him, just like you needed. And when you finally collapsed, shaking and breathless, he leaned down and kissed the back of your neck again, whispering words only for you.

“I’ll do anything for you, baby. Any way you want. Always.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[omicchii]

WISHBOUND LOG [ENTRY 003]ㅤWARMTH IS A DANGEROUS THING!

entanglement: ouran high school host club x bottom male reader

surface-level reading: it’s just closeness at first, nothing meant to last. but the longer you stay tangled together, the easier it is to forget where comfort ends and wanting begins.

contents of the charm: established relationships, dry humping, dom/sub dynamics, handjobs, light degradation, praise, power imbalance, light humiliation, clothed sex, anal penetration (reader receiving), unprotected sex, size kink elements, overstimulation, nipple play, threesome, 4k words. characters have been aged up!

scribbled in the margin: decided to post this on this account because its too good to be abandoned + ion have the time to write smth new rn,, that being said honey isnt gonna be here bc hes a child in my eyes and i refuse to write smut for him 💔 hes still my pookie tho! and yes i did steal kaoru’s line and made gojo use it in 002 bc i genuinely had no intentions of posting this again 🥀

SUOH TAMAKI

the sheets were all fucked up. tangled around your ankles, rumpled under your ass, soaked in leftover body heat and just barely holding the shape of the mess you’d made lying there together. tamaki had climbed into bed behind you like he was starving for you—arms around your waist, chest plastered to your back, breathing all uneven and soft like he was trying not to fall apart too fast.

he started talking immediately. of course he did.

“kyoya’s threatening to install biometric sensors in the boardroom now,” he muttered into your hair, one arm draped over your middle. “like i need a computer to tell me when i’m dying of boredom. and they served egg salad for lunch. egg salad. as if i haven’t suffered enough.”

you hummed, maybe. maybe not. either way you weren’t saying much.

his hand was already in your hair, slow and gentle, fingers combing through like he was petting you. like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. you could feel his voice when he spoke again—low, hot against the nape of your neck, buzzing through your skin from where his chest was pressed right to your spine.

“and the speaker—get this—the speaker called me ‘tamasuki.’ twice.” he groaned, overdramatic. “my legacy is in ruins.”

you didn’t say a word. your lips parted, breath soft. eyelids fluttered. his hand kept moving, slow at the roots and trailing down to the ends like he could smooth the whole day out of you. your head sank deeper into the crook of his elbow, using his bicep like a pillow, body relaxed and pliant like you were made for this.

then you let out this tiny little sigh. barely even a sound. breathy, a little high in your throat, just enough to make his fingers hesitate.

tamaki stilled. he looked down at you, eyes wide, brain blanking out completely.

you sighed again, and it hit him like a fucking freight train.

it wasn’t something you were doing on purpose. your breathing had changed—shallower, slower, like his hand in your hair was doing something to you. like it was lighting little fires all over your skin.

“oh…” his voice cracked, soft and stunned.

his fingers twitched, then slid back into your hair. again. slower this time. your lashes fluttered. you let out another soft, breathless sound, and he swore under his breath.

he forgot every word he’d planned to say. forgot his name. forgot yours.

his hand trailed down from your hair to the back of your neck, lingered there just long enough to make you shiver, and then his mouth followed—pressing a kiss just below your hairline, soft and open, his breath hot against your skin.

you twitched. he grinned against your neck, lips dragging lower.

“mm… you like that, ma chérie?”

he didn’t even wait for an answer—just mouthed along the curve of your nape, planting kisses slower now, warmer, wetter. his tongue flicked out just once to taste your skin, and fuck, you shivered again, a shaky little exhale punched out of your throat like you couldn’t hold it in.

tamaki’s cock throbbed.

“mon trésor…” he whispered, nosing into the space just behind your ear. “you’re making the sweetest sounds right now…”

his teeth sank in. not hard—just enough to make you jolt, to make your ass push back into the heat of him behind you, and he gasped.

you felt it then—how hard he was. thick and hot, trapped behind his slacks and pressed right up against your ass through both your layers, grinding slow like he couldn’t help himself.

“nnhh—fuck…”

he didn’t even realize he was doing it. hadn’t noticed how much his hips were moving, how tight his grip had gotten on your waist. all he could feel was you, soft and pliant and making the kind of noises that short-circuited his entire nervous system.

you tilted your head back a little, voice rough from sleep. “you’re grindin’ on me like a bitch in heat, baby.”

tamaki moaned. full body shudder. his hips bucked without thinking. his cock throbbed against your ass like it was trying to claw its way inside.

“i didn’t—i didn’t mean to,” he gasped, voice high and breathless. “i just—hahh, you—your sounds, you’re driving me crazy, i can’t—”

you pushed back into him again, slower this time. on purpose. dragging your ass right over the shape of his cock, letting him feel the pressure, the friction, the heat.

he whimpered.

“you’re not even trying to stop,” you muttered, smirking.

his voice hitched, desperate. “i don’t want to.”

his kisses turned sloppy, wet open-mouthed licks along your neck and down your shoulder, teeth scraping again and again as he rutted against you through the fabric.

“fuck—you feel so good, i missed you so much,” he whispered, voice unraveling completely. “please, mon amour, please let me—let me keep going, i’ll be good, i’ll—fuck—i’ll make you feel so good, too, i promise—”

you rolled your hips one more time, slow and heavy, grinding down onto him, and tamaki sobbed into your neck. “baby,” you muttered, voice thick, low. “if you wanna cum just from humping my ass, i’m not stopping you.”

he groaned. loud. his fingers clenched in your shirt. his cock throbbed, leaking in his boxers, and he moaned your name like a fucking prayer.

“fuck, you’re gonna ruin me…”

OOTORI KYOYA

you didn’t go in there planning to get fucked.

his office light was on, soft and dim through the crack under the door, and you knew better than to bug him when he was working—but it was late. too late. and the house was too quiet without him.

so you padded in without knocking, still barefoot, hoodie sliding down your shoulder a little, and you didn’t even say anything—just walked up behind his chair like you were moving on instinct, hands smoothing over the top of it, and then—

plop. you dropped yourself right onto kyoya’s lap.

he didn’t startle. didn’t flinch. didn’t even pause in whatever he was typing. just one glance up at you, calm as ever behind those thin-rimmed glasses, before he went right back to his keyboard.

“...you’re aware i’m still in the middle of reviewing the quarterly financials,” he murmured, dry, a little pointed.

“mhm,” you said, cheek pressed to the side of his neck, already snuggling in like you belonged there. your legs hung off the side of his lap, knees hooked over the armrest, your ass heavy against his thighs. “i missed you.”

his fingers paused on the keyboard.

“i’ve been in the house the entire evening.”

“not in my arms, you haven’t.”

he let out a low hum—something unreadable, something between indulgent and amused—and tilted his chin just slightly to make room for you as you nuzzled into his jaw.

your intentions were pure. no grinding, no teasing. you just wanted to be close, to melt against him and breathe in that ridiculously expensive cologne he always wore, the one that clung to his collar like a ghost. you exhaled slow. melted deeper into his lap.

kyoya’s hand slid up your thigh.

you barely noticed at first, too relaxed to care. his touch was light, impersonal—something habitual and absent, like he just needed to keep contact while his eyes flicked over stock reports on his screen.

but then his palm pressed down. firm. heavy. fingers flexing just enough to anchor you, to make you feel it. you twitched a little. shifted.

“don’t move.”

his voice was soft but final.

your breath hitched.

“i—wasn’t gonna,” you mumbled, a little dazed, because you’d felt something under you just then. thick. hot. definitely real.

he didn’t say anything about it. didn’t even seem concerned that you’d noticed.

you swallowed. “kyoya... are you hard?”

his fingers dug into your thigh a little more.

“does that bother you?”

you flushed, cheeks warm, eyes flicking down between your bodies like you could see through the layers. “n-no. just surprised. i didn’t—i wasn’t trying to—”

“you rarely try,” he murmured, leaning in close now, voice brushing your ear like silk. “but you do tempt.”

you felt him shift beneath you—just enough to make his cock press up a little firmer against the underside of your ass, not grinding, just there, heavy and present.

“you came in here looking for affection,” he said, like he was talking you through your own thoughts, “but you chose to sit in my lap. straddle my thighs. put your weight right where i feel you best.”

“i just wanted to cuddle,” you whispered, heart thudding.

he finally looked at you. those sharp, unreadable eyes locking straight into yours, so composed it made your breath catch.

“and now?”

you hesitated. tried to squirm a little but his hand kept you still—firm on your thigh, thumb stroking slowly now, teasing. your body betrayed you anyway. you shivered.

“now i... don’t mind where this goes,” you mumbled.

kyoya’s smile barely curved the corners of his mouth. small. predatory. “good.”

his hand slid further between your thighs, palm brushing up the seam of your shorts, slow and precise. he didn’t even look down. didn’t need to.

“you’re already warm here.”

you whimpered, “s-shut up—”

he hummed, pleased, pressing in a little more, his other hand moving to hold your waist steady.

“i won’t be long,” he said smoothly, thumb now dragging firm circles right over where you were twitching. “you can still cuddle after you’ve cum.”

“kyoya—!”

“quiet now. we wouldn’t want me to forget who needed the attention first.”

your breath hitched so sharp it punched out of you. you weren’t ready—fuck, you hadn’t braced for it, the way his fingers slipped right past the waistband of your shorts. he didn’t waste time. didn’t tease like he usually did. no slow drag along the seam, no delicate brushing just to watch you squirm.

he went straight for your cock.

and he was so fucking calm about it, too. like he hadn’t just curled his fingers around you, like he didn’t have you gasping through your teeth, already half-hard and twitching in his palm.

“mm,” he said low against your ear, voice smooth and too goddamn collected. “of course you’re already leaking.”

“nngh—will y-you just sh-shut up—”

“why?”

his thumb pressed into the slit, gathered the slick there, dragged it down in a slow stroke that made your back arch right into his chest.

“you’re the one rutting into my lap, aren’t you?”

his hand started moving. slow. deliberate. every stroke of his palm was tight, warm, so smooth it made your hips buck without permission. but his other hand was already back on your thigh, fingers digging in, holding you still like you were some squirmy little thing too wound up to behave.

you couldn’t even bite back the sound that left you next—wet and high and whimpery, half moan, half sob. your forehead dropped against his shoulder and you gripped at the front of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“a-ahh—kyoya—”

he tsked.

“you’re being noisy.”

“y-you’re stroking my cock—what the fuck—”

“language,” he said, scolding like he wasn’t actively ruining you with every lazy drag of his fist. “you’re so sensitive today.”

he twisted his wrist at the end of the next stroke and your whole body jolted.

“fuckfuck—!”

you were panting now, whining, hips twitching despite the iron grip on your thigh. your cock was already leaking all over his fingers, slick and hot and messy against his palm. and he hadn’t even stopped typing.

fuck. you looked down, barely lifting your face from his shoulder—and sure enough, his other hand was still lazily clicking through spreadsheets, wrist moving like nothing special was happening, like he wasn’t jerking you off while calculating quarterly profits.

“you’re so easy to please,” he said, glancing at the screen.

you almost sobbed. “you’re such an asshole—!”

“but you like it,” he said, leaning in closer, lips ghosting your jaw.

MORINOZUKA TAKASHI

the room was cold as shit. you were curled up under what felt like six layers of blankets, socked toes pressed against mori’s shins and your face tucked into his neck. he was warm. always warm. and huge. wrapped around you like some kind of living weighted blanket, all muscle and heat and slow, sleepy breathing.

he didn’t talk much, but you didn’t need him to. didn’t need words when his arms tightened around you the second you sighed into his throat, when his hand drifted down your back and settled on your hip like it was always meant to be there.

you thought this was just cuddling. you really thought. but somewhere between your body relaxing against him and his breath getting heavier, his hips started moving.

slow. almost nothing. a lazy roll of his waist, just enough to press his crotch tighter against your ass under the covers. you didn’t notice at first, too comfortable.

then his cock brushed right between your cheeks. thick. hard. hot even through his briefs.

you twitched. you lifted your head a little, blinking through the dim room, body still half-asleep.

“...mori?”

he kissed your shoulder. didn’t speak. didn’t need to. his hips rolled again, slower this time, deliberate.

you felt the tip of his cock now—pressing right against your hole through the fabric, dragging along the seam like he was trying to line himself up without even undressing you yet.

your breath stuttered.

“what’re you—i thought we were just—”

your voice came out breathy, caught somewhere between confusion and heat, your body still lazy and pliant from being so wrapped up in him.

he didn’t say anything—just kissed your shoulder, slow and deliberate, big hand trailing down your back, then sliding under the waistband of your shorts with this calm, quiet confidence like he already knew you wouldn’t stop him.

his palm cupped your ass, fingers spreading wide, pulling you in closer until you could feel him—hot and thick and already so hard against you.

you inhaled sharp, lips parting, brain stuttering out on the realization.

“you’re… hard?”

he nodded once, his mouth brushing your jaw again, his breath soft.

you blinked down at the blanket tangled over your hips, heart skipping once. you hadn’t expected this—not now, not with how quiet the night had been.

but you didn’t move. didn’t pull away. you shifted your weight instead—subtle, just enough to help him guide you back into him.

his cock pressed against your ass, thick and warm through the stretch of your shorts, then lower, sliding along your skin.

your breath hitched. he hadn’t even tugged them all the way off—just enough for access, enough to press the slick head of his cock right up against your hole, slow and sure.

you gasped. not from resistance. just from how big he felt. your fingers curled in the sheets, nerves buzzing, but you didn’t say no.

you just whispered, “oh my god…”

just the tip at first. hot and slow and too thick, stretching you open under the blankets like it was nothing. like he’d done this a hundred times before.

his breath hitched against your shoulder.

your fingers clenched in the fabric of the sheet. you whined, soft and broken, mouth falling open as he pushed in deeper—inch by inch, no rush. no teasing. just that deep, full pressure that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back.

“ahh—fuck—t-too big, baby—”

he didn’t speak. just kissed your neck again, one big arm around your chest now, pinning you to him as he bottomed out. you could feel his heartbeat against your back. feel his cock pulsing deep inside you.

you were so fucking full.

the blankets cocooned both of you in heat, your legs tangled, your body trembling a little from how good it felt to be wrapped around him like this, stuffed and helpless, unable to do anything except take it.

then he started moving. slow at first. slow enough to kill you. his hips rocked up into you from behind, deep and smooth, the kind of thrusts that didn’t feel like fucking at first. just warmth. just weight.

but you were so sensitive.

“hahhh—m-mori—nnhh—oh my god—”

your hands scrambled at the sheets, hips trying to shift forward, but he held you still with one arm tight around your middle and the other splayed wide on your thigh, keeping you open.

“you feel so—fuck—so good, i c-can’t—” you whimpered again, breathy and wet, back arching as he rutted into you slow and deep, cock dragging across every sensitive spot like he knew exactly how to ruin you.

his rhythm never changed. still lazy. still calm. but every thrust made you cry out a little louder, voice all shaky and high-pitched, drool pooling at the corner of your mouth from how dumb you were getting.

“ahh—mhh—mori—deeper—please—”

his mouth brushed your ear. “you’re already shaking,” he murmured, voice so fucking quiet it made your skin prickle.

you were. your thighs were twitching under the blanket, cock leaking against your stomach, so hard and untouched you could barely think.

“i-it’s too much,” you whined, squirming. “y-you’re—nnnghh—you’re so fucking deep—”

his hand moved to your cock. finally. he didn’t stroke you. not at first. just wrapped his fingers around it and held. you moaned like it hurt.

“please,” you whispered, body hot and trembling, “please touch me—i-i’m gonna cum, fuck, mori, i can’t—”

he started stroking then. slow. in sync with the way he fucked you—long, deep thrusts and smooth, perfect strokes, the heat of his body pressed to yours like he was trying to melt you down and absorb you.

you couldn’t even make real sounds anymore. just high-pitched whines, little hiccupped moans every time his cock filled you again, deeper, thicker, heavier with every thrust.

and then you broke.

“f-fuck—fuck—mori—i’m cumming—gonna—fuck—!”

your whole body locked up, thighs clamping down as you came hard in his hand, back arched, toes curling under the blanket.

he didn’t stop. didn’t even pause. he kept fucking you through it, slow and deep, hand still stroking your cock as it twitched and spilled all over your stomach.

“ahh—nnnhh—t-too much, fuck—”

he held you tighter, kissed the top of your head, and kept going until you were shaking in his arms, twitching from overstimulation, voice barely working anymore—just soft, desperate little sounds into the pillow.

HITACHIIN HIKARU & KAORU

you didn’t even realize you’d been trapped until it was too late.

the movie was halfway through, some romcom kaoru picked because he claimed it had “aesthetics,” but your brain wasn’t paying attention anymore. not with the way you were wedged between them on the couch—legs tossed over kaoru’s lap, back leaned against hikaru’s chest, one of his arms slung lazily around your shoulders like it belonged there.

at first it was just warm. safe. normal.

kaoru had his hand resting on your shin, thumb brushing little circles against your ankle every now and then. hikaru was curled behind you, chin resting on your shoulder, breath soft on your neck. you could feel his heartbeat through his chest, slow and steady against your spine.

and then hikaru’s hand dipped under your hoodie. not in a way that was obvious. not groping. just... wandering. you flinched a little, but not because you didn’t like it.

his fingers slid up your stomach—warm and curious, fingertips dragging slow along your skin like he wasn’t even trying to tease. like he was just thinking with his hands, lazy and familiar, stroking soft lines that made your stomach tighten.

“you cold?” he murmured, voice low against your ear.

“mm—no,” you managed.

kaoru smiled. “you sure?”

his hand crept higher on your leg. you swallowed, not answering. and that only seemed to make them bolder.

hikaru’s palm spread out over your stomach, pressing just enough to feel your breath stutter. kaoru’s fingers dragged up the inside of your thigh, still technically outside your pants—but so close.

you tried to shift. squirm a little. maybe get them to stop. except you didn’t actually want them to stop. and they knew that.

“nervous?” kaoru teased, eyes still on the screen like he wasn’t the one rubbing slow circles into your inner thigh.

“you’re squirming,” hikaru murmured, voice all low and smug. “something bothering you?”

you let out a breath that wasn’t quite a sigh, but it wasn’t steady either. “you guys are being assholes.”

“us?” kaoru grinned. “we’re just cuddling. you’re the one getting all twitchy.”

you could feel your cock getting hard. slow at first, that lazy kind of pressure that built with every brush of skin, every ghost of a touch that wasn’t quite enough.

hikaru’s hand slipped lower, fingers skating the waistband of your pants. warm. teasing. his thumb dipped just under the elastic, not even touching your cock yet—just playing at the edge of it.

“you’re warm,” he whispered, his breath hot on your neck now. “you always get like this when we’re close.”

“stop—”

“mm, but you don’t want us to,” kaoru said, and then leaned in—pressed a slow kiss to the side of your knee, just over the fabric, like he was rewarding you for not pulling away.

you whined. quietly. just a little sound in your throat. hikaru’s grip around your shoulders tightened slightly, pulling you closer into his chest. you could feel how hard he was behind you now.

fuck.

kaoru shifted, eyes flicking down to the tent in your pants.

“you’re so easy,” he whispered, reaching down with both hands now. one palmed the curve of your thigh. the other stroked slowly up your calf. “we barely touched you.”

hikaru slid his hand lower. past the waistband. his fingers found your cock through your briefs—already hard, already leaking.

“mmnh—”

you gasped.

your hips jerked.

kaoru’s hand caught your knee and held you still. “where’re you going?” he said sweetly, voice light like he wasn’t watching your eyes glaze over.

“p-please—”

“please what?” hikaru asked, fingers rubbing soft and slow over the head of your cock now, thumb spreading precum in lazy circles. “you gotta be specific. we’re multitasking here.”

“touch me,” you breathed. “touch me more, please—”

they both went quiet for a beat.

then kaoru leaned in and kissed your thigh, soft and slow.

“see?” he murmured. “he’s such a good boy when he asks nicely.”

“always has been,” hikaru said, and wrapped his hand fully around your cock, giving one long, slow stroke that made you moan.

“a-ah—fuck—”

you bucked into it, hips twitching, but kaoru wasn’t letting you get away with anything—his hand slid under your hoodie now, up over your chest, warm and steady.

then his fingers found your nipple.

“kaoru—”

he just hummed, flicking it once with his thumb before gently rolling it between his fingers, watching the way your body jolted, how your thighs clenched around his.

“so sensitive,” he murmured, almost reverent. “look at you. already leaking and i haven’t even touched your cock.”

“you’re really noisy tonight,” hikaru whispered against your ear. “you want everyone to know you’re getting your nipples played with while i jerk you off?”

you whimpered, “n-no—fuck, please don’t stop—”

kaoru pinched a little harder. you gasped, high and sharp, your whole body arching into it.

hikaru jacked you off slow, cruelly slow, his other hand holding your chest steady while kaoru focused entirely on your nipple—twisting, pinching, teasing it until it was raw and sensitive, the kind of pleasure that bordered on too much. your thighs shook.

“hahh—i-i’m gonna—”

“then cum,” kaoru whispered. “wanna feel you twitch.”

“make a mess for us,” hikaru added, picking up the pace, twisting his wrist just right at the top, hand soaked in precum.

you cried out—soft, broken, messy—and came hard in hikaru’s hand, whole body convulsing, hips stuttering forward as kaoru’s fingers rolled your nipple through every wave of pleasure.

you sagged back into hikaru’s chest, breath catching, thighs still twitching as the aftershocks hit. kaoru rubbed soft circles over your chest now, soothing.

“feel good?”

you nodded. breathless.

“thought so,” hikaru murmured, kissing the side of your face.

© omicchii . . . stealing charms invites bad luck. you've been warned!

[cathnospam]

Continuing from This Drabble about you and your BF Katsuki answering sex questions about each other<3

Black Female Reader x Katsuki Bakugo , mentions of panty stealer bakugo, slight smut???

“Okay uh, how do you rate your partners kisses 1-10.”

“9”

“9?! Muthafucka I taught you how to kiss—-“

“You always push back first like you can’t handle it, it pisses me off.”

“I like breathing.”

“So.”

Rolling your eyes, “I was ganna say 12/10, but since you’re being a bitch—“

“So, 12/10 got it. Next.”

“Does your partner have any dirty secrets?…oooh.—-”

“M’going to bed.” Bakugo immediately gets up to take off his tank top seeing as he was going to sleep in your dorm tonight, but as the shirt clung to his semi flexing biceps you grab him, “No, y/n.”

“Oh c’mon boy are the secrets THAT bad?! I’ll tell you mine at least—-fuck.” He considers for a moment. Curiosity weighing heavier than his will to sleep at the moment, “You ass.”

“What did you call me—“

“I think…” You place two fingers on his soft lips, “One secret is that……….one time, when you were out on work study you left your black tank top in my room….and….i missed you….and i was ovulating so i….put on your tank top and ….played…with myself.”

The air was thick, it’s as if Bakugo took it as he grew closer to you while speaking, there wasn’t much to make him speechless but dammit that’s a new one.

Fuck. That’s actually more sexier than he wants to admit right now. He crossed his legs, hoping a tent won’t form in his grey sweats and noticed your eyes wandering at every part of your room but his eyes.

“I…moaned your name too.”

“You…you damn….pervert fuck—-“ His voice almost broke into a groan, looking away also embarrassed you knew he didn’t mean it in a malicious way from how he looked back at you, Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down, “Stop acting fucking weird. You did it. Who cares. As long as it was MY name you moaned.”

“Of course dumbass. I only want you…”

Bakugo felt his ears burning, already annoyed he was flustered once he groaned, “I took your panties once.”

“What?”

“Why the hell would you wear that lacy frilly shit during class in that short ass skirt? It’s like you want those idiots to see you.”

“That CANNOT be the reason—“

“IT IS. If you’re ganna wear ‘em wear them IN OUR dorms you dumbass.”

“…well.”

“Well what.” He pouts.”

“Well where the fuck are they I like wearing them after I get waxed.”

Bakugo hesitates, not wanting to actually answer mainly because he doesn’t just have ONE pair of panties. But a few. “I’ll show you later.”

“Tch.” You mock his sounds, “Ever use ‘em to masturbate?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You giggle, you can only imagine what his perverted ass has done with them. And the last time you seen them was in your hamper so you assumed they got lost somewhere in the laundry. Honestly it’s kinda….interesting he’s telling you this.

“Does your partner have any no’s during?”

“I’m not calling you a bitch.”

“Aw.” You sarcastically sigh, “Why.”

“Why the hell would I call you out your name—“

“You called me your slut yesterday.”

“…Slip of the tongue.” He crosses his arms like a child, making you giggle. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize it was hot.” You say adjusting yourself closer to him, you could actually feel the heat from his body rise as you kept speaking, “It’s fine. Degrading isn’t something I’d need from you anyway.”

“I don’t get that kink, who the hell likes to be disrespected by someone they…are y’know with.”

You shrug, you understand why certain people have kinks, but it’s hard to put in words for someone like Katsuki. He’s a very simple man when it comes to relationships. Almost traditional and old fashion which is what charmed you the most about him. He never even called you a bitch before in any sense nor has he ever told you anything that would genuinely hurt your feelings, “Some people are just into that.” You concluded, your boyfriend looks at you with an unresolved look, but accepts it anyway. Weirdos.

“I wouldn’t hit you either. Like in the face or anything. Only on the ass”

“Good because my face is too pretty for that.” Katsuki smirks at you, you’re absolutely right you’re too pretty for him to hit.

“Nobody else.”

“Hm?”

“…Nobody else is allowed to join us.”

Squinting for a moment his statement clicks , “OH! No threesomes and stuff. Oh yeah of course not. If I see you with any other girl I’ll kill you and her.”

Katsuki swallowed his laughter, masking it with a clearing of his throat, your eyes not tearing from his making sure he knew you were serious. You don’t scare him typically, but he knew the moments when you genuinely had an aura about you that screamed “Fucking try to play with me.” And this was one of those moments. “You look at me like I didn’t just fucking say —“

“I know.” Your voice cracked a little trying to cover up the jealous tone you were about to spew out. Just the thought of Katsuki touching another girl had you upset.

Little did you know it was the same for him with you.

“Anything else?”

“I won’t do race or age play.”

“What the hell…?—-“

“Well I am black so obviously no and then you have age play which is just a cute way of saying you like children—-“

“WHAT?”

You pause to cover up his loud mouth with your small hands, “SSSHH! Before we get in trouble again!…anyway moving on!”

Not wanting to argue, he takes your laptop and smacks your hand away, “What is something you DONT like that your partner does during sex.”

“Take my laptop away from me.”

He strikes you and look, he doesn’t say anything verbally but he says “quit fucking around” with his eyes, admitting defeat that he won’t give you back your laptop you sit back and think for a moment.

“Eh…Oh! I don’t like that you won’t let me ride you.”

Damn it.

He had a feeling you’d say that too. Bakugo scratches the back of his neck roughly while letting out a groan. Throwing his head back a little he side eyes you, “Why do you wanna be on top so bad. I’m the man I should—“

“It’s not even about dominating you or anything you can still fuck me from below, ‘Suki. You’ll still have all the power.”

Bakugo has seen porn videos where the guy fucks up into the girl. Even some where the man is straight up holding the girl up and pumps her full. It’s so erotic he couldn’t even finish the video, but even though he enjoys vanilla sex, he is quite certain riding him isn’t too far off from what he likes.

Besides he loves having your tits bounce in his face and feeling your nipples practically bounce into his mouth makes up of great reason.

“…Fine. But when I’M ready.”

“Yaaaayy mkay….now what is something YOU don’t like about me.”

“You’re ganna be pissed.”

Your smiles immediately transforms into a straighten line, “Uh oh.”

“I don’t …like when you cum too fast.”

It was a bit embarrassing yet confusing to hear. Clearly that means he’s doing a good job so why —

“Because I want to keep fucking you.” Bakugo speaks up as if he read your inner thoughts, all you could do was blink a few times at him, and he continued more, “Even though I don’t cum until after you do which isn’t that long, sometimes I wanna keep going. I’ve timed it, the moment I start fucking you sex only last about 6-8 minutes.”

“That’s average. Some people are 2-3 minutes.” You spoke with an unimpressed and deadpanned voice mostly because this sounded ludicrous to you and Bakugo seen it in your expression causing him to sigh in annoyance. “Shouldn’t your ego be filled knowing you make me cum fast?”

“Yeah, but —-fuck sue me for wanting more. And don’t say some shit like I’m a nympho or some shit because that’s fucking disgusting and those freaks are usually only in a relationship to fuck—-“

“OKAY OKAY CALM DOWN, BOY!” His voice kept getting louder and louder and you refused to have another write up because you have him in your dorm past curfew…again. “I get it though.”

“You want to be overstimulated.”

What? Bakugo scrunched yo his eyebrows. He never heard that term before used when talking about sex.

“Overstimulated means …well… showing you is actually better than telling you.”

In an instant Bakugo’s furrowed eyebrows soften, his gaze transitioned from confused to darker and subtly lustful. You felt the vibe of the room change so quickly you practically had to clear your throat to make him focus again.

“So the next question…”

“Nah, show me.” He firmly shuts your computer and places it on your nightstand. Arms still crossed, “Show me what that word means or should I look up a video and figure it out myself.”

“….y’can.”

It wasn’t ideal for your evening to end like this with him, but it’s just you and your slightly horny boyfriend watching porn videos.

What’s the worse that can happen?