#like. on one hand - i genuinely like the thought.

[luveline]

I’m obsessed with the sister!hotch and Reid fics. I can’t stop imagining that scene where Rossi goes to Garcia’s house and she’s fresh from the shower with Kevin. But instead is Hotch at readers house and Spencer is there.

—you and Spencer are in the midst of a long weekend together when your brother shows up unannounced. fem, 1.3k

“You’re really handsome.” 

Spencer laughs as you drag your hands back over his ears and through his sopping wet hair. The shower water is blissfully warm and soaking your front as it rains down on his head. You shield his eyes but otherwise have your fun. His hair is softer than anything you’ve ever felt. 

He holds your hands flat to his head. “You’re handsomer.” 

“Am I supposed to take that in a good way or a bad way?” you ask. 

“A good way!” he says, forgetting your hands in favour of guiding you under the water. “Handsome has nearly always been used for men more than women, but it didn’t fall out of fashion for girls until the fifties.” He tilts your head upward and to one side as his own begins to fall the other way. “You’re beautiful.” His voice is warm on your lips, “you’re so–”

His kiss is ridiculous; he kisses like he’s starving. You didn’t realise men could actually kiss like this until you met him. It’s not just in the movies, it’s right now, his hand at the back of your neck, unbothered by your laughing or your hand slipping down his wet t-shirt. 

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” you say. 

“We were covered in mud.” 

“We should’ve just got naked.” 

“We’re taking things slow,” he says, laughing, “it’s fun. But what are we gonna do about our wet clothes?”

“You got the most of the mud on you,” you say. Spencer had performed a valiant rescue in that when you fell, he was straight down into the grass after you in an attempt to save your jeans. It didn’t work, obviously, but the thought was there, and he’s such a good kisser in the shower that you don’t mind the loss. “I’m gonna get out and get changed, you can have a real shower, okay? I’ll get you a towel and your pyjamas and stuff.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, it’s fine. I think all the mud from my top half is gone.” 

Spencer takes your face into his hand. His thumb rubs a line along your jaw. “Now it’s gone.” 

You beam. Who knew Dr. Spencer Reid was such a tender guy? You could sort of guess from looking at him that he’d touch you like that, but it’s a contrast, too, to be kissed as though you’re some irresistible siren and to have your face held like fragile glass. 

You step out of the shower still sodden, clothes heavy, and close the frosted door between you and Spencer to strip down. Separated but still shy, you hurry out of your clothes and into a towel, wrapping yourself tightly to head into your bedroom. 

You put on blissfully dry underwear and blot your face. Next is loose pyjama pants and a big t-shirt: you’ve never worried about being sexy for Spencer and you’re not about to start. Your first date was a walk in the park, your second date at the bowling alley. He’s not concerned with that stuff. It’s why his frankness about wanting to take things slow isn’t scary, because when he holds your face and tells you you’re pretty, you believe it. 

“Y/N?” 

You flinch so hard your neck cracks. “Ow,” you whine. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You walk forward before Aaron can let himself into your bedroom. Sure enough, your older brother is in your apartment (as he’s allowed, given that he furnished the entire place and paid the security deposit, and, also, awfully, is a very nice big brother). He’s smiling, carrying two pizza boxes and a carton atop it that smells like French fries. “What have you done now?” he asks fondly. 

“I hurt my neck, you scared me.” 

“If you answered your phone, you’d know I was here.” 

“I was in the shower!” 

“I can see that. You’re getting slovenly, it’s almost midday.” 

You’re so genuinely happy to see him that you forget for a moment your predicament. “It’s the weekend, I can do what I want.” You’re gonna have to let him down, which won’t be easy. “I’m not feeling the best, actually.” 

Aaron lets the pizza boxes rest against his stomach. “How come?” 

“I don’t know, I just feel tired. Maybe we can do something tomorrow.” 

“Honey,” Aaron says, with all the cadence of someone who’s used to rubbing your back when you’re sick, “what’s wrong? Let’s go sit down, I can make you something less greasy.” 

“I think you should just go home, actually. I might be contagious.” 

He looks less concerned and more gutted. “What? I don’t care if you’re contagious. When has that stuff ever bothered me?” Aaron takes another step toward you, his gaze flitting past you toward your bathroom. “What’s really going on?” 

The age gap between you and Aaron is expansive. Your being adopted is another gap, and neither have ever bothered him. The moment you showed up in his life he gave you everything he could manage, which has manifested in long phone calls, in hugs, in homemade soup and delivery when he couldn’t be there. Asking him not to look after you is like telling him you don’t want him to, and it isn’t true. 

He means a lot more to you than whatever awkwardness your confession will inspire. 

“Aaron,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “Spencer’s in the shower.” 

He squeezes his pizza boxes. “Sorry?” 

“We went to the park and I fell by the lake. He’s in the shower.” 

“But you were just in the shower,” Aaron says. 

“Well, we weren’t in there at the same time,” you drag. 

Your lie is obvious to him, not just as a profiler but as your brother. His brow pinches and his nose wrinkles, not disgusted with you or anything so cruelly stupid, but dissatisfied, at least. “Did you have to tell me that?” he asks, pained.

“I didn’t tell you that, you profiled that, and it’s sort of not what you think anyways! We didn’t do anything–”

“Honey.” 

“I’m really sorry, but it’s not what you think.” 

“Listen to me.” The shower turns off and Aaron’s cheek twitches. “You are a grown up. You can do what you like with who you like. It’s my fault for coming here unannounced, I keep thinking of you as younger than you are.” Says the adult. Then, the more friendly part of being a sibling emerges, “Could you send him home?” he whispers. “I got your favourite.” 

You laugh at his proposition. “That’s kinda rude, isn’t it? Can’t he stay? He’s cool.” 

“I’m having trouble coalescing the two of you as more than acquaintances in my mind,” he says, as though he has much more to say about it, even if he’s smiling. 

Spencer chooses that moment to walk from the en-suite bathroom and out of your room, a t-shirt stuck to his chest with damp, his own pyjama pants baggy at the ankles.

“Hey, are you okay?” Spencer grabs your hand impulsively, twining his fingers in yours. Then he sees Aaron and does a double take. “Hotch?”

You give Aaron a sorry smile. “Does that make it easier?” 

“I’ll wait in the kitchen.” 

You and Spencer watch Aaron retreat. His hand stays in yours, but he squeezes you too tightly. “Wait for what?” Spencer whispers fervently. 

You lean up on tiptoes to kiss his eyebrow. “You’re about to get the shovel talk, I think.” 

“Oh. Great.” He drops his forehead against your shoulder, wet hair dripping a path down your shirt. “This is really bad.” 

“He brought pizza.” 

“I don’t think that’s going to help me.” 

You crane your head and kiss-kiss-kiss the top of his ear. “You’re really pretty when your hair is wet.” 

Spencer murmurs to you reluctantly. “You’re really pretty all the time.” 

[jaylaxies]

HARD THOUGHT !

pairing: jake x fem!reader

cw: smut, daddy kink, manipulation, corruption kink, usage of nicknames.

warning: 18+ content, minors dni

a/n: hihi i got a lil carried away w this one! it’s inspired by these two asks here and here! :3 reposting this cause it got community labelled!

Jake is sweet, almost too sweet to be true and that’s why you trust him blindly with everything. The way he never hesitates to give you prolonged hugs, the way his eyes always provide you with comfort and his words sound like sweet melody to you, it’s a given fact that you won’t want anyone else to teach you how to kiss but your best friend Jake, you simply want to be good for your crush, Heeseung, and so you most certainly didn’t wish to be totally clueless when it comes to such things.

Jake was more than willing to help, “of course i'll help, we don’t want Heeseung to be unsatisfied now, do we?” He’d chuckle, hating the fact that you wanted to do it for another man, yet he had his own ways to keep you close to him, one being-providing you help for his own benefit. “But Jake, won’t it be wrong if I use you for this?” You’d ask, genuine concern plastered on your face and he finds it cute how you think it’s you who’s using him, when in reality, it’s quite the opposite.

“Oh, princess. You don’t have to worry about it, I just want to help you,” he’d smile, making you feel at ease as he starts proceeding with his plan, the first step—kissing.

He’d pat his lap, making your eyes go wide but you’d follow and sit on his lap, straddling him on the couch as his big hands would hold you in place and he’d ask you to kiss him, smiling when you lean in for a delicate peck, groaning when he bites your lip, eliciting a weak moan out of you.

“Jake—” you’d whimper, unknowingly pressing your clothed cunt on his hardening cock, feeling a newfound feeling erupt in your lower abdomen, even more so when he cups your cheek, tilting your face to get a better access to your lips, his plush ones serenading you like there’s no tomorrow, “that’s not what you should call me, princess,” he mutters.

Your eyes widen, looking up at him in question, “Heeseung would love it if you call him daddy,” he smirks, “say it, baby.” He’d urge you, throwing Heeseung’s name to strengthen his case. “D—daddy?” You’d whisper, allowing him to caress your swollen lips. “That’s right, princess. You’re such a good girl for me.” He makes sure to take his time kissing you dumb that night, to the point you lose your sleep, clutching your chest as the vivid images of Jake come back to your mind, you wanted more.

And each day, he taught you more, touching the expanse of your body, getting rid of your clothes turn by turn. The wetness returned each time you tried something new with him, your body felt as if it was on fire as he pushed you into your subspace in all the right ways.

“Daddy!” You moaned, gripping the bed sheet when he tasted your wetness for the first time, his warm breath made it tingle to the point you were shivering. “That’s it babygirl, just trust daddy, yeah?” He said against your folds, accent deeper than ever as he immersed himself in eating you out, giving you your very first orgasm.

You were dazed, wanting more and more. Then came the day you finally saw his cock, his eyes staring at you with such intensity as you could only look at his veiny, leaking cock with innocent and curious eyes.

He grunted when you held him, “you’re doing so well, princess. So good for daddy,” he lets out, holding the back of your head gently as you continued to do just as he directed, smiling once he fills your mouth as his thick cum spurts out on your tongue, making you want to gulp it down, “wanna be so good for daddy always.” You’d smile, forgetting about why you were doing this in the first place, Heeseung wasn’t the one you thought about these days, rather, it was your daddy Jake.

“Tell me what you want, princess?” He’d ask with a sweet smile, which almost looked like a smirk, “daddy,” you’d cry out, “want y—your cock in m—me, I can't wait anymore,” you’d tell him as he’d kiss your tears away, “daddy will give you everything you want, babygirl,” he’d pat your head lovingly despite being in such a compromising position, his tip rubbing on your entrance. He doesn’t rush, he loves seeing you squirm, blabbering out words which do not make sense just because you’re so enraptured by the man on top of you—your daddy who’s more than willing to provide you with everything you need.

He loves it, how fucked up his princess looks with her smudged lipstick and mascara running down her cheeks with her crystalline teardrops, which keep on flowing with the immense pleasure you receive. He loves that he’ll get to fuck you, that his cock will be the first to enter your prettiest cunt, which is his and his only. You were reliant upon him for pleasure, nothing else felt good without your daddy and when he finally gave you the taste of his cock buried deep in your pussy, it felt more pleasurable than it hurt.

“Daddy—” you whisper, eyes closing as you let him take over and kiss you, his hands all over your body, as if he had memorized you completely, touching the most sensitive spots as he thrusted even harder in your leaking pussy, your walls squeezing his cock to the point he couldn’t help but groan out, “so wet for daddy’s cock, yeah? You like it, baby? That’s my good fucking girl, all mine.” He’s right, you’re all his now and you won’t want it otherwise, making a creamy mess on his cock.

Your mind fuzzy with his thoughts through and through, ruining your innocence as he moulded your brain in such a way that you couldn’t help but yearn for him.

And just like that, Jake had successfully corrupted you to the point of no comeback.

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[barcaatthemoon]

passenger princess || mackenzie arnold x reader ||

sometimes, you wish that mackenzie would let you drive.

"come on, we're gonna be late!" you shouted at mackenzie. the two of you both had media to do, and mackenzie had taken all morning getting ready. you thought that she looked absolutely stunning, but you didn't want to get yelled at for missing your required media.

"your chariot awaits," mackenzie said as she opened the passenger's side door for you.

"mac, babe, i love you, but i think that i should drive today," you tried to tell her. it was really no use because mackenzie obviously didn't want to listen. she always got like this whenever you suggested driving the two of you somewhere.

you had grown up in the city, and while mackenzie had been there for a good amount of time, she wasn't a local. mackenzie didn't know all of the shortcuts and side roads that would cut your travel time down by a third. and so, the two of you truged into the training facilities about 10 minutes late.

"sorry boss, traffic was horrible." mackenzie was quick to diffuse your coach and the media team's ire towards the two of you. they didn't seem too annoyed with mackenzie, but that same courtesy wasn't extended towards you. mac was their world class goalkeeper, and you were just another midfielder that they had gotten cheap. you had come up with a team that had come up during a relegation swap. whenever they went right back down the next season, you had joined west ham instead.

"we could have gotten here sooner if someone would have let me drive," you said. a few of your teammates started snickering behind you, as did mackenzie. you turned to glare at all of them, but the look that you sent your girlfriend was a bit more hurt.

"don't take it personally babe, but you're just not the driving type. you look too pretty in my passenger's seat." mackenzie was trying to be sweet, but it didn't work. she placed her fingers underneath your chin to tilt it up and kiss you, but you turned your face at the last second. a chorus of 'ooo's rang out from your teammates as you stormed out of the locker room.

the media bit was a little intense after that. mackenzie had only been joking, and her attempt at an apology had been brushed off. she didn't mean to upset you. driving wasn't something that she thought would be such a big deal for the two of you. she just liked doing things for you, and since you were normally very independent, this was one of the few things she had the opportunity to even attempt.

"are you ready to go back home?" mackenzie asked as the two of you made your way towards the parking lot.

"i'm not going home with you tonight," you told her. mackenzie's face fell immediately at the news. you hadn't been back to your apartment in two months, having stayed at mackenzie's. your lease was going to be up soon, and your roommate was in talks with a new transfer about moving in. however, you still had a couple of weeks before that happened.

"no!" mackenzie shouted. you winced at the loudness in such a close proximity. mackenzie's face softened a bit as she grabbed you by the arm and tugged you towards the car. "you don't live there, you live with me. we always go home together, you know this. did what i say really upset you this much?"

"it's not just the passenger princess jokes, mac. it's also not just you. i don't want all the girls and the staff to think that i can't do anything for myself. you don't hear all the jokes and comments. i swear that some of them think i can't do anything for myself." mackenzie's face fell as she saw how genuinely worked up you were getting over this. it went a lot further than she had known, and suddenly, mackenzie felt absolutely terrible that you'd been holding in these feelings for so long by yourself.

"hey, (y/n), look at me." mackenzie grabbed your face and leaned in close enough for you to feel her breath against your cheek. "i am sorry for making you feel bad. i am sorry for letting things get so out of hand. i know that you're independent. hell, you do practically everything for me, and driving you around, it feels like the only thing i can offer to help you out. if you want to drive us back, you can, just please come home with me. i don't want to spend a single night without you if i don't have to."

"mac, baby?"

"yeah?" mackenzie seemed scared, as if you were going to tell her that you still wanted to go back to your own apartment. a night in with mackenzie, even whenever you were mad at her, was better than a night in with your roommate any day.

"take me home," you told her. mackenzie's shoulders sagged down a little with relief. you pressed a quick kiss to her lips and threaded your fingers with hers. the two of you walked through the parking lot together towards mackenzie's car. she got the door for you, absolutely beaming when you kissed her cheek in thanks. "can we stop by tesco's on the way home?"

"of course. i'll take you anywhere you want to go." mackenzie grabbed onto your hand and kissed the back of it. you let out a little giggle and settled back into your seat. there wasn't any tension in the car, which you were beyond grateful for.

mackenzie pushed the cart for you in the store, following as you walked around picking out seemingly random things. some of it was groceries that you had noticed earlier needed to be replenished, but quite a bit of the things you were buying weren't things that you normally bought at all. mackenzie didn't bring it up, assuming that it was for some sort of surprise at home.

"can i get some assistance from my favorite sous chef?" you asked mackenzie. she looked up from the couch to see you standing in the entryway of the kitchen holding an apron that you had bought her as a joke. mackenzie could cook, but she rarely did outside of using the grill every other weekend during the summer months.

"i don't know what you're making," mackenzie told you. you brushed it off and helped her into the apron. you gave very clear directions and within the hour, you had a homemade sauce simmering for a spaghetti night.

"how does it taste?" you watched nervously as mackenzie tasted a bit of the sauce.

"if football doesn't work out, you should open a restaurant," mackenzie told you. you moved to press a kiss to her cheek as thanks, unsurprised when mackenzie turned so your lips landed on hers. her hands grabbed at your waist, squeezing gently as she deepened the kiss. "better yet, i'll keep you on as my personal chef. and i can be your chauffeur if you'd like."

"sounds good to me. now, go set the table, the food is almost ready." you gave mackenzie a gentle shove away from you. mackenzie blew you a kiss as she carried the plates and silverware out to the dining room table. mackenzie sat excitedly at the table when you got out there, right next to the place that she set for you. she spent the whole meal practically just staring at you, often to the point of spilling a bit of her sauce on herself every other bite. it was ridiculous, but another reminder of why it was so easy to love mackenzie sometimes.

[b14augrana]

‘Portrait’

When Alexia decides to give into her curiosity and sit down at one of the street artist stalls stationed on a busy Parisian road, she leaves with something more special than a self portrait.

Alexia Putellas x reader

masterlist

Warnings: straight fluff and bad translations but dont worry its only short x

A/N: ALE RENEWED WE CAN ALL REJOICE!! 🙏

The strong Parisian sun beat down on the heads of locals and tourists alike as they walked down the crowded streets. You were perched on a stool, staring intently at your canvas as you gently painted the smile lines of a lovely old lady that stopped by your stall.

You loved your job for this very reason. You knew how hard it was to love yourself from your own perspective; you hoped to do every individual person’s beauty justice with your paintings.

Of course that wasn’t enough income on its own so every morning you found yourself in one of the local bakeries either working behind the scenes or at the front counter. Baking and painting were jobs you loved and found so similar because they both resonated with your desire to indulge in art wherever you could find it, and to you they were the simplest forms of art.

“And… I’m done. Here’s your finished portrait, madame,” you said with a smile, lifting the canvas off the easel and gently setting it into the woman’s arms.

“Je ne peux pas te remercier assez, ma chérie ! C'est beau, merci,” she replied, admiring it with tear-brimmed eyes hidden behind her glasses. You said your goodbyes and watched her walk off with a grin on her face, and then you picked up a fresh canvas and placed it on your easel.

You didn’t have time to shake your head at the many smudges of paint on your clothes as another person approached you.

“Hola!” a woman’s voice spoke, making you look up curiously. Standing before you was a blonde woman smiling slightly, gesturing to the stool behind the easel. “May I sit?”

“Of course,” you nodded, returning her smile and swirling your paintbrush in some fresh water as you prepared to paint her. “You’d like a painting, no?”

“Yes please. Also, forgive me for saying hola — I forget that I’m not in Spain,” she laughed, inciting a giggle from you.

“It’s okay. I do the same when I’m outside of France,” you added, dipping the paintbrush into some fresh paint before grazing the canvas. “So, you’re Spanish.. what’s your name?”

“Alexia. I’m here for a holiday, because I’ve finally got some time off work,” she explained with a huff. You smiled behind your easel, painting the woman’s chiseled bone structure with intricacy as you added to her face.

You liked her already. You had barely said anything to her, but something about her was genuine.

“Are you with anybody?” you asked, curious to know more about her. She nodded her head, “Only two other people, my friends Lucy and Ona. They’ve gone on a wine tasting date, which is why I’m here.”

You laughed softly as you rinsed your paintbrush. “And you? Do you have anyone to go wine tasting with?”

“Next question,” Alexia responded, smiling through laughter. You began to paint her eyes and faintly outline her nose.

The rest of the time you spent painting every detail of her face flew by as you two talked and got to know more about each other. You learned that she was a professional footballer and lived in Barcelona, which you thought was very cool. She asked about your life and you told her that you were a born and raised Parisian who spent the rest of her days at home or in the bakery. You weren’t really concerned about yourself though; you were busy looking at her, and not for the purpose of the painting.

When you had completed the last strand of hair and placed the last freckle on her portrait, the sun had dried most of it already. As she stood up and picked her purse up, you flipped the canvas around and scrawled something on the back with a slight smile.

“There you go. Thank you, Alexia,” you said, handing her the painting. She gasped quietly as she admired it, and she looked at you for a moment before pulling you into a hug. “Thank you, chica!”

Even after she pulled away, her perfume clung to your skin like glue. It smelled sweet but not overwhelming… like coconut and caramel with an undertone of musk and vanilla hints. It smelled exactly how you imagined it to smell.

As you said goodbye, you didn’t reach for a fresh canvas. Alexia turned away, holding the newly painted canvas in her hands with her head down, her eyes fixed on it. She stood stagnant for a moment, scoping out every detail, and then she turned it over.

“Llámame, hermosa :)” was written on the back, followed with your phone number and a quick sketch of a flower bouquet. She immediately turned her head to glance at you over her shoulder, but you were occupied with someone else.

When she turned back around, a smitten smile was plastered across her face and she couldn’t help but feel giddy to get back to her hotel.

After another second, you looked up from your canvas, your eyes completely skipping the person sat in front of you and wandering over to the direction that she had walked in, watching the blonde woman disappear down the street.

“Est-ce que tu vas peindre ou quoi?” an irritated voice snapped from behind your easel.

“Désolé!”

[academiaviktor]

“Do you like this position?”

[alternative title: JJK men and their favourite position to have you in]

[including: Gojo, Nanami, Ino, Choso, Sukuna]

[warnings: nsfw, f reader, cum references, v descriptive, some bullying/teasing, etc.]

[wc: 3.6k]

｡･:*˚:✧｡

Satoru Gojo—Heels to ears

Satoru always has you pressed into the surface below, folded in on yourself until your feet are practically touching your own ears while he sinks himself impossibly deep inside you.

With a hand wrapped around your thigh, he keeps your legs pressed against his front while he uses the position to his advantage, watching just how much his dick fills you, pussy drunk and relentless from the sound of just how wet you are for him.

"You're full to the brim of me, baby," he murmurs with a dazed lilt to his voice, hips frantic as he pumps into you again and again, drinking up your whimpers and moans. He places his spare hand against your belly, feeling the bulge of where his cock plunges into you. Satoru hums his approval, bordering pure ecstasy at the thought. "See that, princess? There's nothing better..."

His satisfied hum turns into a possessive noise from somewhere deep in his chest as he feels constricted by your pussy clenching around him, milking him for all he's worth.

"Feeling greedy tonight, hmm?" Satoru teases as he leans forward, pressing his pelvis into you, somehow reaching even deeper inside you. His hand leaves your thigh and falls next to your head, caging you against the bed.

His smirk curls even tighter at your cry, so overwhelmed and all consumed by him. He slows his movements deliberately to take in just how needy and perfect you look. "Don't worry, my love. You aren't going anywhere, and you'll cum for me as many times as I want, right?"

Through the harsh waves of pleasure, body squirming and clenching around him, you nod with tears pricking your eyes. "'course, 'toru..."

"Good," Satoru hums again, lips at the side of your mouth with endless teasing in his tone. His hand slips between your interlocked bodies, dipping down to brush his dextrous fingers against your clit, tracing lazy circles as he picks up the pace of his hips again. "Because I'm ready for number two...don't be shy for me now."

The additional sparks of pleasure are too much as his fingers work in tandem with his excruciatingly deep thrusts, making your mouth fall open as you whine for him, clenching around him still.

"Fuck, baby," he murmurs, feeling himself faltering through his rough thrusts, letting that teasing dominance slip for a moment. Your velvety walls, already slick with one release, have such a profound effect on him that he can't help but grunt, trying to hold off. "So perfect, just for me, hmm?"

Satoru is always mouthy during sex, but there's something about the way his teasing falls away to genuine fluster—when he fucks you so good that even he's beginning to fall apart.

As his cock rams against your cervix, pushing you closer to the edge without any sign of giving in, your body trembles, eyes squeezed shut as your belly tightens. "...'toru..."

Your whimper is enough to make his hips stutter, quickening his fingers against your clit as he huffs out a breath, aware of the coil tightening within him too.

"Fuck—I know, baby," he murmurs against your lips, gripping you hard as he bucks into you, driving his pelvis closer with every thrust. "Be a good girl and cum for me."

His words are the catalyst as your whole body tightens, orgasm crashing over you in such a quick rush that you can't even make a sound louder than a whimper.

Satoru grunts breathlessly as his cock is squeezed by your tight walls, driving one last thrust into you before he cums hard, groaning into your neck.

As he fills you with that familiar warmth, he stays there for a beat before lazily moving his hips, pushing his seed further into you, and listening to how perfect it sounds.

"'s always perfect for me," he mumbles with a smug smile, breath fanning against your cheek before leaving light kisses there.

You've been reduced to a dirtied, fucked out version of yourself as Satoru lays on top of you, refusing to pull out yet. So full of his cum and shaking from how intense the whole thing was, you hope for a moment of reprieve.

But as his hands roam your body, exploring every inch and kissing down your neck before suckling on your skin, you already know it's going to be a long night before Satoru is fully satisfied.

"Ready for round three?"

Kento Nanami—In his lap

As a working man, Kento will take every opportunity he can to de-stress in between meetings and ceaseless documents—and his favourite way includes having you perch in his lap, cheeks pink while he has two fingers inside you already, listening to how you squelch so beautifully around them.

With a pleased hum, his spare hand glides up and down your hip, squeezing affectionately whenever he feels like it. "So wet for me already, sweetheart? How naughty of you."

You whimper against his lips, silently begging for more of him as his fingers bully their way inside, pushing you closer to the release you crave despite not being what you really want from him.

"Ken...please—" your breath hitches when he reaches that gummy spot inside you, fingers curling expertly. "We only have...five minutes."

"Don't worry about that," he murmurs, using his spare hand to give several lazy pumps of his cock before lining himself up with your needy hole. He swallows back a grunt at the slight stimulation he offers himself before removing his fingers and gripping your hips. "We'll make this quick."

Letting go of a shaky sigh at the feeling of him entering you at last, your walls mould around him, greedily sucking him up. Your thighs tremble from the way he stretches you, and your arms instinctively wrap around his neck.

Nanami groans breathlessly, letting his head drop back against his chair while he takes in the sight of you—blouse half undone and lopsided, skirt hiked around your hips, and swallowing his cock so eagerly, he contemplates canceling the rest of his meetings for the day.

As always, you're so perfect for him, and he can't wait to make even more of a mess of your perfectly tailored work appearance.

"Fuck..." Nanami mumbles, giving your hips an affectionate squeeze as he bottoms out. "Ride me, doll. Like you always do."

Too pent-up and eager for release, you do as you're told and start lifting your hips, using the seat as leverage to bounce on him.

Immediately, his grip tightens as you surround him so beautifully, pumping his cock with your slick walls as you have numerous times at work. He thanks every higher being in existence for his private office.

"You're too good at this..." he utters, grunting at how perfectly you trigger every nerve-ending in his sensitive cock.

Your pace quickens, both aware of the passing time and how horny you both are, given how you've taken this intermission mid-day to get your next fix.

A loud moan slips past your lips as Kento loses his patience and starts guiding your hips, slamming you onto his cock with a relentless pace.

With a shocked squeal, you feel his fingers come up to clutch your jaw in his grasp, commanding your full attention as he kisses you hard.

"As much as I'd love to hear your pretty sounds, that will have to wait until later, sweetheart," Nanami mumbles against your mouth, still guiding your hips at a mean pace. "Can you keep quiet for me?"

You nod, overwhelmed by the intense waves of pleasure as they ripple through you, making your thighs shake all the while you take every brutal thrust.

"Good," he murmurs, brushing his thumb against your lower lip before letting it slip inside your mouth.

Nanami shivers as you greedily wrap your lips around his thumb, maintaining that sinful eye contact, even as you falter due to his bucking hips.

Even if it would be easier to fuck you in bed at home, he has a soft spot in his heart for that position, knowing it's used during moments of peak desperation—when neither of you can wait until the work day is over to satisfy those primal needs.

Ino Takuma—Missionary

Ino is a simple man—he loves to gaze at your pretty face while he has one hand on your hip and the other just above your head as he drives his hips into you, awestruck by your pretty sounds and the way your fingers claw against his back for more.

From that position, he can see all of you: your eyes, your perfect tits, and how your body convulses for him as if it were the first time all over again.

He sets the pace slowly so he can catch every twitch and reaction from you, letting it fuel the burning need inside him. He loves how your eyes close when he reaches the perfect spot, and how you capture your lower lip between your teeth.

Day and night he worships you, and that sentiment is applied tenfold when he has you like this, perfectly caged by him against the bed and wriggling for him to go faster.

Ino can't help but shudder the moment your legs wrap around him in an attempt to pull him closer and deepen his thrusts. It makes his breath hitch as he's forced further inside your perfect pussy, begging him for more.

He groans, dipping his lips down to pepper kisses against your neck, inadvertently slowing his movements more.

"Ino—" you gasp, head tipping back as you feel a mixture of raw pleasure and impatience. "Please, baby...faster..."

"I know, baby," he hums against your neck, losing himself in the moment as he lazily thrusts into you, not getting enough of you. "You're just so perfect, I can't help it."

The moan that escapes you the moment he quickens his pace hits Ino hard, encouraged by how erotic it sounds. He swallows back a whimper at how greatly it affects him, tightening his grip on you as he gives you exactly what you want.

"Fuck—" he utters, struggling to breathe from how incredible you look beneath him, taking him so well and moving your hips to meet him halfway. His eyes squeeze shut tightly, overwhelmed by how enthusiastically you clench around him.

You're both a mess, moving frantically to take in every moment and every drop of pleasure despite the more sensual position.

But that's exactly why he loves it so much.

Not only can he drink you in completely, but your urgency always gleams through, reminding him of how badly you want him, and how much he needs to dirty his perfect girl.

When his name starts falling from your lips like a chant, he pulls back just enough to catch how your arousal gleams around his cock in a little ring.

It makes him groan as he thrusts harder, leaning back in to capture your lips with his. All the while his cock slips even deeper inside, you're crying out for him, spurring him on with every moan and whine—with every tight grip of your pussy around him.

That sweetness in him dissolves into raw lust, determined to give you every ounce of him as he pins your wrists above your head, using long, deep strokes to push you closer to the edge, all undercut with a brutal force.

You're whining and begging all the while he feeds his length to you, using everything in his power to keep himself from ending it too soon.

Luckily, his stamina is better than most, and with how pent up he has been all day for that very moment, he has no plan of stopping early.

Choso Kamo—Riding him

Choso was new to sex when you two got together, which led to you taking the reins and showing him how it’s done. Choso internalized that first time you rode him, and ever since, he’s been obsessed with seeing you above him, taking control as you lift your hips again and again with your hands against his chest.

He can hardly breathe every time—oxygen sucked away as he watches you ride him with prowess, taking what’s rightfully yours. The sight of you alone is enough to make him feel like he’s on the brink the entire time, fighting the urge to cum inside you without warning.

He feels nothing but comfort and reassurance with you, which is why he admires your every movement and how you command him in that position.

Choso finds twice the pleasure when you place your palm against his throat, larynx bobbing as he swallows back a groan. He savors how the slight restriction of breath mingles with the sheer pleasure you give him with every rock of your hips.

His hands are gripping you hard, fingers flexing against your ass as he maintains as much of his composure as possible. But from his place, nestled in the pillows with his legs stretched across the bed, he already feels intoxicated by how you ride him, head tipped back as you moan.

Choso has never seen anyone quite as expressive or as beautiful as you, and every time his cock sinks further into you, disappearing in the warmth of your fleshy walls, he counts his lucky stars.

You're greedy above him, taking as much from his aggravated arousal as possible, yet you do it with such ease. You return that pleasure to him with finesse, making him gasp and stutter over his breathless words.

"Yes..." he utters, feeling so useless that he can only grip your thighs and offer himself as a guide. His cheeks are brimming with color, and his skin feels like it's on fire. But he savors every moment of it. "Yes, my love—fuck..."

At the sight of your faint smirk, moaning from the intoxicating pleasure, Choso feels his restraint crumbling.

Already, there's so much fluid between your bodies—sticky evidence of his first load and your unrelenting arousal. His head is hazy from how his cock squelches inside your needy pussy, battering against your gummy walls.

God, it's too much for him to take in, especially when paired with the blush on your cheeks and how eagerly you move above him.

"You like it when I ride you like this, baby?" You ask him, voice akin to that of a siren.

It makes his brain feel like mush in tandem with your generous movements, clenching around him as you moan.

Choso nods uselessly, losing himself completely in how drunk he is from being inside you—from feeling how close he is already.

"I do...more than anything," he murmurs, head lulling back as he groans, fingers tightening on your hips. "You're perfect, y/n...please—"

Leaning forward, his cock shifts slightly inside of you, making you both gasp at the sudden surge of pleasure it brings. Shuddering through it, you capture his lips with yours, tightening the space between you.

Choso is in complete heaven as he feels so surrounded by your embrace, holding you close and lifting his hips instinctually to chase after that next release.

"Fuck—" Choso mutters against your lips, bucking into you again and again, making his resolve tremor. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

Just as you squeeze around him with a broken cry, clutching onto him for dear life as you come undone around him, Choso groans with a final burst of thrusts before his hips quiver, and he's shooting another load deep inside you, gasping for breath.

He's addicted to the feeling of filling you with his cum, watching how it seeps out when it's too much, and how it gathers between your bodies.

Even if you're slumped against him, catching your breath, Choso feels just as hard, already fiending for the chance to pump you full of his seed again, regardless of the next position.

Ryomen Sukuna—Ass up

Nothing makes Sukuna feel more in control than when you’re shaking beneath him, back arched to the point of aching, tits pressed against the black silken sheets on his bed. His strong hands map your body with ease as he admires how small you look beneath him, barely able to contain your whimpers in anticipation.

He lets go of a cruel, low chuckle as he grabs the fat of your ass and props it up higher while he makes those slow, languid movements with his hips, letting his aching cock slide through your dripping pussy—but not yet giving you what you’ve been whining for.

“So you wanna be all docile and needy once I have you like this, huh?” He asks, smirk seared into his face by then. “What happened to that mouthy brat from earlier?”

It's true—you were back-talking him before, egging him on until you wound up in that exact position, handled roughly until your ass was in the air, awaiting the cruel punishment you love so much.

But with him so close to giving you what you want, that urge to be mouthy is completely gone. Instead, you're shaking for him, shuffling your hips back with the hope of securing more friction from him.

"I bet that stunt was to get my attention, wasn't it?" Sukuna teases as he deliberately slides his cock against your clit, watching how your thighs tremble for him, moaning at the contact. "Yeah, that's right. I can tell from how much you're dripping for me, brat. How you can barely hold yourself up from how much you're shaking."

You whimper in response, feeling his thick head brush against your entrance, just barely slipping inside before resuming its previous course. "Kuna...please—"

"Please what?"

That harsh tone of his makes you clench around nothing, whining for relief. You were already so turned on before, but thanks to his relentless teasing, you feel like you're on the verge of exploding.

Sukuna pauses his movements, hand coming down to slap your ass. "Use your words."

You squeal more from the loud crack of his palm against your skin rather than the faint sting of it, fighting back tears. "Please...Kuna. Punish me—"

He chuckles again, the sound low and reverberating in his chest as he grips your hips, slowly guiding himself closer to your soaked hole. "I'd torture you a little longer, but given how nicely you asked—" without warning, he sinks into you, forcing you to spread for his impressive size. He lets go of a satisfied sigh, smirking at how well you suck him in. "...I'll make an exception."

You hardly make a sound as you stretch for him, immediately overwhelmed by the wave of unadulterated pleasure and pain. The force of his initial thrust nearly makes you topple over, but thanks to his solid grip, you aren't going anywhere.

Another whimper leaves your mouth as you're pinned there, feeling how he withdraws enough to slam his cock back inside you, bullying its way into your pussy, slamming against those sensitive walls.

"K-Kuna!" You cry, eyes rolling back at the relentless pace he establishes, mean about his thrusts.

Sukuna chuckles to himself, pleased by your genuine reaction, and how your pussy seems to suction around him, squelching with every forceful movement. "This is exactly what a brat like you deserves. Wouldn't you agree?"

You swallow hard, throat dry as you try to form the words, forced to accept every brutal flick of his hips. "Y-yes—"

"That's it," he hums with a brief glimmer of encouragement as he parts your ass to give him an uninterrupted view of how well you swallow him up, eager despite being rendered useless beneath him. "My favourite fuck toy taking me like the brat she is...maybe I'll give you more."

"P-please," you whimper, clutching the sheets beneath you with every rock of your body.

Sukuna's eyes bore into you with interest as he picks up his pace, leaning his body against yours and sliding in impossibly deep, bumping against your cervix mercilessly. With his great size, he looms over you with a dark edge and the promise of the ground-trembling orgasms he's about to offer you.

"This what you want?"

You shiver from his venom-dripped words, nodding frantically. "Yes, Kuna...yes—"

With every deliberate buck of his hips against your ass, he savors how your skin slaps together, and how you're already clenching around him, crying out from how incredible it feels.

Before long, he's already edging the first orgasm out of you, keenly aware of every twitch and tremor of your body as you cum around him, slicking up your walls.

You're sensitive all over, vision bordered by a black haze as you fight to catch your breath. His strokes slow just enough to guide you through your release, elevating every sensation by keeping you full of him.

"Giving up already?" He asks, chuckling with pride from how quickly he could push you over the edge.

Still staggering through the aftershocks of your orgasm, you whine from how roughly he handles you, dragging his cock through your plushy walls despite how sensitive they feel.

With a particularly brutal thrust, you gasp, lurching forward before his arm catches you, securing you beneath him.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sukuna asks, letting his teeth graze against your neck, breath tickling your skin. "I'm just getting started, sweetheart."

[cobaltperun]

Hi! Could you write one where GN!reader has an arm sleeve tattoo but would always cover it up by wearing long sleeves, and Tara has a massive crush on them and would always see it peeking out of the sleeves and when they would hook up(or not it’s up to you!) she would trace the tattoos and falls in love with the reader more? Just a request and it’s up to you to write it or not, love your stories btw!

Heart on Sleeve

Tara Carpenter x GN!Reader (Request)

Tara was never all that interested in tattoos, aside from thinking some of them were cool, until you came along. You were proud of your tattoo, but you didn't feel like showing it off to just anyone, and then Tara came along.

Masterlist

Word count: 1.6k

Being betrayed more than once, by people she was supposed to trust left more than just physical scars on her body. The emotional scars went even deeper and she was almost certain she would never truly trust anyone enough to open up and act vulnerable. So, it came as one hell of a surprise when you approached her, asked if the seat next to her was taken just before the class started and she just stared.

"Is everything okay?" you asked her, a worry so genuine in your voice she almost thought her mind was playing tricks on her.

Tara blushed, embarrassed by her silence. "Sorry, yes! For both! I mean, no, the seat isn't taken and yes, everything is okay," she was tempted to look for another seat because there was no way she could sit next to you for the next hour and a half after that blunder.

"Thank you," you smiled, sitting down next to her and getting your notebook out of your bag. "I'm Y/N, by the way," you twisted in your seat to offer her your right hand.

"Tara," she accepted the handshake and returned your smile. She didn't quite believe in instincts anymore, they tricked her more than once, but the kindness and gentleness radiating from your eyes and smile made her reconsider if maybe her instincts were right this time.

Not that the two of you got the chance to talk much after the introduction, as the professor arrived and both of you had to turn your attention to the class.

Halfway through the class you reached into the bag, pulling a bottle of water and taking a sip. Tara just now realized how long it's been since she had the chance to drink anything and she caught herself staring at you as you swallowed the water.

"Want one?" you asked as quietly as you could and gestured at the bottle.

Tara shook her head slightly. "It's okay, I don't want to be a bother," the offer was tempting, but she still refused.

But you still reached into your bag and pulled another bottle. "It's not a bother. Besides, it's too hot not to drink anything," you offered the bottle to her with your left hand and she caught a glimpse of a tattoo on just barely peeking out out of the long-sleeved shirt you were wearing.

"Fifth row, settle down!" the professor chastised the two of you, causing both of you to flinch a bit and lower your heads in embarrassment. Tara's eyes still met yours as you sheepishly scratched the back of your neck, and you grinned as she took the water with a small smile of her own.

That was how it started, and that was how it continued for a long time. She would see you during classes, you'd sit next to each other and slowly but surely you won her trust. It was scary how effortlessly you were doing it. She missed class, you'd sent her notes before she even had the chance to ask you, and vice versa. She even started hanging out with you outside of class, away from her friend group.

God, when Sam finds out she'll go ballistic.

But Tara didn't care. She felt good when she was with you. You noticed her scar, but didn't ask, your eyes showed her that, while you didn't know what caused it, you understood by her reaction that it was a painful memory. Tara still remembered how your arms felt around her that day, as you just hugged her, showing nothing but support to her.

Your eyes never showed any hint o deception, you wore your heart on your sleeve, and Tara found herself trusting you more than she trusted anyone she met ever since Amber betrayed and tried to kill her.

And so, day by day, time after time spent together, she found herself crushing on you, hard.

~X~

When you met Tara you really were just looking for a seat, seeing as you were running a bit late and didn't get the luxury of choosing a seat. You didn't think that choice would have such a profound effect on you. You saw her eyes and you were struck by them, by the deep-seated doubt and mistrust in them, and a paradoxical desire to be loved hidden behind all of that.

You didn't wonder what caused her to feel like that, like everyone could turn into her enemy, and you had no desire to guess. It was her past, and if she wanted to tell you, you'd listen, otherwise you'd just be by her side here and now.

At the moment you and Tara were having a quick bite between classes and you caught her curious gaze aimed at your left wrist. She was being adorable, trying to subtly find a better angle to figure out what the tattoo was. "You're really cute right now," you reached for the side of her lips with your right hand, just to wipe a bit of hot sauce that remained there.

Tara scoffed. "Whatever, Y/N," she muttered, but the corners of her lips were tugging upward, showing she was trying to restrain a smile. "Are we going to work on the assignment at your place tonight?" she asked, it's been about three months since you met Tara and she definitely relaxed during that time, she even came over to your place a couple of times. Just to work on assignments of course, but she still went to your place.

You nodded. "If you're okay with that," if she wanted to work on it somewhere else, you were more than happy to go there as well.

Tara's eyes shone with appreciation and she blushed a bit.

~X~

As the night went on the summer heat was getting unbearable and if Tara could dismantle your fridge and go rest inside of it she would. She would probably fit as well. Seeing how small she was. Why did she have to be so small if she couldn't use that to her advantage and sit in the fridge?

"Fuck, it's too hot!" you complained, falling back onto the bed and covering your face to muffle a loud, completely understandable groan. "That's it!" you sat up so abruptly you nearly startled Tara in the process, but nothing prepared her for you just taking the arm sleeve you had covering your left arm off.

She's been curious ever since she noticed you had the tattoo, seeing as she thought some tattoos were cool, but she never got to see it. It always peeked out from underneath your clothes, just teasing and taunting her, the mystery of what was underneath the clothes plaguing her mind. If you weren't wearing long-sleeve shirts or jackets you were wearing an arm sleeve to cover it up. She had her suspicions, that it was at least a bigger tattoo, if not full-on arm sleeve tattoo. And her guess was right, though the sleeve of your T-shirt still covered some of it up Tara saw the bodies of two Chinese dragons surrounded by flames tangled up on your arm.

Without thinking she went and touched your forearm, tracing the body of one of the dragons and leaning closer to you. It wasn't until she heard your breath hitch that she realized what she was doing and backed away as if burnt by the flames on your arm. "Sorry, that was inappropriate," she apologized.

You scratched the back of your neck, a gesture she learned was something you did when you were a bit embarrassed. "No, it's okay, I just didn't expect it. Do you wanna see the rest?" you offered, that same smile she fell in love with once again gracing your face.

Tara scooted closer to you and nodded. You lifted up your sleeve and the dragons went up, almost to your shoulder, and there, between the dragons, she saw a heart, protected by the two dragons.

"Uh, my parents were born in the year of the dragon, so I feel like they watch over me no matter the distance between us," you explained, your expression softening as you thought of your parents. "Guess I got lucky with the year they were born in, I mean, can you imagine if they were born in the year of the rat?" you laughed.

Tara laugher right alongside you. Rats really wouldn't look nearly as cool as the dragons. "I think it's beautiful," she said as you stopped laughing and slowly reached toward it again. She bit her lower lip, you hid it, maybe you didn't like it being touched.

"Go ahead, I only hide it because it's more convenient," you moved so you were closer to her, and Tara placed her hand on your knee as she leaned over and touched your arm. She started from your wrist, tracing the right dragon all the way to its' head, and then moved on to the left dragon.

Somehow, the tattoo, and the explanation made her fall in love with you even harder and she glanced up to look you in the eyes. She wasn't sure where the sudden boldness came from, but she moved closer, parting her lips. And you understood, her gaze, her intention, not that she was trying to hide it. You closed the distance between the two of you, as her fingers stopped on the heart tattooed on your arm, and as her own heart pounded against her chest the two of you kissed.

Softly, gently, filled with so much love and trust, her lips moved against your own, as the two of you got tangled up much like the dragons on your arm.

A/N: Right, I got a lot more requests than I expected and I didn't quite feel like writing Genius tonight, so, I figured I might as well knock a request out of the way. Hope this is what you wanted Anon! Thanks for the request and the compliment! 💙💙😁😁

[unholyhelbig]

Can't wait for part four oh my god

Center picture Cred: Jadiakallisti

Title: The Beast You've Made of Me [Part 4/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Wordcount: 3,545

Summary: When reader wakes up in her own grave, she's suddenly aware of a past that spans lifetimes, but she's not the only one. Two Avengers are tasked with keeping readers past a secret, or at the very least, controlled.

Warnings: Blood, night terrors, chains, mentions of things under the skin, mentions of torture, terrible grammar.

[a/n: This one may be shorter, but damn if it's not filled with plot. I promise, I don't hate Thor. ]

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Wanda Maximoff stared at you while you slept. She hadn’t meant to do so; she was drawn to you. A blanket that was a soft baby blue was covering you and you’d tightened your grip around it until your knuckles were white. Soft breathes escaped you, and she selfishly thought about other quiet sounds she could draw with her presence.

They’d moved you from the initial containment unit when SHIELD was satisfied enough with your blood results, and your rate of regeneration. There were no more physical tests they could run on you, no more blood or vitals that needed to be taken. So, they’d moved you to a cell that was less like a hospital room and more like a condo.

No, Wanda wouldn’t quite call it that. It was mostly white, the walls honeycombed and equipped with sound proofing in need be. There was a bed, and a nightstand, even a television that was tacked the adjacent wall.

In the corner was a glass containment unit that reminded you that you were, in fact, a prisoner. They’d given you more clothes, simple sweatpants and shirts that had a large stretching logo on the front. You’d considered it a win that it didn’t have an inmate number just below the collar.

Wanda stood at the two-way glass. She didn’t have the heart to push through your reserves when they were lowered like this. And truthfully, her skin still tingled from the first time she had invaded your mind. There was so much there, yet, each time she tried to reach further it was like a rolodex of times and dates, and an immeasurable amount of death.

A calloused hand found its way to the small of her back. Wanda clocked the scent of birch and vanilla. It was familiar and calmed her nerves like a soothing balm. The witch bit down on her thumb nail and spared a worried glance to her wife.

“She looks so peaceful when she sleeps.”

“You wouldn’t believe how loud it is in there.”

Natasha hummed and wrapped her arms around Wanda, resting her chin on the other woman’s shoulder. They both watched you for a few minutes; the curve of your figure, and the rhythmic up and down of your chest. A small frown had etched itself onto your features, but it quickly vanished.

“Nat,” Wanda’s voice was nothing more than a whisper, but she’d turned her head, making it ring loud and clear. “I know we’ve been making jokes about this… toying with her. But, I don’t think I can let her go.”

Natasha squeezed Wanda tighter and made eye contact with her in the reflection of the window. That stare was so genuine that it made Natasha’s heart ache in the center of her chest. She didn’t want to admit it, but she found you quite charming too. Aloof, at times, but there was so much hidden under the surface.

“Yeah, baby. I know what you mean. You’ve always had a thing for the broken ones, and she’s convinced that she falls into that category.”

A sigh moved past Wanda’s lips. Your thoughts were so loud they almost penetrated her defenses. You were having a nightmare. According to Natasha, they all followed the same formula, and if it was anything like she had witnessed; the farmstead, the stretching bone-white rib cage that protruded from the center of a young girl. She wanted nothing of it.

“Can we keep her?” Wanda asked.  

A chuckle vibrated through Natasha. Wanda felt the sensation against her spine and leaned into the feeling, laying her hands over the ones encircling her. “Well, I suppose that’s up to her.”

A frown formed against your features, a pained expression that pulled at them both in ways that they weren’t expecting. Through they glass, they could hear small whimpers that seemed to catch in your throat. You burrowed further into the mattress. If Wanda squinted, she could see tears wet your rosy cheeks.

Then the screaming started. It was wracked with pain, and a second one didn’t’ escape you before both women burst through the door. They each had experience with night terrors, though, from the sound of it, nothing as visceral as yours.

“Solnechnyy svet,” Wanda’s low hum was accompanied by her soft touch. You writhed, effectively shoving the blankets away. You were in a pair of shorts and a tank-top. A growl pushed past your lips, something inhuman and startling.

It was Natasha who saw the darkness under your skin. She clenched her eyes tighter, trying to clear her vision. There were black veins that squirmed just beneath the surface in the form of chains. But no, they couldn’t be. That would irrational. Binds forming under your flesh and wrapped around your bones. It simply wasn’t possible.

Unconsciously, you clawed at your throat, at ghostly links that snaked around your neck. It was choking you, making it hard to breathe. A hiccup pushed past your lips and tears continued to dampen your pillow.

“Wanda, what do we do?”

Natasha had placed a hand firmly on your chest, pressing you into the mattress. She didn’t want you to thrash hard enough to injure yourself but she struggled against your strength. Another cry escaped you, and blinked again, trying to push the image of sharpened teeth from her mind.

“We have to wake her up, I think.”

“What if that hurts her more?”

“I think she’s going to hurt herself if we don’t pull her out of this. It’s so loud. God, her mind is like tar.”

Natasha didn’t wait for an explanation. She straddled your squirming form. She gripped both of your wrists and pinned them above your head. A cry escaped you, even in your sleep you tried fruitlessly to buck her off.

“Can you go in and pull her out?”

“I can try. Everything is so dark. Can you hold her still?”

Natasha grits, pushing all of her weight on you. “I’m trying. Jesus Christ she’s strong.”

Wanda’s eyes flashed a dark, and alarming red. Natasha huffed, knowing that it would be impossible to reach either of you in this moment. Her arms were starting to fail her, strands of copper hair falling into her gaze. The phantom binds seemed to tightened, you sputtered and pulled, but didn’t falter in your fight.

The witches shoulders started to tremble, her jaw clenched and whispered words not reaching Natasha’s ears. You bucked again, pushing into her. She tightened her thighs around your center, trying to lean all of her weight on your arms.

Small pin-pricks of pain erupted the tendons in hands. With fierce eyes, Natasha gawked at the pitch black that spread across your fingers. Your nails were elongating, ending in claws that were sharp enough to pierce her skin and even draw blood.

Wanda drew in a sharp and cloying breath before she wretched herself away from you and stumbled back from the bed. Her eyes were crimson and frantic for a few moments before she could blink the color away, chest heaving up and down. You were finally quiet, falling limp under Natasha.

Natasha panted, looking back at her wife “Are you okay?”

Wanda used the back of her hand to wipe moisture away from under her eyes. Her hands were shaking, her stare frantic. “I could taste blood. All I could taste was blood.”

Natasha made a small noise and looked down at you. The chains had vanished, your skin smooth, if not an irritated red from your scratching. She couldn’t’ glimpse your teeth, but prayed they weren’t pointed. Your nails had retracted and left nothing but small cuts behind.

“Mm, what the fuck,” you grumbled, eyes fluttering open, betraying your groggy state. You were fully pulled from unconsciousness when you realized the pressure against you. “What the fuck?!”

“Yeah, I’d like to ask you the same thing.”

Natasha let her own body go slack, she flopped down next to you to catch her breath. Wanda had lowered herself tentatively to the corner of the mattress. She audibly gulped, trying to quell the dryness in her throat.

“Shit, did I hurt you?” You glanced down at Wanda, raising yourself up onto your elbow. “I hurt both of you.”

“Not really, kitten. Just startled us, is all.”

Her words hung in the air. She was a good liar, possibly the best, but you could still detect the trepidation in her voice. Your entire body was buzzing, thrumming with a type of fear that you hadn’t felt in years. Not since the ice broke, and your brothers gurgled screams echoed in the air.

Wanda looked as if she’d seen a ghost. Her skin was pale and her eyes were borderline wild. You’d only ever seen the woman in pristine composure, and this frightened you more than the metallic scent of blood that wafted off Natasha.

She let out a shaky breathe that had her wife shooting up despites her exhaustion. She curled a finger under the woman’s chin and guided her soft stare. “Baby, what did you see?”

Wanda grabbed Natasha’s hand with her own, lowering it down to her lap, but not releasing her hold. Her eyes found yours. “What did you see?”

You drew your legs to your chest and hugged them close. There was mostly dark, but a deepening sense of dread clung to you throughout sleep. “I… was in Jennifer’s apartment but something was off. It didn’t’ feel right and it didn’t take me long to notice it. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and splash my face with water, but when I opened the door, it was, shit, it was this dense forest.”

Wanda nodded as if she agreed with your recall. It was an endless landscape of stretching evergreens. Through the gaps in the trees you could see a mountain range that was dusted with a powdering of snow. You knew you weren’t alone, but you couldn’t quite see who was with you.

“There were chains, dozens of them that I was meant to break. The people around me willed that I didn’t, that I couldn’t. But they were easy to snap, nothing for me to push through.”

“They made other chains, didn’t they?” Wanda asked gently.

You nodded. “I think they were afraid of me. I scared them with my size, with my strength. What does that mean?”

Wanda shook her head and gave you a sympathetic stare. If she had felt a fraction of the fear, the contempt, that you had, then you owed her an apology. It hit you like a stone but could break bones like a boulder if one wasn’t careful.

The glass shattered under the strength of the hit. A fierce ache shot down your spine, the pop of windowpane not registering until the pebble-sized shards reined down around your bare feet. Your breathe had effectively been knocked out of you, and kept out by the mans iron-tight grip on your throat, his other hand keeping you steady by wrapping around the fabric of your shirt.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This man was huge and could easily toss you to the sun if he weren’t restraining himself. He smelled of citrus, of a kind of mint that tickled your throat. Your introduction to Thor, God of Thunder, was not at all what you had imagined.

There was a flicker of anger in his eyes before he launched himself at you. He’d shoved you into the glass pane and decided to choke the life out of you. Your hands clawed at his unwavering grip, lungs burning and legs kicking. Spots had started to form in your vision.

Natasha and Steve tried to pull him away, making little progress. You were losing consciousness, not able to fight back in your current state of shock. His arms were suddenly wrenched back. You fell to the floor, glass embedding itself in it’s skin.

You coughed and sputtered, not registering the phantom manes of red around his wrist, and arms. You curled into yourself, coughing as you greedily took in as much air as you could. Natasha was at your side in an instant. Steve’s aftershave coating your throat as he checked you over. Both disregarded the glass.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Natasha was on her feet, satisfied that you had turned away from death’s doorstep. She closed the distance between herself and the God of Thunder, shoving him with a strong hand. “You touch her again and I’ll put you through a wall. Understand?”

She was deterred by the fear in his eyes. She’d known this man for years, and had him backed into a corner with a protective fury in her bones. Thor was a gentle giant, never using his strength without a driving factor. There was apprehension in his stance, large hands dragging down his bearded face.

“Lady Romanoff, I assure you, you do not know what you are protecting.”

“I just watched you throw someone half your size through a glass window. Explain to me why I wouldn’t protect her.”

She glanced over at you, on your feet and with Steve’s arm around your middle, keeping you up. The hardness of his stare mirrored Natasha’s. Wanda’s eyes were neural, but magic whirred around her fingertips like worms, writhing for purchase.

“That is not a woman!” He laughed, boisterous, yet without humor, he pointed a finger at you. “That is the end of times, the catalyst for the fall of Valhalla and Asgard. My home! If you don’t destroy it, I will.”

“No one is destroying anything.” Wanda snarled, effectively placing herself between Thor and yourself. Her arms were crossed over her chest. “We called to you for answers, not this. You’re welcome to return to your galivanting around space.”

“You expect me to leave? Not until I have it in chains.”

This brought your own stare to his, hardening your stance. A low growl escaped your chest, one that had a dark rumble to it, silencing the entire room. It was inhuman, it pulled the air away and filled the area with tension.

“You see that? That’s just a fraction of power. You let it get in and manipulate you, then you’ll be responsible for the world crumbling. You hear me?”

“Hi, yes,” You raised a shaky hand, “Do I have a say in this?”

“I cannot talk to you!” He said, almost frantically, taking a step back, “I refuse to let you manipulate me.”

Steve cleared his throat, taking control of the room. He removed himself from you when he was certain that you weren’t going to topple over. The pain had turned into a dull hum, and then soon, nothing at all. Your own hair was standing up at the presence of Thor.

“We’re being rash here. You’re clearly bothered by y/n. Before we jump to conclusions, maybe we should talk about this.” He offered, earning a huff and an apprehensive stare. “Explain to us what has you so spooked.”

Yes, god please. You pleaded silently. There was the inherent fear in his stance, but that at least gave way to him knowing exactly what you were. The horror was more accepting than the confusion. He’d sited the end of worlds, and you certainly knew you didn’t’ have that in you, standing in a pair of blood-soaked sweatpants and awkwardly picking a shard of glass from your palm.

Thor’s shoulders had dropped. He’d deflated like a balloon and suddenly looked as pale as Wanda had earlier. He kept his distance from you, licking his dry lips and scratching the back of his head. “Captain, do you recall the struggle of going up against Loki? This deceit and his tricks, and his betrayal.”

He nodded, the room engulfed in quiet. It was their first encounter as a team and so much had happened since then. Natasha clenched and unclenched her jaw, recalling her turmoil with Clint, but keeping her thoughts to herself. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“We scraped by in that war. Can you imagine the damage his daughter will do if unleashed on this world?”

Thor didn’t get an answer. All eyes had turned to you, finally dislodging the piece of glass from your hand. You let it fall to the floor, your mouth opening as if you wanted to say something, but it died before spoken.

“No,” You laughed, shaking your head “No, absolutely not. I have very normal parents who didn’t’ try to take over the world. My dad paints houses and my mom teaches biology and there is no way in hell I’m anyone else’s child!”

He looked at you with a form of pity now. Just like the rest of the Inhuman’s and heroes of the world, you hadn’t kept up with Loki. Of course, you recognized the sourness behind his name. The malice and the hundreds of lives that he took. But you also recognized the familiar feeling in your gut.

“I don’t’ understand,” Wanda spoke up, “We ran all of the background checks. FRIDAY didn’t’ find a single red flag in Y/n’s history. She was born and grew up in Hoboken. The only police report is from a busted house party and she was just in a holding cell until she sobered up. She is, by all accounts, normal aside from digging herself out of her own grave.”

“You were not supposed to die, so you didn’t.”

“I got hit by a taxi.”

“Okay,” Natasha soothed, placing a calming hand on your back. Nothing was connecting, and it all swirled around your mind viciously. Thor was your uncle? Your angry, blood thirsty uncle.

“Loki had three children that were all a threat to Asgard. And for centuries, the population struggled with their existence, feared them. They were unstoppable creatures that craved nothing but blood and carnage.”

Okay, ouch. The only thing you craved right now was normalcy. It seemed so far out of reach. If you could turn back time and go back to your desk job and your quiet comfort, you would be content for eternity.

“Jormungandr was trapped within the waters that surrounded Asgard, meant to float in a limbo for all eternity. And Hel, she was sent to the underworld to rule. Better the dead than the living be effected by her cruelness.” Thor grimaced, nearly shuddered at the thought of her. “And then there is you. Fenrir.”

“y/n,” You suggested quietly.

He pointed at you with a shaking finger “untamable. Feral. They attempted to chain you down twice before they realized that no metal was strong enough to hold you. They needed to trap you in a different way to stop the coming of Ragnarök.”

“What did you do?” Wanda asked, voice unsteady with anger.

“I didn’t’ do anything. The people of Asgard knew that if they were truly to be safe from its reign, then they’d have to banish it somewhere that didn’t’ offer much power. So, they crafted chains. Ones that would keep it’s animal nature restrained on Asgard, but it’s conscious in a constant state of torture.”

“Oh, nice, cool.” You let out a shaky breath. “That’s really comforting, thank you.”

He sneered at you, fueled by years of legend that had seeped into his brain. You couldn’t remember seeing this type of hatred in anyone before, and certainly not the Avenger that was voted the ‘most huggable’ in at least ten teen magazines.

“You tore Tyr’s hand from his body, ripped his tendons and filled your mouth with blood, you greedy animal.”

“That’s enough.” Steve barked. “You’ve explained nothing. If she is some all-powerful world-ending child of a God, then how is she here?”

“Don’t you get it, Cap? This is it’s prison. Centuries of pain. Life after life watching it’s family die in the most horrific ways. It’s the same prison we’ve trapped Loki in for his sins and the same one it’s fated to live forever.”

The dreams you’d had for years flashed before you in a dizzying brigade. Thor looked much too satisfied for your liking but Natasha’s sudden grip on your arm stopped you. She gave you a knowing look, a warning telling you to stay in place, and against your better judgement, you listened.

“I think it’s time for you to leave.” Wanda said.

“Fine,”

He laughed again, taking a few steps away from the three avengers and their charge. His boots crunched against the glass. He refused to turn his back to you, instead keeping a vicious glare on his features until he made it to the door. You fought off the chills that threatened to work their way through your body. If not for Natasha, you would have fallen back to the floor.

“Be warned, Lady Romanoff. When I return, I will not be alone. I cannot guarantee your safety in the event that you throw yourself between me and this beast again.”

“Go.” Wanda rumbled, “Now.”

Thor held up both hands, nodding his head at Steve before he finally willed himself to turn. The three of you watched helplessly as you walked with a purpose down the corridor. His footfalls echoed, and you swore that you could hear them even when he was out of view.

[Taglist💕: @dannipotatoo, @non-binary-frogking, @mysticalmoonlight7, @metanoiablxxm, @coxlong, @b3nzzzzz, @simpforlizzie, @delulu-bayolet-era, @dorabledewdroop, @crescentcrush, @roselockwood, @ellieromanov, @leenasayeed, @theowlappears, @pitifulbinx, @pepemyfantasy, @tekanparadiae, @skittlebum, @mariabeloskivismyoc, @natsbiggestfan1, @marvelwomen-simp, @cinffy23, @kyky-maximoff, @natalierushmansstuff, @bstvst, @lezzylover, @404-almostdone, @mishimrno, @maxidentbby, @shayarshucky, @merlinsouls, @neothepotato, @aliherreraaa, @olicity-boo, @tarathia, @thinking1bee, @shayarshucky, @bstvst]

[bunny-yan]

Can we get more of yandere soldier? I miss the guy

TW: mentions domestic abuse, slight stockholm syndrome, choking, minors DNI

—

Winter was perplexed. 

When you were well enough to finally leave the bed you’d been confined to and walk around on your own, his eyes had a habit of following you across the room as you explored his home. It was innocent, or at least he assumed it was, but he couldn’t help but feel on edge. Picture frames or trinkets that hadn’t been touched for years, apart from the occasional dusting, were slightly off-center or rotated in ways he wasn’t used to. 

His eyes would follow as you’d finger the material on the medals hanging from the wall or trace your hands along the books he’d gathered over the years, pulling one out, completely unaware of how he’d inwardly cringe when you put it back in a different place. When distraction took you elsewhere, he would follow your trail, looking at the things you adjusted, and he struggled between wanting to put them back where they “belonged” or allowing the small changes to remain as proof of your presence here. 

It was unsettling but nice. Your curiosity allowed him to believe that this unexpected situation might have a chance to work for the better—for both of you. 

The way you struggled to keep your head above water in your day to day wasn’t something you could claim you missed. Sure, it was strange to feel completely safe in the house of a man who kidnapped you, but he made no attempt to take advantage of the situation. He claimed he wanted to take care of you, and so far, it was what he’d been doing. 

But you couldn’t help but wonder if his behavior, if his niceness, was genuine or an act meant to lower your guard.

“I’m all better now,” you said, deciding to break the conversation while he was busy cleaning one of his rifles. 

It was something he did methodically. 

The sight of such a large weapon unnerved you the first time you left his bedroom. Paranoia struck thoughts of it being used on you and kept you locked away for weeks until he reassured you that it was simply a part of his routine. One, you initially loathed hearing, he wasn’t intending on changing. He went so far as to sit you down, showing you how the weapon wouldn’t even fire unless he removed the modifications he’d installed for safety. 

You watched him. Fingers moving like a well-oiled machine as he took it apart, Winter broke it down piece by piece until the rifle was unassembled and laid out neatly in front of him, looking similar to an unboxing of some new device and not at all like a gun. 

But a gun it was, and after going to painstaking detail to clean and buff each piece he’d reassembled it in less than a minute. 

Setting it aside, he looked up at you before nodding his head.

You waited, unsure if he had anything to add, but when the silence continued you took a deep breath before continuing. 

“I no longer have a fever. I can walk around by myself now and I don’t need your help to get dressed anymore. I’d say I’m pretty self-sufficient at managing myself now.”

Again, he nodded. Standing, he grabbed his rifle before heading towards the door, and you panicked. You’d finally worked up the courage to have this conversation. He couldn’t leave before you got to say what you needed to. 

“I was wondering if you would take me back now.”

Winter paused. 

You weren’t sure if the sudden halt in his footsteps was a good thing. You knew he’d never hurt you, and you knew the rifle in his hands wouldn’t shoot, but still, you felt nervous. You couldn’t decipher if it was the gun or him that was doing it to you. 

“Back where?” he asked. 

Going to the closet instead, you trailed behind him, watching as he placed his rifle on the wall stand before closing the door and locking it with a key that he easily slid into his pants. 

“Back,” you said, feeling dumb, unsure what to say. He had to have known what you meant. It wasn’t usual for people to go to sleep in their crappy one-bedroom apartment and wake up in a stranger’s secluded cabin in the middle of nowhere. At least you hoped it wasn’t, but it was just your luck that you beat the odds. 

Winter turned to face you, arms folding across his chest. 

You frowned because you knew what that meant. Mirroring his stance, you refused to back down. 

“No.”

“Why? You said that you’d take care of me.” You gestured to yourself. “I’m taken care of! The drugs should be well out of my system by now. I’m fit to return to society any day now.”

He remained silent. You didn’t know if it was because you’d thrown it in his face that the only reason you’re remained incapacitated for so long was because of the heavy dosage that he’d given you or because he was refusing to humor you with a response. Either way, it frustrated you. 

“I won’t tell anyone about you! I’ll forget all of this ever happened the second you take me back.”

“Back to what?”

“My home!” you exclaimed. It was ridiculous to fight so hard to get back to an apartment complex that you hated. You often took extra shifts just to be able to afford the ratty apartment you called your own, but it was yours. Something that signified your independence, your questionable success at adulting. Sure you spent so much on rent that you could barely afford to feed yourself, but you made do with leftovers from the restaurant. Another plus to working the job that you dreaded going to every day you got up. The days were long, and the labor was intense, but it could be worse. If you continued to remind yourself of how much worse your life could be, it made your current situation more bearable. 

You looked up when he came near, body uncharacteristically relaxed as he reached a hand towards you. His thumb brushed underneath your eye, and you froze. Was he being affectionate? He had never done anything like this before. It shouldn’t have caught you as off guard as it did considering skinship was something you’d become accustomed to since he had to assist you with bathing for weeks, but that was necessary, and this was voluntary. 

“The bags have finally disappeared.”

You felt your face flush before you smacked his hand away, something eating at your insides. Of course, he was still trying to argue you down. It annoyed you how easily he managed to prod at your weaknesses despite barely saying a thing. 

It was true that you hadn’t gotten an actual chance to catch up on real sleep before coming here, but that didn’t matter. Everyone had to work. Everyone did something to keep going, and if that meant you had to work 12-hour shifts almost every day to survive, then that was what you’d do. 

Because you had to. 

You had to.

“Will you stop treating me like a child‽” you asked, glaring at him and only feeling more anger when his expression remained unchanged. Caring, eyes almost engulfed with a sense of pity. “I’m an adult. Adults have responsibilities. Sure, I work long hours. I don’t always have enough time to take care of myself, but it’s an unfortunate part of life.” You grit your teeth, feeling a familiar headache began to resurface. It’d been so long, but you couldn’t believe you’d only just now noticed that you no longer woke up with headaches. 

Your body didn’t ache in weird places that you either ignored or took cheap pain medication to temporarily stop the aches in order to give you enough strength to power through another day. The thought that you were fighting to leave to return back to that made bile rush to your throat, but the thought of staying here. Of allowing him to take care of you. It was scarier than what you knew. Even if what you knew was a hell you wished to escape from every day. 

“It’s my life,” you said through gritted teeth. “I’d appreciate it if you would let me get back to it.”

He shook his head. “Why?”

You were tired of these one-word questions that remained impossible to answer without drudging up memories you were better off not remembering.

“Because-!” you began, stopping yourself when you looked into those eyes of his. That same compassion, only this time you couldn’t deny the curiosity in his gaze. The actual desire to understand why you were trying so hard to ruin a good thing. 

Because this is wrong! I’m not supposed to want to stay with my kidnapper. I’m not supposed to trust that you’d actually take care of me if I let you. 

The answers died in your throat as you stared at him. 

Because I’m not supposed to want this. 

You shook your head. “It’s none of your business. Just bring me back.”

“No.” he said again. 

“What reason do you have for kidnapping a complete stranger‽” you yelled. “Are you some sick pervert who can’t find companionship any other way?” You regretted the words the moment they left your lips. You knew it wasn’t true. You knew he’d had every opportunity to take advantage of you, but he didn’t. You knew, but you didn’t trust him. You couldn’t. 

“Are you so desperate to go back to him?”

His question made you take a step back. Looking into his eyes, you were hesitant to actually believe that you saw jealousy there. 

“You call yourself an adult, but you don’t take care of yourself which is your biggest responsibility.” His words were soft-spoken, but they cut into you sharper than any knife ever could. “You don’t budget properly to be able to afford a meal that’s going to provide you with actual sustenance. You allow yourself to be conned into paying too much for an apartment that isn’t in a good neighborhood. You work yourself to exhaustion without giving yourself time to pull yourself together and worst of all you allow yourself to remain in an abusive relationship with someone who will only find it easier to take advantage of you the longer you stay.”

“Shut up,” you said.

“Does he make you feel seen? Does he reward your negative behavior with pretty lies meant to keep you complacent and satisfied?”

“Shut up.”

“He makes you feel like you’re doing a good job and you let him stay because if you allowed yourself to open up to anyone even half decent, you’d be forced to acknowledge that you’re running away.”

You had never wanted him to stop talking as much as you did now. 

Before you could stop yourself, your hand reared back before whipping it forward. The rage caught in your throat when he caught your wrist in a firm grip. 

“You’re playing at being an adult. You don’t know how to take care of yourself. You hate your life, and you refuse to admit it.”

“Let go of me,” you said, pulling at your hand. You winched when your struggle became painful. He acknowledged your pain by loosening his grip, but he didn’t let go. 

“Make me.”

You used your other hand to try and pry his fingers from around your wrist, yanking and pulling, pushing against him and demanding that he let you go. Still, he didn’t release you.

Instead, he pulled you forward, a gasp allowing all the air in your lungs to escape as your back slammed into his chest before his arm was wrapped around your neck, forcing you to remain stationary if you didn’t want to lose what little air his grip allowed. You pushed at his arm, but he didn’t budge, your demands raspy and unable to pass beyond the pressure he kept on your neck.

“What will you do when you’ve finally had enough? He’s already shown you that he isn’t afraid to put his hands on you. Will you continue to sit there and take it? Smile and allow him in as long as he isn’t putting bruises on your skin? What about when that isn’t enough anymore?”

You gasped for air, feeling tears prick at the corners of your vision as even the saliva in your mouth became too much to swallow.

Emitting a small sound, it was all it took for him to drop you. 

Collapsing to your knees, your cough was violent. Putting a hand around your throat to soothe the tender skin, you glared up at Winter before faltering once again. 

The expression on his face was horrified, lost as he looked at you. He was frozen, unsure what to do, what to say and you felt the same. You had never seen that side of him before. You knew he was dangerous, or he could be if he wanted to be. You just never expected it to rear its head like this. 

“Winter?”

Saying his name was all it took to break him out of that trance. He didn’t spare you another glance before he was all but running back to the closet to grab his rifle before he was out the door before you could get another word out.

You rubbed at your throat, still angry at what he had said but angrier still at the thought that he might be right. After five minutes passed, you buried the guilt threatening to eat you alive and slipped out of the front door. 

Even if he was right, you couldn’t stay here. 

Not with him. 

Not with his words that said too much or nothing at all. 

Not with his hands that refused to leave marks on your body. 

You couldn’t bear another moment wishing that you didn’t want to. 

[luvyeni]

❛GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN❜ ( l. heeseung & yang jeongin )

p. lee heeseung x yang jeongin x fem!reader w. 1.1k+

— 𖦹 warnings. threesome, oral sex, heavy degradation, unprotected sex

— 𖦹 ( you didnt know sleeping with best friends would land you here but you're just having fun ) !

authors note. im heeseung and jeongin biased but never made a fic with them together im ashamed

MINORS DON'T INTERACT

was it wrong? probably; but you were just a girl who wanted to have fun— fun being was sleeping with lee heeseung only to find yourself in yang jeongins bed; yang jeongin who happens to be lee heeseungs best friend.

you weren't in any established relationship with neither of them, of course not you would never do that; but you did often find yourself fucking heeseung one weekend, calling jeongin over the next time you were horny.

“you're crazy.” “you're gonna get caught.” “how long do you think that will last?” your friends would tell you and you genuinely thought you could go on a long time without either of them finding out— that's until you found yourself in heeseungs bedroom at his party being cornered by the boys. “you must be really stupid.”

heeseung grabbed your arms holding them down. “fuck my friend and think i wouldn't find out.” jeongin sitting on the bed , head tilted with a smirk. “of course a slut like her one cock not enough she needs two.” heeseung pushing you down to your knees. “yeni-ah, should we give the whore what she wants?” heeseung turned to his friend who was already unbuckling his pants, his fox like eyes burning holes in your skin. “let's see if we can break her.”

grabbing the back of your head, jeongin grabbed the base of his cock, slapping the tip of his cock on your lips. “come on slut open your mouth.” you laid your tongue flat, he guided your head down, his cock hitting the back of your throat. “fuck, this slut really knows how to suck dick.” he groaned— heeseung ridding himself of his pants, his cock bobbing against his stomach as he approached you. “don't forget me.”

you pulled off of jeongins cock, kissing his tip. “shit, so fucking nasty.” heeseung wasted no time, forcing his cock all the way in his mouth. “fu-fuck, this slut really knows how to use her mouth.” jeongin stroked his cock, slapping it on your cheek. “come on stroke my whore.” grabbing your hand. “yeah fuck, just like that.”

taking turns back and forth using your mouth, your eyes were teary, gagging on their cocks. “fuck I'm gonna cum all over your face.” heeseung pulled out of your mouth, jeongin slapping your face. “open up slut.” you opened your mouth waiting; both of them cumming at the same time, covering your face and boobs in their white substance. “look at her.” heeseung groaned. “so ready to swallow our cum.”

“I'm ready to fuck her.” jeongin pulled you roughly from the floor, pushing you down to the bed. “was confused as to why you haven't called me in a while.” he yanked your panties down your leg. “turns out you were whoring yourself out to my best friend.” slapping his cock against you leaking cunt. “look her desperate for a cock inside her.” he held your waste down, pushing his cock inside with one thrust. “ti-tight fucking pussy -shit-.”

his thrust were unforgiving, your hips would definitely be bruised tomorrow; but you didn't care, the way jeongin was fucking you and heeseung looking like he wanted to eat you. “lift her up.” he said. “let's see if she can take both of us.” you felt your body being lifted by jeongin, heeseung slotting himself under you. “gonna stretch this pussy.” he grabbed the base of his cock, lining himself up with your already filled cunt, you let out a scream upon feeling his cock bully it's way. “sh-shit.”

jeongin groaned, throwing his head back. “oh fuck bro hurry up before i cum.” heeseung bottomed out , pulling the front of your dress down, grabbing your tits. “so fucking tight.” both of them started to move; and they weren't slow either, both of them matching each others pace so you were never empty. “this is what you wanted?” jeongin said. “for both of us to fuck you dumb?” you dumbly nodded, heeseung yank hair back, you moaned. “i didn't hear a fucking answer, use your words slut.”

“fuck yes!” you shrieked, your thighs were burning. “dumb slut, should've just asked instead of being sneaky.” heeseung grunted, his legs fucking up into you. “only thinking with this messy pussy.”

your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you felt them using your body, heeseung was longer than jeongin, but jeongin was thicker; didn't matter though because it worked , both of them attacking your cervix, pinching your nipples. “gonna make a mess of this pussy.” jeongin said. “pl- please.” they both mockingly laughed at you. “look at the slut begging.” heeseung cursed. “doesn't even know what she's begging for.”

you couldn't hold it anymore, your legs tencing up, the coil in your stomach finally snapping. “fuck she's gonna cum.” heeseung reached around, stroking your clit.” jeongin pinching your nipples. “come on cum for us slut.” you let out a pornographic moan, your juices exiting your body. “fuck she's squirting.”

it felt like everything around you went blurry as they used your body for their pleasure for a few minutes, before jeongin pulled out stroking his cock until he came all over your stomach. “fuck!” heeseung following after, lifting you off his cock coating the outside of your puffy cunt, with a groan. “shit.”

they didn't stop there though, standing over your body stroking their cocks until they came another time— heeseung getting in-between your legs eating you out until you had to yank at his hair, begging him to give you a rest. jeongin putting his fingers to good use, stuffing them inside you until squirting all over the bed.

“fuck we really did a number on her huh?” jeongin smirked, putting his clothes back on, heeseung helped you get dressed into his clothes. “stay here, no way you can party now.” they both left you in the room, closing the door making sure no one went into heeseungs room.

once the party was over they'd come back and do it all over again.

©️LUVYENI

[afterglowkatie]

back to where it began | k.c.c.

kyra cooney-cross x reader | 2k | a look back into yours and kyra's first matildas camp, the place where it all began

ˏˋ°•*⁀ this is part of the pair of pests universe. this is a flashback kind of fic. a fun look back to the beginning of Kyra's and r's friendship. From where it began to where they are now and then the next fic will continue from 'i love you' :)

You looked up at Sam watching her mouth move but not processing any of the words actually leaving her mouth. You’d just arrived with Steph to your first matilda’s camp. Your first senior call up. It was both nerve wrecking and a dream come true for you. Ever since you were little you wanted to be just like your older sister having watched her achieve her dreams, you were following in her footsteps. You always worked hard throughout youth national teams, a-league and wsl to be able to get the chance to play alongside your older sister as a matilda.

Now your dream of sharing a pitch with Steph at national level was one step closer to coming true. You’d gone from playing together in the backyard as kids to sharing a pitch together at Melbourne City to now hopefully sharing a pitch together as a Matilda. Though a dream in theory is less nerve wrecking then when that dream becomes a reality. 

‘It’s good to have you here, kid,’ Sam placed a hand on your shoulder when she finished speaking, bringing you back to reality and out of your head. 

‘Yeah, it’s…it’s good to be here. Excited,’ You breathed out, not realising you were holding your breath slightly to begin with. Anyone could feel the nerves radiating out of you causing your older sister to playfully roll her eyes and laugh. 

‘Relax,’ Steph laughed a little, smiling at you while bringing you in for a hug. Steph’s hugs always made you feel better, even if you liked to deny it. It was hard to relax when you knew you had to take this opportunity to prove yourself even more than you already have in your current season with Manchester City. You were genuinely excited to be called up and have the opportunity to gain more experience and develop even further alongside the people who you’ve been supporting and watching from the sidelines for years.

Having been a matilda for a fair few years, Steph had definitely found her place within the team. Whereas you were still finding yourself and where you fit amongst the others both on and off the pitch. You weren’t as chatty as your older sister and kept to yourself a little until you were fully comfortable which made it a bit harder for you to make friends and find your own little group within the team dynamic.

Everyone was welcoming but you found yourself almost glued to Steph’s side. Your sister loves you and is proud of you for how hard you’ve worked and everything you’ve done over the years but you were slowly getting on her nerves. It was midway through your first camp and Steph and the older girls were more than happy to have you around and show you things and all that. But Steph thought you might’ve made friends with the other younger players just like yourself considering you had played alongside and against the other young players.

‘Come sit with us today,’ Alanna slung her arm around your shoulders pulling you to sit at a table with just her and Mackenzie, an attempt to give Steph some space having been on the receiving end of her complaining the other night. They were subtle about it, no one wanted you to get the wrong idea or hurt your feelings already knowing how nervous you had been the entire time.

‘This feels like you’re about to interrogate me or something,’ You joked, laughing with the other two while you had some lunch after the morning training session. 

‘What? Can’t have lunch with our favourite Catley without being accused,’ Alanna faked being offended at your comment, while you just rolled your eyes and pushed her arm.

A few tables away Sam nudged Steph’s arm getting her attention, ‘Why don’t you just subtly push her to partner up with, I don’t know, how about Kyra? At the next training session?’ Sam shrugged trying to come up with an idea to help both you make new friends within the team and Steph to have a bit of time away from you.

‘Kyra seems like a good kid, might be good for Tiny,’ Caitlin added in. Steph hadn’t considered trying to push you to hang around the other younger, newer matildas, not wanting you to think she was trying to get rid of you. Steph thought it was important you gain experience from the more experienced matildas but it was also important for you to have fun with the experience.

At the next training session when doing partner drills that’s what Steph did. She, along with the help of Sam, got you and Kyra to partner up in hopes that the two of you would click. Of course you had known of Kyra, playing with her in the youth national teams and also playing against her in the w-league. Though neither of you had really interacted all that much, settling into separate friend groups.

‘It’s cool Steph’s your sister,’ Kyra started talking first while going through the different partner drills, ‘Must’ve been nice to have an older sister like that,’ 

‘You’d think so but Steph can be pretty annoying, especially growing up,’ You lightheartedly joked around making Kyra laugh. You looked up at Kyra smiling, eyebrows furrowing when you noticed her lips quirk into a mischievous smirk.

‘Wanna get back at her for all the times she was annoying?’ You had half a mind to say no and to stay out of trouble, especially during your first senior camp. But there was something about Kyra that instantly drew you in and so you couldn’t help but agree.

The two of you instantly clicked, everyone thought it was a good thing. Steph felt relieved to have a bit of time back to be with her friends without you around, and everyone found the friendship to be good for both you and Kyra. Both being new they thought you could lean on each other. 

What they didn’t know was how when the two of you were sat together away from everyone else, was that you were scheming up ways to mess with everyone. Steph being your first victim. 

‘I’ll distract Steph while you set it all up,’ You and Kyra were eating lunch together while going over the plan you had created over the past day.

‘Why do you get to distract them,’ You whined not wanting to be the one responsible if the set up failed.

‘Maybe I should call you baby Catley instead,’ Kyra laughed, making fun of you for whining causing you to punch her in the arm, ‘Ow!’ Kyra dramatically yelled, pouting while holding and rubbing her arm.

‘Maybe I should call you baby Kywa,’ You mocked Kyra putting on your most babyish voice you could muster. The two of you burst out into fits of laughter causing the other girls in the room to look over at you. 

‘What’s going on over here?’ Steph came over to the both of you, raising her eyebrow when she noticed you both scramble to hide the paper you’d been writing on from her.

‘Nothing Stephy,’ You sang out, trying to seem as innocent as possible. You weren’t always the best at keeping things from her.

‘Yeah, nothing Stephy,’ Kyra scooted closer to you, linking her arm with yours pulling you in closer leaning in to discreetly whisper into your ear, ‘I’m gonna work my magic and you go work yours,’ A subtle nod and weak excuse from you to leave the pair alone you quickly made your way towards the room Steph was staying in. 

You made sure no one saw you go into the room, they made sure you had a key for the room Steph was staying in just in case you needed her at any time. Setting up the vials of glitter above the door and making sure they were set to go off when the door was opened you then got into position, hiding under the bed getting ready with the camera.

Meanwhile Kyra was making sure to keep Steph’s attention until she got the message from you that everything was ready to go, ‘Stephyyy, have I ever told you how cool you are,’ Kyra stood up slinging her arm around Steph’s shoulders and exaggerating all of her words.

‘Kyra…’ Steph’s voice was low and questioning, eyebrow raised while she chuckled at the younger girl, ‘I’m gonna go to my room for a bit,’ Steph wiggled out of Kyra’s embrace looking at her with an amused and confused expression.

‘NO!’ Kyra shouted, panic evident in her voice, causing a bit too much suspicion from the older girl. Steph looked at Kyra expecting her to continue to explain herself, ‘I mean…um…’ Lucky for Kyra you managed to save her from coming up with an excuse, letting her know everything was ready, ‘Y’know what, have a good nap grandma,’ Kyra pushed Steph towards the elevator, walking away quickly but hiding around the corner ready to follow after Steph but not wanting her to see.

Steph let out a deep breath and shook her head, stepping into the elevator on her way back to her room. You were set under the bed, phone on video facing the doorway ready for any moment when Steph would walk in. Kyra was quick to discreetly follow, wanting to at least hear the reaction first hand, watching the video back later will be even better.

Hearing footsteps get closer to the door, the adrenaline mixed with nerves pulsed through your body. You were never scared of Steph’s reaction to anything, you liked annoying your older sister. You got a kick out of it and no matter how mad Steph seemed to be with you, you knew she could never actually stay mad at you for long. Probably why you never cared for how she would react.

‘What the-’ Steph’s voice boomed through the room once she opened her door hearing the little pop noises and noticing she was now covered in glitter. You burst out laughing, keeping the camera pointed towards Steph, her confused expression turning into a glare directed at you from under the bed.

Kyra came running down the hall into Steph’s room laughing, almost knocking Steph over in the process, ‘Kyra!’ Steph yelled, grabbing onto the younger girl to steady herself. The floor and herself were covered in glitter, ‘You…’ Steph turned and pointed at you while you were wriggling out from under the bed.

‘C’mon Tiny, before scary Catley makes us clean up,’ Kyra didn’t give you a moment to steady yourself before she grabbed your hand pulling you out of the room with her. 

‘Pair of pests,’ Steph’s voice could be heard, even from halfway down the hall. You both kept running and laughing until you found a quiet spot away from where anyone would be able to find you.

You sat next to each other against a wall. Kyra’s arm around you while you both watched the video over and over, ‘You see Steph’s face,’ You paused the video and laughed at the facials Steph was pulling. Making sure to screenshot so you could both have them for later, knowing you’d be using them whenever you got the chance. Steph’s expressive personality coming back to haunt her for as long as you were both in her life.

‘We’re gonna be the bestest of friends,’ Kyra proclaimed. After one day of properly knowing each other and you’d clicked as if you had been best friends for years and years. The pair that everyone would wish never met in the first place, especially once they had been on the receiving end of one too many of your pranks. 

Though it was nice to have made a friend in Kyra, you both helped each other over the years. During your move to England and her move to Sweden, you never lost contact and continued to help each other become the best versions of yourself, the best players you could be. Always supporting and being proud of each other.

[dead-enby-detective]

This end scene of the boys. 🥺

I love the way they each take a moment to reflect on what happened and process that thirty-odd years of fear has come to an end.

Both of them are clearly in a state of shock and then as they turn to each other, when they first see each other after they have come to the same conclusion, that they are safe, they smile brightly. Both of them! Right as their eyes land on each other, one after the other, they begin to smile again!

And than immediately after that realization has settled in, and when they look at each other and recognize that look in each other’s eyes, that knowledge that they are finally safe reflecting in each others gazes - they crash into each other.

The way Charles’s first thought is “You’re not going back to Hell, are you?”

It’s not just a hug, they’re cradling each other, as they pull apart just a bit, keeping each other supported as they begin to separate, they way they both twist away, like they’re prolonging contact, their fingers trail down each other’s arm, brush against each other before they fully detach.

Like the fact that the actors fell in love at first sight as well doesn’t surprise me at all. They are so in tune to one other.

Their mirror each other even as they separate. Charles’s hand goes to his heart, Edwin’s is raised up as if he were about to do the same. They’re not walking straight away from each other, they’re circling each other, the room.

Their chemistry is undeniable, the actors use it to make the decades long relationship feel so very real.

The way Edwin is unable to find the words to the point that he’s just making sounds and Charles immediately is overflowing with joyful worlds. They way that when one can’t do something, the other is right there to help them.

The way the seek out each other’s gaze again and the way Charles immediately goes to sit at the desk after Edwin falls into the chair.

(Also absolutely love the way Charles’s beef with the Night Nurse immediately dissipates once she’s no longer a threat to them. He’s so joyful at the idea of expanding the agency. It’s so sweet. It really highlights how kind he is.)

And then, at the end, despite them being so close already, Charles gets up and leans on Edwin, makes a quip about his smile and grins down at Edwin, so at ease and so happy, in this moment, just the two of them, safe and jovial and content.

This scene speaks so much about them as individuals and their individual growth from the first episode as well as their relationship and it’s growth throughout the season.

It’s genuinely such a sweet, beautiful scene.

I love them, I love this moment, and I love how this moment was their final together of the season.

Standing ovation for George Rexstrew and Jayden Revri as well as a round of applause for episode director Pete Chatmon and writer Ross Maxwell.

[hookhausenschips]

Unveiling Euphoria: A Journey Beyond Friendship {MV1}

500 Follower Special!!!

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Summary: Max and Y/N navigate the delicate balance between friendship and something more during a glamorous gala in Monaco. As their unspoken feelings come to light, they take a leap of faith into a new chapter filled with love, laughter, and endless possibilities.

Taglist

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Y/N’s POV

I stared at my reflection in the hotel mirror, my fingers absently toying with the delicate pendant around my neck. The bustling city of Monaco lay just outside my window, but my thoughts were elsewhere, tangled up in a mix of anticipation and trepidation. Tonight was the gala, and Max Verstappen was my date. Well, technically, we were going as friends. Just friends. But lately, that simple label had started to feel like an ill-fitting coat, one that pinched and tugged at the seams in all the wrong places.

Max and I had met a few years ago at a Formula 1 event, our paths crossing in the crowded paddock. We had clicked instantly, bonding over a shared love for adrenaline and speed. Our friendship had grown stronger with each passing race, his infectious laughter and genuine kindness making it impossible not to be drawn to him. But somewhere along the way, things had begun to shift. The way he looked at me had changed, his gaze lingering just a moment too long, his eyes softening in a way that made my heart race faster than any car on the circuit.

"But 'just friends' don't look at each other like that," I muttered to myself, recalling the words my best friend had said just days ago. She had seen it too, the unspoken tension, the electricity that crackled in the air whenever Max and I were together. And now, standing here in my elegant evening gown, I couldn't shake the feeling that tonight would be different. That tonight, something might finally give.

The knock on my door jolted me from my reverie. Taking a deep breath, I crossed the room and opened it, my breath catching in my throat at the sight of Max. He stood there in a sharp tuxedo, his usually tousled hair neatly styled, but it was his eyes that held me captive. Those piercing blue eyes that always seemed to see right through me.

"Y/N, you look stunning," he said, his voice soft but filled with a sincerity that made my cheeks flush. 

"You don't look so bad yourself," I managed to reply, a smile tugging at my lips as I took in his handsome form. He extended his arm, and I slipped mine through it, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his jacket.

The gala was a whirlwind of lights, music, and laughter. We moved through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and smiles, but my mind was only half-focused on the conversations around us. The other half was acutely aware of Max's presence by my side, the way his hand would brush against mine, sending shivers down my spine.

As the night wore on, we found ourselves on a balcony overlooking the glittering cityscape. The cool night air was a welcome relief, and I leaned against the railing, taking a moment to collect my thoughts. Max joined me, standing close enough that our shoulders touched.

"Are you having a good time?" he asked, his voice gentle, almost hesitant.

"Yeah, it's been great," I replied, glancing up at him. "It's always fun when you're around."

He smiled at that, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that made my heart skip a beat. "Y/N, there's something I need to tell you."

I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening. "What is it, Max?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine. "I've been trying to find the right moment to say this, and I don't want to ruin our friendship, but... I can't keep pretending that what I feel for you is just friendly. I care about you, a lot more than I probably should. And I think you feel it too."

The world seemed to stop spinning for a moment, his words hanging in the air between us. "Max, I... I don't know what to say."

He stepped closer, his hand reaching up to gently cup my cheek. "Just say what's in your heart, Y/N."

I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch. "I've been trying to ignore it, to convince myself that we're just friends. But you're right. Friends don't look at each other the way we do."

When I opened my eyes, the vulnerability in his expression mirrored my own. "So, what do we do now?" he asked, his thumb brushing softly against my skin.

I took a deep breath, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders as I finally allowed myself to acknowledge the truth. "We take a chance, Max. We see where this goes."

His smile was radiant, and as he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against mine, I knew that whatever happened next, it would be worth it. Because sometimes, the best things in life come from taking risks, from stepping into the unknown with someone who means everything to you.

The kiss was gentle at first, almost tentative, as if we were both afraid to break the spell. But as the moments passed, it deepened, a surge of emotions pouring into that single connection. His hands moved to cradle my face, and I could feel the warmth of his touch seeping into my skin, grounding me in the reality of what was happening.

When we finally pulled away, our foreheads resting against each other, I could see the joy and relief in his eyes. "I've wanted to do that for so long," he whispered, his breath mingling with mine in the cool night air.

"Me too," I admitted, a smile breaking across my face. "It feels like a dream."

"Well, if it is, I hope we never wake up," he replied, his voice filled with a mixture of humor and sincerity that made my heart swell.

The sounds of the gala seemed distant now, a mere backdrop to the moment we were sharing. We stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, the city of Monaco stretching out beneath us in a dazzling array of lights. It felt as if the whole world had shrunk to just the two of us, a perfect bubble of happiness and possibility.

Max's fingers intertwined with mine, and he gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "Shall we head back inside? I think we have some people to surprise."

I laughed, imagining the looks on our friends' faces when they saw us together. "Yes, let's."

As we made our way back into the ballroom, I felt a newfound sense of confidence and excitement. The future felt bright and uncertain in the best possible way. We rejoined the party, and it wasn't long before our friends noticed the change between us. Their knowing smiles and teasing comments only made the evening more special.

Throughout the night, Max stayed close by my side, his presence a comforting and exhilarating reminder of what we had discovered. We danced, laughed, and shared stolen glances that spoke volumes, each one reaffirming the bond that had grown between us.

By the time the gala began to wind down, I felt as if I were walking on air. As we stepped outside to catch a breath of fresh air, Max pulled me into his arms once more, holding me close. "This is just the beginning, Y/N," he murmured, his lips brushing against my temple. "I can't wait to see where this journey takes us."

"Me neither," I replied, gazing up at him with a sense of wonder. "Whatever happens, we'll face it together."

With a final, tender kiss, we made our way back to the hotel, the night air filled with the promise of new beginnings. And as we walked hand in hand through the quiet streets of Monaco, I knew that we had crossed a threshold. We were no longer just friends, but partners in every sense of the word, ready to embrace whatever challenges and joys lay ahead.

The future was unknown, but with Max by my side, I felt ready to face anything. Our story had taken a new turn, one filled with love, hope, and endless possibilities. And as we entered the hotel, our laughter echoing in the halls, I knew that this was just the start of a beautiful, shared adventure.

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MV1 Taglist: @yourbane, @evie-119, @leclercdior, @ilivbullyingjeongin, @tallrock35

F1 Taglist: @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery, @dhanihamidi

[writingforstraykids]

I always see you

Pairing: Minchan (mention of OT8)

Word Count: 4048

Summary: After their break Minho isn't quite happy with his currently gained weight. Struggling to accept himself, his friends make it worse by pointing out the changes of his body lovingly and teasingly. Chan tries to figure out what's wrong, but it takes a while until Minho lets him.

Warnings/Tags: angst, fluff, weight gain, minho hates the sight of himself, gets called soft, squishy, cute, etc. for it, minho collapses at the gym

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Minho stands before the mirror, his eyes tracing the new curves and edges of his body. It's not new, this version of himself that greets him in the morning, but he never likes it. The changes their long break caused are undeniable: his cheeks fuller, his midsection softer. Each glance brings a new fresh wave of discomfort, a stark contrast to the image he had of himself just months ago. The many weeks of freedom had been very beneficial for his mental health but the lack of work, stress and hours of practice made his body soften, all the food rounding his edges. 

He inhales shakily, fingers hesitating, then presses into the softness at his belly. The texture feels so different to what he's been used to. Minho sighs, the sound as heavy as the thoughts clouding his mind. This isn't just a physical change, it's a whole shift in how he sees himself and what he thinks others will see now. 

He pulls one of Chan's shirts over his head, relaxing a little at the way it falls around his body. Chan's broader than him, there's no chance he'll fill it out the same as Chan with his shoulders and trained arms. Minho forces himself downstairs, the scent of breakfast making his stomach growl already. He swallows hard and slips into his chair next to Chan who's talking to Seungmin next to him. 

Chan's hand finds his thighs and Minho relaxes at the simple but soothing touch. He reaches for some water and leans back in his chair after, smiling as Chan turns to him. “Hey there,” Chan whispers, leaning in for a kiss. 

“Hey,” Minho says softly, a genuine smile tugging at his lips as they kiss. “You slept okay?” he asks, gently brushing back his hair, fingers running through the soft curls. 

“Yeah, missed you though,” he confesses. Minho said something about not sleeping well lately and not wanting to wake him up so they decided to sleep separately. 

“I'm sorry,” Minho whispers, swallowing hard. He's sleeping just fine but the thought of Chan clinging to him, hands wandering over his body isn't as soothing as it usually would be. He'd notice. 

“Are you two done being all loving that early in the morning?” Hyunjin teases and Minho redirects his attention to the table. 

Chan hands him waffles Felix made and reaches for the orange juice. “You want some?” he asks and his boyfriend nods politely. 

“Thank you,” he smiles, as Chan pours him a glass. 

“You're welcome, baby,” he smiles brightly. 

“Why is Minho hyung getting served breakfast and not me?” Jeongin chimes in teasingly. Minho giggles and takes the first bite. He bites back a moan, tasting the perfectly fluffy waffle. 

“Who can blame him? Have you seen how cute Minho looks lately?” Jisung asks and Chan laughs. 

“Lately?” he wonders. 

“Look at his cheeks,” he tells him and gently pokes Minho's cheek. “They're so squishy, it's so cute,” he giggles and the room erupts in laughter.

The comment was meant in good humor, but scraped against Minho’s insecurities like sandpaper. His smile remains, but his eyes don't meet his friends’. He slowly lowers his fork and reaches for the juice instead, hand stopping mid-air before reaching for the water. Chan notices and frowns softly. “You're okay?” he asks quietly, only for them to hear. 

“Yeah, just not really hungry,” he lies with a brave smile. He subconsciously pulls at his shirt, trying to mask the softness that settled around his middle. Minho catches himself searching for signs of judgment in the eyes of his friends whenever they look at him. The mere possibility of them thinking ill of him makes him sick to the core. 

Minho’s struggle with his self-image continues long after the breakfast table has been cleared and the last jokes have faded into the background. The comments about his cheeks, meant lightly, linger in his mind like echoes in a hollow room. Minho can't shake off the heavy blanket of insecurity that has settled over him.

He finds himself back in front of the mirror again and swallows hard, meeting his reflection. His thighs look thicker than usually, his arms feel soft and he hesitantly pinches his cheeks. Tears well up in his eyes as he crawls back into bed and curls up beneath the blanket. 

A gentle knock at the door startles him and only seconds later Chan's inside. “Hey, kitten,” he says softly. “Want some cuddles?”

“Not really,” he lies, his whole body craving to be held by Channie. 

“Oh,” Chan nods and chews on his lower lip. “You're okay?”

“Yeah.” Another lie. 

“...Are we okay?” he asks timidly, the sound feeling like a punch to the stomach for Minho. 

“Yeah, we're okay,” he whispers and can tell his boyfriend's relaxing. “I just need some space, I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” Chan assures him. “You know where to find me if you need something.”

“Mhm,” he hums softly and curls up further into himself. “Channie?” he asks, but it's too late as he's already gone. “I love you,” he whispers, hot tears pooling in his eyes. 

The room feels too large, too empty as Minho buries himself deeper under the covers, his heart aching with a pain that seems to seep into his bones. The silence left in Chan’s wake is deafening, and Minho is left alone with his swirling thoughts and escalating fears. The words of comfort he longs to hear are absent, replaced by the echoes of his own insecurities that replay in his mind like a broken record.

The day drags on painfully slow. Minho spends hours just lying there, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, his mind replaying every moment that morning when he felt judged, whether it was real or imagined. The light-hearted comments at breakfast, the shared laughter—all of it now feels like subtle digs at his changing appearance.

As the sun begins to set, painting the room with hues of orange and pink, Minho realizes he can't stay hidden forever. He needs to face his fears, his friends, and most importantly, Chan. Pulling himself from the bed, he washes his face, avoiding his reflection in the mirror, not ready to face himself just yet.

Walking into the living room, he finds Chan there, lost in a book. The sight of him, so relaxed and content, stirs a mix of emotions in Minho—envy, longing, and love. Chan looks up, his expression changing instantly from calm to concerned as he takes in Minho’s appearance.

“Hey,” Chan says softly, setting his book aside. “You look like you could use this more than I could,” he gestures to the spot next to him on the couch.

Minho hesitates, but the inviting warmth in Chan’s eyes is too much to resist. He sits beside Chan, maintaining a small gap between them, a physical manifestation of the emotional distance he feels.

Chan respects the space for a moment, then speaks. “Minho, talk to me. Whatever it is, we can figure it out together.”

“I can't,” he shakes his head. 

“Why?” Chan asks patiently. 

“I…I've changed,” he says, avoiding Chan's confused look. 

“Changed?” he asks. 

“Yeah.”

Minho’s eyes fill with tears and Chan moves closer, bridging the gap between them. “We all change, Minho. It’s part of life. But those changes don’t define us. They’re just... part of our story. And my story isn’t complete without you in it,” he tries his best, not really knowing the true issue at hand. 

The simplicity and truth of Chan’s words wash over Minho, bringing a sense of peace he hasn’t felt in days. He leans into Chan, resting his head on Chan’s shoulder, allowing himself to feel the support and love he’s been denying himself. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been pushing you away,” Minho murmurs.

Chan wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer. “It’s okay. I’m here, whenever you’re ready.”

They sit in silence, watching the sun dip below the horizon, the sky a canvas of colors that slowly fade into twilight. 

-

On a breezy afternoon, Minho and the others arrive at the television studio, ready for their guest appearance on a popular show that was famous for putting celebrities on the spot with unexpectedly personal questions. The friendship among the group is evident as they joke and laugh, trying to ease their nerves before facing the unpredictable host and live audience.

As the show begins, the host greets them warmly, his booming voice setting a lively tone. The studio is abuzz with excitement, fans cheering as the camera showcases each member's face. The host begins with light, easy questions about recent projects and upcoming plans, allowing the group to settle in and get comfortable with the format.

However, the atmosphere shifts as the host transitions to more personal inquiries, a segment known for revealing responses and creating memorable TV moments. The questions range from their living habits to romantic lives, pushing the boundaries of what they usually shared publicly.

They handle the questions with humor and grace, skillfully navigating the trickier topics. But the tension ratchets up when the host turns the conversation toward a lighter, yet subtly challenging question, “Who among you would you say is the cutest?”

Instantly, the members burst into laughter, playfully pointing at Minho. “Definitely Minho,” Chan declares, his statement echoed by nods and chuckles from the others.”But, I'm biased,” he winks at Minho who flashes him a shy smile. 

“Yes, have you seen his cheeks? Absolutely pinchable!” Felix adds, his comment drawing laughter from the audience.

Seungmin chimes in, his tone teasing but affectionate, “And don’t get us started on his soft tummy and those thick thighs, he’s the cutest!”

“Minho's one of the best people to cuddle with,” Jisung agrees. 

While the audience find these comments amusing, laughing and clapping at the banter, Minho forces a smile, feeling a familiar sting of insecurity. His cheeks burn, not from flattery, but from embarrassment. Though he knows his members meant no harm, the focus on his physical attributes in such a public setting reignited the deep-seated insecurities about his body image.

The host, sensing a hit with the audience, decides to dig deeper. “Oh, really? That sounds adorable! Minho, how do you feel about being the ‘cutest’ in such a... unique way?”

Minho clears his throat, searching for the right words. “I guess it’s nice to be appreciated,” he replies, his voice slightly strained, hoping to steer the conversation away from his body.

The show continues, with other members discussing their own quirks and stories, but Minho grows quieter. He laughs at the right moments and answers when spoken to, but his responses are brief, his mind replaying the earlier comments.

After the recording ends and the cameras stops rolling, the group retreats to their dressing room. Minho is unusually silent, keeping his distance. Chan notices Minho’s subdued mood and follows him to a corner of the room.

“Hey, are you okay?” Chan asks gently, concern evident in his voice.

Minho sighs, the weight of his emotions visible. “I don’t know, Chan. I just felt really put on the spot out there.”

Chan nods, his expression understanding. “I'm sorry, baby. I shouldn't have drawn attention to you like that. I just worried that if I didn't say my boyfriend's the cutest people would think we'd be fighting.”

“I know, love,” he sighs softly. “I wasn't talking about you.”

“Oh, you meant the others? When they said why you're cute?” he asks and Minho nods slowly. “But they have a point, you know? Your cheeks are so cute and I love how they get so adorably squishy when you smile. I love your thighs, I don't think we have to talk about that. And yeah, your stomach got so soft, it's adorable,” Chan says and Minho blinks at him timidly.

“So…you agree with them?” he asks quietly and Chan glances through the room, distracted by a sudden shout. 

He doesn't see the desperation in Minho's eyes as he answers. “Yeah, I mean, you're cute and I love all that about you,” he says, not seeing Minho's face fall, anxiety clouding his features. 

“Yeah, I - uhm - I'll be back,” he stammers, quickly walking to the bathroom, barely noticing Chan scolding two of their friends. Shit. His own boyfriend thinks of him like that as well.

Minho rushes to the sanctuary of the bathroom, the cool tile against his skin grounding him as he leans against the sink. His heart races, a chaotic drumbeat echoing the turmoil in his mind. Chan's words replay over and over, each repetition a sharp twist of the knife of insecurity that had already dug deep into his self-esteem.

Inside the small, dimly lit room, Minho stares into the mirror, his eyes tracing the contours of his face and body that Chan had described with such casual affection. But where Chan sees cuteness, Minho sees only flaws magnified by his own harsh judgment and now, seemingly confirmed by the person whose opinion matters most. The disparity between how he views himself and how Chan claims to view him creates nothing but doubt in his heart.

Trying to stifle the rising panic, Minho takes deep breaths, attempting to focus on the reality of the situation rather than the distorted thoughts fueled by his insecurities. He tells himself that Chan loves him, that his words were meant in fondness, not critique. But the warmth that should have accompanied such assurances feels cold and distant now.

After several minutes alone, battling his inner demons, Minho washes his face, the cold water a sharp wake-up call to the emotions he needed to manage before facing the others again. With a final glance at his reflection, he squares his shoulders and steps out, attempting to mask the inner fight with a calm demeanor.

Back in the dressing room, the atmosphere had shifted. The earlier craziness had been replaced by calmness as the members sensed the tension. Chan immediately notices Minho’s return, his expression one of concern mixed with confusion.

“Minho, are you okay?” Chan approaches, reaching out but stopping short of touching, as if unsure whether his comfort is welcome.

Minho nods, not trusting his voice. His mind is still racing, not just from the comments on the show, but now more painfully from Chan’s unintentional confirmation of those.

“I’m sorry if what I said upset you. I didn’t mean it to sound the way it did,” Chan said earnestly, his eyes searching Minho’s for forgiveness.

Minho manages a small smile, appreciating the apology but still feeling the sting. “It’s not just you,” he admits. “It’s hearing it said out loud, on TV, and then... it just feels like everyone sees me that way.”

Chan’s face softens. “Minho, to me, and to all of us, you’re perfect. And if anything we say makes you feel less than amazing, then we need to fix that, because you deserve to feel loved and secure.”

Chan sounds sincere, and Minho feels a warmth begin to break the icy hold of his fear around his heart. “Thanks, Chan. I just need some time to process this, I think.”

“Of course,” Chan agrees, giving him space. “We’re all here for you, whenever you’re ready.”

-

One morning, a few days later, Minho wakes up earlier than usual, his sleep restless and disturbed by thoughts of dissatisfaction with his physical self. The mirror is no kinder at dawn than at any other time, reflecting back a version of himself he still struggles to accept. With a determined breath, he decides to take a more active approach. He knows that Chan has always maintained a consistent workout routine, even during their break, his discipline unwavering.

Minho walks quietly into the kitchen where Chan is already up, probably preparing for his morning jog. The kitchen smells of coffee, and the early light filters in softly through the curtains. Chan, noticing Minho’s early appearance, looks up with a smile that’s both questioning and welcoming.

“Morning,” Minho starts, his voice a little more than a whisper. “Can we talk?”

“Of course, what’s up?” Chan nods, focusing fully on him. 

Minho takes a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking... I want to start working out again. Seriously. And I was wondering if... if you could help me? Maybe go to the gym together?” His voice is hopeful yet tense, the weight of his request more significant than the words might suggest.

Chan’s response is immediate and supportive as always. “Sure, kitten. I’d love to help you out. When do you want to start?”

“Maybe today?” Minho suggests, a bit hastily, driven by a surge of motivation that he fears might dissolve if given too much time to think.

“Today it is,” Chan agrees with a nod, his tone encouraging. “We’ll take it easy, start slow, and find a pace that feels right for you.”

The decision made, Minho feels a brief flicker of relief, quickly followed by anxiety. He’s committed now, no turning back.

By the time they arrive at the gym, Minho’s as excited as nervous. It's been ages since he joined Channie here. Chan leads the way, guiding Minho through the initial stretches and warm-up routines. 

They start on some light cardio, and Chan keeps the conversation light, sharing stupid little stories and ensuring Minho’s mind is engaged and his body correctly paced. But as they move on to weight training, Minho, feeling a rush of determination, begins to push himself harder. He adds more weight than Chan advises, his thoughts fixated on erasing the softness that has become his focus of discontent.

“Take it slow, Min. There’s no rush,” Chan tries, noting the strain on Minho’s face.

“I’m okay,” Minho insists, gritting his teeth as he lifts, the muscles in his arms trembling with the effort.

But the desire to see immediate change, to regain some control over his body, drives him to ignore the signs of fatigue that begin to creep up on him. He moves from one exercise to the next, increasing the intensity despite Chan’s growing concerns.

“Minho, that’s enough,” Chan finally steps in firmly after Minho bypasses his recommended weights yet again. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Minho’s next lift is shaky; his arms quiver violently as he tries to bench press more than he's handled in months. As he struggles to lift, a wave of dizziness washes over him. The room tilts, his vision blurs, and suddenly, the weight feels like it doubles. Chan reacts quickly, stepping in to re-rack the weights, but Minho’s strength gives out. He collapses onto the bench, his breath ragged, his body surrendering to the exhaustion and strain.

Chan is immediately by his side, his voice laced with worry. “Minho! Are you okay? Talk to me, baby.”

Lying on the bench, Minho’s breaths come fast and hard. He closes his eyes, fighting the nausea and the embarrassment that floods through him. “I... I'm sorry,” he manages to say, his voice weak.

“We need to get you checked out,” Chan insists, but Minho shakes his head.

“Just... just give me a minute,” he pleads, needing a moment to gather himself.

Chan nods, visibly concerned, and sits down next to him, offering silent support. Minho’s breathing gradually slows, and the dizziness subsides, leaving behind a sobering realization of his limits.

After a few minutes, Minho sits up, his body still echoing with the aftermath of his collapse. “I’m sorry, Chan. I just wanted to... I don’t know what I wanted.”

Chan’s response is gentle but firm. “You don’t have to push yourself to prove anything, Minho. It’s okay to take time, to build back up at a pace that’s healthy. Let’s just focus on that, okay?” Minho's eyes brim with tears and before he can stop himself a sob ripples through his chest. Chan looks up in shock, surging forward and pulling him into a tight hug. “No, baby, I'm sorry, it's okay. I'm not mad,” he rambles worriedly, holding him tight. 

“I'm sorry,” Minho sobs and Chan's not quite sure what he's apologizing for. 

“Shh, I got you, Minnie,” he promises soothingly, kissing his hair. “I'm here, baby.”

“I-I lied,” he admits. “I said I'm fine but I'm so not fine,” he tells him through tears. 

“What's wrong, hm? You can tell me,” Chan encourages him gently. 

“I just… I feel so out of place in my own body. Every comment, every look—it feels like a critique. I thought if I pushed hard enough today, if I could just start looking the way I used to, maybe I’d feel better about myself. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so… so disgusting,” Minho confesses, his voice breaking under the weight of his insecurities.

Chan tightens his embrace, his heart aching at Minho’s words. “Minnie, you’re not disgusting. You’re not any of the negative things you think about yourself. I’m so sorry you’ve been feeling this way, and I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel like you need to change anything about yourself. I love you, just the way you are, always.”

They sit in silence for a while, Chan holding Minho as he cries, letting out all the pent-up emotions he had been holding back. Gradually, Minho's sobs subside, and he feels a sense of relief having shared his deepest fears with Chan.

“Thank you,” Minho whispers, feeling a bit lighter. “I guess I’ve been so scared of not meeting everyone’s expectations, including my own, that I’ve been pushing myself too hard.”

Chan nods, helping Minho to stand up. “Let’s take things slow, okay? We’ll work on a plan that feels good for you, no rush or unrealistic goals. And we'll focus on how you feel, not just how you look. Your health, both mental and physical, is what’s most important.”

Minho nods, feeling grateful for Chan’s understanding and support. They decide to leave the gym for the day, focusing instead on recovery and rest. 

-

Gradually, Minho’s perception begins to shift. The mirror no longer feels like an enemy, but a tool to observe and appreciate the natural evolution of his body. The softness he once viewed with disdain became a sign of the life he had lived, the meals enjoyed with friends, the nights spent curled up with Chan, safe and loved.

Their journey wasn’t without its setbacks. There were days when old insecurities crept back, whispering unwelcome thoughts into Minho’s mind. But now, armed with new coping strategies and supported by Chan’s unwavering love, Minho faced each challenge with a resilience that grew stronger over time.

Through it all, Minho’s relationship with his body transformed. It became less about what he saw in the mirror and more about what he felt within. With Chan by his side, he rediscovered confidence, not just in his physical self, but in his emotional and mental resilience.

One evening, as they are getting ready for bed, Minho stands in front of the mirror again. This time, however, the reflection he sees is different. Not because his body had changed significantly, but because his perception had.

“I’m okay with this,” Minho says softly, tracing the same curves and edges he used to criticize. Chan, standing behind him, wraps his arms around Minho’s waist and rests his chin on Minho’s shoulder.

“You’re more than okay; you’re amazing,” Chan whispers, kissing Minho’s cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”

Minho leans back into Chan’s embrace, a smile spreading across his face. For the first time in a long time, he believes those words. He was learning to love himself again, and with Chan by his side, he felt unstoppable, ready to face whatever challenges came next, knowing he was enough, exactly as he was. “I think I’m finally starting to feel like myself again,” he murmurs.

Chan squeezes his hand, a silent vow echoing in the simple gesture. “I always see you, Minho. And I always love who I see.”

In the end, Minho realized that the journey to self-acceptance wasn’t about returning to who he was before but about embracing who he was now and who he was becoming. Each day brought new challenges, but also new opportunities to love himself a little more, supported by Chan’s love, which remained constant like the horizon—always present, no matter the changes in the landscape.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

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[testrella]

CRAZY RICH ASIANS…! G.SATORU X READER

𝜗𝜚 | CHAPTER ONE : fight! fight! fight!

NEXT… CHAPTER TWO : rare sighting.

megumi stood in front of his classroom, paper in hand and slightly trembling. he was never one for public speaking but he understood how much it meant to his favorite teacher to present. the timid boy excelled in school since the beginning, so this should’ve been an easy A.

his project was based on a historical figure, and the battles they fought. almost like a biography. he couldn’t remember all the details since he started and finished the night before, but the key points were definitely noted. yes, megumi was the type to start a project assigned two months ago the night before it’s due. he believes he works beautifully under immense pressure.

“speak up boy.” the boy’s voice was stern, cutting through the awkward silence in the classroom.

the silence was soon replaced with the students giggling. it was hard to differentiate the giggles, if it was out of nervousness or to taunt him.

he wasn’t that quiet. megumi thought that perhaps that comment was genuine, and they actually couldn’t hear him. but the mumbling in the back of the class told a different story.

“i bet you could punch him, and he wouldn’t even see it coming.” one of the boy’s whispered, quiet enough to not get in trouble but loud enough to disturb megumi.

perhaps he could’ve used the T.H.I.N.K method before speaking his mind. maybe then he wouldn’t be kicking a boys face and punching another.

now looking back at it, with adrenaline running through his veins, there was no way he could’ve avoided a fight. his fists were itching to feel something at the moment.

one of them lunged at him, shoving him backwards and almost losing his balance. another swings at him at which megumi easily dodged. megumi catches his balance, being fouled by anger, he swings without thinking.

after that, megumi blacks out and couldn’t remember what he did next. next thing he knows, he’s sitting awkwardly in the dean’s office. he wished you didn’t leave to get ice, he felt perfectly fine. he’d much rather deal with the lecture with the comfort that you were there.

the adrenaline starts slowly leaving his body as the dean’s voice goes in and out his head, like a distant drone in his ears.

“…able to knock out three out of the five and broke one kid’s nose. what would your father have to say to this?”

“he is not my father..” megumi said while staring at his bruised and bloodied knuckles. at least he would be proud that he won the fight, right?

“woah there little lady, you okay?. seems like we’re both in a hurry today.” the six foot tall male joked with a teasing and amusing tone.

you looked up, still slightly dazed from bumping into him. you had never seen him around the school, let alone anywhere. the way he was dressed would have you think he belonged in a different tax bracket.

he covered head to toe in designer, it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. the suit’s fabric looked to be around a month’s worth of rent. one accessory that stood out was his sunglasses.

as stylish as the glasses were, wearing it indoors called for suspicious behavior. it gave him an aura of mystery that immediately set off alarms in your head.

“excuse me sir, i don’t mean to be rude but you cannot walk around the school without checking in. please turn around and check in.” you said in the firmest way possible, speaking to him as if he were a wanted man.

as attractive as he was, the students’ in the school were your top priority. plus, who would trust a man wearing sunglasses indoors?!

he raises his hands in defense and flashes you a charming smile, “of course, i understand and i apologize. i was just in a bit of a rush, i’m satoru gojo, here’s my ID.”

he pulls out his drivers licenses from his wallet and hands it to you.

“you see, i was called by the dean that my boy got into a bit of a..” you watch as he struggles to find the right words to paint megumi in a good light, “disagreement..?”

“oh! you’re megumi’s fath- i mean guardian!” you continue to examine his ID before handing it back to him. “i’m his home room teacher, we’ll be in the meeting together. please allow me to escort you.”

you motioned for him to follow you, and led the way down to the dean’s office. throughout the small trip, the ice bag in your hand drips away as he makes conversation.

“soooo, you’re a teacher here?”

you looked at him funny, “yes, i told you i’m megumi’s home room teacher.”

his eyes widen as he realized that his question wasn’t the brightest. you watched as he fiddled with his collar and stutters over his next question.

“r-right i knew that. how long have you been working here? you look pretty young.” his tone was full of curiosity but his eyes lingered on you. even with his sunglasses on, you could feel his piercing gaze on you.

“i’ve been working here for 4 years, started when i was 22.” the conversation was then cut short after arriving in front of the door with bold lettering that spelled out ‘DEAN YAMAMOTO.’

you take a deep breath before opening the door, “principal yamamoto, this is mr.gojo. he’s megumi’s uh- guardian.”

you walk over next to megumi before kneeling down. you gently place the melting ice bag over his knuckles that he was desperately trying to hide. his expression was unreadable, there was no telling what was going through his head.

“can you stay with me..?” megumi asked gently. the principal overheard and dismissed you.

“miss. l/n, thank you for escorting mr. gojo. you may take your leave now.” before you could protest, his assistant was already at the door, waiting to take you away.

“actually, i’d prefer if miss. l/n stayed for this meeting. she was there, she’s able to provide more insight on the situation.” gojo then turns to you, “only if that’s okay with you, miss. l/n.”

by then, gojo had already taken off his sunglasses and you were able to stare into his eyes. his eyes were a beautiful icy blue and showed a rare genuine remorse most parents lack. despite not being megumi’s father, there was a charming and dedicated figure for megumi.

“of course, i’d like to start off by talking about megumi as a student.” you sit down in the middle, megumi to your right, gojo to your left. “his grades are excellent and he makes an effort in my class. i cannot speak for his other teachers but he is top of my class.”

you look over at megumi before continuing, “to make things clear, i believe fighting is never the answer. but those boys have been awful to him. i have tried everything and the school has done nothing to punish those kids.”

megumi glances at you, then back at gojo. gojo, the silly goofy man he is, is smiling ear to ear. it annoys megumi to an extent but he shrugs it off.

“and i completely agree with miss. l/n. i’d like the school to open an investigation and take a closer look on what’s been going on. it shouldn’t have taken my megumi to break a kid’s nose for something to happen.” gojo huffs out and crosses his arms while shaking his head. it’s times like these that gojo was glad he taught megumi how to protect himself.

the dean and gojo come to a conclusion. he agreed to pay for the medical expenses as long as the students were punished accordingly and put in another class. it was a win for both megumi and yourself. you no longer had to deal with their disruptive behaviors.

before heading back to your class, gojo pulls you aside. “miss. l/n, i’d like to personally thank you. your presence in that meeting truly helped megumi get out of this.”

he looks around his surroundings, analyzing it before speaking, “megumi has told me how much he loves your class, and i believe the world needs more people like yourself.”

your cheeks flushed as he grabbed both your hands and interlinked them with his. he massages your knuckles for a bit before pulling away. you watched as he pulled out an envelope from his jacket.

“if there’s anything else you need in life, please know that i’m only one phone call away.” his charming eyes stare intensely into yours as he then hands you the envelope.

before you could thank him or even question what he meant by that last sentence, megumi starts pulling him away. you watch as the 15 year old boy pushes gojo away from you, complaining how ‘weird’ he was acting.

you looked down at the envelope in your hands. your hands fiddled with it before finally opening it. as your opening it, a business card falls out.

GOJO CLAN® SATORU GOJO | HEAD OF CLAN | HEIR TO ALL PHONE : +81 ### ### #### EMAIL : gojo.satoru25@family.gojo.com WEBSITE : www.GojoClan.com

and inside the envelope, you find yourself ¥30,000.

it is currently 9:57 p.m and you’re sitting criss cross applesauce on your living room floor. you watch the envelope sitting on your coffee table. you wait for it to disappear since you refuse to believe there’s ¥30,000 in your home.

it was unbelievable that someone could willingly throw it away to somebody they did not know. it felt wrong. no, it felt dirty.

a part of you wanted to call the number on his business card, demand he take the money back and block him on everything. but ¥30,000 was just enough to cover your rent for the month.

you moved to tokyo as a foreigner a few years ago and it hasn’t been easy to keep up financially. there are many things you’ve yet to try due to your financial situation. maybe he was the blessing you needed in life.

before you could fully comprehend the situation, your phone rings. you ignore it and wait for it to stop, and it does for a minute. then it starts ringing again. it doesn’t stop until you decide to pick up.

“hello?”

“is this miss. y/n l/n?” an unfamiliar voice responds back. it was a female voice that had a stern, and demanding tone.

“yes, may i ask who this is?”

“good evening, i’m yuki tanaka and calling on behalf of mr. gojo satoru. i’m please to inform you that you have been invited to an exclusive dinner organized by mr. gojo himself.”

your brows furrowed as you listen intensely. it seemed like some odd prank pulled by one of your students. but with the information being presented, it was too elaborate for it to be a secondary student.

“the dinner shall take place this friday evening in the prestigious gojo grand hotel & resort located in central tokyo.”

you spoke up before she could continue, “i’m so sorry what did you just say? he owns a hotel?! wait- what is this about, this is so much information you process.” you mumbled the last sentence. you run your hand through your hair as you begin to piece the information together.

“i apologize for speaking too fast to your liking. shall i send an email with the details for friday’s dinner? therefore you can decide on your own time if you can RVSP.”

“y-yes! my email is y/-“

“y/n.l/n00@email.com, yes i’m aware. mr. gojo has done extensive research on you.” the lady behind the line then starts to backpedal, “i mean mr. gojo has, he has not done a background check. he- uh, i’ll send the email. have a good night.”

the line goes dead before you can further question her knowledge of your personal information. a sickening pit starts to form in your stomach. how did defending a student’s actions lead to this? then a notification on your phone pops up.

dear miss. y/n l/n,

we hope this email finds you well. we are writing this on behalf of gojo satoru, heir to the gojo clan. the details provided below are in correlation of the organized dinner.

DATE : this friday. TIME : 7:00 p.m LOCATION : gojo grand hotel & resort, private imperial room #6

we hope to see you there. warm regards, yuki tanaka & on behalf of the gojo clan

tag list: @roscpctals99 @poeticlovefanpage @mistyheart @sureconfused @chilichopsticks @lightshowerrr @faeryminnyx @0001010dog @myabae @n1vi @therealestpussyeater r @kolpvii @sleepykittycx @browrm @tojisworm-5 @universallystrangeravenue @catobsessedlady @shivzypuff @nico707 @invisible-mori @peqch-pie @dilflover-3 @lovelivelaygh1324 @mo0sin @gojoracle @foliea @honoredalone @goldenglow149 @portgas459ace @sealsu @misorastars @hyori2 @selysixn @silkija @prettylvne @r0ckst4rjk @ritsatoru @starlostwish @yihona-san06 @zoeyflower @mx-mekla @iaminyourfloors @gabi-moureira @thesharkcollector @misorastars @hyori2 @selysixn @miffysoo @lordbugs @mimidonottouch

a/n: thank you soooo sooo much for the support & as much as i would love to rage everybody, i think i will be closing my tag list..! it’s a bit of a hassle to do it on my phone but i’ll still add you if i can!! for some reason, some ppl cannot be tagged & i’m not sure howwww to fix it. the usernames are spelled right, it just won’t pop up for some so i do apologize for that inconvenience.

[ladywhistlewrites]

chapter 1: The very first morning

As the fresh morning air made its way into her room, caressing her skin, the young lady Y/N was fast out of bed, pacing around her chamber. This was the day. This was the day her parents had prepared her for so diligently, the day she had prepared for so fervently. At noon, she would be officially introduced to society as an eligible young lady. Eligible for marriage, of course.

She swiftly looked at herself in the mirror of her nightstand, almost seeking something in her own reflection. “There must be a way to escape Her Majesty today,” she thought as she started combing her hair with her fingers. Was marriage truly a woman’s only calling? Was playing the piano, singing, and being a polite, flawless young lady all that life held for her? These thoughts roamed in her young mind ever since she was a child.

Surely, a woman should marry and have children if she wished so, but what if she wished for something else? What if she wished to go off to Oxford as her brothers did? Y/N was torn between what her parents wished, almost demanded, for her life and what she desired.

As she was lost in her thoughts, a soft knock came from her door. “Good morning, miss,” a giddy voice said. Y/N turned around and found Miss Olive’s smiling face. “Good morning, Olive,” she said with a smile. Miss Olive was a young girl herself, no more than six-and-twenty years of age, with a kind face and lively eyes. She had become Y/N’s lady’s maid quite recently, but she had shown herself to be a true confidant many times, as well as a very good maid indeed.

“Are you excited for today, Miss Y/N?” Olive asked, her eyes sparkling with genuine interest.

Y/N gave a small laugh. “Excited? Perhaps nervous is a better word. I am to be paraded in front of all of London society and judged suitable or not for marriage by the Queen herself. How could one be anything but nervous?”

Olive’s smile softened with understanding. “You will do wonderfully, miss. You have a grace and charm about you that no one can deny. Besides, this is just the beginning. Who knows what the season holds?”

Y/N appreciated Olive’s optimism but could not shake off the feeling of apprehension. She had seen how the season could make or break a young lady’s prospects. It was a game, a matchmaking game, and she was expected to play her part. But Y/N had always wondered if she could be more than just a pawn. Could she be the protagonist of her own story, taking the reins of her own destiny? Or perhaps she would breathe the air of libertinism and embrace the changing times?

As the morning progressed, Y/N was dressed in her finest gown, a delicate creation of lavender silk with lace trim that complemented her fair complexion. Her hair was styled in an intricate updo, adorned with tiny pearls that caught the light. She looked every bit the baroness she was born to be, yet her heart yearned for something more.

“Miss Y/N,” Olive said softly as she adjusted the final pin in her hair, “remember that today is just the beginning. You have the power to shape your own destiny. Do not let anyone dictate your path.”

Y/N looked at her maid and confidante with gratitude. “Thank you, Olive. I will try to remember that.”

With a deep breath, Y/N descended the grand staircase of her family’s townhouse, where her parents awaited her. Her father, a stern yet proud man, gave her an approving nod. Her mother, ever the epitome of grace, took her hand and squeezed it gently. “You look beautiful, my dear. Today, you will captivate the Queen and all of London.”

Y/N smiled, though it felt more like a mask. “Thank you, Mother.”

As they made their way to the carriage that would take them to Buckingham House, Y/N felt a flutter of anticipation mixed with dread. This was her moment, the beginning of her season.

The bustling streets of London passed by in a blur as Y/N contemplated her future. The carriage came to a halt, and she was helped down by a footman. The grand entrance of Buckingham House loomed before her, a symbol of the society she was about to enter.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N stepped forward, ready to face whatever the day would bring. This was her debut, her introduction to the world. And in that moment, she resolved that no matter what happened, she would remain true to herself.

As the grand doors opened and the sound of polite conversation and laughter filled her ears, Y/N lifted her chin and entered the hall. The eyes of the elite were upon her, and somewhere in the crowd, the Queen awaited her presence.

Would she captivate the Queen with her kindness, wit, and grace? Only time would tell. But one thing was certain: Y/N was determined to make this season her own, to write her own story, and to find her own path in a world that expected her to conform.

With every step she took, Y/N felt a growing sense of empowerment. This was her season, her story, and she would make it unforgettable.

******

author’s note:

first chapter officially out!! see you next Friday!

[salaimoi]

i wave goodbye to the end of beginning ˚. ✦.˳· ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

pairing: gojo satoru x fem reader sypnosis: he wasn’t what you desired anymore, but he couldn’t let you go. months passed since your bitter breakup, and yet, he didn’t stop loving you for a second. cw: slow burn. angst for the sake of angst. falling out of love for no reason fr. unrequited love. alcohol consumption (gojo only) no happy ending me thinks, or maybe somewhat. who knows word count: 3.1k

author's notes: i’m mourning gojo and so should you! so here’s a piece of an angsty fic that’s been rotting, unfinished, in my drafts since march 29. i was only gonna post a sneak peek of this and suddenly the holy spirit took over me and drove me to finally finish it??? IF U EVER READ ANYTHING OF MINE PLEASE LET IT BE THIS😭😭i’m so in love with the reader crying scene u don’t get it. the metaphors?! i outdid myself. i am so terrified of the deep ocean, and the fact that i find myself writing about it during angsty hours says a lot about me. i can’t emphasize how much i adore this fic. i just love angst sm idkidkidk

also, this is my first time attempting angst for the sake of angst as well as slow burn (?) so idk if i’ll ever come back to this. not beta read.

Time and again, this mahogany dining table was the scene of numerous heartwarming interactions – mementos Satoru wouldn’t be able to replicate a second time, even if he spent a thousand lifetimes trying to do so. Sure, it was more than easy to recreate the scene, but not the genuine warmth the two of you felt in that moment. He could go to great lengths, such as hand-crafting every single piece of furniture in the room that bore witness – carving and polishing wood until his palms became more splinters than skin. But even then, he wouldn’t come close to reliving any of those gratifying sentiments from so long ago.

All the shared laughter at his trivial attempts at comedy had caught up to you; your smiles were forced lately, and he could tell. He possessed that diamond-blue, six-eyed gaze which consistently made you feel as if he could undeniably read your thoughts, but that wasn’t the case. Even a blind person could discern the unforeseen shift in your comportment toward him, and due to this, Satoru questioned himself relentlessly. 

What if he’d said something to offend you? What if he left the toilet seat up one too many times for your liking? What if he began snoring in bed but you were too considerate to say anything about it? What if he forgot a special date? What if he tried to offer you something you were allergic to? 

What if he stopped being the love of your life...? 

It seemed as if, in a fraction of a second, all the enjoyment you once felt had deserted you, and with it, your love for him. Had you forgotten how happy you were by his side all in the spawn of a few hours, or was this the universe’s twisted interpretation of a joke?

Even if it was, you weren’t laughing.

You told yourself it was fine, that it was a mere wave of sadness that would soon pass, but instead the harmless tide you paid no mind to had brutally swept your body into a sea of despair. Before you could process your predicament, the shoreline was well out of sight – blurring with the deep blue expanse of the oceanic abyss that enveloped your mind.

The longer you fought to stay afloat, the clearer the path became for the briny water to replace the oxygen in your lungs, giving you no choice but to drown as everything around you became a pitch-black, bottomless pit – devoid of any sense of worry for you. 

It was rather often that you were accused of abandoning the ship when things got bad, and yet, here you were – submerging along with it.  

How ironic.

Even he couldn’t save you now. The solace his mere presence bestowed upon you when you needed it most wasn’t there anymore. There was no more capability of initiating conversations with him when you were the only other person in the room, causing the once-upbeat and soothing environment to give way to one of silence and uncertainty; it was as thick as syrup.

Syrup. The sugary taste of it from when you consumed it during breakfast was all but replaced by a repugnant, sour one in your mouth. A persistent echo of those homemade fluffy pancakes you had turned down remained, even though he had made them just for you — his precious girl. 

You insisted you would eat later – an obvious white lie to mask your despondency and lack of appetite – but he spoon-fed you, because in his own words, “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I allow my girlfriend to starve? No, that won’t do. I’ll take care of you even after I've exhaled my last breath.”

“And how would you do that if you’re no longer breathing, genius?” you asked, a wilting smile on your face that you had put on display for him. 

“Well, my dear," he retorts with a smug grin. "I've always believed that love has a way of transcending the boundaries of life and death. And as luck would have it, our love transcends the mortal realm. I will always be with you, in spirit if not in flesh.” he smiles, a twinkle of amusement behind his sapphire eyes before continuing.

“Once I've moved on to the afterlife, I'll find a way to send you sweet nothings and a box of chocolates from beyond the grave. Consider it an eternal gift.”

He declares in a complacent tone as he lounges back in his chair, head resting comfortably on the back of his hands. 

"But in all seriousness," he then adds, his tone becoming more genuine, "I'll do everything in my power to ensure you're taken care of – even if it means making sure my eternal resting place has a Wi-Fi connection for you to receive my messages.” 

Your thoughts were entirely silenced in that moment; white noise overtook the black space within your mind. How had he managed to say such heartfelt words as if they were second nature? This early in the morning, nonetheless.

Would he actually…?

You knew he would.

"But let’s not dwell on my demise just yet,” his words bring you back to the present conversation. “Until the day comes, I promise to make the most of our time together. Besides, knowing me, I’d probably haunt you just to ensure you have someone annoying to keep you company."

He finally remarked, going back to stuffing your face with the soggy pancakes that had been sitting in syrup for too long. 

And you were cognizant of the fact that you alone were privy to this side of Satoru Gojo: the mushy, gentle one who tended to his companion as if it were a god-given mandate. 

To the public, he was a stoic, impervious character who had no dread of others. To you, he was far more vulnerable than he would ever confess. 

But that wasn’t nearly enough to deter you from taking the disheartening decision made later that day.

“I can’t stay here anymore.” austere words you didn’t wish to speak, but needed to, in order to provide some semblance of closure for the both of you. “I can’t love you anymore.” 

A hushed supplication could be heard flying across the room at the speed of light once your hand reached out to turn the bitterly cold door knob, hitting against the back of your head – identical to an equally-cold shower.

“Please don’t leave me,” he immediately protested weakly. 

He approached you with cautious strides, every step causing fragmentation in his all-too-frail emotional state. Even if it was ephemeral, the mutual love between the two of you had already left a blazing watermark on his soul. His feelings for you transcended the nagging rationality that bound his mind, defying all sensible objections he had on the matter of permitting you to depart from his life. Having failed to quell the ardor her felt, it persisted apodictically until he was an arm’s length from your frame. 

And that was exactly it – the same frigid sensation your hand clinged onto emulated the one you felt in your wretched heart the moment he approached you. You’d already turned your back on him and expressed every afflicting anguish that tormented your soul, so why plead now? Now – when you already made the conscious decision to leave him behind. 

Tears neither you nor he could hold back began flowing down your features. A familiar hand lifted towards your cheek soon after, wiping the salty residue off your delicate face with his thumb. 

He never ceased to remind you how gorgeous you were when you cried, frankly because the manner in which your wispy eyelashes retained the saltine tears in your eyes resembled the delicate surface of a tranquil pond.

Every tear you shed would become the gentle water that tickled his skin as his body wafted about in your iris – an eternal reservoir he’d swim in without tiring if the heavens so permitted it.

However, this occasion differed from the rest; the once gentle waters he yearned to lay in became calamitous waves, which may lure him to the ocean’s most profound recesses in the blink of an eye – your blink of an eye. He would usually stay afloat among that innocent gaze of yours, but tonight it was ruthlessly drowning him with no lifeline in sight. 

Even after he implored that your crying would come to a halt, more pungent teardrops bled onto his fingers. An eroding desperation flowed through you, aching to hold onto something, anything, in order to cease the mental decay within your subconscious.

Thus, your own hand extended to hold his against your cheek, a glacial embrace overpowering the warmth of his skin; an identical chill tickled his spine when he absorbed the crispness of your graze, but he paid it no mind.

“Not you too…anyone but you,” he pleaded in a low voice, causing more accursed tears of yours to cascade mercilessly as he embraced you in an endeavor to sway your decision. His voice was gentle and soothing, mimicking a caress you’d never experience a second time. 

“I’m sorry.” you muttered.

Being unable to bring yourself to meet the sapphire eyes that imitated a midwinter sky so perfectly, your head lay low; the only thing visible to him was the top of it. 

It was unclear what you were sorry about. Perhaps you were sorry that you had to leave him behind. Or perhaps you were apologizing to yourself that he was no longer what you thought you wanted with every fiber in your body.

You desired more in this life, and on your game board, he wasn’t a playing piece who could frolic alongside you. It wasn’t because you didn’t fancy his company, rather it was the fact that his own strategy of playing was one that did not catch your eye anymore; it had become a monotonous rehearsal. Every move came to be a discernible one to you – even before he picked up his pawn, causing you to lose interest in the entire game itself.

That realization alone shattered his entire world.

Satoru’s head lay low all throughout as he sat on a wooden stool amidst the empty bar. It was 2 a.m. and he needed to go home, but why should he?

You wouldn’t be there to greet him – or even scold him for that matter. 

Colorless, almost lifeless, marbles stared vacantly at the picture of you on his lock screen; he consistently spoke to your picture as if he were having a conversation with it. At this point in time, it had become routine. Maybe one of these days the frozen-in-time frame would speak back to him for once?

Just once.

Where had that tender smile he’d fallen in love with gone?

Where had you gone?

On a nightly basis, the same detestable conversation from that night redounded from one end of Satoru’s mind to the other incessantly – akin to a religiously recited sermon. 

It was impractical to disregard the harsh reality that sooner or later every cherished individual he held dear to his heart willingly departed from his life – Suguru, and now you. 

If it entailed becoming a regular person, he’d give his life as a sorcerer to ensure the permanent presence of at least one individual in his life. Where was the value of possessing such prowess when one’s vulnerability in the realm of love was inescapable? 

What twisted transaction was that?

He'd even willingly forsake his divinely bestowed talents for the purpose of altering the passage of time, thereby reverting to a period where your presence was far from being nothing more than a diminishing recollection. 

Ijichi had been dealing with this side of his boss for months on end. Regardless of his efforts to encourage Gojo to put an end to this melancholic act of his, he never managed to convince him to do so. Ijichi attempted the compassionate approach, but to no avail. His optimism and patience were dwindling, fearing that this would continue on for eternity – and perhaps it would’ve if he hadn’t stepped in.

This had to end sooner or later, and for everyone involved’s sake, it had to be the former. So tonight, he opted for a sterner, and perhaps more unforgiving, path.

Your car was parked out front of the bar Ijichi had sent you the address to – forehead pressed against the steering wheel as an audible, exhausted sigh escaped your mouth. It was late and you knew this was nothing short of inane behavior. You weren’t doing this for you; you had to remind yourself that you were doing it for him, with the hope that he would ultimately find someone who would be there for him in a way that you were unable to. 

Weary, almost weak, legs lead you to enter the desolate bar. A knife prods at your chest when your eyes dart over to where Gojo was. He kept his head lowered; the only part of him you could clearly see from this angle was his back.

An overwhelming sea of emotions plagued your mind when you witnessed him in such a state. You could feel the knives twist the longer you stared at the back of his fluffy white locks. 

Months had passed since your split, and you realized Satoru’s grief and distress were indeed as dire as his assistant conveyed to you during the phone conversation. 

A tap on his shoulder was accompanied by a sweet voice that had vanished into the depths of his consciousness a long time ago. Perhaps because he didn't wish to recall the agonizing memories that came with your voice, or perhaps because he needed to maintain a pristine, untouched image of you in his psyche.

As you occupy a vacant stool one seat away from him, your attention is drawn to the half empty vodka bottle in his grasp. 

“You know, I talked to your therapist. He said you were getting sober.” 

What you said held true, except you didn’t hear it from his therapist directly; Ijichi was the one who was initially informed about that, and being the caring person he was, he relayed the details to you. Mostly because he felt as if, deep down, you still wanted to know about Gojo’s well-being.

"What are you doing here drowning yourself in alcohol?" you added, seemingly concerned for your ex-boyfriend.

He looked up at you, his eyes red and bleary from the drink. His body froze. Blue pupils dilated in a mixture of shock and happiness. It really was you. Had you come back for him after all this time? 

"What does it look like I’m doing?" he muttered, his voice bitter and angry.

Satoru detested alcohol; it always interfered with his abilities, and being the strongest meant being ready whenever – no questions asked.  After your departure, though, he grew fond of the bitter, burning feeling the liquid provided. That sweet poison was the sole substance capable of muffling the eternal pessimism plaguing his mind.

You approached him cautiously, taking the bottle from his hands and setting it aside. "Come on," you said firmly, "we need to get you home."

He wasted no time to speak what was really on his mind. Even if it was for a mere second, he had felt the sensation of your touch once more. That was more than he needed to vocalize the thoughts that tormented his sanity. Either that, or it was the alcohol he had consumed speaking. 

“Why won’t you love me back?” His words slurred, being far too drunk to care, though. 

“…You’re drunk, let’s get you home.”

“What home? The one I bought for us that YOU left me all alone in?” he deadpans, the silence following being as deafening as a scream.

Ouch. 

“My room feels so empty if you’re not there. I see your precious face and I don't know what to do.” His expression dampens with anguish before he continues – somewhat unclearly, ”whatever I do, I cam’t fubking get you out of my head amd it’s ruining me.” 

“I told you to move on a million times every time you drunk dialed me, Satoru.” 

“If that’s what you wanted, why did you continue to pick up the call?” He retaliates, eyes glazed with forbidden tears on the verge of cascading against his pale skin.

You knew perfectly well why. He knew perfectly well why. Everyone Satoru vented to about you knew why, so why continue to deny it? 

Attempting to keep your temper in check, you take a deep breath, eyes darting back and forth between the door and him. It was more than easy to run away from your problems, like you always did. But not this time.

You owed it to him to at least finally stick around long enough when things got tough. You wouldn’t put up an invisible wall between the two of you anymore, not today. 

You sigh, taking the empty seat right next to him. 

“We can’t go back to how things were. We broke up, remember?” 

“I know,” he grumbles, taking a sip of his beverage. He shook his head, his drunken state making it almost impossible to focus his thoughts or his vision. “But maybe drinking will make me forget that we ever did. Maybe tonight I can pretend we’re still together,” his voice and face etched with sorrow.

His voice trailed off, followed by another long sip of his drink. 

“You need to quit drinking yourself into a stupor, Satoru. This isn’t healthy,” you responded, voice softening out of concern. 

His eyes still clouded with alcohol, he looks at you before speaking. “I don’t know how to move on.” He admitted, voice barely audible. “I don’t know how to live without you. I loved you…and I still do.”

He silently weeps once and for all, crumbling before the love of his life. You didn’t know what else to say, so you settled on simply allowing his head to rest on your shoulder; you always were his favorite shoulder to cry on, after all. Wrapping an arm around him, you pet his head as you lull him. Instinctively, he envelops you into a warm embrace, face burying itself deeper into your chest. 

As he continued to sob like a baby, the sorcerer allowed his emotions to flow freely – months of bottling them up into liquor bottles had finally caught up to him. 

He was beyond ecstatic underneath all the melancholy; not only had you allowed him to get closer to you, but even went as far as hugging him too. He couldn't believe it. Just a few moments ago, you were talking about forcing him to move on, but now – you were actually back in his arms, where you belonged.

He felt relieved for a moment, almost to the point where he wasn't thinking properly anymore. You were finally back in his arms, where you needed to be; he refused to let go.

It felt like a fever dream, but this was all he needed. Even if you’re gone, morning come, he’ll live in this moment for the rest of eternity.