#�� ≼ time to see what i can do / test the limits & break through ≽ ic.

[marryinred]

A fresh wave of panic began to simmer in the pit of Lydia’s stomach. This was not good.

Part of their original binding contract stated that Lydia was, quite literally, Betelgeuse’s anchor to the realm of the living. Where she would go, he would go, and vice versa. In the time they’d been together, they’d never tested the boundaries and limits of the invisible leash, and now Lydia was desperately wishing they had. 

With a quick, chilly kiss to Lydia’s cheek, Byron was quickly rushed out the door with her father. She remained standing there in the living room, anxiety rolling through her like an oncoming storm as she stared at the closed door. Letting out a deep exhale, she turned and walked past the kitchen. Delia was still busying herself with straightening up after breakfast, so she decided to use that moment to dart back upstairs to the sanctuary of her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. 

Lydia began to pace back and forth, her long black skirt swishing as she would turn direction. She was confident in Betelgeuse’s immense power, but what would happen if he wandered too far away from her? Would the leash function like a Netherworld version of an ankle monitor? Would the Powers That Be assume he was breaking the contract and wreaking havoc upon the world? Or would he be automatically teleported to her side? 

A gentle knock at her bedroom door interrupted Lydia’s chaotic thoughts.

“C-come in!” She called out, trying to keep her voice level. The door opened to reveal Barbara, smiling, but with a slight apologetic expression. The curly-haired woman slipped inside, leaving the door open just a crack. Lydia straightened, giving her a small smile she hoped would pass as friendly and not anxious.

“Hey, honey,” Barbara began, her voice soft and gentle as she spoke. “I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I didn’t mean to upset you.” The ghostly woman fiddled with her fingers, having nothing to do with her hands. “It was just…shocking, you know, to find out you’d told your new boyfriend–”

“Byron,” Lydia interjected.  “His name is Byron.”

Barbara nodded. “Right. It was a surprise that you’d told Byron about us, about…” she waved her hand, gesturing vaguely. “About life after death. Juno was very clear to Adam and I… we can’t let living people know about us. The fact that ghosts are real. It could be dangerous.” Lydia shook her head, coming to stand beside her window. She stared out at the expanse of the town of Winter River down beyond the bridge. God, please hurry up and get back, Beej.

Barbara continued.

“It’s–It’s not that I doubt your judgement, Lydia. I can understand being excited to… share your life, all your secrets, with someone when you get close to them. But I just think…maybe you shouldn’t have told him about us?” After a beat of silence, she continued. “How well do you know him, anyway, Lydia?” At that question, Lydia’s head swiveled back to look at Barbara. 

“I know him better than anyone. And he knows everything about me, too.” Turning now to fully face the ghost woman, Lydia could feel her panic fading into an emotion she rarely let herself express; anger. Lydia had spent the years after her parents’ divorce desperately craving the love and care of a mother and father. While Adam and Barbara were incredibly supportive and loving, they were also almost smothering in their care. What Lydia had thought was comforting in the beginning became overbearing. Through no fault of their own, it was too little, too late.

“What was I supposed to do?” Lydia asked, holding her hands out towards Barbara in a questioning manner. Her voice held a bitter edge as she spoke. “Stay here, in Winter River, forever? Never make friends, never have a relationship? Never really share my life with someone because of this big dark secret that hangs over my head? Was I just supposed to lock myself up in the attic? Be the town’s crazy spinster that can see and talk to ghosts?” 

While she was speaking, Lydia waved her hands for emphasis. Barbara shook her head in protest, and opened her mouth to try and explain she never wanted that for the young woman. Two things happened then– the way in which Lydia moved rang a bell of vague familiarity in Barbara’s mind, and while gesturing with her hands, the light from the window glinted off of the ring on Lydia’s left hand. Chocolate eyes narrowed, Barbara stepped forward and gently grasped Lydia’s wrist, bringing her hand into the light for examination.

At first, Lydia was confused, halted in her expression of a few years’ worth of pent up angst. She glanced down to her ring and realization struck her. She could tell by the look on Barbara’s face that it was all slowly clicking into place for her, as well. Although Adam and Barbara had only been around the poltergeist a handful of times, Barbara could easily remember their first meeting. After having dug him out of his grave in the model, he’d thrown himself at her like a man half starved. When he’d wrapped an arm around her shoulders, she’d recoiled in disgust. She remembered casting a glance to his hand, repulsed by the mold and dirt adorning his fingers. Her attention was drawn, however briefly, to a large gold ring beset with a ruby on his index finger.

An identical ring, although smaller and more feminine, could be found on Lydia’s left hand, where a wedding band would reside. 

It all added up for Barbara now. Byron’s mannerisms, the cadence of his voice, the thinly-veiled contempt in his eyes when he looked at her…

Lydia felt her face drain of all color–how could she have been so forgetful? She’d always kept the ring covered with little lace or velvet gloves, passing it off as another addition to her eccentric style. She’d grown so used to allowing the world to see, openly referring to Betelgeuse as her husband, that she’d forgotten to keep up the guise when she returned to Winter River.

Time seemed to slow down, and silence between the two women seemed to stretch on for eons, before they both began to speak at once. Barbara’s voice was shrill in her concern for the girl, her eyes wide and full of panic. 

“Lydia, what have you done? Did he trick you into this? We’ve got to tell your parents! Adam and I, we can go to Juno, we can get him taken care of for good–”

“Please, please don’t tell my dad and Delia, I didn’t want you all to find out like this–”

Lydia was panicking, and in her mind she was screaming.

This is bad. Please, hurry back, Beej! Hurry!

The panic that was tightening in her chest began to subside the very moment Betelgeuse embraced her.  Lydia closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as he placed a gentle kiss against the top of her head. She gazed adoringly at him as he gave Barbara what-for, and she couldn’t help the faint smile that began to play at the corners of her mouth.

God, I love him, she thought to herself.  

Barbara, however, stood completely still, her chocolate brown eyes wide as dinner plates. Adam, too, was shocked, his jaw gone slack in awe at how this complete stranger was speaking to them as if he knew them. 

But he was passionately defending Lydia, and wouldn’t he do the very same for Barbara? Adam took note of the man’s gentle nature as he silently comforted Lydia, and how the young woman completely melted into his arms. He saw how Byron’s hand gripped Lydia’s shoulder–soft, yet with an undertone of possessiveness. As a man, he read the body language easily. It screamed “She’s mine, and you’re hurting her. This is a warning.”

Byron’s spiel ended as Charles appeared in the doorway, blissfully ignorant of what had just transpired between everyone. There was a moment of terribly awkward silence as they just stood there, not knowing how to react. 

“Oh! Uhm! I changed my mind!” Delia called out, her voice cracking a bit. She immediately started bringing out skillets and placing them on top of the stove. “How does sausage, eggs, and bacon sound? Hm? Want some toast as well? There’s orange juice in the refrigerator!” 

Lydia smiled inwardly and gave her dad a good morning kiss on the cheek. She lead Byron into the living room to sit for a bit, just so she could decompress after what had just happened. Barbara’s eyes followed them all the while, until Charles and Adam began exchanging pleasantries. 

“Thank you,” Lydia whispered, her hand finding Betelgeuse’s and giving it a tight squeeze. 

[tender-rosiey]

Hii!! I would like to request a Sukuna x Reader, bcs I just love how you write him:))

The Reader gets jealous/upset because Sukuna gets Concubines, with a happy ending though please!

Hope you have a great day!!:))

to provoke — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: glad you like him! <3

you had always known that being with sukuna meant navigating through a maze of power plays and manipulation. his affection—if it could be called that—was far from simple.

but nothing had quite prepared you for this.

the concubines had arrived without warning, and with them, an unsettling shift in the atmosphere.

it wasn’t just their presence—it was the way they paraded through the palace, casting knowing glances in your direction, their soft laughter echoing behind closed doors.

at first, you’d ignored it, pretending their arrival hadn’t bothered you. after all, sukuna did what he wanted—always had. you were no stranger to his need to push limits, to test you.

but the whispers, the sly smiles, the way they flaunted themselves in his presence—it wore on you. each teasing glance felt like a needle, pricking at the thin veil of composure you were desperately trying to maintain.

one night, as you passed a group of them in the corridor, one of the concubines stepped forward, her lips curving into a smirk.

“he’s quite fond of us, you know,” she murmured, her tone almost sweet, but dripping with venom. “you must feel so… left out.”

her words struck you. it is one thing for sukuna to do something, but for them to think that they can even talk to you?

it seemed the bitch forgot who her queen is.

her impudence was the reason why her head was separated from her body and laid on the ground. you let out a breath, as the rest of the concubines fled the scene.

you wiped the blood of your face, eyes boring into the woman’s lifeless eyes. if sukuna wanted his concubines, fine. you wouldn’t fight for his attention. you wouldn’t play his games.

days passed. the concubines roamed the halls freely, their shrill laughter occasionally filtering through the walls as they entertained him. you found solace in avoiding them all—avoiding him

perhaps, you thought bitterly, if you stayed out of sight long enough, he'd forget you altogether. but sukuna, being who he was, had no intention of letting that happen.

“you’ve been quiet,” his voice cuts through the air one evening, startling you from your thoughts.

he stands in the doorway of your chambers, his presence filling the room with that suffocating air of dominance that never fails to make your skin prickle.

“I have nothing to say,” you reply, not bothering to look up from where you sit. your voice is even, but you know he can hear the tension lying just beneath the surface.

“oh?” he steps closer, the smirk in his voice unmistakable. “and here I thought you might have something to say about the new additions to my palace.”

your hands tighten in your lap, but you force yourself to remain calm. “they’re none of my concern, husband.”

sukuna’s laugh is low, mocking. “really? you’re not even a little bit jealous?”

you clench your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. this is exactly what he wants—he brought them here to provoke you, to see how far he can push before you break.

but you won’t break. not this time.

“they’re beautiful, aren’t they?” sukuna continues, his voice a lazy drawl as he leans against the wall, watching you closely. “so eager to please. so quick to obey.”

your stomach twists, but you remain silent.

“and yet…” he trails off, his gaze sharpening. “you’ve been avoiding me, wife.”

“I’ve had no reason to be around,” you mutter, finally meeting his gaze, the weight of his scrutiny pressing down on you. you scowl. “and my pride will not allow me to be around a man who does not respect me.”

sukuna’s expression darkens, the amusement slipping slightly as he straightens. “is that what you think?”

you stare at him, defiant, but he only smirks again, his eyes glinting with something more dangerous now. without another word, he turns, motioning for you to follow.

confused, but unwilling to let him have the upper hand, you rise and trail after him, your steps hesitant. sukuna leads you through the palace, deeper into the dimly lit halls until you reach a secluded chamber.

he pushes the doors open with a casual flick of his wrist, revealing what lies inside.

you freeze, breath catching in your throat.

the concubines—every last one of them—lie lifeless on the floor, their bodies unnervingly still. blood pools beneath them, staining the once pristine floor. the air is thick with the scent of death.

sukuna steps inside, his voice disturbingly casual. “they served their purpose.”

you can’t speak. your mind reels, torn between shock and something else—something dark and twisted that tells you this is sukuna’s way of proving something to you. it’s not that you’re unused to carnage.

hell, you even killed one yourself.

but their bodies are so deformed beyond comprehension, they no longer look like humans.

“they were never meant to last,” he says, glancing at you with a bored expression, as if the carnage before him is nothing more than a trivial inconvenience. “did you really think they meant anything?”

the words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“you killed them?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

sukuna’s smirk widens, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “of course. they were disposable.”

a twisted part of you wants to feel relief—relief that they’re gone, that the torment is over. but another part of you feels sickened by the sight, by the casual cruelty of it all.

“you’re the only one deemed my queen,” sukuna says, stepping closer until he’s looming over you, his hand gripping your chin with just enough force to make you wince. “remember that.”

his words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and something else pooling in your stomach. sukuna is many things—cruel, violent, unyielding.

but in his own twisted way, this is his version of loyalty. his way of showing you that no matter how many games he plays, you’re the only one who truly matters.

you swallow hard, meeting his gaze. “and what if I leave?”

sukuna’s grin widens, his eyes narrowing with dark amusement. “you won’t.”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize

check out my buy me a coffee!

[prkhaven]

warnings: smut minors do not interact, filth, unprotected sex, dirty talk, biting, creampies, breeding kink

─────────୨ৎ──────────

“Fuck!” You yell throwing your head back deep into his pillow

You’ve lost track of how many orgasms he’s already ripped out of you, was this the 3rd? 5th? You don’t even know. Your mind was too delirious to have any other thought besides him.

Sunghoon who lapped at your cunt groaned in pure bliss as you came all over his mouth again. Dragging his tongue to collect all your juices spilling out of you, he slurped and slurped until you were soaked with his saliva only.

“Always taste so damn good” He slurred through his teeth, looking up to your dazed state

You’re not sure if you can go on any longer and come again but Sunghoon has full confidence that you can—well you will.

“Just one more and we’ll be done, promise”

Not another second wasted, his leaking tip suddenly protruded into your gaped hole and you clawed at his skin feeling the stretch breaking you apart. Your core far too sensitive to handle anymore but the stretch felt so good that the sensitivity melted away into pleasure when he thrusted up into you.

Sunghoon’s sharp thrust did not disappoint—well they never did. The precision of his movements in making sure you felt him deep inside of you to what you assumed was him rearranging your insides to mold him forever.

“Sung-Sunghoo-” You mewled

Feeling your clamp around him, sucking all of him with ease just like how you always did. You never made him prouder.

Sunghoon could feel the drag of your nails on his bulging biceps, holding onto anything you can find for support. Your body jolts forwards from his thrust as his mission is to fill you.

“Gonna fucking breed this pussy- Make you all mine” He grunts and his words were gasoline added to the raging fire

Your moans grew louder as you felt him moving faster in and out at a pace that didn’t leave any room for slip ups, “You’ll like that won’t you? So full of me that you’ll feel it swashing in you”

The lewd noises falling from you was all he needed as your answer but your weak nod only added more carnal desire into him. He could feel the twitching of his cock, he’s only been focusing on you for the past hour that he’s been denying himself of his own pleasure that it’s coming 10 times harder and faster than usual.

“F-Fuck- Taking me so damn good”

“All- For you!” You squealed, your head in the clouds as you felt the daring snap in your stomach ready for yet another climax

You’re surprised by how much your body can give but Sunghoon always managed to test your body to limits beyond your expectations.

Resting his head into the crock of your neck he groaned in your ear, “Yeah? All for me? I can feel it in you” What he didn’t tell you was that he can feel his own approaching quicker by the second

You gasped loudly when you felt his teeth clamp down onto the flesh of your collarbone. “S-Sunghoon”

The call of his name went in through one ear and out the other as his thrust only continued. He pushed himself deeper, further into your gummy walls to live inside the confinement you gave him.

His mouth still latched onto your collarbone, biting down just hard enough that you could feel the indents of his teeth. You were floored by it.

Tightening around him, you came once again all over his cock with your body shivering from the pleasurable ripple it sent throughout your whole body.

Groaning with his mouth full of your skin, his mouth holding onto your collarbone, his teeth baring onto the bone as he chased after his orgasm.

But with you clenching him, not daring to let him go, Sunghoon painted your once velvet walls pearly white, full of him, just like he wanted.

It was euphoric, feeling how he spilled inside of you.

He let go of your collarbone from his mouth with his semi hard cock still inside of you, he pulled away just enough to see and admire you and that was his biggest mistake.

There infront of him was you glimmering in an afterglow that he can never get tired of. Your collarbone he bit onto now had very faint indents of his teeth on it, your chest rising and falling with heavy breath, your eyes closed shut, lips quivering and your perfect hole fluttering around him.

His eyes trailed down to where the two of you connected to see the very few clumps of his cum spilling out from where it could and he can’t just end it here. He needed more.

He needs to fill you beyond the brim until he himself couldn’t give you anymore and you’ve milked him dry for all his worth as all of it would be inside of you.

You thought that this was the last, like how he promised. But when your legs were suddenly pushed up to your knees and felt the drag of his cock leaving just a little only to be pushed fully back into you.

Your eyes shot wide open as you stared at Sunghoon in bewilderment, it was only supposed to be one more and that was it.

But looking at him all you saw and felt was pure determination.

“C’mon you can give me more. I know you can”

——

[yieldtotemptation]

DEALS ft. Miyeon

... is this thing on?

written as a very late addition to @i-am-lifeform24's project.

miyeon x male reader smut

2k words

"Now that you're done with that," Miyeon starts, her voice firm, confident. The voice of someone used to giving you orders. "Take off your clothes."

The command hangs in the air between the two of you, and suddenly you’re under a microscope—but where most people would squirm, you stand tall.

"Okay."

"Okay?" If she was expecting a challenge, she wasn't going to find one here. After all this time, you know what she's looking for—what she expects from you—someone that can match her, that can meet her on her level. "No questions?"

"That is the deal," you answer matter-of-factly, your t-shirt already half-way over your head. "Money for my time, anything goes."

"Anything," she echoes, her usual stone-cold expression betrayed by a hint of excitement playing in her eyes, somewhat surprised that she managed to push the terms of a contract once made between two teenagers who didn't know any better into new territory.

Anything used to just mean silly tasks—cooking, cleaning, doing all the things that would absolutely not be suitable for her to do—but all just being an excuse for keeping Miyeon company.

That was until now.

Still, you don't have time to think about what’s changed between you fixing her sink and her watching you take off your pants—she’s decided that now is as appropriate an occasion as any to test your limits, and you’ve never been known not to oblige her.

It's only when you're stepping out of your briefs that you catch it—that break in her facade, the slight blush that creeps up her cheeks, that indication that maybe Miyeon isn't so far above the rest of Earth's mortals as she would like you to think.

"Having trouble finding somewhere to look?" You can feel her eyes following you, scanning up and down your body as you fold your clothes neatly, placing them on a corner of the nearby couch.

"The opposite." Whatever crack you just saw in Miyeon's composure is gone as quick as it arrived, and she's all business again, walking over to you, heels that let her meet your eyes clicking against the cold living room floor. "I don't have anywhere I don't want to look."

It's no secret that you feel the same—she's an absolute work of art. It's in the sway of her hips, the curve of her waist, the swell of her lovely, petite breasts under her sheer, near see-through shirt. But you're not here to just admire her. You're here to serve, to satisfy, to be of use.

She stops, close enough that her exhales become your inhales, close enough that the smell of whatever she's wearing—something smoky, something ludicrously expensive—drives you wild.

Close enough that when her eyes alone make you twitch, she feels it brush against her waist.

"Look at me."

Another demand obeyed—all part of the deal.

Maybe it's the light, maybe it's the proximity—her eyes are darker than you remember, a deep brown that would swallow you whole, if only you'd let them.

"Hands," she says next, and she's taking hold of your wrists, pulling them to her, to her body—her unfathomably-tight waist—squeezing down on your fingers to make sure she's locked in your grip. "Now kiss m-"

You're jumping the gun, pulling her closer to you, pulling her lips into yours, warming your tongue with hers, tasting sweetness, tasting her eagerness—or more correctly, her neediness.

She’s opening the door a little, letting you discover a part of her that she's been hiding from you, truly meeting her for the first time—her left hand finding the nape of your neck, her right reaching down below, wrapping fingers around you, holding you against her.

"Mmmph..." She's moaning into you now, her hands are on the move, feeling, stroking—soft, delicate fingers taking your full measure, all the way from the tip... all the way to the base.

It’s making you grow bigger for her, too big for her dainty grip, but she squeezes back against you, gliding her hand up and down, up and down, again and again—all for her pleasure, showing you that no matter how good she's making you feel, it's making her feel better.

That’s when you break the rules for the first time, taking the initiative and running your hands up her back to the lift up her shirt, wanting to catch just a glimpse of more of her flawless, porcelain-white skin. Before you can boldly make your move, she's pushing back against your chest with her free hand, releasing your lips and leaving you with a groan, halting you in your tracks.

"No," she whispers, her eyes darkening with something that isn't quite anger, but is definitely a warning. "Not yet."

A gulp and a nod is all you have for her in response, but it's enough to satisfy her—enough to return her lips to your body, to continue her excruciatingly delightful movements over your shaft.

Her breath is hot, heavy, as she plants kisses on your neck, your collarbone—tracing lines down your chest with her tongue, leaving a trail of goosebumps in her wake. Miyeon's eyes lock onto yours as she continues her expedition, watching you watch her work—watch her make you unravel.

Every movement is intentional—the lower her lips get, the slower her strokes, each more deliberate, each one a silent experiment of how much you can bear.

She takes her time, until at last, finally, she's on her knees before you—no longer stroking, no longer moving—just breathing on you, staring at you, frozen in fascination at your length—at what she's done to you.

And then she licks her perfect, pretty, pink lips.

"Miyeon-" is all you can muster, but it’s too late—she's taking you in—inhaling you—warm—fucking hot—lips wrapping around you, forcing you to hold your breath as she brings you deeper, deeper into her throat.

You had expected teasing, torture even—but not this—not her tongue sliding under your shaft, not her moans around your cock, not her eyes watering as she breathes you in, making a mess of you until her nose has met your chest and your tip has met the back of her throat.

It takes all your strength to keep your knees from buckling as she keeps you there, keeps you down her throat, testing herself against you. The pleasure is overwhelming, intense, but for the two of you it's the power play—she's the one looking up at you, her makeup smudged, eyeliner a disaster—yet she's in complete and total control, feeling your body tighten from just a flick of her tongue, feeling you get closer and closer to the edge.

"Gah-" she rises back up off you, unsheathing your cock from her throat, a glob of her spit following behind her, a glistening bridge from her lips to your tip. She's grinning wildly now, so fucking pleased with herself, so turned on by having conquered you—having conquered your cock. "I did it."

But you don't get to recover—how silly of you to think she would let you—and her lips are back on you, lightning shooting up your spine as she takes in half of you, before releasing—again and again and again.

She's bobbing up and down, putting on a show for you—letting you see how her cheeks hollow, how her lips take you in, how you make her eyes water and how her tongue does it’s best to break you—a masterful dance that somehow makes you feel both worshiped and utterly dominated.

"Mmmmm..." A flick of her tongue against your tip lets you know that she's tasting you, tasting the warm pre-cum leaking past her lips. "I fucking knew it," she murmurs, her voice low, but loud enough for you to hear. "Knew that you would be this big—knew that I could take whatever you had."

"God, Miyeon—" you eke out a groan as she starts to stroke you again, keeping up the pace, keeping up the pleasure.

"Knew that you would taste this good—knew that it would feel this fucking good in my throat."

She doesn't wait for an answer—doesn't need one—her tongue is already back on you, painting your cock with her saliva, up and down, around and around.

It's her moans around you—she's loving this, loving doing this to you—so much so that she doesn't even mind it when you thread your fingers through her hair, pulling on her more forcefully than you intended, desperately pushing more of yourself into her. She takes it, welcomes it, confident that if it came down to it, she would be the last one standing.

You still try—stopping her head still and start to move—start to pound away. Her eyes widen, but she doesn't pull away, not even when you pick up speed, not even when her moans get muffled and you're hitting the back of her mouth, not even when you're the one setting the pace and burying your cock down her hot, tight throat.

It's in her eyes—the challenge, the suggestion—use me, break me if you can—cum—give it to me.

Her hands are on your hips, beckoning you, pushing you to go faster, to fuck her face harder—encouraging you, egging you on. And so you do—you give in to the instinct that's been burning in your veins since she first made you strip for her—you fuck her mouth, her throat, ruin that gorgeous, fucking irresistible face as she struggles to keep up.

Tears are streaming down her eyes now, her breaths coming in ragged gasps around you, but she never looks away—her gaze holding yours, telling you that she's okay, that she wants this—that she can take this.

You shouldn't be fucking her face this hard—it shouldn't be possible to—but you keep going, groaning—"Miyeon", "fuck", "God"—and just when you're about to slip, just when you're about to completely fall apart in her mouth, she forces herself off you, seizing back control and holding you at your base, aiming directly at her picture-perfect visage.

"Cum for me," she squeezes you, wringing you, wanting you. "Do it."

You throb, you explode, you cum, you obey—because that's what she’s asking of you.

It takes every effort to keep your eyes open—to see Miyeon—as you feel the orgasm ripping through your body, the heat spilling from you and onto her face, her chin, her neck—onto a carefully manicured eyebrow, and an undeniably cute dimple. Your cum showers her, paints her, masking her with your release.

And Miyeon takes it, takes all of it, eagerly, smiling up at you through the mess, poking out a tongue to taste as much of you as she can, despite it still overflowing and dribbling down the corners of her mouth.

You shake, you want to collapse, but Miyeon keeps her hold on you, looking up at you like you're her fucking property—and maybe in this moment, you are. Her eyes are glazed over, her cheeks are flushed, and through the cum you can see that devastating smile as she swallows and drinks what remains of you down.

"So fucking good," she whispers, her hand still moving, still stroking you, placing soft, sweet kisses on your exhausted cock, still sending those tingles of pleasure shooting through you. "I knew you would be amazing."

"Fuck, Miyeon."

But she's already rising, on her feet and looking at you expectantly, wiping the excess from her chin with the back of her hand. "I want more," she states. It’s simple. It’s a command. "Take me to the bedroom."

And she's already walking away, peeling off her clothes, soft fabric meeting the floor as you catch a sight of the lovely slope of her back, the perfect curve of her ass—her body bared before you, calling for you to take it.

“Come on,” she calls out to you, “we’re just getting started.”

You stumble forward, following after her—obeying her wishes.

Because why wouldn't you?

That was your deal.

---

A/N: thanks again to @i-am-lifeform24 for actually managing to get me to finish something. what a legend.

[cherryredstars]

Ok so i have this fic idea where reader and mig are from different universes and reader is a scientist and one time mig and her get drunk and start talking about the multiverse and suddenly they are on the topic of what would happen if people from different universes had a baby together. (You see where i am going with this...) they end up drunkenly fucking and saying it's for "research" because they can't admit to themselves that they are in love. If this request is too complicated feel free to ignore. Thank you in advance cherry!! I hope u have a marvelous new year!! 💕

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Penetrative Sex, Mentions of Oral Sex, Mentions of Animal Testing (for science), Breeding Kink

A/N: Thank you, love! I hope you're well!!!

You know there is a process.

And you know this isn't it.

There are supposed to be hypotheses and written out procedures. Dependent and independent variables, a control group. Fucking hell, you should be experimenting on fucking mice. You should be limiting the margins of error, should be going with the most direct, straightforward pursuit for results.

And yet...

You don't stop Miguel when he pushes you back onto the couch. You don't pause or even really think when he's pushing your pants down your legs, placing kisses along the skin as he goes. You lift your hips to aid him when his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, shivering when his warm breath fans over your exposed sex. If this experiment was in any sense proper, you would get straight into it. Cut out all the unneeded steps. But you can't help but pull his head closer to your aching core, craving the way his warm tongue laps at you. If you weren't already drunk, you would be drunk on this feeling alone.

But god, nothing has even been more satisfying than doing the work. You know the data would be void in a real experiment. The trials bleeding into each other hardly make for adequate data, but the way you beg him for more is involuntary. It feels too good, to have him desperately thrusting into you. It makes your mind numb, and everything you know about your life's passion is erased. The only thing that fills your head is the words Miguel grunts into you ears, promises of fucking a baby into you. Vows to make you bloated with load after load of his cum. That all it'll take is one of his orgasms to make it happen.

You guess that is a hypothesis in itself: Miguel O'Hara can get you pregnant with just one orgasm.

Too bad he's too desperate to find out if that hypothesis is correct. Because he doesn't stop at one. No, he keeps going. One after the other with no breaks in-between. But you guess that's to be expected, he is a man of science himself. A passionate one at that.

He's almost crazed in the way he overstimulates himself. Sweat beading in his hairline as he grunts down at you, watching the way he creamy cock slides in and out of your abused pussy. You've lost count of how many times you've come alone, but you know based on the way your body shivers and jolts that it's far more than you've ever had before. It's almost painful now, the way your next orgasm rips through you and shatters your soul again. You let out strangled breaths as you fight through the aftershocks and the continued pleasure of Miguel's cock slamming against your cervix. You swear you black out before he finally stops, your eyes and mind groggy as he pulls your hips flush against his as he spills into you.

You can feel him trying to push deeper into you as he pants ruggedly, his cock twitching against your walls until he's milked dry. Even when he's done filling you, he stays connected. He collapses onto you, breathing in the linger smell of sweat and sex on your skin.

"Got to make sure it takes."

Well, does the process really matter if you get the desired result anyway?

Part 2 Part 3

[kooyabooya]

GAMBIT

m reader x tzuyu // 9k words

The thing about risk takers, you see, is the fact that you tell them to stop multiple times - and they never do. 

At every turn of the hands on the clock, here lies Chou Tzuyu, in her most casual form imaginable. One leg on the other with an arm outward to the head of the couch cushions. She’s got her face at this inquisitive angle; pure innocence, slant lips nearing a sly grin while she’s put through an earful from her manager: 

“You’re on your last set of legs, and I hope to god that this story doesn’t break out in the ringers of the press come tomorrow morning.” 

Nothing could scrounge up the loss of professionalism, draining away from the slips in the shut door frame. Because the challenges become more complicated than the other, and this one might just be the tip of the iceberg. 

“Well then,” Tzuyu starts, and in typical Tzuyu fashion: sweetly and unbothered. “Let’s just have our fingers crossed that no one around here is willing to leak that out to the public.” 

Tzuyu’s manager glances towards your direction, matching the same eyebrow with theirs in pure confusion as to what this conversation was boiling down to. You almost feel bad, but fortunate enough to not be stuck in their position. Dealing with Tzuyu’s bullshit on a day to day basis, growing a gloomy shade in their hair that shouldn’t be there for another twenty to thirty years; luckily, that hasn’t happened to you, at least not yet. 

In the years of service that you’ve had with the agency, you’ve had the fair pleasure in confiding with different individuals amongst the growing industry, to different waves of success. Sana? A world beater that has cameras flashing everywhere she goes. Mina? An absolute angel sent from heaven, well fit into the standards of fame. Those two amongst your clients might as well be considered your favorites - and the list that follows after is a very reputable asset to have. 

But Tzuyu? That is a blank area that has still yet to be defined. 

Something about Chou Tzuyu around these doors and offices has everyone turning their heads in the other direction - because you know from experience in this industry - for someone like her that’s bound for stardom with that one of one face and the age that she’s at will be the kind of story that’s not following the script. She’s one of the most genuine, kind-hearted, and beautiful souls that everyone envies to an extent; moreso jumping over cars and off of cliffs to have a mere inkling of notice from her, a scale tipped in the balance to love or hate her persona at the same time. Every now and then she sweeps you up in that whirlwind too, but who can blame you for getting lost in her charming features?

And you find it to be amazing at how she remains so stoic. Color yourself impressed, or bewitched even, you’re also reminded why this little project of hers hasn’t been brought out to the world. 

“So remind me again,” you’re saying, settling yourself around the office, scooching your way past Tzuyu to take the open spot left vacant on the couch, “Tzu over here was caught with what?” 

The observing of Tzuyu doesn’t stop there, unfortunately, limit testing on how dire this present situation actually is - with those long, glossy locks that rest right past her shoulders and in front of her chest, beautifully so like a sculpture bust; the threaded eyebrows, and those long eyelashes. Then, there’s the dimple - and her baby blue outfit, the heels, the jewelry, snug with the curves of her body, she’s meant to be the main event, the sole person who can shift the atmosphere in just a few steps-

Tzuyu’s manager, sadly, isn’t one to play games however. 

Another quirk of the brow gets thrown, and they hit you with a crinkle from the bridge of their eyebrows, inward lips as if anything said from this point on would be held against themselves. 

So you smile, and play the cool guy vibe, mirroring Tzuyu’s seating position in the exact same way down to the wiggling foot. “Well?” 

A file gets thrown to the coffee table in the middle of you three, and a phone is up in the air - unlocked and everything when it lands in between your hands. It’s already on the photos app, and when you’re zooming in to get a closer look at all of the pictures from what you can see from the date in the top portion of the screen - from last weekend, and you’re doing the exact same expression as her manager. 

“It was supposed to be a breaker event for little ‘miss perfect’ over here,” Tzuyu’s manager starts, laser focused like he thinks you’re going to ask her yourself if the contents in the phone were actually hers - which might not make the situation better. Look, you’ve got to keep it cool and stay professional, since that’s your job - especially since Tzuyu’s also young, not by much, but it still feels all the same. Sure, you could challenge that, but why would you? Every time you look at Tzuyu, she can see that there’s not a single thought past your eyes. “I leave her with Sullyoon for thirty minutes at this event and I-” 

You turn your head towards Tzuyu again to which she gives you the side eye after looking at the phone in your hand, and somehow you just know. 

Tzuyu’s manager flips open the file, filled with a good stack of pictures. He spreads them out all over the table, much like finding a specific still from this gallery that stands out. You’re staring, closer, the photos match up in the phone too and- 

Shit. 

That’s the only word that you can think of, but the meaning and intent could be taken in either one of two ways. As for the thoughts circling around your head?

There’s hardly any. Almost nothing. 

“Okay,” you say, face still unfazed; a skill in itself that took a god awful amount of time to get down perfectly, but still, holy shit. Now you’re seeing why the agency is doing everything in their power to keep this under wraps. You can’t even believe the pictures that show Tzuyu exposed with no clothes at all, clearly tattered up in marks and scratches and ran through from whoever was the person that took the pictures in the first place. There’s her thighs stacked on top of each other with pointe feet, her abs are soaked in fresh spurts of cum, the way that her head is crestfallen to the right side as she tries to cover her face, how she smiles at the corner of her mouth; she’s made for the cameras - and you could see the literal sex that she emits from the stills, every profane term in the book or in your vocabulary culminated into one person - but this is the line of work you’ve put yourself in, as you can feel the two pairs of eyes staring at you from the both of them, waiting for an answer. 

You toss the phone off to the side, and get your fingertips on the pictures, examining them with wandering eyes. And with the calm and composed demeanor you could craft within seconds, you say: “I don’t see what’s the problem here.” 

Nothing flies with Tzuyu’s manager at this point when it comes to you. “Watch the attitude now,” he leads, overbearing. 

“What he said,” Tzuyu doubles one second after, a wisp of hair falling to the front of her face, grinning behind the thin curtain of her strands, “Watch the attitude.” 

You exchange glances between Tzuyu and her manager, clearly in shock at how they’re figuratively double-teaming against you. Tzuyu’s always had a knack for being upbeat and funny, flirty would also be a way to put it, but she’s made that her own thing, her label - the press wasn’t kidding when they said in between the lines that this woman here was going to turn the world on its head, to make anyone from anywhere fall to the ground just to have them acknowledged in her good graces - many will die when granted the opportunity - but it's one of those days that has you wondering why she’s more forward, and obvious, that equation is still getting solved by the second. 

“Done,” you say after, giving in to their demands; it’s still difficult to learn and determine what kind of tale she’s willing to write today and you’re still seeing whether it's a good idea to play along to what’s forming. “What else do we know about her and-”

“Sullyoon’s already had her discussion earlier,” Tzuyu answers right away, combing her hand through her hair, watching her fingers disappear within those coffee bean locks that’s effortlessly charming. “As for me, that’s still yet to be determined. Which also got me thinking: it can’t be that bad as it sounds the way that you’re suggesting it.”

You’re also seeing the attitude that Tzuyu’s showing through her words and how she feels about the entire situation as a whole before you and her manager could even dive into the more complicated bits within the first five minutes of walking into the room. It’s like in her case file written in parentheses: ‘known to be a hot head, and a bit self-obsessed’ - considering her arrogance at times, but her charms make up for it. She can be one or the other, or even both. It’s how she grins: simply desirable. Once she’s put her name out there for the rest of the world, and not even for the industry, the scandals won’t even touch her going forward. She’ll be untouched while you are at the bottom picking up the scraps and taking the damage. 

“The punishment for Sullyoon is a lot more lenient because of me,” says Tzuyu’s manager, but his gaze gets back on her, hand on hip in clear and utter disappointment with the shake of his head. “And Haewon’s already not having it with the incident with Bae. Now with this, it’s a complete clusterfuck of events, so I just-  ugh, it’s a lot.” 

“Sorry to hear that,” you apologize, a hand up but the look on your face shares little to no care about the manager’s pain as of this moment. “And for the record, I feel like we had this conversation before, no?” 

“You’re her advisor, dipshit.” Tzuyu’s manager grits, ball forming at the fist, “That’s the reason why I brought you on board with her in the first place. Isn’t that supposed to be your job to, y’know, advise?” 

“You’re the manager, and might I add the correction: her manager,” you shoot back retortfully, “Maybe you should keep a close monitor on our lovely, budding starlet here from the get-go?” 

Tzuyu stifles a laugh, causing both your eyes and her manager’s to do this form of joint attention on her, and hiding away in the plane of her medium-sized hand, “What?” you both say to her, and it comes off as comical. 

“Nothing,” she muses, lifting a leg up over her opposite one this time, leaning deeper into the cushions of the couch, eyebrows up in the horizon of her forehead, beaming. “I just thrive amongst the bickering you two are having over my career.” 

“See?” And Tzuyu looks away from your rolling eyes, “I put it in the file in bullet points. She’s not ready for this kind of pressure and lifestyle, and do you really want me to go through the list of the incidents she’s already put herself through to serve your memory?” 

“I would find it best for you not to remind me of everything up until now.” Tzuyu’s manager shuts down the question, spinning his phone in hand between the fingers, “Please don’t-” 

“DUI charges, social media backlash because of a vape laying in her lap in one of the pictures, smoking out late at night with Ryujin and Yuna,” You’re listing out the events anyway, because Tzuyu’s manager can easily tell that you’re the kind of person to not really give a shit about these kinds of things. It’s not you being put under the spotlight - this microscope that’s always being picked off with a pair of tweezers - how one influencer’s words could brainwash the general public into rubbing their palms with a pair of tangerines. They’ll always follow, to some extent; and for Tzuyu, that’s the kind of power she wants to have - to get people talking about her and not stop there. 

“So do you want me to keep going?” You ask again, clearly caring little to none as Tzuyu examines her personal stills, head tilted when she picks up one of the photos. “And may I remind you that she’s got a gala event to attend to in the midst of all this, so let me ask you this boss,” you say, and you can see the flared nostrils coming from Tzuyu’s manager, “How do you want to go about this?” 

Tzuyu’s manager freezes, phone vibrating in record time like crazy. He’s taking a few seconds to strategize the next move, what’s the next course of necessary action. Keeping Tzuyu here is the worst idea, because that breeds into speculation. Compounding that, there’s also the monumental effort of keeping these pictures on the table in her phone on the down low, which may be impossible at this point, given with the insiders circling around like moles in the organization. 

“The event isn’t for another hour and a half or so,” Tzuyu’s manager announces, eyes darting back and forth from the phone to you two sitting on the couch, pulling his lips upward at the exchange of messages. “Fuck this industry sometimes,” he groans, “You do things here and there and don’t expect the treatment to be - goddamit, Haewon’s calling me again about Sullyoon,” he says, phone to the side of his head when he answers. “Hey, Haewon. No, I uh- I’m here with Tzu and- yeah, I’ll come over right now to see the situation.” He pulls his phone away from his ear, button pressed on mute, “Sorry, but you know where I’m going with this here.” 

“Don’t be,” says Tzuyu. There’s some tension in the air, like a flare set off in the dead of the night - how her head turns slightly towards your direction, smile laced with a purpose - and she cocks her head off to the side as her manager starts to make his way out the room. “We’re not leaving yet as it is.” 

Her manager pauses, in between the open doorway. His phone is right back into his ear, nodding along to Haewon on the other end of the line, eyes lapping side to side and back between the two of you - because it’s his job, and he can’t get away from that fact regardless. 

“That’s still up in the air, you know,” he says towards you, clearly hurt by the tone you gave earlier; insulted might be one better word to put it, but he knows that you know better and you’re just acting like this out of spite. “Don’t know how long this will take, but pray that I’ll be back before we have to go.” 

Once the door closes - much like a kingdom raising up their drawbridge, a safe with all the locks in the world clicking into place - holding you and Tzuyu prisoner in this vacuum of space, this could be hell, or it might be heaven. Tzuyu clicks her tongue, gets it under the front portion of her bottom teeth, at a molar, studying you as if you’re a centerpiece or painting hung up on the room; this girl is clearly unreadable. 

“Tzu,” you call out to her, keeping the ambiance chill - whilst maintaining some form of lead in this hurricane of tension. It doesn’t also help that the sun is right at the ocean, kissing along the horizon towards the beach, a wonderful mixture of hues between orange and dark blue and purple clashing in the sky, the lights are on in the neighboring skyscrapers - a view that can serve as the last sight for someone before falling off fifty plus stories - and in the midst of all that calming pictures, she’s still looking at you. 

She leans over, dress wrinkling in all the right creases. Don’t look now, or else that’ll be the end of you, as she blinks dotingly, lashes fluttering and with that sugary tone of hers, she just says: “Yes?” 

“What gave you the compelling idea to have an entire album of a cock in your mouth. Not only that, but the fact that Sullyoon was also in on this too? Especially when she’s three years younger than you, her senior? Like what-” 

“You’re making it sound like I fucked up?” Tzuyu says, an eyebrow raised in curiosity, the innocence isn’t doing her any justice compared to the hard evidence found in her phone. “Of course I know what I was doing, and believe me, this would only speed up the process a little more.” 

“What process?” 

“To get me out there into the real world.” 

She giggles when the crease of your eyebrows knitting together comes back into the frame of your face, leaning over while she sinks back into the couch, hands fiddling with the red ribbon that was attached to her dress. The eerie sound of your name being recited from the proper pronunciation meshing into hums. She’s observing your posture, much like her normal act persists - staying quiet but acknowledging others when needed. You hate how much of a sweetheart she is at times, because it’s all a setup for a bleeding edge that eventually comes to life sooner or later. 

“I’ll keep it real,” you’re starting again, “You did fuck up. And you fucked up bad. It’ll be a miracle if this doesn’t get out, but I’m not holding my breath for you, and-” 

Tzuyu just keeps staring. With that gaze of hers, she’s still trying to get a read - from the hem of your jacket or at the peak of your ruffled hair, it might be easy to tell that in some way: she’s into you.

“Okay, in simple terms, you’ll live.” With that said, you shouldn’t be silently suffering with a potential breakout star of an actress, so you’ll hang strong against her glance. This was something that you enjoyed doing from the multiple meetings and screenings. “We could honestly set this up to be a hush money agreement with whoever managed to get these pictures in the first place -  your fault, might I add - but anyways, all of this should go away, if we play our cards right. No need for you to come forward to address the rumors, that’s why you have people like us to deal the damage. All you have to do here is just - uhm - well, be Tzuyu.” 

Tzuyu appears intrigued, finding a small crack in your impenetrable armor, a rarity at times but also is aware that it might be a minor slip-up. “Be Tzuyu? What do you mean by that?” 

You flash a look at her, but she’s one to double down, eyes squinting - she’s capitalizing on your mistake. “There’s a proper term for this,” she says, “and maybe um, pretty would be one to suffice?” 

“I’m not trying to sound afraid,” you say, calmly. “There’s two choices between right and wrong. Then there’s the respect, and also being sensible. You have to treat this career like it’s your life.” And you didn’t say professional, because that word is the last resort; a rescue rope only to be used in the most dire situations. 

“I want this life.” The admission, something nestling underneath the parts of her sentence, a slow-burning being soaking behind those soiled eyes. Tzuyu then scoots over, gets closer to you, tips her chin to further the examination. “I have what it takes to be professional. You’re just afraid to say it to my face.” 

“Welp, you caught me,” you say, knotting your fingers in between themselves just to keep yourself from doing anything rash, maybe walking out of the room to leave her alone would be the best move, instead of letting your thoughts get the best of you and pinning her body flat on the couch. “Seriously, doing things like this will only kill your chances of making it big even before you start.” 

Common sense appears to be dissipating out the clear windows. And now Tzuyu is the one who’s taking full advantage, bursting your personal bubble - the way that she shimmies her way across the cushions, so mindful of how she moves her body at every curve and nick in her limbs; you can hear your own heartbeat quickening, like you’re hiding in a locker and she’s about to tamper with the dial to get the door open - and she’s about face to you, hand ghosting the upper profiles of your chest where your shoulders are at. She’s not that tall from a height standpoint, but sitting down, she’s matching your build bit by bit. 

“It’ll happen, regardless,” says Tzuyu, face with a wide grin. “That’s why people like you are working hard to make sure that things like these don’t happen again. Especially in the long run.” 

“You’re really going all out today, are you?” You exclaim after closely assessing, holding our ground against her. “Might I add that you might also ruin Sullyoon’s career after yours is out of our hands?” 

“She’s a tough girl,” says Tzuyu, flatly, as if the prospect itself is something to laugh about. Tzuyu is a silent killer, shown in her signs of arrogance which shouldn’t be enticing to you, but they are, and in every way possible. “And like I told you, I’ll keep doing shit like this because I want to. You can hide away all you want, when it’s clear in your eyes that you want me just as bad as I want you.” 

“And what do you propose here?” 

“I’m telling you that the way you sound right now turns me on, genius.” 

It comes in a black flash, much like you staring down the hole of a double-barreled shotgun; or your head getting pushed into a tub of ice cold water. You can see the stars in her eyes, each and every one of them an alternate reality of their own between you and Tzuyu, sparkling with so much light. “Who’s saying that fucking a client was on the cards?” 

And Tzuyu chuckles at that, on cue like it's some cheeky sitcom. “Don’t get stupid with me,” she says, and she’s raining fire down from above. “Everyone already has said the same thing at least once or more.” 

Your eyes land on the clock hanging above the room, then they dart to the closed door. “He’s not gonna be back anytime soon, is he?” 

“Haewon’s office is at least five floors down, and the elevator apparently hasn’t been working all day..” 

“Some luck.” 

“I can make my own.” 

“I hope you know that this is a really bad path you’re going down to.” You’re deterring, but it's a lazy attempt at best, no point in shying away - because you’re not scared of Tzuyu, and you never were, mentioning the fact that she’s radioactive in her own rights. She’s equipped with an arsenal of tricks and quirks, but you’ve got your own brandished within that noggin of yours. A hand is on her thigh, trailing up to the hip, and she looks down to take the hint, scooting closer. “You’ve got some nerve, testing me like this, and you have no idea what you just signed up for.” 

“Do you have to be this serious?” Tzuyu’s hand finds yours, slipping up against the fine silk across the palm of your hand. “I’m one for keeping things simple here,” she’s telling you, watching your eyes as your fingers get rumpled over the fabric, venom lacing your nerves before you even realize it. It’ll get reactive really quick, but you stand your ground. “About the sex, don’t overcomplicate-” 

“Why would I overcomplicate something with the likes of you?” you’re asking her, and you watch as her hand finds the knot tied at the nape of her neck, unraveling it, where you see her bra. It’s no help that she’s sliding her dress down to her panties and thighs, the covers being unleashed with every inch opening up to the air. “We’re on track here, and I think I’m getting warmer here.” 

This is something serious, much like a public execution at the hands of her just strolling on by - people stopping in their tracks just to get a good look of that face, that body, so this might be some form of armageddon - but Tzuyu’s dress gets discarded somewhere in the office, to a corner where it won’t be seen on her until you’re fully done with her. Everything in your head is flowing like a whitewater river, a burning urge that gets beyond just the sexual aspect of it. So you’ll get your knees deep: 

“You know how long I’ve been waiting for this?” you ask, and examine. The sense of being normal and professional has long gone out the way. But oh. Oh, she knows what she wants, and you’ll have the fine luxury to give that to her, because it’s what you signed up for: twist the words and her body in every way that you see fit, to fill people in on what their crown jewel of a woman is up to. “Dreaming of that one day where someone will just tell you straight: I want to fuck you. Well Tzu, today’s your lucky day.” 

Tzuyu tenses, eyes appearing like glitter, holding your hand where it stays on the rise of her hip. “I’ve never seen you this talkative outside office hours.” 

“I converse like this on the regular.” You’ve got the experience, and the hours under your belt, you’re holding the other end of the rope in her burgeoning career - if she fucks up the next time, you’re also gone along with her, too. “Now, are you gonna keep talking, or are we going to talk business?” 

Tzuyu is so good for you, in more ways than one. It’s in her eyes, the way that she tilts her head off to the side, when you’ve pushed her up against the cushions as far as you could take her, hair spilling over to her covered breasts, keeping her gaze locked with yours when you’ve sunk to the bottom of the couch - the low light of the sunset makes way for the night sky, moonlight breaking through that captures her face, illuminating the fine mold of her cheekbones, her teeth break past her lips, and she smiles a bit like practice for the waves of flashes out on the red carpet - she relaxes, feels the lace of her panties slide off her thighs like nothing. Undeniably gorgeous, is one way to put it, she’s dirty, she’s every single thing; oh god, the staring, when you look up between her legs, mouth hanging low, chest puffed up in anticipation of the relieving pressure. 

“Many people have tried to test me, get rid of the fun in what I do with my manager and such,” Tzuyu says. “But I knew-” Her hands find yours, sliding up the sides of her outer thighs, holding them in place when you start to lean in. “You didn’t do anything about it, and I liked how you were with me, to set me right, without the changes of rules.” 

“Had it been anyone else,” you acclaim, mouth leaving hot and wet kisses across the inner portion of her thigh; she’s got a hand in your hair with no intention of letting you go. 

“You,” Tzuyu says the singular syllable, reduced to just very minimal words, much like she’s being scolded. But the confession let out is like a padlock finally breaking under the pressures of the wrench: “I’ve always wanted you. I promise and fuck- I’ll be good.” 

There’s actually no way she said- 

The words that spilled out her mouth flew over your head for a short second, a minor blowback in the swing of things - but then again, why are you playing it safe with Tzuyu in the first place? There’s no need, and you’ve got to make that apparent to her; you’ve got your hands on her long legs, spreading your hand out on the skin, she’s got a hand sliding down to her glistening pussy, but she reels back when you’ve beat her to it, and Tzuyu hisses, hiding a whine, “Baby…” 

You pause, hike her up on the couch higher, focus slinging to her face, and her dead-eyed stare slams right alongside yours. 

“Tzuyu,” you’re saying, when you’ve managed to say her name that’s caught in between your vocal folds - it’s a little rushed, no exhale behind it, and a bit tattered - but there’s her demeanor, the tightness swirling in the air between you two. She’s only a few years younger - and that alone could be worse - you’ve got the better position, the better wits of how things work, the implications - and maybe you were a pawn in her game all along, there’s really no telling. 

“Love it,” she exhales, voice tripping when you dip your mouth down to her other pair of lips, “when you say my name,” she’s needy, fingers curling to your head to satiate the sensation a bit longer. Legitimately, fuck, she might end your career, make you a martyr for the whole office to witness, and she could be the one to do all that. “Baby, your fucking mouth.” 

The gaze never wavers on her, hunting - her dainty fingers are gripping the cushions, fibers of muscle moving in ways much so she would be defending herself; she’s used to giving orders and due compliance, but knows where she stands in certain situations. She could be the primary catalyst of what’s happening right now, but you’ve got full control: a green light going off in the back of your mind. There’s no turning back now, foot to the floor, bases fully loaded. She won’t- She won’t last a week in this life by playing it by the rules. 

“Need me that bad?” You ask, face twisting devilishly. Some things in this line of work have taught you that people have to be selfish at times, and you’ll fall face-first into that. “Watch and learn, sweetheart. Don’t even think about getting your hands on me.” 

Tzuyu’s lip is caught between her upper teeth, rolls her eyes, nodding profusely - it’s gonna take more than that. You see her lidded eyes, spread her apart further, “We listening?” 

“No- touching,” she sighs. This girl is soaked - the refreshing taste of her cunt on the pad of your tongue, and you’ll keep indulging. You’ve got yourself in that open space between her legs, she’s sputtering out nonsense, pulling her thighs in to combat against your hands - “Please, just- please, do this one thing for me, I swear-” 

She’s waving the flag up high in the air, and of course you’re going to take this into account. This is someone who is going to make headlines wherever she goes, has people do things that would lead into major or second-hand embarrassment, so you lean down to her aching pussy - across the folds, and her clit, so slick for you, she’s sighing a lot more louder this time - and she’ll let you mold her into any shape you want her to be, let your tongue do the talking: “Right there, yes-” she’s relaxing into your hands and face, giving you the praise she’d never thought she’d say to you ever, like some act of contrition that will absolve her actions - wow, and you’re wondering of the lucky fucker who took the pictures of her and Sullyoon got the same luxury as you’re getting right now. “Fuck, oh honey-” 

You’re paying no mind to how her hips are wiggling across your face, desperate for a sense of friction, fighting every urge to not dig her nails into your hair and get your tongue even deeper where you can send it - but you keep her legs spread, and she could almost rip into the cushions on the couch, grip tight enough to choke- 

“Taste so good,” you mutter, off to the side of her leaking slit, listening as the chorus of Tzuyu’s moans crescendo a bit before dropping in silence. “Look at you, being so good for me.” 

“Shit, you’re gonna- you’re gonna make me-” 

Whether she’s able to tell you or not, you know it all the same. Her flawless face is so torn to the fine points - faltering in every aspect of perfection, that apex, you’re working her there, warmer, and warmer-

But you pull from the tops of her thighs, shove your nose right down to her clit. Stay right fucking here, and don’t even think about moving a muscle; sometimes there’s no need to say things verbally - but the implication stands - when Tzuyu finally lets go into the heat of your mouth. 

You can be lenient, maybe have her rest in the grace period, but there’s a schedule still drawn up on the board, and the sand in the hourglass is still seeping through the middle. “I’d like to keep this up,” you tell her, cleaning up the slick spread across your lips - that fine nectar, easy to say that you’re addicted, but that’s old news. “But must I remind you that you’ve got an image to protect at this gala you’ve got in an hour?” 

“Can- Can I have my turn now?” Tzuyu asks, sitting up on the couch now, hands fast to her backside, unlatching the clips of her bra, slides out of it like it’s nothing. You’ve got your jacket discarded on her manager’s desk, hands to the buckle. Tools are being laid out here amongst you two, and Tzuyu keeps her eyes trained on you, chest rising and falling - watching the noticeable bulge appearing in your boxers. “Please, I can help - just need your cock-” 

“Do you always like to rush these things?” You ask her - pushing her back as her arms just float in the air - she’s beautiful, gorgeous, and wanting; the notion alone would already be disregarded if it wasn’t for the sensible form of structure in your head. It’s in that dimple of hers, that sly grin, those eyes, she’s a personification of eye candy: you’ll keep staring for as long as she’d like you to. “No need to answer that, but,” and you laugh in between for a slight second, “You’re really pushy today.” 

“Please, baby.” That gaze, eyes trained up with her bit lip, she’s dangerous. “For me.” 

You don’t say anything, but with a simple nod, and her fingers are fast to the elastic. 

You also like how she’s willing to follow, to listen. She’s good with her hands, she’s been trained to handle PR questions with the flick of her wrist, programmed to take information and internalize it - she’s flawless enough to stand with the other clients, even when you’re the first to make the move in kissing her, capture her mouth with yours. It’s a bit cute when she’s caught off guard, sucking the air out of her, yielding to your touch.  She’s smiling against your lips, and that’s the laced venom you’ve been cautious of. 

The grip gets let go from the back of her head, retreating, panting, the taste of her lips mixed with yours. She helped clean off the remnants of her pussy on your tongue and she’s licking her lips again wanting more. “Give me some kind of feedback. A demand. Anything,” you command, fingers dancing along her chin when she looks up so innocently. “I think you’ll ask nicely, so prove it.” 

She doesn’t even think twice about it. “I want you,” she’s coming in and out of focus in her eyes, way past the point of no return, staring at you while she’s keeping you magnetized to her hands, slowly dragging along the skin of your cock, “to fuck me, put this cock inside my pretty little pussy, and use me to cum all over-” 

Her face does it for you, shattering right in front of your eyes, wanting smile, pupils blown - you snake your arms around her back, press her down to the couch - there’s a beauty behind the sneakiness of this, the thrill of being found out, the risks taken to take advantage of someone to your own liking, let the thrums of your heartbeat be the only thing to hear within yourself - but Tzuyu goes quiet, she’s so pliant and wet that doesn’t really need any words to come out of her, just the noises when- 

“Fuck.” 

When you slide your aching cock into her cunt, slowly, painstakingly strategic, and the feeling was too much to bear for her. 

“God-” 

You draw back and snap your hips into her - a statement made, an opening in the woven threads to rip a hole in -  you’ve got a hand quick to her parting mouth, hushing her, pinning her. “Go any louder,” you’re hissing, lowly, trying to not think about the fucking clench her cunt makes around you, “Go any louder, and you’re just asking to get caught. We can’t have that, can we?” This is something new, something absolutely obscene, hiding away in the office of her manager’s - keeping a secret that nobody should be able to tell, besides you two. “Did you realize how much of a slut you are when I saw those pictures?” 

Tzuyu’s breasts wobble on the upstrokes, bouncing along while leaking all over your length. The thought of damage control is still in play, to not have her completely ruined for the red carpet in the next hour or so - but you’ll take the secrecy, construct a fake picture to ensure that will not have anyone look a second time. Nobody will know how good Tzuyu’s wrapped around you, that hot and tight cunt, a hand now wrapped around her neck, pressing down but not too much- 

A thumb is in between her lips. “Speak up.” 

“Yes- I know, fuck, it was- a mistake.” She’s choking up the words from the hand on her throat, barely enough to produce the sounds through her vocal folds, chasing for that relief that she desperately needs - “It was stupid, but,” she’s unmoving with her reasons, fervor standing strong, it’s irking - you’ve got to fuck this attitude out of her - “That doesn’t matter, please, your cock, keep fucking, right there, that’s the spot, I’ll be good, I’ll cum for you, make you not worry about-” 

“You keep talking like this and I’ll make you shut up myself.” 

She spills a line of expletives that get mixed up with the slaps of her hips with yours, but there’s one outlier - maybe two - that captures your ears. 

“I didn’t make him cum inside me, but I’ll let you do it if you want.” 

“Yeah, not happening, babe. Not like this.”

Tzuyu mewls and whimpers when you give her one good, impaling hit inside her cunt, let your cockhead rest right beneath the womb where it aches. It doesn’t help her case when she’s shaking her head in refusal, denying. You’re chuckling as she tries to shimmy out of your grasp, the sound reverberating around the room, in relief, or awe would be a way to put it. Stepping into this office was a little bit out of your way, just popping your head in to get a quick word before going on with whatever was on the agenda - until this whirlwind of events coming from her changed all that. “Please. Can you do that? I want it, I want you, so bad. I swear, nothing bad will ever happen from me again - please, if you just-” 

Luckily, everyone’s gone from the office for today - because she’s way louder than you would’ve expected - you ram your cock inside her pussy, without any care for her begging and pleading - there’s also not ruining her appearance, but you’ll pull something out of your ass or she will to cover it up. You’ve made your mark in twisting people’s words around, shifting the angles that way you’re not the one taking up the heat. Conjuring up whatever you could that might rival a con artist’s whole life. But this is also another thing: if Tzuyu’s manager walks in right now, you could prime the whole act onto her and she’ll be gone. 

“You can keep asking, begging, offering, whatever it is that you want.” It’s hard to forget that you’re on the clock, the provisos informed, lines that were drawn up from the start; you could cut it some slack, maybe for someone like her, who really knows. “I’ll keep fucking you up as long as I like, but you’re not getting me to cum up all inside you.” She tilts her head back, and you sweep down to the column of her neck, get a mark on it, not too hard. “Want it to be easy? Just keep screaming, nobody will hear you.” 

Wishing that this moment here in the room to last forever might be a tall ask. From the exchange of hitched breaths coming out of your lips and hers, to the slaps still stable in pace, bottoming her out as her ankles finally latch onto the small of your back, holding you in place - someone could walk in the room now and know without question as to what you’re doing to her - maybe with the sea of cameras at this event later will take notice as to the damage you’ve done to- 

“Inside. Please, nobody has to know. Just us.” Fuck, this girl is testing your mental tenacity, exersizing every impluse that you’ve unleashed of every dirty thought you’ve had since working with her. She could convince you with words, the magma emitting from her voice, sounding low, goes so well in tandem with her moans. “Maybe if you keep this up, I’ll let you knock me up whenever you want, wherever you want, however you want.” 

“You- Tzuyu, you- fuck-” 

“That would be so hot, you know? To use my tight pussy as your personal cumdump - shit - even the manager won’t take up on the offer, so you’re the next one in line.” 

The defiling theory alone is very, very tempting. She’s not like this when there’s a camera or journalist waiting for a slip up to pen the story - you’re still in the driver's seat, keeping it level, thinking of some substance for guidance. You’ve been in this position before, and you’ve learned. 

So: 

“I’d be honored,” you say to her, pressing a hand down her breast, grasping, pulling your cock out to do a few measly slaps along her sensitive clit to show her you’re not playing around, “So far you’ve been convincing, but you’re still new to this. A few stupid acts early on will ruin you down the line, so watch yourself.” 

In the meetings, you remember the firm tone when asked for your personal take towards a proposed plan - coming off as abrasive because that’s how gritty this industry really is without showing it - Tzuyu’s incidents have been nothing short of interesting, talking down on her for acting like a complete dumbass - but she loves the degrading, the harsh compliments. This is something that she wants, and you’d be happy to let the media eat her up alive for it. 

“It’s gonna take a lot more than that just to sway me,” you keep going, twist the knife to where it hurts: “You’re not the first one, let me tell you that, Tzuyu. And I can assure you: you certainly won’t be the last.” Hands on her hips, and you fuck in - it doesn’t get any simpler than that. “Don’t test me with that attitude, because I’ll make you change it in an instant.” 

Her entire body is like a noose, a live wire on a bomb that’s about to reach zero - she’s gripping and convulsing around your cock, you’ve got her to be this way, “Please,” pleads Tzuyu, the utterances and vowels and consonants all collapsing like some domino effect, eyes flapping shut, and the sounds of obscenity seem to get better every passing second, “You’re gonna make me- make me fucking cum, oh god-” 

She’s got so much potential to shake the industry up, not since Sana first came around and did some damage to you. Mina was also the same, and could match up with Sana if the universe allowed it. No one is ready for what Tzuyu has to offer, no fan could scream and break down crying let alone a photoshoot capture the beauty she carries with that face of hers, and that body, every part is sculpted to immaculate perfection, the flex in her abs when you thrust down, catch the arch in her back with an arm, get your forehead with hers, the scaffolding finally losing it’s last limbs of support at the ground level, hand quick to the hard bud of her nipple-

“Cum all over this cock, Tzu,” you’re sighing, leaning down to coax her with a kiss, and she’s got a hand raked through your hair again. “Cum for me. Do it. No shying away from me this time.” 

And like you’ve observed before, the mental note much like a callback, she’s so easy to comply; it's in how your mouth works over her, cunt so slippery hot in friction with your cock sliding in with no problem whatsoever, this is everything to you - and Tzuyu’s body goes limp, holding in a noise in her lungs. It’s a high-pitched ‘fuck’ followed with a murmur of your name, muddled with ‘baby, oh my god, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-’ 

You’ll leave a mark for someone else to notice, the shade with enough bite that could be covered up with a little foundation, let her ride out the peak of her high. “Breathe, Tzuyu. There we go, nice and easy, soak up my cock with that pussy of yours. Jesus.” 

Tzuyu picks up on things fast, and she’s reduced to a various spill of words. She’s a shuddering mess, sinking her hips down to get a lasting feeling of your cock when you pull out - but she’s quick to get up, hands fast to your thighs; leaning down, a swift lick up on the underside. Her makeup is a bit battered, chest slick and light pink from all the marks you put; she hollows her cheeks, has a little bit of fun, and you start to sink. 

“Tzu.” 

She gives no response, lowering her mouth past the halfway point, eyes lidded, but weighted with intent, appalled; her cheek blows up unintentionally, lathering up your cock in her spit, and your head falls back to the crown of the seat. She’s unsure with what she’s doing, you’re tensing and untensing in the lower half, but complaining is the last thing you’ll do. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” you say, gritting your teeth when Tzuyu reaches down a spot near the base, tongue grazing at a vein, where the head of your cock is staring down the hollow of her throat, a slight clench. She could care less with the curses leaving your mouth, it just tells her she’s doing something right. “Do whatever you want, and I’ll owe you next time. Fuck-” 

It does some form of numbers in your head when her eyes lock onto yours, smiling with half a cock in her mouth, quick to shut you up. 

Her mouth is amazing - and that could be an understatement. She’s holding you at the base, where the angle of your cock is tied down between her fingers. You let her take control for a bit, try to see if she can do it herself - but you’ll play the role of guidance again, because that’s what you do, help out in ways that make her have the moment - so you lean forward, hand fast to the back of her head, and you feel her jaw go slack, muffle the choking sound coming out of her open mouth- 

“Fuck, Tzuyu,” you grit, the name alone of hers is an easy impulse to keep doing; you’ve got her hair in this makeshift ponytail, out of the way when she continues to bob her head up and down the length. It was a boring day for you anyway, but at least you’ve made it up to have the prospecting breakout actress strip her clothes down and get on her knees in her manager’s office. “Just keep- yeah, okay, there we- ugh, shit-” 

She mumbles a brief phrase of a ‘mhm��, mouth wide open, salivating, nudging your cockhead down into her throat before pulling back up for another wisp of air - her index and thumb are wrapped around the bottom of your shaft, closing her eyes as the contraction literally leaves you breathless - all the way down into her throat, holding her up with her hair as much as you can- 

Yet the sound that rips from the cavity in your chest, it’s loud enough for someone to hear down the hallway, probably someone from the floor below to pick up on the commotion too. 

Tzuyu’s mouth lets out this sobbed out sound, coughing and inhaling your cock when you cum down her throat - she can’t swallow it all, you think, but you forget her ambition at times when she holds herself, eventually pulling back - eyes glossy and full of impurity, burning irises that mimic Sana’s when she also- 

“God-” you manage to choke out, fixated on the image of Tzuyu cleaning her face up with a small stream of your cum leaking out the corner of her lip. But, you’re satisfied. You’ll let her take the credit for now.

It also doesn’t help when she’s got a finger circling her slicked lips, tilting her head when she hollows her cheeks again around her fingertip. She knows she’s hot, how dirty she can get - and she’d let you do anything and everything from the fucking on the floor to railing her on the walls, because she’s got her own center of gravity with her being, that’s just how it is. 

You can’t help when you’ve pulled her back to your space, catching her lips, since that’s the only logical thing to do with her, and she’ll accept it. “Mmph. I just- you, you-”

“Yeah?” You’re saying, face in your hands when you keep kissing her. “Something to say?” 

“My mouth- you?” 

“And what about it?” 

“Your cum. You just-” 

“I overheard Sana talk to you about her story with me the other day, figured I’d just do it anyway.” 

The tone in your voice is a clear contrast to all the filthy stuff you were telling just a few minutes ago, it’s still crotchety, but a little more lighter than usual - like everything that was a worry suddenly just washed away, and all of a sudden Tzuyu’s quick to get your neck corralled with her arms, leaning for another kiss, the hums alone are delightful, pushing hysterical a bit. 

“I hate you,” she says, a chaste peck to your cheek when you’ve got her ass on top of your forearms, carrying her. She’s laying out a few suggestions, but you’re telling her that the gala could wait, to waste more time to explore her body, more and more. ‘That’s a lie, by the way, but I’m sure you knew that.” 

Shutting her up is a viable option, but she’s right on the jump with that one ahead of you - so she kisses you, why bother putting up a fight against that?

-

The car ride on the way to the gala premiere is nothing short in terms of quiet. Some chatter is being thrown around with you and the driver, since Tzuyu’s manager also had the unfortunate task of bringing some swinger that’s already made a name for herself with the company, per instructions given by Jihyo; you remember hearing it past the open door to your office, named Kim so-and-so on the files. Maybe it was Jennie or Jiwon, or was the name beginning with a letter D? 

“I think the boss man is convinced with your lobbying,” Tzuyu says under her breath. Like you, she’s managed to clean up her appearance - scent still fresh of sex, her hair still a bit rattled, but is trying to repair as much as she can. You can’t keep your gaze off of her; how the headlights from the oncoming cars illuminate through her eyes, handing you her hair band because it doesn’t match up with the look. 

“I mean, if you already asked him what you asked me, and he still refused,” chuckling when you’re looking out the window towards the sidewalk, trailing the crowd of people lining up around the venue, “That should give you enough prose to ask me, since I was next in line.” 

Tzuyu just laughs, dipping her head down - she’s infectious, without even putting effort into trying. You’re seeing why she’s bound to be a topic once she’s put herself out there, and - sure, you could draft up a file with all of that content in a heartbeat. Needless to say, you’ll be one of the many fans. 

“It was supposed to be sarcastic commentary,” Tzuyu tuts, combing her hair over to one side - at the left shoulder, turning her back towards you with the red strands of her dress untied. She peeks over before looking away, fingers fast to knot the ends for a snug fit, pat her collarbones down before tilting down to place a small kiss on her nape. “But on a serious note: do you really think you can handle my little fiasco?” 

You notice that the cars ahead start to slow down, file in line with security personnel stationed along the street, managing traffic. A whole lot of commotion going outside with the photo area, photographers getting ready with their cameras and flashes angled toward the cars, and thank God that the windows are tinted for good reason, brows furrowing in assessing the sea of different media outlets in attendance. 

Tzuyu flows her hair forward, a last minute touch up as she takes a deep breath to calm her mind. You’re playing the stand-in role of bodyguard, checking every side of the car to make sure that things are right in place, avoiding any form of fuck up that might pop up in the next few minutes or so. 

Just when a worker from the red carpet event approaches the door, a buzz vibrates on your thigh. One check later and it’s Tzuyu’s manager. With no hesitation, you answer: 

“Yeah. Oh, okay. Okay. Right, you got it.” 

“I’m trusting you with her. Please don’t fuck this up.” 

“I won’t,” you say, in a melancholic tone to which Tzuyu smirks at. “Good luck with Dahyun? I forgot her name, but it is Dahyun, is it?” 

“Don’t push your luck here, bye.” 

Once that’s gone out of the way, you move over to wave a hand to the worker, signaling a two in your hand to let them know of the delay. After touching bases. You settle back into the backseat, watch as Tzuyu observes from the window, taking in the sight of what she’s dedicated a good portion of her life towards - to thrive in the glares of publicity, get engulfed in the growing flames of fame. She can do a whole lot more than just stand still and look pretty, and you’ll help her there along the way. 

“Still think this is a lot to handle?” You ask, peering over her shoulder, causing her to twist back around to face you. “To be fair, you were pretty nervous when we brought up the incident earlier, so I’m just checking up on you.” 

Tzuyu simply stares, again. Her face may appear blank, but her eyes and the subtle quirk at the corner of her lips tell a different tale entirely. There’s also that sly dimple too, man, she’s too good for you to the point where it’s bad. So what if people already caught wind of her story, you’ve got the contingencies, the fallback if things go south; she got herself into this mess, and you know what you signed up for. 

“They all can go to hell if it comes my way,” says Tzuyu, face falling forward, leaning for a kiss. “Where’s the risk if you don’t run into a cyclone head on?” 

When she gets forward with a hand on the door handle, opening up to reveal herself to the world, you shake your head at her, because that’s another point of discovery to add to her growing list of character: she’ll be the face of this company in record time as long as she keeps acting this way, and you wouldn’t mind staying by her side for whatever is in store. 

Right before she goes any further down the capet, she twirls around on that singular heel on the sidewalk, facing you when you scan the screaming audience, landing your eyes on Tzuyu again - in all of her beauty and elegance, you’ll keep admiring no matter how far or close you are to her. 

An outreaching hand, the simplest gesture, and she asks: “So, are you ready tonight?” 

-

a/n: @co-reborn surprise! not really lol, but this fic is slightly dedicated to them. thank you taking time to read as always <3

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Comfort Crowd

main masterlist | supernatural masterlist

summary: dean just needs you next to him

pairing: (stanford era) dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language 

word count: 1.9k

warnings: hurt/sad dean, language, reader drives after drinking but she’s not drunk, that’s it i think

author’s note: i know this gif is of jason teague and not dean winchester but that’s literally samford era jackles so i think it fits perfectly <3

music: comfort crowd by conan gray — was listening to conan gray and bam! dean winchester fic idea! anyways…

When you saw who was calling your brows furrowed — Dean? You had talked to him earlier in the week, just a casual check-in to make sure you were both still alive. You and Dean had gotten into a fight about a month prior and you both decided to just take a break from each other. You had made it clear that you were not breaking up with him, you just needed a break.

Last time you talked he was working a case in Texas, something with ghouls and sororities. You had just finished up a werewolf hunt and he had voiced his jealousy. He hadn’t gotten to fight a werewolf in many, many moons (pun intended).

“Dean?” you answered the call, still holding your first beer of the night in your free hand. He didn’t say anything, there was only labored breathing on the other side and that worried you. “Dean? Honey, is everything okay?” He still said nothing. “Dean, what’s—”

“Where are you?” he asked. His voice was clearly on the verge of cracking. He’d been crying?

“Uh, Bakersfield California,” you told him. “Just finished another case, simple ghost hunt. What’s wrong, Dean?” He again went back to just breathing. “Dean, where are you?”

“I’m in Palo Alto,” he said. “You—Could you get up here, p-please? I need you, hun. I just—I need you here.”

“I’ll be right there Dean, four hours tops,” you told him. You stood up off your chair and paid your tab. “Talk to me, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t…fuck, I just wanna see you…please?”

“Of course, Dean, I’ll be there soon,” you reminded him. “What motel are you staying at?”

“I can text you the address just please…please hurry.”

With that, he hung up. 

Please don’t be dying, you thought to yourself. 

**

After several traffic violations and broken speed limits, you were finally knocking on his door.

“Dean!” you called out, not caring if it was now nearly three in the morning and there were definitely other people staying at the motel. “For the love of god Dean, open the fucking door!”

He unlocked and opened the door, rubbing his tired eyes. “Hey, you made it.” He smiled a little…smiled?

“Dean what the hell is going on?” you asked, trying to stay calm as you walked into the room. “You—That call? What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged, “I’m fine.”

“Fine?” You furrowed your brows. “Dean you called me in tears and asked me to race over here as if you were dying?”

“I…I wasn’t in tears,” he mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Hang on…how do I know you’re you?” you asked. 

He smiled and rolled his eyes a little before you both did the usual tests.

“See, sweetheart? All me!” He smiled again.

“Dean,” you said softly, “what’s going on? Are you…Are you dying?”

“No!” he scoffed, not calming your nerves in the slightest. “I’m sorry I scared you I just…needed you here. With me, next to me. I—Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Dean,” you shook your head, “I get it.”

You walked over to him and pulled him down into a hug; your right hand went to the back of his head as your fingers combed through his hair. 

“I’m here Dean, you’re okay,” you told him. His grip tightened around you, as if he was scared you’d break off the hug. “I’m right here.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice cracking again. “Thank you.” 

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like an eternity. You were on your tiptoes, which was kind of uncomfortable, but your love for the man in your arms outweighed any discomfort. You felt Dean’s tears begin to dampen your neck and your eyes grew cloudy at the thought of him in pain. He truly mastered the art of silent crying, he must’ve had to hide his tears from that bastard father of his growing up, and that thought only made your heart break more. Your grip tightened around his shoulders and you turned your head so you could place a soft kiss on his temple. You made a trail of kisses down to his jawline then left your lips there against his skin. 

“Thank you,” he pulled away, “just…thanks.”

“Do you wanna lay down, Dean?” you asked. “We could cuddle up and maybe watch a movie? Or we could listen to music? I’ve got my iPod and we could share my earbuds?”

A soft smile returned to his tear-stained face and he nodded; “Music sounds perfect.”

“Mkay,” you replied. “Now, I have to admit I don’t have many Zeppelin songs downloaded—”

“It’s okay,” he shook his head, “I don’t care what song we play, as long…as long as you’re here. Just need your company.”

“Funnily enough, I do have some Bad Company songs,” you joked, causing his smile to grow. 

“You’re the best company,” he countered. 

“Why don’t you change into your PJs while I go get my bags from the car? We can get comfortable in the bed and maybe you’ll even get some sleep.”

**

Your fingers were once again tangled in Dean’s hair as his head lay on your chest, he was facing away from you but you knew he was still crying. You just didn’t know why.

“Is this Heuy Lewis?” Dean chuckled.

“Hey! No disrespecting Heuy!” you laughed, but Dean knew you were serious. “You want me to skip it?”

“Nah, I’ll live,” he joked. The joke made your heart clench a little though; your mind going back to the call he made to you a mere few hours ago. How scared he sounded. How scared you were as you raced to get to him. Dean must’ve sensed the change in the room because he made sure to remind you; “I’m fine.”

“You said that line already, Dean,” you said through a sigh. “I’m here if you wanna talk, okay?”

“I don’t wanna talk,” he mumbled. “I meant what I said—I just need you here with me, I just need you around.” 

Your free hand (the one that wasn’t currently in Dean’s hair) went to rub comforting circles on his upper back. He let out a contented sigh which made you smile.

“I love you, Dean,” you told him. “I love you more than anything, you know that, right?”

“Thank you,” he mumbled. He buried his face against your chest, trying to hide the sheepish smile forcing its way onto his face before he lifted his head so he could look into your eyes. “I love you so much.”

He leaned over and kissed you softly, his smile connecting with yours. He pulled away after a moment, simply looking into your eyes. He kissed you once more before laying back down, this time resting his head next to yours so he could kiss you again. 

“Sorry about your shirt,” he said, laughing awkwardly at the damp mess of spilled tears covering a fair portion of your tee.

“I don’t mind, kinda like my shirt soggy,” you shrugged with a smile, pulling him closer to you and tucking your head under his chin. 

**

When you woke the next morning you did not expect Dean to be singing to himself while making breakfast.

“What time is it?” you asked with a yawn as you sat up in bed. 

“About seven,” he replied. “Good morning, by the way.”

“Good morning.”

You hurried over to the small kitchen so you could wrap your arms around him from behind.

“What’s gotten into you?” he teased. 

“Could ask you the same question, handsome,” you replied, not letting go. “The food smells amazing and all, but since when do you cook?”

“Remember that fight we had?”

“I vaguely recall,” you said, somewhat flatly. 

“I’ve been working on my breakfast cooking so when I saw you again I could you know…woo you.”

“‘Woo me���?” You raised a brow, your smile growing. “You’re wooing me…with bacon?”

“Damn right!” he scoffed lightheartedly. “I know the way into your heart, and whether you admit it or not—it’s mother fuckin’ breakfast food.”

“You know me way too well,” you laughed. “I’m officially wooed.”

There was a comfortable silence before Dean answered the question he knew you were still wondering about; “Sam and I fought last night.”

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“I knew him going to a fancy college would put a bit of a rift between us…but fuck, sweetheart,” he said. He ran his hands down his face before he leaned against the counter and looked at you; “I think we…I don’t think Sammy and I will ever be as close as we were growin’ up ever again.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, Dean,” you assured him, placing a hand on his bicep and giving it a comforting squeeze. “Sammy just needs time, maybe a bit of space, but that’s only temporary, Dean.”

“Seems like everyone around me always needs space,” he chuckled humorously. 

“If this is about what I said—”

“Nah, you don’t have to explain yourself, I get it!” He shook his head, faking a smile. “You couldn’t stand being around me all the time and hey, that’s okay.”

Your brows furrowed with slight anger; “That’s not what I said, Dean.”

“That’s what it sounded like,” he mumbled before he turned back to the stove to continue making breakfast. 

“Dean I love you, you know I love you!” you said. “I raced here last night when you asked me to, doesn’t that prove I love you!?”

“And what happens when we get into another fight?” he exclaimed. “What happens when you decide that you need more space and you don’t bother coming back to me?”

“That’s not going to happen?” you countered. 

“You can’t say that for sure,” Dean said. 

“Yes I can, Dean!”

“What makes you think that, huh?” he replied loudly. “What makes you think you aren’t gonna run the second you realize that putting space between was the best decision of your fucking life!?”

“Because I love you, Dean!” you said, matching his tone. “Because no matter how far away I was from you the one thought running through my head was that I should call you. That I should stop being so stubborn and run back to you.” You sighed as he continued cooking and you went up to him again, leaning on his bicep and running your hands up and down his forearm. “Because when I got that call…all logic flew out the window and all that mattered to me was getting to you. When I thought you might be dying I didn’t care about anything else and I raced to you like a mad woman. Like a girl so lovestruck she’s practically crazy!”

Dean let out a chuckle which made you smile.

“So…you’re sayin’ you missed me?” he asked, a cocky smirk finding its way to his lips.

“Yes,” you sighed dramatically. “Okay? Yes, Dean, I missed you like fuckin’ crazy, and I’m sorry for ever suggesting we take a damn break. But… you know what this means now, right?”

He looked at you cautiously; “What?”

“You’re stuck with me, Winchester.” You grinned. “And I’m never letting you go again.”

“Sounds good to me,” he replied as he leaned down and kissed you.

[reidsdimples]

Testing the limits

Hard Dom Spencer Reid x Wife!Reader

18+❤️‍🔥 MDNI ‼️

Saw someone say they needed a mocking Spence saying”aw you just want me to give you some attention” and came up with this 🥵

You cross a line in an attempt to get Spencer’s attention.

TW: Hard Dom Spencer, choking, squirting, restraints

You pace back and forth in front of the door to Spencer’s home office. He had been in there for four hours at this point. After working a full day! It was admirable, his work ethic. But often left you feeling neglected.

An hour ago you knocked and he said “just a minute.”

You knew he wouldn’t be out in a minute. You also you knew you weren’t to go into his office. Something about the classified files in there and what not.

You push the door open to see him with his face still in a file at his desk. He didn’t even look up at you.

“I need more time,” he said dismissively.

It had been exactly 15 days since he touched you. Eight of which he was gone on a work trip, the rest were like this. Home but now home.

You knew what marrying him entailed but times like this when you got so wound tight, it was hard.

“Spencer,” you whine and stomp your foot.

He glanced up from the file briefly to see you standing there in one of his shirts with the buttons open and a thong.

“My love I have to get this done,” he asserts.

You pad away. You needed another plan. You would get him tonight before he worked so hard he fell asleep without so much as a word to you.

For a while you make considerable effort to stomp around upstairs above him, to clash pans in the kitchen, and blast music to get him to at least acknowledge you.

Finally you make a decision. You look back into his office to see him pacing behind his desk, on a phone call. Hotch from the sound of it.

You had a feeling that what you were about to do would get you punished. But you would take a punishment over the absence of him. Seriously, you were so pent up that the mere friction from your panties could make you moan.

He doesn’t see you stroll into his office as his back is turned. You pluck the three files off of the desk and make a break for it. He hears you scurry away.

“Hotch let me call you back,” you hear him throw the phone on his desk.

You make it upstairs and hide the files in a bookshelf in the library before running to your bedroom.

“Y/N you know better,” he calls as he approaches the bedroom.

Your heart hammers, you bite into your lip and pull yourself further under the bed. Excitement courses through you as you see his converse enter the room.

“Poor thing, so desperate for attention,” he mocks and circles the bed. “Pretty girl, I can hear you breathing,” he tutts.

When he reaches one side of the bed you scramble out of the opposite side. He takes long strides to the bedroom door and slams it closed before you reach it.

He was pissed, but he looked so fucking good. The top two buttons of his purple shirt were undone, it was only partially tucked now, and his hair was a mess. His eyes trailed over your mostly naked body as he chewed on his lip.

“So attention starved?” He steps slowly towards you. His deft fingers start to undo his belt buckle causing your cheeks to heat.

“Answer me,” he snaps the belt out from around his waist in a swift motion. You swallow hard.

“I missed you,” you look at him with wide eyes.

“‘I missed you,’” he mocks with a laugh as he shakes his head.

Oh yeah, you had crossed a line.

“Where are the files?” He folds the belt in his strong hands. You shake your head ‘no’ and don’t break eye contact with him.

One thing most people don’t expect about Spencer, is for him to have extremely refined needs sexually. He’s a sadist. You can see his heart rate increasing in his throat as you defy him.

He needs to inflict pain on you, for pleasure of course. You work well with him because you can take anything he dishes out. You get off on the pain, on watching him find pure elation in hurting you.

“You don’t scare me,” you huff, deciding to full send since he’s so far gone now.

You dart for the bathroom which is joined to another room entirely. The room you wanted him in the most.

You hear his calm and collected footsteps enter the room where you keep all of the toys for moments like this. He grabs you by the back of your neck and turns you towards him. You can’t help but laugh.

“I see now. It’s not just my wife that misses me, but my little whore,” he brings the belt down and it clashes with the backs of your bare thighs. You yelp and he pushes you further into the room.

“I need you,” you whimper and look up at him through long eyelashes.

He grips your throat hard, sending pulsing need to your clit as he backs you up against a wall.

“Where are the files?” He asks again, his mouth near your ear now.

“Not until I get what I want,” you pout and reach for his crotch. He seizes your wrist and pins it to the wall.

“Fine,” he huffs.

He reaches upward and brings leather cuffs down which are suspended to the ceiling above.

He suspends you there, your ass just barely touching the cherry wood wall behind you. This room, all fine crafted wood, soft carpet, and many surfaces for fucking. You had designed it together. You loved it.

You watch him move over to a rack of toys and grab a spreader bar, ah shit.

He latches each side to your ankles and spreads you as wide as your legs will go. You’re barely on your tip toes now.

He slowly unbuttons his shirt as his eyes darken, you watch him shift into the headspace you want him in. A primal look in his eyes that makes your mouth drool.

His shirt falls free and his slacks hang low on his hips, giving you a view of his perfect body and his hard cock straining against his pants. You whimper but you can’t move.

He brandishes a wand with a wicked grin and turns it on.

He approaches you but he doesn’t touch you at all. He won’t give you the satisfaction after what you did. He brings the head of the vibrator wand to your pussy and presses hard. You let out a restrained moan and try to move but you can’t. The raw sensation overwhelming, and you can’t close your legs around it.

“Fuck!” You scream as your body starts to shake. “Please,” you’re begging him to touch you. You need him.

He shakes his head as he watches you take it, his mouth agape. Your climax is building, winding painfully tight in the pit of your stomach. Your moans turn to screams and then…

He pulls away. You deflate in the restraints and glare at him.

“Where are the files,” he demands.

Your body is on fire, shaking with need.

“You’re not cumming until I know,” he crosses his strong arms. You shake your head, stubbornly.

“Fine,” he brings his belt up and wraps it around your throat.

It’s loose at first, the belt buckle allowing it to act as a slip knot. The long part of the belt hangs down your back.

He yanks it hard and it tightens around your throat. You fucking love it, you struggle to breath until your vision darkens and the he releases it. You gasp for air just as he brings the wand back to your throbbing pussy.

“Please,” you howl and then he pushes the wand harder against you as he tightens the belt once more.

Again, you reach the precipice of your orgasm and he stops, allowing you to breathe too.

“Fuck, Spencer!” You grind out.

“That wasn’t a safe word. And I still don’t know where my files are. Tell me. I’ll make you cum like the slut you are if you just fess up,” he taunts as he drags the head of the vibrator over your nipples. Arousal drips down your thighs.

“The library, one of the bookshelves on the left,” you pant at hang your head.

He gives you a cocky grin but drops to his knees before you.

He kneels between your legs and stares into your eyes. Then he’s sliding his tongue into your cunt greedily until you’re crying out his name. You try to rock against him but the restraints give you no leverage.

He presses the wand against your clit as he angels himself better to tongue fuck your pussy.

“Fuck!” You scream which prompts him to grab the belt and tighten it.

The sensations are too much, too good. His face is buried in you, the belt chocking you, the wand massaging your clit… you can’t even see straight as you violently begin to shake.

You erupt and you know you’ve squirted. He releases the belt just as your vision blackens and allows you to scream. He discards the wand and grips your hips as he sucks on your pussy like it gives him life. Your cum is pouring down his chin and chest below you, making his skin glisten.

Fuck, he’s so beautiful.

You could never get enough of him.

“Such a good girl for me,” he kisses your forehead as he carries you to bed. “Rest now,” he whispers as he tucks you in.

You almost protest, wanting to have sex but your body is limp with exhaustion from the edging and the orgasm that followed.

He disappears to the library to retrieve the files and return to work.

[alygator77]

♬♪ ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : beat of my heart ♬♪

♬ pairing. college au // drummer! gojo x psychology major! reader (f)

♬ summary. being a psychology major with a passion for music, you're no stranger to chaos—between juggling school, caring for your mother, and working at a local music shop, you've learned to keep your cool. but when a cocky drummer pushes your patience to the limit, a chance encounter with satoru gojo—an enigmatic, sharp-tongued musician—turns your world upside down. as you're drawn to his dangerous charm, an unexpected connection deepens, but so do the secrets you've both been running from. will you get caught up in his rhythm before you realize it’s too late?

♬ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, slow burn, smut, angst with comfort, some fluff, readers mom has dementia, mentions of suicide, alcohol/weed usage, unresolved trauma, commitment issues

♬ words: 7.3k

♬ a/n. hi lovelies, welcome to the debut of this fic :) very excited to explore this dynamic between satoru and y/n, thanks for reading ♡

♬ taglist: open

series masterlist ♬ next chapter → pending...

ch 1 // the first measure

“Emotional regulation is defined as the process by which individuals influence the emotions they experience, when they experience them, and how they express them in response to different stimuli.”

Staring at the neatly printed words in your psychology textbook, your mind automatically begins to dissect the concept.

Emotional regulation. The holy grail of human behavior, wrapped neatly in clinical terms. It’s the ability to keep yourself in check, to craft a perfect mask that hides what’s boiling beneath the surface. The world only gets to see what you allow. If it were as easy as the textbook made it sound, half your classes wouldn’t exist.

Letting out a breath, you sink deeper into your chair.

People aren’t simple equations you can balance, after all—people are… complicated.

Emotions, even more so.

They ebb and flow like unpredictable tides, swelling when you least expect them, crashing down when you think you’ve regained control. They are messy, stubborn, and relentless—especially when the brain stops following its own rules.

Your mothers face comes to mind—uninvited. Her once-bright eyes are now dull with confusion, emotions flickering in and out like static on a broken TV. Dementia has stolen the filter that once kept her reactions in line with reality. It’s as if her mind is betraying her, one piece at a time.

You press your fingers against the pages of the textbook. Will any amount of psychology truly prepare you to untangle the complexities of the human mind? Can it allow you to help her—or at least understand her—before she’s lost entirely?

Before you can sink further into that thought, an ear-splitting crash reverberates through the store, jolting you back into the present. Glancing up with a sigh, the peaceful hum of the music store is shattered by the clumsy cacophony of someone abusing a drum kit like it owes him money.

Clearly, emotional regulation isn’t on that guy’s radar.

Yet, somehow, you’ve grown used to it. Working part-time here has taught you how to tune out chaos, as if the dissonance of the store has become its own kind of background music.

It’s chaotic, but it’s your kind of chaos.

The strings of guitars being tested, the pounding of drum kits, the chattering of customers—it all blends into a rhythm you no longer notice.

You’ve been working part-time in this quaint little music shop for so long that silence has become unsettling. If it’s too quiet, your mind starts wandering, spiraling into places you don’t always want to go. And so, the chaos is your anchor—it helps you focus, keeps you present.

Studying in silence feels foreign.

“Ugh… I have such a headache,” Utahime’s voice breaks through your thoughts, her hand pressing to her temple. Standing a few feet away, she shoots a glare towards the drum section. “He’s been at it for practically an hour now. Like… come on. Is he trying to destroy that kit or learn how to play it?”

Glancing up from your textbook, you eyes land on a brawny guy with jet-black hair, slamming away on the drums with no sense of rhythm, no control—just brute force.

“Has it really been that long?” you ask, blinking at the scene. The noise had faded into the background for you, becoming just another layer of the store’s soundtrack.

Utahime gives you a look that screams disbelief.

“You didn’t notice?”

You shrug.

“Guess I’ve learned to tune it out.”

“Tch… wish I could do that,” she rolls her eyes, rubbing her temples like the sound is physically burrowing into her skull. “That guy is killing me.”

Oh, shit. Now that your attention is focused, you notice just how bad it really is. It’s not just noise—it’s borderline offensive to music. He’s not even playing the drums—he’s assaulting them—completely unaware of the sonic devastation he’s unleashing on the store.

Utahime lets out another long, exasperated groan, her entire body sagging as she leans forward in defeat.

“I swear, if he keeps going, I’m going to snap,” her elbows rest on the counter, and she presses her forehead into her hands. “y/nnnn,” she whines, lifting her head just enough to glimpse at you. “Can you please do something?”

Glancing around the store, you catch the irritated looks of other customers—one guy near the synthesizers is glaring openly at the drummer, his hand gripping a set of headphones so tightly you half expect him to snap them in half.

It’s like the whole store is holding its breath, waiting for someone—anyone—to make it stop.

A sigh escapes your lips as you close your textbook. It’s one thing to tune out the chaos when you’re focused on studying, but now that you’re paying attention, the noise feels like an assault on your senses too. You can’t blame Utahime for losing her patience—though she’s never been one to take matters into her own hands.

“Fine, I’ll handle it,” you mutter, pushing yourself up from your seat.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathes, finally peeling her hands away from her temples. “Please, work your magic. Before we all go deaf.”

You roll your eyes internally, though you can’t help the grin tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Magic. Sure—that’s one way to put it.

What Utahime calls ‘magic’ is really just years of learning how to manage other people’s shit without losing your cool.

It’s not magic—it’s survival. A skill you’ve honed out of necessity, not desire. And sure, maybe your love for psychology helps—you’ve got the theories to back up the practice—but most days it feels more like wrangling toddlers who never learned how to grow up.

Taking a steady breath, you step into the fray, weaving through the store’s labyrinth of instruments and displays. As you get closer, the vibrations from the drums rattle through your bones, crawling up your spine. The sound is unbearable, like nails on a chalkboard amplified through a megaphone.

The guy doesn’t even look up, his head bent low over the drum kit, raven hair falling in messy strands across his forehead. His arms move with the rhythm of someone who has no idea what rhythm actually is, and the muscles in his forearms ripple with each heavy-handed strike as he slams the sticks down like he’s personally offended by the drums.

You stand off to the side for a moment, watching him have at it. You’ve dealt with a lot of difficult people working here, but this guy? He’s so oblivious to the fact that the rest of the store is on the verge of mutiny.

Clearing your throat, you raise your voice, hoping to break through his focus.

“Excuse me!”

Nothing.

Another crash of the cymbals, loud enough to rattle your skull. Your jaw tightens as you try again, this time louder.

“Excuuuuse me!”

Still nothing. He’s completely in his own world, bashing away with reckless abandon. It’s like he’s in a vacuum, utterly disconnected from the chaos he’s creating around him.

Jesus this guy… your patience thins and you step closer—close enough now to feel the heat radiating off him from his overexertion. His shirt clings to his back with sweat, and the muscles in his arms continue to ripple with each reckless swing of the drumsticks.

He’s not just playing hard—he’s playing like he’s got something to prove.

As you reach out to tap his shoulder, you try to keep your touch firm but not aggressive, although, the moment your fingers make contact with him, his entire body jerks—drumsticks freezing mid-air as he whips his head around to face you.

His dark eyes lock onto yours, sharp and filled with a flicker of annoyance.

“What?” he snaps, voice dripping with irritation.

Keeping your expression neutral, you try not to let his attitude get to you.

“You’ve been at this for a while,” you begin, as calm as you can manage. “We have a limited selection and there are other customers who may be wanting to try this kit.”

His eyes narrow, clearly unimpressed.

“So?” he drawls, waving the drumsticks lazily, like your request is beneath him.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you press your lips together in protest. Stay professional, you remind yourself. Shifting your weight slightly, you square your shoulders and look him directly in the eyes.

“So,” you continue, voice firmer this time, “store policy is thirty minutes per instrument. You’ve been playing for over an hour.”

A low, sarcastic laugh bubbles from his chest, the sound filled with mockery as he tilts his head back slightly.

“And… what are you gonna do about it?” leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees like he's settling for a show—eyes glimmering with amusement as his lips curl into a smirk. “Throw me out?”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek—every fiber of your being is itching to knock this guy down a peg.

Ugh. What a tool.

The condescension in his voice grates on you like sandpaper, but you force yourself to stay composed.

“Look…store policy is pretty clear,” you reply evenly, nodding towards the sign behind the counter. “You either give someone else a turn, or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Your words seem to pique his interest—his smirk widens, eyes flicking over you slowly, appraisingly. Suddenly you’re more interesting to him than this drum set. He pushes himself off the stool in a slow, deliberate movement, and you hold your breath the moment he towers over you.

He’s by no means, a small guy.

The light behind him is blocked from his broad shoulders, and there’s a new edge to his gaze now. The moment he invades your space, it is just a little too close for comfort.

“Oh yeah?” your stomach turns from the low suggestive timber of his voice, “And what if I don’t feel like leaving, sweetheart? You gonna make me?”

Ick.

This guy might take the cake for being the most difficult prick you’ve had to deal with here, and that’s saying something. Working in this music shop, you’ve come across a lot of full of themselves wannabees, praising themselves like the next big thing—acting like God’s gift to music when all they want to play over and over again is ‘Stairway to Heaven,’ and ‘Wonderwall.’

A surge of discomfort ripples through your body, but you stand your ground. You know how this goes—he wants a reaction, and you’re not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

“Look dude, I’m not asking,” your tone sharpens, leaving no room for argument. “This is your last warning”

His eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise, and a low whistle escapes his lips, as if he’s impressed—but it’s the kind of faux admiration that makes your skin crawl.

“You’re a tough one, huh?” he muses, chuckling softly.

Leaning in, the heat of his breath brushes against your skin as he invades your space once again—far too close for comfort—and you feel his gaze sweep over you slowly, lingering in a way that feels slimy and unwelcome.

“I like a girl with a little fire,” he adds, voice dropping lower. “It always makes things more fun.”

Gross.

Your hands curl into fists by your sides and you fight the urge to recoil as a surge of revulsion twists through you like a knife.

But before you can respond—before you even have the chance to formulate the sharp retort already forming on your tongue—the air shifts and a new voice cuts in.

“Wow, did I just walk in on the world’s worst pickup line, or are we about to throw hands over a drum kit?”

Turning your head towards the source of the voice, your eyes land on a tall figure standing a few feet away—his hair is a striking shade of snowy white, messy and untamed, falling in tousled strands that almost brush against the black sunglasses obscuring his eyes, and even with his face partially hidden, there’s no mistaking the mischievous glint tugging at the corners of his mouth—like he’s watching the scene unfold for his own amusement.

Despite the casual nature of his appearance—jeans slung low, a loose-fitting hoodie—there’s something undeniably striking about him. It’s the kind of presence that demands attention without asking for it

Who the hell is this guy?

Clearly irritated by the interruption, the drummer straightens up—his smirk faltering as he sizes up the newcomer.

“This doesn’t concern you, man,” he growls, tight with irritation. “I’m just having a little conversation with her.”

The snowy stranger’s grin turns sharp, though his voice remains light.

“Yeeeah, see, that’s where you’re wrong,” he steps up beside you, and without hesitation, his arm slips around your waist, pulling you smoothly into his side like you’ve always belonged there. “Everything concerning her concerns me.”

Your heart skips a beat, caught off guard by the sudden, possessive gesture. Part of you bristles at the boldness, but another part… feels oddly safe in his grasp—like he’s been by your side forever.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere as the drummer's eyes narrow—like the balance of power has tipped—the presence of this stranger throwing him off.

“Oh really? And just who the hell are you?” he snaps.

Your mysterious stranger doesn’t miss a beat—he chuckles softly, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his eyes—brilliant, vivid blue, and gleaming with a spark that teeters between playful and dangerous. It’s the kind of look that makes your heart flip.

“Oh, me?” he feigns innocence with a nonchalant shrug, like this whole thing is just mildly amusing to him. “I’m nobody special.”

Sliding his sunglasses back into place, he casually pulls you in a bit closer, and you are met with the warmth of his body as he leans into you just slightly.

“Just here to make sure my girl doesn’t have to deal with assholes. Y’know how it is.”

Your mind scrambles to catch up.

Your girl? You blink, heat rushing to your cheeks as the words rolling off his tongue begin to register. You barely know this guy—hell, you don’t know him at all—and yet here he is, acting like the two of you are something.

But…maybe it’s working? Because the drummer’s eyes narrow further, his expression twisting as a furrow darkens over his features. Ah…but then you realize he’s not focused on the claim your stranger just made—no, his attention is locked on a different word entirely.

“Asshole?” he echoes, voice rising with indignation, practically spitting the word back. Clenching his fists, he steps forward with a scowl twisting upon you face. “You calling me an asshole?”

“Well, yeah,” your stranger remarks casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He shrugs again, utterly unfazed by the tension mounting between them. “When the shoe fits…I mean, you’re acting like one, aren’t you?”

Pure rage flashes across the drummer’s face, and you can visibly see his fists trembling slightly.

Uhh… on second thought, is this guy even helping?

Now you’re not so sure if your so-called rescuer is making things better or worse, because clearly, the drummer is on the verge of snapping.

“You better watch your mouth man,” the drummer snarls, fury simmering beneath the surface.

But the stranger’s grin only widens, and he exudes a confidence that makes it clear he’s not worried in the slightest.

“Heh. That’s a warning I get a lot,” he muses, tilting his head slightly. “But y’know what? I don’t usually listen.”

It's a wonder the drumsticks the drummer is fisting haven't cracked under pressure, given how tightly he clenches them—his knuckles turn white.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he growls through gritted teeth.

A low hum rumbles against your strangers’ lips as he ponders the question thoughtfully.

“I mean, I’ve been told I’m pretty hilarious,” he scratches the back of his head, like he’s seriously considering the statement, then, glancing at you, his eyes gleam with amusement as his sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose slightly.

“Whatcha think babe? Am I funny?”

The question—and that pet name—catches you completely off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless.

But the drummer isn’t interested in the little game your stranger seems to be playing. His jaw clenches—teeth grinding audibly as his face hardens into something feral.

“I’m about two seconds away from wiping that stupid grin off your face,” he spits, taking another aggressive step forward.

Fucking hell, is a fight really about to break out at your work?

Your pulse quickens, and for a split second, you think he might actually swing at him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the stranger says, still grinning like none of this phases him.

He releases his hold on your waist and steps forward with a smooth, almost lazy movement, placing himself between you and the drummer. His hands slip casually into his pockets, posture relaxed, but the air around him shifts.

“Let’s pump the brakes, big guy,” he tilts his head slightly, a dangerous edge creeping into his tone. “You’re welcome to try. But I’ll tell ya right now—” his teasing lilt diminishes, replaced by something colder, more commanding, “you’re not gonna like how it ends.”

His words—a warning and a challenge wrapped in one—hang heavy, and for a moment it feels like the entire store is holding its breath, waiting to see what happens next. Glancing around, you notice a few customers watching the scene unfold.

Fucking hell—this has gone from bad to worse.

And yet…the drummer doesn’t swing. He doesn’t move—doesn’t even flinch.

He’s seething—rage evident in the set of his jaw, the clenched fists at his sides—but something about the stranger’s calm, unwavering demeanor is throwing him off balance. It’s almost impressive, really.

No, scratch that—it is impressive.

You misjudged this guy. He might have walked in here like a cocky troublemaker, throwing out cheesy one-liners and pushing your buttons, but now? Now, he’s cool under pressure, defusing a situation that could’ve easily escalated into violence.

Body language often says more than words ever could, and his is completely in control—relaxed, hands in his pockets, not a single muscle tensed for a fight, yet there’s a sharpness beneath the surface—an unspoken control that demands attention.

It’s brilliant in a way. He’s defusing the threat without lifting a finger—a textbook example of how to manage tension without aggression. This guy is winning a psychological game the drummer doesn’t even realize he’s playing.

Their silent standoff stretches, until finally, the stranger breaks the silence with his smooth and almost disarmingly casual voice.

“Look, man,” he shrugs one shoulder with a nonchalance that seems almost practiced. “This is me giving you a chance to walk away with your dignity intact.” Tilting his head slightly, he gestures toward you with a subtle nod. “She asked you politely to stop. This is a store, not your personal garage. So maybe it’s time you pack it up and go before you make things worse.”

There’s a moment—a pause that feels like it stretches just a beat too long—where you can practically see the drummer’s gears turning in his head, weighing his options, trying to hold onto whatever’s left of his bravado.

Then, finally, he mutters through gritted teeth,

“Whatever.”

The word is spat out, dripping with frustration and barely-contained rage, and with a sharp movement, he tosses the drumsticks onto the kit—the wooden sticks clattering against the drums in a final act of defiance.

“You’re not worth it, and this place sucks anyway,” he mutters, full of aggravation, but his heart no longer in it—it’s clear his fight has deflated.

Turning sharply on his heel, he shoves past both you and the stranger with a forceful shoulder, storming toward the exit, and once the door slams shut behind him, the sound reverberates through the store with an unmistakable finality.

Just like that, the tension breaks. It’s like the whole store exhales at once—the weight lifting from the air as the distant murmur of customers resumes.

Before you can fully process what just happened, the stranger beside you turns his attention back to you.

“Well, that was fun,” he remarks, “Could’ve gone worse though. I mean, I didn’t even get to throw a punch. Talk about anti-climactic, huh?”

You barely manage to take a breath as he closes the space between you just a little more, his movements slow and intentional, and your heart flutters the moment his sunglasses slip down slightly, just enough for you to get a direct glimpse of his eyes. They lock onto yours—those bright, vivid blues—and for a second, everything else around you fades into the background.

“Seriously though,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “You okay?”

There’s something undeniably genuine in his tone, something that cuts through the playful exterior and lands right in your chest. You weren’t expecting that—this tenderness from someone who moments ago had brushed off a near-fight like it was nothing.

His eyes—soft but still burning with intensity—hold yours captive, and for a second, you forget how to speak.

“Uh… yeah,” you manage, “I think so.”

“Good,” he says with a nod, pushing his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Because I think you owe me a ‘thank you’ for that stellar rescue.”

You blink out of incredulity.

Thank you?

So much for tender—who does this guy think he is? You nearly scoff aloud. He wants a 'thank you' for a rescue that, truthfully, you weren’t even sure you needed?

Unsure whether you’re amused or annoyed by his arrogance, you open your mouth to respond—but before you can say anything, he cuts you off with a wink.

“Kidding,” he says with a chuckle, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “Always happy to help.” His hands settle into his pockets and he pauses, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. “Especially when it means I get to rescue a pretty girl like you.”

The compliment lands harder than you’d care to admit as you feel the warmth creeping up your neck and into your cheeks—betraying the fact that—against your better judgment—you’re not entirely immune to his charm.

A flicker of something stirs in your chest…

—nope. Let’s not go there.

Pushing it down before it can grow into something more, you refuse to let that feeling root itself.

You’re not looking for attention, especially not from a guy like this—a guy who flashes a cocky grin like he knows it works. The kind of guy who acts like the world bends to his whims.

Romance? No thanks. You’ve got bigger things to focus on. He’s exactly the kind of distraction you don’t need.

“Rescue might be a strong word,” you mutter, finally finding your voice again as you cross your arms over your chest. “I had it under control… mostly.”

“Oh, you did? My bad,” leaning in slightly, his voice lowers as if sharing a secret. “But trust me, that guy? He was one wrong word away from turning this into a full-on disaster. You’re lucky I stepped in when I did.”

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow at his comment, refusing to let him rattle you this time, and there’s a flicker of amusement creeping into your voice as you challenge him.

“Lucky, huh? So, what now? You expecting a medal or something?”

His grin widens—a grin that’s undeniably magnetic, but you resist being pulled into its orbit.

“Naaaah, I’m not that high maintenance,” straightening himself, he regards you with a slight tilt of the head. “But… I’ll take a coffee if you’re offering.”

You blink, momentarily thrown off by his response.

Did he just… ask you out?

“Wait, what?” you stammer, not quite sure you heard him right.

“A coffee,” he repeats smoothly. “Y’know, like a reward for my heroic efforts.” He pauses, just long enough to make it clear he’s toying with you. “Or is that too forward? I can settle for your number instead.”

You can’t help the scoff that escapes your lips—a sharp exhale that’s part disbelief, part amusement. This guy is unbelievable.

Nope. You’re not going to let him get to you that easily.

“I don’t even know your name,” you shoot back, lifting your chin just a little higher, “and you’re already angling for a reward?”

“Ouch, y/n,” he replies, placing a hand dramatically over his chest as if you’ve wounded him deeply—his grin, however, never falters. “That stings.”

You stare at him, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“How do you…?”

“How do I know your name?” he finishes for you, clearly enjoying this a little too much. He tilts his head. “Well, for starters, your nametag.”

Oh.

You glance down quickly and—of course—there it is, printed neatly on the tag pinned to your shirt, and now you are mentally kicking yourself for not realizing sooner.

“Right… of course,” you shake your head in mild embarrassment. It’s infuriating how easily he’s messing with you.

An amused chuckle dances on his lips and he leans back ever so slightly—hands in his pockets like he has all the time in the world.

“But that’s not the only reason I know you,” he adds, voice taking on a more playful tone, almost like he’s daring you to figure it out. “You really don’t recognize me, do you?”

You blink, trying to piece together where you might’ve seen him before. There’s something vaguely familiar about his voice…have you heard it before? Do you know him?

“I don’t…” you start, trailing off, searching for any spark of recognition, but you come up blank. “Uhh… should I?”

Flashing you a toothy smile, he's clearly delighted by your confusion.

“Ouch again. Double whammy,” with a dramatic sigh, he shakes his head in mock disappointment as his crooked grin curves up. “I guess I’m not as memorable as I thought.”

Your eyebrow quirks up at his theatrics, and despite yourself, the corner of your lips do too. Ugh. You want to be irritated with him but somehow, he makes it incredibly hard to be.

“Right… well,” tilting your head, your voice dips with playful sarcasm, “maybe if you told me your name, it might jog my memory?”

With a soft chuckle, he slides his sunglasses off and rests them on top of his head, and just like that, you’re greeted with the full, unobstructed view of his eyes—striking, electric blue, so vivid they almost don’t seem real, and they lock onto yours with an intensity that sends a flutter through your chest.

“Satoru,” he says smoothly, as if his name alone should be enough to make everything click. “Gojo Satoru.”

The name floats in your mind, like it’s circling around something, but still, nothing concrete surfaces. He seems so confident—so sure that you should know who he is—and it only adds to your frustration.

Do you know him?

Generally, you keep to yourself, both at work and on campus—with your moms condition you don’t really have time for the exciting college life. Tilting your head, your eyes narrow as you study his face—surely, you would have remembered someone like him... wouldn’t you?

“Gojo Satoru…” you test the name on your tongue as if saying it aloud might unlock some hidden memory. But still—nothing. “Sorry, not ringing any bells.”

Satoru laughs again, rich and unbothered, like this is the highlight of his day.

“Wow, I’m really striking out today,” he shakes his head in mock dismay. “I guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”

Before you can muster a response, he reaches out casually, plucking a pair of drumsticks from an endcap display nearby, twirling them between his fingers like it’s second nature. He examines them for a moment, then looks back at you with a raised brow.

“So, since we’re here and I’m feeling generous… how about you check me out?”

You glance down at the drumsticks in his hand, then back up at him—his expression is unreadable, that signature smirk lingering as if he’s waiting for you to catch up.

“...you mean ring up the drumsticks, right?” you clarify, though your voice is uncertain.

“Sure, let’s go with that,” he murmurs, and then, with a sly wink, he adds, “But I don’t mind if you do both.”

For a beat, your breath hitches, and you fight back the urge to roll your eyes.

Okay—this is guy is definitely a flirt. You’re not falling for his trap.

“Wow… you’re really not subtle, are you?” reaching out, you snatch the drumsticks from his hand. “How many women actually fall for that?” you turn on your heel towards the counter, and he follows in step.

“Hmm…I’m not exactly keeping score,” he admits. “But let’s just say I don’t hear too many complaints.”

Glancing back at him, you arch an eyebrow as you approach the register—fingers automatically moving to unlock your cash drawer, and he leans casually against the counter beside you, propping his elbow on it—like he owns the space.

“Will say though,” he adds, voice dipping lower, “I don’t usually have to try this hard. You’re pretty special.”

You scoff, your fingers hesitating slightly over the keys, though you refuse to let him see how his words make a tiny flutter bloom in your chest.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” you mutter under your breath, trying—and failing—to focus solely on the transaction.

Satoru hums, watching you with that same playful gleam in his eyes.

“Nah,” his tone drops to something almost conspiratorial, “you’re definitely one of a kind.”

Yup. He’s a smooth talker—and without a doubt, bad news.

Pressing your lips together, you force your gaze to remain on the screen in front of you. He’s playing a game, and you’re determined not to lose.

As you scan the barcode on the drumsticks, he casually pulls out his wallet to pay, and that’s when something catches your eye—a student ID peeking out from the clear pocket inside his wallet.

Narrowing your eyes slightly, your fingers hover mid-air as you get a better look. The ID is familiar—yet you can't make out the school’s name plastered right across it, but the logo and the colors are unmistakable.

Wait a second…

“We go to the same school?”

Satoru looks up, his grin stretching even wider and the glimmer in his eyes practically daring you to catch up—he’s been waiting for this moment.

“Took ya long enough,” he teases, playful but with a hint of smugness. “Yeah, we do.”

You blink, the pieces clicking together a little too late.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you demand, unable to stop the half-accusatory, half-embarrassed tone that underlines your voice. A groan slips past your lips and you shake your head in frustration. “I swear…you’ve been messing with me this whole time.”

With an amused chuckles, Satoru lifts his shoulders in a casual shrug.

“Hey, it’s more fun this way,” he leans in a little closer, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. “Besides,” he pauses, tilting his head just slightly while his lips curve into a sly grin. “I like watching you piece things together. You’ve got this cute little furrow in your brow when you’re thinking hard.”

The intensity in his eyes makes your breath hitch, and no matter how hard you resist, there’s that undeniable flutter in your chest, warm and unwanted.

“How come I’ve never seen you around?” you ask, trying to steer the conversation back onto safer ground.

“Oof. You’re killing me, y/n. I pass by you every day, actually.”

You frown, narrowing your eyes.

“Every day? Where?”

“The water fountain,” he says smoothly, tapping his fingers on the counter rhythmically, just a light touch. “Y’know, where you sit and study. Every afternoon, without fail. I walk by almost every day.”

Ah. That’s why his voice must’ve sounded familiar. You probably heard him—another voice blending into the background while you were studying.

“Really? Guess I never noticed you.”

Resting his chin in his hand, a dramatic huff falls from Satoru's lips as they form into a pout.

“Jeez…you don’t quit. I can’t believe I’m that forgettable.”

You can’t resist the soft laugh that escapes you, despite yourself—it’s hard not to find his antics at least a little amusing, and though you’d never admit it, the way he’s so desperate for your attention is almost… cute.

“Maybe you just blend into the background too much,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow while extending your hand, silently gesturing for his payment.

“Ouch...” he winces dramatically, pulling out his card before placing it in your hand. “Okay, that one stung a little.”

“Yeah, well… I’m sure your ego will recover,” you quip, glancing up briefly before focusing back on the transaction. But there’s a brief pause as you swipe his card—a silence that suddenly feels charged with something else.

You can feel his gaze lingering on you, heavy and expectant, and you try your hardest not to give in to the pull to look at him again—but the heat of his attention is unmistakable, almost like a gravitational force pulling you in, and you can feel your pulse quicken under his scrutiny.

“I gotta say, you’ve got a sharp tongue—I like it,” he murmurs.

Your fingers freeze for just a second, your breath hitching slightly as his tone shifts, and you can’t resist—your eyes flick up and he holds your gaze captive yet again.

“But it’s a bad habit, y’know,” he continues, his voice dropping, growing more intent as his eyes flicker over your features. “Not being aware of your surroundings like that...” leaning in just a fraction, his words become a quiet murmur between the two of you. “What if some creep tried to take advantage of you?”

The gentleness in his demeanor… is he genuinely concerned? It’s hard to tell—harder than you’d like to admit—and it’s easier to convince yourself he isn’t—that this is all part of his charming routine, because that makes it easier to ignore the subtle pull he has on you.

“Well,” you keep your voice steady, despite the flutter in your chest, “lucky for me, no one’s tried. Unless…” tilting your head slightly, a teasing smirk tugs at your lips, “you’re secretly admitting to being a creep.”

Satoru’s laugh spills out, rich and warm, breaking the moment just enough for you to catch your breath.

“Nah, I’m not creep,” his voice lightens as he straightens up just a little. “Just a concerned citizen looking out for someone who’s too absorbed in her textbooks to notice the world around her.”

You huff, though the corners of your mouth twitch upward against your will.

“I can handle myself, thank you very much,” you quip back, determined to maintain control over the situation. In a quick, defiant motion, you grab the receipt and shove it into his hand, a small victorious gesture.

“Right, right. You definitely proved that today when I swooped in for the rescue,” he teases, and his hand brushes yours ever so briefly as he takes the receipt—a touch so light is sends a tiny spark up your arm. “But hey, what if you don’t show up at the fountain one day? I’m gonna have to file a missing person’s report.”

You can’t help but laugh at his ridiculousness, the sound escaping before you can stop it.

“A missing person’s report? Seriously?” you roll your eyes.

“Yup,” he grins, emphasizing the ‘p’. “You’re there so often it’s practically routine. Same spot. Same time. Every day. It’s kinda predictable, y/n. If I don’t see you there one day, I’ll just assume some creep finally got to you.”

You narrow your eyes at him, though you can’t help the faint heat rising in your cheeks.

“Predictable?” you retort, trying to sound indignant. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, you are,” he counters, clearly reveling in your reaction as he slips the receipt in his pocket. “But hey, that’s not a bad thing. It makes you easier to find if you ever disappear.”

Shaking your head, you roll your eyes, a snappy reply ready on your tongue, but he’s already raising his hands with a dramatic flair, like he’s about to paint the scene in vivid detail.

“I can see it now: ‘Missing: Cute girl who spends way too much time by the water fountain. Last seen buried in a psychology textbook. Answers to y/n.’”

It’s impossible not to laugh again, the sound bubbling up as you watch him weave his ridiculous scenario with such confidence and flair. His eyes flick to yours, and a satisfied grin tugs at the corner of his mouth—clearly pleased with the effect he’s having on you.

“Wow,” you manage between chuckles. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

“Mhm,” he hums in agreement, leaning slightly closer. “Gotta be prepared. I don’t want anything happening to my favorite water fountain girl.”

Your heart flips—and for a second, it feels like he’s given you some kind of title you didn’t realize you wanted. You try to brush it off, to ignore the warmth spreading across your cheeks, but it’s not so easy with the way he’s looking at you.

“Riiiight… well, lucky for you,” you manage, attempting to sound nonchalant, “I’m not planning on disappearing anytime soon.”

“Good,” he murmurs, low and smooth. “Because I’d miss seeing you.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep the upper hand, though the small smile that tugs at your lips betrays you.

“Uh-huh. Sure you would.”

There’s a brief moment, just the two of you—his gaze still locked onto yours, when—

“Ahem.”

You jump slightly at the sound, turning to see Utahime standing beside you, arms crossed, a knowing smile pulling at the corner of her lips. She gives you a look—a very knowing look—that sends heat rushing to your cheeks all over again.

“I’m taking my break,” she says, her tone casual but her eyes dancing with mischief as they flick between you and Satoru. “So… don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

Suddenly hyper-aware of the tension in the air, you swallow hard and offer her a tight smile.

“No promises,” Satoru quips, that cocky grin returning to his face as he leans against the counter slightly—clearly unfazed by the interruption.

After Utahime saunters off, he continues smoothly, picking up right where he left off.

“So...” he starts again, “What do you say? How about you give me your number? Just in case I need it, y’know, for emergencies.”

He’s relentless, isn’t he?

Heat creeps up your neck as you blink from his boldness—with a soft, incredulous laugh, you desperately try to find your footing again.

“You really don’t give up, do you?”

That familiar and confident gleam glistens in his eyes as his grin widens.

“Not when it comes to someone as interesting as you.”

There’s a flicker of something in your chest—a flutter that you’re quick to squash.

“Mmm… sorry,” you murmur, tone sweet but firm. “But I don’t think you’re ready for that kind of disappointment. I’m really not interested in players.”

For the briefest moment, his grin falters, and something unreadable flashes behind his eyes—a momentary crack in his facade. It’s so quick, so subtle, that you almost miss it. But there’s just enough time to wonder if maybe you hit a nerve.

Still, Satoru recovers in an instant, his playful charm sliding back into place like nothing happened.

“That’s cold, y/n,” his voice light and teasing, though there’s a trace of something deeper, almost wounded, lurking beneath. “You really think I’m that kind of guy?”

Tilting your head slightly, you cross your arms over your chest as you study him—gaze sharp but not unkind.

“Yeah, well, I’ve met enough guys like you to know how this works.”

With a soft chuckle, and a smooth, almost lazy motion, he lowers his sunglasses from where they’re perched atop his head—resting them back on the bridge of his nose as the dark lenses now obscure his eyes from you.

He’s hiding behind them—letting them do the work of shielding his real thoughts. Huh. Typical behavior for someone who enjoys the chase but avoids real vulnerability.

“You’re quick to judge. I’m just a guy who knows what he wants. And right now? I just want your number.”

Classic deflection—you think. He’s not even denying it. Still... something about the way he says it makes that familiar flutter stir in your chest, and you hate it.

“Yeah... that’s not happening,” crossing your arms more tightly, you try to maintain control of the situation.

His hands come up in mock surrender as a small, amused sigh slips from his lips.

“Bummer,” he concedes, though there’s no real disappointment in his tone, only amusement. “But hey,” he picks up the drumsticks from the counter, “offer’s on the table if you ever change your mind.”

“Right... I’ll keep that in mind,” you dryly reply, knowing full well that you won’t.

“Please do,” he shoots back with that infuriatingly confident grin. “Besides, I’ll be seeing you around, water fountain girl.”

The familiar nickname brings an unwanted warmth that you attempt to shake off.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Gojo.”

But Satoru just steps back toward the door, exuding that same unshakeable confidence. “Oh, I’m not worried,” he says with a cocky smirk. “You’re predictable, remember? I know exactly where to find you.”

You open your mouth, ready to fire back with something witty, but before you can, he’s already halfway out the door, twirling the drumsticks between his fingers with effortless ease.

“See ya around, y/n,” he calls over his shoulder, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft jingle before you even have a chance to respond.

And just like that, the store feels quiet again, as if the air shifted back to normal now that he’s gone. You stand there for a moment, blinking at the closed door. You should feel relieved that he’s gone, that the exchange is over, but instead, you’re left with this strange, restless feeling you can’t quite shake.

What the hell just happened?

Shaking your head, you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. There’s a part of you that’s frustrated—frustrated at how easily he slipped under your skin, how effortlessly he managed to unsettle you with nothing but a grin and a few flirtatious remarks.

You hate that you’re even thinking about it. About him. He’s just another guy with too much confidence for his own good.

But something about the brief crack in his facade sticks with you. That fleeting moment where his grin faltered, and something else—something almost vulnerable—flickered behind those cocky blue eyes.

What was that?

With another shake of your head, you push the thought aside. He’s a flirt. A player. The kind of guy who never takes anything seriously.

That’s all there is to it.

You don’t have time to psychoanalyze every flippant guy who crosses your path, even if there’s a part of you that’s still curious.

Just as you’re about to shake off the thoughts entirely, your phone buzzes in your pocket, snapping you out of your daze. You pull it out, glancing down at the screen.

Kyoko: Hey sweetie, just wanted to let you know your mom's been having a rough day today. She’s more confused than usual, keeps asking for you. Maybe you could visit soon?”

Reality crashes back in—grounding you in the weight of your responsibilities.

With a sigh, you run a hand through your hair, already mentally preparing yourself for the evening ahead.

You: Thanks for the update, Aunt Kyoko. My shift is almost over, I’ll be home soon.

Focus. There’s no room for distractions—not right now.

Not with Satoru Gojo. Not with anyone.

a/n. thanks for reading the debut of bomh (or i guess the re-debut since this is a rewrite? hehe). i'm excited to explore a lot of topics in this fic, and rewriting it definitely helped rekindle my passion for this story. so, i'm looking forward with whats to come! hope ya'll enjoyed 💕 → you are currently all caught up ♪

taglist:

@gojoslefttoenail @satoryaa @ninjaturtletoes @murtabuckz @sorcerersseestars

@reagan707 @sakurasimppp @sugxryratz @tkyemfk @lovelyjkook

@lovebittenbyevans @kaemaybae @bloopsstuff

[nightunite]

r.e. with johnny banging one of his maids

what's the breaking point or final straw that makes the maid finally snap and make the decision to leave soap? or, maybe even the point just before the decision is made?

-- 📖

Omg my first anon who signs their name! Welcome! Enjoy this angsty piece! Following the revelation that she is not the only one Johnny sees in the duchy, she does her best to limit her time with him. The thought of him touching her makes her skin crawl, makes her stomach curdle over the memory of him holding the other maid so tightly to him (the way he held her, how many more are there-). However, she also knows she cannot avoid him entirely, cannot retreat fully as he is still her employer, a fact seared into the forefront of her mind now when it should have been when this all started. She tries not to show her discomfort when he leans into her space, as she can now smell the perfumes of other women on his skin, can see his plump mouth most likely having kissed another before coming to her. She wonders if he even bothered to wash himself between, or if the hands he touches her with are still coated in the consequences of his actions. There's no comfort in his concern over her, him spending more and more time as the days go by to coax her into telling him what's the matter, is someone bothering her? He'll make it all go away for his sweet little maid, his favorite. He winks as he says their inside joke; bile creeps up her throat at the knowledge the joke is on her and always has been. She just manages to kiss him, brushing off anything further with a variety of excuses: She isn't feeling well, there is so much she has to do, a guest is due shortly. She even uses the tried and true 'I am unclean' excuse, face flushed as she looks down, desperate for him to believe it even though the stress of the situation she has found herself in has put it off for the forseeable future. Every time she feels her heart lurch over the sight of him, her stomach lurches as well. It's a struggle for her to keep food down, constantly envisioning the man she loves with other women. The knowledge he would have to wed someone of his station had always loomed over her, the thought of him forsaking his reputation due to being in love with her a fantasy she only indulges in when she lays down for bed. These days the thought brings more cruelty than comfort, and it's resulted in her stumbling from bed to heave up the meager portion of dinner that she manages to eat. The other staff notice how there seems to be an air of illness about her, her face paler than before, eyes red-rimmed at times, the dazed look she gets when she thinks no one is watching. The cooks especially take note of it, see how she struggles to keep food down, how she picks at her plate unless it's the blandest of soup or a portion of fruit. The head cook, a stern woman who runs the kitchen efficiently and while putting the fear of God into those who test her, has rubbed her back alongside the head maid more times than not when she hangs her head in the toilet. "I swear lass, you heave more than an expecting mother. Duke MacTavish ought to call in the doctor and have you seen to already, before you waste away!" If her eyes weren't blinded by tears, they would be wide open in horror. The vomiting, the missed days, the sleeping... All caused by stress yes but... Is there anything more stressful than carrying a new life inside of you? Particularly one born of such circumstances? Her breathing picks up, the last of the bile coughed out while her mind races, the thought growing more and more sure as she thinks back to the days when she and Johnny had gone further than they ever should have. The best case scenario is people assuming she is a loose woman; a random unnamed man being the father and her child being a bastard. The possibility to spin it as her being taken advantage of by a man who was passing through town is there, not likely to work but still an option. The worst case though? The scandal of bearing a Duke's bastard, of having lain in her employer's bed? All of them would be ruined.

The head maid sends her to bed to ensure she doesn't get anyone else sick with whatever she has. She lays in her bed, hand shakily pressed over her stomach, watery eyes fixed on the ceiling while she bites her lip to keep from sobbing. She has to get out, even if there is no child inside her. Things have crossed a line and she's clawing at it to let her back on the other side. This was doomed from the start, and this needs to end before this becomes a choice she can't take back. There has been recent gossip of the Baron of the woods returning, of him needing new staff due to several of his retiring from age. No connections to Duke MacTavish, a place out of the eyes of society, a man who does not partake in the prodding of other's status. It appears she will need to find a way to visit the Baron's home discretely. Soon.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

Heyy! Happy late Halloween 🎃 I looooveee your writing !! Could you do headcanons for how marauders would react if the reader could do legilimacy? They're muggleborn so they didn't think it was that big a deal bc they thougjg all wizards could do it and casually mention it

headcanons for marauders reacting to reader knowing legitimacy

𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 tries to brush it off as if he’s totally unfazed, but internally, he's panicking.

➯His first instinct is denial—surely, you’re just perceptive, right? But as soon as you respond to something he hasn’t said out loud, he’s rattled.

➯He’ll keep "testing" you, thinking ridiculous things like "I bet you can’t hear this" on a loop, only to break into a fit of laughter when you answer with an exasperated eye-roll.

➯When he finally accepts that you can actually read his mind, he goes into full-blown soulmate mode, convinced this is destiny.

➯James decides he’s above needing to verbalize “I love you” and will start giving you overly dramatic, lovesick looks whenever he thinks it, just to see if you’ll respond.

James is deep in thought about a prank idea. You: “Exploding ink? You know McGonagall’s going to see right through that.” James: choking “H-how did you know that?” You: “Because you were thinking about it.” James: “No, seriously, who told you? Sirius?! Remus? Who's the traitor?” You: “None of them. Just your brain.” James stares at you with a mix of awe and panic. James: “Brilliant. Terrifying, but brilliant.”

𝐒𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 jumps out of his skin when you first respond to his thoughts, staring at you like you’ve just sprouted horns.

➯He immediately calls you a demon and insists you’re here to haunt him specifically, but secretly, he finds it oddly thrilling.

➯Within minutes, he’s running around thinking of the most absurd things he can just to throw you off, like mentally chanting "I am an irresistible god of charm" to see if you’ll break.

➯Over time, he gets used to it and will sometimes think cute things at you, but never admit it if you notice.

➯Deep down, though, he’s convinced your Legilimency is proof that you’re some kind of witchy soulmate sent from the beyond to torture him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sirius is debating in his head whether he should wear his leather jacket to breakfast. You: “Leather jacket? Again?” Sirius: whipping around “What?! I didn’t say anything!” You: smirking “You didn’t have to.” Sirius: “I’m being haunted. This is it. You’re a witchy ghost sent to expose my every cool thought.” You: “What cool thoughts?” Sirius gasps dramatically. Sirius: “Betrayed by my own mind!”

𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬, initially skeptical, quickly connects the dots when you casually respond to one of his unspoken worries.

➯His brain goes straight to over-analysis, and he spirals just a bit, convinced you’re both a prodigy and incredibly dangerous.

➯While he finds it fascinating, he's low-key embarrassed every time you catch his stray thoughts—he didn't mean for you to hear that, really!

➯He starts to watch his thoughts around you, editing his internal monologue as if he’s writing an essay for you to "read."

➯Every now and then, he’ll test the limits by thinking random trivia or book recommendations at you, silently thrilled every time you respond.

➯He’s careful but secretly loves that you can understand him on this completely new level.

Remus is mentally debating whether he should get more coffee or just stick with tea. You: “Coffee.” Remus: startles “I—pardon?” You: “Just get the coffee, Remus. You’re going to regret the tea halfway through.” Remus: nervously laughing “Are… are you reading my mind?” You: “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫, the most openly freaked out, will start squinting at you like you’re the strangest creature he’s ever seen.

➯For days, he’s looking over his shoulder, convinced you’re pulling pranks on him somehow.

➯Every time you respond to his thoughts, he jolts and gives you a suspicious look, half-afraid and half-impressed.

➯It only takes one incident of you responding to something he really didn’t want to say out loud for him to become almost paranoid.

➯After a while, though, he’ll start to use it to his advantage, asking for silent reassurance when he's worried or seeking encouragement without having to say it—though he’ll always look a bit jittery when you respond, as if he still can’t quite believe it.

Peter is internally freaking out about his Potions essay, wondering if he should ask you for help. You: “I’ll help you with Potions later, don’t worry.” Peter: jumps “How did you…?” You: “You looked like you needed it.” Peter: “But… I didn’t… I didn’t even look at you!” You: “You don’t have to.” Peter stares at you, eyes wide, before finally mumbling. Peter: “...are you like… always in there?” You: grinning “Only sometimes.”

[sushiyuzu]

kibutsuji's desire

warning: soft smut. minors dni!

the night air is thick with tension as you stand in the dimly lit room, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across the walls. you can feel your heart racing as the door creaks open, revealing him—muzan kibutsuji, the infamous demon lord. his presence is intoxicating, a dangerous blend of charm and menace that sends a shiver down your spine.

“you summoned me,” he says, his voice smooth like silk, laced with an authority that leaves no room for defiance. you nod, swallowing hard, unable to find your voice. the air between you crackles with unspoken desire, and you can’t help but admire the way the light catches the sharp angles of his face, making him look even more captivating.

“what is it that you desire?” he asks, taking a step closer, his crimson eyes locking onto yours. there’s something predatory in his gaze, a hunger that makes your breath hitch. “you’re not afraid of me, are you?”

“no,” you reply, surprising yourself with your boldness. “i’m not afraid. i want to understand you.” it’s a risky statement, and you can feel the weight of it in the air. his lips curl into a smirk, one that sends a thrill of excitement coursing through you.

“understanding me will come at a price,” he says, his tone dropping an octave. as he steps closer, the scent of him envelops you—a mix of cedarwood and something intoxicatingly sweet. your heart races as he reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, the touch both tender and electric.

“i’m willing to pay,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. the moment hangs in the air, thick with tension as he studies you, his expression shifting from amusement to something darker.

“very well,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a predatory smile. “let’s see just how far you’re willing to go.”

before you can react, he pulls you closer, his hands gripping your waist with a firm yet gentle pressure. your breath catches as his lips hover just above yours, teasingly close. “do you trust me?” he asks, his voice low and husky.

“yes,” you reply, the word tumbling out before you can second-guess yourself. his smirk widens, and in that instant, you realize just how much power he holds over you.

without warning, he captures your lips with his, the kiss fierce and demanding. you melt against him, the heat radiating between your bodies as his hands explore your waist, pulling you even closer. the kiss deepens, and you can feel the world around you fade away, leaving just the two of you in this intoxicating moment.

his hands slide up to cup your face, thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he deepens the kiss. your heart races, a mix of excitement and trepidation coursing through you. you’ve never felt anything like this before—his kiss is both an invitation and a command, igniting a fire deep within you.

as the kiss breaks, you gasp for air, and he chuckles softly, a sound that sends a thrill through you. “you’re stronger than i expected,” he muses, his eyes gleaming with something akin to admiration. “but strength isn’t everything.”

with that, he steps back slightly, his gaze appraising you. “let’s see how well you can handle temptation.” there’s a challenge in his tone that sends a rush of adrenaline through you. you stand your ground, determination coursing through your veins.

“i can handle it,” you declare, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions within you. his smirk returns, a mix of amusement and intrigue.

“is that so?” he questions, stepping closer once more. this time, there’s an edge to his movements, a predatory grace that leaves you breathless. “then let’s see just how strong your resolve truly is.”

he leans in again, capturing your lips with a fervor that makes your head spin. this time, it’s deeper, more urgent, as if he’s testing your limits. you respond instinctively, kissing him back with equal fervor, your hands finding their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the silky strands.

as the kiss intensifies, you can feel the heat between you growing, an undeniable chemistry that ignites every nerve ending in your body. he pulls you against him, the solid warmth of his body pressing into yours, making your heart race even faster.

“tell me what you want,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot and intoxicating. the question hangs in the air, and for a moment, you hesitate. the power he holds is palpable, and you can feel the weight of your desires crashing down around you.

“i want you,” you confess, your voice barely a whisper but filled with longing. his eyes darken with desire, and a low growl escapes his throat.

“then you shall have me,” he declares, and in that moment, you know you’ve crossed a threshold you can’t uncross. with a swift motion, he lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the plush couch in the room.

he lays you down gently, hovering over you, his gaze burning with intensity. “are you ready for what comes next?” he asks, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“yes,” you breathe, heart racing with anticipation. in this moment, you feel powerful and vulnerable all at once, completely at his mercy. as he descends upon you, capturing your lips again, you know this is just the beginning of something both exhilarating and dangerous.

[shizuturnspages]

UR NEWEST POST ABOUT BREAKING UP WITH DILUC??AHBAJWJSJSNSB YESS. Its pure perfection. I have nothing else to say. What happens after his darling wakes up tho?

I'm so happy you liked it <3

After his darling wakes up, this is what might happen:

The world comes back in hazy fragments: a dull ache throbbing in the back of your head, the sensation of rough, unyielding fabric against your wrists, the muffled sound of crackling embers nearby. You blink, slowly coming to, the dim light casting a warm glow that feels strangely… comforting. But then, as the fog clears, a new feeling settles in—a sharp jolt of realization, of panic. Your wrists are bound.

Eyes flying open, you see the familiar walls of what must be a room within Dawn Winery, the deep red decor and soft flicker of candlelight unmistakably Diluc’s style. It’s not your room, though; this is somewhere tucked away, a space meant to stay hidden, secluded from prying eyes. You strain against the ropes, the roughness biting into your skin as you test your limits, only to find them hopelessly secure.

A soft rustling pulls your attention. Across the room, a shadow stirs, and out of the darkness, Diluc steps forward, a subtle, intense smile lingering on his lips. There’s a warmth in his eyes, but it’s a smouldering warmth—possessive, unyielding, and somehow all the more terrifying for it.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he murmurs, his voice low and gentle. He crosses the room, his steady gaze never leaving yours. In his hand, he holds a small cloth—a fresh one this time, free from the faint scent that lingered the last time he put you under. “I was starting to think you’d sleep forever.”

You shift, straining against your restraints, but his eyes flick to your wrists, a frown creasing his brow. “Careful,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “Those ropes weren’t meant to hurt you, but if you struggle like that, you’ll only hurt yourself.”

The words should sound like a warning, but in his low, velvety tone, they’re almost soothing. He reaches out, fingertips brushing over your wrist as if to reassure you, his touch lingering just a bit too long.

“Diluc,” you whisper, voice hoarse from disuse and tension. “What… what are you doing? This isn’t—”

He cuts you off with a gentle finger pressed against your lips, his gaze darkening slightly as he tilts his head. “Shh… I’m only doing what’s necessary. You kept talking about leaving, and I… I can’t allow that. I won’t lose you.” His voice dips, the determination behind it like a steel blade wrapped in silk. “You belong here, with me. Don’t you understand that?”

He moves closer, sitting beside you on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve been restless,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing the side of your face. “But I can give you everything you need, right here. There’s no need for you to go anywhere else.”

A rush of fear runs through you, but there’s an undeniable tension in the air as he leans closer, his face mere inches from yours. The warmth radiating off him, the rough timbre of his voice—it sends a confusing, almost dizzying sensation down your spine. And somehow, despite everything, there’s a part of you that finds it difficult to look away.

“What are you… going to do with me?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, though it comes out barely a whisper. His gaze flickers over your face, studying you, as if weighing every word, every breath.

Diluc’s lips curl into a soft smile, but there’s nothing comforting in it. “I’m going to take care of you,” he replies, his voice so sure, so unwavering. “You won’t have to worry about anything. I’ll keep you safe, away from anyone else who might try to take you from me.”

He leans in, the warmth of his breath brushing over your cheek as he speaks. “I’d go to any length for you. Don’t you see that?” His voice is barely a whisper, yet it sends a shiver down your spine, his words laced with an intensity that’s as thrilling as it is frightening.

As he pulls back slightly, his hand slides to your shoulder, lingering there as his thumb brushes gentle circles over your skin. The gesture is almost tender, yet his grip is unyielding, a silent reminder that he’s in control.

“You’ve always been so stubborn,” he continues, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I think, deep down, you know this is where you belong. Here, with me.” His gaze drops to your lips, lingering there for a beat too long before he looks back into your eyes, his expression unreadable.

In that moment, you realize there’s no reasoning with him, no convincing him otherwise. He’s made up his mind, his devotion twisted into something unrecognizable, something possessive and consuming. And as much as you want to deny it, there’s a part of you that’s captivated by his intensity, by the way he looks at you as if you’re the only thing in his world.

With a soft sigh, he reaches out, tracing his fingers along your cheek, his touch deceptively gentle. “You’ve driven me to this, you know,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible, as if he’s confessing a dark, shameful secret. “You kept pushing me away, kept trying to leave. And I… I can’t let that happen.”

His hand drifts to your chin, tilting your face up so you’re forced to meet his gaze, his eyes burning with a fierce, unwavering determination. “I’ve given you everything,” he says softly, his tone carrying a hint of vulnerability. “And yet… it was never enough, was it?”

“Diluc, please,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “You don’t have to do this. I won’t—”

But he shakes his head, cutting you off with a sad, almost wistful smile. “I know you’re afraid,” he says, his fingers brushing over your skin in a tender, almost reverent touch. “But in time, you’ll see that this is for the best. You’ll come to understand… even if I have to keep you here forever.”

His thumb brushes over your lower lip, lingering there as his eyes darken, a hunger flickering in their depths that sends a shiver through you. He leans in, his face so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, his lips barely a whisper away from yours. “One day,” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous promise. “You’ll thank me for this. You’ll see that no one else could ever care for you the way I do.”

With that, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary. It’s a gesture that would have once been comforting, reassuring—but now, it only serves as a chilling reminder of the depth of his obsession, of the lengths he’s willing to go to keep you by his side.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice a soft, possessive murmur. “And no one else will ever have you.”

And as he pulls back, his hand resting possessively on your shoulder, you realize with a sinking feeling that he means every word. In his twisted, unwavering devotion, he’s claimed you as his own, bound you to him in a way that goes beyond reason or sanity. And as you look into his eyes, you know that there’s no escape from the hold he has over you—a hold that’s as fierce and unbreakable as the man himself.

[sweetbunpura]

Christmas party at NRC with students and staffs and special guests

Yuu's dress

Kassie's dress (Snowy Night)

It must've been a Christmas miracle because that was the only way to describe it. Crowley had actually done everything himself while setting up the party, of course he had help from the staff so that everything wouldn't go completely wrong. The cafeteria was all decked out in holiday decorations as everyone started filtering into the room. Many of them wore a basic suit and tie combo, with colors that matches the dorms they were in. Others went all out with the winter outfits and easily stuck out among everyone in the crowd.

Ace sighed as he leaned against the cocktail table. "Where are they?"

"She said they'd be here soon." Rollo answered as he eyed the Heartslabyul student. "And why, might I ask, are you so eager for her to be here?"

"One, I wanna ditch but I promised Yuu I'd stay until she got here and I fear for my life if I break that. Two, I wanna see what she has on."

"...Why?"

"Cause we all know Crowley didn't pay her enough to get her a proper winter party outfit." Ace glanced over at him. "Wait a second, why didn't you come with them?"

"Because I had to babysit them." Rollo gestured to where Fellow, Gidel, and Grim were basically raiding the buffet while Skully was talking to Sebek. "....Wait a moment, were you going to make fun of her?"

"Not fully, maybe tease a little." Ace smirked.

"While her mother and I are here?"

"....Okay, so maybe just a tiny bit."

Deuce shook his head. "Everyday, you seemly test the limits of your own survival."

"That's rich coming from you, Juice."

"It's never on purpose like what you do!"

"I don't wanna another fight between the two of ya!" Epel broke it up before they could start. "Last time Y'all did this, you split the punch all over Vil's white outfit."

They shuddered as they remembered the whole event and how terrifying Vil looked. Rollo muttered something behind his handkerchief while Jack sighed as his ears turned towards the entrance.

"They're-"

"What? Why so quiet-Holy."

Yuu and Kassie walked through the entrance, the Homuras were sporting a pair of cute, beautiful, and mature dresses. Yuu had on short black sweater dress with a single leg slit and a star pattern etched into the bottom of the dress and it's sleeves. It also had adjustable yellow lace as part of it. Kassie wore a dark blue cocktail dress with a snow pattern on it, the top of the dress was mesh. Anyone who had been talking stopped and looked at the pair as they made their way down the stairs. Crewel stepped forward and helped Kassie down the remaining steps while Leona, smugly, did the same to Yuu.

"Thank you, Divus."

"Of course."

"I didn't take you as a gentleman, Leona."

"Only for you, Herbivore."

Divus led Kassie to where the rest of the staff was while Yuu made her way over to the group with Leona lingering behind her.

"Thank you for taking the troublemakers, Rolls." She hugged him. "They weren't too bad, were they?

"You're welcome and no, they weren't."

"They knew better?"

"They knew better."

Yuu laughed and looked at the first years. "Cat got your tongue, fellas?"

"Holy shit." Ace muttered. "W-Why are you dressed like?"

"Like what?"

"Like a cute girl!"

The guys winced and looked between Yuu and Ace, waiting for the inevitable punch, but it didn't come as the girl shook her head.

"Cause I'm adorable as hell, Acey, and every now and then, I wanna show it off." She smirked and placed her hands on her hips. "Besides, it caught your attention, didn't it?"

"And everyone else's."

Yuu pats Leona's chest. "They know better. They can look, but they can't touch."

"Unless they want a broken hand." Leona placed his hand on her hip. "C'mon, I waited to eat for you."

"Aw, is the lion hungry~?"

Leona smirked as he whispered in her ear, which set her face a light and caused her to push him. Jack, thankfully, had lowered his ears before he could hear anything.

"Oh, Rolls, did you eat?"

"....I did not."

She pointed at the buffet with a sharp glint in her eye. "Go eat."

Rollo flinched and hurried off to the food, Leona watched him as he went before turning back to Yuu.

"You taming knows no bounds, Herbivore."

"Beast Master, remember?"

Leona's ear turned towards where Kassie was and he looked over to see the woman wrangling Crowley for something he said.

"Must be hereditary."

[kanmom51]

Please help 😅 I think there is something or some conversation l have missed in JIKOOK’s timeline. Something about our Jimin getting so upset that he left the members and went home to heal from some trauma caused by V & Jk ?? The next we heard about him was when he was hospitalised suffering from covid?? Please fill in the blanks for me if you know any deets.. l would be grateful. No pressure though😂🫶🏽

Idk what fan fiction this is from, but WOW.

JM healing from trauma caused by V and JK?

The next was when he was hospitalized with covid?

Bull bloody shit is what I can tell you.

But let's look at the timeline why don't we?

At least what we know of it.

JM was hospitalized end of January 2022. Not because of covid but because of his appendix, and when in hospital tested positive for covid.

This followed the group going on a break after their 4 concerts in LA in November 2021.

Last time we had all three together was in their live on 28 November 2021. That was a chaotic super happy live. Only bullying I can think of, jokingly, would be Tae constantly mentioning brand names he wasn't supposed to, lol.

You can find many links to posts I wrote about that live here:

Then JK and JM returned to Korea with Jin. Just the three of them. They were supposed to go into quarantine as they returned, separately, as the government rules stated, and yet JK waited for JM at the airport upon their arrival thinking that they will be sharing a car only for the two to be separated.

There is absolutely, and I repeat absolutely NOTHING to show that there was anything wrong between JM and JK at that place and time!!!

JM and JK were fine, and there was no bullying going on from Tae and JK. What AO3 fanfic is that even?

As for the stupidity I've been hearing of since Ep. 3 of Are you sure? JK and V bullying JM, like wtf is wrong with people?

Every time I think people have reached the limit of being the worst they just prove that they can surpass themselves.

I think people lack basic ideas of human interactions if they claim that the playfulness we saw in that episode can be called bullying. If that's bullying then every single time those three played throughout the years would also be. These are 3 young men who grew up together and at times roughhouse. Like men do.

I've kind of lost hope in trying to explain to these people, who love to see JM as a victim, and therefore think they are his knights in shining armour, that JM is a grown ass man who knows exactly how to put both JK and Tae in their places if he wanted to!!! He's got the physical strength to do so, not to mention the personality too. He's known to have done both, when he wanted. And here's the news flash. Maybe he didn't want to! JM knows how to be assertive. Being such a nice human being doesn't make him a weak human being. I think that many of those that claim to love him and want to protect him either don't know him at all or want him to be weak so they can show up as his great protectors against the big bad JK, whom they would love to get rid of, cause he's just not good enough for JM, in their warped reality. Perhaps because they want JM for themselves.

JK is the person that JM loves most in this world.

The person that stood by JM's side and supported him when he was going through the turmoil he was experiencing during the pandemic.

The person that JM wanted to go on these trips with and came up with the idea to create this show so that they can go on these trips together.

The person that he flew from Korea to NY to be with for his solo debut.

The person that he can't stop talking about and bringing up in conversations that have really nothing to do with him, like during the Minimoni album exchange.

The man he chose to write a song for and write these lines to:

Baby, don't leave Just stay by my side, yeah To you, who see me bigger than what my little self is (to you) So that I can give as much as I’ve received (oh-oh) So that I can keep my word (oh-oh) Don't worry, just stay by my side, yeah (Yeah) We don’t know what the future holds (holds, yeah) And that’s scary and makes us afraid (oh-oh) But don’t forget that we’re always together (don't forget)

The person he chose to enlist with and be with for the 18 months of their military service, even though it meant a more difficult placement, even though it would raise eyebrows and questions marks seeing that the two are the first ever idols, both in their late 20s to do this!!

I've said this once I've said this a thousand times. People need to go live their lives and stop looking for drama where it doesn't exist in JM and JK's life.

They are together.

They are good.

Even if they are idols and public figures.

Even if they are two gorgeous young men who happen to love each other and are, god forbid, in a queer relationship.

Even if being in a queer relationship in their industry and society is frowned upon.

All those don't mean that their relationship isn't just a normal stable long term relationship with everything that such a loving relationship entails, including the struggles.

Enough with trying to insert drama where there is none.

[theogonies]

what they look for in a partner ft. the cast of touchstarved

characters: ais, mhin, vere, kuras, & leander

word count: 2k

content warnings: some suggestive elements but nothing explicit, mentions of corruption kinks (ais), brat taming (kuras), and light exhibitionism (vere and leander), leander is a little emotionally manipulative

AIS.

Considering his relationships with MC and Vere, it's not exactly a secret that Ais has a thing for brats. He loves teasing, and wants a partner who can keep up with him, giving as much as they get. He's all about the thrill of the chase, learning exactly which buttons to press to get you flustered--so don't make it too easy on him.

Surprisingly, he's not usually the one to make the first move. He'll flirt, but struggles to take initiative when things start to feel too real for his comfort.

He finds people who can find a cool head in moments of crisis insanely attractive. Whether it's pulling him back when he's about to pick a stupid fight or constructing a perfect alibi on the spot when you find yourself in trouble, the contrast between your self-control and his impulsivity always gets him itching to push your limits even further.

Humans and Monsters alike, he's grown accustomed to the absolute devotion of his followers. So being around someone who isn't constantly bowing and scraping to him is a refreshing change of pace.

He still greatly values loyalty, and it's something that he's more than willing to return--he's a ride or die type of guy. What he's not interested in is empty flattery; telling it like it is is, in his eyes, a much more valuable kind of devotion than total obedience.

I definitely think he's got a bit of a corruption kink, and is drawn to people with a more innocent, even naive personality--easier to get them flustered that way. More importantly, though, he enjoys the interplay between his impulsivity and his partner's willingness to stick by their personal code of ethics, no matter how impractical. For all the teasing he does, he has a very deep and genuine admiration for people with strong moral principles and sense of self.

The only thing he loves more than drawing out your hedonistic side is knowing that he's the only one who can do it. It's a very specific, psychological kind of possessiveness, knowing that you want him enough to show him the greedy, impure side of yourself that you hide so carefully from the rest of the world.

On the other hand, narcs are a major turn off. It's one thing to tell him off for fucking up, and another entirely to get others involved. He fantasizes about a Bonnie and Clyde, us against the world type of love.

MHIN.

Another one who isn't particularly subtle about what it takes to get them heated. Mhin loves it when you can keep up with their acerbic personality. Even more than sharp tongues, they're drawn to people who are physically assertive enough to follow through on their threats.

Mhin is all bark and no bite, a fact that they're very much aware of. Deep down, they desperately want to feel safe and protected. It's not exactly that they're insecure; they don't have any hang ups about their own strength. But it's exhausting to keep their guard up all the time. So, they figure that their perfect match is their perfect equal--and 90% of their bluster is just that, a test so see who's willing to break past their emotional barriers and strong enough to keep up with them.

They're a switch, and definitely have a thing for size difference. One of their biggest fantasies is dominating a partner who's bigger than themself.

One of Mhin's most immediate turn-offs is people who look too clean and polished all the time. They're enamored by scarring and callouses--basically, the physical traces of a person's life, especially those associated with hard work. They're not particularly interested in fashion or flashy clothes, either; rather than being with someone who's always up on the latest styles, they admire those who know how to make things last, and who would rather underdress than overdress.

It's not hard to get them flustered. Put them in a good ol' fashioned kabedon, whisper simple praises in their ear, and they'll absolutely melt (not that they would ever admit that to you, of course). Mhin's affection is very subtle, blink and you'll miss it (they're big on acts of service, and usually quite sneaky about it), but they like partners who are more forward than themself, whether verbally or physically.

While they are a loving partner (once you break past those oh-so-strong emotional walls), Mhin isn't a super relationship-oriented person. They have goals of their own outside of romance, and would prefer to be with someone who feels the same way, supporting each other in the pursuit of their own, independent dreams.

VERE.

It's not exactly that Vere is a commitment-phobe. When he falls for someone, he falls fast and hard, and he's never been one to be secretive about his feelings. But he views relationships of all kinds--platonic, romantic, sexual, even antagonistic--with a kind of levity that can be offputting to many. Love, to him, is a game, and he has zero interest in dropping out of the race the moment he takes the lead, so to speak.

Even in a committed, monogamous relationship, Vere is a flirt and a bit of a player--with his partner and outsiders alike. In his eyes, it's not a sign of disloyalty, but rather, a way of keeping the spark alive. Possessiveness is an immediate dealbreaker for him (although he's not opposed to a good ol' jealousy fueled romp in the sheets--that's half the fun of teasing).

Vere tends to bottom more often than he tops, but he's attracted to switches far more than he is fully dominant types. He likes having dynamic interplay in a relationship, especially sexual, and wants to be with someone that isn't content with always falling back into the same old routines.

Physical attraction is very important to Vere, although he doesn't necessarily require that his partner is conventionally attractive. He's especially drawn to unique senses of style and physical traits--a particularly intense look in a person's eyes, a scar or blemish that gives their face an interesting character, even an interesting tilt to the way they hold themself. The only thing he loves more than standing out in a crowd on his own is hanging off the arm of someone who does the same, intentionally or not.

He likes to imagine himself and his partner as a power couple--the two most powerful personas in the room, the ones that everyone else wants to either fuck or become.

While he is very attracted to confidence, there's a bit of a feedback loop here, because he's also extremely good at psyching up his partner's self-image--stick with Vere long enough, and it's hard not to see yourself as someone powerful and desirable.

Massive tit guy. 'nuff said.

KURAS.

Kuras is also attracted to oddballs and quirky types, although unlike Vere, he's not super interested in physical appearance or their ability to stick out in a crowd. He's much more drawn to interesting personalities: people with unique tics, speech patterns, responses, and the like.

His favorite part of relationships (sexual, romantic, and otherwise) is gradually learning what makes the other person tick, so unless he gets the sense that there's something interesting lingering under the surface, it can be hard to get his attention. He needs to feel like there's some kind of puzzle to be solved, and a tricky one at that.

On the other hand, once his curiosity has been captured, he's an incredibly attentive partner--even if it's not entirely unlike the kind of attention an entomologist would give a bug under the microscope.

He's also drawn to outspoken, forthright personalities to counter his more polite and subdued persona. There's something he finds incredibly amusing about a person who speaks their mind even when they know it'll get them into trouble.

For that reason, Kuras is, much like Ais, attracted to bratty types. Unlike Ais, he expects them to learn the rules at some point down the line. While his form of discipline is a gentle, cool-headed one, he still views himself as more of a teacher than a playmate.

He very much prefers to feel in control of a given situation (even if that isn't immediately obvious in the way he presents himself). It can make him stubborn, to the extent that he'll reject the advances of a person he's interested in just because he wants to be the one to confess.

While this characteristic can make him come across as rather clinical in his approach, it gets its chance to shine when paired with his detail-oriented nature. From a grand confession of love to a simple weeknight dinner date, he's extremely methodical about preparing the perfect romantic atmosphere for his partner's tastes, from the locale and decor to the scent of his cologne.

While his partner needn't necessarily come across as kind at first impression, it is deeply important to Kuras that they have a good, generous heart. All the better if he gets to be the one to make them feel safe showing it to the world.

He likes 'em a little clingy and needy, too. Independence isn't necessarily a turn-off, but he needs to feel like all the effort he puts in is appreciated, or he'll move on to some other curiosity.

LEANDER.

We all know that this man loves to flirt, and in a much more grandiose, romantic sense of the word than Vere or Ais at that. In the same way that he gets a bit of a rush putting his strength to use in a fight, he likes using his charm and good looks to get a reaction out of people.

That's not to say his teasing is ingenuine; Leander comes on strong because he knows what he's looking for, from his partner's looks and the way they carry themself in a crowded room to the way they respond to his advances. He wants to be with someone who'll fall as fast and hard as he does, and as manipulative of a tactic as it may be, he's willing to put on the mask of a romantic until he finds the one that responds in kind.

Leander doesn't play games. Once he commits himself to a person, that's it. His absolute devotion is yours, and he expects that loyalty to be returned. Some of his biggest turn-offs are people who don't seem sure of what they want, or who won't express their feelings to him straightforwardly. He'll put up with some level of shyness, but too much beating around the bush and he starts to feel more like a therapist than a partner.

Total ass man. He has no compunctions about grabbing it in public to get a rise out of you--not to mention how utterly shameless he is behind closed doors.

He also really likes long hair. He has a lot of restless energy and tends to fidget when forced to stay still for long periods of time, so playing with your hair is one of his favorite ways to calm his mind. Braiding it and running his hands through it if it's straight, or spiraling your curls around his fingers--he doesn't mind either way, just wants it silky-soft and long enough to play with. (He also loooooves helping you wash and care for it.)

He's very physically affectionate in private, and even more so in public. He likes showing his partner off, and being shown off by them. To some this might make him come across as rather shallow (his favorite date nights involve going to bars or out dancing--anywhere that gives him the opportunity to turn some heads), but to him, it's a way of demonstrating that no matter how many may want him, he's decided you're the only one deserving of his attention.